#its just so casually chaotic

[yeehawitsjakee]

My favourite part of Baldurs Gate 3 is when you have to go and beg your mum's situationship not to murder your uncle

[lelianaslefthand]

i need my mods for my other tavs so i revamped zara, the first ever tav i played back in 2020 :") she used to be a rogue but now she's an archfey warlock with the urchin background :3 early access version under the cut for space purposes

she's also seldarine now instead of lolth-sworn. i have personal beef with how larian handled the drow "subraces" but thats a whole other thing. i also switched face presets bc im lowkey tired of That one, everyone uses it, even i used it twice before i got mods. like its very pretty but ive seen it over and over and over

[vcutparis]

FIRST OF ALL, HAPPY BIRTHDAY OMG YAYY!!!! 🫂🫂🫂❤️‍🩹☹️‼️ (congratulations on that fabulous date you had on your bday eve (?) lmfao WE LOVE WHEN YEARNERS GET THEEE ITALICISED OH MOMENT)

He’s like one of those girls you’d befriend in highschool who’d show up on the hallways suddenly judging your entire soul on a random Wednesday, and I don’t like it. okay listen let them cook. because yes.

What does the unrecognizable dude have to do with Hongjoong and his unreadable behavior? Nothing.

SIRENS BLAZING LOUDLY. NEW INFO ABOUT THE LORE DROPPED GASP? SO LIKE THAT GUY FROM THE SECOND CHAPTER MIGHT NOT BE HONGJOONG?? OR MAYBE READER LOST THE MEMORY? THE HEADACHES!!!! dude....my multiverse theory looking more and more truthful at this point. but whatever ive been always wrong when it comes to guessing shit. live commentary always stewpid if its me MEH

THE TIME IS EXACTLY THE SAME HELP????? 2: 37AM WHAT WITCHCRAFT ARE YOU DOING???? TEACH THIS NUGU WITCH SOME OF YOUR WAYS

pompidou my beloved baobei. i know you're gonna help us conquest this journey well.

“Maybe I was the one who left him in an alternate reality, and this is the price I have to pay for it,” you joke, but it only feels like a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better. idk i prolly leaning too much into the alternate reality theory too much maybe its just a slow burn fic....but nvm im probably gonna make a fool of myself. let me jus believe that pompidou is the main character BYE.

slipping through my fingers....HONGJOONG TALKED ABOUT HIS DREAMS SLIPPING THROUGH HIS FINGERS. HOLYYYYY SHITTTTTT wait a moment oh my reader being vocal about their thoughts to a kitty...oh boy do i feel uncomfy but at the same time so so so seen?

la vie en rose makes an appearance again (boy jupiter on your playlist is playing, can i cry even louder?) THE REPEATED MOTIFS ARE THE SOUL OF YOUR WRITING!!!!!!!!!! (i type in caps so much im sorry i lose my demureness in winter months EUGH)

Then, Wooyoung shook his head slowly. “You’re lying to yourself. And honestly? It’s pathetic, Hongjoong. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

cue a big loud gasp. honestly i dont even who i am crying for lmfao, its just that i am crying. "never seen you like this" and its your mfing best friend saying that GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD YOU HAMSTER BOY! WE LOVE YOU WOOYOUNG FOR SMACKING SOME SENSE OF REALITY INTO LUVRBOY!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU (HIGH FIVES) id still like to be the little devil on his shoulder tho.

what the hell...actually happened oh my god. middle school girl? faceless guy?? from middle school?? name changed? both of them having opposite fears but also kind of same but somehow same situation in the same timeline. 😭😭😭? bruh now i know for a fact they aint talking abt each other.

boy my brain mushy from the theories and emotional stuff, i feel muc much more connected to joong now holy shit (pats head in comfort)

crying like how i used to cry reading those wattpad stories under my blanket...oh hello real angst slow burn.

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Eleven: You Wonder why I’m Bitter

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 8.2k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Alone and aching for the connection that once felt so natural, you reluctantly turn to an unlikely companion: Pompidou, who listens to you pour out all the longing you’ve fought so hard to bury. While you grapple with the emptiness left by Hongjoong’s sudden withdrawal, he, too, finds himself lost, wrestling with the very feelings he’s tried to deny. Haunted by memories and choices he can’t quite reconcile, Hongjoong is caught between the familiarity of the past and the confusing reality of the present.

a/n: was supposed to upload this on the 27th cause that’s my birthday but i just can’t wait any longer 😅 keep an eye out for the littlest of details because nothing is as it seems in this chapter :P lmk what you guys think!

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

First of all, I hate myself. Second of all, I hate myself. Oh, and did I already mention that I hate myself? I just don’t know what to do anymore! It feels like it’s been a whole decade ever since I last picked up a pen to scribble on this godforsaken journal… I wish I could just go back to the time I was writing the page behind the one I’m writing on right now and just cancel my flight to Paris. This is all so frustrating, you know? Fashion Week is nearing, and I am not prepared at all—no, not even a little. I’m supposed to be spending my hours inside the studio practicing runway walks and testing out facial expressions, but no! I’m way too afraid of crossing paths with Hongjoong to even think about the consequences of not taking my preparations seriously! And speaking of Hongjoong…

He’s driving me to the edge of my sanity. I don’t know what’s going on with him—okay, scratch that, I definitely do. I just don’t get why he’s acting so avoidant all of a sudden… I mean, like, okay, I would understand his unprovoked need for distance between us if we actually kissed that night, but we didn’t. The farthest step we were able to take was just him holding onto the sides of my face and me looking at his lips like I’m a starved dog looking at its first meal of the day before Wooyoung fortunately interrupted us—so why is he acting up?

He’s like one of those girls you’d befriend in highschool who’d show up on the hallways suddenly judging your entire soul on a random Wednesday, and I don’t like it. Seriously, what’s his problem? He made me accustomed to his usual sweet and caring persona, and all of a sudden, he wants to act like this? What have I done wrong? Wasn’t it literally him who initiated the… whatever I’m supposed to call what happened that night?

I’m just concerned, you know. It’s been two weeks, and yet he’s still avoiding me like I’m the plague. I haven’t been receiving any messages from him at all lately, either. Even Madame Dupont is asking me why she no longer sees the “small young handsome boy” waiting for me outside the apartment building while leaning against his car. Wooyoung’s been trying to persuade me into confirming his theory that Hongjoong and I are going through a lovers’ quarrel for three days now, too. And guess who’s the most troubled of them all? Seonghwa. He’s been doing his best to put us back into speaking terms for a while now, and I don’t know why—I swear I didn’t ask him to do that.

Everyone is worried. Everyone but him.

You know, this brings me back to that unrecognizable faceless guy I see in some of my blurry flashbacks. I remember him asking me how long I’ve been bottling up my emotions, and when I told him I’ve been doing so for pretty much my entire life, he told me to consider writing in a journal.

What does the unrecognizable dude have to do with Hongjoong and his unreadable behavior? Nothing.

I just noticed that it’s been a while since I last wrote a journal entry, and… it’s been a while since I last let my emotions unravel. I remember the words that came out of his mouth that day.

“When you can’t figure out what you’re feeling, or if you need to let it all out, the only thing you have to do is pull this out along with a pen, and from then on, you can start writing away. Let yourself get lost in your own world.”

You know what, in a way, I think he and Hongjoong actually have something in common. I know I can’t say much because I only have one memory of this guy, but he spoke with as much wisdom as Hongjoong does. Also… “let yourself get lost in your own world.” That’s honestly the most Hongjoong-ish advice someone could ever give, given how he himself gets lost in his own world of artistry, too.

I just wish he’d stop ignoring me. I can’t help but feel like this is all somehow my fault… Am I just hurting myself by expecting things to suddenly go back to the way they used to be?

As you closed your journal with a weary sigh, your eyes drifted to the dim glow of your bedside clock reading 2:37 a.m. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of distant traffic, yet you felt far from at peace. It was a night for sleep, yet your mind wouldn’t quiet; thoughts of Hongjoong twisted and turned within you, refusing to settle.

“Why does it feel like this?” you murmured, pressing your palms into your face, as if that could somehow soothe the ache in your chest. You longed for comfort, for answers, even for a brief respite from the confusion that had become your constant companion. “If only that faceless guy could telepathically whisper some words of wisdom to me right now…”

Two weeks had passed since you last shared any words with Hongjoong—two weeks where every glance, every passing moment, felt laced with an unspoken tension that only deepened the rift between you. It was all becoming painfully real, the shift so clear to everyone around you. But no one knew the truth—the moment you almost kissed, the silent proximity that had left you dizzy and wondering. Even Seonghwa, in his genuine concern, couldn’t know the pang of vulnerability that had filled that night, the fear and excitement mingling as you’d come closer than ever before.

Your mind flashed back to the other day when the ache of his absence had been sharpest. You passed by him in a hallway, hoping for a flicker of his usual warmth, his soft gaze that once reassured you of your place in his world. But he’d brushed past with such indifference—not even nodding to acknowledge your presence, a chill in his demeanor that left you hollow. And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving you alone with a rising sense of loss.

Without thinking, you picked up your phone and opened your gallery. Photos of Hongjoong filled your screen, and your eyes drift over candid snapshots—some of you and Hongjoong working late in the studio, others of him laughing or looking thoughtful, moments caught by your camera that now feel like glimpses into another lifetime. There’s a picture of him outside your apartment building, waving you goodbye one evening. Another shot of him hunched over his desk in concentration, unaware that you’d snapped the photo from across the room. Then, there’s a particularly precious one of the two of you, taken in his office—which was likely Wooyoung’s doing.

As you scroll, an ache blossoms within you, spreading in slow, insistent waves that make your chest feel tight. You can feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, and it catches you off guard. Why now? Why does he, of all people, have this power over you? You swipe at the tears, frustrated by the sudden swell of emotion. It’s not supposed to be like this, you tell yourself. Hongjoong is supposed to be your friend, your mentor, the one person in Paris who helped you find your footing when everything felt foreign. But as the images blur beneath the glisten of unshed tears, you can’t help but wonder if that’s all he’ll ever be—someone whose warmth once felt like home, and whose absence now feels like a loss you’re not ready to face.

The soft scratching at your window pulls you abruptly from your thoughts. For a moment, you freeze, glancing back at the phone you’d just placed on your desk. Carefully, you grab your journal—a flimsy defense, maybe, but it’s better than nothing. Heart pounding just slightly, you step forward, inching closer to the window.

When you peek over, you’re met with a familiar sight: Pompidou, the resident stray cat who had made the apartment building his kingdom, sits with one paw pressed to the glass, his usual unamused expression aimed your way.

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders as you let out a soft laugh. Setting your journal on the bed, you reach over to open the window, letting him slip inside with practiced ease. He slinks past you with the air of someone who owns the place and makes himself right at home, hopping onto your bed and circling until he’s claimed his spot in the center.

You sit beside him, running a gentle hand over his soft fur. It’s strange how much you missed him. For the past few weeks, your room felt emptier without his occasional visits—without that extra little creature who just… understood you, in a way. And now, with Hongjoong’s absence haunting you, Pompidou couldn’t have come at a better time.

The thought hits you harder than you expect: here you are, at your lowest, relying on a cat for comfort simply because the one person you’re used to confiding in has become distant, almost like a stranger. The ache in your chest intensifies, and before you know it, you’re lying down next to him, resting your head on the bed and gazing at his calm, indifferent eyes. It feels silly, pathetic even, to be speaking your heart to a cat, but in this silence, with no one else to turn to, you let yourself unravel.

“Pompidou,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady, “I… I don’t know what I did wrong. Everything was fine, wasn’t it?” Your fingers tremble as they thread through his fur, a warmth grounding you in the midst of your unraveling. “I don’t know how we ended up here. He’s always been there for me, and now… it’s like he’s vanished. And I’m trying, I really am, but every time I reach out, it’s like he’s miles away.”

A sharp breath catches in your throat, and you look up at the ceiling, fighting against the tears stinging your eyes. “It’s probably all my fault,” you confess in a whisper that breaks. “Maybe I was too much, or maybe I should have… I don’t know, said something differently, done something better. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him to eat dinner that night so that…” A bitter chuckle slips out as you squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s funny, you know. All my life, I’ve been terrified of being alone, of people walking out… and now here I am, trying to be okay with him pulling away like it’s nothing.”

Pompidou shifts slightly, his warm body pressing into your side, a small reminder that he’s there, and he’s not leaving. You let your hand drop to your chest, feeling the dull ache that’s settled there. “I just miss him, Pompidou. I miss the way he used to look at me like I mattered. Now, he can’t even look me in the eyes. And I don’t know why I’m clinging to that, why I’m hoping he’ll suddenly turn around and go back to being who he was.”

The silence swallows you for a moment. “Maybe it’s because, deep down, I’m still the same pathetic teenager from Arcadia Bay who’s scared that she doesn’t deserve anything better. That she’s always going to be left behind, and this… this is just proof.” Your voice falters, words thick with pain you can no longer hold back. “And if he leaves, then maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“Maybe I was the one who left him in an alternate reality, and this is the price I have to pay for it,” you joke, but it only feels like a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better.

The pain is so sharp it almost feels physical, a hollow ache that makes every breath feel heavier than the last. You close your eyes, fighting against the helplessness clawing at your insides, but the words keep pouring out, jagged and raw, as though voicing them might lessen the weight—even if it’s only to a cat who can’t respond.

“Do you know what’s worse?” you whisper, fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt over your chest as if you could hold yourself together by sheer will. “It’s that I can’t even be mad at him. I want to be—believe me, I’ve tried. I tell myself he’s the one pulling away, that he’s the one who’s changed, but then I start wondering… what if I pushed him to this? What if I’m the reason he’s slipping through my fingers?”

A soft tremor runs through your hands, and you curl them into fists, teeth gritted as you force the tears back. “I keep thinking… maybe he’s right to distance himself. Maybe there’s something broken in me, something that just drives people away. And the worst part is, I keep wishing he’d come back, like I’d somehow be enough if I could just—”

Your voice catches, breaking into a whisper as you bury your face in your hands, barely holding in the sob that threatens to spill out. “I just don’t understand. He was my safe place, Pompidou. For the first time in so long, I actually felt like I mattered. He made me feel seen. And now… now I feel invisible all over again, like everything we shared was just temporary, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Pompidou shifts closer, his soft purr rumbling beneath your fingertips as you stroke his fur, a small solace in the middle of this storm.

“I try to convince myself that I’m fine, that I can go on without him,” you continue, voice cracking as the words spill out unchecked. “But the truth is, I’m terrified. I’m scared that if he leaves… if he’s really gone, I’ll be alone again, just like before. And I hate myself for feeling this way, for being so… so weak.”

The tears finally break free, slipping down your cheeks in a silent flood. “What does that say about me? That I’m so dependent on him, that I can’t even imagine my life without him? I thought I was stronger than this, that I’d learned how to stand on my own. But now… now it’s like I’m right back to that scared, lonely kid I used to be, clinging to anyone who shows me a hint of kindness.”

You pull your knees to your chest, holding yourself as tightly as you can, as if you could somehow shield yourself from the emptiness swallowing you whole. “I can’t stop thinking that maybe this is all I deserve. That maybe I’m meant to be alone. Maybe he’s finally seeing me for who I am, and he’s realizing I’m not worth it.”

Your shoulders shake as the sobs escape, quiet and raw, each one cutting through you like glass. Pompidou curls closer, his little face pressing against your arm, as though he understands in his own way. But his silent comfort only deepens the ache, a reminder that the person you need more than anything isn’t here, and you’re left holding yourself together with nothing but frayed threads of hope.

With a shuddering breath, you finally admit the fear you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. “What if he doesn’t come back, Pompidou? What if this is it? I don’t think… I don’t think I can handle losing him. Not like this.”

Your voice drops to a whisper, the words coming slow and soft as you gaze out the window, eyes unfocused. “I just… I miss him, Pompidou,” you murmur, fingers absently tracing patterns against the sheets.

“I miss all the little things that made it feel like he was a part of me, like he was woven into my days without me even realizing it. I miss the way he’d send me random sketches, the ones that made no sense but made me laugh anyway, like he was letting me in on his little worlds. I miss… I miss how he’d always have this ridiculous drink order for me every time we’d meet up at the café where we switched up our notebooks with one another before we met for the first time. It’s like he knew exactly what I’d need, even if I didn’t.”

The memories wash over you, and you can’t stop the warmth from pooling in your chest as you picture those moments. “I wish we could go back to that time when things were… simple. When I could sit beside him without feeling like the whole world was shifting under my feet. When he’d laugh and look at me like I was… like I was something special, you know?”

Your voice trembles, and you tighten your grip on the sheets. “And the thing is… it was just easy with him. He’d be there, always making me feel like nothing could go wrong as long as we were together. He’d be there with his quiet, comforting presence, and I could just… be. I didn’t have to pretend or put on some mask. It was like he could see right through me, and somehow, he didn’t care about all the mess he found.”

You take a deep breath, the words spilling out like a plea. “I just want to go back, Pompidou. Back to before everything felt so fragile, before that almost-kiss, before this… this distance. I wish I could reach out and take it all back. I’d give anything just to have things feel normal again.”

Pompidou tilts his head, eyes blinking up at you, and you can’t help but laugh, a soft, broken sound that catches in your throat. “I know it sounds silly, doesn’t it? I mean, how could I expect anything to be the same after that? But I can’t help it, Pompidou. I want to go back to when he’d smile at me like that, when I didn’t have to wonder if I was the one pushing him away.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of each memory anchor you down. “I miss his laugh. I miss his stupid jokes. I miss the way he’d lean closer when he talked about his dreams, his voice getting all serious like he could see every detail in his mind. And I miss… I miss feeling like I belonged somewhere, like I belonged with him. I miss how he’d look at me with this warmth, like I was enough, just as I was.”

The words come out like a broken whisper, a confession you’ve been holding inside for far too long. “I can’t stop missing him. I wish… I wish I could go back to that last night before everything shifted. Before the night we nearly kissed, before I even realized what I felt. I wish I could’ve just stayed there, in that moment, without letting any of it change.”

You hug your knees, curling up as the ache settles deeper, heavier. “But I can’t. And now it’s as if I’m left with pieces of him in everything around me, and I don’t know how to put myself back together without him.”

You pull yourself up, exhaling slowly, and walk over to your desk. The room feels quiet, still heavy with everything you’ve let out, yet somehow emptier too, as if releasing the words has left you hollow. With a shaky hand, you pick up your phone and make your way back to bed, curling up beside Pompidou, who has already claimed his spot against your pillow. Settling into the blankets, you scroll through your contacts, your thumb hovering over Hongjoong’s icon.

It’s just his initials next to a simple photo he once sent—a candid moment he probably forgot about, something so ordinary that it’s precious now. The way he looked when he didn’t realize anyone was watching: a slight smile, eyes softened by something he found funny, maybe even a bit endearing. The sight makes your chest tighten, and you let yourself scroll up, reading through old conversations like leafing through the pages of a treasured book.

Each message brings back flashes of shared laughter and late-night ramblings, little moments where time seemed to pause, and it was just the two of you—untouchable, safe. You linger on a message he sent on a rainy afternoon, a random joke he thought would cheer you up. Your lips curl into a faint smile, but it’s bittersweet. There was a time when it was so easy, so effortless, like breathing. He had a way of knowing exactly when you needed a reminder that he was there. But now, that comfort feels distant, unreachable.

A tear slips down your cheek again before you realize it, and you hastily swipe it away, but the sorrow wells up again, slipping past your guard. As if sensing your pain, Pompidou extends a soft paw, resting it gently below your eyes, and you feel his fur against your cheek, grounding you in a way that words can’t. His small gesture tugs a quiet, breathy laugh from you, despite the ache in your chest. It’s as if he’s trying to catch your sadness, pulling it away piece by piece, his wide eyes fixed on yours with an empathy you can almost feel.

You let your head fall, hugging Pompidou close, allowing yourself to finally surrender to the pain and let it wash over you without restraint. The loneliness, the longing, the hollow spaces Hongjoong’s absence has left in you—all of it spills out as you clutch the feline tightly, letting his warmth and steady breathing lull you into a fragile sense of comfort. The room seems to blur, softening around you as the weight of everything you’ve been holding back presses into you.

The tears come faster now, unstoppable, and your quiet sobs fill the silence, raw and unfiltered. It’s just you and Pompidou, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not truly alone. There, in the quiet solace of your room, you cling to that small comfort, letting yourself feel every ounce of longing, letting yourself miss him—fully, desperately, hopelessly.

—

Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood in his office, the warm, nostalgic tones of “La Vie en Rose” playing softly from the record player behind him. His gaze fixed on the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. Each note lingered in the air, pulling him deeper into the web of memories he was desperately trying to forget. This song, of all songs—he could still remember how it had been playing when the two of you had stood together in the flower shop, laughing over bouquets and trading light-hearted jokes as if the world beyond didn’t exist.

Part of him knew he could walk over and turn it off. The music was his to control, after all. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. The melody was the last fragile thread that kept him tethered to you, a reminder of the warmth he felt in your presence, the comfort of knowing someone understood him.

The dim light from the city outside cast a soft glow over his office, illuminating the expanse of papers scattered across his desk, the outlines of unfinished sketches and hastily scrawled notes, all reminders of the whirlwind he’d buried himself in since he started pushing you away. Each corner of the room felt saturated with memories of you—and it was strange how a space that had once felt so alive now seemed hollow, absent of the warmth you’d brought into it.

He tried to focus on the skyline again, his eyes tracing the glittering lights of the city. It was an attempt to ground himself, to pull himself back from the turmoil inside him. But tonight, every bit of stillness he attempted felt false, every piece of composure barely hanging by a thread. All he could think about was you—the absence of your presence filling every empty space in his mind, as if refusing to be silenced.

He turned slowly from the window, allowing his gaze to wander over his desk. It was almost impossible to remember the last time he’d felt fully at ease in this room. The stacks of designs that had once held so much promise now felt like hollow accomplishments, each one only reminding him of the fire you’d helped him ignite. His eyes landed on a small pendant lying amidst the clutter. The flower encased inside had faded slightly, its once-vibrant petals softened by time. He picked it up, cradling it carefully in his hand, feeling a strange tenderness rise within him.

You’d given him that flower, pressing it into his hand with a shy smile as you murmured something about it bringing him luck. He could still recall the way your fingers had lingered against his, the brief but electric touch that had left him wondering if you felt it too. “For good luck,” you’d said, your eyes sparkling in that way they always did when you felt especially close to him.

Hongjoong swallowed, feeling a tightness in his chest as he held the pendant closer. How was it that something so small could carry the weight of so many memories? He closed his eyes, and the warmth of your smile flashed in his mind, as vivid as if you were standing beside him. But now, as he held the pendant, it felt heavier, like a tiny piece of the past he was terrified of losing forever.

In his mind, he slipped back to that night—the one that had started as an ordinary work session, yet had unraveled into something far more vulnerable. He could still feel the closeness of the room, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows as you both worked side by side, immersed in the quiet moment you shared.

You’d shared things that night that were never meant to leave the room. He could still hear your voice, low and hesitant, as you revealed the fears you held closest to your heart. “Being left alone,” you’d admitted, your words raw and unguarded. The truth of it had lingered between you, a quiet vulnerability that had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

When you turned the question back on him, he’d hesitated, feeling the weight of his own guarded secrets pressing against his chest. But in that quiet space, under the gentle glow of the lamp, he’d found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years. “Losing myself,” he’d whispered, his voice barely audible, but enough for you to hear. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Now, standing alone in his empty office, Hongjoong felt the irony of it all washing over him. He’d tried so hard to protect himself, to build walls so high that even you couldn’t reach them. But now, it felt as if he had developed a new fear bigger than losing himself—losing you.

A quiet knock on the door broke his reverie, and he tensed, slipping the pendant into his pocket as he turned. Wooyoung’s face appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of Hongjoong standing alone, the haunting strains of La Vie en Rose still spinning softly from the record player across the room.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered to the player, where the melody had been looping for what must have been the better part of an hour. “Still here?” he asked quietly, a hint of concern threading his tone.

Hongjoong forced a slight smile, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Wooyoung stepped further into the room, his gaze sharp as it settled on Hongjoong. “You know…” Wooyoung began, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall, “the world can see how miserable you are. Including her—especially her.”

Hongjoong stiffened, the forced nonchalance slipping from his face as he turned away, staring intently at the record player as if it held all the answers he was struggling to find. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung’s tone softened, a hint of exasperation breaking through. “I know you. I know how much you care about her. And I know you’re running from something you can’t outrun. But you’re not fooling anyone by pretending it doesn’t matter.”

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with all the reasons he’d built to keep you at a distance. Each one felt logical, safe, a way to protect himself from something he couldn’t quite name. But here, with Wooyoung standing there, watching him with that steady gaze, he felt every layer he’d built start to unravel.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, barely audible above the music.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning softer, almost pleading. “Then what are you doing, Hongjoong? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone too scared to reach for what he really wants.”

Hongjoong’s heart twisted painfully, Wooyoung’s words hitting far too close to home. He felt the weight of everything he’d tried to suppress rising within him, a tidal wave of emotions he’d buried so deeply he’d convinced himself they were gone. But Wooyoung’s words had brought them to the surface, and now, there was no escaping them.

A silence stretched between them, and Hongjoong’s gaze fell to the floor. In that moment, he felt utterly vulnerable, as though Wooyoung could see right through him, could see the aching desire he’d tried so hard to deny. He didn’t have to say it—Wooyoung already knew.

Hongjoong’s fingers were still curled around the pendant in his pocket when Wooyoung let out a quiet sigh, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “So,” Wooyoung began, breaking the silence, “are you really going to stand here, pretending everything’s fine?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing. He wanted to brush off Wooyoung’s words, to deflect with some casual response that would keep the carefully built walls intact. But his mind was a battlefield, each memory of you cutting through his defenses like a blade.

“Everything is fine,” he replied tersely. He didn’t meet Wooyoung’s eyes, focusing instead on a spot just beyond his shoulder.

Wooyoung’s brows knitted together, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That’s why you’ve been playing her favorite song on loop for the last hour. That’s why you’ve been holed up in here, avoiding anything that reminds you of her.” He shook his head, his tone equal parts exasperation and worry. “Hongjoong, you’re not fooling me. I know you, and I know you’re running from something—from someone.”

Hongjoong let out a low, frustrated sigh, finally looking up at Wooyoung. “Wooyoung, just drop it, alright?” He forced a tense smile, attempting to sound dismissive. “This… whatever you think is going on, it’s all in your head. We were just friends.”

But Wooyoung didn’t budge. “Friends?” He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of disbelief. “You really want to go with that? Because the way you’re acting… it doesn’t look like you’re just missing a friend. You’re avoiding her like she’s a stranger, but then you’re here, playing her favorite song over and over, clutching onto that pendant like it’s the last piece of her you have.”

Hongjoong’s fingers instinctively tightened around the pendant, and he felt a pang of frustration rise within him. He didn’t want to admit that Wooyoung’s words struck too close to home. “I told you, it’s nothing like that,” he bit back, his tone sharper than intended. “You’re turning this into something it isn’t.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his gaze not faltering. “Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re acting like a guy who’s desperately trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t even believe.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Hongjoong, you can’t keep lying to yourself.” Wooyoung’s tone softened, his voice carrying a gentleness that seemed to cut deeper than the words themselves. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I do know that you care about her. You’re not fooling anyone by pretending this distance is ‘better’ for either of you.”

Hongjoong’s patience began to fray, his frustration morphing into anger. He shot Wooyoung a glare, his voice rising. “It is better, Wooyoung. She… she deserves better. She doesn’t need to be pulled into whatever mess I am.” He paused, catching his breath, his anger mingling with something closer to desperation. “I’m not what’s best for her. And it’s better for the both of us if I keep my distance.”

Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his gaze hardening as he stepped closer, unwilling to let Hongjoong brush him off. “So, what? You think pushing her away, acting like she means nothing, is somehow good for her? You really think she’s better off without you?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong replied, his tone final, but the conviction in his voice was starting to waver.

Wooyoung gave him a long, scrutinizing look, and for a moment, the silence between them was thick with unspoken truths. Then, Wooyoung shook his head slowly. “You’re lying to yourself. And honestly? It’s pathetic, Hongjoong. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

The words hit Hongjoong like a slap, and a flash of anger surged within him, simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “I’m doing this for her, so just… stop.”

But Wooyoung wouldn’t relent. “You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing this because you’re afraid. Afraid to admit how much she means to you. Afraid of what might happen if you actually let her in. Whatever you’re afraid of, whatever you think is keeping you from being with her… maybe it’s worth rethinking. Because if you keep running like this, you’re going to lose her. And then what?”

Hongjoong felt his control slipping, the carefully constructed barriers he’d built starting to crack under the weight of Wooyoung’s words. He clenched his fists, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “This isn’t about fear.”

“Isn’t it?” Wooyoung’s voice softened, a hint of understanding breaking through the frustration. “Hongjoong… I get it. You’re scared of losing yourself. Of losing control. But she’s not the one who’s going to make that happen. You are, by doing this. By trying so hard to keep her out.”

Hongjoong stayed silent, his chest tightening as Wooyoung’s words began to sink in. He wanted to deny it, to push back with the same conviction he’d clung to for weeks, but he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew there was truth in Wooyoung’s words.

Finally, Wooyoung let out a sigh, his tone softening even further. “Listen, man. I don’t know what almost happened, or why you’re so determined to stay away from her, but you have to ask yourself… is this really what you want?”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to that night in your apartment—the feeling of your hand brushing his, the way your gaze had lingered on him, the unspoken tension that had nearly pulled him into something he couldn’t name. He’d wanted so badly to close that distance, to feel your lips against his, to let go of the fear and doubt that had held him back. But just as he’d leaned closer, Wooyoung’s call had snapped him out of the moment, bringing him crashing back to reality.

