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andypantsx3 · 1 year ago

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READY OR KNOT | 2 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.9k, 2nd of 7 chapters

It turned out it was not so easy to forget what had happened with Shouto. Especially when Monday morning rolled around, and with it, some very pressing questions about the party.

Mina found you first thing in the morning, already up to your eyeballs in the case file at your desk. A frown marred her pretty mouth as she rounded the corner into the case analyst area. She neatly dodged your deskmate’s ginormous stack of paperwork, nearly as tall as she was, eyes homing in on you like dark little missiles.

“I heard about what happened with Suzuki,” she said, looking you over with uncharacteristic concern. Her eyebrows were drawn, her features pinched. It was an expression that didn’t overtake her cheerful visage all too often. “Are you okay?”

You blinked up at her, the name escaping you for a moment, until you matched it up with the support alpha from the party on Friday. Your lips downturned in reflexive distaste.

“I’m fine. You must have heard that Shouto scared him off,” you answered. “All he really managed to do was imply some stuff.”

Mina’s eyebrow twitched, like she had more questions on that, but she dutifully adhered to the matter at hand first. “I did hear that and we are going to be discussing that in a second. But that doesn’t mean you’d still be okay with everything that did happen. I’ve got a meeting with HR about Suzuki this afternoon, and I’m thinking of firing him.”

You jolted, a quick pang of guilt striking through you. Firing him. That seemed a very intense option.

You thought Suzuki was an asshole, sure, and you remembered all too well the horror that had overtaken you as he’d reached for his belt. But you also knew he had been drunk out of his mind—drunk enough that he thought you were an omega of all things, somehow perceiving things that weren’t even there.

You’d thought about it a lot this weekend, running over the events in your mind, and while the whole incident left a sour taste in your mouth, you thought Suzuki probably had been close to alcohol poisoning considering how strongly he smelled of Tetsutetsu’s horrible drink. He wasn’t exactly sound of mind, the lines a little blurry.

You’d never waylaid anyone like that while intoxicated, but you had done and said your fair share of things you regretted when you’d sobered up. You didn’t know what to think.

You looked up at Mina, finding her watching you consideringly. “No?” she asked.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, unclear what the right thing was. “I saw him and he was like, really not all there, Mina. I think he should be punished for sure, but what if you gave him a warning that if this happens at all again, he’s gone?”

One of Mina’s eyebrows arched. “Shouto said he was holding you against the wall even after you said no.”

You could feel your nostrils flare in anger at the memory, the feeling of that hand against the wet patch on your shoulder, unbudging.

“He did, but he also thought I was an omega, Mina,” you said. “I think he was close to alcohol poisoning, actually. He hasn’t caused any other trouble like this, has he?”

Mina shook that head of wild pink curls. “No, he’s been a model employee thus far. But I still don’t like it. That’s not what the Pink Riot agency is.”

A sigh filled your lungs. The support of Mina and Kirishima was enough for now. “I don’t like it either. But he was drunk, and nothing did actually happen, thanks to Shouto. Give him a warning that any other tiny slip up means firing, and I will be satisfied.”

Mina looked hesitant, dark eyes searching over your face, but eventually she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Fine. Once and only because you’ll need an accurate record from support in your investigation and it will be harder to get if he’s gone. But he will be fired if I hear even a whiff of a rumor again.” She paused. “And you’ll have to talk to Eiji, because he’s going to like this even less than I do.”

That wrung a smile out of you.

Kirishima was a good alpha and seemed to think of the agency almost like his pack. As easygoing as he was, he guarded his people resolutely, like a farm dog patrolling a chicken coop. You could almost imagine him standing at attention, head forward and tail pointed like an arrow.

As heartwarming as that image was, that didn’t mean you wanted to be the one to tell him though. You shook your head, throwing out your hands. “Oh no. Your alpha, your problem. The one privilege of my secondary gender is I’m not part of this shit.”

Mina clucked, sighing. “He is my problem.”

You laughed, knowing very well she’d know how to solve it. But her expression shifted, suddenly looking sly, and you realized she was about to saddle you with another problem.

“You’ll have to tell Shouto then,” she said, her voice deceptively light.

You blinked, eyebrows raising. Shouto…? “Why the heck would I need to tell Shouto?”

A grin slowly crept over Mina’s mouth, and she leaned in conspiratorially, looking altogether too pleased. Her hot pink nails settled on the edge of your desk, tapping delightedly. “Because he’s your assigned supervising hero. And you’ll be seeing him again in just a few minutes.”

A sudden flurry of butterflies erupted in your stomach, your mind flashing through the feeling of Shouto over you, tall and strong and warm, pressing you carefully to the wall. You could all but feel the whisper of those pretty eyelashes on your skin, feel his careful exhale, the brush of his mouth against your throat.

Your ears prickled with heat, and you could feel your face go slack in shock. He would be here—? In front of you again?

“He’s—what?” you garbled out, trying to dispel the phantom feeling of Shouto against you.

Mina looked downright smug. “He asked to be assigned right after I spoke to him at the party on Friday. Interesting, don’t you think?”

Heat licked at your cheeks. “Is it,” you managed tightly. “That’s… nice of him.”

“Very,” Mina agreed. “Especially since I heard about what happened after Suzuki left.”

You hated her.

“I’m a beta,” you reminded her, not liking the implication.

Mina’s dark eyes rolled. “Eiji liked me even when he thought I might present as a beta.”

“That’s different,” you told her, floored that you’d sidetracked into this so quickly. “I’m actually a beta. Also what the hell are we even talking about. This is a work case.”

Mina flapped a hand at you. “I’m sure you’ll both work it very hard, very thoroughly,” she said with no small amount of relish.

You seized the case file in question, holding it up between you like a shield, flapping it at her in turn. The manila folder flopped stiffly, the pages making a sort of wobbly sound. “Why are you like this,” you hissed.

Mina’s eyes glittered, and she opened her mouth to respond, when the soft tread of a boot in the hall made her perk up. Her grin went unholy. “Speak of the devil,” she said.

Shouto certainly did not look like the devil, as he rounded the corner. The fluorescent lighting made a sort of soft halo off the glossy strands of his distinct two-toned hair, and his features were just as angelic as you remembered—finely-wrought and almost deliberately formed, as though he were sculpture from the hands of a master. He was almost too beautiful to look at this early in the morning, and you felt your breath draw up short in your lungs.

He blinked when he saw you, those heterochromatic eyes widening nearly imperceptibly as he approached.

“Morning, Shouto-kun,” she purred. You hated her.

“Good morning,” he said, his tone low and soft. Your fingers tightened on the file folder, bracing yourself against the loveliness of the sound.

A flush rose to your cheeks as you did so, and Shouto’s eyes followed you curiously. Beneath the high collar of his hero uniform, you could just glimpse a flash of his scent patches, neatly placed as usual. You wondered absently what he would smell like if you peeled them back and leaned in close. As a beta, your nose was not as good as the other genders, but if you got in close enough, and if Shouto’s scent was strong enough, you’d probably be able to tell.

He looked like he’d smell delicious.

A cackle from Mina alerted you to the horrifying fact that you’d just been staring at Shouto as he approached, mouth open and expression vacant.

“Uh… good morning,” you managed.

The corner of Shouto’s mouth quirked up, and something beneath your skin tingled in response.

“I hope you are well,” he murmured.

You could see Mina’s eyes darting back and forth between the two of you with barely suppressed glee, and a sudden bolt of shame went through you.

Just because it was super obvious how hot you found Shouto didn’t mean he felt the same. He was a fucking pro hero for crying out loud. Rescuing people was what he did—the save on Friday did not have to mean anything.

Plus, knowing for sure that he was an alpha had closed the window on your little celebrity crush. Out of the hundreds of couples you’d met in your lifetime, you’d only ever met one alpha-beta pairing—both tradition and biology seemed to win out in almost all mated pairs, alphas and omegas unable to help their inherent attraction to one another.

And with that in mind, it was actually super disrespectful of you to even think about this impending partnership in any terms less-than-professional.

You rallied yourself, inclining your head respectfully to Shouto, gesturing with the case file in your hands.

“Yep, I’m good. I’m grateful for the save and I’m sure I’ll be even more grateful for your help on this case.” You turned to your boss, routing her back on track. “Mina, what information have you shared and what do I need to get him up to speed on?”

Mina’s pout was so defined it could be seen from space. You ignored her, raising your eyebrows.

“I only put the call out to other agency heads for a supervising out-of-agency hero. Just that it’s an omega assault case possibly involving a pro, and your name as the lead investigator.”

Your gaze returned to Shouto. He was still watching you intently.

“How much time do you have before you’re needed back at your agency?” you asked him. “Do you want to grab a conference room and I’ll get you up to speed? I’m sure Mina has a lot to do just now.”

He nodded, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that should not have wrung the oxygen out of the atmosphere, but did. “I am on patrol after lunch, but I’ve asked that my schedule be cleared until then.”

Perfect. Plenty of time. You stood, hefting the case file with you, clearly dismissing Mina, who looked put out.

“Great, I’ll show you to the conference room then,” you said. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Mina flashing you a pink finger, and you could easily guess which one. You stuck out your tongue at her as you passed Shouto so he couldn’t see, not above pettiness.

You gestured Shouto into one of the smaller rooms across the floor with especially good soundproofing, holding the door open for him. You sucked in a breath as he brushed past you, trying not to admire how tall and broad he was, the way those shoulders spanned the breadth of the doorway.

Shouto took a seat and you spread the case file out before him, trying not to look down at him as he glanced up at you. His fingers twitched on the conference table, like he was holding them in place. You carefully retreated to a safer distance, hoping you hadn’t annoyed him.

“Okay so the basic brief is as Mina said. There have been multiple reports of a suspected pro harassing omegas late at night in Bunkyo. Initially they were identified as a masked male wearing scent patches, roughly five foot ten, always wearing some dark jacket. But the suspected hero element came into play late last week when they attempted to strap quirk suppressors on their target. The omega in question had a vapor quirk so she was able to dissolve and escape before he did.”

Shouto’s eyes tracked you as you spoke, solemn and attentive.

“So far the suspect has not shown any signs of a quirk himself, and without any scent ID it’s hard to know what secondary gender to look for. Our best option is to work the possible-pro-hero angle and rule out who we can, since that’s all the identifiable detail we have on this guy at this time.”

Shouto nodded, propping an elbow on the table. You tried to ignore how even that small gesture made him look like a center spread in Heroes Illustrated.

“I’d like to read the individual reports and hear your plan once I have,” Shouto said.

You perked up, pleased with the terms he was speaking in. A good case analyst always had at least a sketch of a plan—what order to speak to specific people in, which angles had highest priority of investigation, and how the labor could be divided and work double-checked.

Most heroes were people of action and hated having to be corralled into approaching cases like some sort of assignment, instead of busting in and blowing things apart. But it was the best way to make sure all avenues were investigated thoroughly and that work was peer-reviewed in case someone missed something.

Shouto’s phraseology told you he was familiar with approaching cases like this, meaning he probably listened to the Todoroki agency analysts. You’d never worked closely enough with him before to know, only trading high-level information back and forth on a couple of joint cases, presenting findings in a meeting room stuffed full of Pink Riot and Todoroki agency heroes.

You found yourself smiling faintly.

“I’ll get you some coffee while you read. Everything is in chronological order in the file and I’ve tabulated some notes,” you said. “How do you take yours?”

Shouto’s gaze slid over you, careful and assessing. He paused. “I’ve been told I should not share that information.”

Your eyebrows went up. “Your… coffee order?”

Shouto nodded seriously. “Bakugou says it’s disgusting and embarrassing.”

Bakugou—pro hero Dynamight, that was—was Kirishima’s best friend, a loud alpha of an explosive manner and incendiary opinions who often showed up unprompted at the agency to stomp around and mean mug, all the while hiding that he was attempting to press leftovers on Kiri and Mina. You laughed, curious what Bakugou had browbeaten another pro over.

“Your secret will be safe with me,” you said coaxingly.

Shouto blinked, mouth quirking slightly again. He looked like he genuinely liked the idea of that, and your stomach fluttered in response.

Of course then he opened his mouth and provided a rundown of the inhumanly numerous sugars and syrups he liked, such that it constituted more of a soft drink than a coffee order. You tried to keep your eyebrows from creeping up into your hairline, smothering a laugh.

That was so unexpectedly cute. Especially for an alpha.

“One coma-inducing order of sugar with a splash of coffee, coming right up,” you saluted him.

He did something with his face that was a cross between a tiny smile and a pout, and you threw yourself out the door before you dissolved into a puddle of goop.

