#someone take this laptop away from me i need to be stopped

[goldfades]

“letting them collapse against your chest the second they make it through the door after a hellish day” / “it’s just me now. you don’t have to pretend anymore- just let me take care of you.” / “you always take such good care of me. i’m never not going to jump at the opportunity to return the favour.” — with paige 🥺 (my heart is broken after finding out she’s in concussion protocol 😭)

me too, im praying for a speedy recovery if it is a concussion :( here's a soft fic just for you<3

warnings: hurt to comfort, uconn paige

i feel like this is lowkey word vomit, i was typing it on a diff keyboard i wasnt used to LOL, but lmk what u think

It’s not that Paige ever let the whole world in, just that she was so good at making people think she had. Charismatic, warm, unshakably confident in that quietly magnetic way that pulled cameras and teammates and little girls with Sharpies straight into her orbit. She smiled when she was supposed to, answered every question like it hadn’t already been asked six hundred times. She made twenty-point games look casual. She made pain look invisible.

You knew better.

There were cracks. Not obvious ones. Paige didn’t crack like that, she didn’t shatter under pressure, she tightened. You saw it in the way she walked a little faster on days when she was trying not to think, in the way she curled her fingers into fists at her sides when the pain flared back up in her knee and she didn’t want anyone to notice. You could hear it when she texted you short and late: Still at the gym. Almost done, even when she wasn’t. You’d stopped asking if she was okay. Not because you didn’t care but because she was too good at saying yes.

She was relentless. Every time someone said she’d peaked, she answered with another performance they’d play on loop at camps for years. Every time they whispered about injuries or burnout or lost time, she made herself sharper, stronger, scarier. She’d come back to UConn like a ghost refusing to stay dead and picked up right where she left off: leading, dominating, carrying. The team was good, undoubtedly one of the best but the pressure was brutal. It always landed on her, whether it was fair or not and you knew what that kind of weight could do to someone, even someone like her.

It was easier for Paige to hold up the whole world than to admit she might need to set it down for a second.

Except with you.

You’d learned, over time, how to be her soft place. You didn’t ask for the highlight reel. You didn’t flinch when she wasn’t golden or perfect or poised and she’d stopped pretending with you, mostly. Sometimes she still tried to be a little too composed when she walked through your door after a brutal practice or a media gauntlet or a game where she thought she hadn’t done enough but even then, you could feel it in the way her eyes flicked to you, just for a second, like tell me I don’t have to keep it together anymore.

She hadn’t said it out loud, not yet but you’d gotten good at hearing what she didn’t say. You’d gotten good at Paige.

You heard the key before you heard her.

Just the soft metal jostle in the lock: a sound that shouldn’t make your chest ache but it always did on days like this. It wasn’t loud or frantic. That was the thing. Paige never came in like a storm, she came in like fog. Quiet, creeping, hard to name until it was sitting heavy in your lungs.

You didn’t move right away. You stayed curled on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, the glow from your laptop painting gentle shadows across the living room. You’d paused whatever show was playing half an hour ago. Not because you lost interest but because your mind had drifted somewhere else, somewhere quieter and heavier. You’d been waiting, not in a dramatic way, just… waiting in that soft way you’d learned to.

The door creaked open. A beat passed. Then another. No footsteps yet, no greeting, no clatter of keys hitting the counter or shoes being kicked off. Just that quiet hum of someone trying to hold it together for five more seconds.

You closed your laptop without looking. Set it gently on the coffee table and pulled the blanket off your legs, letting the chill of the hardwood floor ground you as you stood. You didn’t rush. You never did. Paige didn’t need someone running toward her like she was breaking. She needed space to breathe, she needed space to choose softness.

When you finally saw her, she was still in the doorway. Bag still on her shoulder. Hoodie pulled up over her head like armor. Eyes on the floor.

Your heart cracked a little at the sight. Not in a way that made you want to cry, but in a way that made you want to wrap, in a way that made you want to pull her in and hush the world for a while.

"Hey," you said softly, voice like a feather drifting through candlelight.

She looked up. Slowly. Eyes a little red-rimmed, not quite from crying — Paige didn’t really cry when things hurt. Not first, but there was exhaustion there, the kind that curled under your ribs and made you feel like you couldn’t get a full breath no matter how hard you tried. The kind that didn’t go away just by sleeping.

"Hey," she echoed and her voice was smaller than usual.

You took one slow step toward her. Then another. You didn’t ask what had happened. You didn’t need to.

The game had been ugly, sure but it wasn’t just the loss. It was the press conference afterward, where every question came sharpened with doubt. It was the way Coach’s words hit a little too close. It was the way her body probably ached, not just from tonight, but from every minute she’d pushed through pain and refused to call it that. It was all of it — too much and not enough all at once.

By the time you reached her, she still hadn’t moved.

You slipped your hands under the strap of her bag and slid it off her shoulder. Set it gently by the wall. Then you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of her hood. She let you pull it down. Her hair was a little damp at the ends, like she hadn’t had time to dry it fully after showering at the facility. You smoothed a few strands back behind her ears. She blinked, slow and heavy.

Then she whispered, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t everything. "Can I just... be here for a minute?"

You didn’t answer with words.

You just opened your arms. And Paige — quietly walked into them.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t desperate. She didn’t break down or sob or collapse. She just folded, like she’d been holding herself upright for too long and your body was the first thing that felt soft enough to land on. Her forehead pressed into your collarbone. Her hands slipped around your back and her weight settled into you like an anchor you were more than willing to carry.

You held her there, swaying just slightly, like the rhythm of your breathing could remind her how to find her own. One hand curved over the back of her neck, thumb brushing gentle arcs against the warm skin there. The other splayed against her spine.

Minutes passed. Neither of you moved.

Eventually, you murmured into her hair, "Wanna sit?"

She didn’t answer right away, but you felt her nod against your chest.

You led her gently to the couch, still without letting go. She moved like someone underwater, slow, dragging, tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. You sat first, guiding her down with you and she followed without hesitation, legs draping over yours, body curling into your side like it had always belonged there. You pulled the blanket back over both of you.

Her head dropped to your shoulder. You kissed her temple once, then again.

Silence settled between you. The soft, comforting kind.

Eventually, she whispered, voice thin and hoarse, "I don’t know how you do it."

You turned slightly, resting your cheek on top of her head. "Do what, baby?"

"Just know when I’m..." She trailed off, then gave a humorless little laugh. "When I’m not really holding it together."

"Because I pay attention."

She didn’t say anything to that but her hand found yours under the blanket, fingers twining together like muscle memory.

You squeezed gently. "It’s just me now. You don’t have to pretend anymore. Just let me take care of you."

A quiet breath escaped her. Maybe a sigh, maybe a release, or maybe the first sign of the guard slipping.

"You always take such good care of me," she said, so quietly you barely caught it. "I’m never not going to jump at the opportunity to return the favor."

You smiled, but you didn’t tease. There was no need. The thing between you was soft and real and unspoken in all the right ways. You could joke later. You could nudge and laugh and light her up again when her chest wasn’t so heavy but for now, you just held her and let her rest.

Outside, the world kept spinning. Deadlines and expectations and cameras and commentary. All of it could wait.

Inside, it was just this: her body against yours. Her breath steadying. Her hands warm. The slow unravel of tension as she let herself be held, finally, without needing to earn it.

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

Let me at first put a small index for you here, since this is a three part meta and you might want to read the posts that precede this one:

Part 1: The Story of Job

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

... and now: Welcome to the final Part 3! We made it! Or well, we will have, soon-ish. Because let me give you a fair warning: This one is definitely the longest one out of the three. And by long I mean literally almost 5k words long. Mainly because there's a lot to work with since the 1941 minisode is less mini and more the entirety of S2E4 and also, in my opinion, needs a lot more context than the others. But! That shan't discourage me, as I am currently stuck in bed with a bit of a sore throat, a steaming cuppa tea and an entire afternoon to spare.

So, for the third and final time in this meta series: Let's get cracking! Under! The! Cut!

I shall spare you another summary of the points I have made so far and, should you not have read or remembered them, I kindly redirect you to the end of Part 1 and the beginning & end of Part 2, where I summarize most of it. Don't worry, the link to this post will be in both of them, so you can hop right back once you're done!

On commence with some needed context.

I think one of the most important things to point out at the very beginning here, is that unlike with the other minisodes, we don't have a direct indicator that this is once again one of Aziraphale's memories or diary entries. In the Story of Job, we see him read the part in the Bible and actively immersing himself into the flashbacks (so deeply, even, that Crowley leaves in between, since Aziraphale seems to be so intensely lost in thought). And the Story of wee Morag is being narrated to us by past Aziraphale's diary entry.

All we see before the start of this episode's minisode, however, is Aziraphale driving the Bentley before Shax unconsensually hitchhikes with him and then leaves again. The title squence rolls and we're in London, 1941. And once the minisode ends, it's also not with Aziraphale looking like he just remembered something or a shot of his diary, but instead with present day Shax going to Beelzebub to request permission for the attack on the bookshop and then Aziraphale arriving in Soho, back from his trip to Edinburgh.

It's safe to say, therefore, that these two somehow indicate why and when the 1941 flashback starts and ends the way it does. And they do! You just have to listen and look closely, because the hint of whose memory this is, is a bit more subtle. Let's take it bit by bit.

Shax reveals herself to Aziraphale, catching him off guard. ("You have the advantage on me." "I do, yes.") She then go on to introduce herself as "former admissions demon" and ...

"Now, a Hell's ambassador planner, potentially plenipotentiary* to this corner of the planet. Replacing the demon Crowley."

*(Thank you for pointing this subtitle error out in the comments, @odonataanisoptera!)

At first sight, this might seem like no new information. We already know this, we have seen Crowley and Shax talk multiple times, we know Shax is Crowley's hellish successor and we know Shax now lives in Crowley's flat in Mayfair and, due to that unfortunate circumstance, Crowley in his car. You know who doesn't know this yet?

That's right: Aziraphale!

Neil himself confirmed that the reason why Aziraphale hasn't yet asked Crowley to move into the bookshop is because he doesn't know Crowley is living in his car! Which also indirectly implies that he hasn't told Aziraphale yet that he's no longer Hell's representative on Earth! Massive communication issues aside, this means that four years after Armagedidn't, Aziraphale is realizing for the very first time that Crowley is no longer officially employed by Hell.

Which is quite big news! We don't really know what Aziraphale's exact state of employment is with Heaven, but we do know from Crowley saying so (to Shax, again) in S2E1, that they no longer talk to him and he no longer reports back to them about his work. We can therefore deduct that he isn't actively operating as Heaven's ambassador on Earth anymore – on Heaven's own volition.

After they pulled off their body swap stunt post Armagedidn't, Crowley and Aziraphale of course secured themselves some temporary freedom from both Heaven and Hell. But it was only ever that, right? Temporary. Crowley says so himself at the end of Season 1: "They'll leave us alone ... for a bit." Sure, they were both sort of free to do whatever they wanted, but up until this very moment in the Bentley with Shax, Aziraphale thought he was the only one out of the two of them who had not only been let off the leash a little but also, so to speak, let go from his former employment. Which really explains his genuine, surprised look once Shax lets him know she's officially Crowley's replacement.

Their body swap trick gave them some breathing space, yes, but that's still entirely different than actually officially being let go from your job obligations and duties. What Aziraphale doesn't know either, however, (because again, Mr. Anthony J. Can't-Communicate-Crowley hasn't let him known), is that despite having been replaced and technically absolved of his hellish duties, Hell still very much relies on and demands things of Crowley. And also that Crowley himself hasn't been able to drop his weariness and worries since he still seems to seek out any and every information he can get on what's going on in the Up and Down. David Tennant said in an interview about Season 2:

"[...] interestingly, when we first meet Crowley, he's on a park bench catching up with the person who's taken his job. He obviously can't quite let go. He still wants the updates, and he still wants to know what's going on."

There's just so awfully much Crowley isn't telling Aziraphale – but that's stuff for another meta.

Either way, it eeks me a bit that we don't certainly know how much and what exactly Crowley has told Arziraphale about Shax – but it clearly can't have been all to much, since the Bentley conversation is their first encounter and Aziraphale doesn't even seem to know what Shax looks like, let alone that she's Crowley's new replacement. Crowley must have mentioned her to Aziraphale at one point or another pre-S2, because he does name-drop her when Aziraphale is about to reveal the appearance of Jimbriel ("You'll never guess who Shax was asking me about").

