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vroomvro0mferrari · 5 months ago

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LN4 | Vexing Vacation – Part 1

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader, one-bed trope, a lot of banter and a hint of forced proximity :)

WC: 3.1K

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexual insinuations, and cursing (as always)

Masterlist | Part 2

Y/N sighed as she stared at her suitcase. She would never get it closed without breaking the zipper. She opened it again, going through the selection of clothes while she asked herself which of her items weren’t absolutely necessary. The unfortunate answer was that she needed everything.

She had wild plans for the short vacation her brother had invited her on. According to him, she had been too stressed the last couple of months, and she desperately needed some time off. Along with the promise that he’d take care of everything, she had agreed to join his trip. She could use a one-night stand, or two and a little flirting to get her mind off her busy job.

However, there was the small nuisance of Lando coming along. Ever since he gained some confidence after his career took off and girls started herding him, he had been mocking her and making extremely inappropriate comments. He had changed over the years and Max had told her all about it. He told her about his new endeavours with the ladies; how he brought a different girl home every weekend and never spoke to them again. The attention was feeding his ever-growing ego, and it annoyed Y/N endlessly. He needed someone to put him in his place, and she would volunteer every time.

She smiled triumphantly when she finally zipped her suitcase closed with half an hour to spare. Sitting on her couch and scrolling on her phone, she waited for her brother to pick her up on his way to the airport. They greeted each other quickly before they took off, Y/N and Pietra catching up and discussing their plans for the week as Max drove.

Once they arrived at the airport, she spotted Lando all too quickly, casually leaning against a pillar near the check-in. He was wearing sunglasses (inside – like some lunatic) and a cocky smile on his face when he saw them approaching.

“Y/N Fewtrell. It’s been a while…”

“If only it lasted longer,” She responded.

Lando smiled at her reply, enjoying her feisty character whereas Max hissed into her ear, “Play nice.”

“Let’s board?” Lando asked. “The jet’s ready, I think.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Private?”

“Yes. Are you impressed?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed before rolling her suitcase to the plane.

The group arrived at their destination in no time – flying private really did have its perks – and drove the rental car to the resort. Taxis were a no-go when half of the people on the trip were professional drivers, and apparently, so were ordinary cars.

The porter took the bags out of the trunk and Lando handed the keys to the valet driver before they entered the hotel. Y/N took a seat in one of the luxurious chairs in the hotel lobby while she let her brother manage the check-in. She was people-watching when the group joined her.

“Okay… So, there’s been a little mishap…” Y/N looked at her brother with narrowed eyes.

“What did you do?” She said in a low tone.

“So, I may have forgotten to book an extra room for you…” Max admitted.

“What?”

“And they have no other rooms left, even the most expensive ones are taken.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he paused, “but, you can share with Lando.”

Of course, Lando would oh-so-heroically offer to share his room with her. She could just smack the smirk right off his face.

“Max, can I talk to you for a minute – in private?” Y/N asked, an innocent smile on her face, before forcefully pulling her brother aside.

“I can’t sleep in the same room as Lando, Max. I had plans for this vacation, plans that can’t happen if I’m sharing a room with Lando.”

Max raised an eyebrow at her insinuation but didn’t comment on it. “Well, what other option do you have?” He said, crossing his arms.

“I could share a room with Pietra, and you can share with Lando…” she suggested, smiling up at her brother sweetly. “Please?”

Max sighed. “I don’t know about that, Y/N. Pietra and I have plans too, you know. Plans that include nightly activities. In bed,” He clarified.

Y/N pulled a face of disgust but offered her brother the same courteousness of ignoring the comment. “Are you serious, Max? You’re okay with me, your little baby sister, sharing a room – a bed, with Lando Norris? You know well enough that he’s always trying to get into my pants. This is your fault, you know. You told me you had taken care of everything.”

“I don’t like this as much as you do, but there’s not really another choice, is there?”

“Yes, there is. I told you, I can room with—”

“Y/N. Don’t be childish, you’ll be fine sharing a room for a few nights.”

“He’s going to try to take my innocence, Max. You can’t let that happen. You’re my big brother. You’re supposed to protect me, not throw me into the lion’s den.” Y/N tried, pulling out all the stops in the hope Max would change his mind. There was no other card she could play. She was tugging on his arm, practically begging him in the middle of the hotel lobby. If Lando and Pietra didn’t already know what was going on, they sure would know now.

Max rolled his eyes. “Your innocence has been gone for years, I’m sure,” Y/N gasped in offence, “It’s not going to work, make the best of it, yeah?” He concluded, patting her back before walking back to the group.

She watched as her brother walked away, frustration clear on her face, but she joined him only a couple of seconds later; she needed to make the best of this, after all, and it was too late to go home now.

As her eyes met Lando’s, she could already feel a wave of irritation come over her. He was standing casually, the stupid sunglasses still perched on his nose, hands tucked in his pockets, and a smirk plastered on his face as if he knew exactly how her conversation had gone.

“You really don’t want to share a bed with me, do you?” He asked her as soon as she was near enough.

Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. “What gave it away?”

“Could’ve been the part where you begged your brother not to throw you into the lion’s den,” Lando said, raising his eyebrows playfully. “Or maybe the part where you said I’m always trying to get into your pants.” He feigned hurt, putting a hand over his chest. “All those years of flirting down the drain…”

He chuckled softly at her angry expression, the sound infuriatingly smug. “Look, you’re making this into a bigger deal than it is. But don’t worry,” he added, his voice dropped as he leaned closer, “I’ll be the gentleman here. You can take the couch.”

Y/N blinked. “What?” She hissed.

“The couch, it’s all yours. I’ll suffer through the luxury of the bed.” He sighed dramatically before turning toward the elevator, casually slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“See you upstairs, roommate,” he winked, stepping inside as the doors slid shut.

Her jaw was slack as she watched him disappear behind the sliding doors. She turned to Max angrily, “What the fuck is wrong with him? Did he fall on his head as a child or something?”

Pietra laughed softly as she wrapped her arms around Max’s waist. “He’s just teasing you, Y/N. It’ll be fine. Come on, let’s go up.”

– – – – –

“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” Y/N said as soon as she entered the room.

“Oh, hello. Good to see you.” Lando smiled smugly from his position on the bed.

She glared at him – if looks could kill he’d be dead ten times over by now. “Get. Off. My. Bed.” She forced out through her gritted teeth.

Lando stretched out even further on the bed, hands behind his head. “Your bed? If I’m not mistaken, you were an afterthought to this vacation. This room was originally mine. You should be glad I’m kind enough to share it with you.”

Y/N stared at him. She wanted to rebuke him and tell him to stay on the couch, but he was right – although she’d never admit it to his face. He was doing her a favour by sharing his room, but he would never be chivalrous enough to sacrifice his bed. She took a deep breath. “Fine,” she said, her voice cold and direct. “I guess we’ll share the bed.”

“Fine with me,” Lando said offhandedly as he messed with the remote control.

“Alright, then. I’ll go get ready for dinner.”

The silence that settled over the room was awkward, at best. Y/N felt Lando’s eyes pricking in her back as she did her makeup, and the eye contact through the mirror didn’t make it any better.

“What?” She asked, hoping for some conversation to fill the quiet.

“Nothing,” Lando responded, averting his eyes and continuing to browse through the series and movies on the TV.

Y/N frowned at the response. She’ll have to raise a topic of conversation herself, then. “Why is it so cold in here?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Lando retorted.

“Do you think it’s cold or are you okay with the temperature?” She continued, but Lando merely shrugged in response.

Y/N sighed, setting down her brush and powder before getting up to look at the air-conditioning setting. In contrast to the rest of the room, it was an old-fashioned system with a disk with a pointer to set the temperature. She turned the disk, but the pointer didn’t move.

“Are you getting hotter?” She asked confused, not feeling a temperature difference in the air blowing out of the air conditioner.

“Don’t even try,” she added quickly before Lando could respond, already seeing the smirk form on his face.

It quickly changed into an innocent smile, “What? I was just going to say I don’t feel a difference.”

“Mhm, sure. I think the air conditioner is broken. I turned the temperature up, but it’s not getting any warmer…”

Lando got up from the bed with a sigh and walked closer to look at the buttons himself.

“You don’t have to get so close…” Y/N commented when she felt his breath hitting her neck.

“I’m trying to see what the buttons say, Y/N. I have to get close in order to do that.”

“You’re getting in my personal space.”

“Personal space? What’s that? I thought we were past the formalities.”

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms.

“I don’t know why it’s not working,” Lando continued, “It must be broken,” he concluded before walking back to the bed.

“What? Can’t you fix it?”

Lando looked at Y/N incredulously, “How am I supposed to fix it?”

“I don’t know… Aren’t you good with technology and stuff?”

“That thing is ancient, Y/N.”

She huffed. She’d just have to deal, then. She quickly changed into one of her dresses and finished her hair.

“Aren’t you going to change?” She asked Lando, who was still lying on the bed in his plane clothes.

“Hm?”

“We’re leaving any minute now. It’d be nice if you changed into something decent for dinner. We’re not eating at some dive bar, you know.”

Lando rolled his eyes and sighed, “Don’t you ever get tired of yourself?”

“Excuse me?” she retorted, crossing her arms as she stared him down, about to scold him when there was a knock on the door.

“You’re lucky this time,” she added, before letting Max and Pietra in.

She plastered a sweet smile on her face and complimented Pietra on her outfit.

“I can say the same about you,” Pietra responded kindly, pulling Y/N in for a hug.

“Oh, you’re too sweet,” Y/N waved off her comment.

“Are you ready to leave?” Max cuts in.

“Yes, don’t know about Lando though. He wouldn’t change.”

“I’m ready,” he interjected. “I don’t need as much time as some people here,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Okay, let’s go.” Max pulled her out of the room before Y/N could respond, her mouth already open to rebut his rude comment.

“Did you hear that, Max? How on earth am I supposed to get through the night – let alone the entire vacation – when he talks to me like that? I swear, I’m going to strangle him in his sleep—”

“Let’s not do that. You just need to adjust a little bit.”

“Did you hear what he said before? He asked me if I never get tired of myself. Do you know how insulting that is? He’s absolutely insufferable! His ego’s way too big, he could use someone to knock it down for him,” Y/N kept rambling as Max led her to the elevator, basically pushing her in before she quieted down.

Pietra and Lando joined them only a few seconds later, and the cocky grin on Lando’s face showed he knew exactly how much he had ticked her off, and the enjoyment he took from it. Y/N glared at him throughout the elevator ride. However, despite his earlier comments and the way he had annoyed her all day – if not all her life – she couldn’t deny he looked good.

The white shirt he had changed into, with the top buttons open and the sleeves rolled up, accentuated his muscled arms, and allowed her to see the glimmer of the silver chain around his neck – she had to admit he was attractive. When Lando caught her looking she quickly averted her gaze, looking at her nails as she picked at them. But he had already noticed, his grin only becoming cockier. The confidence with which he carried himself, although extremely frustrating and unnecessary, had caught her eye along with all the other girls’, but it wasn’t enough to make up for his annoying behaviour.

– – – – –

The dinner was uncomfortable.

Of course, Y/N and Lando had to be seated across from each other. And if the discussions earlier that day didn’t display their dislike for each other, the lack of conversation at the dinner table certainly did. They didn’t exchange a single word until Y/N snapped at him.

“Would you stop looking at me?”

Her patience had worn thin after feeling his eyes on her every other second, but Lando merely smirked at the annoyance in her voice, “Where else am I supposed to look?” he asked innocently.

“I don’t know. Your food, maybe?” She shot back.

Lando raised his hands in surrender, before turning his attention to Max and Pietra, who were deep in conversation. Y/N tried to focus on their discussion, but the persistent feeling of Lando’s gaze on her was impossible to ignore. Every time their eyes met, his smirk only grew, making her jaw clench tighter.

When the meal came to an end, Y/N was more than ready to leave. She quickly collected her bag and jacket before joining Pietra on the walk back. With Lando far away from her, she could finally relax and talk comfortably, without being distracted by a pair of eyes burning holes in her face. The group quickly made their way back to the hotel, and after the elevator ride, Y/N and Lando were once again left alone.

“It’s cold in here,” she mumbled, switching the lights on as she entered the hotel room.

“You don’t say,” he responded sarcastically.

Y/N sighed, deciding to ignore the comment and rather focus on the problem at hand. “Okay, we should probably discuss how we’re going to do this…” Lando looked at her confusedly, so she continued, “As concluded earlier today, we’ll share the bed. I’ll take the left side if that’s okay?”

Lando nodded, so she continued, “The bed is big, so if you dare cross over to my side, I’ll choke you in your sleep—”

“Ooh, kinky,” he interjected, and Y/N flashed him a fake smile, “or I’ll tell Max, and he’ll handle it for me,” she finished.

Now, usually, Lando wouldn’t care much for her threats, but he knew Max was protective over his sister and from experience, Lando also knew that Max would indeed fuck him up if he crossed Y/N’s boundaries. He was actually surprised that Max was okay with him and Y/N sharing a room; he was usually up her ass whenever she so much as stood near a man. He didn’t know whether to be glad about it or not; did Max think Lando was like a brother to his sister, that nothing would ever happen between them, or did he trust him enough not to do anything without her permission?

“Fine, fine. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he told her.

Y/N squinted her eyes at him.

“I will,” he repeated.

She wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not, but the sincerity in his voice suited her a bit. She nodded and quickly changed into her pyjamas in the bathroom before slipping under the covers on the left side of the bed – as promised. She lay on her side, facing away from the right side where Lando would soon settle. She stayed as close to the edge as she could without falling off, so much so that Lando raised an eyebrow at her when he returned.

“You okay over there? Not lonely or cold or anything? I could warm you up if you like,” he suggested, the amusement evident in his tone.

“I’m fine,” she muttered. She wasn’t really, though. The room was freezing with the air conditioner still blasting cold air, and the thin comforter, which would normally be fine for the temperatures outside, wasn’t helping much.

She felt the bed move as Lando shifted, but she stayed silent, quietly staring out the window where she could just barely make out the street lanterns through the thin curtains. Although she pretended not to care (and would continue to do so), being this close to him made her uneasy – not because she didn’t trust him, although she wasn’t entirely convinced yet, but because of how aware she was of him. His presence, the warmth radiating from his body, and the faint scent of his cologne were all impossible to ignore in this proximity.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep, but her mind refused to quiet. Despite everything, she couldn’t stop thinking about how he had actually been pretty decent at dinner – apart from his frustrating staring habit – and how relaxed, confident, and hot he looked in that shirt… She hated how easily he affected her and how only he could wind her up without any effort at all.