You went down to the cafe that operated out of the ground floor of the Pink Riot building, a favorite lunch spot of most of the heroes for how enormous their sandwiches were. The order took a fair few minutes, as it took the barista a good while to pump in the zillions of requested syrups, his eyebrows raised nearly to the moon as you recited them.

When you returned to the conference room, Shouto was already well into the case file. He glanced up as you entered, those heterochromatic eyes pinning you with an unexpected intensity. You started, wondering if you’d done something wrong.

But then his mouth slid into another tiny smile, and he looked so genuinely pleased to see you—or the coffee cup—you found yourself helplessly smiling back.

After depositing his cup next to him, you fetched your laptop and emailed Shouto’s agency the case files while he read. You wrote up the preliminary notes you’d been able to pull together on the case—a list of three agency heroes whose exact whereabouts had been accounted for during one or more of the incidents, who were therefore not on your list of possibilities.

Shouto was staring at you when you shook yourself out of work mode an hour later, quiet and intent. You startled, jumping in your seat.

“Oh my god—I’m sorry—did you say something? I didn’t mean to ignore you,” you said.

Shouto shook his head, another smile quirking that perfect mouth. That expression was growing familiar. “I have just finished,” he said.

A sense of relief washed over you. “Okay great. Did anything stick out to you that you think I’ve missed so far?”

“No,” he murmured. “Your work is very thorough. I would like to hear your plan.”

His tone was low, almost appreciative, and you tried not to let it go to your head.

“Okay, then we’ll begin with the active duty and equipment logs,” you told him. “I’m already through all of the duty logs available, but I still need the one from Thursday when the last incident happened—it’s supposed to be ready this afternoon. That will rule out a few heroes, and the equipment logs can tell us more about who had what out during the time of the attacks—I think we start with the heroes who had suppressors on them then.”

Shouto nodded, looking like he was following along. “You want to narrow the pool before you speak to anyone in case you arouse suspicion.”

You nodded, pleased he understood. “Yes.”

That blue and gray gaze nearly pinned you to your seat. “That is smart.”

A sudden wash of heat licked up your spine, pooling in your limbs. You struggled to keep your face neutral, your ears burning. “Th—thanks.”

“Who have you ruled out so far?” he asked.

You turned your screen to him, showing the notes you’d drawn up. “Kiri’s clear—no shock there—Tetsutetsu, and Tetsu’s sidekick who was with him on a cleanup during the first incident. I’m hoping Thursday’s log will clear at least one or two more.”

Shouto inclined his head in agreement. “And your interview plan?”

You smiled, and scrolled down to your notes on that, pleased at how he was letting you lead the investigation. He listened intently as you walked him through an outline, double-checking that everything worked with his schedule.

As you talked, he offered a few suggestions of his own, but he mostly seemed content to follow your outline—completely unlike even the most agreeable of the Pink Riot agency alphas. In fact it was so contradictory to everything you’d experienced thus far that you found your gaze darting to his scent patches over and over again, as if assessing whether they were really covering up an alpha scent.

But no—you had felt the pull of his Order under your skin on Friday. You, a beta, naturally resistant to Orders in the way omegas weren’t. And you’d gone so boneless against him, too, affected by his proximity in the most embarrassing way. Shouto was definitely an alpha, with that kind of pull—and probably a preternaturally strong one at that.

But he was also just—your eyes drifted to his coma-inducing coffee cup—kind of a strange one, too.

The two of you discussed the case for a few more minutes—until your stomach growled, loud enough to interrupt your planning, and the corner of Shouto’s lips lifted again.

“Would you like to finish up over lunch?” he asked, saving you the embarrassment of excusing yourself.

You grinned. “I think my stomach already answered for me,” you agreed.

Shouto helped you reorganize the paper files and lingered over you as you locked them into your desk cabinet, waiting for you patiently. Then he let you lead him downstairs to the cafe. You were conscientious of not standing too close to him in the elevator, all too aware of him in that tiny, enclosed space.

When you made it down to the ground floor, Shouto surprised you by steering you over to one of the tables, bidding you to sit.

“What do you enjoy here?” he asked, looking down at you expectantly. “I would like to get it for you.”

You shook your head. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I should be treating you for the save. How about you tell me what you want?”

Those heterochromatic eyes blinked down at you, and a tiny crease appeared between Shouto’s eyebrows. His mouth turned down. Against the subtlety of his expressions thus far, the look appeared almost distressed. “I insist,” he said, something strange in his tone.

“Shouto, really, I—-”

“I insist,” Shouto said, a little more firmly. There was the flicker of something strange under your skin again, like the tiny molecules of your body shifting in response to him.

You froze, startled, and your mouth opened for you before you realized what you were doing. “I—a pesto sandwich—”

You clamped your mouth shut, mystified.

But Shouto looked pleased. He smiled, wider than you had seen so far, a devastatingly handsome quarter-moon sliver that sent your pulse pounding in your ears. You watched him turn and walk off, something you might have said was almost smug in his step, had you known him better.

You sank into one of the seats, befuddled by what had just happened.

Shouto returned a few minutes later with water and an order number, placing the bottle in front of you like an offering. You regrouped, thanking him, then raised your eyebrows as he leaned forward, looking serious.

“I have been wanting to ask. Where does the alpha who harassed you work?” he asked, his tone dropping low. A strip of afternoon sunlight caught in his hair, dancing like flickering flames in the strands of scarlet, liming them in an orange glow.

He was beautiful in the sun, and it took you a minute to reroute your brain from his face to his question.

“Suzuki’s in support,” you said. “But Mina’s disciplining him, and I don’t have to see him often. I do expect he’ll behave after this. But why do you ask?”

Shouto frowned, leaning in closer. “Support maintains the equipment logs.”

It was the same at the Pink Riot agency too. “I—well, yes, but—”

“I should like to be there when you go to support,” Shouto said, catching your eye. His expression shifted into something solemn, his mouth a flat line.

You waved your hand dismissively. “I appreciate it, but don’t worry. He’s not gonna do anything, it’s literally just logs—”

“I must insist,” Shouto said again, his tone soft but unmistakably firm. His fingers flexed tightly where they rested on the edge of the table, the knuckle of his index turning white.

Despite yourself, his concern warmed you, that hot, tingly feeling heating your ears again.

“I really would be okay,” you said. “But if it means something—I’ll wait until tomorrow when you get here?”

Shouto nodded. “I would like that very much.”

A smile teased at your mouth. Now that was stereotypical alpha behavior, much as you appreciated his concern. Suzuki wasn’t going to jump you over a log file in a workplace—especially not after Mina had taken him to task. Shouto’s concern was unnecessary, but so very typical of an alpha. It felt familiar, like Kirishima’s brand of protectiveness over his tight knit agency, you thought. Harmless and well-intentioned.

A tray being placed on your table cut off any response you might have given, and your eyes blew wide as you registered the amount of food on it. Your mouth dropped open when a second tray was placed alongside the first one, the cafe worker smiling down at Shouto before she left, clearly recognizing him.

Shouto looked down at the food, his features arranged in minute shock.

“I do not remember ordering this…” he said, glancing at his receipt slip. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed slightly, that crease appearing between them again as his eyes flickered over the order. Then he cut himself off, those long eyelashes fluttering. “I… apologize.”

Apologize? Meaning, he had ordered this?

“You bought all this?” you asked, floored.

Shouto gave a tight nod. “It… would seem so.”

Your gaze picked over the trays again. They were piled high with at least six sandwiches, several pastries, a takeout container of soup, four different kinds of cookies, two fruit cups, and a handful of the granola bars they kept by the register. It was a literal mountain of food, and you sort of doubted even a pro hero could put that much away in one sitting.

“If you were so hungry we could have come down so much earlier,” you insisted, but Shouto’s embarrassed expression only deepened.

“It is… not for me,” he said slowly. It looked like it pained him to admit it.

You blinked, drawing back in your seat. “It’s…..me?”

Shouto nodded seriously.

A shocked laugh leapt out of you, bright and pleased. “Shouto, I was hungry but this is like, eleven meals!”

“You will have leftovers, then,” Shouto replied, sounding embarrassed. The tips of his ears were red where they peeked through his mop of multicolored hair.

You were so suddenly, utterly charmed by him, a splash of warmth pooling in your stomach, flooding through your limbs. You had absolutely no idea what had possessed him to do this, but it was undeniably sweet. Coupled with the easy way he’d let you take the lead on the investigation, and the way he’d moved to protect you on Friday night—it all painted a portrait of a very good, very kind sort of person.

You’d really lucked into a good partnership. You were grateful.

“Thank you, Shouto,” you said sincerely. A hint of a flush colored his high cheekbones, and he nodded.

You decided not to press him anymore, setting aside your speculation for when he’d gone. Instead, you unearthed your requested sandwich from the mound of food, and selecting a pastry at random. Shouto watched you as you bit into your food, a strange sort of intensity in his gaze.

Eventually, however, he took his own food, and the two of you chatted as you ate, moving on from the case to discuss his patrol, your shared friends, and a slew of other silly topics. You found him just as easy to talk to outside of case work—he had the same straightforward way of approaching life as he did his casework, his outlook consummately honest and thoughtful.

You regretted it when Shouto eventually had to excuse himself for patrol, but not before disappearing and reappearing with a takeout containers and a bag for all the things he’d ordered you, which he carefully but insistently packed away, before putting in front of you with a meaningful look.

You laughed again, taking the bag from him as you got up to make your way back upstairs as well.

“Thank you for lunch,” you told him, trying to convey how sincerely grateful you were. “I’m looking forward to our partnership.” You stuck out your hand to him, smiling up at him.

Shouto’s expression didn’t change much, but his mismatched gaze grew warmer where it rested on you. “As am I,” he said, tone soft.

Long fingers curled around yours, and for a moment you felt that same, weak-kneed desire to collapse against him as you had on Friday. It took an inordinate amount of focus to pump his hand in a handshake, and even more willpower to let him go.

You waved him off, and watched him go, feeling a strange sense of emptiness as that broad back disappeared through the door. In just a few short hours, it seemed, Todoroki Shouto had dug himself a comfortable little spot in your heart—far deeper than a case partner should have.

You ruminated on this as you made your way back upstairs, mind running over the events of the last few days. You couldn’t figure out why Shouto was having a weirder effect on you than any other alpha, even accounting for his unearthly good looks, nor why he seemed to be equally lost today—ordering a zillion things without even realizing he’d done so.

As you made your way back to your desk and cracked open the case file again, you resolved to solve this mystery as well. You were good at getting to the bottom of things—and Todoroki Shouto would be no exception.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x reader #shouto x you #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #bnha x reader #andie's writing #character: todoroki shouto #tw: a/b/o

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jamiefartt · 5 months ago

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richmond's receptionist; part two

part 1.

pairings: jamie tartt x reader, all of richmond is mentioned again.

summary: you're the receptionist at richmond fc, and after forming a bond with their star striker jamie tartt, the team becomes somewhat reliant on you to keep him fired up.

words: 7313

warnings: alcohol and slight inebriation, no smut at all but suggestive references and behaviour, sexual tension, painful pining.

———

after leaving the bustling Richmond headquarters, you find yourself sitting across from Jamie at the Crown and Anchor. although it's nothing fancy, Jamie asked Mae to clear out the back area of the pub, allowing for the two of you to have some privacy. when the two of you walked in, Jamie was greeted with cheers and pats on his back from the football fans who call this place their second home. he thanked them all as Mae led you two towards the more secluded area before promising there would be nobody bothering you any further.

"do you think Mae does lattes?" you joke, looking down at the menu. Jamie laughs as he studies the list of food to order. your eyes skim the small booklet of options, and you reckon you could eat it all if you really wanted to. the excitement of the match and all of your tension with Jamie has left you absolutely starving.

"by the way, y/n, my treat." he says, shooting you a wink.

"no, no, Jamie, you don't have-" you start, but he interrupts you. he lifts his pointer finger up to you and wags it side to side, tilting his head with a cocky grin; "my treat" he insists.

you can't help but blush, looking back down at the menu in an attempt to hide it. your eyes pretend to read the words, but all the letters are jumbled and blurry as you try to steady your breathing in the most subtle way possible. your nerves tie knots around your stomach, suddenly realising you're on a date... with Jamie Tartt.

"I'm getting a pint to celebrate. want one?"

"sure, thanks Jamie," you smile at him as he stands up, ready to head to the bar.

"that's my girl." Jamie winks at you again, tapping his hand on the table before walking away. your mouth falls open and your breath catches, making you need to cough. you wait until he's far enough not to notice you before clearing your throat. you can feel your ears burning up as you take a deep breath, steadying your heart rate. after a few puffs in and out, you feel yourself relax and your head clearing. you scan the menu again, your eyes landing on the pub-classic chicken strips and chips. as if on cue, your stomach rumbles, and you quickly clutch your sides to silence the sound.