“Do you even understand how much she’s hurting, Hongjoong?” And there it was again—the harshness in Wooyoung’s tone. “Seonghwa told me she’s tearing herself apart over this. She doesn’t eat right anymore, and she barely even sleeps. She spends her nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where things went wrong, wondering if she’s the problem.”

The words landed like a punch to Hongjoong’s gut, leaving him breathless. Images of you flashed through his mind—moments when he’d caught glimpses of your smile faltering, your laughter quieting, the spark in your eyes dimming little by little. He’d told himself it was just his imagination, that you were fine. But Wooyoung’s words shattered that illusion entirely.

“She thinks she did something wrong, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung continued, his voice filled with barely contained anger. “She actually believes she’s the reason you’re running. Every time you disappear, every time you pull away, she thinks it’s because of something she did. And the worst part? She doesn’t even blame you. She blames herself.”

Hongjoong’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as guilt clawed at him.

“Seonghwa told me she asked him if she was too much. Can you believe that?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “She actually thinks she’s too much for you. That she’s somehow burdening you, dragging you down. She’s convinced herself that if she were just… less, maybe you wouldn’t be running.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, a wave of nausea rolling over him as he realized the full extent of the pain he’d caused. You—who had always been so vibrant, so unapologetically yourself—were now questioning every part of who you were, trying to shrink yourself down to avoid scaring him away.

“She’s not even angry at you, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice barely above a whisper now, each word a dagger aimed straight at Hongjoong’s heart. “She doesn’t hate you for this. She just… she thinks she’s not enough. Or that she’s too much. Either way, she’s convinced that she’s the problem.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind reeling. He could feel the anchor of your pain weighing down on him; He’d done this to you—turned you into a shadow of yourself, left you grappling with doubts and insecurities that weren’t yours to bear.

“You’ve been so busy hiding behind your own fears,” Wooyoung continued, “that you haven’t even stopped to consider what this is doing to her. You’re so terrified of being hurt again that you’re hurting her—over and over, every day, with every step you take away from her.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to justify this? How could he explain that he’d been running not to hurt you, but to protect himself? It sounded so selfish, so small in the face of everything you were going through.

“And you know what’s really twisted?” Wooyoung’s voice dropped, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Despite everything, she’d still look at you the same way she did before you started pushing her away. She’d still forgive you, still try to see the good in you, because that’s who she is. That’s how much she cares.”

Hongjoong felt something break inside him, a quiet, shattering realization that left him reeling. You would forgive him. He knew that. He could see it in his mind—the way you’d smile softly, the way your eyes would fill with understanding, even now. Even after everything, you’d welcome him back, arms open, heart exposed, waiting.

“She deserves better, Joong.” Wooyoung’s words were softer now, the anger replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty. “She deserves someone who doesn’t make her question her worth. Someone who doesn’t make her feel like she’s somehow wrong just for being herself. And if you can’t be that for her… if you’re too wrapped up in your own fears to let her in… then you need to let her go.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through him as he struggled to process it all. He didn’t want to let you go. He couldn’t. But the thought of holding onto you only to keep hurting you, to keep dragging you through his own tangled web of insecurities and fears—it was unbearable.

“She’s barely holding up. She hides it well, but Seonghwa can see it. He told me how she sits alone for hours, just staring off into space, like she’s lost something she can’t find. She keeps her phone close, hoping maybe, just maybe, you’ll reach out. But every time you don’t... it breaks her a little more.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened painfully, each word slicing through him like a blade. He could see it so clearly now, every painful moment he’d forced you through. How you must’ve waited for messages that never came, must’ve spent countless nights wondering where things had gone wrong. The thought of you sitting there, lost in your own pain, while he’d been so focused on his own fears, was more than he could bear.

“And don’t think she hasn’t tried to talk to you.” Wooyoung’s voice turned sharp, accusatory. “Seonghwa told me how many times she’s wanted to reach out, just to make sure you’re okay, just to see if you’d give her even a scrap of reassurance. But every time, she stops herself. She doesn’t want to bother you, doesn’t want to seem needy. She’s holding back everything she feels because she’s afraid it’ll push you further away.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened slightly, but the fire of his conviction remained. “You need to understand, Hongjoong. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about her too. You’re hurting her, and if you don’t start realizing that, it’ll be too late. She’s going to break, and I don’t think she’ll come back from it.”

Hongjoong felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. The thought of you shattering into pieces because of his cowardice was unbearable. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to say that he was doing this for you, for the both of you. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He was only trying to shield himself from the fear of loss, the same fear that had haunted him since that girl from his past had walked away.

“I can’t… I can’t lose anyone again, Woo,” Hongjoong finally admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “What if she sees me for who I really am? What if she realizes I’m not worth it?”

Wooyoung shook his head, frustration flashing across his features. “That’s where you’re wrong. She already sees you, and she loves you for all the parts you’re trying to hide. You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but you’re only pushing her further into despair.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions colliding within him. “How do you know? How do you know she feels that way?”

“Because I’ve talked to Seonghwa, and he cares about her, Joong! He’s seen her cry over you. He told me she broke down one night, just sitting on the floor of her room, wondering why you were so distant. She kept saying she must’ve done something wrong. Do you want that for her? Do you want to be the reason she loses herself?”

The image of you curled up alone, tears streaming down your face while grappling with your worth, sliced through Hongjoong. The sheer guilt of it settled heavily in his chest, suffocating him. He had wanted to protect you, but in doing so, he had only hurt you more.

Hongjoong lingered in silence, the weight of his unspoken fears casting a shadow over the room. He could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on him, a

persistent pressure urging him to confront the thoughts he’d been too afraid to voice.

“What if…” The words caught in his throat, his voice strained with the vulnerability he couldn’t hide. “What if I take the next step, and she leaves? What if she ends up leaving just like—”

Wooyoung interrupted him by reaching forward, pressing his fingers gently but firmly to Hongjoong’s lips, shushing him with an authority that surprised them both. “I know what comes next, Hongjoong,” he murmured. “You don’t need to say it.”

Hongjoong stiffened, pulling back ever so slightly, a touch of annoyance flickering across his face. “You think it’s that simple?” he muttered, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You think it’s easy to just… forget?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, though he held firm. “I think you’re holding onto something that’s long gone, Joong. And you’re letting it get in the way of something real.” He paused, leaning forward. “So what if the girl you loved back in middle school left you? You’re still letting her be the one who decides what happens now?”

Hongjoong’s mouth opened, then closed, his defenses crumbling under Wooyoung’s scrutiny. He could feel the words bubbling up, the excuses he’d used to justify his fears over and over, but this time, they didn’t come. The silence between them grew heavier, and he felt himself shrinking under Wooyoung’s eyes.

“It’s not about her,” Hongjoong finally managed, his voice a strained whisper. “It’s just… this was exactly how it started back then. The same moments, the same feelings, and then…” His voice broke, a haunted look creeping into his eyes as the memories clawed their way to the surface. “And then it all just fell apart the moment she left without a word.”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, his gaze filled with something close to sympathy, but there was no pity there, only an understanding forged through years of friendship. “Joong,” he said softly, leaning even closer as if he could bridge the distance that Hongjoong had placed between himself and everyone around him. “So what if some things feel familiar? They’re not the same person, are they? You’re not the same person, either.”

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, a flicker of anger sparking in his chest as he searched for a way to deflect, to deny the truth in Wooyoung’s words. “It’s… it’s not like that, Woo. You don’t get it.” His voice grew sharper, frustration edging his tone as he tried to hold onto the walls he’d built.

Wooyoung shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Really? Because it doesn’t look that way to me.”

Hongjoong looked away, his gaze hardening as he stared at the floor. “It’s not that simple, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to… to risk everything and then lose it.”

Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hongjoong, I may not know exactly what you went through, but I do know one thing: you’re letting something from the past dictate your future. And that’s not fair. Not to you, and definitely not to her.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as he felt the weight of Wooyoung’s words settle over him. Part of him wanted to argue, to cling to the fears that had kept him guarded for so long, but another part—a part he’d buried deep—knew that Wooyoung was right.

“What if I let myself try?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his words laden with the weight of years of doubt and self-preservation. “What if… what if I take that risk, and she ends up leaving?”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward, resting a reassuring hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Joong, if she’s really the person you believe she is… then maybe it’s a risk worth taking. Because people leave, yeah. They walk away. But the ones who matter, the ones who are meant to stay—they won’t go anywhere.”

“You’re saying I should just… trust that?” His voice wavered, the question more for himself than for Wooyoung, as if he needed to convince himself that he could still believe in something other than his own fears.

Wooyoung’s mouth curved into a gentle, understanding smile. “Yeah. Trust it. Don’t let something that’s already gone keep you from what could be right here, right now.”

“What if I let her in? What if I let her see the real me? What if it’s not enough?”

“Then you fight for her,” Wooyoung replied. “You show her every day that she’s enough. You fight for her instead of running away. You have to be brave enough to take the risk, Joong. And if she does leave, at least you’ll know you tried. You can’t live in the shadow of your past forever.”

“But what if she sees me as weak?” Hongjoong countered, bitterness lacing his tone. “What if she thinks I’m broken?”

“Then you show her that even broken pieces can fit together to make something beautiful,” Wooyoung shot back. “You’ve built this wall around yourself, but you’re just hurting the one person who’s tried to break through. You need to trust her. You need to let her help you. She wants to be there for you, but you have to meet her halfway.”

The truth of those words echoed painfully in Hongjoong’s mind. He had been running, terrified of the vulnerability that came with love, terrified of the chance that he could be left once more. But he could feel the edges of that fear beginning to fray under the weight of his guilt, unraveling with every word Wooyoung spoke.

“You can’t let the past dictate your present, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now, a mixture of empathy and frustration. “You can’t keep running away from what you feel. If you do, you’ll end up losing her, and it’ll be your fault.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced as he thought of you—how you had lit up his life in ways he never thought possible. How your laughter had become a soothing balm to his weary soul. He couldn’t keep ignoring the truth that was staring him in the face. The realization washed over him like a cold wave. “What am I supposed to do?” Hongjoong whispered.

“Fight for her, Joong. Show her that you’re not afraid. Be honest with her, and don’t let fear win this time.” Wooyoung leaned closer. “She deserves that much, at the very least. Fight for her—before it’s too late.”

“But what if it already is?”

🪞 — lividstar.

[misswynters]

Ekko being protective while you are expecting

– short drabble

featuring. ekko x pregnant! reader

this was a late night thing so if there’s any mistakes let me know

Bright, golden sunlight filtered through the cracked glass of Zaun’s upper levels, casting a warm glow over the patchwork city. Rustic smell lingered throughout the entire city even in the places were you would think it would be. It was a sharp contrast to the pristine towers and polished streets of Piltover, but you’d come to love the chaotic beauty of Zaun. Its grit and resilience mirrored the spirit of its people, and despite everything, it had become home.

You adjusted the basket on your hip as you weaved through the narrow alleys, a small smile on your lips despite the slight strain in your back. The sounds of the city surrounded you: children laughing as they ran between stalls, the hiss of steam escaping from overhead pipes, and the occasional distant hum of machinery. Though Zaun was far from perfect, it had a heart. A fierce and determined spirit that had drawn you to it.

A boy darted out from a corner, his face smudged with dirt and his eyes wide with curiosity. “Miss!” he called out, holding up a small metal trinket he’d likely scavenged. “For good luck!”

Your heart melted at his gesture, and you crouched carefully to meet him at eye level. “Thank you, sweetheart,” you said warmly, taking the trinket and ruffling his hair. “Here, this is for you.” You handed him a piece of fruit from your basket, earning a toothy grin before he bolted off, his laughter echoing through the alley.

“Shouldn’t be out here on your own,” came a low, familiar voice from above.

You straightened, glancing up to find one of Ekko’s scouts perched on a rusted ledge, his sharp eyes scanning the area. He nodded at you before disappearing into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint sound of his boots against metal. You sighed, shaking your head with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Ekko.

Ever since you’d told him you were expecting, his protectiveness had gone into overdrive. If he wasn’t by your side, he made sure someone else was. and it wasn’t just for appearances. You knew how much he cared, how deeply he felt the responsibility to keep you safe. But it didn’t stop you from feeling a bit smothered at times.

You resumed your walk, stopping occasionally to hand out bread or share a kind word with someone in need. It was who you were, helping others brought you joy, even if it meant ignoring the occasional twinge of discomfort in your back. But as you reached out to give an elderly woman a loaf of bread, you felt a familiar presence behind you, the air around you shifting.

“Thought I told you to rest,” Ekko’s voice came, soft but firm.

You turned, your heart skipping at the sight of him. He leaned casually against the corner of a building, his staff slung over his shoulder, his sharp gaze fixed on you. His white hair gleamed in the sunlight, and there was a mixture of exasperation and fondness in his expression as he approached.

“I’m fine, Ekko,” you said, offering him a small smile. “I was just—”

“Helping people,” he interrupted, his lips quirking slightly. He stepped closer, his presence grounding, and his eyes softened as they drifted to the curve of your stomach. “I know, you’re always helping people.”

“It’s important to me,” you replied, your hands resting over his as he reached out to touch your bump. His palm was warm and steady, and for a moment, the world around you faded away.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s why I love you. But you’ve got to let me take care of you now. Both of you.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten with emotion. You leaned into him, letting his strength envelop you. “You already do,” you whispered, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “I’ve never felt safer.”

Ekko chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around you. “Good. Because I’ve got eyes everywhere, just so you know. You can’t take two steps without someone reporting back to me.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I figured as much. You’re like a hawk.”

“Damn right,” he said, his lips brushing against your forehead. “You’re my whole world now. You think I’m just gonna let you wander off into danger?”

“Danger?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I was handing out bread, not fighting Chem-Barons.”

He laughed, the sound low and rich, as he pulled you closer. “Doesn’t matter. This place has its risks, and I’m not taking any chances. You’re extremely important to me.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to cup his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “I’ll be careful,” you promised, your voice soft. “For you, the boy who worries.”

“For me,” he echoed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “And for them.” His hand rested protectively over your stomach, his touch radiating warmth and love.

Ekko’s arms lingered around you for a moment longer before he sighed, resigned. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone light but firm. “But I’m coming with you. Not taking my eyes off you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his protectiveness, even if it sometimes felt overbearing. “I don’t need a bodyguard, you know.”

He raised a skeptical brow. “You’re carrying our kid in Zaun. You need a whole army.”

Despite the exasperation in his words, there was no mistaking the affection in his voice. He took your basket from you, his staff resting casually on his shoulder as he fell into step beside you. “Lead the way, sweetheart,” he said, a playful edge to his tone, though you could see how his eyes darted to every shadow and figure as you moved through the streets.

You stopped occasionally to talk to people—an older man with a limp, a mother trying to soothe her crying baby, a group of kids selling hand-crafted trinkets. Each time, Ekko hung back slightly, letting you do what you did best but staying close enough that he could intervene if needed.

At one point, you crouched to hand a young girl a piece of fruit, smiling as she thanked you with wide, grateful eyes. Ekko’s gaze softened as he watched, a quiet admiration blooming on his face. This was why he fell for you. Not just your kindness but the way you carried it so effortlessly, even in a place as harsh as Zaun.

But as the day wore on, the basket grew lighter, and your steps began to slow. You passed by a rickety stall that had toppled over, its contents—a pile of salvaged wood and fabric—spilling onto the ground. Without thinking, you bent down to help the vendor gather the scattered pieces.

“Careful,” Ekko warned, his voice sharp with concern as he moved closer.

“I’m fine,” you said lightly, reaching for a particularly large plank. But as you tried to lift it, a sharp twinge shot through your back, and you let out a soft gasp, immediately straightening up.

Ekko was at your side in an instant, his hands on your shoulders. “What happened?” he asked, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed his worry.

“Just… a twinge,” you admitted, wincing slightly. “Nothing serious.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Let me see.” Without waiting for a protest, he gently guided you to lean against a nearby wall, his hands running lightly over your back. “Does it hurt here?” he asked, pressing gently along your spine.

You winced again, and his jaw tightened. “That’s it. You’re done for the day.”

“Ekko—”

“No,” he said firmly, his hands resting on your hips as he looked you in the eye. “You’re done. You’re already doing too much. What if something worse happens? What if—”

He stopped himself, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. The panic was there, just beneath the surface, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt,” he said softly.

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words. Reaching up, you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin. “I’m okay,” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “I promise.”

But Ekko wasn’t having it. He pulled back, taking the basket and slinging it over his shoulder. “We’re going home,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re not carrying anything heavier than a pillow until this baby’s here.”

Despite the sternness of his words, his hand was impossibly gentle as it found yours, intertwining your fingers as he led you back through the streets. Along the way, he shot sharp glares at anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

When you finally reached the hideout you shared, he helped you settle onto the bed, fussing over every detail. He would bring you water, adjusting the pillows, even insisting on propping up your feet.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, though your smile betrayed how much you appreciated his care.

“Yeah, well, you love it,” he shot back, his grin softening as he sat beside you. His hand found your stomach, his thumb brushing in gentle circles. “I just want to keep you comfortable.”

“You already do,” you said, leaning into him. “More than you know.”

Ekko leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there. “Still,” he murmured. “I’ll always do more.”

As the two of you sat there, the weight of the day finally beginning to fade, you realized just how lucky you were. To have someone like ekko be the father of your child.

[theonottsbxtch]

LOVE - LOCKED | FC43

an: this is based off of this request and i hope you like it bc i had sm fun writing a romantic slightly angsty thing i cant wait to hear what y'all thin, i also think it may be slightly rushed tho so lol ALSO LOL WE'RE GONNA PRETEND CARLOS IS YOUNGER IN THIS BC I NEEDED HER TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER

summary: carlos' sister has lived her life completely separated from him and their family name, instead she went and made a name for herself in the tennis world - she likes her life like that. that is until she meets franco colapinto

wc: 8.7k

The roar of engines, even from a distance, unsettled her.

They reminded her of the long days her father and brother spent in garages, the low rumble of motors and sharp tang of fuel in the air. Those were the hours she’d spend alone, working on her serve in the empty court across town, each hit ricocheting off the walls with a hollow, lonely echo. Her own choice, of course. She’d had no interest in the world of carbon fibre and grease, no desire to be the girl who simply tagged along, her name always in her brother’s shadow.

Now, years later, she’d become someone entirely on her own terms. A name people knew on its own — Vázquez de Castro — a name that meant something outside of her family, outside of her brother’s fame.

She slipped her phone into her bag and looked around the chaotic pit lane. Journalists, engineers, teams in matching shirts, faces alight with anticipation for the weekend's race. She knew she’d stand out here; her face might be familiar, but she was a stranger in this world.

The hum of voices around her faded as she felt his gaze. She’d been hoping to move through unnoticed, just a face in a sea of faces, but there he was: tall, familiar, unmistakably Carlos. His brow furrowed in surprise as he caught sight of her, his quick steps carrying him closer before she had a chance to dodge. She braced herself, turning to him with a calm that she didn’t quite feel.

“No aquí,” she murmured, her voice low, hoping that would be enough to keep curious ears at bay.

He paused, just a moment, his expression softening in understanding, and he tilted his head, his face somewhere between a grin and a frown. “You came.”

It wasn’t an accusation exactly — more surprise than anything. But she couldn’t miss the faint hope in his eyes, as if he thought she might be here to see him, to share a piece of his world after all this time. She let his words linger for a beat before she replied, her tone steady.

“I was invited,” she said, giving a slight shrug, “by Fernando.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the green and silver canopy, keeping her tone casual, but she saw his shoulders fall ever so slightly.

He nodded, glancing away for a moment, his jaw set. “Right. Fernando.”

There was something she wanted to say, something to soften the look in his eyes, but the pit lane was crowded, the eyes and cameras trained on every inch of the paddock sharper than she’d ever expected. They’d notice anything. And the last thing she wanted was for the papers to start spinning stories, putting her under a headline right next to him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Te hablo en el hotel. I’ll speak to you at the hotel.”

As she made her way toward the exit, ready to slip back into the background and disappear, she heard a voice calling out just over the rumble of engines and chatter.

“¡La princesa española!”

The words were unmistakable, lilting and clear, even with the crowd and machinery all around. The Spanish Princess. The nickname made her falter. It was something she sometimes heard on the tennis courts in Madrid or whispered by fans in distant cities when she played in international tournaments. But here? She scanned the area, puzzled at who would recognise her in this world of racing.

When she turned, her eyes met those of someone unfamiliar yet striking. He was tall, with an easy, disarming smile, his race suit gleaming with the bright, bold colours of his team’s livery. He looked young, not much older than she was, but he carried himself with that unmistakable energy she’d seen in rising stars before. The rookie, she realised, though she hadn’t kept up enough to know his name.

He held her gaze a moment too long, that same smile lingering as he approached, his eyes sparking with something between amusement and curiosity. She felt herself tense, almost involuntarily, her instinct telling her to slip away, to avoid whatever came next.

“Es realmente la princesa española,” he said, his tone playful yet certain.

Then it hit her.

Franco.

That was his name.

Franco’s grin widened as he closed the distance between them, his eyes bright with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “Soy un gran admirador de tu trabajo,” he said, his Argentine accent softening his words. “I’ve watched almost all your matches — I love the way you play.”

She blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t the usual kind of recognition she got, especially not here. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been recognised in public. She looked at him, trying to reconcile this confident young driver with the earnest fan in front of her.

“¿Me conoces?” The question slipped out before she could think, her voice tinged with disbelief.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “¿Quién no te conoce?” he replied, with a touch of humour. “La princesa española, queen of the clay court, unstoppable backhand — yeah, I know you.”

There was something genuine in his tone, something that set him apart from the usual strangers who said they knew her. 

And before she could stop herself, she found herself almost smiling. She cleared her throat, searching for a response, but her mind was blank. What could she say? That she knew nothing of him, or any of these people — that she had only set foot here today by chance?

She settled for a simple, “Gracias.”

Franco’s curiosity didn’t waver. He leaned in slightly, folding his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. “So, what brings la princesa española to the F1 paddock?”

She shrugged lightly, careful not to reveal too much. “I’m here as one of Fernando Alonso’s guests. Aston Martin.” She left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t dig further. Noticing that she looked a bit like another driver on the paddock. Thankfully, he didn’t.

His grin only grew wider, and she had the feeling that her mystery intrigued him. “Well then, if you’re one of Fernando’s guests, that means you’re not tied to my team,” he said with a glint of mischief. “Come with me — I’ll give you a tour of my garage. It’ll be like… a private tour.”

She hesitated, her gaze shifting back toward the exit, where she’d planned to slip out and leave all of this behind. If she went with him, there was a chance people would recognise her, start to connect her with her brother’s world. She’d spent her whole career carefully avoiding this — the headlines, the whispers, the inevitable questions about why she’d chosen such a different path. But the look on his face, that open, boyish enthusiasm, was hard to resist.

She let out a sigh, then looked up at him with a sudden, defiant glimmer in her eye. “Screw it. ¿Por qué no?”

His whole face lit up. She could practically see the excitement radiating off him as he extended his hand, his confidence a little too easy, a little too certain. She eyed his hand for a moment before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“Modales,” she chided, her tone playful. “I’ve known you for five minutes. We’re not dating.”

“Yet,” he replied without missing a beat, a spark in his eyes.

Despite herself, she smiled, a real one, something she hadn’t felt since stepping into the paddock that day.

He led her through the bustling paddock with an easy confidence, weaving between crew members, equipment, and cameras as if none of it could touch him. She was impressed, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. The chaos of the pit lane, the narrow spaces and the clang of metal, all seemed to bend around him.

When they reached his team’s garage, he stopped by a young assistant stationed just outside, who looked at them with curious eyes.

“Do me a favour,” he said, barely containing his grin, “and grab a VIP lanyard for Williams’ guests, will you?”

The assistant glanced at her, his eyes widening slightly in recognition before he nodded and ducked away, returning a moment later with a crisp, team-branded lanyard. Franco took it with a pleased smile, then held out his hand for hers. She unclipped the Aston Martin lanyard from her neck and handed it over, watching with a mix of surprise and amusement as he replaced it with the one from his own team.

“There,” he said, adjusting the lanyard’s position with exaggerated care. “Now you’re officially part of the team.”

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “You know, I don’t think lanyards change allegiances so easily.”

“Maybe not. But I do think it’s an improvement.” He winked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Besides, the only lanyard you should be wearing here is mine.”

She laughed, caught off guard by his unfiltered charm, as he held out his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “And now, mi princesa, a grand tour.”

He led her into the garage, his tone switching between informative and teasing as he explained the various stations. “Over here, we have the engineering bay — where the magic of data happens.” He gestured toward a row of monitors displaying endless streams of numbers. “And these guys in the corner? They’re the wizards of aerodynamics. Make a mess, they won’t let you forget it.”

As they moved through each section, he offered her a glimpse into the world of F1, his energy and excitement almost contagious. She watched him with quiet intrigue; he seemed to belong here completely, as if he thrived in the chaos and intensity of it all.

“Now, over here,” he continued, leaning a bit closer to her as they approached a sleek wall of tires and tools, “this is where I go for my pre-race pep talks. I think it helps the tires, too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You talk to the tires?”

“Only on occasion,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “And they listen. Or at least, I hope they do.” He grinned again, that glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Besides, they never talk back.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but there was a smile in it, one she couldn’t quite suppress. He was disarming, funny in a way that felt refreshingly different from the sharp, serious world she’d known. He noticed the hint of a smile and held her gaze, leaning in just slightly.

Before she could say anything else, Franco led her deeper into the garage, weaving through the maze of tools, car parts, and engineers, who looked up now and then with curious glances. She followed, intrigued despite herself, and finally, unable to keep silent, asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, shooting her a look over his shoulder that was both charming and infuriatingly vague.

He stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away from the bustle of the main garage. She glanced around, realising they were in the private part of the team’s area. He opened the door to his driver room, gesturing for her to step inside. The room was small but comfortable, filled with team memorabilia, spare racing gloves, and a neat rack of team-branded clothes. Before she could take it all in, he went over to a stack of neatly folded shirts and pulled one from the pile.

He turned back to her, holding up the shirt with a proud smile. “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Wear this tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and the shirt with mock scepticism. “Bold of you to assume I’d wear your merch.”

His grin only widened. “I think you’d look great in it,” he said, undeterred. “Besides, it’d be an honour to have la princesa española in my colours.”

She took the shirt, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and met his gaze with a slight smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me,” he replied, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to say more, but just then, his phone buzzed on the nearby table, and he glanced at it with a slight frown before pocketing it again.

“So,” he continued, his tone shifting to something a little more casual, “what are you doing for dinner?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t planned on lingering much longer after her brother’s race prep finished. She hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But he was watching her expectantly, and for a moment, she let herself consider it.

“Dinner?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted with a grin. “What do you say? Let me take you out. I promise I’m as good at picking places to eat as I am at tours.”

She couldn’t resist a small laugh. “Alright,” she said, glancing up at him with an easy smile. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then, a voice called out from down the hallway. “Franco man, we’ve been looking all around for you!” A team manager appeared in the doorway, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

Franco sighed, flashing her an apologetic look as he straightened. “Duty calls,” he muttered with a smirk. He lingered a moment, as if reluctant to leave, then glanced back at her with a warm smile.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, feeling a thrill she hadn’t expected. “See you tonight.”

He nodded, his grin returning full force, then turned to follow the manager out, giving her a final, backward glance that lingered just a second too long.

Back in her hotel room, she brushed a final touch of mascara over her lashes and glanced at her phone, where a text from Franco glowed on the screen.

Franco: “Ready whenever you are. No rush. See you soon :)”

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Tonight felt surprisingly… normal. Like she was just someone getting ready for a date, no stakes attached. She straightened her dress, checked her reflection, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at her door snapped her from her thoughts, and she felt a small flutter of excitement, assuming it was him. But when she opened the door, her breath caught.

Her brother stood there, his expression a mixture of confusion and something she couldn’t quite read. She masked her surprise quickly, stepping aside to let him in, though her voice was firm. “I can talk for a bit, but I have plans tonight.”

“With Franco?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

He gave a soft, humourless laugh, crossing his arms. “I saw you two in the paddock,” he said. “And I overheard him talking about it in the garage. Apparently, he couldn’t stop telling anyone who’d listen about his ‘date with la princesa de España.’” He looked at her, and his voice softened. “So why is it you have no problem being seen with him, but not with your own brother?”

His question hung heavily in the air, the familiar tension between them settling back into place. She took a breath, struggling for the right words. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen with him — it was the weight of everything that came with it. The press, the fans, the inevitable comparisons. She could already see the headlines if they were spotted together, her name placed directly beside his, stripping away the hard-won independence she’d fought for.

She sighed, glancing at him. “It’s not… about you,” she said carefully. “It’s just… everything that comes with it. You know how it is.”

He shook his head, looking slightly hurt. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve always thought we were supposed to be in this together. But I feel like… I don’t know, like you’re just trying to run from anything that connects us.”

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe, her voice dropping to something softer, more serious. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I just don’t want to be known as Carlos’ sister everywhere I go. I’ve worked hard to build my own name, my own career, and sometimes… being around you, it overshadows that.”

Her brother studied her, his face a mix of understanding and something else, a flash of protective instinct. “You know, if you date Franco, you’ll just end up being known as his girlfriend,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s just a date, Carlos. Nothing more.”

