#not that we’ve had anything to celebrate on this day for a very long time other than a day off at the pool lol but still | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leclsrc · 2 years ago

Text

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder.

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich.

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface.

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

—

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft.

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead.

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then��when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast.

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance.

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle.

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time.

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.”

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.”

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink.

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why.

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you.

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober?

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look.

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking.

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows.

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment.

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly.

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing.

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger.

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

“Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air.

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his. “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

“Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him.

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness.

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily.

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn.

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it.

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x reader

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jikooklove9795 · 14 days ago

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With the news just of JKs series, which seems to be the film split from the trailer, just with extras, am I wrong to pray that we don’t get a documentary for Muse?

I just have this really bad feeling that Jimin would say something more unhinged than he did during the Bangtan bombs we got and the interviews with p dogg, when he said he couldn’t remember the last time he had a crush, that he was alone, and he couldn’t relate to the love songs. That telling the producers what he wanted for Who was like them reading his diary, basically that whole segment is sus, and technically debunked Jikook. I can imagine him saying he’s never been in love etc. I just know he would do that. We’ve got Jimin choosing Who, about not having love, and JK chooses all songs about being with the one you love, so I wasn’t worried about him saying anything, just Jimin.

I am wrong to feel this way? I pray every night for it not to happen

Hi Anon!

First I need to tell you this before I go further on explaining why MUSE, the album as a whole does nothing to debunk Jikook:

As much as I love celebrating Jikook's bond and relationship I'm not someone who has any kind of expectations from both Jimin and Jungkook. I won't demand them to behave a certain way so that I get the confirmation my ship needs. Having such kind of expectations is not ony wrong but also unfair to them.

Anon, I hope I don't sound condescending which is not my intention at all. I'm just saying this in your best interest. I hope you'll take it in the right spirit.

Now I'll share my views on why MUSE does not debunk Jikook.

MUSE is a conceptual album as opposed to FACE which was autobiographical. As stated by Jimin and the producers they were following a storyline for MUSE. Also, when it came to MUSE Jimin had so much to share, ideas to give and discuss while for FACE we didnt get that, did we? Since FACE was about his own life and the struggles he went through, he was hesitant and holding back not letting us know much about it. Which was not surprising knowing how serious he is about his personal life.

And something which I think you're forgetting is that Jimin is an artist. An artist who will experiment with his work and explore diverse genres in order to bring to the table different stories for the fans. Stories which fans also can relate to. Stories which aren't about his personal life and experiences. His work is not always going to be solely focused on his personal life. So, try to separate his work life from his personal life.

Also, taking into consideration his situation (his country, the industry he works in) its highly unlikely for him to say "Hey! Jungkook is my bf. We have been in love for a long time now". That's not gonna happen anytime in the near future. So, what we will be getting instead is "I'm single for as long as I can remember. I don't even know how having a crush feels like".

This is the exact reason why "Letter" gets passed off as a fan song in the general fandom. Cause Jimin is not in a position to say "Letter" is for Jungkook. That's a sad reality. But its for their own safety and well being. Which provides them a cover, a protection. The same cover cause of which they were able to enlist together. Which in my opinion is the most important for them, I mean being able to stay together rather than risk everything and expose themselves.

However Jimin did provide a few hints here and there for those who are willing to listen.

And an even BIGGER HINT with this one here:

The billboard falling at the same time Jimin goes "Who's my heart waiting for". Someone whose facial structure is not that of a woman but of a man. A man with doe eyes. A man who stole his heart all those years ago. A man with whom he's happy and very obviously in love.

Have a nice day Anon!

Credits to the owner of the video

#jikook #kookmin #jungkook #jimin #ask

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emiliaalonsosainz31 · 5 months ago

Text

secret Feelings - OP81 x Y/N

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Y/N

warnings: nothing except pure fluff (maybe a bit angsty tbh)

Summary: Y/N is torn about confessing her feelings to her close friend, Oscar, during a birthday party. Despite her fears, she decides to tell him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Authors Note: Please note that English is not my native language, so please be kind. It hasn't been proofread. I am open to any suggestions, ideas, comments, or criticism:) Thx for reading <3

Does he know? Does he not know? Should I tell him? Or should I wait and hope he figures it out himself? Would he even notice? Maybe he already knows and ignores it because he doesn't feel the same… Ohhh nooooo. We’re not thinking about that now, Y/N! This is Oscar – if he didn’t at least have some feelings for you, he wouldn’t be so close to you all the time. He wouldn’t always save a seat for you next to him, or put his hands on your shoulders when he stands behind you. He wouldn’t regularly try to make eye contact at social events to check if you’re okay, and above all, you wouldn’t talk on the phone every day.

I look beside me. Oscar and I are sitting in the garden with friends, celebrating a birthday. The sun is setting, and the last golden rays of the day shine through Oscar’s light brown hair. His cute side profile looks even better in this light. I just sit there and watch him with a slight smile on my face. Since he started driving for McLaren in Formula 1, he’s been traveling a lot, and moments like these, where I can just look at him in peace, are rare. That’s why I cherish this one even more. He’s living his dream, and I couldn’t be prouder of him! Oscar and I have known each other for about 1 ½ years, and I’ve had a small crush on him for just as long. Okay… maybe a big crush, but that’s not important.

He turns his head towards me and sees me smiling. He smiles back and takes my hand, which is resting on my lap, in his.

Oscar leans slightly towards me. “Everything okay, Y/N?”

I look into his eyes and nod. “Yeah, I can’t complain about anything!”

“That’s very good... yeah, really good. Um, I’d like to take a walk around the block before I leave later, just to stretch my legs a bit before I drive back to Oxford. Will you join me?” he asks with a friendly grin on his lips. I say I’ll come, and follow him out of the garden. Oscar offers me his arm, saying, “Would the lady care to link arms?”

“I’d never say no to that offer!”

I link my arm with his, and we walk a few meters in silence. It’s a very comfortable silence. I don’t think I’ve ever had an awkward silence with Oscar because he exudes such calm that you can just enjoy the moment without talking. It’s really good for me, and I notice that every time, as do the people around us. I’m very excitable and emotional. I talk a lot, and when I’m nervous or stressed, I can be quite exhausting. In those moments, Oscar is always my anchor. Even though I’m a very outgoing and extroverted person, I often need a retreat to recharge and feel safe. And that safe place is definitely the man walking next to me.

Oscar looks down at me with a slight frown, half-hidden by a strand of hair on his forehead.

“Are you sure everything’s okay? You’ve been so quiet and lost in thought all day. That’s not like you at parties,” he says with a slightly worried tone.

We’ve gotten closer over the past few months, but I’m afraid of losing what we have if I tell him I feel more than just friendship. I look away slightly, blinking away the small tears that come at the thought of possibly losing him. He stops, stands in front of me, and turns my face towards him with his hand.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Please talk to me, I’m really starting to worry, sweetie.”

I look into his eyes, which now seem very concerned. There’s no way out of this now, and I have to tell him. “Osc… I… there’s actually something on my mind,” I say, sniffling. A few small tears escape from the corners of my eyes. “Please don’t be mad or put off. I really don’t want to lose you, you mean too much to me. But not just as a friend, more than friends, if you know what I mean. I really, really like you. But I understand if you don’t feel the same way. Oh God, of course you don’t feel the same way, but I hope I don’t lose you because of this. Why am I even saying this? I’m just ruining everything. Oh God, oh God...,” I ramble, tears streaming down my cheeks. Oscar looks at me and starts laughing. First quietly, then louder.

Wow, I expected many reactions, but not this. My sad expression turns into a slightly angry and confused one. Just as I’m about to turn and leave, Oscar grabs my arm and turns me back to him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. That reaction wasn’t the best choice. But did you really think I didn’t know? It took exactly two weeks, and my friends were already telling me about the hearts in your eyes when you look at me. And from that point on, I couldn’t miss them either. And don’t worry, I feel the same way. I know how insecure you get with deep feelings. I’m the same way. That’s why I didn’t want to pressure you and just let things develop naturally between us. So no, I’m not mad, I’m not put off, and you definitely won’t lose me, quite the opposite. Did you really think I wouldn’t feel the same way?”

I exhale in relief and nervously wring my hands before Oscar takes them in his.

“Somehow, I knew you felt something for me because the way you are with me is different from how you are with your other friends. But I couldn’t be sure. And oh God, was I really that obvious? How embarrassing. I’m sorry. But you have no idea how happy I am that you feel the same way. I should have done this much earlier, with the whole open communication about feelings and stuff.”

“Yeah, there are a few things I would have liked to do much earlier...”

I raise my eyebrows questioningly as his face gets closer to mine. Oscar looks into my eyes and then at my lips. His gaze keeps shifting between the two. My heart starts to beat faster, and my mouth goes dry. His lips meet mine, and my eyes close. It’s an explosion of emotions, and I kiss him back. Our small kiss turns into more until we hear cheering and clapping from behind us. Oscar pulls away from me and laughs as he looks behind me. I turn around and see some of our friends a few meters away, grinning widely. They’re whistling and clapping, shouting cheers.

“Seems like this conversation wasn’t just overdue for us, right?” Oscar says, laughing as he wraps an arm around me.

“Yeah, and obviously I wasn’t as subtle with my feelings as I thought. Haha, I really need to work on that!”

“No! You never need to hide your feelings again, they’re far too precious!”

He leans down and gives me a very heartfelt kiss on the forehead.

#formula 1 #formula one #McLaren #mclaren f1 #mclaren racing #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #op81 x reader

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hiraethwrote · 19 days ago

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VENT SESSION LETS GOOOO — you’re allowed to scroll if you don’t care mwah

i spend an ungodly amount of hours on this app, and i look at you as my friends so just want to let you guys know

i am also a very nosy person myself, so seems only fair i share my own situation. but if you don’t care about all this, you can just keep scrolling. i honestly don’t mind lol

anyways… a few weeks ago, i told you guys i was going through something that was kinda heavy — yeah my bf and i were going through some stuff and started seeing someone professionally… we broke up

there was an understanding that this might be outcome when we first opened up this can of worms, and there turned out to be a lot of underlying issues that both of us had refused to acknowledge

it was definitely a mutual decision. though it’s a hard pill to swallow, we came to the conclusion it was the best for the both of us

we want such vastly different things in life, things neither of us should compromise on. to me, life came at me a lot faster than i anticipated and felt like there were things left unexplored — and neither of us want to hold the other person back from what we want

however, this is a person i have been with for six years, a quarter of my life. there’s obviously a lot of shared history which is hard to let go of. it’s also so incredibly painful when we’re not splitting due to lack of affection and love for the other person, but because our desires and wants in life just don’t align

he is still my best friend, and because of how our life situation is, we will continue living together as we have been doing for the past three years (he only lives here half the time due to work), until i move across the country when summer comes. we’re also going to celebrate christmas together because it just feels right lol

i would say i am doing as well as i can… we are obviously on good terms, but this is probably one of the hardest things i’ll go through. it is the biggest heartbreak of my life. but that is really just a sign that the time we’ve shared together haven’t been a waste. we can be proud of the fact that we’ve been honest, faithful, respectful and kind throughout the entirety of our relationship, to the point where this is so hard even though it’s the right decision

obviously, i am very scared of the path that lies ahead. he has been by my side for the better half of a decade, and i have the privilege of exploring things on my own. it’s obviously what i have been missing in my life, so i am excited for what’s to come, but terrified of living a life he’s not going to be such a big part of anymore

but things are going to be fine. idk how long it will take, i am suspecting very long, but i know in my bones this is for the best for us both. so with time, i will be happy

and not to worry, i have a fantastic support system. i have incredible friends who are there for me. i am lucky to have a family who is not guilting me about leaving a long term relationship, despite also being sad. and i’ve learned i have a great community on here who has showed so much kindness, and i am so grateful <3

that being said — i am not planning on taking a break from tumblr lol. if anything, i am starting to get out of my writers block. this past week i have written more than i have the last month so that’s good! i think i might try and be a little more productive than i have been the past few weeks (at least i hope so, work is picking up again hehe)

not putting this out here for sympathy or anything, but just a little update. i am interested in the lives of those i follow, so maybe some of you are interested in mine

wishing everyone a nice weekend 🫶🏻 i got work in the morning (day after the breakup that’s fun)

#— yap central #tw vent #tw breakup #i am fine guys #all things considered

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cacoetheswriting · 8 months ago

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celebrity skin. (part eight)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 5.2k summary: a reconciliation in New York leads to a rediscovery of not-so-hidden feelings and answers to previously avoided questions — plus more.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, post-breakup emotional hurt / comfort, use of pet names, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of blackmail, & kinda rough smut (unprotected p in v sex) — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

One thing Eddie had been absolutely sure of: Stevie Nicks was right.

The trip to New York City was carried out solely on a whim. A gut feeling that the brunette rockstar could not quite shake. He had to see you, despite the possible consequences, and Eddie was smart enough to know there would be a lot. He acted like an ass and whether you would admit it or not, he knew he broke your heart.

Ever since his rise to fame, the Corroded Coffin frontman felt this bubble around him. A bubble created by his team, his band, his past, and his own disruptive behaviour — don’t do drugs was a warning he witnessed (and ignored) many times on posters too colourful for the subject matter, plastered on the walls of Hawkins High. Seemingly, the bubble protected Eddie from predators. Leeches that wanted to take advantage of his fame. Unfortunately, the bubble also shielded him from love.

Love.

If the rockstar wasn’t so afraid of the feeling as a result of that bubble, perhaps he would have made different choices in all of his past relationships. Most importantly, perhaps Eddie would have made different choices in the one relationship that’s meant more to him than any other. If he wasn’t so afraid of love, and being in love, perhaps he would’ve fought to be with you a little harder.

And love is definitely how Eddie would describe what he felt towards you. Correction. Feels towards you to this very day. Maybe more, if that was possible considering he hasn’t seen you in months.

So yes, Stevie Nicks was right. The concept of Silver Springs was right.

Seeing you again only affirmed that belief. Talking to you again, witnessing your smile for the first time in months… Well, Eddie never wanted to be apart from you for longer than he already had been. Unfortunately, that wasn’t up to him. Not for as long as your grandmother had her claw all up in your business and stuck her nose where it did not belong.

“So, what happens now?” The rockstar asks, only slightly afraid of the answer.

You hum under your breath, taking a moment to think, gathering your own thoughts. The sun is slowly rising in the distance, so the first response that comes to mind is that you should go home, and Eddie should go back to his hotel, Max’s place, or wherever the hell he’s been staying, before this place starts crawling with people. That would mean saying goodbye for lord knows how long and you were just starting to get comfortable with being around the rockstar again, although, not like that was insanely hard. Whatever. Simply, you didn’t want to say goodbye.

“We could go get breakfast,” you finally say.

Eddie smirks. “As much as like that idea, sweetheart, I didn’t really mean now in the full sense of the word.”

You laugh softly.

“Okay, hotshot.” Turning your head back to look at Eddie, you raise a brow. “What do you think should happen?”

The rockstar smacks his lips together before resting his elbow on one of his knees and bringing his thumb to his mouth. A nervous tick.

“Putting whatever reason I came here for aside, starting over seems like a bad idea since we’ve done that once before and it didn’t really end the way either of us hoped,” he says after a beat of silence, avoiding your gaze.