"y'alright?" Jamie chuckles as he approaches you, a beer bottle in one hand, and a glass in the other; "m'lady" he says with a soft smile as he places the pint in front of you. as he sits down, he takes a quick swig of his bottle.

you wrap your hand around the glass before lifting it up. choosing to ignore his awkward question, you say: "cheers to Richmond's big win."

Jamie's smile widens and his eyes soften as they look into yours, maintaining the eye contact as he clinks the body of his bottle to your glass. you both take a large drink of your beers, still holding each other's gaze. you notice how deep the blue of his eyes is, looking almost brown under the dim light of the pub. it perfectly shadows his face, highlighting his cheekbones and accentuating his strong jaw. you take your time to drag your eyes across his chiseled features, making sure to memorise each and every inch of his face for future reference.

"what ya starin' at?" he interrupts your daze.

"your face." you reply in a teasing tone.

"it's nice, innit?" Jamie's smile turns cocky again as he brushes his fingers against his chin.

"not bad," you mutter with an unimpressed look.

"you look-" he starts, but is interrupted by Mae who suddenly appears next to your table: "so what are we having tonight?"

Jamie chuckles and closes his mouth into a smile at the poorly-timed interruption. he shakes his head and sighs before pointing his hand towards you and saying: "whatever you want, love."

ignoring the blush creeping up your cheeks at the nickname, you cross your arms on the table and smile up at Mae; "we'll get the chicken strips, some onion rings and two chips to share, please Mae."

"of course, dear." she replies kindly, taking the menus from you before walking away.

"just chicken?" Jamie huffs as he chuckles again.

"good source of protein," you shrug, "don't you need some energy after your match?"

Jamie lets a proper laugh slip, contrasting his previous subdued ones. you laugh with him, finding his expressions infectious. his eyes crinkle at the corners as he bears a wide grin, and his laugh sounds genuine and sweet. there seems to be a sparkle in his eyes that you're sure you're just imagining.

"thanks for coming today," he breathes out.

"of course, I mean, I wouldn't want to miss it for the world," you smile at him, and he mirrors it softly, "and I wanted to make sure you knew I don't hate you or anything..."

Jamie's eyes leave yours and drop down to the table as he sighs deeply. you hold your breath for a moment, anticipating his response. despite being on a literal date with him, you still feel guilty for how you upset him.

"please stop worryin' so much y/n. I've already forgiven you – in fact I should be thanking you for helping us win." Jamie looks you straight in the eyes as he reassures you, and you find yourself struggling to breathe again. a smile creeps its way onto your face as you nod.

Jamie tilts his head down and raises his eyebrows, looking up at you in question. "yeah?" he asks.

"mhm..." you respond, biting your lip.

"understood?" he says, and you feel his knee brush against yours underneath the table.

you nod again as your smile widens; "understood."

"good." Jamie says, smile growing impossibly brighter.

the two of your stare at each other for what feels like hours, but is really just a few seconds. every time you get lost in his eyes your heart rate speeds up impossibly fast, and you wonder what the chances are of you passing out. a flash of heat hits your chest when you feel his knee brush yours again, so you pick up your glass and take three big gulps of beer.

"woah, woah, woah, what's the rush?" Jamie asks, holding up his hands and leaning back against the booth. when you look at him again, he looks more concerned than anything else, brows furrowed and mouth agape.

"what?" you say casually, quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Jamie's brows stay creased as his eyes widen, his smile reappearing.

"at least wait for me before drinking it all! okay, c'mon,"

Jamie picks up his bottle by the neck and you take note of how small it looks with his fingers wrapped around it. before getting the chance to get lost in thought, you shake your head to clear your mind. you take a deep breath before lifting your glass to your lips again, before you both start chugging your drinks. you watch him as you do so, racing to be the first to finish your drink. after gulping down the last of your beer, you put your glass back down on the table with a dull bang.

"ha! I beat you to it!" you cheer, putting your arms in the air in celebration.

Jamie laughs as he places his bottle down before leaning over the table and wrapping a hand around each of your wrists. he mirrors your smile as he gently pulls your hands down towards the table. placing your hands on top of each other, he holds his hands over them; "and what if I let you win?"

your eyes are wide as you feel the weight of his hands on yours. they're warm and gentle, and as soft as you'd imagined them to be. the contrast between his warm skin and his cold signet ring resting on your fingers runs goosebumps up your arm. your breath is wobbly when you part your lips, and your eyes glaze over as you relax under his touch. you muster a grin, leaning forward so you're only inches away from his face.

"and what if I'm just better than you?"

"I doubt you're a better striker than I am." he bites back.

"you don't know what I'm good at, Jamie Tartt."

"I can't wait to find out, y/n y/l/n."

hours of flirtatious chatter and genuine laughter pass in a blink, and you blush as Jamie taps his hand against the bar after paying for your dinner.

"thanks so much, Mae!" you say with a kind smile. her smile matches yours as she winks at you, not saying anything.

your blush deepens and you feel yourself getting shy as Jamie takes your hand in his before heading through the doors, pulling you outside behind him. he doesn't look back at you, just walks with you in tow. he turns the corner into a small street, out of sight from the last lingering Richmond fans. when he lets go of your hand, you immediately miss the warmth and support it gave you. slightly inebriated, you steady yourself by standing with your back against the brick wall of a shop.

Jamie looks down the street, checking to see if there's anyone around. assuming the coast is clear, he finally turns to face you properly. the street is dimly lit, and his face is cast in dark shadows as he looks down at you. he's stood painfully close to you, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body without him actually touching you.

Jamie's expression is unreadable, but the goofy smile he's had all evening is gone. you can feel the blood pumping through your heart as you look up at him. with your jaw slack, your chest heaves as you breathe heavily. your eyelids flutter into a few blinks in a poor attempt to compose yourself, but his gaze stays focused on yours. you struggle to fight the urge to reach for his hand again, but decide instead to tuck them behind your back in case you do something you may regret.

"y/n," Jamie starts, and he sounds breathless as he speaks your name. you don't respond, just keep your gaze locked on his. he drops his eyes down to your lips briefly, before dragging them up over your face to look you in the eyes again.

he lifts the hand that previously held yours up to your face, carefully running his fingers through the hair around your ear. he touches you as if you're made of porcelain and any slight pressure will break you. he brings his thumb to your cheekbone, grazing it across before bringing it down to your jaw. his fingers slide across your neck as he rests his thumb on your chin, tilting your head up every so slightly before brushing his thumb over your bottom lip softly. his head dips down until he's so close to you that you can feel his breath fan your lips. your breath hitches as you blink at him. the skin he'd touched feels on fire, and your head spins and blurs as he keeps flicking his eyes between yours and your lips. you let your eyes flutter shut, placing one of the hands from behind your back on his arm to steady yourself. alcohol and anticipation rushes through your veins and you can hear your heartbeat throbbing in your ears.

Jamie takes your closed eyes as a sign, finally brushing his lips against yours so softly you feel you may have imagined it. his breathing is heavy as you feel the blow against your skin. your other hand subconsciously lifts, and you hold it against his hard chest. his lips meet yours again, applying a bit more pressure this time. it's more of a peck than a kiss, and it's short and sweet. clearly, he's testing the waters. he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth next, holding it there for a few seconds. the goosebumps that rise on your skin quickly subdue your blush, and suddenly your mind begins to clear. you begin picturing your front desk at Richmond, and Rebecca's smiling face. flashes of Keeley, Ted, and Isaac interrupt your daze as you come to your senses.

flicking your eyes open, you press the hand on Jamie's chest to push him away from you; "Jamie, wait," you breathe, eyes avoiding his by looking down at the ground.

"wh- are you alright? did I do somethin'?" he asks while he shakes his head, confused.

you shake your head too, clutching your hands together and playing awkwardly with your fingers.

"no, Jamie, I'm sorry... I can't do this."

"what?" his confusion is replaced with shock as he takes a step back.

"I practically work for you, Jamie."

"no you don't– what are you on about?"

"Jamie," you say sternly, looking up at him with glossed over eyes, "please don't fight me on this... I don't want to lose my job just because I couldn't keep it in my pants."

rolling his eyes, he lets out a frustrated sigh; "you're not gonna lose your job, y/n. you work for Rebecca, not me. besides... no one has to know."

his insistence causes you to furrow your brows at him, surprised by what he's implying, but certainly not complaining.

smirking up at him, your hand moves to touch his arm; "what? you mean keep it a secret?"

"keep what a secret?" a voice chirps from beside you suddenly, and you let out a shrill yelp as Jamie jumps back in fear.

"what the fuck?!" he shouts, a hand on his chest and the other held out in front of him.

"oh my God! Ted!" you gasp in relief when you see who exactly interrupted you.

"hey guys! how're we doing tonight?" Ted says with a smile, hands in the pockets of his khaki's.

"fuck's sake, Ted! what are you doin' here?" Jamie says, bent over with his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

"I live here... right up there," Ted replies bluntly, pointing to a flat a few doors down from where you were standing.

"right," Jamie says flatly.

"oh, lovely," you breathe, still recovering from your fright.

"I like taking evening strolls to clear my mind, y'know? after our big win today I really just needed some fresh air." Ted explains.

still leaning against the wall, you move your hands behind your back again and smile as you listen to him. you try not to think about Jamie, who's now standing at a more appropriate distance from you. the feeling of his lips ghosts your skin as you lick your lips, desperately trying to rid yourself of the taste of him.

"Jamie let me congratulate you again on the win today. oh, and y/n, thank you for fixing him." Ted smiles politely as he bows forward to both of you.

"cheers, Coach." Jamie replies, voice flat.

"thanks, Ted! it was hard, but Jamie's a softie at heart so he's already forgiven me." you laugh before glancing over at Jamie who was already looking at you. you expected him to look irritated by your teasing, but instead, he bares a soft look you don't quite recognise.

"anyways, I'll let you kids get back to keeping secrets. see you two on Monday!" Ted says with a shit eating grin on his face.

"bye, Coach." Jamie says.

"see you Monday!" you call to Ted as he walks past you towards the park in the distance. with his back to you, he lifts a hand and waves.

you and Jamie watch him walk away, waiting for him to be out of earshot. once Ted's across the road, both of you let out a deep breath, hearty laughs building in your chests.

"Jesus Christ," Jamie sighs heavily, placing a hand on his chest again as he laughs. you laugh too, covering your face with your hands before raking your fingers through your hair. when you lift your head back up, Jamie's staring at you with that look again. you wish you could read his mind and know exactly what he was thinking, but you'll just have to wait until he shows you.

with a deep sigh, you push yourself off the wall, feeling completely sobered up. you dig through your jacket pocket for your phone, ignoring Jamie's stare while you unlock it. you order an Uber home quickly, glad there's one only a two minutes away. pocketing your phone again, you lift your head up to look at Jamie again.

his head turns quickly when you look at him, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously. brushing off his awkward cover, you let him think you didn't notice he was still gawking at you.

"Jamie." you say, stepping towards him. you place a hand on his elbow, sliding it up onto his forearm to pull his hand down from behind his head. your hand slips into his subtly, wrapping your fingers around his.

"y/n." he sighs, squeezing your hand softly.

"thank you for dinner. I'll see you on Monday," you say to him.

"yeah... see you on Monday." he sighs, clearly disappointed at the outcome of your date.

you stand up on your tippy toes, leaning forward until you're face is next to his. you hear his breath hitch in his throat, so you decide to tease him just that little bit more.

letting your lips graze his earlobe, you whisper into his ear: "this isn't rejection."

you quickly peck his cheek before lowering yourself again, dropping his hand. with a small smile, you watch a blush appear on his cheeks.

"goodnight, Jamie." you say confidently before walking around the corner and towards your Uber. clearly stunned into silence, Jamie doesn't say anything as you walk away. he turns around to watch you get into the car, smiling at you. once you're comfortable in the backseat, you look at him through the window with a cheeky grin. you send him a wave, hoping he waves back. but he doesn't – instead, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and sends you a wink.

—

"good morning, y/n." Rebecca's smile is wide as she walks through the door. usually, she would keep walking towards the stairs to go up to her office, but this morning, she stops at your desk.

widening your tired eyes, you look up at her with a suspicious look; "good morning, Rebecca..." you trail off.

"how was your weekend?" she asks, cocking her head to the side, her smile not budging. her face is creeping you out, but you'd rather die than point that out to your boss.

"it was good. how was yours?" you ask politely, scared to blink as she holds eye contact.

"it was lovely... still reeling about our win." she chuckles, lifting her fist and shaking it in feigned excitement.