– – – – –

Part 2

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cottonlemonade · 7 months ago

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First Date

word count: 1157 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Sakusa x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: implications of xenophobia

When you finally said Yes to a date with Sakusa you had an inkling it would get fancy, but not “five star rooftop restaurant” kind of fancy. The sushi place was hidden, out of sight of tourist attractions and other major travel spots, giving it an air of “if you know, you know”. Sakusa was a regular.

His considerate gesture of sending you a link to the restaurant’s dress code a week before the date, only sent you into a panic spiral. You never owned a dress even close as fancy as was required and even if you had the money to afford one, Japan didn’t exactly cater to a foreigner’s chubby body type. Only after nearly losing your mind did you find a place at the other side of Tokyo that rented dresses that you could barely fit into and with half a month’s rent now clinging uncomfortably to your squishy tummy, you met Sakusa outside your apartment on a Friday night.

“You look gorgeous.”, he said with a small smile, opening the passenger door to his car. With your tongue tucked between your lips for concentration you accepted his hand to help you inside. The dress didn’t exactly allow for much movement.

You chatted about your day at work as he drove and he invited you to his next game before you even reached your destination. He handed his car keys to a valet and offered his arm to lead you inside.

In the elevator you made sure to smooth out any wrinkles in your dress, real or imagined, and gasped when the doors slid open.

The atmosphere was intimate and calm. Over the quiet hum of voices you could just make out the sounds of traditional Japanese music and smartly dressed waiters brought mouthwatering, jaw-droppingly beautiful designed plates of sushi to the tables. Floor to ceiling windows allowed the patrons an unobstructed view of the city lights.

“Sakusa-sama.”, the lady at the reception greeted him with a professional smile, “Welcome. Please follow me.”

You saw her hesitate for a moment when she finally noticed you, but led you to a table in the corner of the restaurant. You held your breath when you sat down, the ride was already a challenge for regular breathing and you had no idea how you were supposed to fit any food inside you with the restrictions of the dress. But you didn’t care when Sakusa smiled at you.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”, you beamed.

A waiter appeared at the table and said with deeply faked apologetic tones, “I’m very sorry, sir. But it seems we cannot serve you tonight.”

Sakusa raised an eyebrow, then glanced at you, then back to the waiter.

“This is not going to be an issue.”, he said coolly, then turned his attention back to you. But the waiter didn’t leave.

“Sir, we will have to ask you to come back another time.”

“Please explain it to me. We are right on time, we are appropriately dressed and I made reservations.”

“Sir-“

Sakusa glared at him. “Please tell the chef that if he has any issues tonight to come tell me himself.”

And with that the waiter poured some water into the empty glasses before you, bowed and left.

You looked after him thoughtfully and took a sip. It happened before that you were turned away from restaurants due to a “no foreigners” rule, but you didn’t think that such an issue could arise at a place like this.

Sakusa smiled again and steered the conversation back to lighter topics, making you feel at ease within seconds. You were about to inch your hand closer to his when another person came to the table. He was undoubtedly the chef, dressed as he was. The waiter stood a little behind him.

“Sakusa-sama.”, the man in the spotless black uniform began.

“You’re not serious.”, Sakusa couldn’t help but scoff.

“Please understand that we are not able to provide the full service to foreigners.”

“She speaks Japanese.”, Sakusa informed them, “And even if she didn’t, I would translate for her.”

The chef shifted a little, throwing some kind of glance in your direction that you couldn’t quite interpret.

“We won’t be able to accommodate any dietary restrictions, Sakusa-sama.”

“I don’t have any.”, you said with a strained smile.

The chef was quiet and looked at your date imploringly. He held his gaze, then Sakusa quietly pushed back his chair and stood up.

He offered his hand to you.

“Thank you. The water was delicious.”, you said sweetly to the waiter who avoided your eyes.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone about your hospitality at my family’s next gala.”, Sakusa added with a cold smile and gently pulled you along, past a few gawking people to the elevator.

When the doors closed and the sounds of the restaurant disappeared, Sakusa let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry.”, he said, leaning his back against the paneling, crossing his arms.

“Don’t worry about it. I think that’s about as much exposure as I would ever need to a five star restaurant.”

He chuckled. “The next one will be better, I promise.”

You smiled and went to stand next to him, lightly brushing your shoulder against his to cheer him up. The elevator began its slow descent.

“Bet you can’t wait to get out of that dress.”, he noted, then his eyes widened a moment later, “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laughed. “You’re not wrong actually. Breathing does not come as a standard with this one.”

He considered you for a moment.

“Turn around.” He said it gently. More as a question than a demand.

You blinked in confusion, then did as he requested.

“Don’t be alarmed.” He stepped closer, his breath brushing against your neck.

You felt his hands work on the zipper on your back.

“What are you-“, you began feebly, your voice not quite having the grasp on your vocal chords like you would have wished.

He slowly ran the zipper down, the buttons by your nape holding the dress together but you felt the immediate relief around your tummy.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

“There. Better?”, he asked. You nodded, your heart still beating too fast to turn around without revealing the intense blush on your cheeks.

The elevator came to a stop and the automatic voice announced you arrived at the lobby.

“Your bra is pretty.”, he said quietly, almost whispering it into your ear as the doors opened.

You followed him silently through the lobby, holding onto the jacket’s lapels.

“You still hungry?”, he asked when the cool night air brushed your faces as you waited for the valet to get his car.

“Starving.”, you admitted.

He grinned. “I know just the place.”

People stared but Sakusa couldn’t care less.

He rolled up the sleeves of his black button down and offered to trade you a chicken nugget for some French fries.

art: @qyhssss on Twitter

#sakusa x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x curvy reader #msby sakusa #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa fluff #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kyoomi x reader

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puckinghischier · 10 months ago

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Hat Trick

Nico Hischier x fem!reader, Jack Hughes x platonic!reader, Luke Hughes x platonic!reader

summary: part 4 of the locksmith series! reader attends her first ever devil’s hockey game, and leaves a few pucks richer than when she came

notes: y’all i think this is my favorite part of this lil series so far. i literally wrote this in one sitting. i’m so happy with how it turned out. i hope you are too!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

[6k]

part 1, part 2, part 3

You’ve been to a lot of Hughes centered hockey games in your life. You’ve been to watch both Quinn and Luke play during their time in Michigan, and you’ve been to watch several of Jack’s minor league games when you were teenagers.

Though somehow, despite how long you’ve been intertwined with the hockey breathing family, you had never been to a professional game. You talked about making a trip to Vancouver with your family at some point to watch Quinn, but it never worked out with your school schedule. You wanted to come watch Jack with the Devils a few times, too, but the plans always fell through.

You wish you’d tried harder right about now, because walking into the Prudential center, red and black everywhere you look, you’re a little overwhelmed.

Jack had told you exactly where to go and who to call if you got lost, but getting there wasn’t the issue. Finally having your car with you helped with that, considering it was delivered just yesterday. The company that you hired to haul your car to you had gotten the date of your move wrong, so you had been depending on Jack and Luke for rides anywhere outside of walking distance.

Today, though, they were needed at the rink far earlier than you would’ve been allowed in. And, in true superstitious hockey player fashion, they claim they can’t ride to the rink together for home games because the last time they did they lost the game. So, you were extremely excited when you got the call that your car had just been parked outside of the apartment complex the day before.

You had found the arena just fine, leaving your car with the valet Jack had told you to go to. You had gone to the entrance designated for friends and family of the players, flashing the locker room pass Jack had given you, and even managed to find your way to the public areas of the arena by yourself.

The issue you had run in to stems from the fact that not only had you never attended an NHL game before, but you had never attended an NHL game alone.

Even though you blended in with the crowd outwardly, donning a devil’s jersey like everyone else, you were way out of your element. Usually at the boys’ games you had Ellen and Jim with you, or your own parents. They always made you feel like you belonged a little more, because they would explain certain fan behavior to you.

You knew all you had to do was simply sit and watch the game, but with the energy being so chaotic leading to the rivalry game, you knew that the fans were going to be absolutely buzzing. People were walking past you, jumping in front of you for high-fives and fist bumps, yelling “GO DEVS!” before walking away like nothing had ever happened. You didn’t miss the occasional dirty look from anyone in a blue Rangers jersey, either.

When you had first made your way to the foyer area at the front of the arena, you had already seen security having to separate a Devils fan and a Rangers fan. They had been screaming at one another over something that you couldn’t make out when the Rangers fan slammed his fist into the Devils fan’s cheek.

The scene made you a little apprehensive about how the game was going to go. You knew this was one of the biggest rivalries that existed in the hockey world, and you had read that the Rangers had a tendency to play extremely physical, so you were nervous for all of the Devils players you were growing fond of.

You eventually make your way to your seat, but not before going full fan mode and buying a foam finger at one of the many merchandise stands you passed on your way. You thought Jack and Luke would get a kick out of it, figuring you’d need all the help you could get after they see what you’re wearing.

You kept your promise to Nico, currently sporting the number 13 on your back. You felt a little silly, honestly. You had never not worn a Hughes jersey to a hockey game before; you always wore the jersey of whatever brother you were watching, even if you had to buy one. But the conversation you had with Nico a few nights prior kept playing on a loop in your mind. The promise of a hat trick was too tempting to miss out on. Plus, even if he didn’t get a hatty, you knew you’d have the chance to make him do anything you wanted him to.

As you walk down the stairs towards your seat, foam finger on display proudly, you take in the pure atmosphere of the place. The arena looked huge from where you stood, lights dimmed and a red shadow cast over everything in sight. Not many people had made their way into the seating area yet, but there were a few fans bunched around the glass, waiting for the players to come out and start their warm ups.

You were pleasantly surprised when you found your seat free of any bodies, being able to settle in and wait for the arrival of the players on the ice. As the minutes ticked by, a few people made their way to your area, smiles and chants of ‘go Devils!’ once again filling the air around you.

You could see why people enjoyed coming to games so much. The sense of community was so strong in this building. Everyone was here to support the same cause, one goal in mind: a Devils win. You started to survey all the signs that fans had brought, setting them up against the glass for the players to see. Some of them had clever saying or riddles on them, some simply reading “puck?” with their favorite player’s number on it.

You also noted how many people were wearing Jack and Luke’s last name on their back. Even as you were driving up to the arena, you noticed the large presence of 86’s and 43’s surrounding you. It was odd, really, to see how many people were supporting your boys. It made your heart swell with pride, a little bit. To physically see the amount of people that believe in them the way you always have was enough to sell you on attending every Devils game from here until the end of time.

The newfound knowledge also further calmed your nerves surrounding your decision of wearing Nico’s jersey tonight. You had seen plenty of number 13’s floating around in the crowd, too, but Jack and Luke clearly had no lack of fan support.

The sound of pucks hitting the ice is what broke your attention from observing the people around you. You instantly clocked Luke’s curls, finding Jack not far from where Luke had settled on the ice. You looked around, trying to find a familiar head of brown hair you hadn’t seen nearly enough. Was he not warming up today? Was he okay? Did Luke actually hurt him the other day and he wasn’t playing today?

You don’t remember either of your roommates mentioning that their captain was hurt. That’s something they would’ve mentioned at least once, right? You continue to scan the ice for any sign of the Swiss man you couldn’t get off of your mind, not paying attention when Jack started skating in your direction. A loud bang on the glass in front of you was what finally broke your investigation.

“You’re here!” Jack yells through the glass at you, ignoring all the shouts of his name from the people standing around you.

“I told you I wasn’t going to miss it!” you shouted back, wondering if he could even hear you in the noisy environment.

Movement behind Jack caught your eye, Luke making his way over to stand next to his brother, causing an entirely new wave of sound to erupt around you.

“Bouy! You made it!” Luke shares his brother’s surprise, eyes flitting down to the jersey you’re wearing, noticing the black C that neither his nor Jack’s jersey had.

“Did you guys really have no faith I would show up tonight? Am I that bad of a friend?” you ask them, wondering why they thought you would be a no-show.

“Know it isn’t your scene, is all,” Jack shouts back, shrugging his shoulders, smile on his face.

“Uh-uh, it is now. Look, I even bought a foam finger! I’m legit, now!” you wave your newest Devils merch around.

They both shake their heads and laugh, your eyes wandering to the ice behind them once again.

“Who ya looking for, huh?” Luke is the one to notice they no longer held your attention, turning his head to look at his teammates warming up behind them.

“Oh, no one. Just, taking it all in,” you try to recover. Luke simply looks at you, the moment he caught you staring at Nico in your living room in the back of his mind.

“It’s awesome, right? I’m telling you, you’ll be wanting to come to every home game by the end of the night. There’s nothing like a Devils home game,” Jack tells you, oblivious to Luke’s implications moments ago.

Jack must have decided it was time to acknowledge some of the fans around you, skating off after he finishes his statement.

“He’ll be out in a minute, just so you know. Got hung up in a pre-game interview,” Luke’s muffled voice travels through the glass.

“Huh? Who? What’re you talking about?” you look at him, confusion taking over your features.

Luke deadpans at you, basically telling you to cut the bullshit. “You know who, Y/N.”

“Really, don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here for you and Jack, remember?” you remind him.

“Yeah? Then why do you have Cap’s jersey on?” Luke questions, raising an eyebrow at you.

Your head shoots down to look at the jersey you were wearing, cheeks turning red. You had almost forgotten you were even wearing it, too distracted by the atmosphere around you.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with that, by the way. He’ll be getting an earful once he gets out here, don’t you worry. And god help him when Jack finally notices. Might be the first time a player gets a penalty against his own teammate,” Luke continues, looking over to where Jack is chucking pucks over the ice a few feet away.

“It was Nico’s idea. Said he wanted to mess with you guys, is all. Then said if I wore it he would score a hat trick, and if he didn’t he owed me a favor of my choosing. Figured it’d be fun to mess with him and make him do some outrageous task. You know I never miss the opportunity to get under yours and Jack’s skin, either. Couldn’t resist the offer,” you confess.

Luke rolls his eyes, not wanting to call bullshit out here in the open like this, deciding to save the rest of the conversation for when you get home tonight.

You were going to respond, try to further plead your case, when you see a blur of red jump onto the ice from over near the Devils’ bench. Any attention you had granted to Luke was gone, watching a much anticipated head of hair flopping around as Nico does a few circles on the ice. You watch him wave to a few fans around the glass, conversing with a few of his teammates as he made his way around the ice.

Luke watches you follow Nico’s figure glide around on the ice, laughing to himself at how you were just trying to convince him you weren’t looking for anyone.

“I think I’ve proved my point,” you barely hear as Luke starts to skate away, noticing his captain skating over towards your section of the glass.

You’ve tuned out the shouts of Nico’s name around you as he makes eye contact with you, skating towards you with a smile.

“Hey! You’re here!” he winks at you, parroting Jack and Luke’s words. “And I see you chose the right jersey!” he lets his eyes fall to the jersey swallowing your body, eyes a bit bright than they were a few seconds ago.