“Yeah,” you exhale, “Bad idea. Plus you said so yourself, you’re not the relationship type. Getting back together would be redundant.”

“Right,” Eddie agrees quietly, although he really doesn’t want to.

There’s another moment of silence. Nothing but the sound of morning birds chirping melodically and wind gust hitting the water ahead. In the quiet, there is solace. In the quiet, Eddie doesn't have to answer difficult questions or have conversations neither of you really wants to have. A blissful ignorance of what’s really happening here.

He still loves you. You most likely still love him.

It’s all just terrible timing for two people who are — in his mind, at least — made for eachother, but for one reason or the other, can’t be together. Not in this lifetime. Not with people controlling what they can or cannot do. Not with the whole world watching their every move. It hurt. Hurt that a life you both chose was also the life that’s actively destroying something good.

“We could try being friends?” Eddie offers eventually, looking at you then.

You smile. “Friends. I think I like that.”

Holly is the only person you’re fully comfortable talking to about all of this. She listens, actively nodding along as you spew your thoughts and feelings out loud, until the rambles become too hard to follow. Holly, ever the best friend that she’s always been, places her perfectly manicured hands on your shoulders and gives your body one shake to get you back on track when the story becomes a little too convoluted. And this one is all over the place.

There’s the run in at Saks, the meeting with Max, the plan, the date with Steve, all that leads to Eddie Munson banging on your front door until you let him inside. There’s the emotionally heightened conversation that doesn’t really amount to much. The dinner with your family that opened things up to questions from your nosh sisters and scrutiny from your Nana. Then there was Coney Island.

You pause.

It’s messy, for sure, and your feelings are all over the place as you recount each and every minor detail, which leads you to why you invited her over in the first place: what the fuck do you do about Eddie Munson?

Holly usually gives you advice. Parts of which you want to hear and take on board, parts of which you both know will be ignored. This time however, as you do your best to explain what’s been on your mind — and heart — since the rockstar arrived in New York, this time Holly doesn’t know what to say.

“I don’t know if I should forgive him.”

“Jeff says he’s been, like, super sullen all summer long. Locked in that house of his, or at the studio, working on shit he won’t let the band see.”

“That’s supposed to make it easier for me to do what, exactly? He’s secretive, that’s for sure. Hiding stuff from his band, from his sister, from me…”

You reach for the packet of smokes that Holly brought with her and light one, hand shaking ever so slightly.

“I got virtually nothing from him that night in my apartment. Slightly more under the Wonder Wheel, but still not enough to understand why he did what he did,” you exhale a puff of smoke, “Yet I can’t help but think that despite everything, especially ignoring the weeks I spent in bed because of him, we’re like meant for each other, you know?”

Holly too lights a cigarette. She also doesn’t answer you.

“That’s kinda pathetic, no?”

“I think until you get the entire truth, it won’t matter whether you get back with him or just be his friend, or whatever, ‘cause you’re not going to be fully happy. Not really,” she explains, avoiding your question because there’s close to nothing worse than admitting to your friend that they’ve lost it completely.

“So I should confront him?”

“Jeff says Eddie doesn’t do well with confrontations.”

You groan. Head falling back on the cushioned sofa.

“Maybe I should just fuck him,” you think out loud, “Get all this frustration out and then just move on with my life.”

Holly laughs. “Just don’t let him finish,” she says, “Karma’s a bitch, and whatnot.”

New York City is your favourite place on Earth.

Despite your years of extensive travel to tour your various albums or attend different global award shows, New York, your home, has always been top of the list. Elegant, albeit slightly messy. Organised, although a little rowdy. It’s colourful, but dull. Full of people from every corner of the world, which only added to its pre-existing charm. You didn’t really think it was possible to fall in love with it even more until you’ve started to explore it all over again with none other than Eddie Munson — under a new guise of something called friendship.

The rockstar decided to extend his trip. Currently, there is no return date. Exploring New York became the only thing on his agenda.

The two of you did your best to stay under the radar, away from prying eyes. Although, not like it was necessarily needed as Eddie’s idea of sight seeing involved bar hopping. Old-ish, rather shitty places that have definitely seen better days, but Eddie, he was like a kid in a candy store. With every beer poured and every bowl of peanuts shared, he lit up more and more.

“They remind me of home,” he finally explains, two days into your NYC adventure. “Of Hawkins.”

You smile at him, but don’t say anything.

“What?” Eddie asks when he notices the look, mouth now full after taking another handful of the perhaps hundredth packet of peanuts the two of you have shared over the last few days.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, swirling the gold-ish liquid inside your beer bottle, “I guess it’s just nice that some small part of my home reminds you of your home.”

Eddie returns the fond expression. Friends is good, he thinks at that moment while catching another peanut with his mouth, not ideal, but good.

“There was this bar,” he says, leaning across the table so that he could be a little closer to you, “The Hideout. Our first venue, outside of Gareth’s garage, and the only place in my crappy hometown where I didn’t feel like an outsider.”

“Places like the Hideout, places like this.” Eddie swirls his finger in the air to show he means your current location, “They’ll always have a special place in my heart, I guess. They’re a part of me. Part of Corroded Coffin history.”

He stares at you for a minute. He’d never share this much with a friend, so perhaps this new concept you’ve both found yourselves in is not as good as the rockstar would like to think. “We could try being friends?” — Eddie’s second guessing his suggestion just as fast as he came up with it.

“We should see more of your home,” he finally states, “As much as I love them, I think we’ve seen all the dingy bars New York has to offer, so I’m open to suggestions.”

You bring the beer bottle to your lips and take a slow sip of the now semi-warm liquid, pondering his request.

Where could you take Eddie that would represent your love for New York. The Statue of Liberty seems a little basic, as does Times Square — especially since you’ve both performed there in the past. Rockefeller Centre to see the street performers? The Met, even though both of you will most likely be invited next year to the exhibit. In reality, all of the touristy spots like Central Park, for example, would be a little too crowded for either of you to feel safe and remain unseen.

Then your eyes glisten with an idea.

What’s more homey than a home itself: Cove City Sound Studios.

To any average person, it was just another recording studio found in New York. One of hundreds. To you however, it was heaven on earth.

Located in Glen Cove, New York, Cove City Sound Studios had been home to many artists before you came along. A lot of albums were recorded here. A lot of number one hits — the list of which you were lucky to join more than once.

You always thought the ambiance of this place fueled your creativity. Often said the reason behind your resounding success was because you got the opportunity to record here. Of course Holly, Val, and especially your Nana, corrected you every time those words had left your lips. “You’re the reason behind your success,” your Nana would affirm, “Not some recording studio.”.

But you knew. Felt it deep within your bones. Cove City Sound Studios was magic.

“Damn,” Eddie mutters under his breath, fingers gently running across the various buttons as his doe-eyes dart across the posters on the wall — one of which features your 1985 album cover (a record once hidden under Eddie’s bed back in Hawkins).

“Here I thought the place we recorded Honesty in was impressive,” he admits, “This though, this is another level.”

A smile circles your lips.

“Welcome to my home, Eddie Munson.”

The rockstar dips his head, sort of in a way of a little bow, and smiles so wide it makes your insides flutter. Friends, friends, friends. You repeat inside your mind, same thing Eddie is doing, although neither of you are aware. Friends hiding their true feelings.

“I’m honoured, sweetheart.” Eddie adds, placing a ring-clad hand on his heart.

“As you should be,” you tease and walk past him, pushing open a door into the vocal booth.

The Corroded Coffin frontman follows you with zero to no hesitation. He watches as you slowly circle the small room before standing in front of a microphone, adjusting it to your height.

“I recorded every single one of my songs here apart from Honesty,” you reveal without looking at him. Focusing instead on tightening the metal rod in place. “Hundreds of records that will probably never see the light of day because my label doesn’t think they are good enough.”

Eddie snorts. “As if you could make something that wasn’t deemed good. We wrote shit together, remember? I know how good you are.”

Your lips twist into a timid smile and glance up at him from your lashes. “I appreciate that Eds, but unfortunately the industry doesn’t work that way and you, of all people, should understand.”

“Well, yeah, but doesn’t your grandmother have some sort of special power to get you whatever the fuck you want.”

It’s your turn to snort. “She may be resourceful, but she’s got no control over my management team. Even if she likes to think she does, the only real ability my Nana possesses is tell me what to wear and how to act.”

Eddie nods, taking note of this information. Knowledge he can use to free himself from deceit, blackmail.

Valuable insight into the evil woman that ruined his life since, as you’ve now so beautifully explained, she’s not nearly as formidable as she presented herself to be. A light at the end of the tunnel.

“Perhaps that’s why I can’t bring myself to listen to it,” you say, breaking Eddie away from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Perhaps that’s why I can’t bring myself to listen to Honesty. Because I didn’t record it here.” Nothing to do with the fact that it’s soiled by the memory of the last morning we saw each other, you think, clearly lying to yourself, and him.

Eddie swallows his breath. A twinge of guilt rushes through him. Actually, more than a twinge. A gush, like a waterfall out of control. He’s sure of it now. The two of you could never be just friends. Not until you knew the whole truth about why he did what he did and now that he knew your grandmother had a weakness in her armour, perhaps offering you the truth is something he could do sooner rather than later.

“Then maybe we should change that,” Eddie offers and proceeds to quickly shuffle out of the room, leaving you alone for a second.

You watch through the glass separating the two spaces as he scans the buttons, hands on his hips, tip of his tongue out to indicate he’s thinking. He looks cute and you fail to conceal a smile, so you opt to hang your head and stare at your shoes because you can’t afford to think he’s any sort of desirable. Just friends.

After taking a moment to familiarise himself with a new system, Eddie finds what he’s looking for and switches it on, before hurrying back to stand next to you.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” you affirm while putting a pair of headphones on.

For the next four minutes and twenty-two seconds, you get lost in the chocolate of Eddie’s eyes as you once again sing the song he wrote about you.

“Honestly, you got me fallin’ to my knees

It’s like ecstasy, this feelin’ inside of me

Let’s call it honesty”

Cove City Sound Studios creates magic. You’ve always believed it and now it’s only been affirmed because the way your voice melts with his — no band, no distractions — is nothing short of perfection.

“You’re a devil in disguise

No, that’s what I want you to be

‘Cause in reality, hon’, you’re a hypnotic dream

An angel for sure

To a non-believer like me

Oh honesty, what have you done to me, honestly”

That’s why the song was a hit in the first place. Now you understand why your management team pushed you to do this collaboration in the first place. Magic. And as Eddie draws the last syllable without breaking eye contact, you’re transported back to the night you met. The night that inspired this song.

The night that started all of this.

His mind wanders to the same moment, same place, same spot. Friendship is a word that no longer makes sense, but the rockstar doesn’t want to ruin anything (again), so he drops the headphones and exits the booth without saying anything.

You follow him with your gaze. A feeling of longing spreads through you faster than you know what to do with it. It’s unfortunately accompanied by fear because you’re not stupid, far from it. Eddie’s hurt you twice before. Going back in only to get burned a third time would be a grave mistake and you know better than to go down that road again. ‘Cause you do know better, right?

Then this morning’s conversation with Holly enters your mind. Your best friend was right. You could never be happy around him if you didn’t know the truth.

“Eddie, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think if you didn’t end things when you did, we’d still be together? Or do you think we were doomed regardless?”

He takes a moment to answer. Avoiding looking up through the glass to meet your curious gaze, anxious for an answer.

“I already told you.” His deep voice eventually booms through the speakers. “I’m not the relationship type.”

“Bullshit,” you’re quick to state. It comes out harsher than intended.

“Sweetheart—” He’s shaking his head, still without looking at you.

“No, don’t you fucking dare,” you interrupt, suddenly feeling deflated by this whole situation, defeated in the fight against your feelings towards him. “Like I said before, you don’t get to sweetheart me and give me some bullshit vague answer.”

Eddie’s eyes are now closed. He’s hoping if he shows how he wants no part of this conversation — not right now, not before he gets to speak to your management and then offers you up the truth — that you will let it go. Like you did that night in Coney Island and those last few days too. You seemingly let it go and everything was okay. Fucking friends.

“I gave in too quickly. Into your presence. I missed you so much that when you showed up at my door, it didn’t matter how angry or heartbroken I was. All that mattered was seeing you again and being around you again. But I should’ve stood my ground.”

You’re now standing right in front of the glass window. Arms hanging by your side, nails digging into your palms to pump the adrenaline that’s fueling this fight.

“No matter how many times you tell me that you’re not the relationship type, I won’t believe you. I refuse to believe you because that guy I met in an empty kitchen of a Hidden Hills mansion was looking for something more than a random hook up. He may not have said it, but he proved it with his actions,” you continue your reasonings, “He craved something meaningful. I saw it in the way he smiled every time his eyes met mine, and sensed it in the way he held me close.”

Then you exhale.

“That guy, although hiding behind a mask of an arrogant dickhead, he wanted to be loved and Jesus Christ did I—”

Eddie’s gaze snaps to you then, widening.

“But if I got it all wrong,” you continue after a few seconds, “If I misunderstood that guy and what he really wanted, then all I need is for him to be straight with me,” you conclude, “No bullshit excuses, Eddie. If you simply didn’t like me, if you simply didn’t care, just say that and we can both carry on with our lives as if nothing ever happened.”

The door slams. Eddie stands in front of you in a flash, brown eyes holding onto yours with force. He’s agitated. He runs a hand down his face before reaching for your shoulders, then dropping his arms back by his side just as fast.

“I cared, of course I cared!” He exhales to compose himself before continuing, “I still care.” It’s barely a whisper.

“Then why?”

“I-I… Well, I just…”

His mind is racing to find the right answer. The truth is what you’re after, unfortunately that’s the one thing he can’t give you yet. Not if he wants to continue witnessing your success. Because, at the end of the day, his own fame and fortune is no longer important. He could care less if it burned to the ground. Your fame however, your fortune, that’s not something Eddie’s willing to gamble. So again, until he can speak to your management, get ahead of your grandmother’s scheming, the truth will remain sealed.

At least some part of it.

“There was this girl. Back home.” Eddie begins, voice shaky, “Before you, she was the only girl that ever saw me for who I really was.”

“Chrissy Cunningham,” you say her name.

Eddie nods.

“Yeah, Chrissy,” he repeats the name. It tastes a little foreign on his tongue after all this time. “Seemingly the classic cheerleader type, you know? Blonde, preppy, always fucking smiling. But Chrissy, she uh… she was far from just a cheerleader. Like me, she was a little misunderstood and that’s what initially brought us together.”

“What happened to her?” You ask. “You keep saying ‘was’. Chrissy was, as if she’s no longer—”

“Look, sweetheart,” Eddie interrupts, “I-I don’t really talk about her. I don’t like to. Too many bad memories.”

“Right,” you murmur, nodding slowly.

“Long story short, I cared for her and it didn’t end well, so when my care for you started to surpass that feeling… I just got scared.”

“Then why not tell me about her in the first place?” You query, “We could’ve talked it out. Pumped the brakes on whatever our relationship was starting to become.”

Eddie doesn’t mean to, but he scoffs. “And then what, huh? Just tip-toe around how we’re actually feeling until that builds resentment? Then it just ends anyway, but it hurts a lot more, no?”