But it's one thing for Aziraphale to know or deduce that Hell might still occasionally send someone (like Shax) to check in on Crowley and another thing for him to not know that Beelzebub still summons Crowley whenever they feel like it, trying to coerce/blackmail him and that Shax regularly follows, even threats Crowley and lives in his goddamn apartment because she now fully replaces Crowley in his former job.

So, to sum this up: Aziraphale just received quite a bit of news Crowley withheld from him until now, but is also still lacking some other context that neither Crowley nor Shax has given him yet in order to be aware of the full picture.

Now, you're probably wondering: What the f*ck are you on about, OP, what does this have to do with the memory and narration analysis that this whole meta is supposed to be about? Well, dear reader, I'll kindly ask you to just hold onto that thought I outlined here until a little later. Tuck it in your pocket, don't worry, I'll remind you to take it out again once it's time.

Despite looking clearly incredibly surprised and, what is is again��� ah, yes, flabbergasted upon hearing of Crowley's replacement, Aziraphale only reacts with a short "Ah", trying not to give away the fact that this is indeed very much news to him. He then continues to try and deflect anything Shax is saying and suggesting about Crowley. Except for the part where Shax says that she doesn't think Aziraphale seems like Crowley's type at all. And I cannot, for the absolute life of me, keep that GIF out of here, so:

God, how I adore you, Mr. Sheen, master of immaculate microexpressions.

Alright, let's move on from the brief flash of sassy angel, onto what Shax says next. Because this is the crucial part:

"You know ... what, sometime in the last 80, 90 years I remember hearing that you and Crowley were an item. I didn't believe it then. Not really. Poor old Furfur. He thought you were his ticket to the big time."

Which Aziraphale replies to:

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

But you do, Aziraphale, don't you? Of course you do. How could he forget the time he almost got Crowley caught together with him by Hell ("Fraternising!") in what was probably one of their most insane and turbulent adventures (that we know of, at least). And now he knows that Shax knows about it too! At least some of it, because she used to work together with Furfur and was the one who pushed him to do his investigation in the first place.

We end their little Bentley encounter with Shax getting out, cryptically saying "You've already told me where Gabriel is" and Aziraphale hurriedly speeding off back to London.

I'd like to briefly point out that according to Google Maps, Edinburgh is almost an 8-hour drive away from London. Of course we don't know where exactly Shax semi-grand-theft-auto'ed into the Bentley, but it's safe to say that since it's still dark when she does and Aziraphale arrives in London when it's light out and morning already, he must have at least been driving for another couple of hours. All by himself, with nothing to think of other than a) Crowley never having told him that he's been relieved of Hell's duties and –– you guessed it –– b) what happened in 1941.

And here's where it gets interesting: It's not just Aziraphale who's remembering 1941. It's Shax, too. It hit me like a ton of bricks, once I realized. Shax is the one who brings up 1941 and Furfur's mission to get his promotion. So everything we see that happens in Hell, with the Nazi spies being processed, are Shax's memories. Obviously Aziraphale couldn't have known or remembered any of that. But Shax could! And she does. Because this entire minisode is their shared memory of it, stitched together with the parts both of them actually witnessed.

And alas, here you have it: The reason why it makes so much sense that this minisode is so much longer than the last ones and also happens right after Aziraphale's encounter with Shax. They both were just very much reminded of what went down all those years ago. And they're both thinking back on it to come to some sort of conclusion. And funnily enough, it ends up being the same one – but I'll get into that in a bit too.

Aziraphale's got time to kill in the Bentley. A few good and long hours alone, with the knowledge of Crowley's and his own sort-of-newly-found freedom at the back of his mind. (Crowley! No longer bound to Hell! Himself! No longer bound to Heaven! Blimey!)

What else would Aziraphale think of, if not the time he realized, after the demon had saved his precious books, he was utterly and irrevocably in love with Crowley. And what else could Shax think of on her way back to London, if not the time Hell almost got proof of Crowley and Aziraphale being "an item", putting one of her colleagues onto investigating it and only now, decades later, coming to realize that it was true after all – giving her the confirmation that there was only one place Crowley would hide Gabriel while Aziraphale was gone: the Bookshop. Aziraphale's bookshop. Because if there's any demon that would have unrestricted access to it, it would be Crowley – as Shax has just now realized.

Let's just say it's no wonder that this minisode is about to be an explosion (pun intended) of all the things we have seen and realized about how Aziraphale capital-r Remembers things (ft. a bit more behind the scene knowledge, provided by Shax). And yes, it took me this absolutely ridiculous amount of time and words to get to the actual beginning of this minisode. But I'll be as bold as to say that you'll thank me for it because if there's one thing all of this teaches us, it's that context is so very important for memories and decision making.

... let's continue!

Title sequence: Rolled. London, 1941: Begins. Nazis in the church: Bombed. Books: Saved.

(Aziraphale: in Love.)

Right away again, the title card for "London 1941" looks like an old black and white film, similar to the retro hue and colouring of the Job episode in S2E2. We see what we saw already in Season 1, with the bomb dropping and Crowley saving the books. What we didn't know is what Shax's memory will now show us: How the Nazi spies were processed in Hell. And how she offered to help Furfur with being promoted if he could get her some intel on "some demon being up to no good."

I have yet to fully take my time to take a closer look at Shax, but I think she's a lot more competent and smart than Hell gives her credit for (similar to Saraqael in Heaven). How else would she have gotten word of A Certain Suspicious Demon while she was still an admissions demon herself. Or figured out simply by Crowley's Bentley not being at the bookshop in S2E3 that Aziraphale must be the one who'd currently be driving it somewhere. But okay, I really don't want to divert too much from my own plot here, so let's jump right ahead into our next scene: Aziraphale's first memory in this minisode.

I'm just gonna play Captian Obvious for a second here: There's literal sparks flying in the air. Red, firey, passionate sparks. And an angel looking like this:

I'll just let the imagery do the talking.

Now we have that love-birdery out of the way: I was at first going to once again call bullsh*t on the timeline our dear smitten Aziraphale is giving us here. Because I thought: "You're really gonna try and tell me that while there was an actual Blitzkrieg happening just down the block, the girls playing Ladies of Camelot had nothing better to do than to happily perform at the Westend like nothing out of the ordinary had happened?"

But the answer is ... yes. Yes, they literally had nothing better to do – because they were still performing! I chastised our dear angel too soon, because lookie here:

(Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Windmill_Theatre)

I indeed didn't know that the Windmill Theater remained open during WW2 –– but it did put a smile on my face that the article specifically mentions it remaining open even during the hight of the Blitzkrieg. Neil, you clever man!

Also, one last nugget of appreciation: Aziraphale most definitely having no clue what sort of performances actually happened at the Windmill Theater (in case you don't know, just check Wikipedia for a sec), exclaiming "Sophocles! Shakespeare!" and Crowley simply going "Something like that" just warms my heart infinitely.

Fondly thinking about Aziraphale asking Mrs. Sandwich: "What exactly is it that your girls do?"

Another thing that seemed strange to me at first, that I think I also managed to semi-debunk, is the fact that Crowley's Bad Deed of that day seems to have been to deliver 80-percent-proof alcohol to the Windmill Theater. It made me frown and go: "Huh? I don't think alcohol was illegal in England in 1941?" However, upon googling around a bit, I think it might actually be not so much about the alcohol itself, but who it was given to. Which, in this case, is the American soldiers frequenting the nude shows at the Windmill Theater. All I could find were some books and essays, one of them titled "The Wet War: American Liquor Control, 1941–1945", as well as this short abstract of a paper that seems to talk about how American soldies consuming alcohol while at war/stationed abroad for WW2 were frowned upon by US Army chaplains because "the impact that alcohol would have on the men's moral well-being".

So, it would make sense for Hell to send a certain alcoholic temptation to one of the dens of temptation itself – the Windmill Theater. Enter Anthony J. Crowley, your local Nazi-church-bomber, book-saver, angel-seducer and alcohol-smuggler. (Albeit that last one sort of failing a little. Sorry, Mrs. H.)

(Sidenote: @createserenity gave a lovely and very plausible explanation of the whole alcohol delivery and also who Crowley's character design might have been based on in the comments of this post!)

Aziraphale then of course jumps in, offering to be the magician of the evening to repay his "good friend" (sideye), waving around his little handkerchief like an excited little boy. ("Ah, the ✨theatér✨!") We also get the first zombie!Nazis content, which I believe is probably a reconstruction of what the zombie!Nazis told Furfur once they met up with him again and what Furfur then probably told Shax once he failed his mission. Brains eaten, we continue to this glorious line:

He's just so very excited and giddy about it all – and I think that's partly because he a) just realized that Crowley loves him (and he very much loves Crowley too) and b) because Bentley!Aziraphale who is remembering this, probably remembers it even more fondly and giddily. We've seen his emotions bubble over a lot more during the other minisode-memories – so it only makes sense that in this one, he's remembering himself to be almost out of his mind with happiness and excitement about Crowley the magic show.

Remember what I asked you to tuck into your pocket?

Take it out again. Go on, there's a love! Because what is it that Aziraphale realized mere moments ago during his conversation with Shax? Crowley is free of Hell.* (*and remember, he doesn't know that that's not entirely true because no one told him the rest of the facts. So yes, we know it's not quite as simple – but Aziraphale doesn't.)

For all of S2, he has been trying to bring his relationship with Crowley to a new, more domestically intimate level (our car!), confidently and potentially even a bit carelessly ignoring the still-very-much-there threats of Heaven and Hell. I think one of the things that might have still been holding him back in his attempts to get to the next base (huehue) was the fact that he thought Crowley was still actively employed by and tied to Hell.

In all of S2, Aziraphale does come across as a little bit blinded by his desire to finally be with-be with Crowley (rose-tined glasses obstructing the view and all) but he's not completely carless. He knows Hell to be way more cruel to their employees and has always been careful to not get Crowley into too much trouble by being associated with him. But now he has (a little falsely) deducted that Crowley is in fact no longer in hellish demand – and isn't that just absolutely tickety-boo! Lacking the context that we, the audience, have, Arziraphale.exe is currently running hot on: Heaven and Hell don't care about Crowley and me anymore! We're free of our employers' interest in us and the threat that used to bring!! I've been trying to lock this serpent down ever since the World didn't end – and now I finally can!!! I'm We're able to do whatever I we like which is to finally confess to Crowley!!!!

From Bentley!Aziraphale's point of view, this is the literal green light on their highway to Alpha Centauri! Metaphorically, anyway. More like their country road to the Southdowns. And, for now, the M1 to London– back, back, back to Crowley!

For a minute, I did wonder about why he doesn't seem at all worried or stressed once he arrives in London after his journey. After all, Shax did very clearly threaten him and insinuated that she already knew where Gabriel was. But if you look at Aziraphale all throughout Season 2, it's so very evident that he's completely occupied with being soppily nostalgic of all the memories he recalls of him and Crowley and, even while facing off with Heaven and Hell again, seems oh too happy to ignore all that because he only has eyes for one thing.

Need I say more?

So, of course, realistically Aziraphale should probably be worried and weary of what Shax said (and maybe also a little taken aback by the fact that Crowley never told him any of this). But oh, isn't the world just that much lovelier when you look at it through shades of yellow and rose? And ignore everything else because if you only look at what you want to look at, both you and the serpent of your dreams are finally free to be together? So, of course! Azirapahle should be so! Very! Concerned! But instead, he is so! Very! Happy!

Both back in actual 1941, after Crowley saves his books, as well as in his memory of the story, aka in the current present day – which we don't get to see until he leaves the Bentley, but then it does show.

And it shows even more while he's still remembering 1941:

Crowley doing an American accent? Oh, that must have been so funny and charming, look at him slapping his thigh, unbuttoning his jacket, leaning back all suavely and watching me– I mean ... the Ladies of Camelot.

There's this excellent meta by @cobragardens I read on the colours of red and yellow in this 1941 minisode as well, which further makes a point of how red is clearly Crowley's colour in Aziraphale's mind – and it's so, so vibrant in this memory specifically. Poor angel has really got it bad for his beloved book-saving demon.

I'd also like to point out Aziraphale's tendency to exaggerate again, both when it comes to others and himself. We see this in the other minisodes as well, and here again, when he seems almost overly-clumsy, dropping those big trick-rings twice, making a tower of cards topple over and then dropping even more things on the counter. This is probably just a bit of a projection how he might have been feeling about performing as a magician: Slightly nervous, trying to overplay it and yet very keen on getting it right.