“Why did no one think I was going to show up?” you huff out, throwing your arms up, foam finger still attached to your hand.

“Jack and Luke were convinced you’d bail because of your aversion to hockey crowds. But I see you’ve made yourself right at home,” he chuckles, nodding towards the foam finger.

“Well, yeah. Had to make myself official, y’know?” you give the foam accessory a small wave.

Nico laughs, sliding his feet back and forth in short strokes, planting his stick on the ice for stability.

“You ready to score that hat trick you promised, Cap?” you shout to him, crossing your arms in a challenging stance.

“Never been more ready in my life, Bouy,” Nico smirks.

“If you keep using that nickname I won’t be so nice in choosing a favor for you to do when you don’t score your hatty,” you threaten, hating that Jack introduced the nickname to Nico in the first place.

“Oh, I’m gonna score that hatty,” he moves closer to the glass, making sure you can hear him. “My good luck charm did exactly what I asked her to do, so I’d say my chances are pretty solid.”

You’re so focused on Nico’s words that you completely miss Jack making his way back over to your area, slapping Nico on the back once he reaches his destination.

“Hey, Cap! ‘Bout time you made it out here. Was starting to wonder if someone was going to have to come and save you.”

Nico removes his eyes from your flushed face, turning to chat with Jack as you’re left speechless.

You miss the rest of their conversation, too caught up in Nico calling you his good luck charm. You were entering very dangerous territory, here. Every conversation you have with the man bringing you farther and farther into a rabbit hole you might not be able to climb back out of.

On top of being stunned, you’re also confused. You’ve overheard Luke and Jack talk about Nico’s interactions with women. The amount of times they’ve poked fun at his obliviousness to women’s advances not forgotten. Or the way they claim he’s too focused on his career to think about anything other than hockey. You remember one story Jack told of Nico completely misreading a conversation with a woman at the bar, begging Jack to take him home after he all but ran away from the woman, claiming a stomach ache when she tried to coax him into an uber.

So, what was different about you? He clearly had no issues with casually sliding in comments that, although you try to convince yourself otherwise, are naturally flirtatious in their nature. When you let your eyes wander you notice Luke watching the interaction. He follows the way Nico’s gaze flicks over to you every few seconds, even though he’s in the middle of a conversation with Jack. Luke meets your eyes and gives you look you can’t decipher.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you wearing?” you hear Jack’s voice, snapping your head to look at his face, his eyes focused on the black C on the upper left side of the jersey you’re wearing.

“A…jersey?” you answer apprehensively.

“Yeah, I can see that. But why do you have on Neeks’ jersey, specifically?” He asks you, but looks at the player standing next to him.

“Guess she decided the better jersey wasn’t even in the Hughes family at all,” Nico references the argument Jack and Luke were having days prior.

Jack looks back at you, expecting an explanation from you. You open your mouth a few times to answer, but the reasoning of ‘I just wore it to get under your skin’ doesn’t seem appropriate when you can see the underlying anger on his face.

“You know what, I don’t have time for this. I need to actually warm up, but this conversation isn’t over,” Jack shoots to two of you a glare before skating away, huffing like a little kid.

“I knew he would get mad!” you point an accusing (foam) finger at Nico.

“Don’t worry, he’ll get over it. It’s just one game.”

“Well I’ll let you handle this then, mr. nonchalant. It was your idea, it’s your bomb to diffuse,” you wipe your hands of the situation.

“Gladly,” Nico flashes you a smile. “By the way, heads up,” he warns you before chucking a puck over the glass, watching it land on the ground beside you. You bend over to pick it up, noticing the writing on the back.

You read the scribble of “hatty” followed by the date and Nico’s signature in silver marker, looking up to see him skating off with a wink.

———————————————————————————

After you watched Jack throw his fit about you wearing Nico’s jersey from afar, earning nothing but a laugh from the jersey owner himself, they both skated away from each other to start actually warming up for the game ahead. You noticed Jack kept glaring at Nico, shoulder checking him a few times for good measure. Jack wouldn’t even look over at you, earning a pout from you when you made eye contact with Luke, begging him to do something to make Jack love you again.

Luke just shrugged at you as if to say “told you so,” choosing to focus on his warm ups instead. As the players left the ice to prepare for puck drop, you watched Jack finally look over to you, sporting a glare and giving a shake of his head before he disappeared from your view.

Even after the game started, you could still feel Jack’s pouting from where you sat. He was hesitant to pass the puck to Nico, costing them a few chances at goals. You cursed him every time, worried that this would’ve happened. You don’t know what was said, but during one of the tv timeouts, Nico skated over to Jack and all you could see was a finger poking out to jab Jack in the chest. Jack’s face grew more and more unimpressed as the conversation went on, but ultimately Jack nodded and skated off, rolling his eyes when he looked over to you.

For the rest of the period, you noticed Jack was better about passing the puck, no longer alienating Nico from his plays. He was still mad, though. You could see it in his body language and how he was playing rougher than he normally does. As soon as the first period was over, you were out of your seat and making your way down to the locker rooms. You flashed your pass and waited patiently after you asked someone to go fetch Jack for you, claiming it was an emergency.

Jack comes walking out of the locker room into the hallway, towel around his neck, jersey left behind.

“Okay, get it all out now, or so help me god I’ll jump onto that ice and beat some sense into you,” you tell him, wanting him to get all of his anger out of his system.

“You always wear one of our jersey’s, Y/N. Always. This is your first time watching me and Luke in a professional game, and you’re wearing someone else’s jersey?” Jack asks you, a small bit of hurt showing on his face.

“Jack, it was a joke. A last minute plan between the two of us. We thought it’d be funny since you and Luke were arguing about it,” you tell him, feeling a little bad that he genuinely seems hurt. “Plus, I didn’t really want to choose between you and Luke. It was hard. I had all three jerseys laying on my bed earlier, and I just couldn’t choose between the two of you.”

“I still don’t like that you wore someone else’s jersey,” Jack grumbles.

“It’s just one game, Jack, it’ll be fine. I promise this isn’t going to become a habit,” you assure him, reaching up to ruffle his hair, regretting your decision when you feel how sweaty it is.

“You sure about that?” Jack asks you, catching you off guard.

“What?”

“Oh c’mon, Y/N,” Jack starts, dropping his arms to his sides. “Don’t act like you haven’t been staring at him the whole game.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you feel your cheeks heating.

“You can’t lie to me, remember? Know you too well,” he tells you, reminding you he’s always been able to tell when you’re caught in a lie.

“I mean…maybe I’ve been watching him. So what? He’s your friend, Jack. Not to mention our neighbor and the only teammate of yours I really know,” you try to justify.

“Bullshit. You’re into him.”

“No, I’m not!” you say too quickly, your voice going up in pitch, causing you to clear your throat. The sudden change in conversation came out of nowhere, causing your brain to short circuit.

“Oh yeah? Then why do you ask about him every time Luke and I mention practice, or our jobs in general? Why do you always ask us if Nico made it home when we get home from practice? Or when you spent basically the whole night talking to him at the bar your first night here?” Jack asks you, waiting for your answers.

“I- I don’t ask about him that much,” you say, trying to retrace your conversations with Jack and Luke. Maybe you do ask about him more than you thought. “And I spent the night at the bar being shuffled around from table to table, which you did!” you remind him, having felt like you were speed dating, but platonically.

“When I came to get you to leave you were completely alone with him in a dark corner of the bar,” Jack throws back at you.

“He came and found me. I was on the phone with my mom and he decided to come check on me. I had nothing to do with that,” you defend.

Jack still doesn’t look convinced, crossing his arms once again, tilting his head towards you. “Listen, I’m not trying to start an argument. You know how I feel about having a thing for my teammates. But, out of all the guys on the team, I guess you could’ve done worse.”

You open your mouth to respond, trying to defend yourself once again, but Jack interrupts you before you can get a word out.

“Listen, none of this is really important right now. We can talk about it when I’m not in the middle of a game, but I still don’t really like that you wore his jersey instead of mine or Luke’s,” he circles back to the original conversation. “I mean, you’ve known him for like, two weeks. Joke or not. You know what people think when you wear someone’s jersey, right?”

“It’s not like that, I swear. And it’s not like I’m the only one here wearing his jersey, Jack,” you tell him.

“I know, but I’m just telling you to be careful. Nico’s a good guy, but he’s also a professional hockey player. He’s going to have…admirers. And once they see that you’re actually close to the team and his jersey is the one you’re sporting, things could get messy,” Jack warns you.

You stood there for a few moments, trying to figure out how the conversation even led to what it is. You know Jack is just trying to watch out for you, but he’s jumping to conclusions way too soon. It’s one game, and no one even knows who you are. Plus, it’s a harmless joke. It’s not like you’re wearing his jersey for any other reason.

“Thanks, Jack, really. But I assure you, I only wore it because he suggested it. He wanted to pick fun at you and Luke, that’s it. I’m sure he’ll tell the same story if asked about it,” you reiterated, trying to reassure him.

“Wait, he asked you to wear his jersey?”Jack asks you, surprise in his eyes.

“Yeah, he asked me to wear it to poke fun at the two of you. Then told me he’d score a hat trick if I agreed to wear it, so I did. Thought it’d be fun to see,” you shrugged, not seeing the big deal.

“So, he wanted you to wear his jersey and he promised to score a hatty if you did?” You nod at Jack’s echo of your words.

Jack stares at you, looking like he wants to say something but decides against it. The look on his face has you wondering if he knows something you don’t. You decided to let it go, though, and shoo him back into the locker room.

“Alright, talk over. Go back in there and get ready, you have some Rags to beat!” you push him away from you. You hear him laugh as you walk away, thinking about the conversation the whole way back to your seat.

———————————————————————————

Shit. He actually did it. He scored a fucking hat trick. The crowd goes absolutely wild when Nico’s shot sails straight into the goal as the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game. You jump up from your seat, screaming as loud as you can with the crowd around you. You bang against the glass, cheering for Nico as he celebrates with his teammates.

Once he breaks away from the group hug, he skates right over to you, pointing a gloved finger in your direction. You flash him a huge smile, not even caring that you lost whatever bet – if you could even call it that – you had going on with Nico. You were too high on the atmosphere. The goal causing the Devils to win in the last second, ego a little inflated at the thought that you could’ve contributed to it.

After the players left the ice and the crowd started to disperse a bit, you slowly made your way back down to the locker room, having been told to wait there after the game by Jack. You took in the sight of the happy fans milling about the arena, soaking in the energy for a little bit longer. You didn’t realize just how much you were soaking it in until you realized the time, figuring the guys would be changed and ready to go any minute.

As you were walking down the hallway to where other friends and family of the team gathered, you felt a harsh contact with your shoulder. It flung your body back, nearly making you lose your balance until you caught yourself at the last second.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you,” you said, knowing it wasn’t your fault, but apologizing anyways.

“Obviously,” you heard a deep voice say, a man in a blue Rangers jersey standing across from you, rolling his eyes.

“Well, no need to be rude about it. You bumped in to me, y’know,” you grumbled out, a little pissed as the man’s response after you apologized first.

“Watch it, bitch. Just cause your shitshow of a team won tonight doesn’t mean you’re truly better than us. Just wait till next game. We’ll smoke your asses,” he spits out at you, letting you smell the alcohol on his hot breath.

“What the hell does the game have to do with you bumping in to me? The two are completely unrelated,” you question, stepping back and scrunching your nose at the foul smell.

“Keep talking, bitch, and I’ll show you just how bad we can beat the Devils asses,” the man steps forward, stumbling a bit before correcting himself.

“Alright, chill out. It’s just a game, buddy,” you back up against the wall next to you, trying to put some distance between you and him.

“God, why do you puck bunnies never shut the fuck up? I literally told you to stop talking, what part of that don’t you understand?” he backs you up even further, not leaving much room for you to make an escape.

“Technically you told me to keep talking,” you say before you can think better of it.

The man basically growls at you raising his hand back. To do what, you never find out, because a voice brings him back to reality, making him seem to remember he’s in public.

“I suggest you drop your hand and step away.”

The man’s head whips around, looking behind him. Once he steps back from you slightly, you make your escape, removing yourself from the wall.

You see Nico standing a few feet away from you, a grey suit on his body, his hair covered by a cream color beanie.

“Oh, how convenient. Captain to the rescue,” the guy slurs, turning his body to fully face Nico.

“Do I need to call security or are you going to be smart and get the fuck out of my arena?” Nico spits, surprising you with his harshness.

“Whatever. I’m going. Don’t be so dramatic. The puck bunny started it, anyways,” the man waves you off, stumbling away without a glance back.

Nico watches him walk away, stepping towards you the second the man is out of view.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything to you? Do I need to go get security?” He fires off questions, concern present in his brown eyes.

“No, I’m fine. He bumped into me then started spewing some bullshit about the game. I asked him how the two were related and he just kept talking about how he was gonna show me how ‘we can really beat the Devils asses’,” you put up air quotes.

“Are you sure?” his eyes continue to look you up and down, darting across your face to check for any sign showing you weren’t okay.

“Really, it’s fine. He didn’t do anything. Thank you, though. For scaring him away,” you assure him, causing him to relax.

“Of course. Seems to be a pattern, after all. Me running to your rescue,” he references your previous encounters. Letting you into your apartment, getting the bartender’s attention so you could order a drink that same night, his help when you were making dinner just a few nights ago. He really did always show up when you needed help.

You look up at him with a smile. “My very own knight in shining armor.”

He bows dramatically. “M’lady.”

You laugh at the action, causing Nico to join in.

“So I guess I owe you a congratulations, huh?” you ask after your laughter dies down.

Nico beams at you, pulling a stack of three pucks out of the bag slung over his shoulder, the tape they’re held together by reading ‘hat trick”. He holds them out towards you, signaling you to grab them.

“Here, they’re yours. You’re the reason I got them, after all,” he tells you, placing the pucks into your hand.

“I don’t think I had anything to do with it,” you look at your hand before looking back up at Nico.

“Sure you did. I told you if you wore the jersey I’d score one. And you did. And then I scored three goals. I told you, you’re my goodluck charm,” he smiles at you, shrugging like a hat trick was no big deal.

You roll your eyes at him, trying to fight a smile. “Sure, whatever you say, Cap.”

He chuckles at your sarcasm, shaking his head at you.

“Guess I need to pocket that ridiculous favor I had in mind, then,” you tell him, toying with the pucks, thinking about how he gave you four different ones tonight.

“I’m sure you can save it for future use. Think you’ll be able to cash it in sooner than you think,” he tells you, a confused look on your face.

“You won, though. I wore the jersey, you scored three goals. That was the whole thing,” you remind him, not knowing where he was going with his statement.