"me too," you say turning your chair to face your computer again, your head staying still as your body twists, "okay... thank you, Rebecca..."

her smile suddenly drops and she rolls her eyes, moving closer to your desk. in a hushed whisper she says: "okay, spit it out. tell me everything!"

you scoff and chuckle to yourself, turning your chair to face her again.

"Rebecca, I-"

"actually, forget it. come to lunch with me and Keeley later, then you can tell us everything! ha!" she says with a maniacal laugh.

"uhm, yeah! sure- yes... I'd love to!" you sputter, and suddenly you're wide awake.

Rebecca throws you a curt nod in response before strutting towards her office. once the sound of her heels disappears up the stairs, you sigh deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to take a few deep breaths.

you whisper to yourself as you breathe in and out "1... 2... 3... 4..."

"5!" a man shouts to you, causing you to jump in your seat, gripping onto the handles as you look up in shock.

"Higgins! good morning..." you sigh in annoyance, but try to cover it up by throwing him a fake smile.

"good morning, y/n." he nods at you and genuinely smiles at you, completely oblivious to your irritation.

he walks away, and you finally turn to your computer to print another week's worth of sign-in sheets. while placing the papers in their respective clipboard, you imagine seeing Jamie again this morning. suddenly, you get hot and flustered, and you realise that your actions will actually have consequences. it was fun teasing him and all, but having to act professional with him in front of everyone at Richmond isn't going to be as easy or enjoyable.

"hey y/n." Colin says as he walks up to your desk right as you place the clipboard on top of it. he has a big grin on his face, and you can't wait to know why.

"hi Colin! have a good weekend?" you ask with a smirk. you hand him a Richmond-branded pen and watch him sign his name.

"God, y/n, there's just something so special about men isn't there?"

you cackle at him, completely not expecting those words to come out of his mouth.

"what?"

"just... think about that." he says seriously, smile gone from his face, "sit on it, if you will."

you continue to laugh as he turns his back without another word, and you're expression stays bewildered while you watch him walk down the hallway.

"what's so funny?" Isaac asks, brows creased, of course.

"nothing, nothing... how are you, Captain?" you wave a hand in front of your face to cool yourself.

"ecstatic about our win. excited for training." he states frankly, face like stone.

"oh, yeah, I can tell!" you say with a teasing smile. Isaac doesn't respond, or even smile, but he blows a small huff of air out of his nose, which you choose to count as a big loud laugh.

the rest of the team arrives in droves, all of them taking their time to sign in and greet you. every time anyone asks about your weekend, you just shrug and find different ways to congratulate them on their match. clearly, they're all still celebrating their win, and you count your lucky stars no one brings up Jamie. that is, until the coaches show up.

"morning, y/n!" Ted says as Beard takes to signing them both in. normally, Ted stands at a normal distance from your desk – but today, he puts his elbows on top of it and places his head in his hands, looking at you with a grin.

"hey Ted," you smile politely, ignoring his clearly teasing expression.

he quickly raises his eyebrows twice, before saying: "do you, perchance, know where Jamie is this morning?"

"you can't just say perchance, Ted." you shrug at him, rolling your eyes playfully.

"hey, don't change the subject. where's Jamie?" he points a finger gun at you, pretending to threaten you.

putting your hands in the air, you pretend to surrender; "you caught me! I killed him. I couldn't stand the shame of being seen with him in public that I just had to get rid of him. please... forgive me..."

Ted keeps his finger gun pointed at you as you pretend to cry. in the meantime, Beard has finished signing both of them in, and is making his way down the hallway without a word.

"what the fuck?"

you quickly lower your hands, folding them in your lap. Ted, however, keeps the gag going, pointing his fingers at Jamie, who's holding two takeaway coffee cups.

"Mr Tartt! you're late! how will you pay– okay whatever, I'm done." Ted says, giving up the gag midway.

"bye, Ted." you say, smiling at him.

"bye, y/n," he smiles at you before turning to Jamie, "hurry."

"alright, alright," Jamie sighs, moving towards the desk and placing down one of the cups.

instinctively, you reach out a hand to take the coffee and sip it. Jamie doesn't say a word, just signs himself in. you ignore his silence as you lift the cup to your lips, taking a small sip.

"huh?!" you pull the cup away from your mouth as quick as you can, "Jamie?!"

usually, when you take a sip, you taste a delicious, perfectly cooled-down, latte. but today, you taste something bitter and grassy. you look up at Jamie, clearly confused and annoyed. there's a smirk on his face, not a hot one, and as he places the pen down on the desk he says: "green tea. enjoy it, babe."

he shoots you a quick wink before walking down the hallway and disappearing around the corner. you scoff at him, wishing you could call after him. instead, you take a deep breath, and try another sip of your green tea. with a grimace already on your face, you take another sip, before shaking your head when it touches your tastebuds.

"hm- no, no. never again." you say to yourself, standing up and speed walking towards the staff room to make yourself a shitty coffee.

throughout the morning, you make up any excuse to walk past the locker room and training pitch. you start using the printer on the other side of the building, and only go to the bathroom near the pitch which only the players use. you even go out to the small car park to sneak a look at the training pitch, rationalising it by telling yourself you need some fresh air.

you only catch slight glances of Jamie, and most of the time it's from a distance. the effort is definitely distracting you from your work, but as long as you don't leave your desk for more than ten minutes, your absence will go unnoticed.

as the clock nears noon, you wonder if there's time for one last bathroom trip before having lunch with Keeley and Rebecca. sliding out of your chair, you slip out of the desk and speed walk down the hallway. as you turn the corner, you hear the bustle of the Richmond team pouring into the changing room. cursing yourself under your breath, you make it your mission to reach the bathrooms unnoticed. you straighten your posture, keeping your head forward as you pick up your pace. you glide past the locker room, the coaches office, and the gym. you turn the last corner, peering behind you to make sure no one is behind you. starting to sigh in relief, you look in front of you, only to be met with Jamie standing right in front of you. you yelp in surprise, and quickly cover your mouth with your hands as not to attract attention to yourself.

"what are you doing here, y/n? these are our bathrooms." Jamie grumbles in a deep, hushed tone.

you're speechless, and breathless, as you look up at Jamie with big eyes. the fright he gave you is still evident in your panting breaths, and your mind is blank. his eyes flick between yours and your lips, and he turns his body in front of you, making you press your back into the wall. he moves closer to you, placing a hand on the wall right beside your face. you can hear the team in their changing room nearby, and the thought of one of them seeing you and Jamie like this fills you with adrenaline rather than fear.

Jamie leans his face even closer to yours, sliding his lips lightly against your cheek as he dips towards your ear; "I don't think you're supposed to be here, y/n... aren't you meant to be behind your desk?"

goosebumps cover your skin at the feeling of his breath fanning your neck. you fight to keep your breathing steady, but miserably fail when you feel his other hand rest on your waist. he smells like fresh deodorant and heat, and you can trace the scent of his conditioner in his hair. you nod your head, not able to force out any words.

"right, so... if I were to tell Rebecca that you've been leaving your desk all day just to see me... do you think she'll let that slide?" his voice is low and rumbles in your ear, giving you shivers down your spine. you shake your head in response, choosing to stay quiet.

his hand leaves your waist and you almost whine at the loss, and he lifts it up to tuck your hair behind your ear. mirroring the movements from after your date, he runs his fingers along your jaw, touching his thumb to your bottom lip again.

"know your place, y/n. I'll see you later."

your eyes flutter shut at his words and when you open them, his hands are gone from your skin. standing a safe distance away from you, Jamie scoffs and smirks, crossing his arms across his broad chest. clearly proud of himself, he looks your body up and down shamelessly, dragging his eyes over your figure. meeting your gaze again, he winks at you, before disappearing behind the corner.

left standing against the cold wall, you're breathless and feel like you're overheating. you huff out a 'phew' before pushing yourself off the wall. brushing down your shirt, you fix its collar and sleeves, hoping you don't look too disheveled. Jamie barely touched you, and yet you feel like you've just been railed.

you fix your hair and take a deep breath before turning the corner and speeding down the hallway. you manage a few measly greetings to the few people who say hello to you, but focus your energy on getting back to your desk. when you get there, you rush to your chair, feeling as if your legs are about to give out beneath you. you clutch your glass of water and chug it, needing to cool down. you slump back, catching your breath as the cold water settles you, pulling you back from the brink of collapse.

"y/n? lunch time!" Keeley squeals from down the hallway beside you. you know the smile you give her is wonky, and suddenly you can't wait to debrief with her and Rebecca.

—

"you rejected him?!" Keeley shouts at you, almost spitting out her noodles.

"no! that's the point, I didn't reject him. I just left him wanting more," you shrug.

Rebecca and Keeley look at you with shock written all over their faces, even though you look at them with a smile.

"why didn't you just shag him?!" Rebecca exclaims.

you sigh, setting your takeaway box on the coffee table in front of you; "look, girls, if you were there you'd get it,"

"I was there. I get it." Ted adds. he's sitting on a separate chair with a sandwich he brought from home, while you, Keeley, and Rebecca are sitting on her plush couches.

"Ted, I never thought I would say this but, please... tell me more." Rebecca sighs.

"I don't kiss and tell, or – watch an almost-kiss and tell – but what I can tell you, is that y/n has Jamie Tartt wrapped around her little finger."

you blush at Ted's words, and you suddenly feel like a teenage girl again. your thing with Jamie feels like a pining high school crush again where you exchange glances in the hallway and blush at each other in class.

"don't you wanna shag him?" Keeley asks you.

"of course I want to shag him! just... not right now." you say, picking up your food again and taking a bite.

"from the way he was looking at you on Saturday night, I can promise you y/n, he's at your beck and call." Ted assures you.

your brows furrow at his words, and you struggle to decide whether you appreciate his words or feel rather sick with embarrassment at the sound of them; "thanks...?" you drawl.

the three of them look at you with pity written all over their faces; "why are you all looking at me like that?"

"we just want you to get some!" Keeley grunts, humping the air. she always knows how to make you smile.

"we nearly kissed after our date, but all I could think about was you guys,"

"I'm flattered," Keeley says as she flicks her long hair behind her shoulder, and Ted agrees with her.

shrugging them off, you continue: "I just started worrying about us having an inappropriate workplace relationship. I mean, he's technically my boss."

Keeley makes a distasteful face at your explanation, while Rebecca silently blinks at you in utter confusion. Ted raises his eyebrows as he avoids your eyes and takes a bite out of his sandwich.

"is that shade?" Keeley speaks up after a few long seconds.

"huh?" you shake your head.

"are you saying my workplace relationship with Roy is inappropriate?" she laughs, sitting up onto her knees as she grabs onto Rebecca's shoulders.

"yes! and, y/n, are you referring to me and Sam?" Rebecca adds, holding back a burst of laughter.

your face drops at their words, immediately regretting what you said. you hold your hands up in defense, shaking your head quickly; "no! no! not at all! I just- I don't want to lose my job!"

Keeley and Rebecca's laughter is loud and obnoxious, and as you look to Ted for help he just gives you a tight-lipped smile before getting up to leave.

"Ted?"

"good luck," he mouths to you, hurrying out of Rebecca's office. the sound of the door shutting is concealed under the sound of Keeley and Rebecca's boisterous laughter.

"please, guys, come on," you say at a normal volume, but the two don't stop laughing. at this point, Keeley is lying on the couch kicking her legs in the air with laughter. meanwhile, Rebecca is doubled over laughing, clutching her necklace in her hands as she struggles to breathe.

"LADIES!" you shout, loud enough to snap the two of them out of their laughing fit. they chuckle and pant as they catch their breaths, wiping tears from their eyes. you give them their moment to calm down, suddenly feeling extremely shy at the topic of discussion.

"what should I do?" you ask sincerely, cheeks blushing.

"I say you should keep him chasing after you," Rebecca starts.

"yeah, like a hunter and prey situation," Keeley adds.

"what? no, I don't want to be Jamie's prey!"

"no, see, you both take turns in each position. one moment, you tease him and take control, and the next, you act all innocent and naive and let him take control." Rebecca explains.

Keeley nods along as she speaks, continuing from Rebecca's point; "exactly! that will drive him absolutely mad! it's perfect, y/n, you have to mess with him until you physically can't keep your hands off each other."

"aha! I'm so excited!" Rebecca claps and Keeley copies her, both of them squealing like girls.

you smile to yourself, remembering how good it felt to leave him hanging on Saturday, and how deeply you felt your interaction in the hallway before lunch. maybe the two in front of you are right, and maybe it won't hurt to tease Jamie a bit. after all, he's Richmond's star striker, you might as well play with his ego.

"so... you won't fire me?" you ask Rebecca, eyebrows raised.