Crowley seems to always just be watching silently when memory!Aziraphale is acting a little out of character – possibly because there was no actual reaction from him since these slightly overdramatic things weren't actually this dramatic in the first place.

Another thing I would very much take with a grain of angelic memory salt, is one of the Nazi zombies actually walking into the shop while Crowley and Aziraphale are still in there. First of all, that would be pretty bold of him/them, given there's only three people in this tiny shop. And second of all, don't you think it's odd that neither Aziraphale nor Crowley would notice a literal undead person sauntering into the shop? I'll give Aziraphale the benefit of the doubt, since he's currently on cloud nine. But Crowley? How on Earth would he miss that?

Unless the zombie never actually went into the shop, put on silly costumes and rings (because given their track record, in my opinion, goofing around is a very un-Nazi-like thing to do) and it's just what the autopilot of Aziraphale's daydream is playing in the background, to fill in the gap for how the zombie!Nazis figured out where his magic show would take place. Because as we already saw, Aziraphale is a bit, well ... busy in that moment.

This GIF is not sped up, by the way, that is indeed the absolute astronomical speed Aziraphale shook Crowley's hand with when he agreed to pretend to shoot him on a live stage. He's my favourite. Of all time.

Alas, the curtains at the Windmill Theater draw aside, ladies and gentlemen: Enter Fell the Marvellous!

Firstly, I would like to point out that Aziraphale is literally being surrounded by all things Crowley – the red curtain to his back, the red and black feathers to his left and right and, well, literal Crowley in the audience to his front.

Just another little ode to how beautifully this whole minisode is done colour-wise.

If you read Part 2, you might remember me saying that how and what Aziraphale is feeling is actually translating directly to what we, the audience, are shown through cinematographic and auditory clues. And this very same thing happens here too. Its starts around the minute mark of 28:31. Right after Aziraphale realizes that his miracles aren't working and he still announces the bullet catch, introducing Crowley, you can tell that the whole frame starts to shake every so slightly.

At first, it's extremely subtle and you could possibly wave it off as simply being filmed with a hand-held camera. However, the further we progress into the bullet catch trick scene, the more the frame starts shaking.

I have taken the liberty to make a little cutdown of how this intense shaking progresses, so that in case you never noticed it before, I can spare you the time of going back to watch it for yourself.

It might be a trick of the eye but it even seems like the edges of the frame grow blurrier the closer the actual firing of the gun comes. And I don't think I have to tell you what feeling this is trying to convey. Anyone who's ever had a panic attack would probably describe it exactly like that. At least I would.

Everything is shaking because Aziraphale was most certainly out of his mind with fear and adrenaline. He wants to do this, he has to because he needs to show up for Crowley the way Crowley showed up for him at the church – but he's also literally risking being discorporated for good. And once again, we feel his panic, we feel like just like it's our own blood pumping through our veins, just like when we ourselves are shaking with fear. Because this is his memory. And a memory of such a tense and dangerous moment takes a long time to feel less scary.

Once they successfully pull of the trick, the shaking stops, of course. Fell the Marvellous nails his second trick by stealing Furfur's picture, the Nazi!zombies wander off to Satan knows where and we get another one of Shax's memories when we see Furfur not getting his promotion. (Almost makes you feel a little sorry for him, poor bugger.)

I don't have much to say about their romantic red wine candle light boogaloo, apart from the fact that it makes me want to punch holes in walls with how smited smote smitten Aziraphale looks at Crowley the entire time. And also there's this awfully sweet post about Crowley deciding to still sit and drink with him despite not knowing yet that Aziraphale had stolen the evidence picture.

HE IS SO IN LOVE I AM GOING TO SCREAM–

Back to reality, whoa, there goes gravity (as we plummet down to Hell).

Because remember: While most of this was indeed Aziraphale's memory, some of it was Shax's as well. And I'm pretty sure she knows most of what went down that night. After all, Furfur was most definitely the one who caused the rumors of Crowley and Aziraphale being "an item".

So, while Aziraphale was in the Bentley, indulging and revelling in his love-struck memories of the night he almost died* (*discorporated) twice and managed to survive both times because Crowley was there and trusted him, Shax also thought back on all of this since it was the final nail in the coffin that confirmed to her that Gabriel was hiding in the bookshop with Crowley.

So, what's the conclusion that both characters have come to during this very long flashback? It's simple:

Aziraphale loves Crowley. And Crowley loves Aziraphale.

There's only one person Aziraphale would trust with Gabriel – and that is Crowley. And there is only one place that no other demon would have access to except for Crowley. And that is the bookshop. Shax knows this now. Which is why it makes so much sense that once we're back in present day!Hell, she immediately requests a legion to attack the bookshop. Because she knows this is the only place Crowley and Aziraphale both consider safe from the outside world, and the only place Crowley would have access to because Aziraphale loves trusts him. Reflecting back on it, 1941 confirmed to her that they have been and still are the item everyone suspected them to be.

Clever, clever Shax!

As for Aziraphale: It's less of a conclusion, to be honest, and more of a reassurance, an affirmation of sorts. As I pointed out in my horrendously long context introduction, Crowley no longer working for Hell is exactly the push Aziraphale needs to finally feel like it's possible to make his move and confess to him.

And what does that news- and memory-induced realisation look like? This:

Ah yes, what a lovely day to confess your millennia-long love!

Too bad Crowley's not really up to speed yet and Aziraphale's rose-tinted little moment is met with:

... a face-full of plants. Whelp.

It's okay, they'll figure it out eventually.

My final little sidenote: The Jane Austen Ball and why it wasn't about Nina and Maggie

By all means, if you're already sick and tired of my tangents, do feel free to just skip this and end the meta early. I hope you had a good time with it, let me know your thoughts!

And for those of you who are up for a last burst of tinfoil-hatting: My conclusion to all of this is that I am 100% convinced that the whole Whickber-Street-Association-turned-Cotillion-Ball stunt Aziraphale pulls off in the next episode, was never actually meant for Nina and Maggie.

Why? Because up until getting a mouthful of plants once he arrives back in London, Aziraphale hadn't even known yet that Crowley's awning of a new age under the canopy had failed! The last time they spoke was over the phone in Edinburgh which ended with Crowley hanging up on Aziraphale to go make the love mission happen. And yet, Aziraphale clearly already has the whole ball thing planned out once he arrives in Soho, because he already calls it 'a night to remember'.

So, riddle me this: Why would Aziraphale plan this whole over-the-top romantic Jane Austen Ball on his ride back to London to make Nina and Maggie fall in love if he didn't even know yet whether or not Crowley's attempt at it had been successful or not?

It's almost like he meant for it to be his ideal way of a romantic confession for someone else.

'member the pub scene in S2E2?

Aziraphale: "People would gather and do some formal dancing and then realize they had misunderstood each other. And were actually deeply in love!" Crowley: "Now that sounds unlikely."

Resolving a deep misunderstanding like, hm, for instance, your "de facto partner" not telling you he'd been let go by his toxic employers just like you and also your quarrel about you wanting to protect your former-asshole-turned-cottage-core-dad boss from your own former toxic employers? With ✨a ball✨? (And that being, well, really unlikely to work? Oh, deary-dear angel. Oh, Aziraphale. Be still, my beating heart. You're a soldier for trying, I'll give you that.)

Are you goddamn done yet, OP?

Yes. I am. The tinfoil hat defense rests. I'm aware this was less focused on the actual unreliable narration and a bit more on contextualizing memories and feelings with decision making, deductions and actions – but hey, the road to epiphany has many winding paths. Or something.

Once again, here are Part 1 and Part 2 and if you made it this far: Congratulations, you have reached the end! Thanks for baring with me. I hope you enjoyed the journey just as much as Aziraphale did his daydream in the Bentley. And if you and me both feel strong enough for it, I might see you around in a cheeky little Epiloge to this meta series!

(Also: @dancingcrowley asked so nicely for me to tag them once Part 3 came out, so here you go!)

Cheers!

[freakin-nightmare]

[apricusapollo]

the fact that dinluke call me by your name au doesn't exist is so sick and twisted because luke as elio din as oliver padme and anakin as elio's parents????? HELLO?????

[chamisulgrape]

make you mine 𖤐 [l.hs]

After finding out that Sunghoon's been keeping you from the rest of them, Heeseung makes it his mission to remind Sunghoon who the real boss is.

☆ part one (boss!sunghoon)| part two

☆ pairing → boss!heeseung x secretary!afab reader

☆ word count → 4.9k

☆ tags → office au, boss!heeseung, secretary!reader, boss!hyungline series

☆ smut tags → pwp, dubcon, unprotected p in v, bondage/choking (with a belt), degradation, blowjobs, floor sex, breeding kink, free use kink, dom/sub elements, lots of spit/drool, mention of free use relationship with boss!hyungline, reader is a whore for hyungline & she's playing the long game, tl;dr just lots of nasty smut

☆ warnings → one line mentioning that boss!heeseung and boss!jake get it on behind the scenes and inviting reader to join them... :3 not proofread as always

☆ a/n  → part 2 of boss!enha series finally out! reworked from one of my previous wips, pls reblog or leave me asks/comments if u enjoyed hehe that would make me very happy :3

♪ i wanna taste the crush, i wanna feel, i wanna lay you down, i wanna string you out, i wanna make you mine

minors dni.

You aren't surprised when Heeseung seeks you out, rather, you’re surprised by the purpose. 

You’ve just finished another late night meeting at the office, when Heeseung asks you to stay back. It’s late, around midnight, but it’s Heeseung, all of your bosses' boss, so you can’t really refuse—you shouldn’t. If Heeseung asks someone to do something, they listen—you always listen. 

You ignore the questioning look Sunghoon sends you. The rest of your bosses filter out slowly, along with the remaining executive staff and managers. 

Sunghoon lingers, shooting you another look of concern before he turns to Heeseung, who’s on his phone, leaning back in his chair at the very end of the table. “Heeseung, it’s pretty late, can’t you talk to her tomorrow?” 

Heeseung doesn’t even spare him a glance, still typing away on his phone. “This project is due in a month. She’s falling behind. She needs to catch up to everyone else.”

You know it’s bullshit. You know Sunghoon knows that it’s bullshit—but it’s Heeseung, and Sunghoon can’t argue against him. Sunghoon exhales, shrugging his laptop bag over his shoulder. He ducks down to press his lips against your cheek, lingering for a few seconds before pulling back. 

“I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod. Sunghoon presses another kiss to your forehead before he leaves the conference room, leaving you and Heeseung alone.

“Heeseung,” you shift your weight on your feet. Heeseung is so, so far, but his presence suffocates you with his authority.

Heeseung finally looks up at this. You fidget awkwardly under the heavy gaze Heeseung’s looking at you with. “Hm?”

“What—what were you talking about?” You swallow. “We can go over everything now.”

Heeseung hums, voice low and deep. “Sure.”

You swallow, again. Heeseung walks over to the projector, plugging his phone into the USB port. Heeseung scrolls on his phone for a few seconds, before calling you over. 

“You wanna choose a song? Some background noise. Just to help us think.” Heeseung asks over his shoulder. You cross the room, stopping once you’re behind Heeseung, peering over his shoulder to look over at his phone.

“You can choose, Sir. Anything.” You reply, stepping back to create some distance between them.

“Anything?” Heeseung repeats. 

You shuffle your feet. “Yeah, anything is fine.”

Heeseung makes a sound in response, before he snorts. You furrow your brows in confusion. 

“What?”

Heeseung’s reply comes a second later. “It’s just funny, isn’t it?”

“What’s funny?” You, out of curiosity, lean forward to see what Heeseung is laughing about. 

Heeseung snickers, throwing his arm over your shoulders and handing you his phone. “Watch for yourself.”

You make a small sound, taking the phone into your hands. You regret it as soon as you do. You recognize it immediately—it being the video Heeseung is laughing at. You recognize it, in horror. 

“Press play, _____.” Heeseung says, voice smooth. 

“Heeseung—Sir, this,” you suck in a breath. “I can’t watch this.”

Heeseung pulls you closer and does it for you, pressing play on the video himself, murmuring a watch carefully. Your eyes go wide at the sound of the video echoing throughout the room, and the video playing on the huge projector. 