“You never asked me what I got if I did score a hatty.”

You were taken aback by his words, not realizing that was part of the deal. “Okay…well, what do you get, then?”

“You have to do me a favor,” he tells you, grin on his face.

You furrow your brows, confused. “I thought the whole point of my end of the deal was because I already did you a favor?”

“You did. But now I get to ask you for another one,” he rocks back on his heels, way too giddy about the situation.

You look at him, a little scared at what he has planned. He just continues to look at you, his shit-eating grin still extremely present.

“Okay…what is it?” you ask him, getting impatient.

“Oh, I’m not telling you yet. I’ll cash it in when I’m ready,” He replies, amused at the unamused look on your face.

“Seriously? You’re not going to tell me what cruel fate you’re subjecting me to?”

You hear the voices of Jack and Luke echoing through the hallway on the other end of the room. You turn your head away from Nico, watching the two brothers make their way towards you, lost in their own conversation.

“All in due time, dear Bouy,” Nico says, taking a step back from you.

Your distaste for the nickname shows on your face, causing Nico’s eyes to twinkle, loving how mad you get over the silly name he still hasn’t learned the origin of.

“Whatever. Keep it to yourself, then. I don’t care,” you lie.

“Have a good night. See you soon,” Nico says with a wink, turning to walk in the direction of Jack and Luke, giving them a wave as he passes them. Both of them look up and notice you standing where he just came from, turning to look at each other with raised eyebrows.

You look down at the pucks in your hand once more, looking at the emblem on top noting what game and date they were from. When you look at the bottom of the last puck, you catch a streak of silver reflecting off of the fluorescent lights in the hallway. Turning it completely upside down, you make out the 9 digits of a phone number scribbled along the bottom, matching the handwriting of the words and signature on the first puck Nico gave you that night.

“Hey, ready to go? We’re starving. Luke wants waffles so we’re going to meet a few of the guys at a diner not far from the apartment, you want go?” Jack asks as the two approach you.

You don’t respond, too stuck on the fact that Nico gave you his phone number on the bottom of his hat trick pucks. You’re impressed at how smooth it was, but also freaking out and trying not to jump to conclusions. It’s just a phone number. It could mean nothing. Maybe he just wanted you to have it because you’re neighbors? Or because you’re so close with Jack and Luke. Maybe he wanted you to have it for emergencies.

“Hello, earth to Y/N. You good?” Luke snaps you out of your trance. You bring the pucks down to press the bottom against your leg, hiding the phone number from your roommates.

“What? Yeah. I’m fine. Great. Perfect.”

“Okay…” Jack trails off, giving you a suspicious look. “So, yes or no to the waffles?”

“Oh my god, yes. The answer to waffles is always yes,” you say excitedly.

“Okay then, let’s go. Some of the guys are already there. I’ll drive,” Jack laughs at you, walking towards the exit leading to where the players park.

“Shotgun!” Luke yells out, turning back to see your reaction to the competition that was so fierce when you were kids.

Your mind is once again on the pucks in your hands, and the player that gave them to you. You look at the numbers again, deciding the boys were far enough ahead for you to safely sneak a peek, wanting to make sure they were actually there and you weren’t seeing things. Your earlier conversation with Jack making its way back to the front of your mind, wondering if maybe Jack’s concern is relevant.

Luke just smiles and shakes his head, remembering watching his captain frantically ask around for a sharpie in the locker room, writing something on the exact set of pucks you now have in your hands before bolting from the room like a man on a mission.

723 notes · View notes

vroomvroomcircuit · 1 year ago

Text

You pulling in made me wish your Dad pulled out

(A/N): Thank you to @foreveralbon for workshopping this fic with me with this prompt. I don't know what to do if you weren't my muse.

Summary: Charles pissed off his neighbor with his parking. Her answers are notes taped to his car window. How can evolve more out of that?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female!reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ________________________

(Y/N) knows that she isn’t the most professional car parker. She should never start a career as a valet for sure. After all, she needed a second attempt on her own practical test to attain her drivers license.

But there is this one neighbor of hers. She doesn’t know what he looks like, what his name is or where he even lives. But (Y/N) knows one thing for sure: He is a shit parker.

Like, he is the worst person at parking that has ever walked the world. If he could, he probably would park his oh so expensive car onto other cars. But she tries to not let that get too close to her. After all, we just talk about parking spaces and it’s not worth getting her blood pressure up over it.

But (Y/N) found her tipping point.

Her whole morning has been a shit show. Her alarm went off, but she accidentally turned it off instead of giving herself another five minutes of sleep. Five minutes turned into 45. That meant the young woman had to rush through her usual morning routine and she is 90 % sure that she put at least one clothing item on the wrong way.

But it’s ok, she is still on time. She just needs to get out of the car par-

This is where (Y/N) last thread of patience with that neighbor snaps in two like a potato chip, crisp and unclean. This person parked the front half of his car in a way that completely blocks (Y/N)’s rear end from exiting the car in a way that does not hinder the sidewalk.

It takes a solid seven minutes to get out of her spot, trying not to scratch hers or another car. Arriving a few minutes late at work because of that and receiving a reprimand from her boss is really the young woman’s last straw. On her lunch break she does some snooping on the internet and comes across a really fine find. It’s worth the price and shipping cost to her.

Actually, she can’t wait for the week it is supposed to take to arrive at her doorstep.

But the time between that particular day and the day of arrival do fly by when you use it getting madder and madder at the dickhead that is unable to park like a normal person.

The next occurrence doesn’t take long after (Y/N)’s package finally arrives. She wanted to park her vehicle in her usual spot when Mr. Ferrari already took his and her own too. How can one person be such an asshole?

(Y/N) takes one of the business card sized cuts out of her glove box and puts it in the slit of the black car’s window. Satisfied with her work she steps back into her vehicle and looks for a different spot, ending up walking several minutes back to her apartment building, having to look somewhere farther away.

Charles can see from a distance that there is a card at his car’s windowshield. Which makes him suspicious. Surely no one thinks that he wants to sell his car for cheap, so it can’t be one of those car handler’s business cards. Maybe it’s a new ruse of thieves, trying to get him to stand long enough at his car to read it and be able to steal his car. Or they are kidnappers. Anyways, he makes quick work of putting the card into his pocket and drives off at a neck breaking speed.

When he arrives at his destination, the Monegasque pulls the piece of paper out and reads it. “The way you pulled in makes me wish your dad pulled out”, he reads aloud, laughing a little to himself.

He has to admit that he might not be the best at parking. Who is he even kidding, he would win the world championship at being the worst car parker possible. But the thought of someone getting that angered over his non-existent skills.

It’s something that makes him happy throughout his entire day. Which is his main reason to try and look how much he can piss that particular neighbor off even more.

So Charles starts parking even worse. If he also starts on the habit of watching out of his window more often now, he would claim it is just a coincidence. But something in him wants to meet that neighbor.

That person that gets more and more creative with their insults. One time they called him an obstacle to evolution. The other day the business card said something along the lines of him belonging to the asshole club now.

Another, a handwritten, note asked him not to reproduce. The neighbor even left a condom for him. This made Charles laugh so loudly, that (Y/N) looked out her opened window.

She just finished one of the worst shifts she ever had since starting that job and all she wants is just a quiet evening to come down from the stress. Just the noise of the laugh is enough to set her off again.

Seeing her handsome neighbor from under her apartment pocketing the note and condom she left just minutes earlier isn’t what she expected. Watching him opening the car, sitting down and driving off is even less on her list.

It kind of destroys her world view, realizing that hot neighbor and asshole parker are the same person. In the last couple of weeks (Y/N) started to get some fun out of the mean comments she left at the black Ferrari’s window. This also could be her chance to finally make a move on him.

The young woman waits for the brunette to return with his car and stays seated on her couch for another couple minutes, for extra measure of course. After that, she leaves the apartment building with her prepared note and tapes it to the car’s rear window.

Charles on the other side stays glued to his window as soon as he enters his apartment. He finally wants to catch the person that gets angrier and angrier each time he parks in an outrageous way in the act.

Seeing the beautiful neighbor, who lives above him, sticking another note to his car makes his heart flutter in an unexpected way. For some time now he wanted to get to know her and if everything went according to his original plan, ask her out on a date. But maybe he can now use this to his advantage.

As soon as the beautiful neighbor is back in the building Charles waits an extra couple minutes before he once again makes his way to his car.

Running over his vehicle with a pep in his step, Charles is kind of excited about what insults or threats await him now. He has to admit, he actually parked pretty decently. Or as decent as he is able to. So the note has to be at least a little bit nicer than the previous ones.

“Hey neighbor. I thought instead of shitting on you and your parking skills even more, I want you to help and get better. I may not be a driving teacher, but helping you wouldn’t make your skills worse. Just text me with the times you are available at ;)” signed with (Y/N)’s name and number.

It’s kind of funny to explain to the press later how Charles met (Y/N) and became her boyfriend.

"Yeah, well I know that my driving has become sort of a, a meme,” he answers when asked a week after his announcement on instagram, “And my neighbor wasn’t too fond of it either. So she started to leave me these really funny, but also really aggressive notes at my car. One said something like I won the inconsiderate Parker Price. Which made me quite proud.” This entices a laugh out of the journalist. “Yeah, (Y/N) has a really good way with words, I fear. But in the end she offered me some parking lessons.” Charles smiles and thinks back to them.

He had texted (Y/N) immediately and they set up a date for the lesson two days away. But they still continued to text non stop and by the time they met up, it felt like they had been friends for years.

Which didn’t stop (Y/N) raging at Charles after his fifth failed attempt of parking his car according to her instructions. “I don’t believe you anymore. With the way you park you are not from Monaco but the deepest and wildest parts of Italy! Your Ferrari seems really fitting now!” This drew a laugh out of him until she graced him with the meanest look he didn’t expect her to be able to muster up.

“How about dinner as a thank you and apology?” He asked sheepishly, trying both to diffuse the situation and make his move. Why not shoot his shot right now?

Luckily the young woman agreed.

“In the end my parking skills weren’t enough to win her over, but my charm was what scored me a second date.”

And a third. A relationship. After some more funny parking jokes and him kneeling down on one knee with a ring and the promise to take lessons to keep their future family safe he even scored himself his unexpected forever.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #x reader #reader insert #charles leclerc x female!reader #x female!reader

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storiesofsvu · 11 months ago

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Decadent Desires Ch 1

Future Emiy Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol consumption, v minor mention of s16 canon/violence. sexual situations talked about.

“Is everybody around here getting laid except me?”

The words rang through Emily’s head as she stared into her closet, even though she had been the one who said them. It wasn’t like someone else was poking fun at her, bringing up her somewhat embarrassing personal details around the work place for everyone to hear, she’d done it herself. But finally hearing the words out loud had made her brain linger on the fact that it was horrendously true. It was exhausting, she’d thought being back at the office would cure some of it, help with the boredom and be a welcome distraction but now she was witnessing everything in real time. JJ and Will, Tara and Rebecca, Penelope had found a romantic or sexual interest, and in a material witness, nonetheless. She rolled her eyes and turned away from the closet to pick up her wine instead, maybe she wouldn’t even bother going to the gala, it wasn’t like she enjoyed them anyway. Her phone lit up and she welcomed the distraction, swiping open the notification only to find a text from Bailey and she outwardly groaned at his reminder to not be late. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t skip out on tonight, that was part of the responsibility of being the Section Chief; she had to make appearances, shake hands, contribute to small talk to remind everyone that the BAU was an integral piece of the bureau, the politics of the job were the parts she loathed the most.

Downing the rest of her wine she wandered back to the kitchen, picking through the remains of her take out dinner for one. All the while she mourned the days where a bottle of wine would be split between two and take out meant dinner on the couch followed by getting handsy enough to move to the bedroom. Now dinner was consumed while standing in the kitchen, still in work clothes while procrastinating getting ready for bed because that meant doing it all over again sooner than if she stayed up. It was so casual that she’d caught herself getting even lazier, not bothering with plates, eating directly over the stove to save on time and dishes. There was no point in making things fancy and displayed if it was just for her, why not lean into the convenience?

Emily wouldn’t say that she was lonely, because she wasn’t, she was completely content with her friends, her job, being at peace during her alone time. But she would say that she was bored, a little under stimulated, there was a sense of something missing, an itch that she just couldn’t seem to scratch. While her mind drifted to that itch, her eyes wandered over to the clock on the stove, chewing on her lip as she figured out just how much time she had and she decided there was no harm in grabbing a toy to join her in the shower. At the very least it would help her be more relaxed and at ease for a night of ultimate boredom and annoyance around people she definitely didn’t want to spend her Friday night with.

Arriving at the Waldorf Astoria was simple enough, drop the car with the valet and head to the separate entrance to the hall that was hosting the event. No having to deal with concierge, hotel guests or anything else, straight to the point, she could start making the rounds directly after grabbing a drink, which she made a beeline to do.

There were two bars set up on opposite sides of the room, one larger, the smaller tucked away in the corner by the doors to the terrace. Lights were lowered, soft and mellow ambient beats playing through the room to bring the vibe away from one of professional life and lull everyone into the sense that tonight was actually fun. Tables, both regular and high top ones were scattered through the space, people lounging around the shorter ones or standing at the taller ones, captured in conversation ranging from work talk to gossip.

Emily caught eyes with a few people, giving fake smiles, small waves, or a little head tilt depending on how well she knew or liked them. There were a fair number of familiar faces tonight, but she could tell that the crowd was much higher brow than it would have been at an event she was invited to ten years ago. Tonight the room was filled with only the top contenders from the bureau, everyone stuck representing themselves and their departments among a room of benefactors, politicians and the like. She finally found Bailey in the crowd, raising her glass to him from across the room and said the silent thank you that she had now been seen and could start counting down the minutes until she could leave. The next couple of hours she spent circling through the room, slipping into conversations where she could while sipping on cocktails and entertaining herself. She made nice with as many acquaintances as possible, making sure to drop in wherever Bailey was more than a few times to make sure her dues were paid before she finally retreated to the bar, grabbing a refill of her drink and settling into one of the high tops.

Taking a sip of her drink she let out a tired sigh, gaze slowly sweeping through the room, stalling on a group of politicians, watching the interaction while her eyes narrowed. Everything seemed so genuine, so positive and like they were happy to talking to the other person, enthusiasm soothing through the room until one leant in to kiss the other on the cheek in a parting motion and promptly rolled their eyes once their back was turned. She let out a huff of a laugh at that, clearly no one wanted to go to these things. There was no doubt that Senators had their favourites, but the one who stood out the most about being able to fake it and get everyone on her side was Heather Dunbar. Hoping for a distraction, Emily pulled out her phone, sighing at the utter lack of notifications before she dropped it on the table, swiping it open anyways in hopes that maybe she had a missed piece of junk mail. Just as she pinched at the bridge of her nose and let out a groan she could feel someone beside her, a small chuckle leaving their lips.