He’s running a hand through his wild locks. Frustrated wouldn’t be the right word. Annoyed feels borderline the same. Angry, yes, but not at you. Angry at the world for introducing such a perfect character into his otherwise shitty life because he’d be better off without you. No. You’d be better off without him? Also no. Jesus Christ, he’s fucking confused.

“That’s what you asked. If I didn’t end things, would we still be together. The truth is, sweetheart, I don’t know because I attract bad shit and people get hurt and… And I need you to be happy, with or without me.”

Silence falls upon the two of you. It’s heavy with the half-truths that were just revealed. Heavy with the underlying tones that are telling you Eddie still cares, and telling him that so do you — more than either of you were willing to admit back then, and even less now.

And there’s definitely feelings there. They bubbled up the second you laid your eyes on him again and as your few days together passed without a major blowout, they only grew stronger — something you explained to Holly, who said that Eddie was so unlike you, it only made sense to feel something towards him. Love him, even.

Perhaps the hurt was worth it.

“Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Eddie’s brows string together as you momentarily glance at your feet before settling your gaze back on the rockstar.

“Guess we were never supposed to do this right.”

“What?” Eddie asks again.

“You said that to me. Back in LA after that picture of us was leaked to the press, remember?”

“Vaguely,” he answers.

“What if you were right?” You ask, tone a little quieter than seconds prior.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m not sure I’m following.”

Decided on your next move, in what you want to happen, you take a step towards the Corroded Coffin frontman so that the tips of your heels are touching his loosely tied Converse. You then place a hand on his chest, albeit hesitantly, and Eddie inhales a sharp breath (loud enough for you to hear).

“What if all of this, everything that happened between us, is because we were never meant to do this right in the first place, Eds?”

A timid smile circles your lips as the question you asked settles in the air. Loaded full of uncertainty for the future and everything that time ahead holds for the two of you. Your Nana would say that a person of your stature shouldn’t give into uncertainty, something that in Eddie’s case was often repeated by Marianne. Everything is always meticulously planned. No room for error because uncertainty leads to mistakes and those are a nightmare for your respective PR teams. Unfortunately for those teams, uncertainty is what drew you to each other in the first place.

That, and insane fucking attraction.

“I did come here because I regret my decision,” he says while you say, “I miss you.” Both come out at the same time. Mumbled, jumbled together. It registers though.

Without giving it a second thought, Eddie dips his head lower while his hands reach for your face, ring-clad fingers now holding your cheeks. In that same breath, his lips crash against yours in a yearning kiss — one that is fuelled by months of pent up tension and a desire you both shared since your first meeting back in August of ‘92.

It's a dance of fire. One that is burning bigger and brighter with every second his mouth is attached to yours. Dangerous, would be a good word to describe this moment, but the line has been crossed yet again and since there’s definitely no going back now, your fingers tangle themselves in his brown locks as you push your body closer. Eddie also gets braver. He bites down on your bottom lip and when you gasp ever so softly, the rockstar slides his tongue in with ease.

You feel elated. This is exactly what you’ve been missing and by the way Eddie’s tongue twirls within your mouth, hands squishing your face, afraid to let go, you know it’s what he’s been missing too.

It’s destructive, for sure. But the hurt is worth it. You know that now. You feel it. Every single fibre of your being grows more and more alive as Eddie presses into you further, as he caresses your skin with so much tenderness. And you’re beyond cloud nine. Beyond touching heaven. It’s destructive, but it’s bliss.

“If we keep kissing like this,” he whispers against your lips, forehead pressing against yours, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to contain myself.”

“Who says you have to?”

Eddie groans against your jawline before continuing to trail soft pecks along your skin until he reaches your ear, biting it gently.

“We should probably talk about what this means,” he says, but you just shake your head. “‘Cause friends don’t kiss like that, sweetheart.”

“I don’t care about that now, Eds.” You affirm, sure of what you want. Sure that you don’t ever want to forget him or move on. He is a part of you, forever. “I just want you.”

And with that your lips finds his again.

The kiss is feverish, messy. You’re tugging at each other’s clothes, desperately trying to get them out of the way as fast as possible. In an attempt to be even closer, propelled by an indescribable urge, Eddie shifts your positions so that his back is the one to the room, you’re by the wall, and mere seconds later, your back is pressed firmly against his chest.

His strong hands send shivers through your body as they make their way down until they reach your panties, skirt long disregarded, a garment on the floor. He no longer hesitates about what this means, ripping the material down before his feet are kicking your legs apart. Ring-clad fingers slide along the curve of your ass, kneading the flesh, desperate to feel you. All of you. And as one hand works to unzip his pants, the other works its way to your wet entrance, feeling along your slit.

“Please, please…” The excitement causes you to grow warm and moist in his hand.

He can’t contain himself. Removing his hand in a rapid manner, he pushes his cock inside of your starved pussy. You close your eyes at the contact and Eddie begins to fuck you, hard. Rhythm picks up rapidly and you’re clenching around him in a matter of minutes, lower muscles seizing at the contact they’ve long forgotten, but were now more than pleasantly reminded of.

“God,” he groans, “I fucking missed you.”

The moan that escapes your lips is nothing short of pornographic. It’s a direct response to his words, as well as his actions. He’s pounding into you relentlessly. There’s no time for pleasantries or any sort of softness. This is all about fulfilling a need-based desire and you’re more than willing to comply, high on his voice when he praises “Fuck, baby”, and “You’re doing so good for me, pretty girl.”

When you feel his hands grip your hips, you moan his name. Loud, pathetic. Undone. The rockstar begins to bounce you against him. Your knees weaken and you fall back onto him, head now resting on his shoulder, losing yourself completely in the moment and the pure ecstasy that you’re feeling. The pleasure is almost too much for you.

“Eddie, I’m so close,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes.

The Corroded Coffin frontman captures your mouth with his. Short, but far from sweet is the kiss. Hungry and devilish. He bites your bottom lip as he pulls away, drawing just a prick of blood.

“Let go for me, baby.”

When you do, obeying his request, your whole body shivers harshly in his embrace. Eddie keeps going, only his pace has slowed. He’s whispering sweet-nothings into your ear, continuously praising you for being his good girl, and you promise yourself that no matter what happens next, you’re going to be that forever.

The high soon ends and Eddie pushes you forward gently. You then feel the rockstar’s cock leave you, warm cum spurting over your ass without warning. You’re delighting in the feeling of his juices on your skin. He delights in it too, trailing his fingers over your rear until you turn around to face him.

There’s a smile on your face. Devious, yet benevolent.

Yes, Eddie thinks, Stevie Nicks was definitely right. ‘You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you.’ Not like he’d ever want to anyway.

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie, @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @ohmeg - (if your user is crossed out, it means the tag isn’t working. pls check you’ve enabled tagging in your settings)

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #celebrity skin.#rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut

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fluentmoviequoter · 8 months ago

Text

All You Want and More

Requested by @allipopgeir28-blog

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!reader

Summary: When Luca finds out that you have never celebrated your birthday, he sets out to make your day perfect.

Warnings: very brief angst, lots of fluff

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

There’s a moment in a relationship where everything stops being sparkly and new. When the normality of spending your life with someone else sets in, when the honeymoon phase ends, and everything becomes slow and easy. For you, that moment is nowhere to be seen. You’re not sure that things will change with Dominique Luca. He’s the most caring, loving, sincere, and loyal man you’ve ever met. The relationship is new; you’ve been dating for a few months, though the days with him pass too quickly. His roommate Jim is out with a girl, so you’ve made yourself comfortable with Luca in his living room. As he asks you about your day, hobbies, and anything else he can think of, you wonder if being with Luca will bring a sense of normalcy or if every day will be a surprise.

“What about you?” you ask with a smile. “How was your day?”

“It was pretty good. We only had two calls, so it was slow. I think we should talk about you, now,” Luca replies.

You groan and lean back, but Luca takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around your upper back and pull you closer. Settled against his side, you feel comfortable, safe, and loved.

“We’ve been talking about me for too long. C’mon, Luca, tell me something about you for once.” Luca shakes his head, so you turn toward him and pout as you add, “Please?”

“Fine. Um, for my birthday last year, my brother-“

“Terry?”

“Yeah. He took me to a Dodgers game, but afterward we went to a classic car show, and we talked about our dream cars. It wasn’t a huge birthday celebration or anything but spending that time with him was great. Especially after everything we’ve been through, you know?”

You nod and lean your head against his shoulder. Luca is your favorite topic, and you are convinced you could listen to him talk about anything, mundane or unbelievable, and never grow tired of him.

“What about you?” Luca asks with a bounce of his shoulder. “What’s your favorite birthday memory?”

“Oh, I don’t have one. Never celebrated birthdays before. Growing up, it never really happened, I guess. As I got older, I started doing things with friends for their birthdays, but… It’s just a day on the calendar for me.”

Luca falls silent upon learning that you’ve never been celebrated. He immediately decides to surprise you, but he has to get more answers without making you suspicious.

“You never wanted a celebration, or just didn’t have someone worth celebrating with?” he inquires.

You take a deep breath as you think. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you can’t possibly be the issue,” Luca adds. “So, I’ll assume it was a poor decision on everyone else’s part not to celebrate you every moment of your life.”

“Is that something you have to say as my new boyfriend?” you whisper against his shoulder.

“No. It’s something that is true, and as your boyfriend, I get the privilege of telling you.”

“You’re my favorite person.”

“And you’re mine.”

A few hours later, you wash the dishes from dinner – despite Luca’s insistence that he could clean up. He takes the opportunity to do some well-meaning intruding. Your bag is at the table, and Luca waits to take your wallet out until your back is turned. As you focus on the task before you, Luca quickly finds your ID, and takes note of your birthday. He holds it in his mind as he puts your wallet back in its rightful place and then types it into his phone, so he doesn’t risk forgetting. Luca isn't always one for big gestures, giving or receiving, but you deserve a celebration worthy of all the birthdays you’ve missed. You are loved and appreciated, so Luca will show you when your birthday comes. After you leave, Luca looks at the date and realizes that your birthday is less than a week away and that you weren’t going to tell him.

✯✯✯✯✯

Someone is whispering as they touch your face. You roll over to escape the unwelcome attention, but it follows you. When you force yourself to blink your eyes open, Luca smiles above you.

“Happy Birthday,” he says happily. “Breakfast is cooking, and we’re going to be late. I know I should’ve let you sleep in, but I needed to see my birthday girl.”

“How do you know?” you ask, more alert than you should be for someone who was just woken before you wanted to be. “I didn’t tell you it was my birthday.”

Luca shrugs before he walks away from you and into the kitchen. You sit up and rub your eyes, confused yet intrigued. There isn’t a clear explanation about how he knows your birthday, but he seems so excited that you aren’t inclined to ask more questions.

When you enter the kitchen after getting ready, Luca is plating your favorite breakfast meal. He smiles and sets the pan and spatula down to hug you. You laugh as he spins you because you know that one birthday with Luca will spoil you. Birthdays have never been important to you, perhaps because no one gave you a reason to look forward to one. Luca’s excitement alone is the best gift you could receive.

“Okay, breakfast,” Luca says as he steps back. “And there’s a gift on the table. Happy Birthday.”

“This is too much,” you argue quietly. “You didn’t need-“

“I did. I do need to do this for you because I love you. Okay?”

You nod as Luca kisses your forehead. He taps your hip and reminds you that the food is getting cold. It’s not, and you both know it, but your first "real" birthday can quickly turn awkward if you let it. You sit at Luca’s table, and your eyes widen at the gift beside your plate.

“Is that…” you begin, unsure what to expect or ask.

“A gift,” Luca finishes. “You don’t have to open it now if you don’t want to.”

You nod and lift your fork but stop before you can take a bite of the delicious food before you.

“I can leave you alone while you open it,” Luca offers when he notices your eyes drift to the box.

After you shake your head, you set the fork aside again and pull the box toward you. When the lid is raised, you see a tin case inside. You glance at Luca, and his smile widens. The tin case has your name, Luca’s name, and the year printed on the top. You raise the top slowly and see it is filled with papers, photographs, and ticket stubs. Your relationship is new, yet the box is filled like you’ve been together for years. Each photo has a number and a short note on the back about what has been captured in the image, and the tickets have dates and love letters written around the edges. What truly catches your attention, though, is the short note taped to the inside of the lid.

“I’ve known more love in the short months leading up to your birthday than I thought existed. To every birthday with you and all the love we share.”

You want to thank him, hug him, and kiss him, all at the same time. There’s a knot in your throat, so you can’t do the first. When you lurch out of your seat, Luca reacts quickly. Your arms wrap over his shoulders, and Luca pulls you closer by your waist. As you cling to him, you know two things: you are madly in love with Dominique Luca, and you want to spend every day, birthdays included, with him by your side.

“Thank you,” you whisper. You punctuate your gratitude with a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Of course. I love you, and I want to show you, especially today,” Luca replies. “Now, seriously, eat.”

You smile as you return to your seat, and your eyes wander to the open tin as you eat the best meal you’ve had in your life. Luca watches you with a smile because he is glad that he is the one who gets to show you what birthdays should be like and love you every step of the way.

After breakfast, Luca tells you to get dressed. The idea of a surprise party never crosses your mind, and Luca hopes it stays that way. He doesn’t want to go overboard today, so he allows your reaction to his quality time-based birthday with Terry to guide his actions.

“Where are we going?” you ask as Luca helps you into his truck.

“Do you really need to know, or can you give me another chance to surprise you for your birthday?” Luca replies. He taps your thigh before shifting into gear.

“Luca,” you begin. “Why is my birthday such a big deal?”

“Because you are a big deal. I love you, and you are important. My life would be… I don’t know what it would be without you, so this is the most important day of the year to me. And the fact that we started dating so close to your birthday isn’t lost on me.”

“I appreciate it. More than you know.”

“Of course. You’re worth all of it, and you deserve every gift you’ve ever wanted. You deserve all you want and more.”

You bite your lip but can’t hide your smile. Luca chuckles as he continues driving, and you watch his profile as he takes you to the next surprise. Each moment with him makes you think his surprises will be endless, no matter how long you’re together. And you hope that is a very, very long time.

When Luca pulls into a parking lot, you gasp. Your favorite bookstore sits before you, and you expect this is another visit to browse for books. Since you told Luca about your love for reading, he brings you here occasionally to look at new releases and spend time with you. As you reach for the door handle, Luca stops you.

“I have to make a call really quick; I’ll meet you inside?” he explains.

“Sure,” you answer.

While you wait, you meander down the aisle of current bestsellers. You pick up one you haven’t heard of and read the blurb on the back. An arm wraps around your waist while you return it to its rightful place, and you quickly identify it as Luca. You lean against him and continue scanning the shelves for other interesting titles.

“Do you want that one?” Luca asks. “The one you were just looking at?”

“No. I hadn’t heard of it, but it doesn’t sound like something I’d like. And you don’t have to buy me a book just because it’s my birthday.”

Luca chuckles and lets you lead the way through the bookstore. You have to turn down several more offers from him to buy a book you touch, and when you’ve been through every aisle, you return to the truck hand-in-hand with Luca. He opens the passenger door and reveals a large bookstore bag in your seat.

“What is that?” you ask.

“I guess someone broke into the truck and left you a birthday present,” Luca answers.

You turn to face him, and Luca starts to panic at the teary look in your eyes. When you hug him, he sighs and pulls you closer.