He shrugged, his mouth quirking in a small smile. “Yeah, well, with him, nothing ever stays ‘just’ anything. Just saying.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth behind it. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”

They shared a quiet moment of understanding before she gently nudged him toward the door. “Go get some rest. And good luck tomorrow. I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.”

The evening was soft and cool, the sky painted in shades of violet and indigo as the city stretched out below them. The balcony they’d stepped onto was tucked away from the bustling noise of the hotel, private and intimate, offering only the sounds of the night breeze and the occasional far-off hum of the city.

Franco had arranged it all—quiet, serene, away from prying eyes. The dinner was simple but elegant: a few delicate dishes of fresh seafood, wine that wasn’t too heavy, just enough to let the conversation flow freely. It was just the two of them, and she realised as she stood there, her hand brushing the railing, how rare that felt.

She’d worn a dress that was understated, yet elegant—a deep midnight blue that mirrored the evening sky, the fabric light enough to catch the breeze. She hadn’t given it much thought; it wasn’t for anyone but herself. But when Franco first saw her, the look in his eyes told her that, maybe, it had been the right choice after all.

His gaze lifted from the table where he had been adjusting the wine glasses, and the moment he saw her, the words spilled out before he could even stop them.

“Dios mío, qué hermosa estás.” His voice was low, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

She felt her cheeks flush, the compliment unexpected but not unwelcome. She had been nervous about the evening, unsure of what this was or what it would become. But his words, simple and sincere, relaxed something inside her.

“Gracias,” she replied with a small smile, feeling the warmth in her chest spread, her eyes meeting his.

He stood up, taking a small step toward her as if to take in the full picture, his gaze never leaving her face. “I swear,” he continued, his voice filled with genuine awe, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more stunning than earlier. It's like... you're glowing.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’re just being kind.”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. “I’m not the kind of guy to throw compliments around just to be polite. Te ves increíble, you look incredible.”

After a decent amount of eating, a stretched out silence, Franco spoke up. “So,” he began, his voice casual but warm, “what’s it like to be the la princesa española outside of tennis?”

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t really think of myself as that,” she said lightly. “It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “I think it suits you. You have a... regal air about you.” His eyes glinted with mischief as he added, “I’m sure you’d never get away with being late for anything. Everyone would just wait for the princess to show up.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “You really are persistent with those compliments, aren’t you?”

“Solo con la verdad,” he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

The evening unfolded easily after that. They spoke about everything and nothing: about their childhoods, what had brought them to this point in their careers, how it felt to always be in the spotlight. She told him stories from her tennis matches, and he shared wild tales of racing, of the constant pressure and adrenaline.

But it was the quieter moments, the small pauses between their words, that felt the most significant. When he leaned in to pass her the bottle of wine, their hands brushed, and the air seemed to thicken for a moment. His gaze lingered a bit longer than it needed to, and she noticed the subtle way his smile softened when their eyes met. She wasn’t used to this — this ease, this comfort that felt so unforced — but it was exactly what she hadn’t realised she’d been searching for.

“You know,” Franco said, his tone thoughtful, “I can’t remember the last time I had a night like this. Just—” He waved his hand toward the view, the quiet that surrounded them. “It’s nice. To not be rushing off to something. No cameras, no expectations.”

She looked out over the balcony at the skyline, the city lights twinkling in the distance. “I know what you mean. There’s always so much noise, so many people trying to pull you in different directions. It’s rare to just… be.” She turned to look at him, her voice lowering slightly. “It’s a little surreal, actually.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a silence between them that felt like a shared understanding. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at her, his expression genuine. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight. I’m glad I got to spend this time with you.”

Her heart did a little flip at the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the evening, but this — this felt right.

“So,” he continued, his voice lightening again, “any chance I can convince you to wear my team’s shirt tomorrow?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said with a wink, “but only because I know you’d look amazing in it.”

She rolled her eyes but could feel the warmth in her chest spread. “I’ll think about it,” she teased, mirroring his playful tone.

The conversation drifted back to lighter topics, the evening unfolding with ease as the world seemed to blur around them. As the night deepened, they shared stories, laughter, and quiet glances that spoke volumes. It wasn’t the fireworks, the grand gestures of a first date. But it was something else — something that felt like a beginning.

When the last of the wine was finished, and the candles flickered low, Franco stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes told her everything. His fingers brushed against hers, and she didn’t pull away.

As the night grew later, the air around them cooled, and they moved to the edge of the balcony, gazing out over the city. The quiet was comforting, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the stillness between them.

She let out a small sigh, her mind wandering, and with it, the weight of everything that had brought her to this moment. She looked up at him, caught in the calm but uncertain about what this night might mean.

"Well, this has been lovely," she said, her voice light but tinged with something else. "But, just so you know… this is probably going to be our only date."

His eyebrows furrowed, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Why?” he asked, his tone suddenly laced with concern. “Have I done something wrong?”

She met his gaze, her chest tight for reasons she couldn’t quite place. There was no logical reason for her to feel that way — he had been nothing but kind, charming, and genuine all night. But there was still that lingering sense of hesitation, a wall she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tear down.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to reassure him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked at her for a long moment, studying her face. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, something quieter, as if he were trying to understand her better.

“I’m not really a person who runs from things," she said, her voice lowering slightly, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “But there are parts of my life I’m... careful about. I can’t help but keep them to myself.”

She hesitated, feeling a strange tug in her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she found herself wanting to share something personal, something she had hidden away. She took a breath and let it slip out before she could second-guess herself.

“I have a brother,” she began, looking out at the city below them, trying to steady her voice. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Franco froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait... what?”

She glanced at him, a slight laugh escaping her lips at the look of genuine surprise on his face. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Carlos.”

He blinked, his surprise turning into a quiet sense of disbelief. “Carlos Sainz?” He repeated her brother’s name, almost as if he were trying to process it. “I had no idea…”

She looked at him, a slight sadness settling in her chest. “Most people don’t,” she said, her voice quiet now. “I never tell anyone. I’ve worked my entire life to be known for me—for what I do, not because of who I’m related to. I don’t want to live in someone’s shadow.”

Franco didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch out between them. He was thinking, she could tell. It was as though he were weighing her words, weighing the tension in her tone. Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice steady but sincere.

“With me, you wouldn't,” he said, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that took her by surprise. “You wouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow. Not if you didn’t want to be.”

She was quiet for a long moment, his words sinking in. Part of her wanted to dismiss it, wanted to keep pushing away the idea of anyone in her life stepping into that shadow. But there was something in his eyes—something honest and unwavering—that made her hesitate. He wasn’t offering her fame or status. He was offering her something far simpler. The space to be herself.

Then, he said something that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll be your WAG,” he said, his voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, his smile just a little crooked.

She laughed, a quick, startled sound. “What?” she teased, shaking her head. “Are you serious? ‘WAG’—really?”

He leaned in slightly, the smile still on his face but his eyes unflinching. “En serio. I’m serious.” he added with a little more emphasis, the words flowing naturally from him.

Her laughter died down, replaced by a brief, curious silence. She was still processing his words, still trying to understand how it had escalated from a simple dinner to this.

“You’re joking,” she said softly, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously.

“No,” he7 replied, his voice now calm, almost earnest. “I’m not. Look, I get it. The whole ‘WAG’ thing... it sounds ridiculous, I know. But the way I see it, we’d be a team. You’d have my back, and I’d have yours. No shadows, no expectations, just us. What we make of it.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms as she considered what he was saying. The idea of it felt foreign, a little intimidating, but something about it also felt right in a way she hadn’t expected. No grand gestures, no drama. Just… us, as he’d said.

“Don’t you think I’d look good in a sponsored Channel crop top?” he joked, and the thought of it made her laugh.

Before she could stop it, however, her mind flashed to her brother, to the years of keeping her life private, to the way she had fought so hard to remain in the background of her family’s legacy. And yet here was Franco, offering something different. He wasn’t asking her to be a part of his world—he was offering her a partnership, an equal footing.

For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to truly think about what that might mean. To be seen, not as someone’s sister or someone’s girlfriend, but just as herself.

“Maybe... maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain but filled with a growing sense of possibility.

Franco looked at her, a quiet confidence in his eyes. “Entonces, we’ll figure it out together. No shadows. Just us.”

“Just us.”

“You better wear my shirt tomorrow,” he said, his voice teasing but hopeful.

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at him. “I’ll think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You better. I’ll be watching.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his persistence. “We’ll see.”

The next morning arrived with the usual rush, the anticipation of race day filling the air. She woke up to a sunlit room and a few messages on her phone, the familiar bustle of the paddock already beginning to take shape outside her window. As she moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead, her mind wandered back to the previous evening.

She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair back into a sleek ponytail, glancing over her outfit choices. She’d packed a nice pair of fitted trousers and a smart blouse for the day. But then, as she opened her suitcase to grab something, she saw it—the shirt.

It was sitting on top of her suitcase, folded neatly, the soft fabric of his team’s shirt catching the light. The sight of it made her pause. She could feel a flutter of uncertainty in her chest as she stared at the shirt. It wasn’t like her to let herself be swayed by someone else’s request. But something about Franco, about the way he’d looked at her, made her reconsider.

She bit her lip, considering her options. The shirt was casual, simple, but it also felt like a statement. She could wear it for him, just this once, maybe just to see how it felt. There was no harm in that, right?

She grabbed the shirt, examining it for a moment. It was an understated design—his team’s logo in the corner, a soft fabric, nothing too flashy. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would normally wear, but for some reason, she felt drawn to it. And then it hit her—maybe it wasn’t about the shirt at all. It was about the confidence to wear it, to stand beside him and let the world see her as she was, without hesitation.

She had a moment of inspiration.

Instead of simply slipping it on with jeans like she’d imagined, she decided to give it a bit of a twist. She styled it with an oversized blazer, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the shirt underneath, and a pair of high-waisted pants. The look was effortlessly cool, edgy, but still very much her. She paired it with a pair of sleek, minimalist sneakers, and, just before she finished, added a bold red lip to complete the ensemble.

When she looked in the mirror, she felt a sense of pride. It was a simple shirt, yes, but it was her way of wearing it. And somehow, it made her feel like she was making her own mark, not hiding behind anyone else’s expectations.

She grabbed her phone, checking the time, then sent Franco a quick message.

“I thought about it. I’ll wear the shirt. But only because it goes with my outfit.”

She added a playful winking emoji before hitting send, knowing that he’d appreciate the humour in it.

The morning was just beginning to pick up its pace as she finished getting ready. The weight of the day’s events, the race, the energy of the paddock, all began to settle in. But for the first time in a while, she felt a small sense of excitement, an eagerness she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t about the race itself, but about the people she was meeting, the connections she was making, and—perhaps most unexpectedly—what might lie ahead with Franco.

She was just about to head out of her hotel room when there was a knock on the door. She knew that knock—steady and familiar. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find her brother standing there, his usual calm exterior softened by a quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, stepping back to let him in. She could tell he was a bit surprised when he saw the shirt she was wearing—the shirt of a rival team. He glanced at it, one brow raised slightly, but he didn’t comment, just closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.

He took a deep breath, as if he’d been building up to this. “Are you… thinking of seeing him again?”

There was something tentative in the way he asked, a kind of brotherly concern that she hadn’t seen in a long time. She shrugged, trying to keep her tone casual. “Maybe. I’m considering it.”

He nodded slowly, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “Why are you okay with being seen with him, and not with me?”

The question landed heavily between them, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression, the unspoken hurt in his eyes. It was rare for him to open up like this, to say exactly what was on his mind. She let out a long breath, searching for the right words.

“It’s different,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Different how?” he pressed, his tone gentle but persistent.

She met his gaze, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t realised just how much this division had affected them both, how much it lingered in moments like these. “I never felt like I was a part of your world,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “It wasn’t just about you. It was Dad, too. He… he made it clear that I wasn’t cut out to be a part of it. I wasn’t… enough. Not like you.”

He looked at her, the quiet hurt in his eyes turning into something deeper, something sadder. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “How could you? You were busy making him proud. And you were great at it. I always saw how he looked at you, how proud he was of everything you were doing. He saw you as this… continuation of him, of his legacy. But me… I was never part of that.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he processed her words. “I never wanted it to be that way. I thought you just didn’t care about what we were doing. I thought you were happy doing your own thing.”

“I am,” she said, and she meant it. “Tennis is my world; it’s where I feel strong, where I feel like I belong. But… it didn’t come without sacrifices. I grew up watching you and Dad bond over racing, and it was like there was this door between us that was shut for good. I could watch, but I couldn’t be a part of it.”

There was a long pause, her brother absorbing her words, the weight of years of misunderstanding settling between them.

“I wish I’d known,” he said finally, his voice soft, tinged with regret. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be a part of it. I thought it didn’t matter to you if Dad and I had that bond. But I get it now. I see what it must’ve felt like, standing on the outside.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken years filling the space between them. And then he added, “You know, you don’t have to keep yourself hidden to be in my life, right? I get it now. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Her throat tightened, a wave of unexpected emotion rising within her. She’d spent so long feeling like an outsider in her own family, so sure that her brother had never noticed. But now, here he was, standing in front of her, wanting to bridge that gap.

“It’s hard to just undo it all,” she admitted. “Sometimes, it feels easier to just… stay on my own path. To keep these things separate.”

He nodded, understanding. “But if you’re thinking of seeing Franco… letting yourself be part of his world… doesn’t it mean you’re ready to be seen? To be yourself, even in places that are unfamiliar?”

She considered this, his words striking a chord deep within her. He wasn’t wrong. She’d spent so long hiding parts of herself, keeping herself separate to avoid comparison or judgement. But with Franco, she hadn’t felt the same need. For once, she had felt like she could be herself—no shadows, no expectations.

“I think… I just want to find something that’s mine,” she said finally. “A space where I’m not just ‘your sister,’ where I don’t have to carry someone else’s legacy.”

Her brother gave her a soft, understanding look. “You’ve already done that. You are more than just my sister. You’ve made a name for yourself that has nothing to do with anyone else. You’re not living in anyone’s shadow… but if you ever want to step into our world—my world—I’d like to be part of yours too. Just… let me be there for you, even if it’s only sometimes.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of warmth, a sense of connection that hadn’t been there before. Maybe there was room for both worlds, after all. For the first time, she felt like she didn’t have to choose.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, echoing her words from last night.

He smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I hope you do.”

With that, he gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, a wordless acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. And as he left, she felt a sense of closure, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to keep running from her family’s legacy to be seen as her own person. She could walk her own path, even if it sometimes crossed into theirs.

She arrived at the paddock a little while later, weaving her way through the bustle of race day, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Wearing Franco’s shirt under her blazer felt like a small, bold choice—one that had her both excited and slightly nervous. She walked through the crowd until she reached his team’s garage, where the energy was already crackling with anticipation.

As soon as she stepped in, Franco spotted her from across the garage. His face lit up the second he saw her, and he immediately started making his way toward her. When he was close enough, he lowered his voice and said in Spanish, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Wait here for just a second. Don’t move.”

Before she could respond, he turned and jogged back toward his driver’s room, leaving her standing in the middle of the garage, a little bewildered but smiling to herself. She watched as he disappeared into the room, curious about whatever he was planning. Within a moment, he was back, holding a bouquet of flowers—a mix of deep red roses and bright sunflowers, their colours vivid against the greys and metallics of the garage.

“For you,” he said, handing them over with a grin, his accent warm and lilting. His eyes softened as he added, “To celebrate your first race day as my guest.”

She took the bouquet, feeling a rush of warmth as she held the flowers. “You know, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just here as… well, just as me.”

“And I think that’s worth celebrating,” he replied smoothly, his gaze locked on hers with unmistakable admiration. “Besides, you didn’t say no to the shirt, so I think I’m allowed a little celebration, no?”

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she looked down at the bouquet. “Alright, fine. You win. Thank you—they’re beautiful.”

Franco glanced around the garage, then leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a playful murmur. “You know, you’re even more beautiful than I remember from last night. I thought maybe I was exaggerating, but… no. I wasn’t.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re trying to distract me from the race.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, chuckling. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, he looked around the garage again and spotted one of his engineers nearby. Franco gestured to the man, who quickly nodded, understanding exactly what Franco was after.

The engineer handed him a headset, and Franco turned back to her, holding it up. “Here—so you can listen in and watch from inside the garage. You’ll get the best seat here.”

She blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You’ll get to hear all the comms, see how it all works up close. Plus”—he leaned in, his voice low—“you’ll have an excuse to stay around here.”

She shook her head with a smirk, taking the headset from him. “Alright. But only because you’ve convinced me with flowers and shameless flattery.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin widening as he watched her settle the headset over her ears. “I’ll keep it coming if it means you stay.”

As the team began their pre-race preparations, Franco showed her the best spot to watch from, and he took a few moments to explain some of the technical details. She found herself captivated, not just by the race, but by the way he was so eager to share his world with her. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite herself, she felt the thrill of race day in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Before he had to step away to start his own warm-up routine, he gave her one last look, his gaze holding a touch of that familiar mischievous glint. “Enjoy the show, princesa. And don’t go falling in love with the cars now—they’re not as charming as I am.”

She laughed, giving him a playful shove. “No promises.”

Franco winked, backing away with a grin as he joined the other drivers and team members preparing for the race. She stayed in the garage, feeling the weight of the headset and bouquet in her hands, both of them symbols of the way her world had shifted in just a few days.

As she watched him walk away, his words echoing in her ears, she realised just how different today felt. For the first time, she wasn’t just watching as an outsider; she was here, part of the energy, sharing a moment in his world, just as he’d promised. And maybe—just maybe—she was finally ready to be a part of something new.

The race was intense, the roar of engines filling the air as she watched Franco’s car weave through the track, making his way up from P16 to P12, gaining positions one by one with determined precision. Her heart raced with every turn, every overtake. She’d never felt the thrill of Formula One from this close before, and she found herself completely absorbed, balancing her attention between the live race and the screens in the garage that tracked every driver’s progress.

And then, in the final laps, her eyes moved to another part of the screen—a familiar car that was in the lead. A red car. Her brother was out front, defending his position with expert skill, pushing with everything he had toward the finish line. She held her breath, fingers tightening around the edges of the headset as she watched the seconds count down. When he crossed the finish line in first place, a feeling she hadn’t expected washed over her—pride, pure and radiant, filled her chest. She found herself clapping, cheering, a bright smile spreading across her face.

Franco, having just finished his own race and done the mandatory weigh-in and debrief with his engineers, finally found her in the garage. He looked exhausted but happy, his face still flushed from the adrenaline of the race. When he walked over, he paused, noticing the way her eyes were glued to the screen as her brother celebrated his victory, lifting his fists in the air in triumph.

“You’re glowing,” Franco murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her reaction.

She blinked, glancing back at him and realising how giddy she must look. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it would feel like this. I’m just… so happy for him.” Her voice was breathless, filled with a genuine joy she couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Then you should go to him. He’s probably waiting for you.”

She shook her head, hesitating, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t… I don’t belong over there, with everyone. That’s his world.”

Franco tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “Maybe that’s true most days. But today, you belong there just as much as anyone else. He’s your brother. Go celebrate with him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She bit her lip, uncertainty still holding her back. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Start with congratulations,” Franco said, flashing her a gentle, reassuring grin. “Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

He gestured toward the edge of the garage, where the barriers separated the track from the paddock. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, taking a shaky breath as he guided her forward. The crowd around them was roaring with excitement as her brother’s car was pulled into parc fermé, fans and teammates celebrating around him. She could feel her heart pounding, each step filling her with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

At the barrier, Franco gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Go on. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

With that, he released her hand, and she took a step forward, catching sight of her brother through the haze of people and cameras. He was laughing, practically glowing as he embraced his team, still basking in the thrill of his victory. And then, as if sensing her, he turned and saw her standing there, just beyond the barrier.

His expression softened, and a smile broke across his face, one that was filled with surprise and unmistakable happiness. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made his way over, reaching out to pull her into a tight, heartfelt hug. She hugged him back, feeling the last remnants of the old distance between them dissolve as she held her brother close, finally sharing in his moment.

When they pulled apart, he looked at her, pride shining in his eyes. “You came,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She laughed softly, tears threatening to sting her eyes. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick, brotherly kiss to her forehead. “Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here. Really.”

As the team around them cheered and the cameras continued to flash, she felt the enormity of the moment—a sense of belonging, not just as a tennis player, or his sister, but as herself.

She grinned at her brother, reaching up to ruffle his hair in a rare show of sibling affection. “Te quiero mucho, hermanito,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

His smile softened, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Te quiero también,” he replied, wrapping her in one last quick hug. “Thank you for being here. Really.”

The moment was brief but profound, a quiet reassurance that, despite the different worlds they had each chosen, they were still connected. He glanced back toward his team, who were waving him over for post-race celebrations and interviews.

“I have to go,” he said, releasing her. “But I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him a nod and a small wave as he returned to his crew. She watched him for a moment longer, feeling a sense of pride she hadn’t felt in years—one that was entirely unclouded by the complexities of the past. Then she turned and made her way back toward Franco’s garage, her heart still racing from the intense energy of the day.

When she found him, Franco was waiting near the garage entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a proud smile lighting up his face as he saw her approach.

“You did it,” he said softly, admiration in his eyes. “You finally let yourself be a part of all this.”

As she reached Franco, he turned to face her, his expression softening with a mixture of pride and relief as he took her hands in his. Her heart pounded, the intensity of the day lingering between them like a magnetic pull. She gazed up at him, her breath catching as she saw the warmth in his eyes—the genuine care and admiration there, as if he saw every part of her that she had worked so hard to keep separate.

Without a word, she stepped closer, her hand moving up to rest gently against his cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching hers, as if waiting for her to close the last small gap between them. Finally, she leaned up, closing her eyes as her lips met his in a slow, lingering kiss.

The world around them seemed to dissolve, the roar of the crowd and bustle of the paddock fading as the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch both steady and tender. She felt the warmth of him seep into her, grounding her in the moment, and she responded instinctively, fingers threading through his hair as he held her tighter. There was a gentleness in his touch, but an undeniable passion too, a desire that built slowly between them.

Time slipped away as they shared this unguarded moment, the boundaries she had set for herself crumbling with every heartbeat. She could feel the strength in his arms, the quiet reassurance he offered, and a warmth that sparked through her, as if he was silently promising that he would be there, no matter what.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing a little harder, their foreheads touching as they lingered close, unwilling to step away. Franco’s thumb traced a gentle line along her jaw as he looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with an affection so deep that it nearly overwhelmed her. “I needed that push,” she murmured against his lips.

His arms came around her, but he laughed as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on,” he said with a teasing glint, “the cameras have probably caught enough kissing for one day.”

She chuckled, letting him lead her back toward the quiet of his garage, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd. For the first time, she felt an undeniable sense of belonging—not just to the world she had worked so hard to create for herself, but to this moment, with him, with her family. She’d finally allowed herself to be part of it all, and it felt right in a way she hadn’t expected.

the end.

[thedensworld]

Arrangement Crossed | K.Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: arrange engagement au

Summary: Mingyu started to enjoy the arrangement between him and you. What should he do?

Why do birds suddenly appear everytime that you near? Just like me i long to be close to you. - Close To You by Carpenters

Mingyu sprinted from his car, heart pounding, as he rushed toward the scene. One of the doctors at the hospital had mentioned that a fire had broken out in a Gangnam district building—your building. His breath was ragged as he pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. Paramedics and firefighters swarmed the area, the flames now subdued, but the remnants of the fire still smoked in the air. A police officer stopped him from moving closer.

"My fiancée lives there," Mingyu gasped, his voice tight with anxiety.

Just as the officer held him back, he spotted you in the distance. You were casually walking, still in your pajamas, holding a half-eaten ice cream cone. Mingyu's eyes widened, watching as your expression changed the moment you took in the sight of your charred apartment building.

"My apartment!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with frustration as Mingyu hurried over to you.

Mingyu quickly examined you, scanning for any signs of injury. A wave of relief washed over him when he realized you had been safely outside while the fire ravaged your home. His tense shoulders relaxed for the first time since hearing the news.

"Where were you?" he asked, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you seemed so unfazed by the chaos around you.

You blinked, a bit dazed by everything. "I was out for a meal..."

Mingyu glanced at his watch—half and an hour left before his surgery. "I'm glad you're alright. I’ll drive you to my place for now. I’ve got surgery in an hour."

The procedure went smoothly, but exhaustion weighed heavily on him as he sat in his office afterward. All he wanted was to go home and collapse into bed. But he hesitated, remembering that you were now at his apartment. The two of you had never really shared a space before, and the thought made him uneasy. After all, this wasn’t a typical engagement.

A year ago, your families had arranged for you two to be engaged. It was strictly business—a merger of two powerful legacies. Your family owned the hospital where Mingyu worked, while his family operated a successful medical and paramedical equipment company. It made sense for the families to align themselves, and though the proposal had taken him by surprise, Mingyu agreed to the engagement. What really caught him off guard was that you agreed too.

From what Mingyu knew, you ran a small homemade Korean restaurant near Seoul University. It wasn’t a huge enterprise, but it had a loyal customer base thanks to its affordable prices and excellent food. When news of the engagement broke, everyone speculated that your family needed Mingyu to step in and continue running the hospital, especially since you showed no interest in taking it over yourself. Mingyu knew he benefited a lot from this arrangement—more than he was willing to admit sometimes.

It was nearly morning when Mingyu finally arrived home, expecting you to be fast asleep. He took a quick shower, hoping to unwind before getting some rest. But when he stepped into the living room, he nearly jumped out of his skin. You were sitting on the couch, staring into the darkness.

"You scared me!" Mingyu muttered, his heart still racing. "Why aren’t you sleeping?"

You shot him a sharp look, your voice dry. "My house just burned down. How could I possibly sleep soundly?"

Ah, right. He had forgotten that small but important detail.

"Right... of course." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, make yourself at home. Feel free to use the kitchen if you want breakfast. I’ll head to bed."

Mingyu retreated to his room, hoping for some much-needed rest. But as he lay there, he found sleep impossible. His mind kept drifting back to the strange reality that the two of you were now sharing a roof. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you—far from it. You were smart, independent, and capable. But the idea of being engaged, living together, and yet still feeling like you were strangers unnerved him in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

"Yeah, she's fine. She's alright. She's with me. I'll handle things with the building owner about her place. You don’t have to worry, sir." Mingyu reassured your father over the phone as he finished getting ready for work.

Despite having only gotten three hours of sleep, Mingyu needed to be at the hospital for an early morning meeting as the branch director. He had already filled your father in on last night’s fire, assuring him that you were safe and staying with him for the time being. Ending the call, he stepped out of the closet and made his way to the kitchen, where he was greeted by the sight of you preparing breakfast.

You were wearing one of his shirts.

"I’ll call you later, sir," Mingyu said quickly before hanging up, his eyes immediately locking with yours as he entered the kitchen.

You glanced at him briefly, then gestured for him to sit down as you placed the plates on the table. Mingyu couldn’t help but stare for a moment. You must have noticed because you spoke up.

"I didn’t have any clothes with me," you explained, a hint of self-consciousness in your voice. "I borrowed your shirt, if you don’t mind."

Mingyu nodded. "It's fine."

An awkward silence lingered for a moment before he asked, "Is there anything you need to do today?"

You thought for a second. "I definitely need to get some clothes first. And maybe check on the restaurant."

Mingyu thanked you for the food as you joined him at the table. He picked up his spoon, and as soon as he took a bite, his eyes widened in surprise. The breakfast was incredible. He had visited your restaurant a couple of times and knew you were the mastermind behind the recipes, having graduated with a degree in culinary arts. But still, he hadn’t expected his simple morning meal to taste this good.

"How about your belongings?" he asked between bites. "Anything important you need to check, like documents or valuables?"

"Luckily, I left all my important documents at my parents' place," you said, relieved. "But I do need to talk to the building owner about the fire and the damage."

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. "I’ll go with you."

You both finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and as Mingyu got up to leave for work, he thanked you again for the meal. Before heading out, he made a few calls, one to the aunt who cleaned his house regularly, asking her to pick up some women’s clothes for you, and another to the building manager to arrange an extra parking space for your car.

As he drove to the hospital, he reflected on the morning. He hadn’t expected starting the day with you to feel so... easy. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like if your engagement weren’t just a business arrangement. The thought lingered in the back of his mind as he went on with his day.

"Doctor Kim, thank you for the meal!" the nurses chimed in as Mingyu passed by the emergency room station during his daily rounds.

He blinked in confusion, unsure of what they were referring to. Then, he spotted the neatly packed meals from your restaurant sitting on the counter. You had sent food to his staff. It was thoughtful—something he hadn't expected but appreciated. Mingyu smiled and waved to the nurses, telling them to enjoy the meal before heading to his office, where he found a meal from your restaurant waiting for him as well.

Mingyu quickly shot you a text: Thanks for the meal, everyone’s enjoying it.

You didn’t respond, and Mingyu wasn’t surprised. He rarely texted you, and from what he had observed, you were just as busy as he was. He could understand if you weren’t glued to your phone all the time. Besides, it’s not like he was your priority when it came to messaging.

Over the past week of living together, Mingyu had noticed that the two of you had fallen into a quiet, predictable routine. You would both wake up early, have breakfast together, head off to work, return late in the evening, and go straight to bed. The cycle repeated itself day after day, with only a few short exchanges of "How was work?" or "Did you sleep well?" in between. It was strange to be living under the same roof, sharing meals, and yet feeling like you were still strangers in many ways.

That morning, you casually mentioned that you had signed the lease on a new apartment, not far from your restaurant.

"Do you want to go furniture shopping with me?" you asked over breakfast.

"Sure" Mingyu agreed without hesitation.