“Heeseung!” You look at him, horrified when you remember that Heeseung’s phone is connected to the speakers. 

Mortification washes over you at the sound of Sunghoon’s voice coming from the speakers and the sight of Sunghoon’s cock in your mouth—the same video Sunghoon recorded of you days ago. “Maybe I’ll send these to your bosses, hm? Let them all know how much you like this. Maybe I’ll let them take turns with you too.” 

Your fingers tremble around the phone. You’re too horrified to look anywhere but the screen. Your cheeks burn when you hear Heeseung laugh, his hot breath hitting your ear. 

Heeseung’s lips brush against your ear, and you vaguely register that the proximity between them has lessened; your shoulder digging into Heeseung’s chest and Heeseung’s arm still around your shoulders.

“Keep watching. It gets better.”

“Maybe even Jongseong. I see the way you look at him. You look at him the same way you look at Heeseung; the same way you look at me. Like if he asked you, you’d let him fuck you right then and there.”

You hear yourself whine in the video—you’re sure the whole company hears it, and you’re pretty sure your whole face is aflame with embarrassment. You want to cry—to run, to hide. You’re mortified. 

Heeseung stops the video, snatching the phone from your hands and turning it off with a click, leaving it on top of one of the speakers. He looks at you expectantly. You don't know what he wants, too horrified to even think clearly.

“Heeseung—this isn’t—it isn’t what you think it is.” You try, swallowing the lump in your throat down. 

Heeseung raises a brow. “What isn’t? The part about you wanting to fuck me, or the fact that Sunghoon’s cock was in your mouth?”

You inhale sharply. “No—it’s not like that.”

“It’s funny, we all knew Sunghoon had you wrapped around his finger, but we didn’t know it was like this. In the company bathroom too? God, he has you so desperate for him. Didn’t know you had it in you, Secretary _____.” Heeseung licks his teeth, and you let out a shuddering breath.

“That’s not true—it’s not like that.” You repeat. You sound like a broken record now.

“What? So you don’t want to me to fuck you? Sunghoon said if I asked, you would. Maybe it’s not me you want, maybe it’s Jongseong—no, don’t tell me, Jaeyun?” Heeseung has a sardonic grin playing on his lips, and distantly, it reminds him of Sunghoon. 

“What?” You feel exposed—naked under Heeseung’s gaze—like you’re being scrutinized.

Your boss of over three years. Heeseung, the man who hired you himself, interviewed you himself, chose you out of hundreds of women. And now here you two are. Cat and mouse. You’ve played right into his hands.

Maybe Sunghoon was never the one who had control of you. It feels like the real boss was here all along. Waiting for you—wanting you.

Heeseung’s grin never falters, it only widens as he steps back to shrug off his blazer to let it fall to the ground below him, leaving him in a plain white button-up shirt. You stare at the fabric—and oh my god, what’s happening. It’s not that you don't want it, you just never thought it would happen this way, not like this. Not this quickly either.

“Well?” Heeseung tilts his head, sending you an unamused look. You can’t tell if this is real; Heeseung was always hard to read, hard to figure out. “I don’t have all day.”

You gulp. “Heeseung—I don’t—I don’t even have anything on me. We—”

“That’s okay. It’s better that way,” Heeseung reaches out to pat your hair, finger brushing through tangles. You feel like a joke. The feeling of embarrassment never fades, instead, settling into your body as a comfortable buzz. “Get on your knees and get me wet, okay?”

Maybe it’s the anticipation, or the respect you have for Heeseung—or the fact that you’d do absolutely anything Heeseung tells you to—but you nod, brain and body moving on autopilot. Your mind is fuzzy, radio static. Heeseung pushes you down by the head, down until your knees hit the floor with a soft thud. 

“You’re so good for Sunghoon, you’ll be good for me, won’t you?” Heeseung murmurs, still petting your hair like you’re some sort of dog. You nod eagerly, hands coming up to grasp onto Heeseung’s thighs. 

Heeseung’s lip curls at the contact. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“No, Heeseung.” You reply quickly, obediently removing your hands quickly to rest in small fists by your side. Heeseung shakes his head lightly, and you salivates in anticipation when you hear Heeseung’s belt hit the ground. 

“Good. Get to work, Secretary _____.”

That’s how you find yourself like this: on your knees, your fingers gripping the hem of your skirt in an attempt to keep your hands down, and Heeseung’s cock, thick and heavy, resting on your tongue.

Heeseung isn’t as big as Sunghoon is, but for what he lacks in length, he makes up with girth. He fills up your mouth better than Sunghoon does, his cock stretches your lips just right. Your lids are hooded as you peer up at Heeseung through your lashes, trying to gauge his reactions so you know when to swallow, when to suck, when to graze your teeth against him the slightest bit.

“Stop fucking drooling,” Heeseung growls, voice low. You whine in response, it’s not like you can help it. “I don’t like it messy, didn’t Sunghoon tell you?”

You try your best to nod, just to show Heeseung that you do know, and that Sunghoon did tell you. You make a sound around Heeseung’s cock, causing Heeseung to groan lowly, pressing in deeper, deeper until the head of his cock barely brushes the back of your throat.

“You’re just like Jaeyun. Both get so dumb for cock that you can’t help but drool all over yourselves, like fucking whores.” Heeseung licks his teeth, smirking.

You whine, squeezing your thighs together. Heeseung only laughs lightly, running a hand through your hair. “Jaeyun’s sloppy, but at least he knows how to suck cock properly. You’re just boring. How do you get Sunghoon off like this? Doesn’t he teach you any better?”

Heeseung pulls out, frowning at the sight of the spit that’s collected in your mouth spilling out the corner of your lips. You chase after him, making a sound of protest at the lack of cock in your mouth. Heeseung lets you mouth at his tip for a moment before yanking you back by the hair.

“Has Sunghoon fucked you today?” You shake your head with a wince, but stay pliant under Heeseung’s hold. “Good. Then I’ll be the first.”

The thought of coming home to Sunghoon, Sunghoon knowing that Heeseung got his way with you first, Sunghoon smelling Heeseung on you—the thought makes your body vibrate, shake with anticipation.

“You’re so eager. Just like a dog.” Heeseung hums. His voice is sweet like honey, contradicting his words. Heeseung licks his teeth, grinning, and your stomach churns. “Maybe I should treat you like one, hm?” 

Heeseung releases his grip on your hair then, bending down until he’s squatting, eye-level with you. His eyes roam over your figure, and you feel so small under his gaze. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Heeseung says, and you respond with a nod. You’d take anything Heeseung gives him. Always.

Heeseung’s lips curl into a smirk, eyes burning holes into you. “Good. Sit.”

You choke on a breath. When you doesn’t comply, Heeseung frowns at you. “Didn’t you hear me? I said sit. Down.”

Heeseung reaches out, laying a hand on your shoulder, pushing you ever so gently. You follow, legs spreading wider and wider until your ass meets the rough carpet floor. Heeseung smiles then, petting your hair again. “Good girl.”

You inhale sharply, and swallow. Your cheeks heat at the praise, and you preen inwardly. Heeseung cards his fingers through your hair, before his hand falls lower, fingers brushing against your cheek before they grip at your chin. Heeseung tilts your head to the side. 

“You’re so pretty. Does Sunghoon ever tell you how pretty you are?” Heeseung asks, and you nod. “It’s a shame Sunghoon got to you first, me and Jaeyun would have so much fun with you. But Sunghoon shares, doesn’t he?”

You gulp. As much as Sunghoon likes to tease you about the other members, You know that he’s possessive, more than just jealous and selfish. Sunghoon doesn’t like to share, he just likes the thought of the members wanting, and not being able to have. Sunghoon likes to come out on top.

You shake your head, and Heeseung releases his hold on your chin. “Tsk, he’ll just have to learn to then.”

”Does Sunghoon ever mark you?” Heeseung reaches behind you, and you hears the clatter of something on the floor before you see Heeseung’s belt in his hand. 

You swallow. “No, Heeseung. I don’t let him—the company would see.”

Heeseung’s lips turn down, and he frowns. “Shame. You’d look so pretty with marks, wouldn’t you?” You nod, squeezing your thighs together at the thought of wearing Heeseung’s marks—having Sunghoon seeing Heeseung’s marks on you. 

Heeseung seems to read your mind, because the next words that come out of his mouth are, “I’ll make sure to mark you good. I’ll mark you so that Sunghoon sees it for days, so that every time you look in the mirror, you’re reminded of me.”

You don't get a chance to reply before Heeseung wraps the belt around your neck and pulls you forward lightly. Heeseung secures the belt around your neck, and you cough when the buckle digs into your throat. Heeseung tightens it, looping one end through the buckle. 

Heeseung stands then, holding the strap of the belt in his hand. He yanks the belt suddenly, and you fall face-forward, choking on a breath as your cheek presses into Heeseung’s thigh. You hear Heeseung laugh, and your face burns with mortification. Heeseung doesn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that his cock is still out, brushing against your hair. The realization causes you to hide your face in between Heeseung’s legs, ashamed.

“Look at me,” you take a deep breath, shaking your head. “Your boss is asking you to do something.”

You pull back, carefully, to look up at Heeseung. You gnaw on your lip, blinking up at Heeseung with wide eyes. Heeseung tugs on the belt again, and you let yourself be pulled, chin resting against Heeseung’s thigh as you maintain eye contact. Heeseung’s cock brushes against your cheek, and you are suddenly filled to the brim again with want. You have to swallow your saliva down when your mouth pools with spit. 

You whine, chin digging into Heeseung’s leg. Heeseung toys with the end of the strap, and he coos. “What? What do you want? Tell me.”

“Heeseung,” you pout. Heeseung knows what you want, he’s just being mean. 

Heeseung tilts his head, humming. “What?”

“Heeseung, please.” You plead, eyes scrunching up when Heeseung pulls on the belt again. Your neck already aches, and a dull pain settles in throughout your spine.

“You want me that bad?” You nod, and Heeseung’s lips twist mockingly. “How am I supposed to say no to you when you look so pretty for me?”

Heeseung grips the belt tighter as he moves to stand behind you, and your heart beats rapidly, anticipation growing again. Heeseung pushes you forward harshly, and you let out a startled yelp when your chest and cheek hit the dirty carpet. You swallow down the sudden disgust and try not to think about how filthy the floor is. You want Heeseung too badly to be worrying about how dirty the floor must be.

With your face turned to the windows, in the reflection, you can still see Heeseung like this. You also see yourself; face and cheeks pink, hair a mess from Heeseung grabbing at it, and your dress-shirt crinkled and pushed up to your stomach. 

Heeseung squats behind you, belt strap wrapped securely around his hand. Heeseung gives it another tug, and you wince in pain as the buckle digs deeper into the soft skin of your throat. You can already feel the belt-shaped bruises forming—and you can’t stop yourself from whining because you want them. You want so badly to sport Heeseung’s marks, to see how Sunghoon reacts to seeing the bruises on your neck—bruises that aren’t his.

Heeseung runs his free hand up the back of your leg, fingers barely brushing underneath your skirt. You whimper, and you mumble out another please. 

“Please? Please what? You have to tell me what you want.” Heeseung murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt. 

You press your thighs together, squeezing them in an attempt to give yourself any sort of friction or relief. Heeseung tuts, pinching your leg as he reprimands you. “Stop.”

“Heeseung—touch me, please,” you breathe out, begging. “Need it, I want you so bad—please.” 

Heeseung’s thumb rubs against your flesh, soothing over where he pinched you. “So polite. Should I give you what you want?”

You try your best to nod, cheek rubbing against the floor. “Please, Hee—Heeseung, please.”

Heeseung lets go of the belt, leaning back and letting the strap fall to the floor. You shiver as Heeseung pulls your skirt and panties down harshly, throwing them off somewhere to the side, before—

“Fuck, this is why Sunghoon doesn’t share. He doesn’t want anyone else fucking you because you have the prettiest fucking pussy.” Heeseung exhales slowly, and you shudder, legs subconsciously spreading wider to present yourself to Heeseung. 

You take a shaky breath as the cold air hits your cunt, goosebumps forming on your bare legs. Heeseung is staring between your legs like he can’t look away.

“Could’ve been fucking you here before Sunghoon did,” Heeseung runs both of his hands up your thighs, stopping at your ass. He spreads your cheeks apart slowly, watching as your hole flutters at the contact, clenching around nothing. “I don’t blame him, would’ve kept you in my bed too if I knew you looked like this.”