"not for having a relationship, no. if I catch you having sex on my desk, however, that would be an entirely different conversation." Rebecca's words are serious, even though Keeley giggles beside her.

"understood. thanks, boss." you salute to Rebecca before letting a wide smile cover your face. soon enough, the three of you are squealing in excitement, just like teenage girls.

—

that evening, as all of Richmond signs themselves out for the day, you wait in anticipation to see Jamie stroll towards you. your staff colleagues leave first, always taking the first opportunity to head home. bidding your goodbyes to all of them, you count down the minutes to when the players turn the corner. hearing the familiar noise of their laughter and chatter, you sit up straight with a smile, waiting to see the guys.

"y/n!" Sam exclaims, being the first to lead the pack towards your desk, "how are you?!"

"hiya Sam, I'm great! what about you?"

"ugh, amazing! I'm heading to the restaurant now to host for the evening – we're fully booked!"

"oh woah, Sam, that's incredible! I'm so happy for you! have fun!" you gawk at him, wishing you could give him a hug.

"thank you very much. have a good night, y/n!"

as soon as you wave at Sam, there's a small group of players already pushed up to your desk trying to sign out; Isaac, Colin, Dani, and Jan Maas.

"hi y/n," Dani smiles at you. Colin and Jan bicker amongst themselves as Isaac signs all of them out.

"hey guys! how was training?" you ask them.

"amazing!", Dani says, "I don't know what you did to Jamie but he's on fire!"

you laugh a little at his words, confused by what he means. sure, you riled him up for the match but other than that, what effect have you been having on him on the pitch?

"what do you mean?" you ask with a smile.

"it's true. he's faster, more focused, and puts everything he has on the pitch, even though it's just training. no more half-assed narcissistic shit." Isaac adds.

"he's completely hyped! when he runs towards me during training I fear for my life, but in the dressing room, he's so kind I want to hug him." you laugh at Dani's words.

Isaac gives you a curt nod before walking towards the door, and Dani follows in tow after giving you a wave.

"see you, y/n!" Jan chirps as he leaves behind them. you say bye to him, expecting Colin to leave too, but instead, he leans over your desk.

"Jamie is absolutely smitten with you," he whispers with a serious expression, "he needs you, and the team needs him – keep doing whatever it is you're doing."

your mouth drops open and shut a few times, at a loss for words. all you can muster as you stare at his stern face is a: "thanks? I think,"

"goodnight." he says in a normal voice, tapping the desk before jogging out the door to follow his teammates.

the rest of the team passes you in a haze, your body on autopilot as you say bye to each of them. once the crowd clears, you check the clipboard, noticing Jamie is the only one who hasn't signed out. the staff has gone home, the team has left, and the coaches are all signed out. Rebecca and Higgins are upstairs, so you know your next move will go unnoticed.

you stand up from your chair, quickly brushing your hands down your clothes and fixing your hair to make sure you look presentable. hopping down from the desk, you glance up the stairs to Rebecca's office. her door is closed, so you assume she's busy enough not to come downstairs any time soon. with confidence, you strut down the hallway, mustering up the courage for what you're about to do. shoes hitting the floor in a steady rhythm, you make your way to the team's changing room. as you walk, you take some deep breaths to settle your nerves.

the door to the locker room is closed when you reach it, and as you push it open, Jamie's head snaps up to look at you. he's on his phone, elbows resting on his knees. you slam the door shut behind you, quickly glancing at the coach's office to make sure the two of you are truly alone.

"y/n," Jamie says with a small smile, a glint in his eyes at the sight of you.

you waste no time to walk towards him, stopping right in front of him. you slot yourself between his legs, forcing him to sit up straight and put his phone down. bringing a hand up to his shoulder, you run your fingers over the crook of his neck, moving your hand down across his collarbones before brushing his chest. looking him up and down shamelessly, you are fueled by the look in his eyes. quickly shifting from soft to hungry, his look is lust filled and dark. his hands move up to the back of your thighs, pulling you closer. he runs his fingers down to your calves before dragging them up to just below your ass.

"what happened to not wanting to be inappropriate in the workplace?" he asks, voice sultry as he looks up at you.

"everyone's gone... we're off the clock." you smirk at him, and his hands take place firmly on your ass. he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and you can't help but let your eyes drop down to watch the slick movement.

lifting your hands, you place them both on each side of his neck, using one thumb to pull at his earlobe while the other runs gently over his adam's apple. he swallows nervously, and you feel the movement in his throat beneath your finger. your eyes scan his face, while his are focused on your lips. the cocky smirk has disappeared, and now Jamie looks like putty in your hands. his eyes half-lidded, jaw slack, his breaths are shallow and short as he awaits your next move.

you lick your lips, knowing he's staring at them, and you hear his breath hitch in his throat. the hand previously placed on his throat now moves up the back of his neck. your touch runs over the short hairs at the nape of his neck, and you can feel the goosebumps that arise on his skin at the feeling. you lean forward, and his grip on your ass loosens. lips to his ear, you brush your cheek against his, quietly admiring how soft his skin is.

his breath fans your neck with how close you stand, and you ignore the thrill it gives you. you take a deep breath, making him wait excruciatingly long for what you're going to do. you place a small kiss on the soft skin beside his ear before whispering: "I'll see you tomorrow, Jamie. don't forget to sign out."

quickly standing up straight, you smile innocently at him as you take a step back. his hands lift to reach out for you again, but instead you move away and walk towards the door. without looking back, cockiness fills your stride as you exit the locker room, leaving behind a breathless Jamie Tartt.

———

thank u for reading! i hope u liked this! pls give me any kind of feedback or even ideas for part three, my ask is open!

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #ted lasso #jamie tartt fluff #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt fanfic

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bloodlust-1 · 1 year ago

Note

Would you be okay with writing something with a Tav who is a virgin that is kind of scared of sex but still desires Astarion?

Totally! I imagine Astarion to be completely shocked, but relieved. Why? Tav would never have to experience the sexual abuse he had. Some lovey-dovey Astarion, anyone?

Hope this is good enough anon! <3

˚ ° A purity like yours ° ˚ part 1

Astarion x fem Tav — fluff, Explicit 18+

Summary: Tav has a secret that’s been heavy on her heart. Her virginity was a topic she ran away from, but it’s time for Astarion to know the truth.

Notes: I LOVE making companions in love, it makes me whelm all up inside🥹 Not exactly smut, but talks of explicit topics. Part 2

Tav sat quietly, her eyes focused on the floor as Astarion licked the last of her blood from his lips. Tav was unusually silent and he wasn't sure what was bothering her so much of lately.

He paused and narrowed his eyes, "You're rather quiet this feeding, my sweet. Is something wrong?"

Tav lifted her head slightly and looked up at Astarion. "I'm just...thinking," she said softly.

To Astarion, Tav was always thinking of lately. Especially when he's done feeding from her. He was confused if maybe he had done anything wrong? Was she having any doubts about their relationship?

Astarion brushed Tav's hair away from her eyes and smiled. "About what?"

Tav looked away again, her brows furrowed in concentration. "Just...us, and our intimacy." She shook her head, pushing away the thoughts. "It doesn't matter. I'm alright."

Astarion cupped Tav's face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "It does matter. Tell me, what's wrong?"

Tav sighed. "I feel so...embarrassed." She mustered any courage to finally look at him, her eyes glistening. "I feel like there should be something more to this. W-When you feed from me, I mean."

Astarion tilted his head confused, "You're embarrassed because you want to do something more?"

Admittingly he was blank. But when Tav opened her mouth his eyes widened in - anticipation. Even his ears pointed up with shock.

Tav didn't know which stung more, the fresh punctures on her neck or her confession.

"I just want to make you feel good and I want to have sex with you but-"

Tav bit down on her lower lip, she could feel the heat running into her eyes as her vision became blurry. "I just don't know how...I've never had sex before."

Tav finally allowed the emotions that had been building up inside her to come pouring out. She felt a deep sense of relief, but at the same time, a wave of shame washed over her. She felt embarrassed for even having to ask Astarion for sex, feeling naive and inexperienced.

At the same time, Tav felt so inadequate when it came to physical intimacy; Astarion was the only one who had any sort of skill in that area. And it made her feel so small.

Astarion's expression softened as he realized what Tav had been hiding from him. "...No -...you?"

Tav wiped away the single tear, nodding.

Astarion felt his face burning as his heart raced and his palms grew sweaty. Tav was absolutely stunning and he had been wondering why she had grown so flustered and shy when her body trembled and begged for him. Now it all made sense.

"But..." Astarion cut himself short in the midst of his thoughts, overwhelmed by the magnitude of her offer.

He was taken aback by her beauty, her inexperience, and her willingness to give him something so special, something so treasured and valuable.

But Astarion felt undeserving - he couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew she deserved much better and that her virginity was too precious to give to someone like him.

He chuckled softly and scratched the side of his head, "I am the worst person for this." Meaningful sex? This was completely foreign to him. How could she even ask him that? Of course, he wanted her more than anything.

He leaned over and with the pad of his thumb, he wiped away Tav's damped cheek, "Now, now, little love." His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until she sat on his lap. "You should not feel ashamed of something like this. I mean, look at me."

Astarion's ears lowered in shame as he half smiled, "I can't remember half the people who used my body. I wish I knew a purity like yours." He rested his head on Tav's shoulder, "I'm just relieved you will never feel what I've felt."

Astarion felt protective towards Tav more than ever, he wanted to keep her safe. No harm would come to her as long as he was there to watch over.

Tav threaded her fingers between his white curls, sniffling away the embarrassment, "I want to feel you in every way possible, even if you think you're unworthy." Her lips connected with the skin of his forehead. "You were always special to me, Astarion."

He shifted his head up, catching the glisten in Tav's eyes. She chose him and still continues to each day. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" He scuffed sarcastically before pulling Tav into a kiss.

His hands gently caressed her spine down into her back dimples. Astarion felt Tav shudder under his hold. She started to breathe heavily into the kiss, "I want you to know how much I love you..." Her eyes locked with his.

"Darling, you don't need to prove yourself with your body." The tension around them went soft and he held tightly onto her body, laying them both down against Tav's bedding.

Astarion cuddled Tav closely against his chest in an embrace. "On a perfect night, when the sky is clear and the environment is forgiving, I will take you into me and make you feel things you've never felt before. Ecstasy, my love."

"What if I don't know what to do?" Tav nervously glanced up at Astarion, who was quietly gazing out into the distance while gently stroking her hair. He was trying to be patient and not pressure her into making any decisions.

He wanted to take her under a bed of stars, and tonight he just wanted to hold her in his arms. Shield her from anything like he wished someone did for him. He would be that somebody he needed so long ago.

"I'll teach you, of course." He reassured her softly, still stroking her hair.

"You're not the only one who would be learning something." He peeked down at Tav, a smile tugging on his lips smugly.

"What, how?

Astarion's hands ran down Tav's side. His touch was gentle yet confident as he moved lower and lower. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how beautiful and perfect she was. "I need to learn what gets you hot - "

Astarion smiled slyly as he felt her body react to his touch, knowing that he was driving her wild. His hands moved with a sensual grace as if they had done this many times before. "Where you shiver - "

"Where it hurts - " his hand gripped Tav's ass firmly, making Tav blush and squirm. Astarion continued to fondle Tav's ass, enjoying the feel of it in his hands and the way that the heat from Tav's skin seemed to seep into his own.

He leaned over Tav's ear, whispering teasingly, "Where you would want me to cum. Inside your tight cunt, or outside your soft stomach…"

Tav's body grew hot and her heart raced as Astarion's hand explored her body. She gazed up to look at him, her eyes wide with surprise and pleasure. Astarion smiled and leaned in to kiss Tav, their lips lingering together as he continued to caress Tav's ass. Intertwining their tongues together in a harmonious dance. She felt herself melting into his embrace, her body trembling with pleasure.

After what felt like an eternity, Astarion finally pulled away, and a satisfied smile tugged his lips. Tav blushed deeper, wondering what Astarion was thinking.

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss Tav's cheek. "You're so beautiful," his voice low and husky. Tav felt the aching between her legs, but she smiled, feeling her heart swell with happiness instead.

Sex was a scary thing for Tav. However, Astarion made her feel safe and seen, so maybe it was all in her head. She looked forward to when Astarion would take her as his.

They lay there in each other's arms for a while, their bodies intertwined in a peaceful embrace. Love was more than just sex, and it proved a hell of a point to them both.

Part 2 here

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #bg3 #bg3 fluff #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion #anon ask

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bigboysfalldeep · 8 months ago

Text

complete obedience - cop slave

It's in the middle of the night when Officer Donaldson's shift was about to end. He just called dispatch, and they confirmed him dropping off his partner before heading home himself.