And now, here he was, sitting on his couch in a casual outfit, waiting to go furniture shopping with you. It felt like an odd thing to be doing with someone who was supposed to be his fiancée, yet didn’t quite feel like one. Still, Mingyu couldn’t shake the curiosity growing inside him—the thought of spending more time with you, learning more about you beyond the polite small talk and daily routine. He wasn't sure if it would change anything between you, but part of him wanted to try.

"This couch looks good. It fits a lot of people," Mingyu said, running his hand over the fabric as you continued to browse.

You shook your head, clearly unimpressed. "I don't get visitors."

Mingyu chuckled, leaning in a little closer. "What about friends? Boyfriend, maybe?" he teased with a playful grin.

You scoffed and held up your left hand, flashing the engagement ring in front of him. "In case you forgot, I’m engaged."

Mingyu’s eyes flickered to the ring, and he was momentarily struck by the sight of it. You always wore the ring, even though the engagement had been arranged. He, on the other hand, rarely wore his—only during major events or family meetings where it was expected. His profession didn’t really allow for accessories, so he often went without it. But seeing you wear it regularly was a subtle reminder of the commitment hanging between you both.

"Right, how could I forget?" he replied, smoothly continuing the conversation as if the ring hadn’t stirred something unspoken inside him.

Despite the casual banter, the moment felt a little heavier than it should have. He couldn't quite shake the realization that the ring—a symbol of their engagement—was more present in your life than his. It was a quiet declaration, whether intentional or not, that you were his fiancée.

When it came time to pay, Mingyu insisted on covering everything, even after your countless protests. He waved off your refusals, casually brushing them aside as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to take care of it.

"A rib for dinner?" Mingyu requested once he done paying. How dare you to refused.

*

After ten days of living together, Mingyu realized how quiet and empty his place felt without you around. He found himself looking for any excuse to see you, whether it was a quick text, a call, or even dropping by your restaurant. Without fully realizing it, the relationship between the two of you had begun to shift into something he hadn’t expected.

At this point, almost all of your staff knew him. They had even started referring to him as "the boss's handsome fiancé" every time he walked through the door. This month alone, he had visited your restaurant 8 times—sometimes for a meal, sometimes just to drive you home. And he was relieved that you didn’t seem uncomfortable with his presence. In fact, you appeared to be getting used to it, just as he was.

One afternoon, as Mingyu made his rounds at the hospital, he overheard a group of nurses whispering as he passed by, his name mentioned in their conversation.

"If she's the daughter of the owner, then she must be Doctor Kim’s fiancée, right?"

Mingyu, always the friendly type, chimed in with a grin. "I heard my name."

The nurses looked a bit startled but quickly filled him in. "Doctor Kim, the owner's daughter was brought into the emergency room after being assaulted. Isn't she your fiancée?"

What?

Mingyu’s stomach dropped. Without wasting a second, he grabbed his phone and immediately dialed your number. It rang, but someone else picked up.

"Y/n?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.

"Ah, Mr. Kim? She left her phone behind. She's at the hospital right now. A crazy person caused a scene and she got hurt."

Mingyu didn’t wait for more details. He bolted to the emergency room, his mind racing. When he got there, he hurried to the nurses’ station and asked for your whereabouts.

They directed him to a bed where he finally saw you—sitting up, your arm and head wrapped in bandages, while a doctor carefully tended to your injuries. Relief washed over him, but it was mixed with a surge of worry and anger at what had happened.

He approached you cautiously, his heart still pounding in his chest.

You looked up at Mingyu and smiled, a wave of relief washing over you as soon as you saw him by your side. As the doctor finished tending to your wounds, he greeted Mingyu and explained that you would need to wait for the results of the X-ray, as you had hit your head during the incident.

Once the doctor left, Mingyu turned his full attention to you, his eyes scanning over your injuries with a mixture of concern and relief. Without saying a word, he gently pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if making sure you were really okay.

"I'm so glad it wasn't worse," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with emotion. He pulled back slightly to look at you. "What happened?"

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lingering tension from the day. "There was this drunk guy, making a scene in the restaurant. He was about to hit one of my staff, so I stepped in. I got pushed and my head hit the table. This," you pointed to your bandaged arm, "is from some shattered glass."

Mingyu sighed, his jaw tightening in frustration. "I'm calling the police," he said firmly, standing up as if ready to take action immediately.

But you reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. "It's already been reported. My staff handled it."

Mingyu paused, looking down at you, the worry still clear in his eyes. Though the situation had already been dealt with, his protective instincts were hard to turn off. He sat back down next to you, still holding your hand, as if to reassure himself you were safe now.

Your mother, the vice president, appeared in the emergency room, her presence commanding attention as she quickly made her way toward you. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, though you could see the worry etched in her expression.

"My heart dropped when I heard my daughter was in the emergency room. Are you okay, honey?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she reached out to touch your arm.

"I'm fine, Mom," you reassured her with a small smile, trying to ease her worry.

Mingyu stood quietly to the side, observing the exchange with a sense of relief. He was glad to see how close you were with your family, something he hadn’t really gotten to witness much before.

Then your mother turned her attention to Mingyu, who stood respectfully behind her. Her gaze softened as she acknowledged him.

"Thank you, Mingyu. I heard you’ve been taking care of my daughter, especially after she lost her apartment in the fire. And now you're here again," she said, her gratitude clear.

Mingyu bowed slightly, feeling the weight of her words. "It's my pleasure, ma'am," he responded with sincerity.

Your mother waved off the formality with a warm smile. "No need for 'ma'am.' Call me Mother. After all, you're part of the family now—my daughter's fiancé."

The words caught Mingyu a little off guard, though he masked it with a polite nod. He glanced at you, noticing the subtle shift in the room. The formality of your engagement suddenly felt a bit more personal, more real.

After spending some more time talking with your mother and assuring her you were okay, the X-ray results came back clear. The doctor recommended rest and monitoring for the next few days to ensure there were no lingering effects from the head injury. With that, Mingyu insisted on taking you home.

As you left the hospital, Mingyu walked by your side, his hand resting gently on your lower back as he guided you to the car. The day had been exhausting, but knowing that Mingyu was there gave you a strange sense of comfort. It was a feeling that was becoming more familiar lately.

The drive home was quiet, with Mingyu occasionally glancing over to check on you. You stared out the window, your mind still processing everything that had happened, from the fire at your apartment to the incident today. You felt the weight of it all, but at the same time, there was a sense of relief that you weren’t alone in dealing with it.

When Mingyu pulled into his apartment complex, he parked the car and quickly came around to your side to help you out. You couldn’t help but smile at how attentive he was.

As you sat on the couch, trying to unwind from the long day, Mingyu hovered nearby, clearly still worried. You noticed his eyes flicking over to you every few minutes, as if checking to make sure you were really okay.

"You really should rest," he said, standing up and grabbing a blanket from the nearby chair. "I can see you're exhausted."

"I’m fine, Mingyu," you protested softly, though you knew you needed the rest.

He walked over, gently draping the blanket over you, his hands lingering for a moment as he looked down at you. “Just lie down, please. Doctor's orders,” he added with a small, teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood.

You sighed, giving in. The exhaustion was catching up with you, and the couch felt more comfortable with the blanket wrapped around you. As you shifted to lie down, Mingyu crouched down beside you, his expression softening as he watched you settle.

"Better?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, pulling the blanket closer. “Yeah, better.”

He lingered for a moment before standing up again, running a hand through his hair. "I think I’ll stay out here with you, just in case you need anything.”

"You don’t have to—" you started to protest, but Mingyu was already grabbing a pillow for himself and setting it on the other end of the couch.

"I know, but I want to," he said simply, lying down beside you, keeping a respectful distance. “We both need to rest anyway. This way, I’ll be right here if anything happens.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, noticing how comfortable and natural he seemed lying next to you. The tension that had been hanging in the air for weeks felt like it was slowly fading, replaced by an unexpected sense of ease.

"Alright," you murmured, closing your eyes.

Mingyu lay there quietly, the soft rise and fall of his breathing the only sound in the room. He wasn’t saying much, but his presence was steady, reassuring in a way that made you feel safe. After a few moments, he shifted slightly closer, his hand brushing against yours under the blanket. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture spoke volumes.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let the quiet warmth between the two of you settle in, realizing that maybe this arrangement between you wasn’t so bad after all.

As you drifted off to sleep, you could feel Mingyu relax beside you. The weight of the day slowly lifted, and with him lying there next to you, it felt easier to rest.

As evening approached, the soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm light over the room. You and Mingyu had both woken up from your nap, feeling more rested but still shaken from the day's events. Mingyu sat up, glancing over at you with a gentle smile.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice still soft but with a hint of concern.

You shook your head, feeling more at ease now. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for staying with me.”

He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, I should probably check and clean your wound properly. Just to make sure it’s healing well.”

You hesitated for a moment but then nodded, realizing it would be reassuring to have him take care of you. Mingyu moved to get a first aid kit from the bathroom, then returned and sat next to you on the couch. As he began to carefully clean the wound on your head, his concentration was palpable.

The proximity brought an unexpected intimacy. Mingyu’s breath lightly brushed against your skin, and you could feel the warmth of his body close to yours. You glanced up at him, and for the first time, you noticed how dangerously close his face was to yours. The closeness made both of you acutely aware of each other, and suddenly, your cheeks flushed a soft pink.

There was a moment of shared awkwardness where neither of you knew quite what to say. Mingyu’s fingers brushed lightly against your forehead, and a nervous laugh escaped both of you simultaneously. The sound was light and shy, a clear indicator of the tension and the new feelings stirring between you.

Mingyu’s hands paused as he looked at you, his eyes meeting yours with an earnest expression. The silence between you was thick with unspoken emotions. He seemed to be gauging your reaction, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips.

Without breaking eye contact, Mingyu leaned in slowly, and you felt a rush of anticipation. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to stand still. Then, ever so gently, he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and soft, a simple yet profound gesture that spoke volumes.

You responded instinctively, your lips moving against his in a hesitant, exploring dance. The kiss deepened just slightly, filled with a mutual tenderness that neither of you had expected but both seemed to crave. When Mingyu finally pulled back, his expression was a mix of relief and uncertainty.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, a slight blush still visible on his cheeks. “I just... I needed to do that.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to gently touch his face. “It’s okay. I think I needed it too.”

Mingyu’s smile was more relaxed now, a genuine warmth in his eyes. He resumed cleaning the wound with a renewed calm, the previous tension replaced by a new, comforting closeness. As he finished, you both settled back into the couch, the space between you now filled with a quiet, shared understanding.

Mingyu set aside the first aid kit and took a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours. “I... I know this might sound sudden, but I think we need to talk about where we go from here.”

You looked at him with curiosity and a hint of apprehension, waiting for him to continue.

He shifted slightly, his expression earnest. “I know our relationship started out as a business arrangement, and things between us have been... different from what I expected. But after spending time with you, especially today, I’ve realized something.”

You watched him closely, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest.

“Mingyu, what is it?” you asked softly.

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how we’ve been living together, how you’ve been there for me in ways I didn’t expect. And honestly, I’ve come to realize that I really like you. More than just as my fiancée. I want to be with you, not just because of our families or the arrangement, but because I genuinely care about you.”

His words hung in the air, and you could feel the sincerity behind them. Mingyu reached out and took your hand in his, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“I want to start over,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I want us to settle everything that’s happened and move forward. I want to take you out on dates, to spend time with you as someone I truly treasure. Not just because it’s what’s expected, but because it’s what I genuinely want.”

Your heart raced as you listened, his confession a mix of relief and excitement. It was clear that Mingyu wasn’t just fulfilling a duty anymore—he was speaking from the heart.

“I’ve felt the same way,” you admitted, squeezing his hand. “I never expected this arrangement to lead to something real, but it has. I’ve come to care about you a lot, and I’d like to see where this could go, too.”

Mingyu’s face brightened with a hopeful smile. “So, are we starting over then? Taking a chance on something that’s more than just an arrangement?”

You nodded, a smile of your own spreading across your face. “Yes, let’s start over. I’d like that.”

With a sense of newfound clarity and excitement, Mingyu leaned in and kissed you again, this time with a deeper sense of commitment. It was a kiss that promised not just the continuation of an engagement but the beginning of something much more meaningful.

As the evening drew on, you and Mingyu talked more about your hopes and plans for the future, feeling a sense of anticipation and warmth. The journey ahead was still uncertain, but now it was a journey you were both eager to take together, as partners who truly cared for each other.

*

“Because you’re handsome?” Mingyu chuckled softly, clearly amused by your answer. He had asked you why you accepted the engagement in the first place, and he hadn’t expected your candid response.

“Of course, you’re very handsome and attractive,” you said with a playful glint in your eye. “But beyond that, I didn’t have anyone special, and I didn’t want to go against my parents’ kind intentions, especially when it didn’t harm me.”

“You didn’t go against it?” Mingyu asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

You paused to think before shaking your head. “No, not at all. I wasn’t planning to get married. I was just focused on my business.”

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. “How about now?”

“What do you mean now?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.

“Get married,” he clarified. “Do you want to get married?”

It had been three years since the engagement, and throughout that time, you and Mingyu had maintained your commitment to each other. Even though your parents had pushed for a wedding, you both had insisted on getting to know each other better. It was only after a year of engagement that you truly began to enjoy each other’s presence.

“With you?” you asked innocently, and Mingyu rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t with me. Do you want to get married to me?”

A scowl formed on your face as you stared at him, your emotions a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Are you proposing?”

Mingyu laughed, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Why? You don’t like it, baby?”

The scowl melted away, replaced by a warm and genuine smile. “I’d love to. I’ve been happy these two years with you. Why not be happy forever?”

Mingyu’s expression softened as he cupped your cheeks gently. “You’re really happy?”

You nodded, your eyes shining with sincerity.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. “Then I’m happy too.”

In that moment, it felt as if everything had come full circle. The uncertainty of the past had given way to a future filled with promise, and both of you were ready to embrace it together.

[ellecdc]

may i pretty please request more potter!reader x barty 🤲 whatever you feel like darling, though if you need ideas i think i’d be hilarious if james insists on joining reader to the slytherin common room bc he “doesn’t trust” barty and then him just being extremely uncomfortable while the slytherin skittles are their usual chaotic selves

ooooh Barty & our potter!reader. thanks for your request! <3

Barty Crouch Jr x Potter!reader who should date a nice Slytherin like Evan [644 words]

CW: summoning demons as a pass time, Slytherin skittle nonsense, James is way in over his head

“He did what!?” James beseeched as he and Regulus sat down in the Slytherin common room across from you. 

Regulus smirked as he shot you a knowing look. “He released a malevolent poltergeist that was restricted to the haunted hall of the dungeons into Central Hall. Dumbledore and Filch are currently trying to negotiate with it in hopes to get it to return to its designated section of the castle.” 

“A poltergeist worse than Peeves!?” James asked, causing Regulus to cock his head at him.

“You consider Peeves malevolent?”

James blinked at his boyfriend. “Well…I wouldn’t exactly consider him …volent…” 

“Salazar.” Regulus muttered under his breath as he pulled out a book. “Yes, Jamie, worse than Peeves.”

“Bug!” James exclaimed, turning his comically wide eyes (only magnified by the thickness of his glasses) towards your casually curled up form.

“Yeah?” You asked nonplussed as you turned a page in this week's Witch Weekly. 

“What on earth did Junior do!?” 

You looked up at your brother with a look mixed with concern and confusion. “Erm…well, as Regulus just said, he released a-”

“I heard what Regulus said!” James barked as Barty and Evan entered the room; Evan moving to sit politely in a wingback chair whilst Barty languidly rolled over the back of the sofa you were sitting on and laid his body atop yours, which you readily accepted by lifting your arms with your magazine over his head so he could rest his head against your chest. 

“Oh, are we talking about Donny?” Barty asked casually, though he kept his face shoved in the junction of your neck. 

“‘Donny’?” Regulus snickered as James looked at him in horror.

“You named a poltergeist Donny?!” 

“I didn’t name the poltergeist Donny, Potter.” Barty sneered. “It’s a nickname; it’s short for Abaddon.” 

James let out a desperate, disbelieving sound as he turned his attention to you. “Bug, listen; out of all the Slytherin’s, really? Junior? Don’t get me wrong, I get the appeal, really, I do; but why couldn’t you have picked a nice Slytherin, like Evan?”

His question was answered with a snort from his own boyfriend. “Well which is it, James? Do you want her to date a nice Slytherin, or do you want her to date Evan?” 

“Careful what you wish for, there, Potter.” Evan jeered from his seat. 

“You’ve not got a leg to stand on here, Jamie.” You replied simply. “Not only are you and your lot responsible for the sodding squid in the Black Lake, but your own boyfriend is the one who summoned Donny to begin with.” 

“You what!?” 

“Yeah!” Barty chimed in. “I only released him from the dungeons, Regulus is the one who invited him here to begin with!” 

“Why would you do such a thing!?”

Regulus simply shrugged his shoulders. “Evan bet me ten galleons I couldn’t do it.”

“And why would you do that!?” James directed to Evan who also shrugged his shoulders.

“I was bored.” 

“Merlin’s tits.” James whispered in horror as he stared at the floor unseeingly. “They’re sodding mad…”

“Ha ha.” Barty taunted. “You’re in love with the criminally insane.” 

You simply snorted and offered Barty a chaste peck on the lips before he once again rested his cheek on your chest. “Surprised it took you this long to notice, James.” 

“They’ve not exactly been subtle.” Evan added. 

“What are you saying, Evan?” Barty tried to bark, though the way his face was basically shoved into the fabric of your jumper seriously diminished any severity he tried to imbue. “Subtle is my middle name.” 

“That’d make your initials B.S.” Evan continued, causing Regulus to snicker.

Barty hummed in thought. “No, nevermind. I prefer B.J, thanks.”

“Don’t we all.” Regulus added salaciously, and you nearly choked at the abashed look that took over your brother’s face.

“Welcome to the snake pit, Jamie.”

[lechrts]

hiiii!! could u please write one where Charles has a crush on a girl who owns a small coffee shop in Monaco and he's never really had the courage to ask her out yet but Leo kinda acts as his wingman when Charles just got him? lmao, thank u sm! also, i adore ur writing <33

Coffee. ✷ Charles Leclerc

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x CafeOwner!reader

Summary: When Leo Leclerc decides to be a chaotic little wing man for his dad.

Word Count: 1.1k

Disclaimer/s: fluffff! ^_^ leo feature slay

Vera’s Voice! loved this request to death so had to get to it immediately. but!!! will be getting to my other requests soon!!! promise ^_^ thank u for requesting!!!! mwah! hope u enjoy!

The mornings in Monaco always held a quiet charm, a soft blend of sunlight bouncing off the pristine waters and the gentle hum of life waiting to stir.

For you, mornings meant the comforting clink of ceramic little tea cups, or the bittersweet aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. And the hum of your small cafe shop nestled along a cobblestone street just off the harbor was perfect.

It wasn’t grand or luxurious, but it was yours—as place as perfect as you, called La Petite Matin.

The regulars made the place feel like home. Businessmen grabbing espressos, elderly couples sharing croissants, and the occasional curious tourist wandering in off the beaten path.

But none of them made your heart skip quite like Charles Leclerc.

The first time he walked in, you didn’t even register it was him. Your brain was too preoccupied with the morning rush, juggling orders and making sure the almond croissants didn’t burn.

It wasn’t until he was standing in front of you, all tall and handsome with that devastatingly soft smile, that it clicked.

“Bonjour,” He greeted, glancing at the handwritten menu above the counter. “Ehhmm..” He studied the contents before finally making a choic. “Could I get a cappuccino?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Then stared, trying not to make it obvious that the guy from the posters on your cousin’s bedroom wall was standing in your shop, asking for coffee like he wasn’t Charles Leclerc.

“O—Of course,” You stammered, nearly letting out a nervous giggle as you fumbled to grab a cup.

That had been three months ago.

Since then, he had become a regular. On any morning he wasn’t traveling for races, he’d show up at precisely 8:30 AM, lean against the counter like he had all the time in the world, and flash you a smile that made your pulse stutter.

At first, it was overwhelming—serving coffee to one of Monaco’s most famous faces. But you quickly learned that Charles wasn’t anything like you’d expected.

He was easygoing, funny, and oddly humble for someone whose face was plastered across billboards. He’d ask about your day, tell you stories about his week, and even joke about how he probably should be ordering green smoothies instead of croissants.

What you didn’t know was that Charles wasn’t just coming for the coffee.

He was coming just to see you.

It was a warm and golden Tuesday morning when he walked in, but this time, he wasn’t alone.

He waved at you as he pushed the door open with one hand and holding a leash in the other. Trailing behind him was a small dachshund, its tiny legs moving at lightning speed as it padded into the shop.

You looked over the counter. “Bonjour!” You smiled. “And who’s this little guy?”

“Leo,” Charles said, crouching to unclip the leash and picking the animal up. “He’s… well, he’s quite the handful.”

Leo wagged his tail furiously, barking once in what could only be described as a hello. You leaned over to greet him, your heart melting as he pressed his nose against your hand that pet him.

“He’s adorable,” You said, scratching behind his ears. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

Charles shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. “I don’t usually bring him out, but I figured he’d like to finally meet you.”

You froze for a second, glancing up at him. His expression was casual, but there was something in his tone that made your stomach flip.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Leo,” You said, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

As Charles ordered his usual cappuccino, you gave him the okay to let Leo trot around the shop. The mini dachshund sniffed the furniture and charmed the few customers sitting by the windows.

You couldn’t help but laugh as he stopped in front of the display case, staring longingly at the pastries inside.

“Hmm,” You teased, handing Charles his beverage. “Think he’s saying you should get a treat with your cappuccino today.”

“Oh, he’s already convinced me,” Charles replied with a grin.

Before you could respond, Leo made his move. The little dog bolted toward the counter. He leapt up on his hind legs, paws resting on the wood as he barked.

“Leo!” Charles scolded, but there was no real heat in his voice.

“It’s okay,” You said, laughing as you leaned again to pet him. But just as you reached out, Leo darted to the side—right into the shelf of to-go cups.

With a crash, the cups tumbled to the floor, scattering across the tiles.

“Oh my,” You gasped with a laugh, hurrying around the counter.

Charles was already crouched down, gathering the cups as Leo sat innocently beside him, tail wagging like he hadn’t just caused chaos.

“I swear he’s not usually like this,” Charles said, shooting you an apologetic look.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” You assured him, though you were fighting back laughter. “Honestly, it’s kind of impressive. He’s got a lot of energy for such little legs.”

Charles chuckled, stacking the cups in his arms. But as he stood up, something slipped out of his pocket—a small scrap of paper.

You bent down to grab it before he could, your eyes catching the familiar curve of your own handwriting.

It was one of the notes you wrote with his coffee cups.

You’d started the habit a few weeks ago, jotting down little messages like Good luck today! or Hope this makes your morning better. You’d never expected him to keep them.

“I—” Charles began, his ears turning pink. “I meant to throw that away. I’m not a stalker, I swear.”

You bit back a smile, holding the note out to him. “You kept this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Y—Yes… It was a nice message. And, uh… I’ve actually kept a few others.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as you stared at him, suddenly noticing the nervous energy radiating off him. For a guy who drove at 300 kilometers per hour for a living, Charles seemed unusually flustered.

“I like the notes,” He admitted, his voice softer now. “And I like coming here.” A pause.

“And sometimes, not just for the coffee.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Then, as if sensing the tension, Leo barked again—loud and insistent.

Charles groaned. “Leo, not helping.”

But you were already smiling, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Well,” You said, tucking the note back into his hand, “I’m glad you like the coffee. And the notes.”

Charles met your eyes, his nervousness melting into something softer, more genuine.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime? With us—or I mean, just me. Not Leo. Unless you want him to come too.”

You laughed, feeling a giddy kind of lightness. “I’d love to. But maybe just us for the first date?”

He grinned, his relief palpable. “Yeah, just us. That sounds perfect.”

As you scribbled your number on a napkin and handed it to him, Leo barked one last time, wagging his tail like he’d just sealed the deal.

“Guess I owe him a treat then,” Charles said, tucking the napkin into his pocket.

“Definitely,” you replied, your smile widening.

“Best wingman I’ve ever met.”

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!!! ^_^ & please LMK if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list!!! mwah!!!!

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[leoivys]

𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻 𝑺𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑨 — 𝑱𝑨𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑫𝑫

– contents; fluff and mostly batfam stuff instead of just romance

– summary; a casually chaotic Secret Santa with the bat family as Jason's partner.

– word count; 1.5k

The roofs of the houses were beginning to gain a white hue as more snowflakes fell gracefully – the children in the city found joy in it, their laughter echoed in the streets while they initiated snowball fights with their friends and neighbors. Adults were busy shopping or grabbing a coffee to catch up in the presence of their loved ones, and the holiday music played in every street. Christmas was known for bringing even the most distant people back together.

A part of you hated how cold it was, but it was your idea to take a walk around the city with your partner before you drove over to the manor for Christmas day like you usually do. However, how can one ignore such events on these joyous days just for their own comfort?

The fuzzy feeling of the gloves around your hands and your coat enveloping you in its warmth was rather enjoyable even if the world outside was freezing while you walked with Jason. A soft sigh escaped you as you finally entered Wayne Manor, welcomed by Alfred opening the door for you and the heat that escaped the inside of the building.

Greetings, hugs, and smiles were exchanged with more excitement than usual while you took your seat on the couch in the main living room amongst the rest of the family – everything was decorated; the tree that you all helped set up, stockings on the fireplace with everyone's names engraved on the soft red fabric and no one can skip Alfred's baked goods resting on the coffee table.

It's odd thinking that a few years back, most of the family members were off doing their own thing instead of being here and spending time with everyone else like Jason avoided them for a good few years before he finally gave in. Now, everyone was present and agreed to have a Secret Santa along with the rest of the activities scheduled for that day.

Tim and Damian were surprisingly getting along, wearing matching Christmas sweaters as well, and then you noticed Dick supervising the two with a proud smile drawn on his face as he kept a conversation with Jason and Steph. Duke was helping Alfred bring in more sweets on the table. Cass and Barbara were calmly chatting with you about various topics and the one at hand; who was Secret Santa for who?

Meanwhile, Bruce observed everyone with a hint of a smile and a sigh as the place filled with chatter and the life it lacked most of the year due to responsibilities, his shoulders relaxed as he was more than happy to host this event annually and welcome his family –and those who he considered family– home.

“Alright everyone, enough of your chit chats. Let's start.” Dick stated, too excited to wait even further as he quickly moved to grab a present from under the tree and took a moment to read the name on it and handed it to Cass, and then kept handing out presents to everyone.

Each family member got something based on their personality, training, or hobby, and some presents were filled with meme cards describing them. Eager chuckles echoed in the room before Bruce interrupted.

“Who got that for Damian?” He asked in a mockingly firm tone as he pointed at the young boy swaying a katana similar to the one he had when he got trained by his grandfather in his hands. Just before anyone could answer, Barbara did everyone a favor and started playing Christmas music through the speakers set by the tree.

Jason scoffed at the sight of Bruce's dynamic with Damian – it had been a while since a youngling had given him a heart attack, enjoying the show and unwrapping his present. His hands traced the hardcover of the book as he lifted it up and read the title; ‘All the light we cannot see’ which had him confused for a moment. He had that book in his library already, didn't he? So he studied it further, flipping through the first few pages only to find that not only was it a first edition copy, but it was signed too.

His eyes flicked to you as his hands traced the sign on the delicate page of the book before he snapped the book closed with a smile brighter than the star atop the tree. Jason immediately knew that his gift was from you since he had been ranting about how much he wanted this for the past month or so. His suspicions were confirmed by the smile on your face.

It was really hard to find it online and get it signed just for him, but you knew it would be worth it.

“You didn't.” Jason mumbled, finding the fact that he had this book in his hands as he clutched onto it like it might disappear into thin air.

The known-for-his-violent-ways Red Hood was now acting like a literal child on Christmas, completely awestruck and bringing you in a tight hug as he muttered his thank you's. His attitude earned a chuckle from you, his embrace giving you even more warmth while his heart was beating out of his chest.

Duke blinked a few times. The newest addition to the family was having a hard time trying to process the sight before him. “Is Jason okay, or is he having some sort of cardiac arrest?” he managed to mutter, his gaze shifting to everyone else laughing at his question.

Your gift consisted of newly made gadgets, upgraded equipment, and a personal touch with a vintage Polaroid to top it off – definitely Tim's job.

Yet you couldn't help but be thankful for those, given Dick's situation; shirts that were literally merchandise about his butt, an eye mask for power naps, and a ‘big brother manual’ book. “Whose idea was this?” His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose in mock annoyance, a small smile brightening his fine features.

“That's a brilliant idea, Dick.” Jason chimed in, not bothering to hide his usual smug smirk. It was definitely him who thought of that combination as a good Christmas gift for his older brother.

Meanwhile, Barbara wasn't having it easy either, with the present in her hands containing a vintage phone and a custom Lego set of Oracle. “A Nokia? Really?” She asked, a low chuckle escaping her lips as she turned to face Steph. “You're lucky I like Lego sets, but you're stuck in this with me.” Barb threatened playfully as she set the box by her side.

Stephanie raised her hands in the air in mock surrender, she didn't seem to mind the idea of building a custom Lego set in the company of Barbara; in fact, it was a good opportunity to spend a girl's night along with you and Cass while having a chit chat – or gossiping. “It's for emergencies. And the Lego set was cute.” She explained with a shrug.

“Fine. You'll see how cute it is when you have to build this many pieces.” Barb protested, her tone lacking real bite as she pointed back at the amount of pieces written on the box. “You're all invited to our suffering.” She commented jokingly, glancing at you and Cass.