“I told you-“

“And I told you,” Luca interjects, “That you are worth being celebrated. I hope you like it.”

You open the bag and inhale sharply at the sight. There’s not one, or even two, books. It is an entire series, a series that you told Luca about during one of your first visits to the bookstore. You’ve been wanting it for a while but couldn’t find it or couldn’t afford it when you did find a bundle. After talking about it – probably too much – you’re not surprised that Luca remembered, but touched that he cared enough to find the exact box set you showed him and buy it.

You can’t thank him again, so you give him another hug instead. After you murmur that it is the best gift you’ve ever received and the best birthday you’ve ever had, you let Luca help you into the cab and hold the bag tight to your chest.

“One more stop and then we can go back home,” Luca says as he starts the engine.

“I don’t think I can take another surprise,” you say.

Luca simply smiles, and you decide that maybe his surprises are worth it. After driving through Los Angeles traffic, he stops outside a jewelry store but makes no move to exit the truck. A gift bag is hidden under his seat, and Luca pulls it out and hands it to you with a smile.

“Luca,” you say softly. You remove the tissue paper and reach a jewelry box. “I can’t accept this.”

“You didn’t even open it,” Luca argues.

“It’s too expensive.”

“Humor me,” Luca requests as he slides across the bench seat to be closer to you. “And open it. If you still feel that way, I’ll look into returning it.”

The chain inside the box is minimalistic but beautiful. However, you tilt the box, and another slightly thicker chain slides out. You look up at Luca, then at the jewelry store.

“Are these what I think they are?” you ask as you raise the smaller chain. The links look a bit like the letter L, and you hope you’re right about what it’s meant to symbolize.

“They’re forever bracelets. And if you want to say no, I get it.”

“I want it,” you interrupt.

“Good,” Luca replies with a wide smile. “I thought it might be a bit too soon for a ring, but I want you to have something to remember that I am here, that I will love you and be with you today, next year, for every birthday and day between until I die.”

You follow Luca into the jewelry store and hold his hand as you have the chain secured to your wrist. Luca guarantees that he checked, and it won’t be an issue with his position on S.W.A.T., and you fall a bit deeper in love with him.

✯✯✯✯✯

Luca is a liar and makes one more surprise stop at your favorite clothing store. He tells you to find an outfit you love and happily pays for it despite your best efforts to beat him to it. When you return to his house, he asks you to model it, and you reluctantly agree.

“Beautiful,” Luca announces when you exit.

“Thank you. Again,” you reply.

“Oh, the outfit’s nice, too.”

You laugh as Luca pulls you into his arms. He tells you that you deserve better than his cooking for your birthday, and although you disagree, you’d do just about anything he asked right now. So, you get back in his truck and watch him as he drives to an outdoor café.

When you step onto the well-lit patio, you expect a romantic dinner with Luca to end your perfect birthday. However, Luca has been taking advantage of your lack of suspicion since you’re not used to being celebrated and receiving attention and gifts. When 20-David and several of your friends jump out and yell “Surprise,” you immediately turn toward Luca. You are separated as people approach you with gifts and birthday wishes, but you stay aware of where Luca is in the small crowd. It is the first time you are being celebrated by the people you love, and you know that Luca is responsible for all of it. You'll never be able to thank him enough, but you love him, which is what matters.

The surprise party is fun, but the moment it ends, you happily leave with Luca and collapse at his house. Once you are sitting on his couch, in the same position as when the surprise idea came to Luca, you thank him again.

“Stop thanking me,” he says softly. “You are important to me, so your birthday is special. Celebrating you isn’t something I need to be thanked for, I do it because I love you, and I love doing it.”

“You’re being extra romantic today,” you muse.

Luca smiles as you turn against his chest. “It’s the most important day of the year.”

“You can’t go this big every year, I won’t be able to take it. Maybe your gift next year can be a day off or something.”

Luca hums, and you know he’s planning to go even bigger.

“Is there anything you’ve really wanted?” Luca asks. “In the past, was there something you wanted but have never gotten?”

You lean back and hold Luca’s shoulders as you look into his eyes. “Honestly?” Luca nods, so you continue, “I got tired of asking for things that I knew no one cared enough to give. Or there was just no one around to ask. I mean, I never asked for anything big, but eventually even the little stuff is disappointing. One year, I just asked my friends to come over and hang out and they didn’t even do that. So, I guess I’d say having someone spend time with me just because. But you gave me that today.”

Luca frowns as you answer and vows to himself to make every birthday special. He decides to lighten the mood for now, though, and points out, “Your birthday isn’t even over yet. We have, like, two hours to spend together.”

You roll your eyes, completely in love with Luca and excited at the prospect of being with him for the rest of your life. When he pulls you into a sudden kiss, you don’t fight it, but continue enjoying the best gift you’ve ever received: time with Luca, and his affection certainly doesn’t hurt.

“I promise,” Luca whispers between kisses, “to make your birthday wishes come true for many years.”

“I love you,” you reply. It’s short, but the sentiment perfectly conveys to Luca just how much today meant to you. “And if you really want to spend the next two hours with me, you should get comfortable, because I’ve got new books to start.”

Luca holds you against his chest and asks, “What if I told you my birthday wish is more kisses?”

You ponder the question for less than ten seconds before leaning in again. Though your relationship with Luca is still new, there is no chance that things will ever grow boring. As you ring in another year of you with Luca, you begin brainstorming how to make his birthday as special as he made yours.

#hanna writes✯#dominique luca x reader #luca x reader #dominique luca #swat x reader #swat cbs #requests #fem!reader

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qedart · 1 year ago

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Time Warp AU - #14 Well this update just didn't want to come together. But finally it's done (all 8K+ of it 😬) and I'm actually rather happy with how it turned out. So I hope you all enjoy this offering of Pete emotional H/C with a side of parental Icemav.

Honestly, Pete had never really got the big deal about birthdays. Sure, when he was little they seemed important. They’re supposed to, when you’re young. But he wasn’t a child anymore.

He’d learned a long time ago that simply managing to make it through the year wasn’t exactly cause for celebration. A few rounds of people forgetting, ignoring, or scoffing at him for waiting for some kind of acknowledgment of the date had made it all very clear to him - nobody gives a damn about stuff like that, and you look pathetic if anybody catches on that you might.

So he didn’t. Doesn’t.

For the longest time now, the only real significance that that day held for him was as a marker of his being one year closer to independence. Living with Mav and Ice, even that didn’t provide the same spiteful satisfaction that it once had.

These days, he didn’t count down the months until he was free of the people he found himself in the midst of. Quite the opposite really. Ice, Maverick, Tom, the Daggers, the uncles… they were good people. Good, kind, safe people - and they actually seemed to like Pete being around.

Nothing lasts forever though, of course. He knew that. He was well aware that he was one big screw up away from blemishing whatever image they all had of him, one proper misstep from sending the whole house of cards he’d built around himself from falling to the ground in one way or another. And he was well overdue for one of those mistakes. Unfortunately, it was an inevitability. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Pete Mitchell messes up nice things.

He tried not to let it bother him too much.

It was better to just live in the moment, and at this particular moment he had far bigger concerns than inevitabilities or the fact that he was turning 17 in a week. The chief among them - Maverick was turning 60.

Unlike Pete’s birthday, that was something significant. That was important. That was worthy of celebration.

Up until this whole time-warp fiasco went down, Pete would have put money on him (any version of him) not making it past 30. 60 was double that! It demanded celebration, even if Mav himself had developed a habit of referring to the subject of his age merely as ‘the situation’.

So when Ice suggested a little lunchtime get-together by the Hard Deck the coming Saturday ‘for the birthday we’ve got coming up’, he agreed that it was a fantastic idea.

“Penny’s got a barbecue there that we could use I’m pretty sure,” Tom chipped in over his cereal.

“Nice. I’ll be there if there’s food,” Pete grinned as he made a bowl for himself.

Tom rolled his eyes.

“You were going to be there anyway, numb-skull.”

“Boys, please,” Ice sighed, before Pete could return fire. “I’ve not had my coffee yet, let’s just hold off on the bickering for a little while longer.”

Pete sniffed when Tom promptly shot him an exceedingly smug smirk.

“I’d get drinking if I were you.”

“Pete.”

“Fine,” Pete huffed, before turning back to Ice. “The beach sounds great though. Want us to bring anything?”

“Just yourselves,” Ice replied, shaking his head. “Mav and I will sort out the logistics.”

And that was that. Party at the beach to celebrate Mav’s 60th, be there at 12. Sorted.

The rest of the week went by like normal, for the most part. He was asked if he was excited about the party a bit more often than he expected he would be, but he figured it was just people making conversation. He and Tom spent most of Thursday trying to find the old man a fitting birthday present.

“You’ve seen the hanger! How are we supposed to top that?!”

“I think we should probably start by setting our sights a little lower.”

In the end they decided to both go in on a new camera, figuring it was the most affordable of Mav’s hobbies to tap into.

When the day itself eventually did roll around, Pete was up and out of bed by dawn. Not due to excitement, and not due to any additional birthday gestures like he’d been contemplating (a fry up was always a good start to the day, after all), no - due to Tom.

“We’re going for a ride and you’re going to enjoy it,” he announced the second Pete woke (with a start, thanks to the other boy dropping his riding jacket and boots on top of him). “Up and at ‘em.”

“But what about Mav’s-?”

“We’ll see him at the party, I’ve left a note,” Tom announced, grabbing the end of Pete’s quilt and dragging it out of the room with him. “Mush.”

“I hate you!”

“Hate me on the move. There is breakfast with our name on it somewhere.”

“Ugh!”

The ride, annoyingly, was fantastic. The roads were mostly clear, and riding with Tom was always a blast. Tom even bought him breakfast and a couple of pastries for after (“It’s your birthday, idiot. Of course I’m shouting”). It was�� well, nice. Pete didn’t care about birthdays, he really didn’t, but even still… it was just nice. Sitting at the look out, munching on the food his best friend had bought for him, he found himself feeling genuinely content with life and how it was turning out. A year ago, he wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to even imagine that. It was a moment he resolved to savour.

“You feel any different?” Tom asked, smirking as he dusted the icing sugar from his Pączki off his fingers.

Pete scoffed at the question, rolling his eyes.

“Oh yeah,” he replied, nodding seriously. “I feel like I’ve levelled up, you know? Way more mature now. I feel like I’ve really grown as a person.”

“And yet not an inch vertically? Life’s not fair, is it-?”

“Fuck you!”

Tom snickered, ducking out of the way of the hand Pete swung at the back of his head, before holding his own up in surrender.

“Seriously though, happy birthday,” he said, shooting Pete a warm smile that made his stomach do that fluttering thing he’d noticed it doing more and more often lately.

Smiling himself and ducking his head, Pete shrugged.

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s not really a big deal.”

“Well as somebody with a vested interest in your being born, I reckon it is,” Tom retorted, rolling his eyes.

Pete scoffed, a teasing grin tugging at his lips as he folded his arms over his knees.

“A vested interest, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Nawww, you do like me,” Pete snickered.

“You’re letting it get to your head.”

“Is that why you brought me out here, to confess your undying love?”

“In. your. dreams,” Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Bringing you out here was my present to both you and Mav.”

“How is me going to go for a ride and being bought breakfast a present for Maverick?

“You going for a ride and being bought breakfast means both you and I are here, not at home. Which means Mav and Ice have the whole place to themselves, all morning. And there’s no chance of either of us overhearing anything and being scarred for life.”

Pete blinked at that, before pulling a face at the thought of Mav’s birthday ride and announcing, utterly serious, “You’re the best friend a guy could ever ask for.”

“I know,” Tom drawled, before shrugging as he tucked the rubbish from his breakfast into his backpack. “And maybe I wanted to get in first with the birthday wishes.”

“Always a competition with you, isn’t it?” Pete scoffed, ignoring the other boy’s derisive snort as he jumped back to his feet. “Race you back to the Hard Deck!”

“Absolutely not!” Tom snapped, hurrying to his feet all the same as Pete bounded over to the bikes. “That flies entirely in the face of the contract!”

“I laugh in the face of the contract!”

“Yes! That’s why it took so long to draft! Pete!”

They didn’t end up racing back, much to Tom’s relief. As a result, by the time they pulled up, pretty much everybody had arrived at the beach. Bradely, Hangman, and Phoenix were still by the Bronco though, pulling the last of their stuff out the back.

“Ah, the birthday boy has arrived,” Hangman cried as they wandered over.

“Ha ha,” Pete scoffed, rolling his eyes before turning to Rooster. “Hey, can we dump our helmets and stuff in your car?”

“Sure, the back seat should be free,” he replied as he hefted the cooler from the trunk. “But really, happy birthday, Pete.”

“Ah, thanks?” Pete replied, a confused smile tugging at his lips as he stepped out of the way for Tom to stow his stuff away as well. That’s two times today. Weird.

“What’s with the face?” Phoenix asked, laughing. “17 is a big deal.”

Pete laughed.

“Yeah right,” he replied, stooping to grab one of the bags from their pile. “16’s supposed to be a big deal, and 18 definitely is. 17’s just there.”

“Agree to disagree. But, that raises a good question,” replied Jake, a mischievous grin spread across his face. “What sort of Sweet 16 fiasco are we competing with today?”

Pete arched a brow at the question, but figured it made sense. Out of all the milestone birthdays, 16 was the only relevant one he and Mav had an overlap on. Though he wasn’t sure how much “I spent most of it in the ER with a broken arm’ would help with gauging the temperature for how this one was going.

Instead he just shrugged.

“Nothing really special. I’m sure this’ll be way better.”

“That’s what we’re aiming for,” Jake replied with a grin, ruffling Pete’s hair (and then, far more amusingly, Tom’s), before leading the way over to the sand.

Pete blinked as they drew closer. A lot of people had turned up. All of the daggers were here, pitching up chairs and umbrellas or tossing a football (actually, two footballs) around while almost all the uncles and even Viper milled about among them. Mav, Ice, Slider, and Penny were getting the barbecue started, chatting with Warlock and Cyclone (which was weird, but probably Ice’s doing). He even spotted Amelia and Theo slip out of the Hard Deck, deep in conversation with Hondo (about something nerdy and interesting no doubt) to join the group.

“Damn, Mav sure invited a lot of people for someone who pulls faces whenever anybody utters the number 60 around him,” he laughed as he hefted the bag further up his shoulder. “Or are you all gatecrashing just to torment him?”

Jake snorted at that, rolling his eyes.

“Nah. Though he is being a baby about it, so if we did it would be his own fault,” he replied.

“He actually ordered us not to mention ‘the situation’ the other day,” Bradley scoffed, shaking his head.

“In fairness, Roo - you and Bagman were having a lot of fun at his expense,” said Phoenix as they all dropped their bags on the sand and set about making camp. She grinned at Pete and Tom. “There have been lots of fossil jokes. These two even smuggled a walker on base and swapped it with his lectern before debrief. He had to walk it to the side of the classroom.”

“Cruel,” Tom snickered from beside him. “Funny, but cruel.”

“You know it,” Jake cackled, dropping his bags down on the sand before stretching his arms over his head. “But nah, he’s opted out of a group celebration. Don’t know why. But I’m afraid that means you’re flying solo today, baby bro.”

Pete blinked again.

“...I’m what?”