Living in a smaller town, the shift was quite uneventful. Just some teenagers smoking weed in a public area, and a man who refused to leave a restaurant, so they had to remove him.

Stopping at a red light, he let out a low sigh. He was tired; the first day of the night shift always took a toll on him. He wasn't able to sleep much the day before, so all he could think about was jumping right into bed.

Officer Donaldson even saw a doctor a few days earlier, due to his exhaustion. It was helping him, but it would take time, as the doctor told him.

Suddenly, his chest started to vibrate, and his phone alarm went off inside his vest. He heard an unusual sound—low, very rhythmic, and strong—and he didn't even remember setting it.

This caused his chest to tingle, and it spread steadily through his entire chest.

Donaldson took a deep breath and reached for his phone, but he placed a hand on his pecs instead, stroking himself lovingly.

"Mhmmm," he growled, his eyes locking with nothing in particular in the empty streets before him.

The tingling felt so good, he reveled in it, closing his eyes for a second while stroking himself still.

Then, the sound stopped abruptly, and the officer regained his composure. The light had already turned green, and the car was going straight.

He meant to turn left; going straight wasn't the shortest way back home, but something inside him had a different plan.

Even though the alarm stopped a while ago, the tingling remained, making his head hum rhythmically.

His head was heavy and his vision a little blurry, but he kept going, his body maneuvering the streets on autopilot. With one hand still on his chest, he let out a low growl again.

'Where was he going?' He thought, but his doubts were replaced by that blissful happiness, which sparked a tingling inside his belly.

Donaldson stopped at another red light, and his eyes wandered about. He knew the area—not his usual district to patrol—but he has been there a couple of times. Vague images, sounds, and smells invaded his mind, and it felt so good.

Swallowing hard, he noticed the firm bulge forming inside his tight uniform pants. Mindlessly, he began to touch himself, tracing the outlines of his ever-growing shaft with his fingertips.

His eyes rolled back for just a second when the light turned green. The light was so bright, it felt like it was illuminating the entire patrol car.

His body moved on its own again, and he kept driving for another 10 to 15 minutes. He lost all track of time and space, but somehow he knew where he had to go. A location embedded deep inside his mind for moments like these.

The officer didn't even realize he parked the car in front of a big suburban home. He turned the lights off, then the engine, before slowly getting out of the car.

The tingling quickly spread through his chest and into his legs, calves, feet, and toes. Every step felt heavy, causing the tingling to expand even more.

He embraced it and welcomed it, because with it came that beautiful state of blissful obedience. The cop knew he was meant to be here right now, so he slowly walked up toward the front door.

Swaying slightly, he took his time to not fall over. Simultaneously, the tingling flowed into his arms, causing him to let out a low, guttural moan.

Donaldson touched himself, his chest and bulging cock, edging himself on already. His head was spinning, his vision so blurry—it was so dark, no lights, no sounds, just the bright white door in front of him.

The cop stopped, exhausted yet determined. With shaking arms, he knocked on the door. Thats when the tingling turned into numbness, all at once while invading his mind with rapid images, messages, and commands telling him to simply obey.

He winced once before his body turned stiff and rigid.

Then, the door opened, and in the cold, dark night, there was a flowly silhouette, a shapeless form reaching out for him.

"You're finally here, officer," a deep voice echoed through the numbness taking over Donaldson's mind. "Why don't you come in?"

At this point, the officer's eyes rolled back deep inside his head—pure white—before he smiled.

"Thank you, doctor."

Officer Donaldson followed the man through the dimly lit hallways and rooms, straight into the basement.

"Thats enough." The man's voice was rough and agitated.

"Yes, Doctor." The cop said his handsome voice was so dull and empty.

He was still swaying slightly when the man approached him with a sly smirk playing on his lips.

"The conditioning is working well." He said he was starting some sort of examination. The man began to feel the officer's chest firmly. With medical precision and finesse, he touches his patient's chest firmly through his vest.

Donaldson's body reacted right away: his muscles bulged through his clothes, and with every touch, they grew harder.

"Very nice." The doctor smiled, running his hands over his chest, then his shoulders, and along his neck. "That's it, yeah, good boy."

The officer just felt relaxed; his mind was prepared beforehand for this exact moment. He is under this man's control, unable to protest or defend himself.

The doctor then began to caress the cop's cheek, tracing his jawline with his fingertips and enjoying the scruffy beard.

"I like that." He growled and touched himself through his joggers. "So good."

Donaldson's expression twitches from time to time, his mind working overtime, feeling so much pleasure and pressure at the same time. His breathing got more intense, much to the doctors amusement; he placed a hand on the chest, enjoying every deep breath he took.

"Easy, officer." He began to unzip the cop's vest. "We don't want you to collapse just now, do we?"

"Thanks, doctor." Officer Donaldson sighed, but his voice broke when the man touched his chest through his shirt, causing him to moan.

"thats right." The doctor felt the policeman's pecs and stroked his tummy. "Flex for me."

Slowly, yet deliberately, the officer raises both of his arms, his thick, hard muscles on display.

He was wearing a shirt underneath, complimenting his physique perfectly.

"Good boy." The man placed a hand on Donaldson's face, stroking his cheek and tracing his lips with his thumb.

Then, his attention shifted to the cop's arms, the thick, firm biceps bulging more and more with even the slightest touch.

The officer moaned in pleasure as his hands encompassed his entire upper body. Like a test subject, the doctor inspects every inch and every part of his body.

"Thats it. Yeah. So good." The doctor walked around him, hugging him from behind and stroking his chest some more while the cop was still flexing. "Good boy. Let me take this off."

In one sensual movement, he unbuttoned the gun belt and put it on a cupboard next to them.

He then returned to the flexing officer, hugging him tightly.

"You smell so good. So musky, so fine." He groaned, sniffing the officers pits intensely. "Fuck, I'm getting hard." The man rubbed his hardening dick against the cops ass.

He let his hands run down Donaldson's chest, right to his crotch. "Oh, you're enjoying it, aren't you?" The officer moaned once the man grabbed his twitching cock firmly, playing with it through his pants.

"Mhmmm. So big," The man rocked back and forth slightly, licking his lips while holding the young cop close to him, not wanting to let go.

He felt the officers chest again, relishing in his body heat radiating through his clothes, and how easy it was, to play with him and his mind.

"Time for your reward." He growled deeply into Donaldson's ear, who started to drool heavily. "But first. Get on your knees."

"Yes Doctor." He said, his voice empty and dull, as he got on his knees.

The man walked around him, enjoying the sight of this young, handsome cop on his knees in front of him.

Touching himself, he put his crotch right in front of the officer's face. He then pulls his joggers down, exposing a thick, throbbing cock, already leaking pre-cum.

"Suck." He snapped his fingers, and without any hesitation, Donaldson leaned in, taking the entire cock in his mouth at once.

It felt amazing, like the guy had definitely sucked someone off before. His tongue hit every right spot immediately, while he moved his head rhythmically.

"Fuck, good boy." He ran a hand through the cop's hair, causing him to look up with glassy, vacant eyes. "Good boy."

Donaldson's eyes rolled back slowly as muffled moans escaped his lips. Then, the man pushed his cock deeper into the cop's mouth, causing him to gag heavily.

"So good. Such a well-trained boy."

Getting closer to the edge, he grabbed the officer's hair and pulled him back, just in time for the tip of his cock to erupt, spitting the hot cum right into his face.

But that wasn't enough; he started to jerk off, shooting multiple more loads against the cop's face and upper chest, staining his uniform.

"Yeah, that feels good."

Donaldson took it all—he sat there, face and chest covered in cum, while he drooled, his entire body tingling and feeling numb.

The doctor enjoyed this so much; he kept stroking his wet dick, but he was running dry. With one hand, he pulled his pants back up.

"Get up, boy."

The officer got up slowly, groaning and moaning as he did. His eyes were unfocused and empty, yet so pretty. He kept looking around, searching for nothing in particular.

"Good boy. Such a good pup." The doctor patted his cheek and chest again and again. Praising his toy happily. He was satisfied with him for today, and Donaldson was about to receive a reward.

The officer was conditoned to get hard, but not cum, unless he got permission. His mind was empty; all he could think about was cumming.

Donaldson was edging himself on for the entire time; his cock was twitching, pulsating, and tingling rhythmically. But not a single drop left its tip.

The doctor placed a hand on the cop's shoulder, who reacted right away; his eyes rolled back slightly, awaiting commands.

"That's it, good boy. Do as I tell you." He stroked the officer's chest again before slowly unbuttoning the shirt stained with sweat and cum.

One button at a time, revealing a well-toned chest. The man licked his lips at the sight, but he needed to finish this part of the conditioning.

"Officer, you did well today, and you shall get your reward." He leaned in, whispering into the man's ear.

"Now, cum for me. Let all of it go. Stain your pretty uniform with your cum, your sweat, and keep drooling."

With a long moan, Donaldson complied. His entire body twitched as he shot massive loads into his pants. His eyes were pure white, his voice was husky, and there was so much cum that it was pressing through the fabric of the uniform.

"Good boy, such a good boy." The doctor kept stroking him, encouraging him to let go and cum more and more.

Once he was running dry, the doctor pressed a finger on Donaldson's forehead.

"Now sleep."

With an even deeper moan, the officer slumped into the man's arms.

"Thats it. Yeah."

Lovingly, the man embraced the sweaty, sticky mess of an officer, and he started to stroke all of him again.

"Listen to me, officer. You won't mind your stained uniform; you won't mind the smell. You won't remember anything that happened; just the conditioning will remain hidden deep inside your brain. Do you understand?"

Donaldson drooled heavily.

"Yes doctor."

"Good boy. Keep the alarm set for next week as well. And when you wake up, it will be like nothing happened. Understood?"

Donaldson enjoyed this tight embrace, leaning into this guy's arms fully.

"Yes doctor."

With a snap of his fingers, Officer Donaldson's vision went dark before he found himself back inside his patrol car, standing at a red light.

Blinking a few times, he ran a hand to his wet, sticky crotch, touching his dick lovingly.

Mindlessly, he drooled slightly when the light turned green.

With that, he headed home.

#male hypno #tf story #Male tf #gay hypnosis #gay hypno #gay mind control #Cop slave #cop hypno #male hypnosis #hypno slave

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akirasarchives · 26 days ago

Text

[01] Valuable Addition.

Summary: Time is not on your side.

— warnings: usual squid game shit, platonic! x reader

[ ???, ???, ??? ]

Flurries of green and white cloud your vision. Something loud is blaring, a cheerful tune but your hearing is still impaired from your deep sleep. Your head is spinning, your throat is dry, your vision is blurry and there’s so much motion and flashes of lights happening around you.

A whine passes through your dry lips. You’ve never felt so…sore? Your body feels as if it’s being held down by sandbags and your limbs flop around as if they’re not within your control.

Finally, your eyes focus a bit more and you can make out a draped white sheet above you. Well, about 30 feet above you. It resembles a circus tent, which doesn’t help your confusion. As you flip your head to the right and left, you catch eyes equally as discombobulated people.

It takes a while but you’re eventually able to pull yourself up to a sitting position. The familiar tingle of pins and needles dancing throughout your legs alerts you to how long you must’ve been passed out. The last thing you remember is going to the address the card said in an attempt to knock some sense into Junhee, but you must’ve been knocked out instead.

Junhee! Please tell me that stupid woman isn’t here…

“What the fuck…” The words fall from your lips effortlessly. There has to easily be over 200 people stacked into this room, scrambling, yelling, shoving and crying. Everyone including yourself has been changed into green and white uniforms with numbers visually printed onto the breast area and back.

You tug your shirt, noticing the blocky 183 written across the top.

Who changed me? Did I change me? I feel sick.

To your left, the person beside you attempts to pull themselves from their bed, but swears as they bump their shin against the railing of the bed under them.

“Where are we?” The voice beside you asks, prompting you to turn. You meet the wide eyes of a taller woman with a short bob cut. Despite the deep voice that emerges from the body, her feminine appearance and mannerisms aid you in recognising her as a transgender woman. It’s quite a rare sight to see in South Korea.

She looks so…fearful, but more so of your reaction. The way she looks at you with wide eyes and a timorous expression sends a pang of empathy to your heart.

“Um,” You pause to clear your dry throat, “I’m not sure…” You look back to the centre of the room. She follows your gaze, gasping in awe at the crowd of people below. There’s still a number of people situated in the beds.

How many people are here? Are we all here by force?

Suddenly, the walls catch your gaze. Is this meant to look like a nursery? The pale blue walls, sanded floors, tent like roof and children’s song blaring over the speakers finally pull together in your mind. What sort of sick joke is this? Did the businessman really send you here or was this another kidnapping ring?