Cass perked up at the idea, “I'll bring the snacks.” She said simply, her voice soothing as ever even as it held a bit of enthusiasm as she gave Barbara a thumbs-up.

Meanwhile, Dick was flipping through the pages of the manual and hastily reading the contents before he could comment on them. “Who wrote this?” He scoffed, shaking his head disapprovingly, and continued reading. “...’Always take responsibility for your siblings' mess-ups.’ Really, Jason?”

Jason leaned back in his seat and shrugged, his arms crossed over his chest as an amused huff escaped him. “Merry Christmas, Dick.”

Tim studied the merch, trying his best to bite back his laughter at what his eyes met while Duke observed alongside Damian, who decided to address the situation accordingly. “That was uncalled for, even by your appallingly low standards, Todd.”

Dick sighed and shook his head once more, yet he couldn't help the grin spreading across his face as he couldn't help but find the situation entertaining. “You're so getting payback next year. And I'm rigging the draw.” He stated as he tried on his nap mask with a proud smirk.

Bruce, sitting quietly by the fireplace with Alfred whom he had exchanged gifts with, took another sip of his coffee and sighed, allowing himself a small chuckle as he watched the banter unfold. He was prouder than he'd care to admit, of everyone in the room.

“Everyone, pause.” You interrupted every party in the room as you took hold of your brand-new Polaroid and held it out for a selfie, trying to make sure everyone was in the frame. “Say ‘Merry Christmas!’.” You exclaimed with pure excitement and messily snapped a picture, holding the moment forever captive.

– a/n; Merry Christmas and happy holidays in general ♡

[gingersxng]

Payment

Pairing: f!reader x San x Mingi

Genre: smut 18+

Summary: You follow your dad to get his car fixed. Although getting a car fixed is quite expensive, your dad and the mechanics have another idea how to pay for the service.

Notes: sub!reader, dom!sangi, San & Mingi are mechanics, readers dad kinda sells her?!, pervs, flirting, dirty talk, stripping, nipple play, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, lots of cum, creampie, bigdick!Mingi, unprotected sex (DONT), kissing, one spank, taking a pic, teasing, threesome, double penetration, reader gets called (baby, little girl & chippie), many rounds, swallowing. Forgot something, maybe.

Words: 2k

Today was a quite boring day. You had to follow your dad to the car service with his car to get it checked. He thought, since you always spent time indoors doing nothing, you could as well keep him company for a change.

The car ride to the service was quiet. None of you said a word, only some background music was heard through the speakers.

As you approached the car service which by the way, were nothing like you’d expected it to be. It was a large, dusty building with a faded sign that you almost couldn’t read. It gave you the chills.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the two mechanics standing by the entrance. One was tall and kinda big. His eyes, hidden beneath a pair of shades, held an intense gaze that made you slightly nervous. Alongside him stood another mechanic with a mischievous smile and a lean, muscular physique. Both of them were covered in grease and sweat, their work clothes hugging their bodies in all the right places.

As you and your dad got out of the car and headed towards the guys you felt a wave of anxiety rushing over you.

"Dad, why are we here?" you asked, your voice laced with hint of nervousness. You could feel a strange vibe hanging in the air of this place.

Your dad gave you a wink and a mysterious smile. "Just you wait and see, sweetheart. These guys will take good care of us."

Great..

As you entered the garage, the sound of rock music blaring from an old radio filled the air, mingling with the metallic clanks and the hum of machinery. The place was a chaotic mess, with tools scattered everywhere and car parts piled high.

Mingi and San greeted you both with nods, their eyes tho, seemed to never leave your figure. You felt slightly exposed under their intense scrutiny, your cheeks flushed, trying to avoid their stares.

"So, what seems to be the problem with your car, sir?" Mingi asked, his deep voice rumbled through the garage walls. Kinda hot..

Your dad explained the issue, a minor engine problem that needed attention. As he spoke, you could feel Mingi's eyes roaming over your body, taking in every curve and the way your tight tank top hugged your small frame. It was kinda exciting but so embarrassing at the same time. The thoughts in your head ran wild, trying to figure out what went through their minds. Even though you knew…

San held a wrench in his hand, his muscular arms flexed with every move while he fiddled with the silver tool. He cleaned the grease off it with a cloth and put it back on the desk. He then turned around and walked towards you. While your dad was busy talking to Mingi he sneaked up to you and leaned in to your ear.

"You know, we could give you a special deal, a little discount for such a pretty customer," he whispered, his breath tickled your ear. Your heart raced as you felt his warm body press against yours. San backed off and placed himself on the car's hood looking at you with a raised eyebrow, casually waiting for you to answer, loving the way he made you tremble in front of him.

Mingi cleared his throat, a low rumbling sound that demanded attention. "Yeah, we can definitely work something out. Why don't you two have a seat in the waiting area while we take a look at your car?" He gestured towards a small, dingy office, its walls covered in pin-up posters and car magazines.

Your father seemed to understand the unspoken offer the guys were talking about, and with a sly grin, he guided you towards the office. "Y/n, can you wait here while the boys do their thing. I’ll be back in a jiffy." He patted your head and walked out of there, giving both the boys a steady handshake, as a confirmation on their offer. As soon as Mingi and San saw your dad get out of sight, they exchanged looks and put away their stuff. You were alone with them now, the atmosphere in the office changed quickly. San closed the door behind him, their eyes were burning with raw desire.

"You know, we don't usually do this,"Mingi said, he placed his shades on his head making his bicep flex. "But for a sweet thing like you, your father we're willing to make an exception."

A sudden feeling spread along your spine hearing the last sentence, almost like it was coated with ice.

San moved closer, his eyes meeting yours. "Yeah, we can fix your dad's car, but we want something in return. Something special."

Your heart pounded in your chest, those two wanted to have sex with you, and they were willing to barter their services for your body.

You took a deep breath.

"What... what do you want me to do?" You asked, your voice was barely above a whisper.

San's fingers trailed along the strap on your top. "We want to show you a good time, baby. We want to make sure your dad leave here satisfied with his car."

Mingi's hands joined in, sliding under your tank top and cupped your breasts. His thumbs teased your nipples, causing them to harden instantly. "You'll let us fuck you and we’ll fix your dad’s car. Fair trade, right?" Mingi whispered, you felt how he smirked against your ear.

San helped you up and guided you towards a worn-out couch, its leather surface was cool against your bare skin. With a shy look, you looked up at them.

“Strip” San demanded.

The mechanics' hungry gazes devoured you while you stripped of your clothes, their rough hands were exploring your body within seconds.

Mingi's lips found your neck, his kisses leaving a trail of fire down your collarbone. San's hands worked their way down your thighs, pushing the legs apart as he knelt between them. You felt his breath against your core, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness through the panties.

"You're so fucking wet, baby" San growled. "Let us take care of that for you."

With a swift motion, he tore your panties aside, exposing your glistening pussy to their eager eyes. A gasp left your mouth as you felt his warm breath on your sensitive flesh, his tongue traced your folds, tasting your sweetness. Mingi's hands continued to explore your breasts, pinching and tugging at your nipples, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"Oh god, yes," you moaned, you couldn’t help but to throw your head back as San's skilled tongue flicked and teased your clit. His fingers joined the dance, sliding inside you, filling you with a delicious fullness. Mingi's mouth claimed your in a passionate kiss, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of San's fingers inside you.

The sensations were overwhelming, and you could feel your orgasm building. San's tongue worked relentlessly, his fingers curled and thrusted in perfect harmony.

"Cum for us, baby," Mingi urged, his voice rumbled.

Your release hit like a tidal wave, your body convulsed as you cried out in pleasure. San's mouth and fingers continued their assault, milking every last drop from your trembling body.

As your orgasm subsided, Mingi pulled away, his eyes screamed sex.

"Bet you want to fuck some cocks now right? Wanna get fucked real good?."

Mingi’s cock strained against his work pants, just waiting to be buried inside your little pussy. Your eyes wandered down to meet his clothed bulge, the boy was huge.

It made you a little scared.

Mingi wasted no time, positioning you on all fours. You felt so exposed and vulnerable, with your ass raised high, your pussy still throbbing from your recent climax.

Mingi's greasy hands gripped your hips, he caressed your ass gently before landing a smack on it. It made you flinch, but in a good way.

Mingi let his cock spring free and you could hear a deep chuckle behind you. First he placed his giant dick on your ass to get a pic. He then teased your hole with the tip making you whine softly. In one swift motion with a slow, deliberate thrust, he filled you, stretching you to accommodate his size. Both of you left a trail of moans and curses.

"Oh, fuck- stay still, don’t move your hips."

San, unable to wait any longer, positioned himself infront of you, his thick cock was inches from your swollen lips. He pushed his thumb in your mouth tugging at your bottom teeth, a dirty smile crept up along his face. "Be a good little girl and open your mouth for me, baby.”

You opened up and San let out a long raspy moan as his dick entered your warm, wet mouth.

Mingi's pace quickened, his grunts filling the air as he pounded into your tight pussy. You could feel his balls slapping against your clit with each thrust, sending ripples of pleasure through your body. San's hands roamed over your back, his fingers sneaked down to tease your nipples, adding to the overwhelming sensations.

"Oh fuck, yes." Mingi groaned, his voice was turning hoarse. "This pussy is gonna make me cum so hard."

Your sore body trembled as you felt Mingi's cock twitch inside of you, his hot seed filled you up. He slowly pulled out, his thick cum poured down into the leather couch. Mingi placed a sloppy kiss on your ass before he tried to regain his composure.

You by the way, was totally occupied somewhere else. San’s cock plunged down your throat and you had a difficult time not to gag on it. Tears rolled down your blushed cheeks, while long strings of saliva dangled from the corners of your mouth.

San pushed you against his pubic bone, holding you there for a second while releasing down your throat. A panicked breath left you gasping for air when San pulled his cock out. You stuck your tongue out to show them how well you swallowed every last drop of San’s cum.

Mingi and San stood over you with their chests heaving and their cocks still hard and ready for more.

"Looks like our cocks wants more pussy." San teased.

"We've got a few more minutes before your dad comes back. It would be a shame for your own dad to see his little girl turn out to be such a chippie right?."

Mingi teased with a grin.

The entrance door opened and in stepped your dad. He walked up to San who were busy working on the finishing touches on the underside of the car. He got up to greet your father who had a pleased look on his face.

“Is the car done?”

San swept away a small droplet of sweat from his forehead and gave him the keys.

“It’s like new sir, although it required some hard work.” San smiled, letting out a small laugh.

Meanwhile you and Mingi walked out of the office to join the others. You adjusted your skirt and met your dad with a warm smile. Mingi brushed a hand through his hair to get rid of the mess you’d made while holding onto him as he fucked your brains out on their office desk 2 minutes ago.

“There you are honey, ready to go home?” Your dad placed a hand on your shoulder.

You gave him a tired nod.

“By the way, what about the payment boys?”

“No worries about that sir… our pleasure.” Mingi smiled, adjusting his pants. He raised a brow at you before he put on his shades again. Your dad was more than satisfied and so were you, with a smile on your face and butterflies in your stomach you got into the car.

“Thanks boys for your incredible job… also for taking good care of my daughter.” He said with a wink, knowing exactly what they’d been doing while giving both San and Mingi a hard pat on the back.

“Anytime.”

[ha-rinrin]

Wired for War

Summary: You and your beautiful wife, Jinx, are preparing for war, and you decide to let your family step into the game.

Pairing: Jinx x fem!reader (you come from a powerful family)

Wordcount: 2.1k

Authors note: soo, this randomly popped up in my head and I HAD to write it, I love married jinx x reader its an obsession. Hope you enjoy this one!

Jinx was hunched over her workbench, the dim lights of her lab casting flickering shadows over scattered blueprints, spare parts, and glowing vials of chemtech. She was absorbed, her eyes lit with a fierce focus as she twisted wires and calibrated triggers, whispering to herself with excitement. In her hands, each screw and bolt was a promise of devastation to come, a chaotic edge Zaun would soon wield.

Just as she adjusted her goggles, ready to test her latest creation, a familiar voice echoed through the room.

“Well, if it isn’t my destructive little genius.”

Jinx froze mid-assembly, a wicked grin spreading across her face before she turned around. “You know I can’t concentrate when you sneak up on me like that,” she teased, eyes narrowing playfully as they roamed over you.

You chuckled, stepping fully into the room, and Jinx felt a surge of warmth as you closed the distance. Dressed in sleek attire that hinted at the influence of your powerful family overseas, you looked as formidable as you did elegant, a reminder of the depth of strength you brought with you.

“Just checking on my favorite weapons designer,” you said, reaching out to tilt her chin up so she looked at you. “I see you’ve been busy,” you noted, glancing over the disassembled parts and the eerie glow of her latest chemtech concoction.

Jinx smirked, her hand resting over yours briefly. “Busy is an understatement. You know, I’ve got some surprises for Piltover that’ll blow them right off their high horse.” Her voice was charged with enthusiasm, that hint of chaos behind every word.

You nodded, running a hand along one of the blueprints on her desk. “I’d expect nothing less from you. But remember, there’s more to this than firepower.” Your eyes softened as they met hers, the playful glint in your gaze tempered by genuine concern. “War can be dangerous, even for a genius like you.”

Jinx’s smirk softened. “And that’s why I’ve got you, don’t I?” She stands up, leaning her back against the workbench, crossing her arms. “The powerful, mysterious wife with all the connections. You’re my ace, y’know that?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Maybe, but you’re still going to be careful, right?”

Jinx stepped closer, slipping her arms around your waist as she murmured, “I’m always careful. Well, careful enough. Besides,” she smirked, looking up at you through her lashes, “you’d come storming in to save me, wouldn’t you?”

A grin tugged at your lips. “Oh, I would. But let’s try not to get there, alright?”

Jinx laughed softly, brushing her lips against yours. “Alright, wife. Just for you.” Then, with a mischievous glint, she added, “Now, wanna help me test out some of these bad boys?”

You immediately got to work, testing the connections on a detonator Jinx had just handed over, both of you shoulder-to-shoulder at her chaotic workbench. The room was filled with the faint hum of chemtech and metal grinding against metal, but the real electricity was in the way her gaze lingered on you, pride and mischief flickering in her eyes.

As you adjusted the detonator, you broke the silence with a casual mention. “I spoke to my parents about all this,” you said, glancing at her. “They offered their soldiers to support Zaun.”

Jinx’s eyes widened as she paused, looking at you with a mix of surprise and delight. “Wait, seriously?” Her smirk grew wider, almost mischievous. “They’d throw their whole army behind us?”

You nodded, a grin tugging at your lips. “Just like that. They might not be from Zaun, but they’ve got no love for Piltover. And as long as it’s to help keep you safe… well, they wouldn’t think twice.”

A flicker of warmth softened Jinx’s face. “Guess I really picked the right wife, huh?” She nudged your shoulder, her smile full of gratitude and affection. “Didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to have a family at my back… especially one that actually likes me.”

You laughed, setting the detonator back on the table. “They more than like you, Jinx. Remember the wedding?”

Jinx’s grin widened as she recalled the day. Your family, powerful and influential as they were, had completely embraced her the moment they met her. She was so different from anyone they’d ever known, but they’d loved her energy, her fire, and, most importantly, her devotion to you.

“Oh, I remember,” she said with a chuckle, her tone softening as she lost herself in the memory. “Your parents practically threw me a parade when we said our vows. Never thought anyone would get so worked up over a troublemaker like me.”

You reached out, tucking a stray strand of blue hair behind her ear. “That’s because they could see what I see. They knew you’d do anything for me, even if it meant going toe-to-toe with Piltover.”

Jinx smirked, a glint of mischief in her eye as she looked back at the blueprints. “Guess they’ve got good instincts. But it goes both ways, you know.” She leaned closer, her voice soft but fierce. “Anything for you, too.”

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Then we’re both all in.”

Jinx grinned, slipping her fingers through yours. “Looks like Piltover’s got a storm coming. With you at my side—and that little army of yours—they don’t stand a chance.”

Your fingers brushed over a pile of metal scraps, picking up a thin wire as Jinx adjusted the fuse on her latest invention. The two of you worked in sync, comfortable and in tune, even amidst the chaos of her lab. She was about to speak when you decided to drop the real bombshell.

“That’s not all,” you said, your voice low, but carrying a weight that made her look up instantly. “My family’s pulling out all the stops. They talked to… well, you’ve heard of the Black Rose?”

Jinx’s brow shot up, and a spark of curiosity lit in her eyes. “The Black Rose?” Her voice dropped, almost reverent, like she’d just uncovered a secret too wild to be true. “You mean… the Black Rose is real? The whole dark magic, underground network, shadow-in-every-corner thing?”

“Oh, they’re real all right,” you replied, crossing your arms as you watched her face shift through surprise and intrigue. “They’re willing to offer their resources, but there’s a catch.”

Jinx tilted her head, clearly eager to hear what kind of condition such a group would demand. “What’s the price?”

“They’ll only help if we let them ‘take care’ of Ambessa Medarda,” you said, voice edged with dark amusement. “They want her gone, and not in some subtle way. They want her head.”

A wide, wicked grin spread across Jinx’s face, her eyes glinting with manic delight at the idea. “So, they want us to clear the path and let them take out the queen of Piltover’s power brokers? Just hand over Ambessa’s head on a platter?”

“Exactly.” You smirked, meeting her gaze. “They think she’s too much of a liability to leave standing. They’ll only help if they get full access to her and… take care of her their way.”

Jinx let out a low laugh, clearly reveling in the twisted web of alliances that had just come into play. “I have to say, toots, your family has taste.” She twirled a screwdriver in her hand, eyes practically gleaming. “And here I thought I’d be the craziest one in the room. Let the Black Rose do their thing, and we get all the backup we need.”

“Exactly. We get their resources, and they get their revenge on Ambessa,” you replied, feeling the thrill of the plan settle in your bones. “And my family? Well, they’re more than happy to keep the Medardas off their backs.”

Jinx leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then let’s give them what they want. Let them paint Piltover red if they need to. With the Black Rose on our side, it’s not just gonna be war—it’s gonna be a whole damn reckoning.”

Her hand slid into yours, her grip firm and electrifying. “So, partner… ready to let the games begin?”

As Jinx’s hand held yours tightly, her wild grin softened, and her eyes, still blazing with excitement, met yours with a warmth that cut through the thrill of war planning. She leaned closer, her expression softer, almost tender—a side of her she saved only for you.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get this lucky,” she murmured, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Having you by my side… having a whole family by my side? Didn’t think it was in the cards for me.”

You felt a smile pull at your lips, squeezing her hand in return. “Well, you’re kind of hard to resist, you know.”

Jinx’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was a trace of a blush on her cheeks as she rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Me? It’s you who’s too perfect for your own good. Sweet-talking war councils and charming dark magic cults into doing our dirty work.”

“Just doing my job as your wife,” you said with a playful wink.

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine as she pulled you closer, her forehead pressing softly against yours. “Guess I got myself the best one, then.”

For a moment, the plans, alliances, and whispers of war faded away. It was just you and her, together in the quiet of her workshop, like you had all the time in the world. Her gaze softened, and she let her hand move to cup your cheek, her fingers cool against your skin.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “No matter what happens out there. Whatever crazy plan I come up with. Just… stay.”

You tilted your head, pressing a gentle kiss to her fingertips. “Always. From here to wherever this takes us.”

Jinx’s eyes sparkled with a mix of fierce devotion and rare vulnerability as she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours—a kiss that was slow, lingering, and filled with everything words couldn’t capture. You could feel her smile against your lips, that mischievous grin you’d fallen in love with, softened just for you.

When she finally pulled back, she wore that familiar, confident smile again, but it was edged with warmth and love only you could bring out. “Alright, wife of mine,” she murmured, her fingers twining with yours. “Let’s go turn the world upside down.”

As you and Jinx stood there, savoring the quiet moment, the door to the workshop creaked open. Before either of you could react, a little voice shouted, “Surprise!” and a burst of glitter erupted in the air, sparkling bits of color showering down onto you and Jinx.

You glanced down to find Isha, her face lit up with pride and mischief, holding the remnants of a small glitter bomb in her tiny hands. “Did I surprise you?” she asked, her eyes wide and gleaming with joy.

With a laugh, you crouched down, scooping Isha into your arms as she giggled, her little fingers still sticky with glitter. “Oh, you definitely got us,” you said, smiling as she beamed up at you, clearly pleased with her work.

Jinx let out a chuckle, brushing glitter off her shoulder as she watched the two of you, a soft look in her eyes. “You didn’t tell your parents about our new daughter, did you?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at you as she ruffled Isha’s hair, getting a fresh handful of glitter in the process.

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Not yet, no. I figured the glitter bomb announcement would probably be Isha’s idea of breaking the news anyway.”

Isha squirmed in your arms, a sign for you to let her down, and so you did, her attention now fixed on Jinx’s workbench, full of half-built gadgets and brightly colored wires. “Mom, can I help?” she asked, looking up at Jinx with wide, hopeful eyes.

Jinx softened, her smirk melting into a genuine smile as she knelt down to Isha’s level, nodding. “Alright, but just this once, kiddo,” she said, her voice filled with affection. “And we’ll keep the explosions to a minimum this time, yeah?”

You watched them together, your heart swelling as Jinx handed Isha a small, harmless trinket to tinker with. She shot you a wink, her hand resting on your shoulder, grounding you in this moment that felt like a gift in the middle of all the chaos.

“Looks like we’ve got a little troublemaker on our hands,” Jinx murmured, her gaze sliding over to you as you both watched Isha focus intently on the tiny piece in her hands.

You wrapped an arm around Jinx’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Well, with a family like this, it’s no surprise, is it?”

Jinx grinned, resting her head against yours. “Nope. She fits right in.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Ferrari's Golden Boy and his Girl || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: ur first appearance in the paddock with Rafe :)

Warnings: noneee

Word count: 1,936

A/n: if you couldn't tell by my pfp of Alexandra, i love her and she's who i imagine when i write these f1 fics but of course its up to you!!!!

MASTERLIST (f1 driver x fem!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The world of Formula 1 was glamorous but intimidating, and you felt the weight of a thousand eyes on you. Speculations about your relationship with Rafe, Ferrari's Golden Boy, had been swirling for months, growing louder with every blurred paparazzi photo and cryptic comment he let slip in interviews.

Coming from Rafe’s hometown in the Outer Banks, you weren’t accustomed to attention from the public eye and a sea of flashing camera. Paparazzi had caught glimpses of you together over the past few months—dinners at intimate restaurants, quiet walks along the beach, stolen kisses on his yacht—but this was different.

This was your official debut as his girlfriend, stepping into the spotlight for the first time. Your heart raced, not from the adrenaline of the sport but from the nerve-wracking reality of being here, surrounded by people who lived and breathed Formula 1. You’d spent countless nights scrolling through social media, seeing how some fans could be—relentless in their opinions, cutting down a driver’s girlfriend simply because they didn’t like her.

It was tough sometimes, imagining yourself on the receiving end of that scrutiny. Would they think you were good enough for Rafe? Would they nitpick your every move, your every word, just to find flaws? The thought had kept you awake the night before, despite Rafe’s reassurances.

Rafe, walking beside you, was as confident as ever, exuding the easy charisma that had made him both a star on the track and off. His hand rested at the small of your back, guiding you through the chaos, even outside the paddock gates, with practised ease. Your hands were slightly shaky as you scanned your paddock pass, “You good?” he asked, leaning down so only you could hear.

His voice was low and steady, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy around you. You glanced up at him. “I think so,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the noise. “Don’t think,” he said, his tone teasing but affectionate. “Just walk in there like you own the place. Because, baby, you kind of do.” He adds, kissing the side of your head.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though the nerves didn’t completely fade. Rafe had an unmatched ability to make you feel like you belonged, even when you doubted yourself. You smooth out your red dress—one he had personally insisted you wear. "You'll match the car," he'd teased, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "And I'll look like the luckiest guy in the paddock."

As you walked past the throngs of fans lined against the barriers, the buzz grew louder. Their cheers grew louder, a cacophony of voices calling out Rafe’s name—and, to your surprise, your own. Phones were raised, the flashes of cameras capturing every moment. Your heart raced, a mix of nerves and exhilaration coursing through you.

"See, they like you already," Austin, Rafe's personal trainer teased gently. His tone was lighthearted, a deliberate attempt to ease your obvious unease. He nudged your arm, grinning as you chuckled softly, trying to shake off the nerves that clung to you. Rafe, ever composed and effortlessly charming, raised his hand in a casual wave to the crowd.

You followed his lead, offering a small, tentative wave and a smile that you hoped looked more confident than you felt. Rafe checked his watch before glancing at the crowd again. “We’ve got time, don’t we?” he asked Austin, though it was more rhetorical than a genuine inquiry. Without waiting for a response, he veered toward a particularly animated group of fans near the front of the barrier.

You stayed back with Austin, watching as Rafe transitioned seamlessly into fan mode. He moved with ease, signing caps, shirts, and posters, pausing for selfies, and exchanging quick banter with his supporters. Your gaze softened as you observed him, pride swelling in your chest. He looked so at home in this chaotic environment, his bright smile and relaxed demeanor making him seem untouchable yet entirely approachable.

Then, as if he could feel your eyes on him, Rafe turned his head to look at you. A mischievous smile danced on his lips as he said something, his words lost in the roar of the crowd. “What’s he saying?” you asked Austin, tilting your head in confusion. Rafe then blew you a kiss with an exaggerated flair, his grin widening when he saw the shy smile it drew from you.

“Rafe, is that your girlfriend over there?” a girl asked as he scribbled his autograph on his photo. Her tone was curious but warm, not laced with the venom you’d feared. Rafe glanced back at you, his smile softening into something almost tender. “Yeah,” he said proudly, not missing a beat. “That’s her. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” The fans erupted into cheers, their excitement palpable as they turned their attention to you.

You froze for a moment, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, but Rafe’s unwavering confidence in you gave you the courage to offer another small wave. “I hope you guys love her as much as I do,” Rafe added, his tone light but sincere. After a few more photos and quick goodbyes, Rafe made his way back to you, his stride confident and purposeful. As soon as he reached you, his arm slipped naturally around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“What were you saying back there?” you asked, looking up at him with curiosity. Rafe didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering just enough to make your heart flutter. “Just telling them how gorgeous you are,” he replied casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You felt the blush creeping up your neck, your cheeks warm as you let out a soft, embarrassed giggle.

Rafe chuckled, clearly pleased with your reaction, and squeezed your shoulder. The paddock was a whirlwind of activity. Team members darted around, engineers shouted commands, and reporters lingered, waiting for their chance to snag an interview. Rafe navigated it effortlessly, introducing you to key people as you clung to his side, trying to take it all in.

As he prepared to leave for his pre-race routine, he turned to you, the confident façade slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his vulnerability. “You’re gonna be okay?” he asked quietly, his fingers lingering at your side. You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I’ll be fine, I'll hang out with Sofia," You say, glancing back at Sofia who was Rafe's teammate's girlfriend.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingered just long enough to make your cheeks flush. “Good. Because you belong here with me, whether you believe it yet or not.” As he walked away, you felt the cameras capturing the moment, and for the first time, you didn’t feel out of place. You felt proud. Proud to be by his side, no matter how intimidating the spotlight might be.

~

"Rafe Cameron wins the Spanish Grand Prix, and it is a 1-2 finish for the Scuderia Ferrari!" The commentator's jubilant voice rang through your headphones, the words igniting an explosion of joy in the Ferrari garage. The moment the announcement registered, you and Sofia turned to each other, your faces lighting up with pure elation.

Without thinking, you both started squealing, your voices blending into the symphony of celebration around you. You grabbed her hands, jumping up and down like giddy schoolgirls, the weight of nerves and anticipation finally melting away. “They did it!” Sofia shouted, her wide grin matching yours as you both clung to each other, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the victory.

The rest of the Ferrari garage erupted into cheers, a sea of red erupting with applause, hugs, and celebratory fist pumps. Engineers and crew members were already spilling out onto the pitlane, sprinting toward the podium to catch a glimpse of their drivers and bask in the glory of the victory. You could barely hear yourself think over the noise, but it didn’t matter.

The joy was infectious, and you found yourself swept up in the chaos, laughing and cheering along with everyone else. Sofia nudged you with her elbow, her face flushed with excitement. “We’ve gotta get to the podium!” You didn’t need to be told twice. Linking arms with her, you followed the stream of Ferrari personnel down the pitlane. Your heart pounded in your chest—not from nerves this time, but from pride and exhilaration.

As you reached the podium area, the roar of the crowd hit you like a wave. Thousands of fans filled the grandstands, waving Ferrari flags and chanting Rafe’s name. The energy was electric, the entire circuit seemingly united in celebration. The team’s staff ushered you and Sofia forward, guiding you both to the front row, just behind the barriers, giving you the perfect view. And then you saw him, climbing out of his car with a triumphant smile that lit up his entire face.

He threw his arms up in victory, basking in the adoration of the crowd. Your heart raced as Rafe's eyes locked onto yours in the midst of the roaring crowd. His grin widened, that familiar spark of mischief in his gaze, and he pointed directly at you. It felt like the world slowed for just a moment—just you and him, amidst the chaos.

The cameras snapped furiously, capturing the fleeting connection between you both, and a wave of pride surged through you. Without thinking, you blew him a kiss, your smile so wide it felt like your cheeks might burst from the effort. His response was immediate. With a joyful laugh and a skip in his step, Rafe jumped down from his car, making his way toward you as if nothing else in the world mattered.