“You’ve got the spotlight pretty much to yourself today,” Bradley replied, shrugging like it was the simplest thing. “Apparently he’s got some day-trip planned with Ice tomorrow, so he’s sorted. That just leaves you with all of the attention. Reckon you can handle that?”

…Shit.

Shit, shit shit - he had not prepared for this. He’d not expected this. What the hell even was this?! He’s turning 17. Who gives a shit?! Why the hell would all of these people come out here, some of them a hell of a long way, just for him?! They wouldn’t. Had they not been told it was just for him? Did Mav wriggle out of this at the last second and now he had 20+ people who’d pretty much written off half their weekend for no reason on his hands?

“Pete, you alright?” Tom asked, shaking his shoulder, a worried expression on his face.

Pete grimaced, before glancing around at the others and finding them all looking at him with concern.

He pulled on a wide grin and laughed.

“Me? Yeah, of course!” he replied cheerily, mind racing all the while. He needed a minute to himself. To come up with a plan. To fix this.

Quickly turning back to the others, slapping his forehead as he did, he said, “You know what? I think I left my phone on my bike. Just gonna go grab that, can’t lose another one. Are you guys good here for a sec?”

“I mean, yeah,” Tom said slowly, frowning.

“Great!” Pete cheered (perhaps a bit too overzealously, but whatever) before spinning around and, with a quick “Back in a moment!” taking off back up the beach.

Right, step one, calm the hell down. He had to get a hold of himself and he had to do it now.

Alright, it was a surprise. Alright, there were probably going to be some irritated people down there. So what? He could deal with irritated people. He could deal with people that actively wanted to kick his ass, irritated is nothing. Why the hell was he freaking out so much? Less than a year of being treated nicely and he’d gone completely soft, seriously?

He shook his head roughly.

He was fine. This was fine. He’d make it work somehow. He just needed to stop acting like a baby and come up with a plan of action.

He could direct attention back to Maverick. The old man can try and wriggle out of it all he likes but two can play this game. He’ll stick around for an hour, direct as much attention to Mav as possible, whip Jake and Bradely up into enough of a frenzy to keep the momentum going and then make a classy exit. Nobody will even remember he was here and they’ll forget all about this misunderstanding. That’s good. That’ll work.

…Unless Mav launches a counter-attack. Which he would.

Shit!

“Pete?”

Pete whirled around and found Mav and Ice approaching, both looking concerned and not all that surprised to see him up here. Goddamnit, Tom, the snitch!!

“What’s going on, kiddo?” Mav asked, cocking his head to the side.

“I mean, that’s a pretty good question man,” Pete replied, running a hand through his hair anxiously as he glanced down at the beach once more before turning his attention (and frustration) back to the older man. “I get that you’ve got some sort of three quarter life crisis going on about turning 60, but seriously, throwing me under the bus so you can avoid that is a dick move.”

Mav, the bastard, looked more confused than chastened at the rebuke, exchanging a bemused glance with Ice.

“You’re going to have to spell this one out for us, buddy.”

Pete groaned, folding his hands on top of his head.

“First, explain it to me, guys,” he replied. “What was the plan? Trick everyone here by saying it’s a party for Mav and then hope people aren’t too put out when it turns out it was for the other Mitchell? Jeez guys, I mean, what the hell? Why the hell?! Nobody gives a damn it’s my birthday. I don’t give a damn it’s my birthday. Now it looks like I do, and now I get to look like the stupid little moron who needed people tricked here to pad things out!”

“Pete,” Ice said slowly, holding his hands out like he was trying to calm down some wounded animal. Like Pete was being irrational about this. “You do know this party is for you, right?”

“Yes,” Pete replied with every ounce of patience he possessed. “I’m aware of that. That’s exactly my point”

“No. He means it was always intended to be just for you,” Mav weighed in.

Pete sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried his very best to channel Ice and remain as diplomatic as he possibly could (it did not help, mind you, that Ice was joining in on this nonsense. But he tried nevertheless).

“Look,” he said with forced calm, “I see what you’re trying to do, and it’s a nice thought. I appreciate that you guys care and want to make a fuss, I do. But you can’t just expect to trick people into writing off half their weekend for one thing, and then bait and switch with a discount offer at the last second. Wood and Wolf flew in from Texas for this, guys. Please. I’ll see if I can get the Daggers to lay off the fossil jokes, but- …what’s this?”

“Read it,” Ice replied, holding his phone out to Pete until he took it and did as he was told.

Jake has named the group chat: Big Effing Deal Jake: First of all, how. dare. you? Nat: Seconded! Both for leaving us out and forcing me to agree with Bagman. Jake: Look what you’ve brought us too!!! Nat: I feel physically sick. Jake: Ditto. Bradley: Wow, you guys really are in sync today. Nat: You take that back!!! Ice: Could somebody please explain what we’re being accused of here. Jake: Betrayal!!! Coyote: Dude - you’ve been hitting the expresso machine again, haven’t you? Mav: Guys. BOB: Rooster mentioned you are having a get together for Pete’s birthday on Saturday and we’re all handling the rejection differently. Fanboy: How could you, Mav? Mav: Well first, there’s no rejection for anybody to handle. We floated the idea of a beach party this morning and he seemed alright with it. So if you guys are free and want to come along, you’re more than welcome to. Jake: Was that so hard?!!!! Mav: If you’d waited a few more hours I’d have invited you in person at work tomorrow. Jake: But Roo gets his invite right away??? :( Ice: Rooster was over during the day, so yes, he heard first. Rooster: Remember how you were supposed to help me fix their gate today? Jake: Nope. Poorly communicated on your part. Jake: Moving swiftly on - we need times. And gift ideas. Nat: What a crappy brother. I got my present for him weeks ago. Payback: Burn. Payback: Also, same. Jake: You’re a pair of goody-goodies, I’m not surprised in the slightest. Jake: Besides it doesn’t matter how early you got it. It’s how good it is. Nat: Got you beat there too Bagman. Jake: Bullshit. Pete and I have a connection. Payback: Is that what we’re calling you being a terrible influence now? Coyote: Just before these three properly kick off - is this a joint birthday bash? Or Pete-specific? Mav: Pete specific. Mav: I’ve already got plans for mine. Ice: And by that he means I have already made plans for him. Ice: They’re on Sunday though, so we’ll be there regardless. Mav: And people think I’m the competitive one. My point is, I’m covered, so don’t go worrying about that. Coyote: Roger that! Fanboy: This is going to be great!! I can bake a cake if you like!!! Lil bro likes chocolate, right? Payback: Guys - take him up on the offer! Phoenix: This! ^^^^^ Ice: That would be lovely, Fanboy, thank you. And yes, chocolate would be well received I expect. Fanboy: Yeeeeeesssss!! Mav: Right, we’re just going to leave you guys to this. Rooster: Oh, actually, just before you go… Bradley’s added Sly-Guy, Chip_P, E!News, Full_M00ning… Mav: Oh you little shit stirrer. Sli-Guy: First of all, how dare you?!

Pete blinked, utterly mystified, as he scrolled through the group chat (which seemed to go on for quite a bit) before eventually turning back to Ice and Mav.

“I… I don’t understand,” he uttered.

“Join the club, kiddo,” Mav replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You helped plan this,” Ice pointed out, a baffled expression on his ordinarily nonplussed face. “I specifically asked you if you would like a party at the Hard Deck?”

“I thought you were asking for my input for Mav’s party,” Pete muttered, his cheeks blazing with embarrassment as he realised just how stupid he apparently was.

“The daggers have been talking to you about it all week?” Mav pointed out, equally confused. “Bob asked you what snacks you’d like him to bring.”

“I thought they were coming to me because they couldn’t get anything out of you!” Pete snapped back hotly.

Ice held up a hand, cutting that line of conversation off before it could get too heated. Taking a deep, exceedingly put upon breath, he sighed “Once again, it appears that this family’s outstanding communication skills have come back to bite us all in the ass.”

He turned back to Pete.

“If it’s any consolation, it wasn’t meant to be a surprise party,” he said.

Pete scoffed softly, in spite of himself, but soon enough the begrudging amusement gave way to confusion once more.

“I still don’t understand,” he said. “Why would all of them come out if they knew it was just for me?”

“How’s it any different from them coming out for me?” Maverick asked with a frown.

Pete shrugged.

“They’re your family,” he replied simply. “They’re supposed to show up for you.”

“They’re your family too,” Maverick argued, his frown deepening.

“You do know that, don’t you?” Ice said slowly, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Yeah. Course,” Pete muttered, cutting a quick glance to the group in question. Nobody seemed to have noticed they were gone yet, thank goodness. Somehow Pete felt like he’d find himself even more outnumbered if they did. He had to bury this quick though, if he wanted to avoid that fate.

Unfortunately, when he turned back to the oldtimers, Ice had his signature ‘so you’re just going to lie to my face now?’ expression in place. Never a good sign. Also almost never directed at Pete he realised with a dull pain.

“You know, you pull that face every time this topic of conversation comes up.”

“What face?”

“The ‘well if it makes them happy’ face,” Ice replied, folding his arms over his chest. “Be honest with us, Pete. What’s going on here?”

Pete shrunk back a little at that, feeling very much under a spotlight all of a sudden and not entirely sure why.

“N-nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

“Well clearly something is. And just to be clear, do you honestly believe that we’d have all been fine throwing a party for Maverick and doing absolutely nothing for you?” the older man asked, arching a brow pointedly.

“I… I mean… I… I’d get it,” Pete stuttered, heart pounding in his chest. What the hell was going on? What did he even do? He took a step back, giving into the instinct to at least be out of arm's length, only to knock into the back of Ice’s Jeep when he tried. Crap. He was trapped. And he was in trouble. And he didn’t know why.

His alarm must have shown on his face too, because soon enough Ice was taking a step back himself, hands held up disarmingly.

“Pete, I’m not angry with you,” he said, calmly and far gentler than before. “I’m sorry.”

Pete swallowed thickly, but nodded all the same as he tried to rein himself in, to calm down for goodness sake. He was being so damn stupid!!

“I just don’t understand,” Ice continued. “You know everybody here loves you, don’t you? We haven’t dropped the ball that much I hope.”

Embarrassment and shame twisted sickeningly in the pit of Pete’s belly. Because he did know that. He knew how hard everybody had tried to make him and Tom feel welcome. And not just as novelty extensions of Mav and Ice either, but as their own, separate people. They’d all tried so hard to bring them into the family and make them feel like they belonged in it, Pete knew it. He saw it each day. For the most time, he felt it too, but there was just this part of him that wouldn’t allow him to accept it fully. Wouldn’t allow him to trust it. To trust them.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered weakly, staring down at the tips of his boots. “I… I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s not anything you guys have done, or haven’t done. I know how much you’ve all tried to be welcoming. And you have, truly. I love it here… so much. But… but every time I try to… it’s just in the back of my mind I’m always… I…”

He flinched sharply when something touched his arm, but it was just Ice reaching out to him. All of a sudden, that contact, that offer of reassurance was all he wanted. Sighing heavily he stepped forward and leaned against the old man’s chest, dragging in a deep, calming breath as Ice’s arms wrapped around him, squeezed him in a tight.

“I love it here,” he uttered. “And everybody here… and I know they- you all care - about me and Tom. But I just know…”

He sighed deeply.

“It’s just… self-preservation, I guess. I know it’s going to really hurt, so much, when I mess up. I didn’t care, when it was just some other home I was stuck in longer than usual, but now… now it’s probably too late already. When I mess up and have to go-”

“Hey, who said anything about you going anywhere,” Ice said with a frown, holding him closer. “We told you, you have a place in this family for life. Nothing will change that.”

Pete sighed sadly, shaking his head where it was pressed to Ice’s sternum. They didn’t get it. They felt that way now, but it wouldn’t last.

“No matter how hard you try, you’re going to end up alone.”

Both Pete and Ice froze at that, before turning to face Maverick, who looked all the world like he’d just commented on the weather rather than putting one of Pete’s deepest, most painful fears to words. And he wasn’t done.

“We’re going realise just how messed up you really are. How much damage has been done. How much of it can’t be undone. And, most importantly, how much of it you probably deserved. And sooner or later we’ll change our mind about you. It’s all well and good to say we’ll always want you in the family if we haven’t seen the full picture yet, because let’s face it, you’re on the good behaviour streak of a lifetime right now. But sooner or later, you’re going to mess up, because that’s what you do. And then we’ll see the real you. The screw up. The waste of space. The guy everybody else can see clearly. Eventually the rose-coloured glasses will come off and we’ll really see you for what you are. We’ll get tired of trying to bring somebody into a family who doesn’t deserve to be in it and clearly is meant to be on their own. It’ll be better for everyone to just stop trying. We probably won’t kick you out, to be fair - but when you head off to college or the academy… the calls and emails will peter out. Tom will probably find his own people too, when he’s got other options. He’ll stop spending time with you too. It’ll probably be pretty amicable really. But everybody will just go on with their life and there will be no room for you in them. That will be that. Better to just accept it now, try not to get too attached to how things are, so when it happens, at least you won’t look like you were blindsided by it all. It’s a bit less pathetic if you at least saw it coming.”

Pete’s stomach sunk so fast through the blacktop it felt like he was pulling negative G’s. Mav knew. Mav saw how this was going to play out just as clearly as he did. The first card in his little house was beginning to wobble.

To his horror he felt his face beginning to heat up and his eyes beginning to sting. He dragged in a deep, shuddering breath, squeezing them shut tight. He wasn’t a baby. This wasn’t a surprise. He wasn’t going to start crying in the middle of the car park where everybody could see him like some child.

He jumped as an arm wrapped around his shoulders and looked up to find Ice, holding him close again, and leading them to the space between his jeep and Bradley’s Bronco - more or less out of sight from the rest of the group.

“Sit down and take a few deep breaths for me, kiddo,” he murmured, manoeuvring Pete until he was sitting down on the gravel, back pressed against the rubber of the Bronco’s tyre. Biting his lip, he folded his arms tight over his chest, knees drawing up as Ice kneeled down beside him and wrapped an arm back around his shoulders, rubbing up and down his arm soothingly all the while.. “In and out. Just like that. What the hell, Mav?”

“Just trying to work out what we’re dealing with here,” Maverick replied, sounding tired and sad now. “Pete, can you look at me?”

Pete really didn’t want to. This was all humiliating and painful enough without risking bursting into tears the second he made eye contact with the old man as well. But, at the same time, this was the reality of the situation, and closing his eyes and hiding from it wasn’t going to change anything either, except to make him look even more childish. So whether he wanted to or not, he didn’t have much of a choice.

Clenching his jaw tight and breathing in deeply through his nose, he (as resolutely as he could manage) lifted his head and met Mav’s eye. He wasn’t expecting to be met with a sympathetic expression. How could Mav see him so clearly, and still look at him like that.

“Does that about sum it up?” the old man asked, cocking his head to the side. “What’s going on in that head of yours.”

Scrubbing roughly at his face, Pete nodded his head.

“M-more or less.”

Mav hummed thoughtfully, pausing a moment, before smiling and sitting down properly across from them.

“You know,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “The first time I met Carole, she scared that absolute crap out of me.”

Pete blinked, confused at the strange turn their conversation had taken, but interested all the same. Mav wasn’t shy with talking about Goose or Carole, but he’d never heard that.