The figure beside you seems to mull over whether she wants to join the crowd or not. You look back to your left, watching her curiously. Usually, you’re not to socialable but the situation you’re in isn’t usual itself.

I need to make a friend here. Maybe she could help me figure out what’s going on. She needs someone on her side too…

“I’m [y/n].” You shift, holding your hand out. She blinks, looking between your hand and your face. Maybe she’s looking for sincerity, you don’t imagine she comes across much.

Slowly, her hand slots into yours. You shake, smiling softly as you take in the feeling of calluses on the palm of her hand. She worked a hard job.

“Hyunju.” She smiles back, “Cho Hyunju.”

You nod, taking your hand back. She fiddles with her hair nervously, tucking it behind her ear and smoothing it down.

“Let's go see what’s happening.”

[ TUESDAY, 3RD, 11:31 ]

”One small jjajangmyeon and an iced coffee, please.” You smile at the older lady behind the counter. Today, you’re planning on reporting the suited freak and finding Junhee before she goes to the location stated on the card given by the businessman. However, you decided to stop by one of the corner restaurants before going to the police as you imagine you’ll be there for a while.

A loud table of men dressed in all black take up the corner of the shop. They all seem to be on a team lunch as they spot similar wear. Your eyes drift to the table as you examine the multiple plates of side dishes and stacks of beer cans. Internally, you roll your eyes. The usual.

“Of course! Is that all…” The lady buzzes, trailing off mid sentence as she notices the bruise splattered across your right cheek. You fidget, glancing downward as you know she’s spotted the print painted on your face. He had slapped you so damn hard you could make out where his palm stopped and his fingers started.

You pass her the money, thanking her with a tight lipped smile. You don’t quite fancy answering her questions seeing as you don’t even know where to start. She seems a bit flustered, ringing in your money and handing you your change back with a frantic expression. She fumbles with her words, croaking silently as you walk towards the table furthest from the group.

What do I even say to the police? I agreed to play ddakji with this man and I agreed to let him slap me? Will that throw the whole case away?

Suddenly, a golden bowl is set in front of you. The familiar sight of the deep brown and black paste covering succulent noodles brings a watering sensation to your mouth. You haven’t eaten since midday yesterday, too rattled by the altercation from last night to even stomach the thought of food.

“Thank you, ma’am.” You smile, taking the chopsticks from her hand. She nods, casting you a look of worry.

“Are you okay, Dear?” She queries as a worried line takes place between her brow. It looks so natural and you could almost laugh as it seems the expression is one she does often. However, you nod, assuring her.

“I’m fine.”

“Really, Miss, the mark on you—“

“It was an accident, really—“

“Did your boyfriend do this to you?”

“No! God no—“

“These men here are detectives! Tell them!” She waves her hand towards the table. You glance over her shoulder, meeting the eyes of one of the men. His taller frame allows him to see over the heads of the other men there, but his striking complexion makes you waver. It’s almost as if he had watched the interaction between you and the elderly owner.

“No, ma’am, thank you. I really just want to eat.” You plead, pulling her sleeve. She snaps back to you and examines your face.

Is she crazy? God… why did I have to eat at this place? What was a few more hours without food!

You don’t know how long you stare at her, but it’s long enough for a figure to emerge over her short body. You peer, meeting the same gaze.

Fuck sake.

“Are you okay Miss?” He asks, nodding his head at your face. You’re at a loss for words. All you wanted was some lunch…

“Yes! Do you see the hand mark on her cheek? Oh the poor thing, please tell him what happened!” The lady worries, glancing between you and the detective “Oh! Please let me give you a refund, this must be so scary for you.”

You splutter “No!” Cringing at how loudly you exclaim as the heads from the table behind you turn simultaneously. You wish you could melt into the ground at that moment.

If the ground could open up and swallow you — it better happen now.

“Please I just… I was going to the police anyway…” You mumble, looking at the elderly woman. She cooes, placing a hand on your shoulder. You look back at the man, blinking slowly.

“I… I played ddakji with some businessman last night. He told me if I lose, I’d pay with my body. So, he slapped me.” You admit, looking at the stranger completely defeated. The lady beside you hums, allowing you to continue “I only played because he gave me one hundred thousand won each round… He played my friend too.”

Though, instead of meeting the reaction you expected — something like, “Too bad, you agreed.” Or “Can’t do much kid, sorry.” He almost sighs with relief. You quick a brow, changing your defeated look for a confused frown.

“Miss, I know who you’re talking about.”

[ DAY ONE, ???, DAY ]

Play games to win cash? Maybe the psycho who slapped you wasn’t lying, though the sight of a massive fucking doll and two men standing in pink suits by her wasn’t so comforting. You glance at Hyunju who you had quickly taken a liking to. She was equally as terrified as you but put on a brave face, courageously asking questions when you were back in the bedded room. You both agreed that you needed someone here you could rely on, promising that you would watch each others backs despite barely knowing one another.

“They have guns!” You whisper, pointing at the pink guards. You notice how the circular guards are unarmed, whereas the triangular ones are. Hyunju nods, casting you a perturbed glance. You watch as she wrings her hands, the same thing she did as she shouted out to them moments earlier.

“[y/n]… What are they going to make us do?” She asks and although it’s mostly rhetoric, you mumble a faint ‘I don’t know’. They’re playing a montage of the people here all being slapped after a game of ddakji with the same asshole who gave you a shiner. It tingles as you watch it.

“Player 183, [l/n] [y/n].” The video of you being cornered against the brick wall plays. You look absolutely horrified, blinking erratically as a hand comes into frame and strokes your cheek. Suddenly, it cuts to you struggling within the painful hold on your chin, then, it plays.

He slaps you so damn hard the camera cuts most of your face out due to the sheer force behind it. The squeal you let out feels like it ricochets off of the walls around you and you watch as you crumple before your own eyes. You look so… pathetic.

“Oh.” Hyunju gasps, using a hand to cover her mouth. Each clip before your own was short and often played the slap before moving on. Why did yours last so long? The curious gaze of those around you burns holes into your skull as you look down in shame. Your bruise feels like it’s on fire, similar to how your blistered hand felt. You’re absolutely horrified.

“Stay close.” Hyunju mumbles as she gets shoved around by those passing by her. You nod, though you keep your eyes peeled. Junhee was on the big screen but you haven’t been able to spot her in the crowd of people. It doesn’t help that she’s small and has a basic hair colour, if only she stood out the way the idiot with purple hair did. At least you have a visual warning to keep away from him.

Even the most toxic plants have the brightest colours.

“Game is Red Light, Green Light. Pass to the other side within the time limit.” A masculine voice breaks through the buzzing chatter of the crowd. A unanimous sound of confusion emits while people whip their heads around to look at each other as if to ask, 'did I hear that right?’

Slowly, you fall behind the two rows of people in front of you. As you looked around you could make out square boxes along the walls of the enclosure. It was painted with the same pale blue paint, alongside whispers of clouds. You gaze up, catching the sight of a bird flying past. A seagull.

Are we near the sea?

The doll begins to sing the song you heard many times in your childhood. You watch as the people in front of you stutter to move, unsure of what to do. You shuffle behind the other players, glancing as Hyunju. She looks just as baffled as you are.

As the song comes to a close, you stop.

Are we seriously playing this?

As silly as you want to think this whole ordeal is, you don’t dare to move your head. The dolls eyes spin, darting between the players. It looks demonic and as if she’s possessed. A player number is called, followed by eliminated.

A sharp bang makes your shoulders shake. It’s followed by a few more shrill screams and other shots as people attempt to run back to the green doors you had just entered from. You couldn’t see at first, but the bodies of the past players flop on the ground around you as they attempted to break through the crowd.

“mugunghwa…”

The crowd begins moving again as the doll begins her song, but you’re stuck in place. Your mind screams at you — “Don’t look!” — but you can’t help as you whip your head around.

Blood seeps into the yellow sand, creating a halo around the head of the crumpled bodies. You gasp, an undeniable feeling of dread creeping throughout your body. Your feet twitch as adrenaline pumps throughout your veins. You don’t know what to do, whether to run or freeze.

“C’mon!” A hand grabs your wrist, pulling you across the sandy field. A shaky exhale passes your lips as you turn around, comforted by the sight of Hyunju’s hair.

“..:kkochi pioet sumnida!”

Hyunju’s hand remains firmly on your wrist. You pause, trying to control your breathing. A sole man stands before the crowd with an arm behind his back.

“The doll is a motion sensor! It can only detect movements physical to it!” He yells, proving his point by moving his hand that was placed behind his back. Despite his yelling, his voice sounds like it’s muffled by water as your blood pumps anxiously throughout your body.

He continues “Do not move when she stops singing!”

Eventually, the clock ticks down to two minutes. The finish line is only a few steps away from you and your heart pounds in anticipation. So many bodies had fell before you and your shoes were stained with the blood of the victims. The sight makes you feel ill as it serves as a sickly reminder for the consequences of not listening to the game rules.

I can see that sick bastards smug face right now.

“Mugunghwa…”

Hyunju practically catapults you across the line, ensuring you’ve passed it in front of her. Your knees almost buckle beneath you as you’ve visually made it to the safe zone. You splutter as you quick up a bit of sand from your heavy steps, heaving as you push the sand away from your nose and mouth.

A relieved sigh escapes through your dry lips. Hyunju had really saved you back there. If the situation wasn’t so fucked you’d pat yourself on the back for taking the initiative to befriend her in the first room.

“Hyunju?” You whisper, not seeing the woman. Almost everyone had passed the finish line, bar a few people.

Is that…

“Hyunju!” You exclaim, not caring about the agitated looks from the survivors. She’s helping the yelling man from earlier pull an injured contestant across the sand.

You turn to the clock. 40 seconds and she’s quite far from the line. Your feet twitch as you mull over your options. The trio isn’t too far from the line and anyone with full mobility would make it in less than 10, but the sight of Hyunju lugging a man who was definitely twice her body weight. The sweaty man on the other side of the dead-weight didn’t seem to help.

Do I help? Fuck, what if I don’t make it back on time? What if Hyunju doesn’t make it back in time? Do I want to re-enter the game? Why am I such a pussy…

You glance back at the clock as you anxiously pick at your lip. The familiar copper taste tingles at the tip of your tongue, grounding you in your reality.

10 seconds.

You move to step forward, but Hyunju shoots you a daggered glare. Pausing, you look at the other players. People are toppled over, some crying with relief or fear and others look empty.

Not a single one of these assholes is going to help?

“Quick Hyunju!” You reach your hands over the line, motioning her to take your hand. An evident bead of sweat soaks through her fringe, causing it to stick against her forehead uncomfortably. She groans, pushing the injured man over the red line as she flops down on the ground before you.

You glance to the clock.

00:01…00:00

[ DAY ONE, ???, AFTERNOON ]

The sounds of shoes clapping together fills the silent void between you and Hyunju. You cringe, staring at the thick clobs of blood stained sand that refuse to budge from your new shoes. The liquid acted as a cement, requiring you to rub the shoes together to get rid of the evidence.

“Let me do your shoes.” You motion to Hyunju’s feet as you set your shoes to the side. For the past thirty minutes she has been sitting with a vacant expression on her face. If you hadn’t witnessed the same sights as her you would be quite freaked out by her perfect posture and empty face.

“Hey. Hyunju you helped—“

“He died.” She states. You pause, leaning back up from your position. You exhale. You’re not the best at comparing people, everyone knows that. You’re the type to plaster a smile on your face, have a cry at home then stick your best happy face on again.

“He was eliminated before you helped him over the finish line, Hyunju.” You try to reason. Her wet orbs flicked over to you as she examines your face.

Probably could’ve worded that better.

You wince, “What I’m trying to say… You tried, Hyunju. You saved that man, Gihun. He’s alive and if you didn’t go out and help him he would’ve died too. It’s bad to say but the other guy was a lost cause as soon as he was eliminated.”

I should just stop talking.

Hyunju remains still, mulling over your words. Her silence in unbearable to stand so you turn your attention to the centre of the room. Despite the deaths of those in the game, there is still a large number of people gathered in the centre.

You sigh, trying to shake the images of the dead bodies. The cuffs of your joggers are freckled with brown splatters of blood and the sight makes you feel ill. With a deep swallow, you try to calm the anxiousness that builds in your stomach.

Suddenly, a soft giggle breaks the silence. You glance over, scanning Hyunju’s face. Her previously void face is now branded with a soft smile. Her eyes glimmer with a sort of fondness which quells the anxiety brewing in your stomach.