As he reached you, he pulled you into a tight embrace, lifting you off your feet for a moment, as the crowd's cheers grew louder around you. The cameras followed you both closely, documenting the raw, unfiltered joy of the moment. "You did it, baby!" you exclaimed, your voice muffled slightly by the noise around you, but the sentiment was clear.

Rafe held you close, his arms strong around your back, his helmet still on, the sweaty material of his racing suit rubbing against your skin. He laughed, a deep, satisfied sound that resonated with the energy of the victory. "Couldn’t have done it without you," he murmured, his voice low but filled with emotion. Then, with a playful grin, he lifted his visor, revealing the intensity of his eyes beneath.

You leaned up and placed a quick, soft kiss on his helmet, the action gentle and affectionate. The cameras caught the moment, and you could hear the claps and whistles of Rafe's teammates in the background. You pulled away, giggling shyly, feeling the heat rush to your face as the attention turned to you.

Rafe chuckled and pulled you close again, wrapping his arms around your waist as his team started to gather around, congratulating him, giving high-fives, and sharing the celebratory moment with the driver of the day. But even as they swarmed him, Rafe never let go of you, his hand resting possessively on your back as he basked in his well-earned victory.

[gothcsz]

Motive | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 3 of Unscripted Desire | ~10k wc | Series Masterlist | gif cred | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Another chaotic shoot... but at least it's in Malibu?

Tags: more plot keeps sneaking into the porn, angst, frankie has entered the villa, jealous!javi, reader stands on business, it's a porn set other people are also fucking, masturbation on camera (m), dirty talk, lots of cursing (f bombs my beloved), an attempt at a blowjob, javier can't get it up, a dash of misogyny, author projects her ooc thoughts about problematic age gaps in the porn industry, no use of y/n, reader has a degree in film production, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: me nervous that part 3 isn't going to live up to the hype? more likely than you think! 🙂‍↕️ this fic is taking on a brain of its own and i'm just along for the ride, baby! for my just the tip stans— i'm sorry but i'm going to have to edge you until part 4 *crowd boos and i'm dragged off stage* i was going to wait to post this, but i really wanted to get it out because i'm so damn proud of it lowkey, lol, so i hope you all like it 🖤 let a bitch know what ya think! also, shoutout to my pookie @persephone-girl for reading over this 💋 love u mamas

Your phone’s shrill ring pierces through the haze of sleep, and you groan in frustration, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

The comforter is pulled tight over your head, shielding you from the annoyingly bright sunlight filtering through your window. Your hand shoots out, fumbling blindly across the bedside table until your fingers finally close around the receiver. 

“What?” you grumble, voice thick with sleep and muffled beneath your sheets.

“There she is! My beautiful, talented camerawoman. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate what you do?” Robbie’s overly cheerful voice blares through the phone, so you pull it back from your ear slightly, wincing.

“Why are you calling me this early in the morning?” you snap, already regretting picking up.

“Early? It’s almost noon—”

“What do you want, Robbie?” You cut him off, not in the mood for small talk, especially since last night’s bar shift ran past four in the morning. You were hoping to sleep through most of the day, recovering in your bed with no interruptions. Clearly, that plan has gone out the window.

“Look, I’ve got a big shoot happening in Malibu today and I’m short-staffed. I could really use your magic touch behind the camera.”

“No.”

 “C’mon,” he drags the word out, “I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for working on your day off.”

You rub your eyes, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you. “How much?”

He tosses out a number, and despite your best effort to remain indifferent, your eyes widen. Damn. That’s more than decent money.

“Malibu’s all the way across town,” you point out, “I won’t make it there in time if I take the bus. And a taxi? That’ll cost me a fortune.”

“Don’t worry about that. Your ride’s outside waiting for you.”

You blink, confused, and get out of bed, dragging the corded phone with you as you move toward the bay window. You pull the curtain back just enough to peer down at the busy street below.

Sure enough, Steve is there, leaning casually against his Jeep with sunglasses on, a cigarette between his lips. The second he spots you looking down, he grins like the cheshire cat and waves.

“Seriously?” you mutter to Robbie, flipping Steve off with a half-hearted smile. “And what if I’d said no?”

“We both know you wouldn’t have.”

After a few more quick exchanges, you hang up, glancing once more at your ride through the window before turning to rush and get yourself ready for the day ahead.

Truth be told, you’re still not fully awake, your body moving on autopilot as you shuffle through your morning (midday) routine.

It’s been ages since you’ve been to the beach— especially one as nice as Malibu’s. The thought of it softens the blow of losing your rest day. You tell yourself you’ll make the best of it, turning this unexpected workday into something that benefits you, too.

After shooting wraps, you’ll indulge in a quiet evening by the shore, sinking your toes into the warm sand with a good book in hand. No rush to head back. This time, you’ll gladly take a taxi if it means getting some peace seaside.

With that plan in mind, you dress for the day accordingly. Your halter-style bathing suit doubles as a cute top, the color complimenting your skin, while your favorite denim shorts sit comfortably over your bikini bottoms.

You pack a few essentials into your beach bag and make sure to grab your camera bag as well. Once you’ve double-checked that everything’s packed, you make your way downstairs, feeling a bit more awake now.

Steve catches sight of you approaching and flashes a dramatic grin, straightening up like he’s about to chauffeur royalty.

“Your chariot awaits,” he announces with an exaggerated flourish, swinging the passenger door open.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the bemused laugh that escapes your lips. “God, you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head as you climb into the seat, tossing your beach bag onto the floor.

He shuts the door behind you with a smirk. “Ridiculous? I prefer charmingly dedicated to my craft.” He hops into the driver’s side, flicking the cigarette away before starting the car.

You snort at his self-satisfaction, leaning back against the seat and putting on the seatbelt. 

“Malibu, huh? How the fuck did he manage to swing that?”

He chuckles, one hand lazily draped over the wheel, the other tapping out a rhythm on his knee. “He didn’t tell me much either— just asked me to stop by and pick you up on my way.”

That makes sense. Robbie’s always been a bit scatterbrained, occasionally running around like he’s managing a multi-million-dollar empire when, in reality, he’s holding it together with duct tape and half-assed enthusiasm.

The drive is surprisingly fun, Steve’s constant jokes keeping your spirits high. He always manages to make you laugh, which is why you tolerate his quirks. 

“I’m pretty sure Javi’s going to be there,” he says, almost too nonchalantly, meaning he’s in the mood to be messy.

You keep your gaze focused on the coastline, watching as palm trees blur past. The wind from the open windows has you squinting momentarily, but it can’t cool the sudden heat spreading through your body. 

“It’s not going to be weird seeing him, right?” He presses and you finally turn to face him, moving your sunglasses to the top of your head.

“Why would it be weird?” you ask, the challenge clear in your voice.

He shoots you a look, brows raised and lips quirked in that irritating way of his. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cause of the whole flirtin’ with you during the middle of a scene thing? Or, y’know, the elevator incident… which, by the way, what the fuck even happened there?” He glances at you, curiosity practically oozing out of him.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, but you can’t stop the way your thighs rub together at the memory. 

Javier’s mouth... God. “None of your damn business.”

“Don’t tell me you fucked him.”

You laugh, loudly, the sound bordering on forced. “Absolutely not.”

He shoots you that okay, sure look, and you groan internally.

Steve’s like a dog with a bone when he gets curious, and you know he’s not going to let this go until you give him something. You sigh, deciding to indulge him— partially. 

“He was being an asshole,” you start, and he immediately interjects with, “Nothing new there,” causing both of you to share a laugh at Javier’s expense.

You shake your head, returning your sunglasses to the bridge of your nose. “No, seriously. He was pushing my buttons, being his usual peacock self. I don’t even know how it escalated, but one moment we’re arguing, and the next... he’s got his tongue in my pussy.”

Steve chokes on his own spit at your bluntness. He’s heard and seen much worse on set, yet your confession has him all tripped up. 

“So, you did fuck him?”

You roll your eyes again, shifting in your seat as the horny flashbacks hit you all at once— Javier’s lips wrapped around your clit, the perfect rhythm of his tongue, his fingers.

You shove those thoughts away, focusing on the road ahead, annoyed at both Javier and Steve now. “Getting head isn’t fucking. It’s, like, third base. And anyway, I made it clear— that’s all he was getting from me. I’m not about to waste my time rolling around in bed with him.”

He gives you a look— a knowing look— and you scoff, shaking your head. “What now?” 

“Nothing. You’re just the first person I’ve heard say that about him.”

“Someone’s gotta humble his ass,” you mutter, though the words feel heavier than they should. You try to act like you’ve put Javier out of your mind, like that moment was nothing but a blip in your life, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

You’ve never met anyone like him, and the fact that he can elicit such reactions from you pisses you off so bad.

As the coastline stretches out in front of you, Malibu drawing closer with every mile, you can’t help but wonder if seeing Javier today will be as easy as you’re pretending it will be.

The mansion is far more extravagant than anything you could have imagined. Its grand facade, with towering columns and ivy crawling up the sides, feels like something out of a movie set, and for a second, you almost forget why you’re here.

But then, as soon as you step past the threshold, you hear it— echoing from deep within the house are the unmistakable sounds of exaggerated moans, grunts, and the rhythmic thump of bodies meeting.

You adjust the strap of your camera bag on your shoulder, your beach bag abandoned in Steve’s car. As you step further into the foyer, Robbie appears, that infamous smirk plastered on his face.

“Long way from home, aren’t you, Dorothy?” he jokes, taking in your wide-eyed amusement as you scan the expensive decor— the towering glass chandelier overhead, the marble floors gleaming beneath your feet, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You can’t help but be a little impressed. 

But of course, he’s there to give you shit about it. You turn your wide-eyed gaze into a glare, bringing your attention to him. “So funny. You should quit your current sleazy day job and take up another sleazy one— stand up,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He just grins, unbothered by your sharp tone. “You’re always a joy to work with. No wonder Javi asked for you specifically.”

Your entire demeanor shifts viscerally and you curse yourself for it mentally, caught completely off guard. “Wait, what? Javier asked for me?”

He shrugs, indifferent to your confusion. “Yeah. He’s set for a solo shoot upstairs in one of the bathrooms before he’s on with...” He snaps his fingers, trying to remember. “...Mariella. Real pretty girl, it’s her first on-camera gig today.”

The world blurs a little as your mind zeroes in on that one bit of information: Javier asked for you. And not just for any shoot— a solo one. You blink, shaking your head to clear the fog. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the part where I was summoned here by someone who isn’t my boss?”

“Oh yeah, he made a real fuss about it. Sent away the other guy we had lined up for the shoot. Told me he wouldn’t do it unless you were behind the camera. Even offered to pay out of his own pocket just to get you here. It’s the only reason we’re paying you as much as I promised over the phone.”

Your stomach twists and you can feel your face settling into a deep frown, the kind that pulls some of your mood down with it. So that’s why he dangled such a big paycheck in front of you this morning.

After the elevator incident (as Steve has so eloquently named it), after the intense heat of his mouth on you, the way he had you— he said he’d leave you alone. He was supposed to respect the boundaries you set, but here he is, yanking you back into his orbit. 

You can already picture him upstairs, lounging in one of those stupidly lavish bathrooms, probably smirking that damn smirk of his, waiting for you.

You try to squash down the way your pulse quickens at the thought, the lingering memory of his fingers digging into your hips, his tongue working between your thighs, is beckoning you into temptation again.

“Fucking great,” you mutter, more to yourself than your boss. You have half a mind to storm up those stairs, find the pornstar, and give him a piece of your mind before marching right back out to spend your day on the beach— free of drama and distractions and him.

But the reality is, you’re being paid nearly three times what you’d normally make on a gig like this. It’s enough to drown out the temptation to walk away, however satisfying that would be.

You’re an adult. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.

Robbie gives you a sidelong glance, clearly sensing your hesitation. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

With a sigh, you force a smile and shake your head. “As good as it’d feel to leave, no, I’m not. I’ll be up in a sec.”

Relief flashes across his face, and he gives you a few pointers before rushing off into this maze of a house.

You linger for a second longer, taking a deep breath to shake off the nerves. Come on. Get it together. After a final mental pep talk, you head toward the grand staircase that winds up to the second floor. 

The sight that greets you at the top of the stairs stops you in your tracks: Lexxie is splayed out on her back atop some console table, currently getting the life fucked out of her. The visual is chaotic but nothing new. You’ve seen it a hundred times before. 

A guy with a scruffy beard and a beat-up baseball cap stands behind the camera, looking more bored than impressed, barely watching as the two stars go at it.

You lean against the nearby railing, your voice cutting through their heavy breaths and grunts. “Guess your marriage to Javier didn’t last very long,” you tease from off camera, referencing the honeymoon shoot.

The star’s eyes snap open at the sound of your voice, and she flashes you a playful, almost sweet smile in between heavy breaths. “Kinda regretting stepping out on him—oh, fuck.” Her snappy comeback dissolves into a breathy moan as the guy currently rearranging her on the table pushes her legs up to her chest, hitting just the right spot. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ruin your shot,” you say, throwing a glance at the cameraman, knowing how annoying it can be when someone messes with your focus.

He waves it off with a lazy shrug. “It’s not ruined. Honestly, I would’ve quit filming ten minutes ago. It’s starting to drag. I’m impressed they’re still going.”

You let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, they’ve got stamina like you wouldn’t believe. Makes me feel lazy in bed sometimes, but then I remember how unrealistic this shit actually is.”

He chuckles, scratching at his jaw. “Should make it an Olympic sport. Bet we’d bring home gold.”

“Pretty sure that already exists and it happens in the Olympic Village.” You smirk, finally peeling your eyes away from the couple to look at him properly.

He’s cute in that disheveled, stray-dog kind of way. His curls poke out from under a worn baseball cap, his beard patchy, and his clothes rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing he could find. He fits in perfectly with the kind of guys you’d expect on a porn crew.

Earning a genuine laugh from him, he extends a hand. “I’m Frankie.”

You shake it, offering your name in return. “I’m also part of the crew. About to go shoot a scene in the master bathroom.” You explain, noticing how his grip lingers just a little, his smile playful and easy. You feel a bit of warmth rush to your cheeks, and he’s about to say something when—

“Oh fuck, I’m about to cum!” Lexxie’s voice is piercing, loud and breathless, pulling your attention back to the scene.

You shake your head, stifling a laugh. “Well, that’s my cue,” you mutter, stepping out before you get too caught up flirting with him.

“Nice meeting you,” he says before dismounting the camera, moving in closer to capture the so-called money shot.

Cute. Too cute. It’s almost enough to make you forget about the man you’re about to see.

You push open the door to the room Javier’s in, and the sight of him has you doing a double take.

He’s standing in the middle of the room with nothing but a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, his defined Adonis belt drawing your eyes in a way you hate to admit.

His toned, brown torso glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat, the sunlight pouring into the room making him look like he’s glowing.

You need to toughen up, and in order to do so, you have to bitch at him. It’s the only way to keep that lustful cavewoman instinct away.

“You’re a piece of work,” is what you settle on, making sure to let your tone really punctuate how annoyed you are by the stunt he pulled today.

The second his eyes lock onto yours, amusement flickers behind them, as if he’s been waiting for this confrontation.

He quirks a brow, lips curving into a lazy smile. “¿De que hablas nena—?”

“What happened to ‘if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone’? Was that something you said just to lower my guard? To get me to give you what you want?” You cut him off, keeping your distance even as you notice him inching closer.

Your eyes are daggers as they bore into him, and for a brief second, you hope he feels at least some of the fire burning in your chest. But if he’s affected, he doesn’t show it. He is frustratingly calm, like he’s above it all.

“You gave me no indication that you didn’t want me anymore.” His voice is casual, almost patronizing.

You groan as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “I literally said, ‘Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again.’ What the fuck else do I have to say or do to get you off my back?”

Silence settles between you two as you stand there staring each other down. He’s unreadable, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

“Well?” you demand, impatient.

“In my defense— it didn’t sound very convincing.” You stare at him incredulously before turning on your heel. Hell no. He can keep his money and his bullshit. You’re not doing this.

But just as your fingers graze the doorknob, his voice sharpens with a hint of panic, calling your name.

“Wait, look,” he starts, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not trying to start anything. I just thought—” he pauses, searching for the right words. “I’d feel more comfortable if you were behind the camera during this shoot. Not the other guy Robbie brought in.”

Frankie? He seems so harmless, and besides, Javier’s never had an issue with whoever’s in the room when he’s filming, so why is it a problem now?

However, his tone does sound sincere. You turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes and refusing to let your guard down. “This better not be another one of your tricks, Javier. If you’re doing this to try and get into my pants—”

He almost grins, but catches himself just in time, clearly biting back a remark. You can see it in the way his mouth twitches, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Already have, his brown eyes seem to say. But he holds his tongue, offering a faint nod instead. 

“I promise. No tricks. Just a professional shoot. That’s it.”

You give him one last warning glance before sighing. “Fine. But I’m telling you, Javier—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts, holding up his hands. “I get it and please stop calling me Javier.”

You arch a brow. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but everyone calls me Javi.”

Ugh, whatever. “Okay, fine, Javi. Just show me where I’m supposed to set up.” 

He bites back another grin and motions you with a flick of his head, and with the weird tension simmering, you follow him toward the ensuite bathroom. The door creaks open, revealing an elaborate setup, and you pause in the doorway, eyes widening.

It’s surprisingly... beautiful.

In front of a massive window that overlooks the sprawling blue ocean outside, there’s a porcelain clawfoot bathtub filled with what looks like a milk bath. Various colored flower petals float delicately on the surface, scattered in an almost artful arrangement.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Well, damn. This actually looks nice.” This bathroom is bigger than your entire apartment.

Javier notices your reaction and leans against the doorframe to the connecting walk in closet, arms crossed over his bare chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “Catering to the female gaze,” he says with a cocky shrug, “At least, that’s what my agent told me. Seems like I’m very popular among the ladies.”

The way he says it makes you want to smack him upside the head. He’s pushing your buttons again in the most subtle way, and you hate how good he is at it.

“Cute,” you reply dryly, walking past him to set your camera bag down on the large counter.

As you begin to unpack and set up, you can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move, lingering on the exposed skin of your back then dripping down to your legs.

It kind of feels good to have him ogling you like this. The whole look but don’t touch thing is really doing it for you, more than you’d care to admit. There’s a certain power in keeping him wanting, yet also forcing the distance.

“It’s not just about the ladies, you know. I actually want this to be good. I trust you to make it look that way.”

You glance over at him. His playful arrogance has slightly faded, shaded in by the genuine want to make this feel more than just some raunchy scene.

“I’m not a director, I just film it,” you remind him, adjusting the camera lens as you try to play it off. “So just do whatever you think is right. Robbie gave me some pointers, but it wasn’t much.”

“Still,” he presses, “there’s some finesse to what you do.”

At least he’s aware of that. “Let’s just get this over with,” you say, deflecting the compliment.

You finish setting up the camera, adjusting the tripod to get the perfect angle. It’s important to capture the full picturesque scene to begin with— the soft light spilling in through the window, the sparkling blue ocean in the background.

You clear your throat, “Okay, I’m all set for whenever you’re ready.”

Javier moves casually as he unwraps the white towel from around his waist. His cock, already half-hard, demands your attention, but you force yourself to look away. You rub your lips together then lick at them unconsciously, trying to focus on anything other than his naked body.

“Got plans after this?” he asks as though he’s asking you about the weather.

You blink at the normalcy of the question “Just going to hang out by the beach,” you reply plainly, trying to keep your focus on the camera and not on his crotch.

It almost feels strange talking to him like this, without the usual teasing or sexual tension-laden bickering.

“Sounds fun,” he says as he steps into the tub, the water sloshing around him. “Real nice out here. The weather is perfect for it today.”

You watch as he settles in, the milky water rising around his body, and for a moment, you’re completely mesmerized.

The scene in front of you looks like something out of a romantic painting, and it hits you how undeniably beautiful he looks. His skin, a warm golden brown, contrasts perfectly with the creamy white of the bath, and the colorful flower petals floating on the surface make the whole thing look like a dream.

He leans back, the water just kissing his chest, and you catch yourself imagining what a soft, hazy vignette filter would do to the shot, how it would add an enchanting glow to an already intimate scene.

You shake your head slightly, snapping yourself out of the reverie. You’re supposed to be filming him jerking off, not admiring the aesthetics like this is some fine art shoot. But fuck, it’s hard to separate the two when the visuals are this damn good.

Javier, of course, senses your brief distraction. He watches you, eyes thoughtful as he stretches out, letting the water ripple around him. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a slight smirk playing on his lips, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand, despite the heat pooling between your thighs. “Is there a clear direction for this scene, or are you just improvising?”

“I’m just winging it,” his voice is a rich, velvet drawl, a little rough from all the smoking he does. “No dirty talk. They want my natural noises to be the main focus… amongst other things.” He cocks his head to the side, one arm coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

Heat blooms low in your belly, shooting straight to your cunt at the sight. The way his bicep flexes, the muscles shifting smoothly beneath that taut, sun-kissed skin, showcasing just how defined he is while still looking so maddeningly soft. 

Calm down, girl, you silently reprimand your pussy. She’s fucking purring right now.

You clear your throat and give him a nod, signaling him to begin. Stepping behind the camera, you focus through the lens, grateful for the distance.

Javier moves slowly. His head tips back against the edge of the tub, eyes falling closed, the soft curve of his lashes fanning out like shadows against his skin. One hand trails down, lingering at the hollow of his collarbones. The movements are unhurried, almost reverent, as though he’s savoring the feel of his own skin.

The intimate build-up draws you in, despite your best efforts to remain detached.

You unmount the camera from its tripod after a few moments, stepping closer to him, framing the shot tight around his chest, the slow glide of his hand along his torso. You can’t help but notice the pounding of your heart, each beat mirroring the steady, throbbing pulse at your clit. 

The sight of him— relaxed, fully in his element, bathed in the soft glow of light— stirs that fucking feeling deep within you.

It’s not just desire, though that’s certainly there. It’s the maddening awareness of how sensual, how magnetic this man is. And even though you try to tell yourself you’d feel the same about any other attractive man in his place, you know that’d be a damn lie.

Javier’s hand moves lower, ghosting over the ridges of his soft stomach. His other hand trails slowly through the water, sending gentle ripples through the milky bath. You swallow hard and focus the lens on his face— the slight parting of his pouty pink lips beneath his trimmed mustache that you just now realize has a small patch right above his cupid’s bow.

Even his imperfections are attractive.

The flushed skin of his cock makes an appearance, his thick, swollen head breaking the surface of the water with each subtle movement, teasing you and the camera. The way it peeks through, the slick tip glistening in the milky bath, almost feels like a taunt— winking at you.

Doing as you’re supposed to, you adjust the lens to zoom in on the way his cock flirts with the surface.

If you were anyone else, one of his usual co-stars maybe, you’d lean down and give it a few kitten licks. You’d tease the sensitive crown with your tongue, circling the tip before letting it slide past your lips— just enough to drive him wild.

Your tongue twitches at the thought.

A soft groan escapes his lips as he gets closer to where he’s aching to touch. It’s as if he can read your mind, as if he knows you’re imagining the feel of his cock in your mouth, the taste of his salty skin, the way he’d twitch against your tongue as you tease him until he begs for more.

Maybe he’s picturing your lips wrapped around him, too.

You bite down on your lower lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, to stay focused, even though your body is betraying you. The mess in your panties, the way your nipples stiffen beneath your bathing suit top— everything about this moment is dangerous.

Then finally, his fist wraps around his cock, a soft slosh of water accompanying the motion. The eroticism of the scene— paired with the proximity, the memory of those hands on you— ignites that annoying need deep inside.

He strokes himself slowly, eyes still closed as though lost in the pleasure of it all. You focus the camera on his hand, on the way it moves with purpose, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock, slick with precum.

His groans start to fill the air, and your own body reacts, hips shifting slightly as you try to ignore pressure at your cunt.

“Still with me?” His voice cuts through the silence, raspy and knowing, eyes fluttering open to look at you.

Oh. Have they always been this golden?

“Yeah,” you’re proud of yourself for keeping your voice steady.

Javier’s body is pure, unfiltered sin in motion. As you move around the bathtub to capture every angle, you can’t help but admire him. His muscles shift with every slow pump of his hand, the sinewy lines of his arms and torso rippling just beneath the milky water.

His stomach contracts with each exhale, drawing your gaze lower to the faint trail of hair leading down to his cock, which you catch glimpses of when his hips buck up inadvertently.

His breathing grows heavier, his pouty bottom lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowing in concentration as his pleasure builds. It’s mesmerizing, the way his face contorts, his expressions almost too intimate, too personal for the lens. But you can’t tear your eyes— or the camera— away.

His fist moves with such confidence, touching himself with an unhurried rhythm that only a man used to his own pleasure can manage. Every time his thumb glides over the tip of his cock, a heavier grunt rumbles in his throat and it’s so hot.

You’re too focused on capturing every inch of him that it almost catches you off guard when he begins to speak.

“Wish it was your pretty hand around me right now, baby.” His voice is husky, laced with want, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You blink rapidly, heart stalling in your chest as the camera wavers slightly in your hands. “Javier,” you sigh, his name slipping from your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck, I know, but shit—” His words are more ragged now, spoken between heavy breaths. “You’re all I can think about still. You stay in my mind, muñeca. Can’t get you out.”

Even though every rational part of you knows you should stop him, should leave or at least say something to shut him up, you don’t.

You don’t run, you don’t protest. You just... let it happen.

“Talk to me, please.”

“I-I—” The words get stuck in your throat, “I can’t. I’ll ruin the shoot.” Why is that your priority right now?

“You won’t.”

The way he says it chips at the walls you've built around yourself.

“What do I even say?”

“Anything,” there he goes again, using that tone that makes him sound like he’s begging.

So, you say what you’ve been thinking of since he got into this damn tub. “Your cock is so pretty, Javi.” You purr, throwing all caution to the wind, lying to yourself that this means nothing.

The effect is immediate. He groans, a deep sound from his chest, and his hand moves faster over his shaft, the slickness of the water amplifying the movement. “Fuck,” he says, his breathing now erratic, “say it again.”

Your gaze flicks down and it’s mesmerizing watching the way his body responds to his own touch, but it’s the fact that he’s unraveling in front of you that leaves your mouth dry.

“Such a pretty cock, Javi,” you repeat, voice steadier this time, growing bolder with each passing second. Every flex and contraction of his body feeds the arousal pulsing in you. “I bet it would feel perfect sliding down my throat, hitting the back of it until I’m choking on you.”

All those hours spent listening to cheesy porn dialogue are finally paying off.

His head falls back, exposing the strong column of his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. A guttural groan escapes him as the image of what you just said sets in. His other hand moves down to cup his heavy, swollen balls, the water around him rocking more violently now as he starts to lose himself in the fantasy.

“Shit… I’m close,” he growls, voice breaking with need, the words barely coherent. “Keep talking to me, fuck…”

You lean in slightly, the camera momentarily forgotten. “You want to come for me?” Your whisper is dripping with lust, the idea of him falling apart because of you making your pussy ache. “You want to make a mess? Pretend I’m kneeling right here, my mouth open and waiting for you to fill it, warm and wet just for you?”

You’ve seen him come so many times, watched him fill too many cunts with his spend and paint different parts of their pretty bodies— but none of it compares to the sight before you.

The way his body jerks in response tells you everything you need to know. His grip tightens on the edge of the tub, knuckles going white as he pumps faster, rougher, pushing himself toward the brink. His hips start lifting out of the water with every thrust into his own hand, chasing that final release.

“Fuck, yes…,” he groans, voice strangled, barely holding it together. His eyes squeeze shut, every muscle in his body tensing, going rigid as he falls over the edge.

His bilingual expletives cut off into a long, drawn-out moan as his cock twitches, thick ropes of cum spilling out in messy spurts, splattering against his fist, swirling into the milky bathwater. The petals float lazily across the surface, some clinging to his skin, as the evidence of his release drifts around him.

You stand there, heart pounding, frozen as your brain tries to catch up with your pussy.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, fumbling with the camera as you stop the recording. You quickly move to pack everything up and try your damndest not to look at him.

“Wait, don’t—” Javier’s voice is still hoarse, but there’s a touch of urgency to it now, breaking through the post-orgasm haze. You hear the water sloshing violently behind you as he moves, and you know he’s getting out of the tub. “Just… hang on.”

“No. I-I gotta go,” you stammer, your hands frantically packing up the camera, the lens cap slipping through your fingers. You try to grab it, but your nerves are shot and it fumbles. Thankfully, it doesn’t take damage. You’d hate to hear Robbie bitch at you for breaking the brand-new camera.

Just get out of here is the only thought running through your mind. Every time you’re around him lately, you end up a confused, horny, exasperated mess, and you can’t handle it anymore.

“Hey—wait!” Javier slips as he tries to step out of the tub, nearly falling as he reaches for you, his wet feet squeaking against the floor. You turn just in time to see him catch himself, water dripping from his body, his skin still flushed from what just happened.

“What the hell?” You shoot him a look, “You’re gonna break your neck trying to stop me from leaving—”

“I wasn’t—fuck, just let me talk for a second.” He runs a hand through his soaked hair, water dripping down his neck, over the curve of his shoulders, and you hate how even now, you’re distracted by how good he looks. He reaches for the towel and loosely wraps it around his waist. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” you snap, stuffing your gear into your bag, not caring how haphazardly it’s packed. “This— this isn’t what I signed up for. I’m here to work, remember? Not… whatever the fuck that was.”

He steps closer, reaching for your arm, but you yank it away before he can touch you. The last thing you need is his hands on you right now, reminding you of everything you shouldn’t want.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice softens, but there’s a frustration beneath it, like he’s grappling with the same confusion you are. “I wasn’t trying to mess with you, okay? I just… I don’t know what the hell is happening between us either.”