A fond smile tugged at the edges of the old man’s mouth as he looked up wistfully at the sky.

“People underestimated her. She was so loud and joyous all the time, most people figured she was probably a bit dim. But they had no idea. Sure she was smart enough, but her real strength was with people. She had this way of looking at a person, just looking at them, and seeing past all the bullshit.”

He shook his head.

“The first shore leave after Goose and I became a team, Goose insisted that I come home with him. He hadn’t realised until we were literally docking that I didn’t have anywhere to go, so the second he put the pieces together it was, ‘Come on, you have to, Mav! It’ll be great. You can meet Carole. You guys will get on like a house on fire, I know it’. And I, for the life of me, couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to convince him otherwise. I think I was a bit blindsided that he was offering to spend more time together at all.”

He scoffed.

“Either way, the pressure was dialled up to 11,” he drawled. “Not only would I have to stay on my best behaviour for even longer, to keep Goose on side - and I’d been on a 6 month streak at that point and felt the end looming. But I also had to become best friends with his wife, immediately. Otherwise he’d wonder how he got that one so wrong. Then he’d look closer, and he’d see everything he’d somehow missed about me before. See exactly where I was lacking. Me getting to keep the one person in the navy, hell, the one person in the world that gave a damn about me - depended on this month going well.”

Rubbing at his scratchy eyes, Pete leaned a little more into Ice’s side, before asking. “You managed to pull that off?”

“Hell no, I lasted less than a week,” Mav scoffed, shaking his head. “And it only lasted that long because Goose and Carole had the patience of saints.”

Pete frowned. That didn’t make sense. He might not know this story but he knew a hell of a lot of the others that came later. He knew Mav stayed friends with Goose, and Carole as well, for years after when this would have happened. How could it not have worked? How did he screw up that badly and still manage to keep them around?

He shot Ice a confused glance, receiving a ‘just roll with it’ shrug in response.

“Carole was living in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere Texas at the time. Her aunt needed help moving or something. Unfortunately that meant I had had about six hours of travelling to work myself up and come up with a game plan for how I was going to make it all work. Going in with a charm offensive wouldn’t have done it, Goose would feel like making moves on his wife, Carole would feel like I was a creep, and I’d be stuck with both of them feeling like that for a month. I couldn’t risk being myself, for reasons already discussed. So I decided on the red carpet treatment. From the second I got out of Goose’s truck to the second we got back in it to head back to the airport, Carole Bradshaw would be shown a level of respect and deference that no admiral had or has ever received from me. The queen of England could have come around and found it excessive. But it was the best I had.

“I addressed her as ma’am, I stood when she walked into the room or got up from the table, I tried to help out around the house as much as I possibly could. A big part of the plan was also trying to give her and Goose as much space and time to themselves as possible. I wasn’t supposed to be there, and the absolute last thing I wanted is for them to miss out on time together because Goose felt obliged to bring me along with him. On paper, I thought it worked. Be respectful and stay out of the way. Unfortunately, in practice it went more along the lines of me actively avoiding everybody like it was my job and, whenever I couldn’t, making the situation so awkward it was uncomfortable for everybody. And it was uncomfortable. My god. Goose and Carole, they tried so hard to get me to relax, come out of my shell, do the exact opposite of what I was trying to do essentially. It was not going well,” Mav laughed, rubbing the back of his neck and shaking his head at the memory.

“Goose knew I was acting off, which was putting me even more on edge. And I knew I was quickly moving past that ‘meeting new people is awkward sometimes’ grace period straight into ‘this little twerp I’ve known for a few months has got a problem with the love of my life’ territory. So not ideal. And Carol… Carol knew from the beginning that I was putting up a front, which made settling around her pretty much impossible.”

Pete grimaced sympathetically at the thought of it all.

“At least you stuck it out,” he muttered. “I would have just left at that point.”

“Oh, I did,” Mav replied without missing a beat. “About five days in everything finally bubbled over. Goose tried to coax me into telling him what was wrong for about the millionth time and… well, after days of constantly being on red alert, barely sleeping from the stress, just second guessing every single move or sound I made while knowing, in spite of trying my best, it was all going to hell - I sort of lost it on him. Told him he could take whatever friendship he thought we had and shove it where the sun don’t shine because I sure as hell didn’t need it or him. That I'd been on my own for over half my life and I didn’t need anybody, thank you very much, least of all some hapless, sheltered country-boy who clearly didn’t know what was good for him if it smacked him in the face. Then I grabbed my bag and went straight to the train station.”

Pete blinked owlishly at that, confused to say the least.

“But I thought Goose was your best friend,” he said.

“He was,” Mav replied.

“Even after that?!”

“I know, I was surprised too.”

Pete frowned, puzzling it over as Mav laughed softly and shook his head..

“This being the tiny town it was, the train didn’t run very often, and I’d missed the one for that day - which was just the cherry on the top really. I figured I’d just spend the night on the platform. Didn’t want to risk missing the next one, and I was feeling pretty sorry for myself at the time so it seemed fitting. Which was exactly where Carole found me three hours later.”

Ice scoffed softly beside Pete, shaking his head with a fond smile of his own.

“Mother Goose sent in the big guns then,” he drawled.

“I honestly have no idea if Goose even knew,” Mav replied, smiling reminiscently himself. “I think she just figured she’d given us both enough time to sulk and decided enough was enough.”

He chuckled, tilting his head back as he recalled the encounter.

“She came over and sat down on the ground beside me,” he said, looking around them, the corner of his lips twitching a fraction higher. “Sorta like we are right now.”

Pete smiled weakly at that.

“She sat with me for the longest time, didn’t say a word, just waited me out, until she could tell I was ready to actually listen to her. Then she took my hand and said, “You know what, honey? If you were half as rotten as you’re afraid you are, you wouldn’t care nearly as much as you do”.”

Pete ducked his head as, all at once, tears started welling up once again. God he wanted that to be true. With every fibre of his being he did. He bit his lip as he felt Ice pull him a little tighter against his side, and heard Mav scoot closer himself, reaching out and rubbing his arm himself.

“Do you think she was right about that,” he uttered, voice crackling with the strain of keeping himself together.

Mav smiled, squeezing Pete’s arm gently as he inclined his head.

“Honestly, I always had my doubts,” he confessed. “But these days… I think she probably was.”

Before he could stop them, a couple of the tears Pete had been battling against broke free and rolled down his cheeks.

“Oh, buddy,” Mav sighed, reaching up to rub the moisture away. “I’m so sorry. Sometimes I forget how much all of that stuff hurt.”

Pete leaned into the contact, the corner of his mouth twitching a little as he did so.

“Actually pretty good to hear that from my perspective,” he murmured, drawing soft scoffs from the oldtimers.

Shaking his head fondly, Mav patted Pete’s arm one last time before folding them over his crossed legs.

“I’m telling you this for two reasons,” he said, ducking his head to meet Pete’s eye once again. “First, and I really am sorry for this but, unfortunately, this is just one of those cards that you and I got dealt. This is something that you were always going to have to work through. Being on your own for so long, and getting told so many times and in so many ways that nobody wants you, and nobody will ever want you - it leaves a mark. That doesn’t mean you’re broken. It's just a hurdle that we get that some people don’t. Everyone’s got their own set. For us - it’s being very, very aware of just how much other people can hurt you, while at the same time knowing how much the alternative hurts too.”

Pete sighed softly, but nodded all the same. That point wasn’t exactly news to him, but it still sucked hearing it all the same.

“And second,” Mav said, reaching out and brushing Pete’s hair back from his face with a small, reassuring smile. “Even though it doesn’t always feel like it, and that feeling will flare up from time to time unfortunately, some people really do stay.”

Pete lifted his head to look at the old man properly, something like hope fluttering weakly in the pit of his belly.

“They stick by you as long as they possibly can, through more crap than you could possibly imagine. I know it’s hard to really let yourself believe that right now. I know it feels like the second you do it’ll all fall apart around you, like a house of cards. But that will fade with time and with evidence. You’re just going to have to trust me until then. You’re not meant to be alone. There’s nothing fundamentally wrong or bad about you. The people who are worth a damn, they stay - you just have to let them in in the first place.”

The older man leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Just be careful, because once you do, it’s all bets off. I had one moment of weakness around Slider 36 years ago and now I’m stuck with him.”

Pete laughed wetly at that, smiling back as Mav practically beamed at him.

“I hope you’re right,” he uttered, rubbing again at his face.

“I am,” Mav replied, nodding firmly. “And look, I’m not going to lie to you and promise forever. Nobody knows what’s around the corner. Hell, a tsunami could take us all out right now.”

Pete scoffed softly, rolling his eyes as Maverick ruffled his hair teasingly.

“But the stuff you’re worried about, the mistakes you’re worried about making, I’m sorry but they’re just not gonna cut it.”

Ice nodded at that.

“Unfortunately, to shake us at this point you’d have to do things that you’re simply not capable of. And they certainly wouldn’t be accidental.”

Pete frowned slightly, glancing between the two of them.

“...Could you give me a clue?” he asked. “You know, to be safe.”

Ice scoffed softly, before cocking his head to the side thoughtfully.

“Alright. We’re talking about doing things that would deliberately traumatise others. Not accidents, like a car crash or getting in a really bad fight, though we’d all rather you avoided that too. Stuff that’s just evil. Things specifically done to make somebody else feel afraid or humiliated or less than” Ice replied calmly, brow rising pointedly. “Do you feel that avoiding that sort of behaviour would be a struggle for you?”

“Fuck, no,” Pete replied, nose wrinkling at the thought of doing anything along those lines.

Ice nodded.

“There you go. There’s the bar,” he replied simply. “Anything above that? Worst case scenario, you’re the pain in the ass of the week. And that’s a title we’ve all held at one point or another.”

“Even you?”

“Unjustly,” he sniffed.

“Ask Uncle Sli about it some time,” Mav replied without missing a beat, before turning back to Pete before Ice could retort. “Honestly kiddo, do you really think Bradely was an angel growing up?”

“Well… yeah?”

“Think again,” Ice drawled.

Mav hummed, nodding seriously.

“Off the top of my head, there was that time he threw a party with his baseball team while we were out of town and trashed the house.”

“The bike he borrowed without asking, rode unlicensed, and totalled - on a dare.”

“The kitchen he nearly burned down because ‘guys - you can’t pause online games, how many times do I have to tell you?’ and ‘I want bacon’ turned out to be a bad mix.”

“The spy-phase that ended with him trying to sneak onto a military base, ours that is, and then refusing to answer any questions or co-operate after getting caught.”

“I maintain that that was mostly Hollywood’s fault for taking him to watch True Lies.”

Pete blinked, stunned by the antics of, by far, one of the more mature ‘big brothers’ he had.

Ice scoffed, rolling his eyes with a fond smile.

“And we still love the kid. Did back then when it happened and through much less amusing run-ins too,” he said, before squeezing Pete a little tighter to his side. “So try not to worry so much. You’re a kid, you’re supposed to do stupid things. Mav does stupid things every other day and we still keep him around. And that’s these days. He was an absolute menace when I first met him. And six years older than you are now. You’re a dream in comparison.”

Mav huffed.

“You are a delight,” he said, patting Pete on the shoulder, before shooting his husband a pointed look. “But I think some people are forgetting which one of us introduced himself by immediately talking shit.”

“We were competing and the fact that you still bring it up almost 40 years later just further emphasises what a sound psychological victory that introduction was for me.”

“I mean I wanted to kick your ass all the more afterwards, so I’m not sure how much of a victory it was.”

“Well you never did, so a big one I would say.”

“Bullshit I never did-!”

“Go-ddddddd,” Pete groaned, though he couldn’t help but grin at the bickering, which, in the span of 10 months, had somehow become the comforting soundtrack of home for him (which probably said a lot about Ice and Maverick, but who cares). “Wher’es Tom when you need him?”

“Our point,” Ice said pointedly, shooting Mav a look that said quite clearly ‘we’re supposed to be a united front, genius (also, you know I’m right), “Is that you’re going to make mistakes. Everybody does. You’re going to do stupid things, things that we don’t approve of. And, because we’re here to help you become the best person you can be, we’ll call you out on it. At one point or another, we’ll disagree, we’ll argue, feelings will probably get hurt, egos will get bruised. And then, we’re going to be here anyway. Because you’re a member of this family and that’s not going to change.”

“And we’ll remind you of that however many times you need,” Mav replied, smiling warmly at him, before slapping his own knees and leaning back. “Now, how would you like to proceed from here? Are you alright breaking the Birthday Drought today or would you like to go home and we can just have a nice family dinner tonight. Which would you rather?”

Pete bit his lip, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt.

“I guess I… I wouldn’t mind staying,” he replied, his heart and stomach fluttering again at the thought of all these people, his family, turning up just for him. But this time, he found his emotions leaning more on the side of nervous excitement rather than all-consuming dread. “I mean, It’s been a minute.”

“You’re sure?” Ice asked seriously, rubbing Pete’s back reassuringly. “Don’t feel like you have to if you don’t want to.”

Pete ducked his head, a small smile spreading across his face as, for the first time since this whole miscommunication came to light, and before that really, something seemed to settle inside of him. Some knot of tension that had been there for so long that he’d just learned to live with it, seemed to ease just the littlest bit. He did not doubt, for a second, that if he decided to leave now, Ice and Mav (and Tom) would cover for him, would back him up and stand in his corner. Whether they needed to or not, and Pete suspected things would probably topple in the direction of ‘not’ because the others would understand.

Drawing in a deep, calming breath (like Ice had been teaching him) he lifted his head a smiled a little wide.

“I want to,” he said. “Seriously, if I ever say no to chocolate cake I want you to assume that somebody’s stolen my face and is impersonating me.”

“Mark that down for both of us,” Mav replied, nodding empathetically.

“Noted,” Ice scoffed, smiling as the three of them got back to their feet. “In that case, we should probably get back. Tom said he’d try to keep them all in one place to give us a moment alone but the fact that he seems to have managed it is making me nervous.”

Pete snickered as Mav shot him an amused grin, before they both followed Ice back to the beach. It turned out the old man may have been right to worry.

“In my defence,” Tom drawled as he jogged over to meet them. “I didn’t expect them all to lose their minds.”

Pete felt like that was a pretty accurate description for the mayhem they’d just walked into. Almost all the daggers and a few of the flyboys were shouting, waving their arms about, jabbing fingers in faces or, in Fanboy’s case, cackling rather manically. And those that weren’t seemed content to either enjoy the show or stoke the fires all the more. It was pandemonium.

“What did you do?” Ice sighed as they drew closer.

Tom shrugged.

“I casually mentioned that Pete and I watched Die Hard for the first time, and asked what other Christmas movies we should watch. And, well...”

“IT’S SET ON CHRISTMAS EVE, BAGMAN!!! HOW MUCH MORE OBVIOUS DO YOU NEED IT?!”

“THAT’S ALL YOU’VE GOT! IT’S AN ACTION MOVIE-”

“ON CHRISTMAS EVE!”

“OH MY GOD! SO WHAT?! SO WHAT?!!”

“Well, it did distract them,” Ice replied, arching a brow as he took it all in. “They’re going to go full Lord of the Flies any moment now, but it worked.”

Tom grinned, before slinging an arm around Pete’s shoulders and drawling, “Wanna make it worse?”