“Well you look about as thrilled to be here as I feel.” Heather muttered softly, sliding a shot of high end tequila across the table to her.

“You’ve got that right.” Emily replied with a huff, picking up the shot glass, “thanks.” She clinked the glass with Heather’s before shooting the liquor back, not wincing at all. “Wow, that really is the good stuff.”

Heather laughed, “is there even a point in drinking anything less?”

Emily shook her head at the other woman’s antics, “you know, sometimes I wonder how you survived the basic college experience.”

“I had my ways.” She smirked back, pulling another laugh from Emily before switching subjects, “it’s nice to see someone I actually like at these things, I didn’t realize you’d get roped in to tonight.”

“Yeah, well, all things considered,” her eyes narrowed in on Bailey, “I don’t really think I had a choice tonight. Think I’m in a bit of hot water right now.”

“It’ll pass.” Heather murmured over the rim of her glass, “trust me. These brown nosing kids who think they’re special just because they’ve got a badge or an all access pass don’t know shit, they’ll get eaten alive before you even know it.” She nudged at Emily’s shoulder, “you’ve been running that unit for years and I haven’t heard any complaints.” She wavered for a second, “well, except for Senator Reeves but that bitch is dead now so who fucking cares.”

Emily barked out a laugh, “Jesus, tell me how you really feel.”

“I’ll tell you this, if you ever arrest either of my kids, don’t even bother calling me, whatever they’ve done, they deserve the punishment.”

“Seriously?” She laughed again, glancing over to the other woman.

“Well..” Heather paused, mulling over a sip of her drink, “call if it’s the girl, she probably got caught wrong place wrong time but the boy? He’s finally got what’s coming to him. Fucking men…”

“Now that, you don’t have to tell me twice.” Emily replied, taking another sip of her drink as she scanned through the ballroom, frowning when she couldn’t find Heather’s husband, “Rob not here tonight?”

“No.” She replied with an unbothered sigh, “he’s away for work.” She leant in closer to Emily, “but do you see the redhead talking to Sharp?”

“Mmhm.” She nodded over the rim of her glass, eyes raking over the woman’s frame and Heather smirked.

“She’s got one hell of a gorgeous blue lingerie set on underneath that dress that will look absolutely spectacular on my bedroom floor by tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t recognize her.”

“You shouldn’t.” Heather laughed, “she’s a bartender over at Salt Line.”

Emily’s brow furrowed for a moment at the other woman’s words, watching the interaction across the room for a bit. While the girl Heather was talking about clearly looked the part for tonight, there was almost too much of an eagerness coming off her, something that didn’t quite fit the vibe for the event. She was well put together, hair and make up pristine, dress and heels both designer while she sipped on top shelf champagne, but every time she glanced over to Heather she was almost nervous, a flush taking over her cheeks.

“Hey… how do you…manage all that?” Emily asked, her eyes still watching the girl across the room and Heather let out a small laugh.

“Well it’s considerably easier now that the kids are out of the house.” She took a sip of her drink, “and it’s technically not cheating, Rob and I made an official arrangement years ago. Lord knows he goes off and has his own fun too. Separate rooms for sex and sleep and if a guest stays over they stay in the guest room, if we want more privacy, a hotel gets booked.”

“Wait… official arrangement?” Emily’s brow furrowed as she looked over at the brunette who simply nodded.

“I mean, it’s not signed by a third party all things considered. But it is a binding document detailing out the parameters of what we agreed to. Clear communication, be safe, regular testing, keep everything behind closed doors, that the kids don’t get told, how to move forward if something was to become more than sex.”

“You’re losing me.” Emily laughed and Heather grinned.

“I believe there’s more you’d like to ask that would be better suited for the lounge. More privacy.” She glanced over to the redhead and gave the smallest tilt of her head and the girl quickly crossed the room. Emily watched curiously as Heather pinched the girl’s chin briefly before fixing a piece of loose hair, her voice dropping while she spoke, “mommy has to go take care of a few things. I’m calling the car but I want you waiting on your knees until I’m ready for you. Understood?” The girl nodded obediently before her eyes darted over to Emily, lingering while a concerned expression flashed across her face. Heather tsk’d, pinching at her arm, “oh don’t you worry your little head kitten, I’m not going to fuck her, it’s work talk. What did I tell you about being so insecure?”

“Sorry ma’am.”

“Good girl.” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to her cheek, “I’ll be there in an hour or two.” With another nod, the girl was off in the direction of the entrance and Heather turned back to Emily, scooping her drink up off the table. “What?”

“Now that is what I’m talking about.” Emily gestured to the table as she followed Heather out of the room. “Direct and to the point.” She stalled in her steps when Heather stopped at the elevator, “isn’t the lounge on this floor?”

“Yes but my mini bar selection is superior.”

“Why send her home then?” She asked and Heather shrugged.

“Theatrics, toys are all at home, and she’s new, I didn’t want her listening in on this.” The elevator doors slid shut behind them and Heather used a key card to access one of the top floors, delivering them directly into her suite. “She’s waiting at her place, not mine. I don’t let them into my place until they’re fully trusted.”

“Where do you meet them?” Emily asked, letting out a sigh as she dropped into a plush arm chair, accepting a fresh drink from the other woman.

“Anywhere. You just have to know who to look for.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“That’s why I keep more than one girl on the go at once.” Heather laughed.

“There’s gotta be an app for that. Bailey… he was on one.. The Beltway Elite?” Emily found herself absentmindedly twirling her phone in her hand, as if her subconscious was teasing her into downloading it and Heather snorted, plucking her phone from her.

“Oh god sweetheart no. That one’s garbage and going to be full of all your coworkers who will suddenly know exactly what you’re into and looking for.”

Emily shuddered and Heather nodded.

“Exactly.”

“Between the job and life I just don’t know if I have the mental or physical energy to go through the dating stages. I certainly don’t have the time. I just want company probably a couple times a week, the obvious other benefits but without all the crap that comes with it.”

“Oh I know.” Heather smirked, “so make an arrangement.”

“What?”

“Emily come on. You know full well that girl only listened to what I said with no complaints because she’s going home to a condo I bought for her wearing Manolo’s that are way above her price range.”

“I’m sure that’s all she’s getting.” She deadpanned.

“She gets a weekly salary, a bonus if she’s good. You remember I’ve been to your mother’s parties, right? I know you come from money too, and that trust fund has barely been touched, just sitting there accumulating more and more money as the years have gone by. You live a somewhat modest lifestyle for your price bracket and I know it. Not you’ve got something you want, and you’ve got the money to get it.”

“Heather, I can’t just go around with a call girl, I’m a federal agent.”

“It’s not soliciting.” She replied with a laugh, “you meet a pretty girl, you bought her dinner, a nice necklace. In return you get to spend some time with her, your choice if you decide to fuck her brains out or not.” She reached out, handing Emily’s phone back to her, “here, I put in a couple of apps for you to try out, and don’t worry, they’re incredibly discreet.”

“You always use apps?”

“Sometimes. It depends on what kind of situation you’re looking for and what you’re willing to provide. The girl tonight? I’m a regular at her bar and happened to over hear her situation, she’s got massive student debt and was struggling to make a living. I gave her an offer; said I could help out and then read the room.”

“So she’s in it for the money?”

“I mean, most of them are. But for her specifically money is the number one thing she needs from me. It started out as companionship, the occasional plus one for my events, she’s helping tutor the kids when needed, then she got more curious about her sexuality. So you’d need to find someone not like her.”

“Am I really that tightly wound?”

“Sweetheart if you were my type I would have offered to help you out the moment we got up here.”

“Shame I’m not twenty years younger.” Emily teased back, earning a laugh from the other woman. “So you make up all the rules, they go along with it?”

“I draw up the initial contracts, I have one for platonic companionship, and one for sexual. There are girls who I call just so we can go for lunch a few times a month, so there’s someone else in the house when Rob’s out of town and others who are much different. Technically everything is up to them, I lay out what I’m interested in sexually and they’re free to veto anything they want, then I rework it into an official contract for that specific girl to be signed and agreed upon so we’re both very clear on everything.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“You have to when you’re someone like us. In the public eye, with jobs like ours, there’s reputations to uphold, all my girls sign NDA’s too.”

“How do you decide how much you pay them?”

“It can change per girl and salary is negotiable. Again, sometimes they just want you to buy them nice things, take them on a shopping trip once a month. I’ve had some girls who worked out of state, they’d get a lump sum per date instead of a weekly salary. You can start off playing it by ear too, start by buying a nice dinner, spending the night in a nice hotel with room service for breakfast. Next date you take them shopping, once you’ve established that you get along and have the chemistry, work out the fine print.”

“Is it always so high end and about designer brands?”

“Absolutely not.” She shook her head, “some of them just want you to pay for their groceries, put gas in the tank, help with bills or rent. Those ones are usually the better ones, there’s guilt associated with getting things they don’t really need, they just want to spend time with you and help with the necessities. The ones who are full designer all the time are the ones who are doing it to pretend their rich themselves, they’re usually brats.”

“God I do not have the patience for that.” Emily rolled her eyes with a groan and Heather laughed.

“Oh but they can be so fun.” She shot the other woman a wicked grin before glancing at her watch, “speaking of, I should get going.” She stood from her chair, “take the week, look through those apps. I’ll send over some copies of agreements so you can get a better idea of what I’m talking about, I know it can be confusing.”

“You’re just going to give up the names of your sugar babies?” Emily asked with a smirk and Heather laughed again.

“You know me better than that, all names and contact info is already redacted.” She pushed the elevator button, “it was good to see you. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Emily laughed, giving the woman a wave as the elevator doors slid shut again.

With a small sigh she opened her phone, swiping through to discover that the apps were extremely discreet, the icons looking exactly like default ones that came with the phone. Then again, she shouldn’t have been surprised if someone like Heather was using them, she valued her privacy more than anything. Chewing on her lip she stared down at her phone, the two apps staring right back up at her, burning through her brain as she considered opening one, just to see what it was all about.

Her phone suddenly pinged and she nearly jumped, groaning at Bailey’s name staring back up at her, a text about how there was someone she needed to come chat with and he couldn’t find her. She was tempted to reply she’d already left but she needed to go through the ballroom to get back to her car so she sent back a thumbs up and grabbed the top shelf drink Heather had left her before calling the elevator.

Her experiment would have to wait.

_______________

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#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #heather dunbar #decadent desires #emily prentiss series #emily prentiss fanfic

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gscleanmbdetail · 5 months ago

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cybergracie · 1 day ago

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the white lotus ⋆ ˚｡⋆ chapter one

✧ the art of being invisible ✧

wc: 7.5k

pairing: personal assistant!oc x family reunion attendee!hyunjin

synopsis: Gemma Parker has spent years keeping things under control -- her career, her emotions, her impossible boss. But when a work trip takes her to a luxury resort in Italy, she finds herself slipping into a world of salty air, stolen moments, and lingering glances with a boy who sees right through her carefully built walls. Hyunjin is charming, frustrating, and absolutely not a part of her plan -- but as the trip stretches on and their paths keep crossing, Gemma starts to wonder if she's been chasing the wrong dream all along. Because sometimes, the best stories aren't the ones you plan -- they're the ones you never see coming.

masterlist | dividers by @strangergraphics

There are two kinds of writers in the world.

The ones whose names are printed in bold on the spines of bestsellers, who get flown to Italy for exclusive literary retreats at five-star beach resorts, who sip Aperol Spritzes at golden hour while talking about ‘the craft’ as if they weren’t just regurgitating half-baked ideas in expensive clothing.

And then there are the ones like me. The ones who pick up the scraps, who scramble for a piece of the pie by making the reservations, by handling the tantrums, by sending polite decline emails with just the right amount of fake regret. The ones who run on caffeine and damage control, who sit in the back of luxury cars, juggling schedules and power dynamics like some kind of uncredited assistant to the universe itself.

The ones who are invisible.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was always supposed to be the first kind of writer. The kind people read. The kind whose words mattered.

Instead, I was here. At a flashy beachfront resort in Southern Italy, watching my boss – world-famous novelist and professional narcissist Celeste Laurent – flirt with the valet, even though she had spent the entire flight complaining about how ‘the service industry was dead to her’ after a slight inconvenience involving a missing bottle of imported sparkling water.

Celeste was the kind of woman who made a scene wherever she went. That was the power of being her. She demanded attention, and even worse, she got it.

I, on the other hand, was twenty-six, exhausted, and still trying to convince myself that working for her was a step toward my dream rather than a slow, calculated erasure of it.

“You should be grateful,” my best friend had told me when I landed this job. “Celeste Laurent is a library legend. Think of the connections! The industry knowledge!”

Yeah. The knowledge that no one takes you seriously when you’re the person fetching dry cleaning and fixing wifi connections.

That’s how I ended up here – at one of the most exclusive resort chains in the world, surrounded by ridiculous wealth, ridiculous egos, and ridiculous men who wore linen suits unironically – with no manuscript, no articles, no actual work of my own to show for the last two years of my life.

Celeste’s nasally voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts.

“Gemma, stop standing around. We have a suite to get to. And I’m going to need a Negroni before I unpack – why does check-in always take so long? Is it a global conspiracy against successful people?”

I sighed, adjusting the strap of my bag. This was going to be a long trip.

The check-in desk at the Villa Fiorella Resort & Spa was a pristine marble monstrosity, its sleek Italian design almost mocking me for how out of place I felt. The air smelled expensive – some kind of citrus-and-bergamot scent pumped through hidden vents, designed to lull you into thinking life was effortless when, in reality, some underpaid assistant had probably spent three hours this morning ensuring that the ambience of wealth and success remained undisturbed.

“Welcome to Villa Fiorella,” the concierge purred in a silky Italian accent, flashing a smile so polished it belonged in an ad for luxury travel. “Checking in?”

Before I could open my mouth, Celeste swept forward, oversized designer sunglasses still perched on her face despite being indoors. She had perfected the aura of don’t waste my time years ago, and she wielded it now like a weapon.

“Celeste Laurent. Presidential suite.” She didn’t bother with pleasantries. Celeste didn’t ask for things – she expected them to materialize in front of her.

The concierge’s smile faltered. Here we go…

“Ah, yes, Ms. Laurent. However, there was a slight adjustment to the suite allocation –”

I winced preemptively.

Celeste’s head tilted slightly, her lips pursing in the way they did when she sensed incompetence. “An adjustment?” she repeated, the temperature in the lobby seeming to drop.

I was already pulling out my phone, opening my email, bracing for impact.