You stop, finally meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that pulls at the part of you that’s freakishly tethered to him, but you can’t let that get to you now. Not when everything feels so damn complicated.

“Javier, this—” You struggle for words, shaking your head. “This can’t keep happening. I can’t—” You pause, your breath catching. I can’t have you. “I don’t want you,” you correct yourself.

His jaw clenches, muscles ticking under the strain. “Stop bullshitting me,” he growls, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not,” you shoot back, but it comes out too quickly, too rehearsed.

“You’re lying through your fuckin’ teeth, and it’s pathetic. What is so wrong with giving me a chance?” He keeps circling back to this— chances.

One thing about him, he knows how to trigger a fucking migraine. 

“Everything!” The word bursts out of you like a confession. “Everything about this is wrong. It’s why I’ve been trying to stay away since day one, but you’re so— ugh!” You throw your hands up, exasperated, the bathroom suddenly feeling too small and claustrophobic. He’s got you spinning in circles, tying you up in knots, and you can’t think straight around him.

Without a second thought, you turn to leave, your feet moving as if you’re fucking levitating. So what if you’ve made a habit of running away from him? You don’t owe him shit.

“Nena—” Desperation laces his voice and that stupid nickname makes your skin curl. “I don’t want you to leave like this.”

“Well, too bad,” you snap over your shoulder. “I’m leaving so you can’t sweet-talk me into anything.” The slam of the door echoes behind you, a final punctuation to your statement.

As you step out into the hallway, the distant sounds of people fucking filter through the air, kind of grounding you back to the real world.

You can’t keep working with him, not if every interaction is going to end like this. You make a mental note to talk to Robbie after today’s shoot. No more Peña.

The day drags on, the tension from earlier still lingering, but now, sitting outside on the shaded patio, you feel a small reprieve.

A half-eaten sandwich rests before you on the table, your eyes lazily tracing the lines of the zero-edge pool that blends into the horizon. The soft rustle of palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze lulls you into a sense of temporary peace. You glance around, taking in the pristine luxury surrounding you. Rich people really have it made, you think, marveling at the extravagance of someone else’s life.

The spat with Javier lingers but you’ve done your best to ignore it by keeping busy. The other shoots happening in the house have kept you distracted, but you know what’s coming: the last scene of the day— with him— and the new girl, Mariella. A small sigh escapes your lips as you sink deeper into the patio chair, absolutely dreading it.

Your tranquility is shattered when you feel a presence nearby. Already anticipating another confrontation with Javier, you steel yourself and don’t even bother looking up before snapping, “Oh my god, can you just leave me alone—”

The words get jammed in your throat as your eyes land on Frankie, not Javier. He stands there, looking taken aback, a paper bag in one hand and an awkward smile tugging at his lips. You instantly feel like a bitch.

“Shit— sorry,” you stammer, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I thought you were someone else.”

Frankie lets out a small chuckle, brown eyes softening as he rubs the back of his neck. “No worries, I can leave if you want—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, waving him off. “Please, stay. I didn’t mean to be snappy.”

He hesitates for a moment before motioning to the empty chair across from you. “Mind if I sit?”

You shake your head, and he lowers himself into the seat, setting his lunch down. The small talk starts easily, flowing naturally as you both munch on your food. He tells you about his daughter, a proud smile on his face as he recounts how she’s the light of his life. Then he goes on about how his friends call him Catfish because of some dumb inside joke, and also the fact that he’s a retired pilot. It somehow doesn’t surprise you— the career fits him.

“How do you go from flying helicopters to shooting porn?” you ask, the question half serious, half teasing as you lean back in your chair, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses.

Frankie raises an eyebrow and smirks, clearly amused. “Shit happens,” he says with a shrug. “How do you go from having a film production degree to spending your days staring at tits and ass?”

A wry smile tugs at your lips. You tilt your head, pausing for effect. “... Shit happens,” you echo, the irony not lost on either of you.

He snorts, taking a slow sip of his water, the sound of his laughter rolling into the lazy afternoon air. You can’t help but steal a glance from behind your shades, your gaze wandering over his rugged features.

There’s something about the way the sun hits him just right, casting a golden glow over his tanned skin. You swallow, feeling a subtle pull in your chest, an unexpected attraction. He’s not flashy, not like the other guys you’re used to working with— there’s an unspoken confidence in his ease, a solidness that makes you want to keep looking.

“So… who’d you think I was? Just then?” He asks, adjusting his cap.

You try not to let your small smile falter. “Oh, just an annoying coworker.”

“Ah, the kind who shows up at the worst times, huh?”

“Exactly,” you reply with a laugh, “You know the type.”

Frankie leans in just slightly, lowering his voice. “Well, I’m glad I’m not that guy.” There’s a flicker of flirtation in his tone, his eyes lingering a beat too long. “But if you ever need someone to… keep him under control, you just let me know. Got the remedy for that right here.” 

He exaggeratedly flexes his biceps, and the snug t-shirt he’s wearing pulls taut around his arms, highlighting their impressive size.

You can’t help but admire the view— he’s really fun to look at, all charming smiles and playful confidence.

“I might just take you up on that, actually,” you reply, matching his energy with a teasing smile of your own. “I could definitely use someone who knows how to handle things.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his pink lips. “I’m more than equipped for that, trust me.”

For a second, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world— until, of course, it comes crashing down.

A voice cuts through the moment like a knife. “We’re ready for the last scene.”

You turn to see Javier standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight, his gaze flicking between you and Frankie. His entire posture screams annoyance.

“And who are you?” Frankie retorts, squinting one eye against the harsh sunlight, playful defiance dancing in his tone.

Javier doesn’t seem to like that response at all. “I’m ready to get this shit done with,” he snaps, and you narrow your eyes, practically shooting daggers at him.

Frankie clears his throat, sizing up Javier’s bristling energy. “Right.”

You catch the word presumido slip from his lips— the Spanish insult that has you exhaling a light laugh through your nose, because he’s so spot on and he doesn’t even know it.

Both of you stand, Frankie gathering the remnants of your lunch. “If you’d like some company down by the beach later, I’ll still be around,” he adds smoothly, sliding the proposition in there as casually as if he were just suggesting grabbing coffee. You almost don’t mind him crashing your solo date.

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, pushing your chair in. “It would be great to not have to take the taxi back, but I was willing to do it for a nice afternoon by the water.” You can feel Javier’s possessive stare burning into you from across the way.

Frankie, absolutely unbothered, leans in closer, a charming grin on his face. “Here’s my number if you need that ride.” A pen appears out of nowhere, and he scribbles down his digits on a clean corner of his napkin, tearing it off with an effortless confidence before handing it to you.

“Definitely,” you say with a flirty smile, tucking the napkin into your pocket, feeling a thrill against the scowling presence of the spectator watching from the sliding glass door 

Frankie branches off to use the restroom and you push past Javier, no intention of speaking to him until—

“If you spent less time flirting with the crew and more time focusing on your job, we’d be finished by now.”

You can practically taste his jealousy.

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him, your patience running thin. “Really, Javi? You’re jealous of Frankie? That’s what this is about? Did our last conversation not put shit in perspective for you?”

He steps closer, eyes hard, voice low. “Jealous? Of him?” He scoffs, but the tension in his jaw betrays him. “I just don’t appreciate having to wait because you’re too busy cozying up to someone else. Especially someone who looks like they just got picked up off the side of the road.”

“And you wonder why I don’t like you.” Is all you can say, brushing past him yet again, his presence looming heavy as you head toward the living room where the last scene is set to be shot.

The moment Robbie goes on with his usual pre-shoot rundown, your attention shifts to the newbie Mariella immediately, drowning out his usual spiel.

The girl— and she is a girl, no matter what the paperwork says— looks painfully young. Her cropped tee hugging her braless chest, barely keeping her breasts from spilling out, and those flimsy pajama shorts riding high on her thighs. It’s the kind of outfit that makes you uneasy— one you’ve seen too many times in this industry, designed to play into the fantasies of men who want their women to look barely legal.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sour taste of frustration building in the back of your throat. This is the part of the job that gnaws at you— the undercurrent of exploitation that no one acknowledges.

You’re not naive, you know exactly what sells in porn. You know what these people want to watch, what they get off on. The younger, the better. 

Still, it doesn’t make it any easier to stomach when you’re standing on set, watching it play out in real time.

Just as Mariella positions herself, preparing for the camera to roll, you can’t stop yourself. The words come out before you can think to censor them. “How old are you?”

Suddenly, everyone’s attention shifts to you. Robbie. Steve. Frankie. Even Javier, who’s lounging in the corner, waiting for his moment to shine. They all freeze, the casual banter dying off as your question lingers in the air. Mariella blinks, looking around as if unsure who you’re even talking to.

“I—I turned twenty last week.”

Your expression hardens, and the disapproval is written all over your face. “She’s not even old enough to drink, and you’re having her fuck Javier?” Your eyes cut to Robbie, who’s staring at you like you’ve just sprouted another head.

The silence stretches for a beat too long before he scoffs, shaking his head like you’re being ridiculous. “I don’t pay you to hear your opinions on shit,” he snaps, clearly irritated. “Just sit there and record the damn thing.”

Your eyes roll hard enough that it almost hurts. “You’re all a bunch of perverts.”

Poor Frankie catches a stray with that one. It’s like everything is grating on you in ways it usually doesn’t. Normally, you can shove it down and keep your head low because, at the end of the day, you’re just here for the paycheck.

“Perverts pay your bills, sweetheart,” Robbie throws back, all nonchalant. What’s worse is that he’s right.

Moments like this make you wonder how long you can keep doing this without losing a part of yourself in the process.

You look around at the other three men, none of them stepping up to say anything in your defense. Useless.

You shouldn’t be surprised, but it stings. Even Javier, usually quick with a sarcastic quip or biting comment, says nothing. He just sits there, stuffing out a cigarette that’s magically appeared between his lips.

It feels like a betrayal, even though you know better than to expect any different.

And Mariella? She’s clearly distracted, caught up in the magnetic pull Javier has over people. The way she’s looking at him with that starstruck, wide-eyed awe only makes it worse. You can see it in her expression, the way her gaze flickers over him like she’s already imagining how it’s going to feel when he fucks her. Thinking with her pussy instead of having common sense.

You recognize it because you were just in her exact position, drawn into that same orbit. You find empathy for her, but not the other motherfuckers.

The room descends into awkward silence, as if everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you’re not in the mood for a full-blown argument, so you shut down, slumping into the chair behind your camera with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. 

You know it’s only a matter of time before all these feelings you’ve been aggressively pushing down come back up and make you snap, but for now, you continue to force it all away.

You’re assigned to shoot the stoic, wide shots while Frankie’s in charge of the close-ups, and honestly? You’re relieved. The last thing you need is to be up close, watching this trash unfold.

The scene starts with the typical, raunchy premise: Dad pays babysitter with his cock! It explains Mariella’s barely-there outfit and the cluttered coffee table with school notebooks, setting the scene.

Then there’s Javier who looks the part too; dressed in dark blue slacks, a typical white collared shirt with a few buttons popped open to give that I’m stressed, come take care of me vibe.

He’s the picture of temptation, and it’s obvious Mariella’s already in the clouds.

The filming begins and they share that cheesy, erotic dialogue and lustful touches. You feel yourself sink further into the chair, silently counting down the minutes until you’re decompressing by the beach.

She sinks to her knees before him, her doe eyes looking up at him with that practiced innocence they all seem to perfect so quickly. She reaches for the buttons on his slacks, her delicate fingers fumbling just a little before she pulls down the zipper and tugs at the waistband. She nuzzles her face against his thigh, brushing her lips against his skin, and finally pulls out his cock. Even soft, it’s still an impressive size— but it’s definitely not how this was supposed to go.

“Well, are you going to suck it or just stare at it?” Javier snaps, his tone cutting through the air with an edge that feels too sharp, too real. It doesn’t sound like the crudeness that’s meant to spice up the scene.

His hand shoots out and tangles in her hair, yanking her closer. He’s rougher than usual, harsher, as he forces her mouth onto him.

She wraps her lips around his head, suckling softly at first, then taking him deeper into her mouth. She’s trying to do her job, playing the part of the eager babysitter, but something’s off.

Javier’s head tilts back, eyes squeezed shut, but it’s not the usual look of pleasure that crosses his face. It’s more like he’s concentrating, forcing himself to feel something that isn’t there.

You can’t help it— your eyes flick around the room, looking at the rest of the crew. No one seems to be noticing what you’re seeing, their eyes all honed in on the action in front of them.

But you’re catching the small details like you always do.

After a few more moments, it’s clear that it’s not happening. Javier lets out a frustrated curse, pulling out of her mouth with an audible, wet pop. “Fuck—just, give me a second,” he grumbles, stepping back. Mariella wipes the saliva from her lips with the back of her hand, looking up at him with a mix of confusion and hesitation.

You take that as your cue. Reaching over, you stop the recording, your finger hesitating on the button for only a moment before pressing it. Frankie does the same, Steve lowers his mic and pulls his headset off.

Javier runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the floor, like he’s trying to avoid looking at anyone directly. “I just need a minute,” he says again, but it’s more to himself than to anyone else.

Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer than you intend, and your mind flashes back to earlier, to the way he was with you. The memory is sharp and clear, the contrast striking. He’d come undone for you without hesitation, without needing any coaxing or forcing. Just words. But now, with Mariella kneeling in front of him, offering herself up like a gift, he’s struggling. 

“How long will this minute take? We gotta be outta here soon so get it up before I get one of these two to take your place.”

Javier scoffs, dismissive, “Tape wouldn’t fucking sell.”

“Well one featuring a soft dick won’t either,” comes the retort, and the two of them start their back-and-forth bickering.

You rub at your temples, trying to ease the pressure building behind your eyes. This has to be some weird-ass dream; it sure as hell feels like it. Maybe you’re still in bed, blissfully sleeping until three in the afternoon.

Javier storms off and Steve puts his equipment down. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Robbie just waves him away. “Take five,” he mutters to the rest of you, going in the opposite direction. This is such a mess, and poor Mariella remains on her knees, picking at her cuticles. 

“Please get up and sit on the couch. You look pathetic,” you say to her, not cruelly but bluntly. It’s not her fault, but the sight of her there is making you itch. She complies like a chastised child. 

Frankie drops down beside you, letting out a breath that mirrors your own. “These things usually go like this?” He takes his hat off, ruffling his hair before putting it back on.

“No,” shit has just been weird amongst this group for weeks now. “Burnout is inevitable, I guess.” You’re not about to sit there and shit-talk Javier, despite everything. You might have a mountain of complicated feelings when it comes to him, but you won’t kick him while he’s down.

Before Frankie can respond, Robbie comes barreling back into the room, his face flushed with anger. His eyes lock onto you, and you can see the accusation in them before he even opens his mouth.

“This is your fault,” he spits out, voice sharp, acidic. “All that shit you were talking earlier— now he’s fucking broken.”

You narrow your eyes, standing your ground. “Excuse me?” you snap, incredulous. “I was making a valid point. How the hell is it my fault that he grew a conscience?”

“Y’know,” he starts, his words dripping with the kind of vile, misogynistic shit that makes your blood boil. “You’d do me more good in front of the camera. Have somethin’ shoved up in there to keep you fucking quiet.”

The reaction is immediate. You shoot up from your seat so fast the chair scrapes against the floor, the sound sharp and angry, mirroring how you feel. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Frankie stands too, his face hardening as he takes a step in front of you, finally coming to your defense. “Watch it,”  he warns, and it feels like the whole situation could explode into something much worse.

Robbie, of course, just sneers “What? You gonna defend her? She’s been a pain in my ass for weeks—”

“I’m done.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think them through, but they feel right. 

You’re tired— so damn tired— of this whole mess. Of dealing with assholes like Robbie and Javier who think they can get away with saying whatever they want. “I quit.” 

Your boss’s mouth opens as if he’s about to say something else, but you cut him off with a cutting glare. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you treat me like shit because your precious Javier can’t get his dick hard. Go fuck yourself, Robbie.”

You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head for the door, your heart pounding in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You’ll double up on shifts at the bar or go back to waiting tables like you did throughout college. Whatever keeps you away from this bullshit. 

As you stride down the hallway toward the entrance, you pass Javier and Steve. Javier’s face is stormy, brows knitted together as if he’s still reeling from whatever heated discussion they just had. 

The moment he spots you, his expression shifts. There’s a flicker of surprise, maybe even concern.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks.

You yank the heavy, probably expensive for no reason, front door open, the sound echoing through the hallway. “I just quit,” you snap, voice sharp as glass. “See you never.”

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @libre-sol . @cherrysugarx . @goodvibesonly421 .

finally started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out. muchas gracias mis putitas (gn) (endearingly) 🖤

[pickingupmymercedes]

Kiss me - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Kiss me - Cassie

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: smut (it's a cute one though)

wordcount: +4k (got carried away, ops)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER THE CUT, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

“Looking all sweet, but let’s be real, he’s the type to f** Y/n so hard she’s left feeling her cervix as a souvenir of their night.”

His fans had always been in fine form, but after those pics were released from his event? Oh, they were in rare form.

One tweet caught my eye, and I had to bite my lip to keep from cackling out loud. There he was, looking like an angel on earth, his smile all soft and innocent—yet the caption was nothing short of outrageous.

I nearly snorted, and, of course, it got his attention.

“Something funny?” Lewis asked, his gaze shifting over, already curious.

He looked so blissfully unaware of the chaotic energy his fans had just injected into my life. “What’re you reading?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, you know, your fans thirsting” I said, holding my phone up so he could see. His eyebrows lifted slightly as he read, and when he got to the cervix part, that smirk I knew all too well spread across his face.

Great. Here it comes.

“They’re not exactly wrong” he said with that smooth, I’m-definitely-trouble smile. “Didn’t you just say a few days ago that your gyno might get worried one day?”

My eyes practically rolled back. “I cannot believe you’re bringing that up.”

He shrugged, unbothered, stretching his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers grazing my shoulder. “Why? Because it’s true?”

I tried to brush it off, laughing, but I realized his fingers were already on my jaw, gently tilting my face up to his. I gave him a mock-innocent look, like I wasn’t just laughing at his, exceptionally creative fans.

“I’m just saying, they’re funny. Doesn’t mean I actually think it’s accurate.”

“Uh-huh.” He leaned in close, his eyes locked on mine, dark and serious. “You sure about that?”

God, his gaze was enough to make my stomach flip. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of that.

“Well…” I trailed off, clearing my throat as casually as I could manage.

Big mistake. Because in a flash, I saw that competitive spark in his eyes, the one that always meant I was about to lose any game I tried to start with him.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” he asked, voice dropping into that deep, rumbling tone that never failed to get my pulse racing.

“Only if you’re up for it” I shot back, praying he couldn’t tell I was already half a goner from just that look.

He chuckled, low and smooth, and that was all the warning I got before his mouth was on mine, shutting me up mid-sentence. His lips moving with just the right amount of heat that my snarky attitude was gone.

I forgot the stupid tweet, the fans, the whole internet, because now there was only the feeling of his hands on my neck, his chest pressed against mine.

When he finally pulled back, I could barely breathe, and he had the nerve to smirk at me. “Still think they’re exaggerating?” he murmured, his fingers tracing along my jaw.

I wanted to come up with some snappy reply, some sarcastic retort, but I could barely think straight with him this close. All I managed was a slightly shaky, “Maybe a little.”

“Guess I’ll have to remind you thoroughly, then.” He grinned, and before I knew it, he had scooped me up from the couch like I weighed nothing, carrying me down the hall to our bedroom.

One kiss after another, he was laying down a trail of heat I couldn’t even pretend to resist, my hands already tugging at his shirt, which somehow found its way to the floor.

Okay, fine I thought, somewhere in the haze of it all. Maybe the fans do have a point.

I barely had a second to catch my breath before he was on me again. And I mean on me.

I was melting into the bed, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, like every nerve in my body was suddenly awake and waiting. He brushed my hair away from my face, his eyes tracing over me like he was memorizing every detail.

How on earth did I get this lucky?

And, of course, Lewis wasn’t exactly making it easy for any train of thought to be coherent.

He lifted the hem of my shirt slowly, so slowly that I almost wanted to roll my eyes.

Tease. But the moment his lips touched my stomach, any trace of sass in me just evaporated. His kisses were gentle, lazy almost, like he had all the time in the world to just savor me.

“Oh, you’re enjoying yourself,” I managed, the words barely a breath as his mouth moved lower, leaving goosebumps.

He grinned against my skin, and I felt his lips curl into that playful smile that always made my heart flip. “I think you’re enjoying this just as much.”

He was right, of course, but I’d be damned if I admitted it right away. I was still catching up to how he was going to prove the tweet right, but first he was teasing the hell out of me.

He moved up again, his face inches from mine, and my breath hitched when he took his time kissing me like he was reading the most interesting book in the world, page by page.

Each kiss felt like he was imprinting something into my skin, and honestly, it was a little maddening. Here he was, practically worshiping every inch of me with a patience that I could barely handle.

“I thought you liked it rough” I murmured, trying to sound unaffected, which was absolutely pointless given the way my heart was pounding.

“Oh, I do,” he whispered back, his eyes holding mine. “But I love it when I get to take my time with you.”

He was impossibly close now, and his voice went straight to my bones.

I should have had some witty reply ready, some sarcastic little retort that I’d normally throw out just to keep things light. But he wasn’t giving me an inch to think, his fingers tracing a line down my sides, his lips skimming my collarbone, and I was losing more and more the fight to keep myself together.

My head tipped back when his hands made their way to my hips, his grip just firm enough to keep me in place, and his lips found their way to my chest.

You’re taking forever on purpose, aren’t you, Hamilton?

Each kiss, each touch, felt like he was making some kind of unspoken point. He wanted me to know, to feel just how deep this went for him. And God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

By the time his mouth reached my nipple, the last ounce of my composure was long gone. My back arched on instinct, and I was biting back a moan that would have only encouraged him more.

His fingers moved over my curves like he was memorizing the way I fit under his hands, and then he pulled back for a moment, his gaze flicking up to mine, dark and unreadable. “You really think I’m just like switch, don’t you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that made my breath catch.

All I could manage was a nod that didn’t make sense. My heart was in my throat, and every inch of me was burning under his touch.

He smirked, as if that was all the answer he needed, and then he dipped back down, his mouth reclaiming my skin. “I’ll show you both sides” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss over my heart. “Rough when I want, and sweet when I have the chance. Or both when you let me.”

And I could barely manage to get out a word between breaths. “You’re... infuriating.”

He chuckled against my skin, his breath hot and maddening. “And yet, you’re not telling me to stop.”

His lips found my other nipple, and he took his time, making sure that my head was spinning by the time he came back up, his hand tracing along my waist, each touch making my skin feel like it was on fire.

The world outside this room could have disappeared, and I wouldn’t have noticed. Right now, there was only him— taking his time, making sure I knew I was the only person who’d got to see him like this.

I was far too wrapped up in him, every look and every touch setting me on fire.

And then he slid his hand down my stomach, his palm pressing firmly against my covered pussy, the heat of it sinking through me.

His fingers toyed at the edge of my lace panties, his touch so light it was driving me insane.

“Lew, come on,” I half-groaned, half-laughed, trying to keep some control over the situation—or at least pretending to. His smirk told me he knew exactly how close I was to giving up that control entirely.

“Oh, I’m coming on,” he murmured, his fingers slipping down to cup me through the lace. The heat of his touch was enough to make me arch against him, and I hated that he knew exactly what kind of power he had over me.

That smug grin of his? Absolutely infuriating. And totally deserved.

He gave a soft laugh when my body responded, and I could practically feel his smirk against my neck. “That easy, huh?”

“Shut up and keep going” I said, trying to keep some shred of dignity.

He knew what he was doing, his fingers tracing torturously slow circles, not enough to relieve the ache but more than enough to drive me out of my mind.

“Patience, love,” he whispered, lifting his head to give me that classic, cocky look. “I promised you both.”

If I’d had the ability to roll my eyes, I would have. But instead, I reached up, grabbing his face, desperate for the feel of his lips against mine.

He grinned, then kissed me deeply, one hand still pressed firmly against me, his fingers finally slipping under the edge of the lace, grazing over my skin.

Then his fingers brushed my folds, just barely, and I bit down on his lower lip, unable to stop myself.

He let out a low growl in response, which only made me grin, even as my heart pounded like crazy.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes flashing with that mischief that was already wrecking me.

I let out a breathless chuckle. “Cut the tease…”

He shook his head, amused, his fingers slipping under the lace fully now, and I felt myself buck against him.

Each slow, teasing stroke on my clit was enough to make me nearly forget my own name.

I was so losing this game.

“Soaked already,” he murmured, his voice a delicious mix of satisfaction and amusement.

I would have made a comeback, I swear, but his fingers were tracing over me in a way that was completely short-circuiting my brain. Every time I thought I’d gotten a grip, he found a new spot, a new way to make me squirm.

“Oh, is that a smile?” he asked, catching my expression and leaning down to press a kiss to my cheek. “Thought you wanted me to hurry up?”

I rolled my eyes absentmindedly, even though I could barely muster the energy. “Hurry up, slow down, whatever. Just don’t stop.”

He laughed softly, and before I could say another word, he moved down, positioning himself between my legs, his mouth hovering so close I could feel his breath. His fingers traced up and down, building a maddening, delicious tension, and every nerve in me was screaming for him to finally close that distance.

“Lew, please” I managed, breathless and desperate.

He gave me one last teasing grin, holding my gaze as he started, his lips and hands working together to arch me off the bed. And with every nerve in my body alight, I realized there was no witty comeback that could save me now.

I was utterly, completely lost in him.

Dizzy with need, every nerve in my body tuned to him, but Lewis? He was taking his sweet time, equal parts infuriating and intoxicating.

He was enjoying every single second, holding me on this edge that had me biting back moans, trying to keep at least a shred of dignity.

Like that was even possible with him right now.

His hand slid down, curling around the edge of my panties to tug them aside. But of course, he just looked at me, a devilish smirk in place.

“So impatient tonight,” he murmured, brushing his fingers lightly over me, like he hadn’t just spent the last however-many minutes driving me insane. “Isn’t this what you asked for?”

If I had any ounce of wit left in me, it was dissolving fast. “I didn’t think you’d take ‘slow’ this slow” I shot back, my voice breathlessness and sass all mixed into one, making his grin grow wider.

“Maybe I just like seeing you worked up” he said, his thumb pressing firmly against my clit.

The jolt it sent through me was enough to make my legs tense, but he just chuckled, watching the effect he had on me like he was studying art. “I need to live up to the hype, don’t I?”

His teasing was making it so hard to keep any semblance of control.

I reached for him, wrapping my hand around the base of him, only to have him still my wrist, that devilish grin back. “Oh no, love. Tonight, you’re just going to feel me. That’s your only job.”

Somehow, his words alone were making my pulse race. “Alright, Mr. Control Freak.” I managed, half-laughing, half-breathless.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we’re back to the name-calling?”

Before I could respond, he lined his cock, pressing just enough to make me gasp, his hands gripping my thighs as he held me firmly in place.

He was still smiling as he began, his thrusts slow and measured, like he had all the time in the world and zero plans to speed things up.

I was doing everything I could not to lose it completely, but he was making it hard.

Impossible actually.

Every single, agonizingly slow stroke was designed to drive me out of my mind. And he knew it.

He looked down at me, his gaze intense, but there was that barely-there flicker in his eyes. And I saw it. The effort it was taking him to keep his control.

He was fightingit, I could tell, like he was determined to make a point.

“You good?” he asked, voice soft but full of that teasing edge, his thrusts hitting a spot that made my vision blur.

“Yeah” I managed, my voice little more than a breathless mess. “Totally good.”

Not desperate at all. Nope. Not even a little.

But he was still watching me with that knowing grin, his fingers tightening on my thighs as he slowly picked up the pace, his breaths becoming heavier, more labored.

“You’re squirming,” he pointed out, his voice strained with his own restraint. “Think I’ll be able to keep this pace with you moving like that?”

Even in the middle of the haze, I couldn’t help but give him a smirk. “Keep up, then.”

Bold statement—especially given that he was currently holding every ounce of control over me.

And before I could even blink, he lifted my legs, shifting them up onto his shoulders, and suddenly every single thrust hit exactly where it needed to. A slow, perfect shockwave that had me gasping and clinging to the sheets.

“Like that?” His voice was a low growl, his control slipping as his movements gained just a bit more force, each one slow and all-consuming.

I could barely form a coherent thought, let alone answer as his gaze was fixed on mine. Like he was waiting, daring me to say something else, but every word dissolved before it could even reach my lips.

And just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he finally let go of that tight, controlled pace, his movements still slow but just a little rougher, his hands gripping my waist as he watched every reaction he pulled from me.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice labored. “Let me see you.”

Every nerve in me was on fire and somewhere in the haze, I was sure I could feel my heart racing out of my chest. He leaned down, his mouth capturing mine, and with every kiss it was like he was branding himself into me.

I couldn’t stop the sounds leaving my lips, my breath coming in sharp gasps, and he finally let out a groan, his control slipping just enough that I could feel him speeding up, his breath hot against my skin.

“Lew—” I breathed, my voice breaking, unable to stop myself from moving in time with him, my body fully surrendered to the way he was moving against me.

His name was the only coherent word left in my vocabulary, and when he finally lowered my legs, letting them rest on either side of him, he pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm and steady.

“You feel that?” he whispered, his voice full of intensity, his hand coming up to cup my face as he slowed down just in time to let me ride the waves of my release.