“Heeseung, touch me, please—need you so bad.” You say, voice cracking, dripping with desperation as you raise your hips the slightest, pushing back against Heeseung’s hands. Heeseung squeezes your cheeks once before removing his hands, causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

“Does Sunghoon fuck you here?” Heeseung asks, running a finger through your slit. Your hips buck, and you moan, nodding. You press your lips together to hold back another moan as Heeseung spreads your lips apart with his fingers. 

Heeseung exhales shakily. “Of course he does—how could he not? He probably fucks you in the office too, when we’re all working, huh? Is that why he drags you off so often? To fuck in the bathroom while we’re all here?”

“Heeseung, please.” You whine out, teetering between wanting to cry out of frustration or begging for Heeseung to just touch you already.

“You can be patient, can’t you?” Heeseung sighs, shaking his head lightly. “Thought I taught you how to wait like a good girl.”

You sniffle, holding back tears of frustration. You nod, lips curling into a pout. “Yes, Heeseung.”

Heeseung smiles, satisfied with your answer and obedience. He drags the pads of his fingers through your slit again, brushing lightly over your hole before retracting them and repeating the motion. 

“You’re so wet, you’re practically dripping. Do you like me that much?” Heeseung teases. You squeeze your eyes shut, and nod again, bashfully. “You’re so cute, aren’t you?”

In a second, Heeseung’s hands are on your hips, raising you until you’re ass up and holding yourself up with your palms. Heeseung smooths his hand down your back, squeezing the side of your hip. You hate how your stomach constricts at the position—hates how your hole leaks and coats your inner thighs with more slick. 

“Want it?” Heeseung runs his fingers through the mess, dragging his fingers up until they hover right against your hole. You give a full-body shudder, eyes falling shut. 

“Yes, please—Heeseung. Please.” You sniffle again, and Heeseung hums, thoughtfully. When you open your eyes, Heeseung is holding onto the belt strap again. You clench at the sight of him.

Heeseung circles a finger around your hole, pushing in the tip of his finger before pulling back. You whine, head falling forward. You hear Heeseung swallow, loud and clear in the quiet meeting room.

“Stop whining like a bitch. I’ll give you what you want.” Heeseung says, sharply, before yanking on the belt as he pushes three fingers inside of you without warning. 

Your reaction is instantaneous; you practically sob, moaning so loud that you hear it echo throughout the room, and fall face forward onto your chest. You hear Heeseung click his tongue, fingers stilling where they are, knuckle-deep inside of your cunt.

“You’re so fucking noisy,” Heeseung hisses. “Sunghoon never teach you how to be quiet? I’m not gonna fuck you if you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Sorry—I’m sorry, Heeseung, ‘m sorry.” You mumble out, then bite down on your bottom lip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you broke skin. You try your best to stay quiet as Heeseung rubs at your clit with his thumb, moving the fingers he has inside you slowly every few seconds.

Heeseung tugs on the belt in time with every circle of his finger, every rub at your clit is another tug, another pull. You can feel yourself leaking slick around Heeseung’s fingers and down to your thighs, you can hear it so loudly each time Heeseung crooks his fingers inside of you.

Heeseung pulls his fingers out then, detaching himself from you completely. You clench around his fingers in an attempt to keep them inside of you.

“No, no, no! Heeseung, why! Don’t,” You stammer helplessly, so painfully empty now that Heeseung’s fingers aren’t inside of you. You choke on a sob, a plea. “Don’t stop! Why’d you stop?”

You lift yourself off of the ground, weight resting on your forearms as you turn back to look at Heeseung. Heeseung gazes back at you, and there’s a sort of fondness in his eyes that contradicts the small, uninterested frown on his face. 

Heeseung drops the belt to reach further, hand gripping the back of your head and his thumb digging into your cheek. All the air leaves your lungs when Heeseung forces you down again. You stay pliant, cheek pressed firmly against the floor once more.

“Stay down. Did I tell you that you could get up? I don’t fucking think so.” Heeseung punctuates it by pressing you down harder, and your cheekbone aches with the force of it.

“No, Heeseung. ‘m sorry,” you mumble, cheek squished between Heeseung’s fingers and the floor. You feel saliva drip out the corner of your lip, making a mess between your cheek and seeping into the carpet. “I’ll be good—I’ll be good for you, Heeseung.”

Heeseung clicks his tongue, giving your head one last squeeze before he lets up, leaning back onto his knees again. “You’re so difficult. I thought Sunghoon would’ve taught you better, but he just lets you act like a spoiled fucking pillow princess.”

You exhale shakily, breath coming out in short huffs. The way Heeseung treats you is so very different from Sunghoon. With Sunghoon, you can press all his buttons. You can tease and make snarky remarks all you want untll Sunghoon snaps, until Sunghoon fucks submission into you. With Heeseung, you know better than to speak out of turn. You know to remember your place. 

“I’m sorry, Heeseung. I’ll be better, please, I’ll be good for you,” you trail off with a whine, high and needy in the back of your throat. “Heeseung, please.”

“You’re a whore,” Heeseung hisses. Your pulse thrums with excitement and adrenaline and then fear when you feel the head of Heeseung’s cock brush against your hole. “Bet Sunghoon doesn’t even have to stretch you out before he fucks you, ‘cause your cunt is already all used up and fucked loose, just like a bitch.”

You scream when Heeseung pushes into you, hips flush against your ass and cock deep inside of you, the girth stretching you open so nicely and painfully that you can only cry helplessly, your head a spinning haze of pain and submission and pleasure.

“God, and you’re a screamer too? Sunghoon must have so much fun with you.” Heeseung says lowly, pulling his hips back until the tip of his cock catches on your rim, and then punching back into you. 

Your cheek rubs against the floor with every thrust Heeseung delivers. “Heeseung! Fuck!”

Heeseung yanks you up by the belt, using it to pull his hips forward, timing every thrust with another tug. The buckle of the belt has rubbed the skin of your throat raw, but the pain only adds to the growing coil in your stomach. You want Heeseung to make you bleed, you want there to be bruises—scars. 

“Heeseung—so good! It’s so good, Heeseung,” your eyes roll back when Heeseung’s cock hits you just right, rubbing against your walls and pressing repeatedly into the spot that makes your vision go blurry. “Oh, fuck, Hee—”

Heeseung speeds up his thrusts then, gripping the belt tightly in his fist as he slams into you, so strong that you have to claw at the floor, nails scratching and digging helplessly as you try to find anything to steady yourself as your body rocks forward. Heeseung presses his back to your chest, leaning in. “You can’t get pregnant, can you?”

“No—fuck, I can’t. Birth control.” You shake your head, hair falling into your eyes. 

“Shame,” Heeseung says, disappointed. “Would’ve knocked you up, let Sunghoon know you’re walking around with my kids.” Heeseung groans and stills his hips, pressing further into you, deeper. You whimper, clenching around his cock when you feel Heeseung twitch inside of you. 

“Heeseung! Want it, please, please!” You babble incoherently, mind going blank at the thought of Heeseung claiming you from the inside, breeding you.

“Yeah?” Heeseung groans, hips snapping forward as he tugs on the belt again, relishing in the way you bare your neck in submission. “You want my kids? You’re a shitty secretary anyway. You’d be so much better in my bed every night, letting me fuck you pregnant.” 

You cry, switching between moaning out small please’s and Heeseung’s, too fucked dumb to think straight or talk properly. 

Heeseung laughs behind you, speeding up his thrusts again. “You’re so obedient. You just take what’s given to you, hm? Like a fucking dog.”

Tears spill out of your eyes, and you love it. You love feeling used by Heeseung, feeling helpless and pathetic and below him, feeling like nothing but Heeseung’s pet to fuck. The thought has you clenching around Heeseung’s cock again, and it’s music to your ears when Heeseung groans lowly.

Your moans are high and whiny and loud, so loud that Heeseung has to reach out with his free hand to muffle you, fingers digging into your cheek so hard that you think it’s going to bruise.

“You’re too fucking loud. What’d I tell you about being loud? It’d be nice if you didn’t just sound like a whiny bitch all the time.” 

Heeseung fucks you fast, and your ears and senses are all focused on him; your mind is livid with the thought of Heeseung Heeseung Heeseung and your ears are filled with sounds of the small squelches of Heeseung fucking into your hole. 

Your cries are muffled behind Heeseung’s hand, and you have to breathe in sharply with every punch of Heeseung’s hips. Your orgasm builds up quickly, you’ve been on edge ever since Heeseung fastened the fucking belt around your neck.

Heeseung removes his hand to fist it back in your hair instead, pulling your head back so high that your neck aches, pain spreading all the way to your lower back and through your bones. “Say my name.”

“Heeseung! Heeseung, Heeseung, fuck, Heeseung!” You cry out in a painful mix of torture and pleasure. 

Heeseung growls, low in the back of his throat as he yanks on the belt with more force. “Say my name. Again.”

“Heeseung,” you moan, trailing off into a desperate sob. “Heeseung! Heeseung, Heeseung, ah!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna make sure Sunghoon knows I fucked you. Gonna cum in you, let Sunghoon know that he’s got my sloppy seconds.”

That’s what does it for you. Your body seizes up, and you tighten so hard around Heeseung when you finally cum hard. Your body wracks with shivers as you cum around Heeseung’s cock. You nearly black out, and you fall limp under Heeseung’s grip.

“Fuck, fuck.” Heeseung groans, fucking you through it. 

“Heeseung! Heeseung, please, please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for at this point, head muddled and fuzzy in a post-orgasm bliss. 

Heeseung follows shortly after, hips stilling deep inside of you as he cums, filling you to the brim and claiming you from the inside. You bask in it, satisfaction fills you. This is what you wanted, this is what you’ve been waiting for. 

You breath heavily as you catch your breath, still slumped on the floor. Heeseung pulls out, and you grimaces at the feeling of warm cum dribbling down your thighs. 

“You know, Heeseung, that was kinda fast.” You say, and Heeseung yanks the belt so hard that you get whiplash.

Heeseung snorts, his grip tight around the belt. “I bet I lasted even longer than Sunghoon does.”

You shake your head with a smile, glancing at the clock that hangs in the corner of the room. You squint, taking a mental note of the time. “You think you can last longer than Jay?”

“I know I can.” Heeseung rolls his eyes, dropping the belt and pushing himself off the floor to clean himself up.

You huff, licking your teeth with a smug smile. “I’ll see.”

“What, you’re planning on going to him next?” Heeseung snorts, again, before kneeling down in front of you. He grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up. “Why don’t you come play with me and Jaeyun, hm? We’ll treat you good, better than Jay and Sunghoon can.”

You shudder, clenching around nothing as more cum trickles out of your hole. Heeseung tilts his head with a smirk, “Yeah?”

“Maybe.” You keep your voice steady, but you’re sure Heeseung can see your lips tremble. 

Heeseung hums before standing up, stretching his arms above his head. “Clean yourself up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

a/n: it's finally out !! each of the parts will showcase different dynamics, if u didn't notice what i was doing already! i wanted to show and write the different dynamics that reader has with hyungline :3

[resident-gay-bitch]

Steve’s always a little insecure in his relationships, always worries that they’re only in it for a short while, that all their promises are just words, no truth behind them.

He’s two months into his relationship with Eddie, and Steve’s already very in love with him, and it’s terrifying. This is the most in love Steve has ever been.

They said it for the first time the other day, during a super romantic and cosy night of Chinese takeout and nostalgic kids movies, snuggled up on the couch with never ending kisses. They had sex that night too, for the first time.

They had fooled around only a couple of times before that, nothing too serious, and only twice, since Eddie’s Demisexual. Steve didn’t know that waiting was exactly what he needed, assurance that Eddie wasn’t just there for his body.

After that night he feels even more connected to Eddie, feels the love radiating from his goofy smile and his puppy dog eyes. And the way Eddie kissed him, the way Eddie touched him, it was unforgettable. Genuine electricity. Steve had never felt so special and precious in his life, never felt so loved.

He’s still got his insecurities though, now that they’ve stepped up their relationship, Steve’s gotten a lot more comfortable, shown the secret side of him, the side that only Robin knows about really. He’s worried, like all the rest of them, that Eddie won’t like him anymore, that he’ll leave.

Robin tells him he’s being negative and stupid, Eddie’s totally the one, she can feel it!!

Steve wants to feel it, thinks the tips of his fingers are buzzing from it, but he just won’t let himself. Not yet. Not until he knows for sure.