“There was an unexpected extension of a VIP guest’s stay in the suite you originally booked,” the concierge explained, shifting his weight. “But we have upgraded you to a penthouse villa with a private infinity pool, which I can assure you is –”

“Upgraded?” Celeste scoffed. “I booked the presidential suite six months ago. You expect me to believe it’s no longer available? For who?”

“I’m afraid we can’t disclose –”

“Let me guess. Some man who threw money at you last minute? A footballer? A tech billionaire? Someone who collects yachts instead of books?”

This was Celeste’s favorite game – intellectual elitism mixed with barely disguised disdain for anyone who had more money than her.

The concierge’s composure wavered. “I can assure you, Ms. Laurent, the penthouse villa is actually more spacious and offers –”

“Gemma.”

Oh no.

“Fix this.”

There it was. My cue.

I swallowed my sigh and stepped forward with my best ‘I apologize for my employer’ smile.

“I do understand the… misunderstanding,” I said smoothly, as if Celeste weren’t radiating do you know who I am energy beside me. “We appreciate your help, and I’m sure we can find a solution that works for everyone.”

The concierge visibly relaxed, as most people did when I stepped in. I was the soft buffer between Celeste’s unfiltered chaos and the real world. The translator for her literary-goddess-turned-tyrant persona.

“I will personally make sure everything is to her satisfaction,” I added. “And perhaps… some complimentary drinks while we get settled?”

The concierge jumped at the peace offering, glancing between me and Celeste. “Of course, signorina! The bar is at your disposal.”

Celeste sniffed, clearly still irritated, but accepted the free drinks as a temporary truce.

Crisis averted. For now.

I took a steadying breath, signaling for the bellhop to grab our luggage. Maybe if I got Celeste drunk enough, she’d forget to make me rewrite and send all her email drafts before dinner. I turned back to the check-in desk – only to catch a dark pair of eyes watching me from across the room.

A man. No – a boy, no older than me. Tall, lean, with black hair that fell a little too perfectly over his forehead. He was casually elegant, draped in a linen shirt that looked effortlessly wrinkled in a way only rich people could pull off. He was standing beside a group of other guests – family, from the looks of it. They were talking, laughing, radiating the kind of relaxed ease that people like me never had.

But he wasn’t paying attention to them. He was looking at me.

And I knew this because the moment our eyes met, he smirked. Like he had just witnessed that whole interaction and found it entertaining.

I felt annoyingly warm. My pulse did a weird thing I refused to acknowledge. I quickly looked away, forcing myself to focus on the check-in process, on getting Celeste upstairs before she started a literary revolution in the lobby.

But I could still feel his gaze lingering.

And as I signed off on our room details, I heard his cousin – brother? – loudly say something in broken Italian that I didn’t understand, but I absolutely understood the tone. The universal tone of flirtation. I glanced up, just in time to see the boy roll his eyes before grabbing his leering relative by the collar and physically dragging him away.

“Apologies for him,” he called over his shoulder, giving me one last look, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Then he was gone.

And I absolutely, definitely did not watch him walk away.

The penthouse villa was obnoxiously extravagant – floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bluest stretch of ocean I’d ever seen, crisp white linens, marble floors that my salary could never even laugh at, and a private infinity pool shimmering under the late afternoon sun.

And yet, I knew before even stepping inside that it wouldn’t be good enough for Celeste.

“Too modern,” she would say. “Too sterile. No character.” As if she weren’t the living embodiment of a New York Times op-ed about modernism’s death.

Still, I did my job. I unpacked her suitcases, lined up her vitamins, laid out her beauty products. I took a lap through the villa, checking every ridiculous detail – pillows fluffed, minibar stocked, god forbid the staff forgot her handwritten welcome note.

Everything was perfect. Which meant Celeste would find something to complain about within the first five minutes.

But that was future me’s problem. Present me had one singular goal: station Celeste at the bar and ensure that she was well on her way to being too drunk to micromanage me.

I made my way back to the lobby bar, where Celeste was already holding court on one of the plush velvet stools, sipping a Negroni and pretending to enjoy the company of men who were, I assumed, ‘important’ in some vague publishing-adjacent way.

I sat my bag down and leaned in. “Everything is ready for you in the villa. The staff is on standby for whatever you need.”

Celeste didn’t even glance at me. “Gemma, darling, don’t hover. Have a drink. Relax.”

That was Celeste’s favorite brand of condescension – telling me to relax while making it physically impossible to do so.

“You’re right. You should enjoy yourself. Call me if you need anything,” I replied smoothly, already backing away. The best way to handle Celeste sometimes was to leave her to her own devices. By my estimation, she’d be three drinks deep in twenty minutes, possibly on the verge of drunkenly calling an ex-husband or just fully passing out on her ultra-king size mattress.

Which meant I had exactly one small window of freedom. And I took my chance.

The resort’s outdoor terrace was quiet, the sun dipping lower, casting gold across the rolling waves. I settled into a lounge chair, pulled out my phone, and started going over the itinerary for the next week. Celeste was notoriously unpredictable, but I had planned this trip down to the minute, balancing appearances, workshops, and just enough leisure to keep her from snapping.

Tomorrow, Celeste would attend the welcome dinner hosted by the resort, a mix of media personalities and publishing execs that she would either love or emotionally eviscerate. That left the majority of the daytime free, which I assumed she would fill with spa treatments or day drinking. Tuesday she would attend a Q&A event at a historic Italian library, Wednesday a boat tour, and Thursday through Sunday would be the literary retreat – the entire reason she was here. An elite event filled with authors, critics, and self-proclaimed visionaries who would spend hours discussing narrative structure while sipping wine that cost more than my rent.

I scrolled through my notes, mentally adjusting for potential crises, making sure I was ten steps ahead of whatever bullshit Celeste would inevitably throw my way. I had built my entire career around managing chaos. I knew how to stay in control.

And yet…

Something pulled my focus. Movement just beyond the terrace – a small group of men passing through the courtyard, speaking in low, easy laughter.

And there he was. Linen shirt. Messy dark hair. That same amused, sharp gaze.

I froze, watching as he strode past with his relatives, all of them radiating the kind of effortless confidence that came with being both rich and stupidly good-looking.

And he was looking at me, again. He hesitated, just for a second, just long enough for me to notice, like he wanted to stop, like he wanted to say something. But before he could, one of his cousins grabbed his arm, pulling him into the conversation, dragging him forward. He glanced back one last time before disappearing around the corner.

I felt my lips quirk. It was the smallest reaction – barely there – but undeniable.

A spark. Of what, I wasn’t sure. Excitement? Curiosity? Something else entirely?

I exhaled, shaking it off, forcing myself back into my itinerary. I had more important things to focus on.

But still… I caught myself tapping my fingers against my phone screen, barely absorbing the words in front of me. Because now, in the back of my mind, there was a boy with dark eyes and a smile that felt like a secret. And I wanted to know what it was.

By the time I made it back to Celeste’s villa, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, casting the resort in a hazy glow of dimly lit lanterns and distant laughter. I braced myself before stepping inside, mentally preparing for whatever state she’d be in – throwing a tantrum, complaining about the air conditioning, or, worst-case scenario, bored and looking for someone to torment.

But when I walked in, I found her in a rare form of calm. She was curled up on the sprawling white sofa, robe loosely tied around her waist, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun that almost made her look approachable. A half-empty tumbler of something expensive rested on the glass coffee table beside an open leather notebook, where she had been actually writing.

Celeste barely looked up as I walked in, lazily flipping a page. “Oh, there you are. Thought maybe you finally ran away.”

“I wish,” I muttered, setting my bag down.

She smirked. “If you were going to quit, you would’ve done it ages ago. You love me too much.”

“Love is a strong word.”

“Fine. You tolerate me. But don’t pretend you won’t miss the chaos when you finally leave.”

I scoffed but didn’t argue. Celeste had an annoyingly sharp way of reading people – when she wasn’t busy being insufferable. For a moment, there was just silence. The sounds of the waves outside, the soft flick of a page turning. It was weird. Unsettling, even. Celeste being quiet meant she was either deeply focused or on the brink of passing out.

“You’re actually writing?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Obviously,” she drawled, taking another slow sip of her drink.

“Wow. A whole paragraph? That’s impressive.”

“Watch it, Parker.” She arched a brow but didn’t seem annoyed – which was always a good sign.

I sighed, toeing off my shoes as I sat on the opposite end of the couch. “So, you’re in a good mood. Should I be concerned?”

Celeste smirked. “I’m relaxed. This place isn’t so bad. The villa has a certain… minimalist charm.”

I nearly laughed. Minimalist charm. This was the closest she’d ever come to admitting she liked something. “And let me guess,” I teased. “This mood has nothing to do with the alcohol?”

“Oh, darling, it has everything to do with the alcohol.”

This time I laughed. I rolled my eyes, but she wasn’t wrong. Celeste could be an absolute nightmare, but when she was tipsy – just the right level of drunk – she softened. The sharp edges dulled. The version of her that had once been young and idealistic and actually excited about writing peeked through.

“I want to go on the tour tomorrow. The one the resort hosts,” she announced suddenly. “Move anything important to later so I can soak up the history of this place. Oh, and get me another bottle of this before you go.”

I nodded, glad I had reviewed her itinerary to know she didn’t have anything planned until tomorrow evening, which left her day wide open to join whatever tour she was referencing. “Anything else, Your Highness?”

“Maybe a breakfast spread.”

“Of course. Only the best for you.”

She clinked her glass against the air in a mock cheers, already shifting back to her notebook.

I stood, stretching. “Try not to die in your sleep or anything.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Parker. Besides, you’d miss me.”

I rolled my eyes but said nothing, heading for the door. It was one of those rare moments where I remembered why I hadn’t quit yet. Because Celeste, for all her flaws, was still one of the most brilliant minds in publishing. She had clawed her way up, built an empire of words, and somehow, someway, I had ended up in her orbit.

Maybe, if I stuck around long enough, I’d figure out how to do the same.

By the time I had finished settling everything for Celeste – confirming her addition to the tour hosted by the resort, ensuring her breakfast would be delivered right when she woke up, and bribing the concierge with my most charming smile to keep a running tab on her preferences – I was exhausted.

I made my way to my own suite, smaller, tucked away, and far less extravagant, but mercifully quiet. It was one of the few perks of my job – Celeste traveled like royalty, and her staff, though severely underpaid, at least got decent accommodations.

I kicked off my shoes, rolled my stiff shoulders, and exhaled slowly. Then, I did something I hadn’t done in a long time.

I pulled out my laptop, opened a blank document, and stared at it.

The cursor blinked. I tried to write. But nothing came.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting for the words, for something to hit me, for the feeling I used to get – when stories lived in my head, begging to be let out. But all I could think about was itineraries. Reservations. Celeste’s fucking coffee order.

I had spent so long managing someone else’s life that I had lost my own voice.

After an hour of getting exactly nowhere, I sighed, slamming the laptop shut.

I needed air.

The resort had its fair share of late-night drinkers and wealthy couples meandering about, but the beach itself was nearly deserted. It stretched wide and empty under the glow of the moon, the sand still warm beneath my feet. The waves rolled lazily onto the shore, a soothing hum against the otherwise quiet night.

I walked, letting the weight of the day slip off my shoulders. Celeste. My job. The gnawing frustration of feeling stuck, uninspired, unseen. How had I gotten here? This wasn’t the dream.

The dream had been bylines, published articles, stories that mattered. The dream had been words flowing freely, not gathering dust at the back of my mind while I booked spa appointments for a woman who could barely even send an email.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I had let myself disappear. I sank onto the sand, pulling my knees to my chest, watching the waves as if they might have answers.

And then – a flicker of red.

A tiny, moving speck of light in the distance.

At first, I thought I was imagining it – some reflection of the moon, a trick of my tired mind. But no, it was real. A little red flashlight, weaving slowly along the shoreline. I frowned, watching it drift closer.

Then, I saw him. The boy from earlier. Linen shirt, knowing smirk, stolen glances. He was alone, moving at a slow, unhurried pace, the red light swaying lazily with each step. And before I could scramble away, he saw me, too.

I froze as he approached me, watching as he hesitated for a moment. Then, in a voice lower, softer than I expected, he asked, “Would you like some company?”

I sized him up, letting the moment stretch between us. Up close, he was even more unfairly pretty than I had initially realized. The kind of good looks that felt unintentional – sharp jawline softened by the dim glow of the moon, dark hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it absentmindedly. His linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to make me suspect he had absolutely no concept of the word effort, of trying too hard. He didn’t need to.

But what caught me off guard wasn’t any of that. It was the way he looked at me – like he was curious. Like he wasn’t just offering polite conversation to be nice. Like he actually wanted to be here.

I considered saying no. I didn’t do vacation flings. I didn’t do getting to know beautiful strangers on the beach in the middle of the night.

But then I thought about how exhausted I was with being practical. About how I had spent the last two years watching Celeste live her life while mine shrank into a series of itineraries and coffee runs.

And then I thought – fuck it.

“Sure,” I said, patting the sand beside me.

His eyes lit up, and I watched as the corner of his mouth quirked, amused, like he knew I had just fought some internal battle before making my decision. Smug. I should’ve been annoyed, but instead, I found myself biting back a smile.

He lowered himself onto the sand, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning back onto his palms like he belonged anywhere he sat. “So,” he said, tilting his head toward me. “Do I get a name?”

“That depends,” I said, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “Do I?”

His grin widened. “Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin. That name suited him. I let it settle in my mind before offering mine. “Gemma.”

“Gemma,” he repeated, slow and thoughtful, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. Something about the way he said it made my stomach do a weird, annoying flip.

I cleared my throat, gesturing to the flashlight in his hand. “And what’s with the red light, exactly? You planning some kind of secret heist?”

Hyunjin chuckled, holding it up between us. “Nothing that exciting. I heard red light is best to use during turtle hatching season. It doesn’t confuse them like regular flashlights.”

I blinked, caught off guard again. “Wait. You’re telling me you’re out here… searching for baby turtles?”

“Obviously,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I studied him for a long moment. The soft glow of the red light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. I could make out a tiny mole right beneath his eye. “Huh,” I murmured.

“Huh?” he echoed, arching a brow.

“I just wouldn’t have guessed ‘turtle enthusiast’ when I first saw you.”

He smirked. “And what would you have guessed?”

“I don’t know,” I mused, pretending to think. “Maybe ‘trust fund kid who collects expensive sneakers and doesn’t know how to do laundry.’”

Hyunjin barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. “You wound me, Gemma,” he said dramatically, hand over his chest.

“I’m just saying, you’ve got a bit of a look.”

“A look?”

“Yeah. This whole ‘I-woke-up-like-this-and-have-never-worked-a-day-in-my-life’ aesthetic.”

Hyunjin snorted. “Maybe I just have good genetics.”

“Right,” I muttered, shaking my head.