“You’ve been a terrible influence on him,” Ice sighed, shooting Mav a despairing glance as Pete laughed softly and shrugged.

“Sure.”

Tom winked before calling over the noise, “Alright, maybe Die Hard can go one way or the other-”

“NO IT CAN’T,” Jake and Nat hollered in unison, before immediately shooting each other disgusted glares.

“But surely we can all agree that Nightmare before Christmas-”

And they were off again, with renewed vigour and with previous alliances suddenly shattered.

Pete laughed as he took it all in. Tom’s arm around his shoulders; Mav and Ice squeezing his arm and ruffling his hair respectively as they walked by to try and reign in the chaos; Rooster and Hangman each elbowing their way through the crowd, hollering for him to back them up.

The fears were still there, bubbling away beneath the surface. Pete felt that they probably always would. Allowing himself to stay this attached, to actually believe that maybe this time, just this once, things truly would turn out different… it was risky. Frankly it was downright dangerous.

“Right, enough of this!!” Rooster hollered over the noise. “Let’s settle this properly.”

“Agreed,” Jake replied, nodding firmly. “Dogfight football. I bags the babies.”

“What?!”

“You can’t take both of them!”

“Can. Did. Pete, Tom, come on.”

Sometimes, the risks were worth taking. And, well, he’d always liked to think he was a little dangerous.

#icemav #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #time warp au #art

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fromgoy2joy · 9 months ago

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Here is the scene -

Shabbat dinner at a rabbi’s house with all the college kids from different schools in the area immersed in discussion. Spaghetti lines up high on each plate with a minimal serving of droopy artichoke. The rabbi made an announcement at the beginning of the meal that calories don’t work on Shabbat and we’re eating for two souls :

A girl I hadn’t met before- Dawn- was discussing the lawsuit set against her school for antisemitism. This is very common nowadays so I was nodding along, twirling noodle around my fork.

My friend , who we will call Duck, shook his head. “I’m lucky.” He stabbed a piece of artichoke. “My school is administratively failing, so that’s the focus. Not the world falling to crap.”

I nod along, eying the challah on the other side of the table.

“Joy, have you experienced anything?” Dawn asked, politely. I know she would’ve loved me to say “oh nothing! We’re actually beloved there!” But that wasn’t the case.

“Oh- uh! “ I jolted up. “No more than the usual.”

“Well,” Dawn peered at me. “What’s your ‘usual’?”

“Ah,” I took the moment to think. “Oh. Well. I started my conversion journey in October and all my freshman first semester friends cut me off because that made me complicit in genocide.”

Both of their eyes widened at me. “Oh G-d,” Dawn put down her fork. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh don’t worry about it! You live, you learn.” I waved my hand. “Let’s see. Oh, oof, there was the time a Jewish kid got beat up and nearly thrown into traffic at a protest -“

“Really!?”

“Oh yeah,” I twirled spaghetti. “Our antisemitism teach in was canceled because we are “genocide colonizers” and it got dangerous to host. A professor made an entire class defend Hamas for a final paper,”

“No fucking way.” Duck breathed.

I shrugged. “Apparently, it was an 1800s philosophy class.” My two friends squawked before I continued. “We’ve got the cliche of ‘resistance is justified’ but I don’t think that’s anything unique-“

“You understand that’s still bad, right?” Dawn interrupted. I felt caught off guard, and answered slowly.

“Yeah of course. It’s just kinda lame. Lack of originality. There’s a bit more. Oh!” I snapped my fingers. “The Nazi thing!”

Dawn and Duck are both staring at me, in a daze. I felt like a commercial, head buzzing with so many examples that I wanted to say “but wait , there’s more!”

But instead of a free water bottle to go with whatever infomercial contraption there is, instead it was a long list of ways my life is passively and actively in danger.”

“I’m so sorry, Joy.” Duck began. Dawn nodded slightly. “I had no idea it was this bad. I was at a conference recently, and a lot of the talk was how bad your university has gotten. You guys might actually be the worst in the state.”

There are things I know logically. Like that I should eat more than 1.65 meals a day, that what I’ve been experiencing isn’t normal.

But it was Shabbat, my heart was as light as it could be, and I was here in my beloved community. I twisted my face into a grim smile. “Huh. Celebrity moment! Now, could you pass the challah?”

(I got like five extra pieces, so, you know! Perks to Jew hate!

Jokes, jokes.)

#fromgoy2joy thoughts #jumblr #jewish #jewish convert #jewblr #jewish tumblr #jewish conversion #antisemitism #tw antisemtism #jewish humor #dark Jewish humor #Jews by choice #jew by choice

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kimbappykidding · 1 year ago

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Imagine having a crush on your MC partner Yunho

You'd had a crush on Yunho for a while. You were in a sister company to Ateez and so had crossed paths numerous times and were always stunned by him. At first, you thought it was just because he was physically very impressive. He was so tall but also knew how to carry himself and looked like some celebrity model. So every time you trailed off when he walked by you claimed it was because of that but your members weren't having any of it. "Y/n you weren't checking his height out you were checking him out!" one of them said and you blushed. "No! I was just seeing how broad his shoulders really are" you tried but they all shut you down with how much you were blushing. Eventually, you just stopped arguing that you weren't attracted to Yunho and admitted you were. Your members could all understand why and agreed he was very good-looking but when they found out about his personality they realised he was perfect for you!

Similar to Yunho, at first glance you were quieter and “normal” but once anyone got to know you they found you were funny, mischievous and had a habit of cheating or messing around. So when you finally went on the radio show with Ateez and your members saw this side of Yunho they were thrilled. You were surely the perfect match and they were sure you’d both realise that if you were in front of one another. So they decided the two of you had to be put together and when a spot came up to MC with an Ateez member they suggested you straight away. You agreed, figuring out of all of Ateez you wouldn't get Yunho and then found out he was hosting with you. Your girls all claimed it was fate and you disagreed but were shocked at the coincidence...and excited.

You were nervous to be working with him but the time rolled around in no time and you were right in front of him. You forgot how tall he was. You were slightly above average height-wise but compared to Yunho that was nothing. Only when he bowed did he actually come near your height and when he stood up you were barely to his shoulders. "It's really nice to meet you" Yunho said after introducing himself "I know we’re obviously aware of one another but I'm excited for us to be actually working together". "Me too" you smiled “we’ve crossed paths so many times but never got to work together so this should be fun!”. Yunho nodded “yeah I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to work together, we’ll have to make the most of it hey?” he asked shooting you a gorgeous smile that made you pause but luckily Yunho moved on quickly. "Is it true you recorded all the lines for your latest title track Diadem in just one shoot? You didn't have to redo any?". You stared at him in shock "yes it is, how did you hear that?". "I saw an article about it and thought it was so impressive because that song has some really hard notes. You must be an amazing vocalist". You blushed "thank you, I guess I was just having a really good day". "I'm sure it was all you" he said with another beautiful smile and you couldn't stop smiling all through the shoot.

Afterwards, the producers congratulated you both, saying you worked really well together and Yunho thanked them. You got your mic packs removed and were going to find Yunho to say goodbye to him when he beat you to it. He appeared behind you and gently said your name. "I'm going to head off but wanted to say it was so nice working with you and here" he passed you a piece of paper "that's my number, I thought it'd be a good idea to exchange numbers in case one of us is running late or anything but you don't have to give me yours if you don't want to". Blushing lightly you shook your head "no that's a great idea, I'll text you the minute I get my phone" and Yunho smiled "looking forward to it, see you next week" and he left, leaving you feeling like you were walking on air. When you saw your members they were all thrilled by your chemistry and when you explained everything else they were ecstatic. "He was flirting with you! He likes you!" one member cried but you calmed them down the best you could. "Yes I think he was flirting and being nice but that's probably just his personality. It doesn't mean anything". The girls claimed you naturally fit together though and said things would be different by the end of the award show season. You didn't let yourself get excited but hoped they were right. The night before you were next due to MC Yunho texted you asking how your week had been. You replied telling him it had been exciting as you were getting ready to do your first fully English song and asked how his week had been. You chatted all evening and it only ended when Yunho was going to bed. He told you he had to sleep now and wished you a goodnight. You texted him back feeling all fluttery and couldn't wait to see him the next day. You showed up early to the show and Yunho was there early too. You sat next to each other in hair and makeup and talked the whole way through which was odd for you. You were talkative but not usually so soon after meeting someone. It took you a while to feel comfortable with someone but Yunho had such a nice happy energy. You felt instantly at ease with him and he was super easy to talk to. It was slightly intimidating given how good he looked, especially after hair and makeup, but then he'd smile and you'd feel comfortable again. This week's show was even better because you were both more familiar with one another and your chemistry was even stronger. The director was so pleased with you and wouldn't believe that the two of you weren’t friends before this. "You seem effortlessly close like old friends" he said and Yunho shrugged "there are just some people who you meet and it feels like that. That's just me and Y/n" hanging an arm around your shoulder and you blushed vividly. You were so pleased with how things were going and the slight flirting was driving you crazy. You knew your attraction to him had morphed into a full-on crush. You were falling for Yunho and you were making no effort to slow yourself down. Once the director walked away Yunho told you there was a party tomorrow tonight that his members were organising and he invited you and your members. "It'd be cool to hang out outside of work" he said and you were sold. "I'll check with the girls but I'm sure we'll be there" you smiled and Yunho looked genuinely really pleased. The girls all agreed to come quote "because there was no way they were missing out on this" and so you arrived as a full unit. Hongjoong was at the door and you worried he might not know you were invited so got your text from Yunho ready as proof of your invite but he smiled when he saw you. Y/n and Demeter!" he smiled addressing your group name "it's so great to have you all here! Please come in" and he waved you all inside. "So are all of Ateez just super nice?" one of your members asked and you shrugged "I have no idea I've only spoken to Yunho". "Well he clearly speaks about you to the others" one of your members said shooting you a smile and you blushed before someone called your name making you turn even pinker.

"Y/n you made it!" Yunho called and turned to see him heading straight for you. He had his arms open and gave you a hug which felt really nice. "Yeah of course" you said "I never asked though is it a special occasion? Someone's birthday or something?". "Nope" Yunho smiled "just an excuse to throw a party...but Wooyoung will probably try and tell you it's his birthday so if he does just ignore him" he told your members whom all nodded laughing. "So Yunho Y/n tells us you've been having a lot of fun MCing together" your leader said and you tensed but Yunho just smiled. "Yeah so much fun! From day one we just got on really well and the directors are very pleased with our performances". "I can see why you're both so natural together" your leader continued and you shot her a warning look but again Yunho smiled "I know right it's so great when that happens" and he smiled at you making your angry mood swiftly turn into happiness. Your member smirked seeing how you couldn't seem to be angry around the cute tall boy and knew they'd be teasing you about that later. Yunho got you all a drink and stayed with you for a while before leaving to help Seonghwa move some chairs. When he went all your members shot you smiles and you tried not to look at them. "Y/n he's even better than you said" your leader said and you blushed "he's just perfect right? See why I can't tell him I have crush on him? Someone as great as him must have girls lining up down the street". "Yeah but they're not you" one of your members said nudging your arm and the others agreed. "Y/n you are smart, funny, sexy, strong and so talented! Yunho would be so lucky to have you". "Plus the two of you have amazing chemistry which he picked up on! He's aware of how great you go together". "Yeah but as work colleagues, not as a couple". "If you can get along as friends that's the first step" your leader told you and you nodded "well for now I'm very happy being his friend" and they decided if you were happy so were they...but someone else was very excited "Guess what I heard!" San called bounding over to his members and Yunho winced "San how much have you had to drink?". "A lot but that's not what's important...guess what I heard!" he whined. Yunho sighed "I don't know, what did you hear?". "I heard Y/n talking with her members about how perfect you were and how she's got a crush on you". Yunho sat up taller "what? When?". "Like 5 minutes ago. I stuck around to eavesdrop and then hurried to come tell you". Yunho frowned "San you shouldn't spy on people" and he nodded "I know I know but aren't you glad I did? Y/n's super pretty and you like her right?". Yunho blushed nodding "yes" and San smiled "so what's the problem? Go ask her out!". Yunho looked down "I don't just want to rush into anything San. We've got 6 weeks left to MC together and just because she has a crush on me doesn't mean she wants to date me. She could've just meant she likes my outfit or something...either way I don't want to go in too fast. I'm enjoying getting to know her and there's no way we have to label it so quickly". San nodded "you're scared" making Yunho blush because he was. When Yunho first saw you he was stunned because he thought you were so pretty. This was back when your group first debuted and his eyes went to you each time he saw you. When you came on the radio show he gravitated towards you and found himself sitting up anytime you talked. However you weren’t too talkative in groups and when you left Yunho always wanted more. So he finally caved and watched videos of you and your group. That clinched it for him. You looked effortlessly cool but your personality was so different and he loved that. He loved people who seemed really intimidating but were huge softies, that was kind of how he was and it immediately made him warm to you. When he heard you were MCing he volunteered to be your partner and Hongjoong and Seonghwa smiled at him but didn’t say anything. Yunho’s heart sped up when he saw you the night of the first show and he bowed just to hide his face from you. He was nervous you wouldn’t like him but then your chemistry was something you didn't even have to try with and it all just seemed to fall into place perfectly...a little too perfectly. Yunho was worried you might be too good as friends and that’s all you saw him as. He didn't want to ruin your energy by stepping too far too soon. He figured he'd flirt with you more to work out if that was an option and get to know you more. After that he’d act but honestly he was scared, San had hit the nail on the head.