They’re on FaceTime, having dinner together because Eddie’s gone away for a few nights with his band for a gig, and they miss eachother. Eddie called him, no prompting needed, and when Steve answered he said: “Stevie, baby, oh my god I missed you— hey fuckin, Jeff!! Look at my boyfriend, how hot is he? I got a cute ass boyfriend, wow, I feel so much better now I get to talk to you again. How are you, sweetheart? I hope you’re okay.”

Steve’s heart fucking bloomed. He feels nauseous he’s so fucking in love.

“What are you doing, Ed’s? You keep looking away from me.”

“I know, a total crime, don’t hate me. I’d much rather look at you, baby— hey shut up, Jeff, let me be in love!” Eddie yelled, tossing a pen at his bandmate across the room, “Sorry, Stevie. Uh, I’m doing some research for some songs I’m writing, making sure I’m not gonna fucking accidentally steal someone’s copyrighted track. Boring stuff, legal stuff, what are you doing?”

“Not much, missing you.”

Eddie chuckles, “God, I miss you too. Want me to come over when I get home? I’d invite you to mine, but these guys always get grouchy after a long drive home and our unit would probably just depress you.”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiled sweetly, picking at his dinner. They fall into silence for a while, Eddie deep in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed and his tongue poking out over his top lip as he types away on his laptop.

Steve’s got this question gnawing at him. One of those dumb fucking questions that he shouldn’t ask, because it’s stupid. The kind of question that if he asks too many of them, his parter will get pissed off and leave, or yell at him to stop. He’s already asked Eddie one weird question, but it wasn’t even that weird, it still got a strange reaction from Eddie though. Steve didn’t take it as a good one.

Fuck, he can’t help it though, it just starts coming out of his mouth before he can really stop it, “Hey, uh, Eddie…?”

“Yah, light of my life?” He laughs to himself, isn’t looking at the camera so he can’t see Steve begin to blush, thankfully.

“If you became a rich and famous rockstar, would you leave me behind? Be honest.” Steve nodded, “I can take it-“

“Of course not, Stevie.” Eddie said, still looking at his laptop screen, it seems like he barely even thinks about the answer, “Why would I do that?”

“If you were famous, you’d have other options.”

“Yeah, but I have you. Would you leave me, if you got famous?”

“No.” Steve snickers, like it’s obvious. Because it is, because Steve’s attached to Eddie, obviously, Steve loves Eddie more than Eddie loves Steve, probably.

“See, so why would I?” Eddie says simply, a small smile on his face as he looks at Steve like he’s being goofy and weird.

Steve should just shut his mouth before Eddie starts to hate him, but he just can’t, “Well, there are better options for famous people.”

“Not for me.” Eddie says simply, and it kills Steve, genuinely, a fucking stake through the heart in the best kind of way.

“What if you were on a red carpet, and… uh… oh, what if Hugh Jackman hit on you? Would you chose him over me?”

Eddie laughed, “Look, Hugh is hot, but he’s not as hot as you. Have you seen your ass, Stevie?”

Steve flustered, “We- Uh, what about like, Dave from Foo Fighters? He’s really hot.”

“Not my type at all, besides he’s a cheater so ew.”

“Okay…” Steve wonders, “Megan Fox?”

“Gorgeous! But I don’t swing that way.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Steve sighed, “Oh, you really like Robert Irwin, right?”

Eddie laughed, looked over at Steve on his phone and smiled sweetly, rubbed a hand over his mouth, “Yeah, I like him, he’s cute. Wanna know why?”

Suddenly, Steve feels very jealous. It must show on his face too because Eddie snickers at him, “Uh, why?”

“Because he reminds me of you, dork.”

“What? How?” Steve is baffled.

“He’s cute, I like your little blonde highlights and he’s blonde. And he’s fit like you I guess. But mostly because he’s like, just a good looking chill out dude until you hear him talk, then you realise he’s a huge massive super ultra dork and you can’t help but want to know more about him.” Eddie smiled, turned back to his laptop and Steve watched him scroll through a document through the reflection of his glasses, “If Robert Irwin ever hit on me I’d be flattered as fuck. But I’d kindly reject him, and tell him I’ve got my own dork at home who prepared me for such a moment, by asking stupid questions like would you ever leave me— no Steve. I wouldn’t. Duh. You’re too good of a kisser.”

Steve laughed, let himself feel flustered for a while. Satisfied that he let himself be just the right amount of clingy to let Eddie know that he’s kinda like that, but not too clingy that he scared Eddie away.

“Would you take me with you then? When you’re rich and famous?”

“Oh, you know it baby.” Eddie grinned, “When I’m making millions, you’re quitting your goddamned job and travelling the world with me, and I’ll buy you whatever the fuck you want. I’ll be your full time sugar daddy no doubts about it, gorgeous.”

Steve loves this guy so much. “Yeah, sure, you can be my sugar daddy the day you figure out how to ask me how to touch your dick without stuttering and blushing and hiding in my neck about it.”

Eddie stuttered, clearly caught off guard as he began to choke on air. Steve could hear his friends in the room around Eddie begin to laugh and make fun of him. Steve laughed with him, because Eddie knows how Steve feels about that, he knows that Steve likes how shy Eddie got in bed.

Steve thinks it’s incredibly hot, a guy so confident and out there reduced to a stuttering mess the second he gets a “hot” guy in bed, as Eddie said.

Eddie’s friends begin to heckle and tease him for a bit, and Steve listens in silence as his boyfriend fights with the lot of them.

“Hey, Eddie?” Steve asks, once they’re calmed down and quiet again.

Eddie sighs, rolls his head away from his laptop and over to look at Steve, Steve hates this. Eddie smiles anyway, even though Steve is sure he’s faking it now, and says, “Yes, my love?”

He wants to take it back. He wants to shut his mouth.

“Never mind.” Steve shakes his head.

“No, my love. Ask me, go on. It was a follow up question to the whole fame thing, right?” Eddie shrugged, “I only sighed because you should know that how I feel isn’t something so easily raptured by a mere celebrity.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded, thought about that for a moment. Wondered if anyone else in his situation would have known that, maybe he’s just insecure, too insecure, Eddie’s bound to get annoyed by it. It seems like he already is. “I was just going to ask if you’d ever write a song about me?”

Eddie smiles, blushes, and it’s so sweet, “I already have, Stevie. Three.” He looks back at his laptop, groans and Steve sees in his glasses reflection that Eddie closes all the tabs he’s looking at in anger, “Yah, you’re so easy to write love songs about to be completely honest. But no, I’m not telling you anything about them. You’ll hear when they’re ready.”

Steve is over the moon, “Okay.”

Silence again. He watches Eddie open up a new application, Steve recognises as his music app thing. He makes demos and back tracks with it, which is cool. Eddie begins to play around with if a bit, and Steve listens to the noise and wonders what song Eddie’s trying to create.

He’s got that urge again. God, he’s so clingy. Steve can’t stand how clingy he is, no one can. It’s only a matter of time before Eddie’s telling him he’s too clingy and walking out the door.

He really can’t help himself. Maybe he’s just self destructive.

“Eddie, would you tell the world I was your boyfriend, if you get famous?”

“Yup.” Eddie nodded, “But they’d only know your name, and your face, and how much I love you. Don’t want you getting stalked by weirdos— you know, if I get famous enough that people want to stalk my boyfriend.”

Steve thinks that’s really sweet of him, especially since he had that rolling off the top of his tongue, no thinking time needed.

“Well… would you take me to all your A lister parties and events?”

“If there’s no plus one option, I’m not going sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you sitting at home, worried.”

“What would you do if a celebrity like… hmm, Eddie Van Halen hit on me?”

Eddie grinned, “Then I’d say you’re seeing ghosts, sunshine.”

“If he were alive, though?”

“Then… I’d think it’s awesome that we have something in common, you’re our type— oh! And then you’d get to say you were hit on by two guys named Eddie who played guitar super good.”

Steve laughed, “Would you introduce me to Sabrina Carpenter?”

“It would be the first thing I’d do.”

“Would you get jealous if she hit on me?”

“Oh yeah.” Eddie nodded, “I’m gay as fuck and I’d still take her out on a date, you know, she’s pretty. She’s like, the girl version of you. Anyway I’d be super jealous and heartbroken but I’d tell you to take your chance.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.” He assured, “You will be hearing from me, I’ll be that crazy ex just waiting for you two to break up. I’d sabotage so bad, but I’d just want you to be happy. But I would hate if that was without me.”

Steve smiled, “Imagine if we were animals? Would you still fall in love with me if we were both little otters or something?”

“Yup, I’d be head otter heals for you.”

Steve laughed, “Dude, you’re so lame.”

“Don’t call me dude whist asking these clingy ass questions.” Eddie snickered out, and Steve shut up.

He swallowed. Stared hard at the camera and tried to surpress his sudden urge to cry.

“You get so fucking clingy sometimes.” Eddie muttered, quiet enough that his friends couldn’t hear him, “I genuinely didn’t think someone could get this clingy.”

Steve hates him.

He’s about to shut off the call when he sees something flash in Eddie’s glasses, squints to get a better look at whatever is on Eddie’s screen.

“Hey, uh, forgot to mention my uncle had this watch he thought you might like— cause I got one, but you don’t wear silver do you?”

“Nope, never.” Steve shook his head, bile rising in his throat, he can’t figure out what’s taken up all of Eddie’s attention, “Tell him thanks though.”

“Got it.” Eddie muttered to himself, pressed enter on his keyboard, and a webpage popped up with large images of golden band rings.

“What are you doing?” Steve wonders quietly.

“Huh? Oh, just mixing some music still, like I was before. Just trying to think up what I should do next.”

Steve is not that stupid. He knows Eddie’s lying. He’s lying so hard right now.

Eddie grabs his phone, pulls it close to his face so Steve can only see from his nose up, and he begins tapping away at his screen.

“Sorry, I’ll put you down in a sec, cutie, just checking something.”

With this closer angle, Steve can see very clearly what Eddie’s checking on his phone. He’s checking his bank account.

He’s checking his bank account, looking back at the web page of rings on his laptop, then pondering something in his head.

“Everything okay, Eddie?”

“Yup, just thinking up some lyric changes. Got them all written in my phone, I’ll put you down now.”

He’s such a liar, Steve’s just confused. And hurt.

“Why are you so quiet?” Eddie wondered, his phone back down on the table like it was before, eyes back on his laptop as he scrolls through rings, “Are you okay?”

“Yep.” Steve nodded.

Eddie sighed, “Hey, would you still love me if we were animals? You never answered back.” Eddie said, “What if I was an otter and you were a little fishy?”

Steve hesitates, “You’d probably eat me.”

“I’d eat you right now, Steve.” Eddie said flatly, then he ducked his head and whispered, “I miss the taste of you. I love kissing you- Hey, can I suck your dick sometime? Been thinkin’ about it.”

“Oh, now you’re brave enough to ask whilst you’re a million miles away and not even looking at me?”

“Yup.” Eddie snickered, froze for a moment with his brows furrowed, clicked on a ring and zoomed in on it, glanced between his laptop and Steve a few times. “Uh, sorry, what were we talking about?”

Steve can see the description of the ring he’s looking at. He can see, clear as day, the description reads (backwards): “Solar - Gold embossed engagement ring.”

Steve can’t believe this. Eddies looking at engagement rings. Is he looking at engagement rings?

“How much do you love me?” Steve asked, a vomit of words.

Eddie smiled, hung his head like he’s all embarrassed about it, “A lot, Stevie baby. A lot.” Eddie chuckled, “I can’t believe I get you all to myself. Not to be poetic or anything, but my life was a dark, empty night sky before I met you, and then suddenly my life was summer sun, gorgeous. You’re my sunshine, right?”

“Right.” Steve nodded, “I love when you call me that.” He squints at the reflection in Eddie’s glasses and can make out the pattern of the sun embossed on the ring.

“God, I miss you.” Eddie sighs, adds the ring to his shopping cart and keeps scrolling.

Jeff walks behind Eddie on his way out of the kitchen and stops in his tracks, walks over.

“Just working on that song, look good?” Eddie asks, and Jeff leans down on his shoulder, “I think if I add this in, this take could be the one. What do you think? Or do you think I’m being too stupid? Is it too soon for that big moment?”

Oh, fuck, he’s really looking at engagement rings.