“You’re so bad at comforting people, [y/n].”

masterlist

#gong yoo x reader #squid game x reader #kang dae ho x reader #squid game fluff #squid game series #squid game smut #dae ho x reader #squid game fanfic #jun ho x reader #kang daeho x reader #squid game

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igotanidea · 8 months ago

Text

Smooth criminal: AK!Jason x reader

part 1 : Somebody's watching me

part 2: Run baby, run

Yeah... I know it's been a while. Sorry guys. But here we are :)

***

They say that history repeats itself. That’s its merely a one big circle in which people get lost endlessly, not learning from the past mistakes, instead doing them all over again.

Like an Uroboros, forevermore biting his tail.

And that was how Y/N felt at the moment, shaking over the cup of tea Dick so generously offered her alongside with his hoodie. And even more kindly – not asking any questions of why she showed up at his apartment (or rather under it) in the middle of the night looking crazy.

She was back at the beginning. Back over Jason’s grave, sobbing and shaking while the memories of the news of him being gone forever haunted her mind.

Felt like all her efforts to forget and move on have come to nothing.

“Y/N…”

“No. No please I don’t want to talk Dick-“

“I was just gonna say you can stay here for as long as you like. I don’t know what got you so freaked out, but the Y/N I know – knew – was not the one to get scared over a spider or a mouse. So it must have been serious. Stay.” He grabbed and squeezed her hands reassuringly. “I’m serious.”

“No, no it’s too much to ask for—”

“Good thing you did not ask then.” Dick grinned “Cause I believe I offered It myself.”

“You really didn’t change a bit, Grayson. Same golden, sunshine boy.”

“And you’re still the same, not holding back girl. Woman. How long has it been exactly?”

“Two years.” She sighed

“Two years.” Dick sighed too, his eyes becoming a little blurry from the memories. “I missed you, you know. And not only me. So did Tim and Alfred and Damian and I’m sure even Bruce became a little more grumpy without your presence to challenge him.”

“He’s got enough criminals to keep him entertained I believe?”

“Oh, Y/N, criminals he can handle easily, they are no fun. But having a woman with a sharp mind? That’s something Bruce still needs a lot of training in.”

***

It was shockingly easy to reconnect with Dick.

Or maybe not, given the fact he was always awfully friendly, keeping in touch even with his exes and even having considerably good relations with some villains.

Long story short, in a months’ time she was regularly back in his life and he was back in hers. And much to her surprise, this time it was not a constant reminder of the person she lost, neither filling the void, but rather a soft recollection that she was not the only one who felt the repercussions of Jason being gone.

If anything, after that time apart, it felt like Y/N and Dick’s relationship could finally move past the tragic events and bloom. Not in a romantic sense, because he had Barbara and was making plans in that area, but like a true, deep friendship, cemented with similar feelings.

And she even got the guts to meet with the rest of the batfamily, ditching those girls who left her alone at the party. Slowly, but steadily, she was getting back to her old, familiar self, dropping the act of a girl who wanted to be anything but the version she was when Jason was alive and with her. She was not running from the past anymore, but rather embracing and accepting it. And that was the real healing.

Only that Jason was not gone.

Observing her carefully from the shadows, watching almost every step, be it himself or using his militia. With explicit orders given to not let her know they were there. He had bigger plans coming, and making the same mistake as before, by coming as close as to touch her, could never happen again. Even if somewhere deep inside, the very subdued part of him screamed for that. For the warmth he remembered and knew would come with tenderness and not pain.

She never gave him anything less but love and devotion.

If anything Jason was only cursing himself that he let her step into the Batman world again. That is was his reckless behavior that drove her back into the arms of people, who were nothing but bad news. Who would eventually end up hurting her too.

And he was going to protect his little, innocent princess from that.

So yes, he was watching.

Sending his goons when he knew she was walking back home from work late, to ensure no one would lay a finger on her.

Causing a commotion in the area that happened to be dangerous only so she would choose another way.

Sending her colleagues threat letters so they would drop the chase for the same promotion at work as her.

Beating up a guy who was trying to flirt with her when she was buying coffee-to-go at her favorite place.

Doing it all smoothly, like a professional he was.

Building up a way to execute his master plan that would keep her safe from any danger, real or hypothetical. Forever.

***

“She got home, boss. Safe and sound, not one hair out of place.” One of his militia officers reported to him

“Good.” Jason only grunted in response. One whole month and he was so close to the finale. The end was right in front of him and he had to hold himself back to not make a single rookie mistake that would derail his efforts.

“If I may, sir, why exactly are we wasting resources on some woman? She’s no one important, just a regular—”

“What did you say?”

If the sinister voice wasn’t enough to make the man stop his sentence, the iron grip on his throat did.

“I- I-“

“No one important? Huh? Was that what you said?” Jason mocked tightening fingers on the man's jugular. “Answer me!”

“I- I-“ he was struggling for air.

“Pathetic!” Jason threw him on the ground, retrieving the gun from his holster, pointing it at the man’s head.

“Please, don’t—”

“I should put a bullet in your head for talking about her like that and second one for questioning my plans.” The gun outlet was now pressing into the man’s temple. “You are doing what I tell you, you hear me? No questions. No doubts. You are here to serve me, unless-“ Jason put a little bit of pressure on the trigger.

“No! No please!”

“You’re a piece of shit.” Arkham Knight muttered, taking the gun away. “But I am feeling merciful today. We can’t have blood on the floor when Y/N arrives. Now go! Get out of my face before I change my mind! And you make sure everything is perfect because if not—” he caressed the arms with a cruel glint in his eyes, enjoying the way his officer rushed out of the room, throwing commands left and right, halfway out the door.

“Soon, baby… Soon we’ll be back together…” Jason muttered to himself once he was finally alone.

He was so close to having everything he needed.

@vaniasagitaa @gone-batty-fics @astrelz @not-herexo @deans-spinster-witch @calicocat45 @princessbl0ss0m @rosieandthethorns @beingaturtlespiritually @grierpilots @killerwendigo @teenytinytunes

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #arkham knight x reader #jason todd x you #arkham knight x you #jason todd angst #arkham knight jason todd #dc

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sturn777 · 1 month ago

Note

maybe write smth ab like a slightly perv dealer!chris ?

captured — in which, dealer!chris can't take his eyes off you | ( female reader ) wc 1.8k + ( masterlist ) + ( request )

THE NYC SUBWAY HUMS WITH CHAOS, flickering lights, the screech of metal, and a rush of wind as trains pull in. the air is heavy with sweat, concrete, and city grime. commuters clutch phones and bags, avoiding eye contact, while performers play for spare change. the train lurches forward, bodies swaying, conversations blending into the hum of a city that never stops moving.

you step onto the subway like you own it, chin high, eyes scanning the area. the last seat sits there, empty, a throne waiting. your sleek nails tap against your phone as you glide past tired commuters, their gazes flicking up, curious, annoyed, or admiring. you take the seat without hesitation, crossing your legs and adjusting your perfectly draped fur coat. earbuds in, eyes half-lidded, you ignore the world around you like it’s background noise, the subway your stage.

you pull out your digital camera, its glossy surface catching the flickering subway light. flipping it on, you scroll through the pictures from this night, chaotic flashes of you and your girls, red lips and glitter, arms draped around each other, drinks in hand. a blurry shot of someone laughing too hard, another of you mid-pose with a cheeky smirk. you grin to yourself, biting your lip, replaying the wild moments. a few passengers glance your way, curious about the girl in the subway seat.

a couple feet away, chris leans against the subway pole, thumb lazily scrolling his phone. the dim light catches on the chain around his neck, the edges of his hoodie pulled up just enough to show off the ink peeking from his wrist. he’s not paying attention to the notifications, just a front for the fact his eyes keep drifting to you.

you're in your seat, camera in hand, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you scroll through pictures. the way your hair falls over your shoulder, the glint in your eye as you linger on a particular shot, he can’t help it. you’ve got that effortless energy, the kind that makes people stop and look twice.

his jaw tightens slightly, amusement playing at his lips as he notices the way you’re oblivious to the way he’s watching. it’s annoying how easily you’ve got his attention, but he’s not about to stop looking. not yet.

chris mutters a low "fuckin' hell" under his breath, barely audible over the clatter of the subway. he forces his eyes back to his phone, trying to focus on anything else, but it’s useless. the way you’re biting your lip while scrolling through your photos, the effortless way your legs cross, the curve of your smirk, it’s burned into his brain.

he shifts uncomfortably, adjusting himself subtly as he feels the growing tension in his sweats. his jaw clenches, frustration bubbling under his skin. but even as he stares at his screen, his focus is gone. his mind keeps drifting back to you, and the thought only makes his blood run hotter.

you feel his eyes before you see them, that distinct weight of someone staring. when your gaze flicks up, your suspicions are confirmed—he’s looking right at you, blue eyes sharp and almost lazy at the same time. without missing a beat, you narrow your eyes in a pointed glare, silently telling him to mind his business. it’s bratty and deliberate, the kind of look that says you know exactly what you’re doing.

his lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a smirk, but he doesn’t back down. he holds your stare for a moment longer before finally looking away, shaking his head with a low exhale, like you’re some kind of test he’s barely passing.

you huff softly, rolling your eyes as you return your attention to your camera, scrolling through the pictures of you and your friends. your finger pauses over a photo, a sly grin creeping onto your lips as you remember the night’s chaos. still, you can feel his gaze flicker back to you occasionally, like he just can’t help himself.

the subway jerks to a halt, and you stand, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as the robotic voice announces your stop. you move quickly, weaving past people, your heels clicking against the grimy floor. chris watches every step, his eyes glued to the way you move, until you’re out the doors and swallowed by the rush of the platform crowd.

he exhales sharply, about to glance back at his phone, when something catches his eye. there, on the seat where you were, is your camera.

“shit,” he mutters, grabbing it before his brain can catch up. his eyes dart to the platform, but the train doors are already sliding shut with that final, unforgiving hiss.

“miss, y’forgot your—” the words are swallowed by the train’s lurch forward.

he sighs, slumping back against the pole, the camera heavy in his hand. his thumb brushes against the worn leather strap, and his eyes flick to the empty seat where you’d been. something tugs at him, the kind of feeling he’s not used to, and he shakes his head, muttering to himself.

“fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t let go of the camera.

the train ride home is quieter than usual, but his mind isn’t. the camera sits heavy in his lap, its weight dragging his attention no matter how much he tries to ignore it. his fingers run over the edges, brushing the buttons and the viewfinder, but he doesn’t dare turn it on. instead, he shoves it in his bag with a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the window.

when he gets home, he drops it on the bedside table like it’s burning a hole through his hands. his room feels unusually silent, the camera standing out against the clutter of ashtrays, loose cash, and rolling papers.

chris flops onto the bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone, but it’s no use. every few seconds, his gaze darts to the camera, the glossy screen catching the soft glow of his bedside lamp.

he frowns, biting the inside of his cheek as curiosity scratches at him. “fuckin’ thing,” he mutters to himself, tossing his phone onto the pillow beside him. his hand hovers over the camera, hesitating, before he finally grabs it, turning it over in his hands.

he clicks it on, the screen flickering to life. the first image that pops up is a shot of you, laughing with your friends, the city skyline blurred in the background. his thumb freezes over the button, and he stares.

“shit…” he breathes out, leaning back against the headboard, the glow of the camera lighting up his face.

chris groans softly, the irritation in his voice mingling with something else he refuses to name. "fuckin’ ridiculous," he mutters, shaking his head as his thumb flicks through the photos. each one feels like a punch to the gut—your lips curved in a sly smile, the gleam of your eyes, the way the streetlights framed your silhouette.

he shifts uncomfortably, his free hand trailing over his chest before sliding lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. "shit," he hisses, head falling back against the headboard.

his fingers pause for a moment, and he glares at the camera like it’s the problem. but his hand moves anyway, slow and deliberate, the images of you burned into his mind as his frustration finds a new outlet.

"damn you," he mutters under his breath, his grip tightening as his chest rises and falls with ragged breaths. the room feels hotter, quieter, the sound of his breathing filling the space as the screen dims, but your face lingers, unshakable.

🏷 : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @flouqissss ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu ; @mattsstarlet ; @madisturni ; @marrykisskilled ; @allmylovc ; @mattsdemi ; @sturnioloangell ; @scream6fanxx ; @amelia-sturniolo3 ; @dominicfikeenthusiast ; @sophand4n4 )

divider : @issysh3ll

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leclsrc · 1 year ago

Text

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff

word count: 13.1k

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily.

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back.

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course.

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room.

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind.

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.”

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip.

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated.

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.”

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.”

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?”

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing.

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So.

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers.

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging.

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused.

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?”

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft.

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them.

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans.

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused.

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything.

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway.

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.”

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go.

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him.

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.”

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one.

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly.

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake.

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it.

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.”

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says.

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.”

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him.

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes.

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

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