He grinned, studying me in return, as if he was also trying to figure me out. “And you?” he asked, his voice softer now. “What’s your ‘look?’”

I shrugged. “‘Overworked personal assistant in a constant state of existential crisis.’”

He chuckled. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You have no idea.”

For a while, we just sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before us, waves rolling in and out, the space between us shrinking without either of us moving.

I should’ve been back in my room. I should’ve been asleep, resting up for another day of playing Celeste’s shadow. But instead, I was on a beach with a boy I didn’t know, watching his red flashlight flicker across the sand. He had this way of looking at me – not quite intense, not quite teasing, but something in between. Something that made me feel like he saw more than I wanted him to.

“So,” I said, tilting my head at him, trying to get my bearings. “What’s a turtle enthusiast like yourself doing here in Italy?”

“Family reunion,” he answered easily, dragging his fingers through the sand. “My grandfather’s Italian. My grandmother’s Korean. They met in Milan, moved to Seoul, had my dad, et cetera et cetera, and now here we are – visiting my dad’s roots.”

I blinked, surprised. “So you’re like, a quarter Italian?”

“That would be the math, yeah.”

“Huh.” I took a good look at him. The sharp cheekbones, the full lips, the dark features – it all made sense now. “That explains a lot.”

He smirked. “Like what?”

“Like why you look like a Renaissance painting but also like you could headline a K-pop group.”

Hyunjin laughed, loud and unrestrained, and I had the distinct, annoying thought that I might get addicted to the sound.

“Well,” he mused, watching me now with interest, “that would be fitting, considering I’m an artist.”

That made me pause. Artist?

“Oh?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Like… you paint?”

“Sometimes. But mostly dance.”

Of course he dances. Of course he does.

“Seriously?” I tried to picture it, but the image was way too appealing, so I immediately shut it down. “Like, ballet? Ballroom? Hip-hop?”

“A little bit of everything,” he admitted, running his fingers through his hair, making it even messier than before. “I’m still figuring it out.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself.

“What?” He turned toward me, amused.

“Nothing,” I said, a little too fast.

His eyes narrowed slightly, reading me too easily. “No, tell me.”

I exhaled, giving him a pointed look. “It must be nice.”

“What must be nice?”

“Having the luxury of ‘figuring it out.’”

His expression shifted – just a flicker, a small twitch of his lips, before he smirked like he knew exactly where my mind had gone. “Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “So that’s what this is about.”

I stiffened. “What what is about?”

“You think I’m some cushy rich kid who gets to float through life with no consequences.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but… well.

I wasn’t not thinking that.

“Am I wrong?” he teased, tilting his head.

“I just…” I exhaled, fighting the irritation creeping up my spine. “It’s hard not to be jealous of someone who gets to pursue their passions without worrying about, you know… survival.”

Hyunjin hummed, considering this. “So, what’s your passion, then?”

“Writing,” I admitted before I could overthink it. “I want to be a journalist.”

“And instead, you work for…?”

“Celeste Laurent.”

His eyebrows lifted. “The Celeste Laurent?”

“The one and only.”

“Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “That’s intense. No wonder you look like you need a vacation.”

I huffed a laugh. “I wish this was a vacation.”

“I take it your boss is a nightmare?”

“On a scale of one to Satan? She’s at least a solid eight and a half.”

Hyunjin chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in his gaze now.

“And you think if you grind hard enough, you’ll get your shot?” he asked.

“That’s the plan,” I said, even though it didn’t sound as convincing out loud as it used to in my head.

There was a beat of silence. His gaze flickered over to my face, lingering a little longer than necessary. “You should let yourself breathe a little, you know.”

“And do what? Walk the beach with a stranger at midnight?”

“Exactly.” His smirk was entirely too self-satisfied, and before I could think better of it, I reached over and snatched the red flashlight out of his hand.

“Hey!” he protested, laughing.

“If you’re going to lecture me, the least you can do is let me use the fun toy,” I said, clicking it on and waving the little red beam across the sand.

“Fun toy?” he repeated, offended. “This is top-tier turtle conservation technology!”

“Oh, of course. My mistake. I’m honored to be in the presence of such an elite environmentalist.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, but he was grinning.

His gaze softened then, something fonder, heavier behind it. “You know,” he said, voice a little lower now. “You’re kind of cute when you’re not scowling at me.”

I stiffened, pulse skipping for just a second. “I do not scowl,” I shot back, choosing to focus on that instead of the heat creeping up my neck.

“Mmm.” He tipped his head to the side, considering. “I don’t know, Gemma. I’ve seen a lot of scowling.”

“Well, maybe that says more about you than me.”

“Maybe,” he said easily. “Or maybe I just like seeing you try to hide that you’re enjoying this.”

I turned toward him fully, meeting his gaze head-on. Big mistake.

Because up close, with the moonlight in his eyes and the lazy tilt of his smirk, he was unbelievably handsome.

And he knew it.

I huffed, handing back his flashlight before I did something stupid, like let myself actually flirt back. “Go find your turtles, Romeo,” I muttered, shaking my head.

He just grinned, clicking the flashlight on and off and waving it over the sand. “If I find one, you’re naming it.”

Hyunjin suddenly stood up, brushing sand off his pants, then turned to me and offered his hand. “Come on,” he said, palm open, fingers waiting. “Walk with me.”

I raised a skeptical brow. “Why?”

“Because,” he smirked, tilting his head toward the shore, “I know where the turtle nests are. If we’re lucky, we might see some hatching.”

I glanced at the flashlight now clutched in his other hand, the red glow softly illuminating the sand. “You’re really committed to this, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta care about the great turtle births of the Italian coast,” he quipped. “Maybe you can write an article about it. ‘An Exclusive Look at Nature’s Most Underrated Spectacle.’”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the way my lips twitched upward. “That’s a terrible headline.”

“You’re right. Should probably workshop it.” His grin widened. “Walk with me anyway.”

I hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand.

It would be easy for me to say no. To tell him I was tired, that I had to work tomorrow. That I didn’t have time to go gallivanting through the sand at midnight with a boy who smiled like he was used to getting exactly what he wanted.

But then I thought about the blank page of my laptop, the way my chest had felt too tight all day, how much I needed something – anything – to remind me why I even wanted to write in the first place.

And maybe – just maybe – this was it.

I exhaled, placing my hand in his.

His fingers curled around mine, warm, steady.

“Fine,” I muttered. “But if I trip in the dark and die, I’m haunting you forever.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he said, smirking as he pulled me up.

We strolled along the beach, the quiet hum of waves filling the spaces between us. Hyunjin kept the red flashlight low, sweeping it gently over the sand, scanning for signs of movement. “So,” he said, glancing at me. “Where’s home for you?”

I hesitated, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my cardigan. “New York. Born and raised.”

“That tracks.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, side-eyeing him.

“Just that you’ve got that whole no-nonsense city girl thing going for you.”

“And you’ve got the rich boy on vacation trying to ‘find himself’ thing.”

He let out a sharp laugh, head tipping back. “Okay, fair. But for the record, I didn’t come here to find myself. I came because my family basically forced me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know how it is – big family, overbearing relatives, everyone wanting you to be something you’re not.”

I huffed. “Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

He cast me a knowing look. “Right. Your whole life is obviously completely put together.”

“Exactly,” I deadpanned.

Hyunjin chuckled, then kicked at the sand, thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I always thought being an artist would be enough for me, but my family… they don’t really get it.”

“You mean they don’t think art is a real job?”

“Bingo.”

I frowned. Somehow, I had expected his family to be fully supportive – cushy rich kid, endless opportunities. But now, I wasn’t so sure. “I think that’s a universal experience,” I muttered, watching the waves. “Parents being… disappointed in your career choices.”

“Yeah?” he nudged me lightly. “What did yours want you to be?”

“Something stable.” I shrugged. “Doctor, lawyer, something that actually makes money.”

“But you chose journalism.”

“I chose writing,” I corrected. “I just figured journalism was the most practical way to do it.”

He hummed in response, like he understood exactly what I meant. And somehow, that made me feel lighter.

“So what kind of stuff do you want to write?” he asked.

I hesitated. When was the last time someone had actually asked me that?

“I used to want to do investigative pieces,” I admitted. “The kind that actually matter. Exposing corruption, bringing stories to light, making a difference.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. Something about his gaze made me feel… seen. “And now?” he asked, voice softer.

I sighed. “Now I write very professional emails all day and manage the emotional instability of a literary icon.”

“Well, that sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it’s a dream come true.”

His grin returned, teasing, but his eyes stayed thoughtful. “You should write something,” he said, flipping a shell in the sand with his foot. “Not for work. Just for you.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Maybe,” he said, glancing at me again, “but you don’t seem like someone who gives up that easily.”

The words hit deeper than I wanted them to. I swallowed. Looked away. “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, deflecting, “if I’m ever desperate, at least I know I can write about turtle conservation.”

He chuckled. “Hey, don’t knock it. These guys deserve their time in the spotlight.”

“Right. What would the world do without ‘the great turtle births of the Italian coast?’”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

I laughed, genuinely, fully, for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Wait –” Hyunjin froze, grabbing my arm gently, stopping me in my tracks. I stilled, heart skipping, but not because of him this time. Because just ahead of us, in the sand, something small was moving.

He crouched down, flicking the red flashlight toward it, his smile slow and spreading. “Looks like you might actually get to name one.”

The movement stopped for a second, then scuttled forward again – but instead of tiny turtle flippers, a pair of long, spindly legs stretched toward the moonlight. A crab.

Hyunjin let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair. “False alarm.”

“What, are you disappointed?” I teased, nudging his side lightly.

“I mean, a baby turtle hatching would’ve been a moment, you know?” he said, folding his arms. “This guy’s just… vibing.”

I ignored him, already crouching down, watching as the tiny crab hustled sideways across the sand with impressive determination. “I like him,” I said, smiling despite myself. “He’s got places to be.”

Hyunjin chuckled. “Should we name him, then?”

I thought for a second. “Hmm… he kinda looks like a Bernard.”

“Bernard?”

“Yeah, like… sophisticated. Business crab. Family man.”

Hyunjin grinned. “So you think he’s got a whole life out there?”

“Absolutely.” I nodded. “Wife, kids, a nine-to-five in the seaweed industry. This guy is booked and busy.”

“Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “Respect to Bernard.”

We watched as Bernard scurried toward the waves, disappearing into the foam like a tiny little soldier returning home.

For some reason, it made something in my chest ache.

I cleared my throat and stood, brushing the sand from my hands. When I turned, Hyunjin was already looking at me. Not just looking – watching. The kind of quiet admiration that made my stomach do something stupid. “What?” I asked, raising a brow.

He shook his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “Nothing. Just didn’t take you for a crab enthusiast.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“Clearly.”

We stood there for a beat too long – both of us still, the space between us small enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He was close enough that I could see the moonlight reflecting in the slight sheen of humidity on his collarbone, the way the night breeze shifted his hair just slightly. Close enough that my gaze drifted to his lips, unbidden, unintentional.

I wondered – for less than a second – what it might be like to kiss him. If he’d be slow about it, teasing, letting it build just to see if I’d get impatient. If he’d take his time, deliberate and confident, the same way he moved, like he already knew the outcome.

The thought startled me, caught me off guard for the third time that night.

And yet… I didn’t step back.

Instead, Hyunjin did something worse – he stepped closer.

Not enough to touch, but enough that the air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to come back for a drink or something,” he murmured, voice smooth, easy, almost teasing. “But now I’m worried that Bernard set the bar too high.”

I barely had time to smirk before my phone rang.

Loud. Abrasive. Reality slamming between us like a wall.

I jolted, startled by the sound, by how instantly the moment shattered.

Hyunjin leaned back just slightly, exhaling through his nose, shaking his head with a half-smile like he should’ve expected it.

I barely glanced at the screen before muttering, “It’s Celeste. I have to go.”

Hyunjin watched me for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, with a slow nod, he stepped back. “Duty calls,” he said lightly, but the warmth from before had dimmed just slightly.

I hesitated, phone still buzzing in my hand. Some part of me wanted to stay.

But instead, I forced a smile, turned on my heel, and started walking back towards the resort – leaving behind the ocean, the moonlight, and the boy with the red flashlight who had almost convinced me to forget everything else.

I power-walked back to my room, cheeks still burning from Hyunjin and his stupid, stupid smirk. The way he looked at me. The way he stepped closer, like he was about to say something that would’ve unraveled me completely. The way I had actually wondered, even for just a second, what kissing him would be like.

I exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away as I slipped into my suite, pressing my cool fingers to my too-warm face. “Get it together, Parker,” I muttered under my breath.

I crossed the room in three strides, heading straight for the mini bar. I yanked it open, wincing at the overpriced selection before grabbing the first tiny bottle of vodka I could find.

One sip. Two. I winced again, swallowing hard. Great. Now my face was burning for an entirely different reason.

I collapsed on the edge of the bed, phone still clutched in my hand. I wasn’t sure why I lied to Hyunjin, why I said Celeste was calling when in fact, it was my mother. The missed call sat on my screen, glaring up at me.

With a sigh, I redialed. It barely rang once before she picked up.

“Gemmy!” my mom’s voice greeted me, warm and familiar, like home. “I was just about to light a candle for you!”

I smiled, shaking my head. “Hi, Mom. You don’t have to light a candle every time I go on a trip, you know.”

“Excuse me,” she said, feigning offense. “Cleansing your energy is very important, missy. You’re surrounded by wealthy people and entitled egos – you don’t want that energy leeching onto you.”

“Too late for that,” I muttered, rubbing my temple.

“How’s Italy?” she asked, genuinely excited. “Did you see anything amazing yet? How’s Celeste? Any existential breakdowns yet?”

I huffed a small laugh. “So far, she’s only at one minor tantrum and two unnecessarily dramatic monologues, so we’re pacing ourselves.”

“That’s actually impressive restraint for her.”

“Right? I think the Negronis are helping.”

Mom laughed, and for a moment, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease.

“Tell me everything,” she said. “What’s the resort like?”

I leaned back against the pillows, closing my eyes. “It’s… surreal. It’s exactly the kind of place people like Celeste thrive in – stupidly luxurious, way too polished, the kind of resort where they manufacture the atmosphere to make you feel like your life is perfect.”

“And is it working?”

I hesitated. Because honestly? I hadn’t let myself enjoy it. Not really.

But then I thought about Hyunjin and the way the moon reflected in his eyes, the sound of his laugh against the ocean, the way he looked at me like he was actually interested in what I had to say.

And okay, maybe for a second, I had let myself enjoy it.

“It’s… nice,” I admitted, “in a fantasy sort of way.”

“Mmm, I hear something in your voice.”

Her sing-song tone made me roll my eyes. “Here we go.”

“Gemmy,” Mom said knowingly, “are you getting into trouble?”