Jeff smiles, squeezes Eddie’s shoulder encouragingly, “I mean, yeah, in theory. But you’ve never done anything by the book, and all your best choices have been a little crazy like that. If you feel it’s the right choice, and will work well with the music, then yeah, by all means.”

Eddie gins, looks back at Steve, “Yeah, it’s definitely the right choice.”

Jeff snickers, wonders off shaking his head, and Eddie looks so giddy as he takes one last look at the ring.

Eddie’s thinking about proposing to Steve.

“Don’t you think I’m clingy?” Steve blurted out, catching Eddie completely off guard.

Eddie glanced at him, sighed, carefully shut his laptop and set his attention on Steve, “Well, yeah? You are clingy.” Eddie shrugged, “Dude, you don’t understand how lucky I feel, I think. I like that. I mean, you love me so much that you wanna cling to me like a fucking koala. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten bored of me yet.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, Steve feels so warm and fuzzy inside.

“I love you so much.” He mumbles, brings the phone close to his face to virtually kiss Eddie, “Do you want to move in with me?”

“What?” Eddie stuttered out, “Uh, are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious in this conversation and also about this relationship. About you.”

“Fuck.” Eddie sighed, laughed a little delirious, “Yeah, yes, I do. I’d love that, sunshine.”

“When you get back then. Just… just come over and don’t leave.” Steve nodded, “We can talk more then, about us, and everything. I just want you around me always.”

“God, Stevie, you don’t know how much I feel that in my heart.” Eddie said, two hands pressed over his heart to swoon a little.

Steve doesn’t tell him that he knows of Eddie’s plans, and five months later, when the special day comes, Steve doesn’t tell him that he’s already seen the ring. Though, he does mention it in his vowels, tells everyone watching just how much harder that evening made Steve fall in love with Eddie. That he couldn’t believe someone was falling so hard, so fast, just as he was.

Steve never doubted another relationship again, purely because his only relationship from then on was with Eddie.

He’d never felt as secure as he does with Eddie, since that night, never second guessed his intentions, never doubted their love.

They’re mutually head otter heals for each other. Robin was right, Eddie is the one.

[beloveds-embrace]

More roomate!au thoughts because, again, my brain never stops. When you move in with them, dont expect to be able to do anything by yourself ever again (unless its housework and their away), your car needs fuel? Dont worry Simon will go with you and fill it up for you and dont even think about trying to pay for it yourself, you tried once and Simon just glared at you so you tucked your card back into your purse. You need to go get a few supplies for college, Price and Gaz are joining you and giving their opinions about the best laptop to get or the best stationary (they fill out enough paperwork that they know the best ones). You're cooking them dinner, Johnnys right by your side following your every order and helping to wash up while you go relax on the sofa waiting for whatevers in the oven. And you will want for nothing, you see a pair of shoes you want while out shopping but their outside of your price range, they arrive at your door a week later just after the boys deploy, you see a pretty necklace on TV and comment on it, Johnnys there behind you fastening it just before your next night out. You lament that your mattess and bed are uncomfortable, a new one arrives the next and it just so happens to be big enough to fit all 5 of you on it.

Yeah, the boys would 1000% give you princess treatment

My mind is still on that drabble so i absolutely love this so so so very much god yes….

Original post

It doesn’t end there, of course. God, they do so, so much for you.

It’s Simon who stands right outside the bathroom door when you get sick late at night, trying to be quiet and not bother anyone yet when you tell him he should go to sleep, you’ll be fine, he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence.

“Don’t need sleep,” he grunts, pulling you against his body. Despite your protests, his warmth alone makes you melt. “Jus’ tell me what you need.”

It’s Gaz who gifts you with a surprise spa day kit after he notices how exhausted you look during your exams, gently pushing aside your laptop. “You look knackered, lovie,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, alright? You always spoil us when we return anyways, this the least we can do.”

It’s Johnny who immediately knows your day has been shit just from listening the way you shuffle in, shoulders slumped and head downcast.

“Someone steal yer sunshine, hen?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Johnny,” you mumble tiredly, yet you have no energy to refuse when he leads you to the couch. “Bad day. I’ll just go to my room-“

“Nah, none o’ that,” he shakes his head, taking your bag. “Sit down, aye? I’ll fix you up something warm.” Though he makes sure to drap a blanket over yours shoulders before he goes into the kitchen, muttering about food.

It’s Price who goes hand in hand with your safety. All of them do make you feel safe but John is just- a bit different.

Once, you were being followed after you finished shopping and like an idiot, you’d forgotten your usual pepper spray you carried. You knew you were being followed because you could feel the eyes constantly on you and you circled the same area several times. Your hands are shaking when you text him, praying to every god-

- john

- Yes, love?

You are too afraid to even crack a smile at his serious punctuation.

- someones following me idk what to d

You don’t wait for him to reply. Just nervously, with too many typos, you tell him where you are and if please can he come or any of the men-

When John appears by your side in no less than five minutes, he just pulls you close to his side.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He ushers you along. “Bloke’s been dealt with. Give me your backs, yeah? Next time tell me or any of the muppets to join you.”

Too late you notice the blood splatters on his knuckles.

Also, remember when I said the original ad had been because they wanted someone to keep the place tidy when they are away? That doesn’t apply when they are home. If they see you cleaning or cooking, they are helping- nu uh, no complaints allowed, they are not about to let you slave away when you have four very capable men at your beck and call.

Hell, once it was Johnny who saw you scrubbing the kitchen floors and he just picked you up and placed you on the counter, tsking at you.

In a few hours, John returned to find all of them cleaning the kitchen; Soap was now dusting, Gaz vaccuming, and Simon wiping the counters.

And you were bundled in the couch corner, cozy and cute.

“What’s all this?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, and you shrug.

“She was tryin’ to clean.” Johnny grumbled from the corner.

“And you didn’t stop her sooner?”

“Bloody stubborn bird,” Ghost was the one who replied this time, not even looking up.

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look John fixed you with made you shut your mouth with a click.

“Good girl.”

The warmth on your cheeks was definitely not from overworking, at least.

You mention needing new clothes? You wake up to Simon’s credit card on your nightstand with a note ordering you to use it. “Strangely”, you can’t find neither your own card nor your wallet.

You also can’t find him, but Kyle’s there and oh wow! He has nothing to do so he will in fact be joining you (and making you model the dresses and outfits and send pictures to the others so you can be drowned in compliments)!

Also i like to hc that john(s) are both huge coffee lovers and they do in fact have those huge, fancy coffee machines yk? They are insulted when they see you drink the cheap, shitty, tasteless instant coffee you are surviving on and from then on, you will wake up every day to warm, fresh coffee made for you <33

Anyways gods i love them sm can you tell 😩😩

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU — PREMIERES @ 15th JUNE SUN 0000 KST

Years after a quiet, painful breakup, you are assigned to write a profile on South Korea’s most elusive figure skater, Park Sunghoon, who just so happens to be your ex-boyfriend. What was supposed to be a byline quickly spirals into a collision of unresolved feelings, buried emotions that are edging too close to the surface, and the slow thaw between two people who once meant the world to each other. With every step you take back into his orbit, the line between story and truth begins to blur—and the version of him you thought you knew starts to unravel.

word count: est. 30k

pairing: figureskater!ex!sunghoon x sportsjournalist!afab!reader

genre: exes to lovers, sunshine x midnight rain, second chance romance, right person wrong time, opposites attract, slow burn, ANGST

taglist: open! comment, send ask or submit the form on my profile to be added!

notes from nat: god forbid i don't reference a taylor swift song in my stories. someone needs to stop me /hj. just a short(?) one to angst farm before I kick off another series ^.^

TEASER

The office is louder than usual for a Monday morning. Keyboards clatter like a percussion ensemble, and the faint hum of printers competes with the buzz of hurried conversations. The aroma of coffee lingers, sharp and bitter. You sit at your desk, staring at your laptop screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard but typing nothing.

Your new assignment email glares at you with a subject line you never thought you’d see: "Profile Piece on Park Sunghoon."

Park Sunghoon. Even his name feels heavy in your chest.

Memories surge to the surface—his laughter ringing through late-night phone calls, the sparkle in his eyes when he spoke about skating, and the tension in his voice during those last arguments before everything unravelled. It’s been years, but the ghost of him lingers like a song stuck in your head.

“Y/N, you’ve got the Sunghoon piece, right?” your editor, Yunah, calls out, snapping you out of your trance. She’s a whirlwind of energy, dressed in a sharp blazer with a coffee mug permanently glued to her hand.

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual, though your voice wavers slightly. “I’ve got it.”

“Good,” she says, striding over to your desk. “The story’s got legs. Everyone’s buzzing about his reappearance and return to Korea. Olympic dreams, media darling, potential scandal… you’ve got to dig deep on this one. Make it personal.”

“Personal?” The word makes your stomach churn. “Isn’t that more tabloidy than what we’re used to?”

“Sports tabloids pay the bills, sweetheart,” Yunah says with a shrug. “And you’re the perfect person for this. You’ve got the knack for human stories, and Sunghoon’s story is nothing if not human. Besides, you went to the same university, right?”

The question hangs in the air, deceptively light. You hesitate for a moment too long, and Yunah’s brows lift, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Ah, I see,” she says teasingly. “Well, use it to your advantage.”

Of course. You forgot you're surrounded by people who read body language for a living. There’s no hiding anything from her.

Yunah walks away before you can respond, leaving you with the sinking realisation that she’s not entirely wrong. Who better to cover Park Sunghoon’s meteoric rise—and whatever personal demons he’s carrying—than the girl who once loved him?

By lunchtime, you’ve done enough digging to know exactly what you’re up against.

Sunghoon’s name is everywhere.

His face—still frustratingly photogenic—plastered across articles, feature spreads, and fan-edited clips with dramatic music overlays. They all show a polished, confident man, far removed from the awkward boy you used to know. His dark hair is perfectly styled, his tailored suits scream sophistication, and his trademark smirk has only grown more enigmatic.

You scroll through write-ups that gush about his triumphant return to the ice. They speculate whether he’ll qualify for the next international season, drop cryptic mentions of a “new fire in his eyes,” and cite sources that can’t seem to agree whether his hiatus was due to injury or personal issues. Or both.

There are whispers about a reality show stint during his time in Spain—something lowkey, never officially aired, but leaked through blurry screenshots and strategically placed fan theories. A training arc in disguise, if you had to guess. Classic Sunghoon: disappearing, reinventing, and re-emerging like nothing happened.

And now? He’s starting to make headlines again.

Which makes sense, you suppose. He hasn’t been in the public eye for months. Not since that withdrawal from the Grand Prix final. Not since the buzz about that infamous tussle—the one that sports reporters avoided naming outright but loved to allude to. The speculation only made him more mysterious. More magnetic. The kind of story that writes itself: the fallen star, re-forging his crown.

Yunah’s right—the story’s got legs. You just wish you weren’t the one chasing it.

You stare blankly at the screen, lips pressed together as your cursor hovers over yet another article about him.

You were supposed to be over this.

And yet, you can’t deny the tightness coiling in your chest—not jealousy, exactly. Not regret, either. Just something far messier. The kind of feeling that comes from watching someone you once loved be glorified by the same world that never saw the nights you spent waiting for him to call. The world that didn’t witness the quiet crumbling of a girl who poured so much of herself into someone who didn’t know how to hold it.

You slam your laptop shut.

If he’s back on the ice, fine. Good for him.

But you’re not the same girl who used to cry over his missed calls and make excuses for his silence. You have a job to do. A byline to earn. And if this rink ends up being his comeback stage, then so be it.

You’ll be there—not as the girl who once loved him, but as the reporter who can write his rise without flinching.

The first step is setting up an interview, which means reaching out to his management. This whole thing could very well end here. You’ll send the email, Sunghoon will reject the request—just like he does with every other news agency or tabloid that thinks they can score an exclusive interview with him. Yunah will realise you’re not some journalistic prodigy, and she’ll move on to the next big headline.

That should comfort you. When Sunghoon says no, it’s over—no awkward reunions, no dredging up memories you’ve spent years trying to bury. And yet, you hesitate, fingers trembling as they hover over the keyboard.

The email stares back at you, every word perfectly composed, detached, professional. It doesn’t betray the tangle of thoughts fighting for dominance in your mind.