And gosh did I rode that orgasm.

I felt every inch of him, the way he was holding himself steady, giving me that same tender, relentless energy.

As my breath started to steady, he brushed his thumb across my cheek, waiting for me to open my eyes.

And when I did, he was watching me with that same teddy bear smile, soft and proud, like he knew exactly what he’d just done, and like he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, the warmth of his gaze wrapping around me. “You good?” he asked, and even though his words were casual, there was something in his eyes that told me he wanted to hear it.

“I think we’ve definitely moved past good.” I echoed, giving him a half-smirk, half-laugh.

I could still feel the remnants of my orgasm pulsing through me, my body soft and spent, but there was something about the way Lewis was still hovering over me, breath shallow, eyes still full of heat, that had me pulling him closer.

The intensity of his earlier movements had me completely lost in him, and now that he was slowing down, I felt that familiar pull to take care of him, to return some of the devotion he'd given me.

His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin as his movements grew slower and more deliberate.

He hadn’t come yet, and I knew it was because he was doing everything in his power to give me space to come down, to keep from being too rough and just savoring this moment.

His body pressed against mine, his hips moving in slow, circular strokes, dragging against me in a way that had me shivering beneath him.

“I’m good Lew, really” I whispered, trying to catch my breath, and he hummed softly in acknowledgment, his lips brushing across mine before he pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice husky with desire but with that hit of concern, as though he was double-checking, even though I could feel how much he was struggling to keep it slow.

“I’m more than good” I said, my voice a little shaky, but my nails running up his back, pulling him even closer to me. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

I could feel him smile, a small, satisfied curve of his lips. His hands cupped my face as he kissed me gently, deepening the kiss as he started to move again, each thrust slow, almost measured, like he was trying to memorize every part of me.

I could feel every inch of him inside me again, the drag of his pelvis against me driving me wilder even being gentler than before.

It was almost like he was whispering his love in every thrust, and I felt every part of me melt under him, my own hands roaming down to find his back, his sides, holding onto him.

Because I could never let go.

I was so fucked up in the love I had for this man. So fucked up in the way he could turn me inside out, leaving me breathless one moment, and then so tender and gentle the next.

He wasn’t rough now. He wasn’t hurried.

“You’re close” I whispered against his lips, my voice low but teasing, loving the way he was fighting not to lose it. His grip on my sides tightened as he groaned softly, his eyes closing as he concentrated on the slow roll of his hips.

“I’m trying to hold on” he murmured back, his voice strained. “Trying not to rush it… but, damn, baby…”

I smiled softly, my hands gently cupping his face as I kissed him again, slow and tender, wanting to give him everything he needed in this moment.

My own body was still buzzing with the aftermath of my orgasm, and I loved how it felt to be so connected to him. He was still taking his time, even though I could hear his breath faltering with every pass of his hips.

“Let go, Lew” I whispered softly, pulling him down to me, pressing my lips against his ear. “I’m right here”

That seemed to do it. I felt the tension in his body snap as he gave in, and the way his movements became almost desperate but still held that deep, slow rhythm.

His moans were louder now, growing more guttural, and I felt him lose himself in me, in the way he was finally letting go, filling me with a warmth that had me gasping for air.

I could hear his breath hitching as he tried to push himself just a little bit further, the way his body trembled with the effort of holding it together. But it didn’t matter anymore.

I pulled him closer, my hands clutching his shoulders as I whispered more sweet nothings, my lips brushing his skin in a way that had him falling.

When he came, it was slow, labored and deep. His whole body shuddering as he let out a low groan, and I was right there with him, kissing him through it, holding him close as he filled me.

His face was next to mine, his breath hot on my skin, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his ragged moans. There was nothing more intimate than hearing him like this, his pleasure all tangled with mine.

As his body finally slowed, he pulled back slightly, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his features filled with that boyish happiness.

He gave me a soft smile, still trying to catch his breath. “You good?” he asked, the same question he always asked, but this time it was a little lighter, a little less intense.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “Are you?”

He grinned, his eyes still a little unfocused. “Yeah… just, give me a minute”

I ran my hand gently along his chest, still reeling from the sensation of him inside me, but not losing the opportunity to tease him lightly. “Gotta give it to you, for an old guy, you really work it well”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, looking down at me, clearly amused. “Oh, is that how we’re doing this now?”

I grinned up at him, my body still buzzing from the aftermath. “I’m just giving credit where credit’s due. You might be getting up there in age, but you’ve still got it.”

He chuckled, finally pulling away, both of us wincing at the feeling of emptiness.

He grabbed some tissues from the nightstand and as he cleaned my thighs up, I couldn’t help but notice the change in how he looked at me, from that goofy, tender smile to a wicked grin.

He hesitated for a moment before stating “Definitely left a souvenir”

I looked down, feeling the sensitive heat between my legs, and shot him a cheeky smile. “You got a little too carried away with your ‘old guy’ moves.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. “If you’re still that sassy I’m sure I can find other ways to shut you up.”

I laughed, the sound full of affection and humor. “That tweet’s gonna stick with me, isn’t it?”

But despite the banter, I couldn’t help but feel that warmth again in the pit of my stomach, that quiet love I had for him—the way he could be so tender, so gentle, but also rough when I needed it.

As he kept on cleaning me up, I raised an eyebrow, the corners of my lips twitching into a mischievous grin. "Oh, and just so you know," I started, letting my voice drop into a teasing tone, "I liked the tweet. Just to make sure people know I agree."

His eyes widened in mock disbelief. “You did not,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned back to look at me more intently, trying to gauge if I was joking.

I couldn’t help but smile even wider, the truth hanging between us like an unspoken dare.

He stared at me for a moment, processing the full impact of what I’d just confessed. And then, with a wicked grin, he leaned down and kissed me hard, his lips claiming mine in a way that told me I’d just earned another round in return.

Well, looks like liking that tweet would be the least of my worries.

When he finally pulled away, both of us breathless, I smirked up at him, savoring the moment.

“You know,” I said with a little chuckle, “You might just get me to start a fan club for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin spreading. "Oh yeah? What’s it gonna be called? 'I love Lewis Hamilton'?"

I shook my head with a dramatic sigh. "Nah, that’s already taken, probably. Maybe something like, ‘I’d let Lewis Hamilton leave me raw any day,’” I shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were the most normal thing to say.

His eyes flickered with amusement and his lips curled into a knowing smirk. Without another word, he pulled me toward him, kissing me deeply again, his arms wrapping around me like a vice.

I guess if he’s gonna keep me like this, I might just have to start the fan club for real.

But then again, who’s the real fan here?

______________________________________________________________

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[misswynters]

𝐗𝐎𝐗𝐎

jinx x fem!bombshell!reader

synopsis: You are a model for (victorias secret equivalent but in arcane universe) and jinx becomes infatuated with you. Known for you bombshell persona and explosive personality, you are the most well known model in all of piltover and zaun. Possibility even watching noxus and the other regions.

warnings: 18+, smut, kissing, smut, wlw , the use of a toy, jinx calls you sugar,

a/n: my first jinx fic <3, also on ao3 (not yet, under doorkiluv)

note | pls give me feedback (and don't only just like but also reblog and comment) this was supposed to be short but it went overboard

𓏲 ˖. ♡ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐱 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 for Piltover. Too clean, too polished, too boring. The people were all fake smiles and ridiculous hats, and she preferred the chaos of Zaun to its glittering streets. That all changed the day she first saw you. She’d been in Piltover on a whim, loitering in the shadows as she planned her next prank. Explosives in a fancy clock tower, maybe? She hadn’t decided yet. But her chaotic thoughts screeched to a halt when she looked up at the enormous neon screen in Piltover Square and saw your beautiful face.

You were walking down the runway in a show so glamorous it put Piltover’s polished spires to shame. Wrapped in a shimmering, barely-there gown that hugged your curves, you strode with an air of absolute confidence. Your bombshell persona was magnetic, your hips swaying to the rhythm of the music as the crowd erupted into applause. You gave the camera a cheeky wink and blew a kiss, and Jinx’s brain short-circuited.

“Holy… Who the hell is that?” she muttered, her wide eyes glued to the screen.

A vendor passing by glanced at her. “That’s her. You don’t know? The biggest model in all of Piltover and Zaun. Hell, even Noxus and Ionia are crazy about her.”

Jinx didn’t respond, too transfixed by the image of you flashing across the screen. You were a living firework, a walking explosion of charisma, beauty, and sheer presence. Your bold, flirty persona was a match for her own chaos, and it wasn’t just your looks that had her hooked—it was the energy you carried, the way you owned every moment. From that point on, Jinx was utterly captivated.

Back in her lair, your face became a constant presence. Jinx scavenged every poster, magazine, and billboard she could find that featured you. Her walls were covered in them, glossy images of you smirking, posing, and looking like you owned the world. She couldn’t get enough of you, and it drove her mad in the best way possible.

“Look at her,” she’d whisper to herself, lying on her bed and staring at a magazine cover where you lounged in a shimmering gold corset. “She’s a walking explosion.”

Whenever one of your commercials aired on Piltover’s big screens, Jinx made a point to watch. She’d perch on the rooftops, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as you spoke directly to the camera, your voice sultry and teasing. Sometimes, she’d mimic your lines, laughing to herself at how ridiculous she sounded compared to you.

The first time Jinx saw you in person, she nearly short-circuited. You were in Zaun, of all places, stepping out of a sleek transport at one of the fancier underground clubs. It was rare for someone like you to venture into the depths, but you carried yourself with the same confidence that lit up your photoshoots. Heads turned as you walked through the crowd, a knowing smirk on your lips as if you knew exactly the effect you had on everyone around you. Jinx’s pulse quickened. This was her chance.

She darted through the crowd, weaving between gawking onlookers until she was standing at the bar beside you. Up close, you were even more stunning, your beauty almost overwhelming.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in a dump like this,” Jinx drawled, leaning casually against the counter. Her nerves were on fire, but she masked it with her usual cocky grin.

You turned to her, one perfectly arched brow raising as you took her in. Your gaze lingered on her bright blue hair and manic energy, and a small, amused smile played on your lips.

“Maybe I like a little chaos,” you replied, your voice smooth as silk. “And you certainly look like the chaotic type.”

Jinx grinned wider, her confidence surging. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not just chaos—I’m a full-blown explosion.”

The two of you spent the night trading flirty remarks and playful banter, the tension between you crackling like a lit fuse. Jinx couldn’t believe her luck. You weren’t just a pretty face. But you had a fiery, explosive personality to match. You were bold, unapologetic, and just as dangerous as you were beautiful. At one point, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she murmured, “So… what’s it like knowing the whole damn world’s obsessed with you?”

You laughed, the sound low and sultry. “I don’t mind the attention,” you said, turning your head so your lips were almost touching hers. “But right now, I’m more interested in you.” Jinx’s heart nearly stopped.

Back at her lair, were things escalated rather quickly. Jinx couldn’t keep her hands off you, tracing every curve and line of your body like she was memorizing you. Her fingers lingered on your hips, her lips trailing heated kisses along your neck as she whispered breathless praises. “You’re even better than the posters,” she murmured, her voice filled with wonder. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

You teased her with your signature confidence, your voice dripping with flirtation as you pulled her closer. “So you’ve been staring at my posters, huh? What did you think about me?”

Jinx blushed, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she grinned wickedly, her fingers tightening on your waist. “Thought about all the things I’d do if I ever got you alone,” she said, her tone low and rough. “And now, I’m not holding back.”

The tension was electric, charged with the crackling hum of her inventions and the intensity of her gaze on you. She had been teasing you mercilessly all evening, brushing her hands against your skin, dropping flirty remarks that sent heat pooling low in your belly. You could feel the mischief radiating off her as she twirled one of her newest creations in her hand. It was a bright, colorful pleasure device she'd been gushing about for days. Jinx loved experimenting, and tonight, you were her favorite subject.

She grinned at you, her sharp, mischievous grin that made your heart race every time. "Alright, Sugar," she purred, tossing the toy between her hands like it was some casual gadget and not something designed to make you lose your mind. "You trust me, don't ya?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your usual flirty composure. "You mean to tell me that thing isn't gonna explode?"

Jinx cackled, tossing her head back. "Not this time, babe! Well, probably not. But hey, if it does, at least we'll go out with a bang!" She winked, and despite your hesitation, you couldn't help but nervously laugh. "You're impossible," you murmured letting her guide you to the mattress piled high with pillows and blankets.

"And you're irresistible," she shot back, pressing you down onto the bed with a surprising gentleness for someone so wild. Her hands were steady as they traced over your skin, her fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. "Let me take care of you, Sugar," she whispered, her voice dripping with sweetness and heat. "Promise I'll make it fun."

The first sensation was the gentle hum of the device she'd created, a soft vibration against your folds that made you arch into her touch. It was colorful and whimsical, much like Jinx herself, with blinking lights and playful patterns painted across its surface. Despite its toy-like appearance, the way it worked against your body was anything but innocent.

Her free hand skimmed over your inner thigh, her touch featherlight and maddeningly slow. The wetness pooling between your legs became impossible to ignore, and Jinx took full advantage, sliding the toy up until it pressed directly against your bundle of nerves. A slick, wet sound began filled the room, the vibrations amplifying the noise as your arousal spread. Jinx froze for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter. "Oh, look at you," Jinx teased, her eyes bright as she watched your reaction.

"Didn't take much, huh? Bet I could've just touched you, and you'd be melting for me." You tried to retort, but the words caught in your throat as she pressed the device lower, her mischievous grin widening as your body jerked in response.

"Aw, Sugar, don't hold back," she crooned, tilting her head to the side as if studying you. "I like hearin' you. Makes it more fun for me."

Your head fell back, a moan slipping past your lips as she adjusted the settings, the vibrations intensifying. She laughed softly, her free hand stroking your thigh as if to ground you. You buried your face in your hands, mortified but too overwhelmed by the pleasure to stop her. The toy’s vibrations grew stronger, and the obscene wet noises only intensified as she moved it against you, her laughter turning into a low, appreciative hum. “Damn, you sound so good,” she murmured, her tone dipping into something more serious. “Bet I could make you scream just with this.”

Your hips bucked against the toy, your slick arousal coating it and making the sounds louder and wetter with each movement. The lewd squelching only seemed to spur Jinx on, her grin growing wider as she adjusted the settings, sending sharper bursts of pleasure through your body. “Listen to that, Sugar,” she teased, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a fuckin’ symphony for me. All wet and messy, just how I like it.”

The embarrassment of her words was quickly drowned out by the mounting pleasure, your moans growing louder as the toy worked you closer to the edge. Jinx’s free hand slipped beneath your thigh, lifting your leg to spread you open further.

“Look at you,” she said, her eyes dark with hunger as she watched the toy glisten with your slick. “So damn pretty like this. Could stare at you all day."

Her words made your cheeks flush, though you couldn't focus on embarrassment for long. Every nerve in your body was alight, the sensation of her toy paired with her teasing kisses and caresses driving you to the edge. And then she pulled it away, grinning wickedly at your gasp of frustration. "Not yet, Sugar," she said, clicking her tongue. "I'm not done playin' with you."

She shifted her attention, leaning down to press her lips against your neck. Her kisses were hot and open-mouthed, her teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. You felt her grin against your throat when you whimpered, your hands clutching the sheets beneath you. Her lips found your collarbone, her teeth sinking into the delicate skin to leave another mark.

"Gotta leave my mark," she murmured between kisses, sucking a particularly dark bruise just below your jaw. "Let everyone know you’re mine. My perfect, messy little bombshell.” Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but you hesitated, your modeling career flashing through your mind. "Jinx, I..."

She pulled back, her wide, manic eyes locking with yours. "Aw, don't worry about all that fancy-shmancy stuff," she said, her voice teasing but with an edge of sincerity. "Bet they'll just airbrush it or whatever. C'mon, Sugar, lemme have my fun."

Your protests melted away as she kissed you again, this time harder, deeper, her hands pinning your wrists above your head. The way she looked at you, like you were the most precious thing she'd ever seen, made your resolve crumble. "Fine," you murmured, breathless. "Do your worst."

Her grin was feral. "Oh, babe, you asked for it." Jinx worked her way across your body, leaving a trail of marks in her wake on your neck, your collarbone, and the valley between of your chest. Each one was a testament to her possessiveness, her need to claim you in a way that went beyond words. "You're gonna look so pretty tomorrow," she murmured, her hands and lips everywhere at once. "Walkin' around all marked up, like a damn work of art."

You couldn't even bring yourself to care about the consequences anymore. Her touch was overwhelming, every kiss and bite sending jolts of pleasure through you. She alternated between using her toy and her hands, keeping you teetering on the edge but never quite letting you fall. "Beg for it," she whispered, her voice dark and playful as she hovered above you. "C'mon, Sugar, lemme hear it. Tell me how bad you want me to finish you off."

Your pride wavered, but the need coursing through you won out. "Please, Jinx," you gasped, your voice shaking. "I need you. Please."

She chuckled, clearly satisfied with your quick surrender. "That's more like it," she said, finally pressing the toy back against you. The sensation was overwhelming, and this time, she didn't stop, driving you higher and higher until you finally shattered, a cry escaping your lips as you came undone beneath her. Jinx didn't stop right away, drawing out your pleasure until you were trembling, your body spent and your mind hazy.

When she finally set the toy aside, she crawled up beside you, pulling you into her arms with surprising gentleness. "See?" she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Told ya it'd be fun."

You tilted your head up to meet her gaze, a small smile playing on your lips despite your exhaustion. "Guess I'm stuck with you then," you teased, your flirty nature peeking through even now.

Jinx grinned, her signature chaos in her expression, but there was something softer there, something that tugged at your heart. "Damn right you are. You're mine, babe. Every last gorgeous inch of you." Her fingers danced across your body, tracing the bruises she'd left, her eyes filled with pride as she admired her handiwork. You shivered under her touch, the sensitivity from her earlier teasing still lingering.

"Look at this," she mused, her tone somewhere between awe and glee. "You're a freakin' masterpiece, Sugar. Better than any of those shiny posters they plaster all over Piltover and Zaun."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound weak but genuine. "You think so?"

"I know so," she said firmly, leaning down to nuzzle her face into your neck. "They see the bombshell, the glitz, and the glam, but I get this. I get the real you, all wrecked and perfect just for me." Her words sent warmth spreading through your chest, the vulnerability beneath her usual bravado making your heart ache. You reached up to cup her face, your thumb brushing against her cheek. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

Jinx snorted, pulling back just enough to smirk at you. "Too good? Babe, I'm a menace. But I guess l've got a soft spot for you."

"Lucky me," you teased, letting your fingers trail down to the nape of her neck. She leaned into your touch, her grin softening into something sweeter. "Damn right. You're the luckiest gal in all of Piltover, Zaun, maybe even Noxus." Her playful boasting earned another laugh from you, and she kissed you again, slower this time, her earlier fire giving way to something gentler. The kiss lingered, her lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

When she finally pulled away, she flopped down beside you, pulling you into her arms as if she couldn't bear to let you go. You rested your head on her chest, listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat as your body relaxed into hers.

"Y'know," Jinx murmured, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back, "I used to look at those big, fancy posters of you and think, ‘She's way too good for someone like me!"

You tilted your head up to look at her, surprised by her confession. "Jinx..."

"But then I thought," she continued, her voice growing steadier, "what's life without a little chaos, right? And lucky for me, you're just as explosive as I am." Her words brought a smile to your lips, and you reached up to brush a strand of blue hair from her face. "Guess we make a pretty good match then, huh?"

She grinned, her manic energy shining through even in this quiet moment. "The best, Sugar." As the adrenaline from earlier began to fade, you let yourself sink into the warmth of her embrace, her steady presence grounding you. Despite the chaos that always seemed to follow Jinx, moments like this reminded you why you'd fallen for her in the first place.

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[killerlookz]

heyyy💋 so could i request a fic where reader is an eurovision contestant and basically her & joost are attached to the hip. they are seen being all cuddly with each other, flirting, sitting as close to each other as possible, the cameras catching your non so secret glances.. generally acting like a couple. but when the press asks you about this whole situation, you both deny that you have something going on between you two, but deep down you know that those gestures are not so “innocent” at all🤭🤭

a/n: ooooh i love a cheeky little secret romance!! thank you for the request anon <3

Just Friends | Joost Klein

content: gn! reader, very brief allusion to sex, joost and reader are so down bad for each other its a little pathetic, mostly fluff, some angst if you look at it under a microscope. this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable, and please block the rpf tag

word count: 2128

You sit on the edge of your hotel bed, you smile, your cheeks grow hot, letting out a small breath from your nose, replacing a genuine laugh.

Your phone sits in your lap, opened to a message

Joost Klein: When were you planning to tell me that I'm your secret lover 😓

What followed was a screenshot from some European tabloid sight, headed by: Eurovision Contestants Spotted Getting Cozy: Secret Lovers Revealed?!

Below were two grainy photos of you and Joost, taken just moments apart from each other. Taken from behind, they showed the two of you walking side by side, just outside the hotel you were staying in. It would have looked more like a friendly exchange if your hands hadn't been locked together.

You knew you'd have to explain everything eventually, that was the third headline this week that had come out about you and Joost. Another showed the two of you sharing a hug that looked a little too close for it to be friendly, in another you had a hand planted on his chest, and your head tilted back mid-laugh.

It all seemed a little ridiculous. You knew Eurovision was one of the largest events in all of Europe- but still, you couldn't have imagined how interested people would be in your personal life off the stage.

It was nothing too scandalous anyway, you and Joost had known each other prior to Eurovision. And sure, you were more casual friends, despite being from different countries, the two of you had run in similar circles with music and all. You had spent the last few years admiring each other's music, usually from afar, the times the two of you had genuinely hung out before all this were few and far between. Your conversations were usually reserved for more chaotic moments, either backstage at the end of a show or in the crowd for a musician friend the two of you had in common.

You couldn't exactly explain away all of the touchy-touchy stuff, but you never expected that you would have to, it had just always been like that, ever since you first met. Truthfully, the two of you were closer than the tabloid photos led on. But they didn't have to know that.

Hasty fingers tap at your phone screen

apparently it's so secret that i didn't know it either!

You send your response to Joost before closing your phone and tossing it somewhere on the bed. You lay back, landing on the firm mattress with a small bounce.

Your eyelids are lowered, trying your best to keep focus on the woman in front of you through heavy lids- though it seems impossible with the crisp white LEDs shining in your face.

"So, have you made any connections with any other contestants since you've been here in Malmö?" The woman asks, a curious eyebrow-raising as she guides the microphone in her hands in front of your face.

You know exactly what she wants to hear from you, the hunger is evident in her eyes, she licks her lips in desperation for a scoop, before her mouth pulls into a sly smile, it all feels so predatory. You swallow thickly, shifting a quick gaze toward the cameraman before flicking your eyes back to the reporter, who has an equally as hungry look on his face, and you realize, you are their prey.

"Yeah, absolutely," You nod, your face lights up, "I've honestly really connected with Bambi Thug, they're really bringing such a new and innovative sound to Eurovision, I really admire them for that, and don't let the makeup and costumes fool you they are an absolute sweetheart!" It wasn't a lie, Joost was not the only person you had talked to since the competition started. You did make friends while you'd been here.

The journalist loses her grin, her face now twisted with dissatisfaction.

"Anyone else?" She asks, nearly cutting you off, her microphone still stuck in your face.

"Marina has been an absolute joy too," Your smile lingers on your lips, "And Nemo- they're great too!"

"Well," The journalist starts, facing the microphone back to her, "I think we've all been hearing the rumors about some sparks flying between you and the Dutch representative, Joost Klein, is there any truth to them?"

You're a little taken back by her forwardness to just outright ask the question,

"I wasn't aware of any rumors," You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head in vehement denial, "But Joost is great too, we've known each other for a few years now, and I've been a big fan of his music, and he's a great friend." You breathe out, silently hoping the answer is satisfactory for the journalist to cease probing any further.

"No potential for anything more than a friendship?"

"Oh no," You shake your head, nearly scoffing as the words choke out of your mouth, and you hope you're as good of an actress as you are a singer, "Again, Joost is great, but he's just my friend."

"Alright," She nods her head slowly, unsatisfied. The way the journalist's eyes linger on you makes it clear she doesn't quite believe you- but it would be inappropriate of her to ask you any more questions on the matter.

"Would you like to talk about my music now?"

"I just don't know why they're acting like we had a sex tape leak- do these people not hug their friends?" You throw your hands up, frustrated. The last two days had been nothing but interviews, but it seemed none of the interviewers were as interested in your actual Eurovision performance as they were in potentially getting the first scoop on what was "going on" between you and Joost.

"I mean that would give them something to talk about," Joost chuckles, standing at the foot of your hotel bed, he's clad in nothing but a white tank top and his underwear. The tight fabric of what little he's wearing clings to his body, leaving just about nothing to the imagination. He ruffles a hand through his already messy hair. You'd wondered what the tabloids would say if they got a whiff of this, "All press is good press"

"Are you suggesting something, Mr. Klein?" You flash a look at him, your eyes piercing his. Your words come out much harsher than you had intended them to, you couldn't help it, your frustration was evident.

Joost placed a hand behind his neck, rubbing anxiously, throwing a sheepish look in your direction as to insinuate he had been suggesting something. You knew he was only joking, but the thought of actually doing such a thing made your face hot. A light pink blush burned on your face as you stared up at him.

"You're filthy," You giggle, and your hands latch on to a pillow that sits next to you, and you fling it in Joost's direction.

He takes a step back as the pillow hits him square in the stomach, a loud thump can be heard in the room as contact between his body and the stuffed object is made. He choked out a breath of surprise, and his face winced as he grabbed his stomach in feigned agony,

"How could you," He shakes his head, "I think you broke every single one of my ribs."

"Shush," You scoff, "C'mon, get over here." You pat the bed next to you, shifting yourself over to one side.

In typical Joost fashion, he practically jumps onto the bed. He adjusts himself in such a way that his shoulder is brushing up against yours. He's warm, and you want nothing more than to crawl into his arms. It was almost pitiful the way you wanted him, completely desperate. And yet, you don't dare to act- not right now.

The room falls silent as the both of you hesitate to say anything. The room is thick with a humid tension, and words left unsaid. Your reccolection of the last few days seemed non-existent yet ever-present at the same time. Everything had left you wondering the same exact questions as every journalist who had talked to you today, what was going on between you and Joost?

"I can feel the stress radiating off of you," Joost finally speaks, "Are you okay?"

You furrow your eyebrows, looking down into your lap where your fingers are not fidgeting and intertwined. Your face twitches.

"Are you really so upset about those interviews? Do you want to stop this, I can lea-"

"No," you cut him off all too quickly, "No stay. Please." Your voice had shriveled down to nothing but a pathetic whisper. As confusing as your feelings had been, the confusion seemed to be better than not having them at all. It was hard being away from home and feeling like you were bracing the weight of the world or at least of Europe against your shoulders. Joost, at least, was a source of comfort, something to come back to.

"Okay," He nods, his head moving up and down slowly.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't felt some sort of way about Joost before all of this. His affectionate nature with you seemed to cross all of the wires in your brain. He had always been affectionate with his close friends, not afraid to spare a hug or an arm around the shoulder when he felt like it, but with you it seemed different, especially taking into account neither of you would exactly consider the other as a "best friend."

Besides, even if you were, best friends don't usually stay up all night, lying on top of each other in some state of undress, lips hungrily pressed against one another. This whole situation had left you feeling like you were a teen again, the prickling feeling in your chest of excitement and anxiety of sneaking around to see a boy you liked. It was addicting, the adrenaline that flooded each and every inch of your body, as the two of you snuck off from the afterparties where your appearances were all but mandatory. You'd be lying if you said it didn't at least help a little to take the edge off of all the stress of the competition.

An arm snakes around your shoulder, and immediately Joost is clicking his tongue disapprovingly

"So tense," He mumbles, "Lay down, will you?" His voice is quiet, nearly pleading, and much more timid than you're used to. You feel compelled to oblige, spellbound, his soft words are like hypnosis.

Joost's arm slips from where it sits around your shoulder as you sink into the pillows below. You allow your body to relax into the support of the mattress.

A hand grazes your thigh, trailing down to your knee, Joost gives you a couple gentle taps, "Put your legs up, I'll pull down the blanket for you."

You oblige, bending your knees to pull them inward, and Joost hops off the bed for a moment, grabbing the thick white comforter in his hands from its neatly made position. You shift as he pulls it from under your body, allowing the blanket to slip down to your feet.

The bed dips as Joost crawls back to his position next to you. He reaches out to the foot of the bed, pulling the comforter up to cover the two of you.

"So," You start, rolling on your side, facing away from Joost, "Did they ask you about me?"

The blanket above you shifts as Joost adjusts himself to lie down next to you. He places a gentle hand against your hip, rubbing careful circles against the fabric that separates your skin from his. His chin rests upon your shoulder, and almost instinctively you nuzzle your cheek against his.

"Mhmm," His gentle hum vibrates against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"What did you say?" You ask and your teeth clench, your eyes shut tight, waiting with anticipation for his response, hoping for it to line up with yours. You could only imagine the suspicion that would arise if the two of you were to have given entirely different answers to the same question.

"I told them we're friends, just friends."

Your jaw slacks at the relief, and you let out a sigh, eyes fluttering open. But something about those words coming from his mouth, just friends, as his words graze your ears your relief is coupled with a stinging feeling in your chest, a sharp reminder of the peculiar position you had found yourself in.

"And are we," You pause, "Just friends?"

Joost picks his head up from where it rests on your shoulder, ghosting the exposed flesh of your arm with a kiss.

"Not if you don't want us to be."

a/n: i added a pt. II to this, read it here!