“Not yet,” I said, but I didn’t sound convincing.

“You met someone.”

I groaned. “How do you know that?”

“I’m your mother, that’s how. And also, my tarot reading this morning said something about unexpected romantic entanglements, so spill.”

I sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “It’s not a thing, okay? I met a guy. He’s… interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“Korean-Italian. Stupidly good-looking. Too charming for his own good.”

“Oooooh, Gemma!”

“Don’t ‘ooooh, Gemma’ me.”

“Sweetheart, I have never heard you call a man ‘stupidly good-looking’ before. This is a milestone.”

“Oh my god.” I pressed a palm to my forehead. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Too late!” She sing-songed again. “So, what’s his deal?”

“Aspiring artist. Dancer. Rich family. They’re here for some big reunion, reconnecting with their Italian roots or whatever.”

“A rich artist? Oh, honey, that’s a dangerous combination.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered.

“But?”

I hesitated again.

Because despite every single reason I should keep my distance, I really liked talking to him.

More than that – I related to him. Sure, he had the luxury of financial freedom, but he still had pressure. Expectations. The fear of not being good enough. And that wasn’t something I could talk to a lot of people about.

“But…” I exhaled. “I don’t know. It’s nothing. Just a conversation on the beach.”

“Mmm. Still, I wouldn’t ignore it.”

“You think this is fate or something?”

“I think this trip is going to be big for you,” Mom said, suddenly serious. “I feel it.”

“You always say that.”

“And I’m never wrong.”

I sighed, but I couldn’t help but smile. Because as much as my mom drove me crazy sometimes, she was always reliably my mom.

She had been through so much – losing Dad when I was thirteen, struggling through her own mental health crisis after that, working jobs she hated just to make sure I never went without.

And now, she was stronger, softer in a way she never used to be. She had her spirituality, her tarot cards, her sage-burning rituals, and full-moon intentions.

And she had me.

“Well,” I said, pulling the blankets up around me, “we’ll see what happens.”

“Just don’t get too distracted,” Mom warned, but not unkindly. “Celeste still needs your attention.”

“Trust me, that’s never in danger.”

“Good. Now get some rest. You have a big week ahead of you.”

I nodded, letting my eyes droop. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you more, sweet girl.”

I hung up, exhaling slowly, my mind still racing. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe something was coming.

I just didn’t know if I was ready for it.

I stared at the ceiling, begging my mind to quiet down. Because no matter how much I tried to push it away, I kept thinking about him. Hyunjin. His smirk, his smile, the way he watched me like I was something worth paying attention to. The way he had stepped closer, the space between us narrowing like something inevitable.

And, of course, his damn red flashlight.

I sighed, tossing my phone onto the bed, then stood and shuffled toward the bathroom, rubbing my face to cool the warmth still lingering on my cheeks. A quick, half-hearted skincare routine. A long sip of water. Then I brushed my teeth and slipped into the softest, most unremarkable sleep shirt I owned. By the time I climbed into bed, I did what any rational person would do.

I grabbed my phone and googled: ‘Sea turtles in the Mediterranean.’

Great. Now I was committed to this, too.

I tapped the first article that popped up. Something about nesting habits, hatching seasons, conservation efforts.

‘Sea turtles have an extraordinary ability to return to the beaches where they were born, guided by the Earth’s magnetic field – a phenomenon known as natal homing.’

I frowned, rereading that line. Returning to where they were born. Following some invisible pull in the sand, like they already knew where they were meant to go.

Lucky them.

My eyes flicked to the red light of my charging cable, and for some reason, I imagined it flickering across the beach. Imagined Hyunjin, walking alone in the dark, scanning the sand, completely content in his own little world.

I sighed. Ridiculous.

And yet, as I curled into my pillow, letting the words on my screen blur, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I’d met him for a reason. Maybe Mom was right, maybe something was coming.

But that was tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight, I let my phone slip from my fingers, my eyelids heavy, the glow of the screen fading as sleep pulled me under.

#cybergracie writes #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin x oc #hyunjin fanfic #skz #stray kids #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #the white lotus #IM SO NERVOUS ABOUT THIS OMG

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wowfactorsuk · 1 year ago

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allseasonsvaleters1 · 1 year ago

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rrcarvaleting · 2 years ago

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bradleysass · 2 months ago

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ok so this is my original idea for the death prompt for @/black-brothers-microfic. But it expanded too far. Word Count: 2.1k - CW: Panic attack, death, blood

James remembers the three of them in Sirius’s car, speeding down the highway. The faint strains of Travis Scott’s “90210” played in the background, almost drowned out by their chatter. They were planning a trip down the coast the following week. Regulus had always dreamed of seeing the beach. Sirius, ever the free spirit, had been eager to feel the sand between his toes.

It never gets easier thinking about death. Especially if it’s about someone close to you. You imagine someone living a long life filled with adventure or simplicity. You never consider them dying before their dreams or wishes come true.

James learned this the hard way. The memory of that fateful day haunts him, like a ghost that follows him wherever he goes. The smells of burnt rubber and gasoline plague his senses, a vivid reminder of what he lost.

James, Regulus, and Sirius had been returning from a performance by the London Symphony Orchestra. Regulus loved violins; you could see him subtly mimicking the motions of the musicians during the performance. It was one of the many things James loved about him—the way he immersed himself so deeply in the things he cherished. Sirius, on the other hand, had fallen asleep halfway through the concert. Classical music wasn’t his thing, but his love for his younger brother was enough to get him there. His snores during intermission had drawn amused, and sometimes annoyed, glances from the crowd.

James’s thoughts jerk back to the present just in time to see a speeding car hurtling through a crosswalk. He sidesteps instinctively, muttering under his breath, “I may be depressed, but I don’t want to die. Damn people.”

The street is busy, but his mind wanders again.

The performance had ended, and the three of them stood outside the theater among a crowd of well-dressed patrons waiting for their valets. Luckily for them, Sirius had driven and parked a bit down the street, avoiding the chaos.

“Wasn’t that amazing? The way they weaved so much emotion into it,” Regulus had said, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. James had always adored that look, the spark of pure, untainted joy. It was a rarity in someone like Regulus, who’d lost so much of himself to the world’s cruelty.

Sirius had quipped, “Yeah, and one of those performers looked like they were bored to death.”

Regulus had smacked his brother on the shoulder, a soft laugh escaping his lips. James had smiled, watching the brothers bicker playfully.

But that evening…

It became a blur.

James can almost see it now: the brothers running along the shoreline, splashing water at each other like children. He imagines Regulus’s soft laugh as he drenched Sirius, who’d retaliate with mock indignation, hurling clumps of wet sand. But that image is nothing more than a false memory—a fantasy of something that will never be.

He steps into a coffee shop, the familiar chime of the doorbell grounding him momentarily. Remus is behind the counter, his barista apron slightly askew. James makes a beeline for him, knowing there’s a free cup of coffee waiting. Since the accident, Remus has insisted on it, though he often pairs the gesture with concerned remarks about James needing professional help. Today is no different.

“You can’t keep ignoring this,” Remus says, handing over the steaming cup.

James waves him off. The idea of therapy feels like a cruel joke. Instead, he retreats to a table in the back corner, seeking solitude.

As he sits, the memories rush back with cruel precision. One moment, they’re laughing, discussing beach plans. The next, a car slams into them. The impact is a jumbled mess in his mind, an incoherent nightmare. James remembers regaining consciousness slowly, his vision swimming as the smell of blood and gasoline filled the air.

Sirius’s face is the first thing he sees, streaked with blood, shards of glass embedded in his skin. Panic claws at James as he forces his battered body to move. He turns painfully, his broken arm screaming in protest, to see Regulus slumped in the back seat. His velvety black hair is soaked with blood.

James’s breaths come in shallow gasps as he tries to free himself from the seatbelt cutting into his chest. He fumbles with the latch, his hands shaking uncontrollably, and finally manages to release it. He turns his focus to Sirius, gently slapping his face in a desperate attempt to wake him. There’s no response.

“Sirius, please,” James whispers, his voice breaking. He turns to Regulus, trying to rouse him, but it’s no use. The song playing on the radio, “90210,” skips and glitches, repeating the line, “Baby is hooked on feeling low.”

That line stays with James. It’s like a cruel mantra, echoing in his mind when he’s alone.

James grips his coffee cup tightly, staring blankly at the table. The memory is a wound that refuses to heal. He’s alive, but the weight of that night makes him feel like he’s only half a person. The ghosts of Sirius and Regulus haunt him, their laughter and dreams now nothing more than echoes in his mind.

A loud squeak pierces his thoughts. James glances up sharply to see Remus dragging a chair from another table, settling across from him.

The soft strains of "Heartbeats" by Aron Wright play through the coffee shop speakers. The melody stirs something deep within James, and silent tears slip down his cheeks before he can stop them. He doesn’t bother wiping them away.

“Remus...” James’s voice cracks. “I miss them every day.”

“Hanging by a thread Waiting for a hand to pull me up Falling down instead Nowhere left to land,”

The song croons softly, each word piercing James’s already fragile heart.

Remus reaches across the table, his hand warm and steady as it covers James’s trembling one. “James, it’s okay to feel this way. You just need someone to talk to... You can’t deal with this grief alone.”

James scoffs, a bitter, hitching laugh escaping him. “I don’t need therapy, Moony. I just need coffee and to be left alone.” He pulls his hand away, the gesture sharp and dismissive.

Remus’s eyes cloud with disbelief, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his presence a silent reassurance. He doesn’t leave James alone, even though the latter clearly wants solitude. The two sit in silence, the only sounds the soft music and the hum of the coffee shop around them.

But in the silence, James’s mind betrays him again. He’s back in the car, the scene replaying in vivid, brutal detail. He remembers the adrenaline surging through him as he limped out of the wreckage, his leg dragging awkwardly behind him though he hadn’t yet realized it was broken. His limp, broken arm hung uselessly by his side as he staggered to Regulus’s door.

“Please,” James had whispered hoarsely, his fingers scrabbling at the handle. “Please, God, let him be okay. He’s my everything... he’s only seventeen...”

It took every ounce of strength he had to pry the door open. His eyes scanned Regulus for injuries, desperate to take stock. Shards of glass jutted from Regulus’s arm, and a thin trickle of blood escaped from his mouth. The sight made James’s stomach churn, but he swallowed his panic, forcing himself to remain calm. He reached out with trembling fingers, brushing against Regulus’s arm, then his cheek.

His heart dropped.

Regulus’s skin was cold.

“No,” James whispered, shaking his head as tears stung his eyes. “No, no, no...” He stifled a sob, biting down hard on his lip to keep his composure. He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed 911. The operator’s voice was distant, muffled by the sound of his own frantic breathing and the blood pounding in his ears.

James’s gaze darted back and forth between Regulus and Sirius, his mind racing with panic. He couldn’t lose them both. He clutched the phone to his ear, barking out their location to the operator while his free hand reached to check Regulus’s pulse. It was faint—so faint he wondered if he was imagining it. A flicker of hope sparked in his chest, but it was accompanied by overwhelming dread.

As the sound of distant sirens grew louder, James tried to stay focused. “Hang on,” he whispered to both of them, his voice cracking. “Help’s coming.” But deep down, he felt the crushing weight of helplessness.

The memory dissipates, leaving James staring at the now-empty coffee cup in front of him. His hands tremble slightly as he tries to steady his breathing. Remus is still there, his quiet presence a lifeline James isn’t ready to acknowledge.

As Remus’s break ends, he stands up and gives James a small wave, his gaze lingering with quiet concern. “I’ll be at the counter if you need anything,” he says softly, his tone gentle but firm.

James nods vaguely, his focus turning inward. For a fleeting moment, he feels as though he’s regaining control. He steadies his breathing, grounding himself with the warmth of the coffee cup between his hands.

But then, as if the universe conspired against him, the soft opening chords of “90210” filter through the coffee shop speakers. The sound triggers an immediate, visceral reaction in James. His chest tightens, his breath becomes shallow, and flashes of that harrowing night flood his mind.

The fluorescent lights of a hospital room blind his mental vision. He sees doctors rushing around, shouting terms he doesn’t understand. The sterile, metallic scent of blood and antiseptic fills his nostrils. He can hear the beeping of machines—machines that couldn’t save Sirius, machines that couldn’t save Regulus. The scene plays in fragments, each one more unbearable than the last: the look of grim determination on the doctors’ faces, the lifeless pallor of Regulus’s skin, the moment the sound of the heart monitor flatlining echoes in the room.

James clutches at his chest, trying to suppress the panic clawing its way through him. His vision blurs, and the coffee shop around him seems to tilt and spin. He’s suffocating, drowning in memories he can’t escape.

Through the haze, a figure moves toward him. It’s like slow motion—the sound of footsteps muffled, the hum of the coffee shop fading into the background. Remus is there again, crouching down beside James, his face etched with worry.

“James,” Remus says firmly, his hands reaching out to gently steady James’s trembling ones. “James, look at me. Breathe.”

James tries to focus on him, but the flashes keep coming. “I—” he stammers, his voice breaking. “I can’t— Remus, they’re gone, and I couldn’t— I couldn’t save them.”

Remus shakes his head, his grip firm but comforting. “James, listen to me. You’re here. You’re safe. Just take a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, with me.”

James squeezes his eyes shut, tears streaming freely down his face now. He mimics Remus’s breathing, shaky at first, but gradually the tightness in his chest begins to loosen. The vivid memories recede slightly, leaving a raw ache in their place.

The song continues to play softly in the background, its lyrics slicing through the air like a cruel reminder. James hiccups a sob, burying his face in his hands. “I can still hear it,” he whispers. “That stupid song. It was playing when—when it happened.”

Remus doesn’t respond immediately. He just stays there, grounded and unwavering, his presence a steady anchor in James’s turbulent sea of grief. After a moment, he moves to sit beside James in the booth, their shoulders just barely touching.

“You don’t have to face this alone,” Remus says quietly. His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of emotion breaking through. “I know it feels impossible right now, but we’ll get through this. Together.”

James doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away either. For now, that’s enough.

The song fades into the next track, and the world slowly comes back into focus. The other patrons in the coffee shop seem oblivious to the storm that just passed. James exhales shakily, leaning back against the seat, his body still trembling slightly.

Remus places a gentle hand on James’s shoulder before standing up. “I’ll be right here if you need me,” he says, nodding toward the counter. “Take your time.”

As Remus walks away, James watches him go, his breathing now steadier. He’s still broken, still haunted by the ghosts of that night, but in this moment, he feels a glimmer of something he hasn’t felt in a long time: the faintest flicker of hope.

@leeny-leens

#marauders #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #sunwater #james potter #regulus black #remus lupin #sirius black #microfic #more like fanfic #whatevs #fanfic

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