Yunho sighed "you know what? Yeah I am scared to ask her so please don't tell anyone about this, not even Wooyoung". San pouted because he never kept secrets from Wooyoung but he reluctantly agreed "fine" and Yunho smiled "thank you San". San rushed away and Yunho watched him go before his eyes fell on you. You were across the room talking to your members and you looked so comfortable and happy. Yunho blushed realising if San's words were true you liked him. He couldn’t believe you'd noticed him and decided he was an attractive guy. That thought made him so happy and also a little nervous. He'd kind of dated before but he'd never felt this giddy about anyone and this felt different. You looked up and saw him. You looked down blushing and Yunho blushed too. He waved to you for something to do and you waved back. Yunho smiled and went to go find his members so he could hide behind them. The following week you were at your MC job and Yunho had done a great job of pretending he didn't know you liked him. However, there would be times that caught him off guard. He'd see you out of the corner of his eye and notice how beautiful you were or hear your voice and blush thinking this girl liked him. It was a lovely comforting thought to have and in those moments he struggled to pretend he didn't know. Luckily you hadn't noticed but Yunho knew he couldn't keep it up forever. After the show, you congratulated each other on another successful run. The manager suddenly appeared and said a friend of his was a fan and wanted to speak with you. The man appeared and launched into why he was your superfan. Yunho walked away to give you space and chatted with the staff waiting for you to finish. However, 10 minutes later you still weren't done. The man was still talking tons and you looked like you couldn't get a word in edgeways. Yunho got this man was probably thrilled to meet his idol but you were clearly trying to leave and he wouldn't let you. Yunho came closer and heard the man saying something about a restaurant. "We could go there my treat and I can tell you more of my suggestions" he said. "That's really kind but I already have plans" you said and spotted Yunho. "Oh doing what?" the man asked clearly calling your bluff. Yunho saw you blank and stepped forwards "Hey Y/n do you want me to grab your bag from your dressing room so we can make our reservation?". The man turned and saw it was Yunho. "I'm so sorry am I making you late for something? Please go" and he bowed letting you leave. "Thank you! you whispered to Yunho as you walked away and he nodded "no problem, you looked like you needed help getting rid of him. What were his suggestions?". You made a face "oh you know ways I can be a better idol. He was giving me fashion tips and telling me to go on a diet". Yunho's eyes widened "he did not!". "Yep! He claimed I was perfect but could be improved". "Well then you're not perfect if you can be improved" Yunho said before realising what he said "not that I think you're not perfect...I mean nobodies perfect but I think you're as close as it gets". You blushed "I'm not but thank you" you said "it was really cool of you to pretend we had plans". "Yeah no problem but I was wondering...do you have plans? Because if not maybe we could do something?". "I don't" you said "what do you want to do?". "Maybe go grab food? I'm starving". You smiled "food sounds great". You ended up grabbing the last table at a restaurant around the corner. You got a nice place in the back where it was quieter and more private. You realised in that moment you'd never been properly alone with Yunho. There had always been staff or other members with you but here it was just the two of you. You were sat across from this beautiful guy and you blushed a little as you realised that. Yunho noticed and smiled "what? Is there something on my face?". "No I erm just thought of something". "What?" Yunho asked laughing and you decided to be truthful but not completely. "I just thought if people from my school could see me now they'd be so surprised. An amazing career, cool MCing job and sat here with you...very surprised indeed". Yunho chuckled "so was school not your favourite time?". "Not at all" you laughed "I was the weird music kid always singing under her breath with braces for 5 years and sucked at everything that wasn't creative. They found out I wanted to be a singer and used to tease me about it". "Well look who got the last laugh. You're a beautiful, successful idol whom they get to watch on tv each week". You laughed "that's true" and Yunho held out his glass "let's toast to our success. To being great MCs for our remaining shows" Yunho said and you clinked glasses. After your meal, Yunho asked if you wanted to get a drink at this nice bar nearby to celebrate your successful runs and you agreed. However It was a little louder than expected and you were slightly overwhelmed. Yunho was searching for a table with you following when he was engulfed by men. You were scared he was being attacked until you realised they knew one another. Yunho greeted them all before introducing them to you as friends from his school. They invited you to join them and they seemed nice but you didn't want to sit with a big group. Especially as it seemed like a lad's night and you'd be the only girl. So you were all ready to have an excuse to leave when Yunho declined their offer. "Thanks but I think we'll go find a table together". "Hey I don't blame you she's stunning" his friend said with a wink that made you blush "see you around". Yunho turned to you slightly pink and smiled "so should we find a table in the back somewhere quiet?" and you agreed. Once you'd got seated you could still see Yunho's friends and any time they passed you they greeted you both but especially you. It wasn't creepy and they were actually quite funny, the one who winked at you in particular was hilarious and you smiled as he made faces to you as he passed your table. Yunho noticed and turned to you. "You know my friend Wei, he's a nice guy. I noticed you blush when he winked at you...I could give you his number if you liked?" Yunho asked and you blushed once more. Yunho laughed "is that a yes?". You laughed "no I just blush easily. He seems like a nice guy but he's not my type". Yunho once again couldn't resist and leant forwards "oh? So what is your type?". You froze and Yunho realised San had been telling the truth. You were into him! He also realised he'd put you in an awkward spot so smiled "should I go first? I like girls who are funny, kind and who it just feels natural with. Who I have natural chemistry with". You blushed as he said that "yeah it's nice when you don't have to force it". Yunho nodded "like between us" and you nodded "yeah we work well together". "I see it beyond work though" Yunho said "do you?". You nodded "yeah" and Yunho smiled "I'm pleased to hear you say that because if I'm being honest...my ideal type is you". You blinked "it is?" and Yunho nodded "yes. When I found out I was MCing with you I was really excited because I've always found you very beautiful. Then when we had such a natural chemistry I couldn't believe it". You blushed "I couldn't believe it either because I felt the same way". Yunho smiled "I might've had an inkling about that". You cringed "oh no was I really obvious?". Yunho shook his head "no my friend is nosey" and he explained about San. "Why did you never say anything?" you asked and Yunho shrugged "I wanted to let you act on it on your own. I didn't want to pressure you or let you know that I knew in case you got embarrassed". You blushed shaking your head "and they say being a nice guy never gets you the girl" and kissed him.

After that you and Yunho started dating and you still couldn't believe you'd managed this. Your members all screamed when you told them and then assured you, you deserved this. When you next saw Yunho you worried he'd change his mind or something but the smile he gave you banished any thoughts of that. You grabbed a coffee a few hours before you had to be at the show to MC and was hurried over to you when he saw you. "I'm so pleased to see you, you look amazing" he said hugging you and you smiled hugging him back "so do you! I thought black was your colour but now I'm thinking it might be every colour". Yunho chuckled "you're one to talk, come on let's go inside" and he took your hand leading you inside. MCing together now you were dating was actually quite fun. Every look between the two of you was exciting and exhilarating because there was this secret that nobody around you knew but you. Yunho could make you feel special with just a look and the hardest part was trying not to blush when he smiled at you. You were interviewing NCT127 on your fifth week and you thought it was going great. The boys seemed to like you and were bantering with you but you noticed Yunho didn't seem as happy. Just from how he was standing you could see how tense he was and frowned. In the commercial, you asked Yunho if he was okay and he nodded but had to rush away for hair touch-ups. When he returned he was better but you could tell something had bothered him so after the show you went to find him in the Ateez dressing room. The guys saw you and called out to you in greeting. Yunho spotted you and smiled "hey, you okay?". You nodded "I was coming to ask you the same thing". Yunho frowned "you noticed that huh?" and you nodded "is everything okay?". He sighed "come on" and looked for a private space. The only one was the dressing room so he led you in there and closed the door. It wasn't big so you were facing one another not too far away but all that was on your mind was whatever was bothering Yunho.

"So what's wrong? I'm worried" you said and Yunho immediately reached out for you. He put his hands on your arms "Y/n you don't have to worry about me". "But I do because you're my boyfriend" you said and Yunho smiled at that before it dropped "well I hope you still are after this" and that worried you. You were expecting the worst when Yunho said "I was jealous seeing you with NCT". "What?" you asked after staring at him confused for a few seconds "why?". "Because the guys all liked you and Taeil was flirting with you so much". "He wasn't...was he?" you asked and Yunho shrugged "I thought he was, he definitely checked you out when he came onto set". You paused "I didn't even notice because I was so focused on you". Yunho blushed "that makes me feel so special...I knew I had no reason to be jealous. You're a good person and I trust you but I...sometimes I feel really insecure and worry I'm not good enough for you". "I feel the same thing...well not the same! That I'm not good enough for you" you clarified and Yunho looked at you "really? but you're so much hotter than me!". "I beg to differ" you said smiling at him "but it's a relief to know you feel those things too". "Definitely" Yunho said "are we just intuned in everything". "Hmmm let's see" you smiled "what's going through your mind right now?". Yunho looked at your lips and smiled "that I really want to kiss you". "Ditto" you replied and kissed him. The two of you had kissed before but never this passionately and neither of you wanted to stop. Being trapped in a small space helped push you together and the pent-up stress and tension from the day also didn't hurt. Yunho looked so good in his shirt and all day you'd been wondering what it'd feel like to touch it so you gripped it with both hands and pulled Yunho closer. Yunho seemed to love this and slid his arms around your waist holding you flat against him. "Yunho we're leaving" Hongjoong called abruptly ending your makeout and you both jumped apart. "Yunho?" Hongjoong called again and he nodded "yeah we'll be one minute". Yunho was breathing heavily and when he looked at you he laughed "that was fun". You smiled "it was, I want to do it again". Yunho smiled "we're heading straight home. Do you want to come with us? No pressure on going any further or doing what we just did I just thought it might be nice..." Yunho was saying when you took his hand "yes" and he smiled. The guys didn't bat an eyelid when he said you were coming with them and on the way to the car you chatted with Yeosang and Mingi. Yunho watched you with a happy expression and someone chuckled. He turned to see Seonghwa and Hongjoong beside him. "Sorry if I was interrupting something back there" Hongjoong said and Yunho blushed "it's okay, a dressing room in a room full of people is never the best spot". The two agreed and Seonghwa smiled seeing the joy on Yunho's face "you two are happy aren't you?". Yunho nodded "very much, I know it's early and everyone at this stage feels amazing but there's just something about her that I can't get enough of. That makes me excited every time I see her...I really like her". As it happened, you looked back right at that moment and caught Yunho looking at you. You both blushed and smiled at one another. "Well I think it's clear she feels it too" Hongjoong smiled and Yunho hoped he was right. When you got home San and Wooyoung started organising a drinking game so you agreed to join in. You and Yunho sat together and he told you anything you didn't want to drink, he'd handle. He hung an arm around the back of your chair and was so sweet and protective. The alcohol just made you want him more and when the first game ended you nudged his leg. He got the message and told the guys you were heading off. They all waved you off some following you as Yunho led you upstairs. His room was nice and tidy. You looked around it seeing a bit of him everywhere and smiled "good first impression". "Would you have dumped me if it was a mess?". "Maybe" you joked and Yunho came towards you "then I'm really glad I tidied up in here" and you nodded "I'm really glad too" and kissed him. You'd been thinking about kissing him ever since you broke away earlier and it was worth the wait. You got right back into a rhythm and you wondered if you'd ever want to do anything other than just kiss Yunho. A jacket was blocking your access to Yunho's shirt and when Yunho realised what your hands were trying to do he happily shrugged it off and you resumed. You trailed your hands across his chest feeling the muscle there and couldn't believe this boy was yours. Yunho jumped as your hand trailed across his peck and you pulled back to make sure he was okay. "Sorry was I being too hands-on?" you asked. Yunho shook his head "not at all I really liked it" he said his voice nice and deep and you smiled. "I can take it off if you want?" he offered and you blushed but nodded. So clothes started coming off and when Yunho's breath started getting really ragged you pulled away. "Yunho” you said "do you want to keep going? Or just stay here". "Keep going...if you do?" he asked and you laughed "yes so catch" and you jumped. Yunho did catch you and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Yunho smiled "I like this". "I feel tall" you laughed and he smiled "I'm going to be making you feel lots of things" and he carried you over to the bed to fulfil his promise. *** Your final show together was due to happen in 1 week and you were both sad about it. "I know we'll see each other all the time but I like working with you" you said to Yunho one morning and he smiled "I have too. If any other opportunities come up we'll have to gear them". You nodded "totally". "I'll miss you" Yunho said "is that stupid considering we're dating and see each other each week?". "Not at all" you said "you're so cute" you said and Yunho smiled "if you say so" and kissed you. Your final run came quickly and of course the show seemed to zoom by. It went really well and before you knew it you were onto the last segment. You knew there would be gifts because that always happened but you saw Yunho had obviously had something to do with them this time. You'd told Yunho once in a throwaway comment that you liked blue galaxy orchids because you thought they looks so cool and beautiful and that was the bouquet you were given. You gasped when you saw them and looked to Yunho who was smiling widely, his eyes glued to your face for your reaction. "They're beautiful! They're my favourite! Thank you so much" you said taking them and the other hosts smiled watching you. "We also got you a little present inside" another host said and you looked into the bouquet to see small white box. You opened it and inside was a small turtle pendant which you could wear on a necklace. You'd also told Yunho you loved turtles and here he was showing you he listened to everything you said! You couldn't wait for the cameras to end so you could throw your arms around him. As soon as they called cut you did just that! You pulled Yunho to one side so the other idols couldn't see and hugged him. "Yunho this was all amazing! You didn't have to do all this..." you said looking down at your flowers. Yunho smiled "I know but I wanted to. This hosting run has meant a lot to me before it we barely knew one another and now...now we're together" he said with a smile "so I wanted to commemorate it". "But I didn't get you anything" you said with a frown and Yunho took your hand "you don't need to, trust me you've already given me so much. The perfect gift some might say" he said and you chuckled "you're so smooth. How do you come up with all these lines?". "You inspire me" he replied and kissed you. You both wanted to just run off together but had to go to the afterparty to thank all the idols you'd interviewed and see anyone who'd supported you. So you entered, agreeing to give it one hour and then be done. You started with your members and then got some drinks with your other hosts and idols started coming over including NCT 127 from your infamous interview. All the boys came over and you were talking to Mark and Yuta while Taeil spoke to another host. So you figured Yunho had been wrong because Taeil clearly wasn't interested in you...and then he appeared. Mark had gone to get a drink, Yuta going with them and when that space opened up Taeil appeared. He smiled when he saw you and he had a very nice smile so you smiled back. "Congratulations!" he said "you did such a great job, you should be really proud of yourself". You smiled "thank you, for your compliment and your part in it. You were the perfect interviewee and the fans really loved your interview". Taeil shrugged "An interviewee is only as good as his interviewer, it was all you really". You smiled "you're too modest" and Taeil shrugged "or I just think highly of you. Are you considering hosting again because if you are I'd really like to be your partner". You were debating your answer, trying to find a polite way to shut him down without shooting him down when you felt a hand on your waist. "Well I hate to disappoint you but you might have competition" Yunho said and Taeil laughed. "Ahh I see, she was such a good partner you can't wait to work with her again?" he asked. Yunho smiled looking at you "definitely and I'm a little biased towards her for personal reasons". You could see Taeil debating everything in his head, his eyes darting towards Yunho's hand around you and so you decided to help him out. You hooked your hand through Yunho's and smiled "we're together". "No way! Congratulations!" Taeil said "that's so cool, we're you together before this?". "Nope, I'd had a crush on her before but this brought us together" Yunho said. Taeil smiled "that's really great and I totally get you're first in line but if you ever need a friend to team up with let me know" Taeil said and with a smile he left. Yunho began to panic the moment Taeil left because he knew he'd kind of forced you into that. While the two of you weren't actively keeping your relationship a secret you also hadn't talked about when you'd reveal it and Yunho had never checked with you. So he expected you to yell at him or storm away feeling blind-sighted but you did neither of those even though they were well within your right. You just looked at Yunho with a smile "fancy a dance before we leave?" and he nodded, leading you to the floor still feeling shaky. Once you started dancing the world faded away and Yunho sighed "I'm sorry for outing us to Taeil, I just got territorial". You smiled "I know but it's okay". "You're not mad?" Yunho asked and you shook your head. "I think you mgiht've been right about Taeil and you weren't rude overbearing. You didn't come in yelling or announce it right away. There was time for me to tell you to back off and I didn't mind Taeil knowing". Yunho sighed "that's such a relief because I know we didn't discuss when we were going to tell everyone and I wouldn't ever want to make you do something you're not ready for". You shook your head "you didn't, I'm happy for people to know we're together". Yunho smiled "well in that case...there's a room full of people and I can think of a surefire way to let them all know". You smiled and leaned up to kiss him. Idols all across the room noticed in different ways. Your members squealed and smiled happily. Ateez were proud of Yunho and all grinned, knowing they were going to tease him about this later. NCT nudged Taeil figuring he'd be pissed but he told them all truthfully that there were no hard feelings. Meanwhile, you and Yunho didn't notice any of it. You were wholly focused on one another and there wasn't a lot that could change that. You were the only ones in that room. A very successful MC run indeed!

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