Subject: Interview Request for Park Sunghoon Profile Piece

Dear Ms. Yoon,

I hope this email finds you well. My name is Kang Y/N, and I’m a journalist with Manifesto Daily. Our team is planning a profile piece on athlete Park Sunghoon, focusing on his inspiring journey as a professional athlete and his return to Korea.

I would like to request an interview with Mr. Park to discuss his career, his aspirations for the future, and any personal insights he’d be willing to share with our readers. The piece aims to highlight his achievements and provide a deeper understanding of the person behind the athlete.

Please let me know a time and date that would work best for Mr. Park’s schedule. I am happy to accommodate and can meet at his convenience. Should you require any further details about the story or our publication, please don’t hesitate to reach out.

Thank you for considering this request. I look forward to your response.

Best regards, Kang Y/N Senior Journalist (Sports Division) Manifesto Daily +82 XX XXXX YYYY

Highlight his achievements and provide a deeper understanding of the person behind the athlete. You scoff. As if you don’t already have enough material to craft an in-depth exposé on Park Sunghoon—complete with anecdotes, vivid details, and a treasure trove of receipts that you’ve kept buried at the back of your mind, and perhaps in a folder on your computer.

You know the kind of person Park Sunghoon is. You’ve seen him at his most passionate, the fire in his eyes when he spoke about mastering a new routine, and at his most vulnerable, when doubts about his own abilities kept him up at night.

You’ve also witnessed him at his ugliest—those moments when he seemed completely disinterested during your calls, only for you to catch glimpses of him laughing unabashedly in his training mate’s Instagram stories. When he sent curt, dry texts that cut to your insecurities, leaving you questioning if you were the problem. And yet, now here you are, facing the daunting question: Who is he today? A polished media darling, exuding poise and confidence, or a jerk who simply broke your heart?

You’re not just writing a profile; it’s about untangling the complexities of the boy you once loved and the man he has become, all while confronting the version of him that’s lived rent-free in your head for years.

When you finally hit send, you lean back in your chair, exhaling deeply. It’s done. Now all you can do is wait.

[ink-stainedkiss]

₊⊹ Oh Shit Her Dad Walks In

Request (from @greentea3014 ) request: hello* uhmm... soo in was thinking about you writing something like... bakuogu and his girl are making out and it gets a little spicy.. and then her father comes in her room and sees bakugous shirt off and and get angry... like what would bakugou doo. 👁👄👁

WC : 1.2k

The homework on the floor had quickly been discarded and forgotten—much to Katsuki’s ‘annoyance’. He was never one to fall behind in school, he put his grades and academic performance above anything else, but god you looked ethereal in your thin tank top. It was a relaxing night so you just slipped on a pair of sleep shorts, one that revealed every inch of your soft skin for Katsuki’s red eyes to wander on.

On multiple occasions you had caught him gawking glancing at your exposed skin. For someone so persistent in getting good grades, he couldn’t seem to give a shit about the laptop in front of him. It had been a good handful of minutes since he’d even turned a page or typed a letter. And of course you were ever oblivious. Just continuing to work on your study guide, humming a soft tune from your earbuds. Katsuki couldn’t take it anymore.

He rose from the floor, towering over your comfortable position on the bed. It took you a second to even realize he was there and slowly you took out one of your earbuds and turned to him. “Everything okay?” You gave him a dorky smile, one that raised Katsukis frustration even more. Without even giving you an answer, his warm hands planted on your cheeks and he leaned in.

The kiss was longing and made your heart flutter. There was a certain desperation behind it, but it was being held back. You could sense it with every short groan and how his lips kept clashing back with your after every break. With precision, you moved your laptop away and shut it, scooting closer to your pillows. You couldn’t even lean back before Katsuki’s strong hands were lifting your waist and in the blink of an eye you were situated on his lap.

The change in position didn’t falter his need for you and he only placed his hand into your hair, guiding your mouth with his. Your room was growing hotter by the second. All of your senses were focused on the man under you; how soft his hair was as you raked through the back of it, the smell of smoke and his signature cologne was intoxicating, how he tasted of fresh mint from the gum he had chewed earlier, and you could hear the faint sounds of his want under his breath.

“Kats,” You whined, sinking your hands under his graphic t-shirt. A low chuckle escaped his bruised lips—the sound making your stomach do turns. His large hands found yours and he helped you loudly off the pesky fabric (since it was hiding away the greek statue that was his body). Every inch that lifted above his abdomen sent waves of fuzz to your head, like you couldn’t contain your excitement. Finally the shirt was tossed to the side and you had a full look at his chiseled figure. The yellow lamp in your room illuminated his abs and how his pecs softly rose and fell with his breath.

“Gonna stop staring?” His tease came out in a low whisper. You smirked lowly, soft hands gliding against his skin,”Maybe.” So focused on his chest, you didn’t notice how his finger slipped under your chin and raised your head to look at him,”That means keep kissing me, idiot.” You did not need to be told twice.

Between your battle for more of Katsuki’s taste and touch, neither of you seemed to be able to hear the sound of your door opening. Katsuki’s hands were toying with the end of your shirt and just before he could even lift it, someone cleared their throat from behind you two. You jumped away from your boyfriend, heart pounding loud and fast, but your fear turned into utter dread as you made eye contact with the person at your door. Arms crossed, brow furrowed, and absolutely fuming was your father. His eyes were locked onto the blonde who looked ticked off that your make-out sesh was interrupted.

“I was going to check if everything was going alright, but clearly you two got distracted.” Humor was far gone from his tone. Brain malfunctioning, you tried to speak up,”We were just kissing, I swear that was it.” Your father wasn’t hearing any of it, instead glaring at Katsuki’s exposed chest, then flicking his eyes towards you,”He came here to study, if you two can’t keep your hands to yourself, then he should leave.” You scoffed, ready to beg for some sort of say in this, but you were cut off.

“It’s not a big deal,” Katsuki huffed, already annoyed and the fact your dad was getting mad at you wasn’t helping. Whipping his head around, your father held nothing but anger in his eyes as he threw daggers at the boy on his daughter's bed,” I’m sorry, but I don’t think you have any right to speak, especially when this talk is only for my daughter.”

Katsuki got off the bed in order to grab his shirt, tugging it back on as he spoke again,” Like she said, it was just harmless kissing,” He repeated,” You’re acting like you didn’t kiss your wife when you were our age. I would say it’s a great thing that I'm kissing her instead of, I don’t know, making her cry. Which I never would.”

Your fathers mouth opened, but it shut quickly, as if he couldn’t muster up a response. So you added on,” Kats is an amazing boyfriend Dad. I’m sorry you walked in at such a terrible time, but it’s just what happened when two people like each other,” With a small giggle, you finished,”Or atleast, that’s what you told me when I caught you and mom kissing at like six years old.”

A light blush covered your dad’s cheeks and suddenly the anger dissolved into a light embarrassment. It was silent for a bit, until Katsuki cut through it,”If you do want me to leave, I won’t argue,” “No,” Your dad answered instantly, shaking his head,” It’s fine, you don’t have to leave. If you make her happy then who am I to stop this young love.”

You cringed a bit at the term, letting out an awkward laugh, while Katsuki just tried to keep a still face. Your dad was a bit embarrassing at times, but he meant well. “I’ll leave you too be,” He smiled softly as he shut the door. When the metal clicked, you turned to the blonde, a bit worn out from the exchange, but you still had enough energy to pounce on him and steal his lips in a final kiss. It was full of endearment and a silent thanks for the sweet things he said.

Pulling away, you relished at the look of his blown out pupils and how he had a tiny grin spreading to his face,”You must like me a lot to say all of that,” You leaned in and hummed against his lips, quietly snickering,” I don’t know about a lot.” Your words didn’t match the girlish look that rested on your face, so full of love that you quite don’t know what to do with it.

“ ‘an amazing boyfriend’ doesn’t sound familiar?” He quoted, glancing back down at your glossy lips. Shaking your head, you planted soft pecks on his face,”Nope, don't ring a single bell.” You squeaked as a sharp pinch was sent to your hip,”Hey!” Katsuki only grinned, interrupting your complaints by pulling you closer.

divider creds: @cafekitsune & @enchanthings-a

i wanted to make kats a bigger character then to just get mad and upset the parent in this situation, also i think him being respectful but stern about his love for you is a must

[leeechin]

☆ he got that in him

shy bf jungwon ! (18+) 🪽 🦢 ☀️ 🫧

a/n: i feel like this isn't rlly jungwon :( !! but it's all just fiction 🙄 and i just love this man sooo much. please do let me know if there are typos! i do go over before i publish but i sometimes miss it 😢 reqs are open !! don't be afraid to ask :)

✧ pairing: idol!jungwon x influencer!reader + warnings: smut with plot YAYYY. dom!jungwon x subfem!reader, unprotected sex (don't do that), jungwon hits it from the back lol, riding, ass slapping, degradation (use of the words whore, slut, etc), pet names (baby, won, wonnie, etc), size kink, orgasm denial (so mean jungwon), rough sex, jungwon is such a shy guy wrapped around your finger in public, but is such a freak in bed it’s insane.

word count: [2.8K]

♡ enha m.list | post queue | navigation

you quite literally needed jungwon every second in your life. your attachment to him was so strong it was sometimes concerning.

"are you sure you don't want to just go with me in my car?" your boyfriend asks, walking out of your bathroom with a towel wrapped around his lower waist.

you didn't respond but instead stared at the muscles on his stomach, watching how his lower abdomen sucked in a little bit and you were so entranced by the sight infront of you, mouth watering slightly. your whole world stopped for a bit to just simply admire yang jungwon.

you're finishing up some assignments for class. you decided that you're joining jungwon at his group's house gathering an hour or two later than the time he's arriving. you didn't have to worry about missing out too much, the gathering will be going on for a while.

it was jake who decided to throw a mini gathering, including all of the members, and a few other people including you. the gathering including your favorite, an outdoor barbecue and bonfire.

"yeah won." you frown, "have to finish this thesis or else professor jeong will not give me the end of it." scoffing at the mention of your professor. you turn around and your eyes nearly pop out of your socket at what you see. "actually.. are you sure we even have to go..?" you tease, now standing infront of your boyfriend and teasing the sides of the towel that could be down with one small tug, wanting to pull it off your boyfriend.

"quit it perv!" jungwon jokes, "you'll get what's under this towel later tonight." he winks, wrapping a hand around your waist to give you a kiss, you whined when he pulled his soft lips away. "now be a good girl and finish your assignments, i'll see you there in couple hours." patting the back off your ass playfully. going to the closet and picking out an outfit.

you curiously watch your boyfriend style his hair, focus completely shifted from the work you had left with school. "don't you have some assignments to finish?" eyebrows raising at your eyes not blinking once.

"yeahyeah your right." you respond a little flustered, a slight tint flowing on your cheeks. jungwon walks over to your desk, placing a kiss on the top of your head. "see you later baby." then he walked out of your room.

you sigh, already missing the presence of your jungwon. it takes another hour and a half before you're finished with all of your assignments for the week. closing your laptop aggressively, victory filling in your head as you don't have to worry about completing your work this weekend.

you're quick to change out of jungwon's t-shirt, putting on a pair of dark green cargo shorts that hugged your thighs perfectly, and a simple white baby tee with the brands cute logo on the back. grabbing your keys on the counter by the door, dashing out the door, to your car. you had a feeling that you wouldn't be returning home tonight, instead staying over at enhypen's house.

"what's that look on your face jungwon? missing y/n huh?" jake teases him. "she's got him wrapped around her finger! see how she always initiates everything!" jay adds on. "she probably controls ALL the shit that goes on in bed!" someone else says.

"i am NOT talking to you guys about my bed activities." the members laughing at jungwon's quick defense. knowing they're right, atleast they think so.

arriving at the house, you might've underestimated the weather, feeling a little bit cold as you welcomed yourself in, kicking your shoes off at the entrance, carrying them with you to the backyard to put them on again.

"look who's here! we were just talking about you!" ni-ki greets you. "nothing bad i hope." you respond, "don't worry it wasn't anything bad! just talked about how you've practically got jungwon wrapped around your finger." sunoo says, maybe he ran his mouth a little too much, sunghoon glaring at him as sunoo placed both of his hands over his mouth.

you laugh in response to that, "jungwon's just such a loving boyfriend. i really hit the jackpot with this one." beaming at jungwon, you were being held with one arm around your waist. jay started the barbecue and the rest of the members went to help with setting up everything.

jungwon noticed your body slightly shivering. "are you cold sweetheart?" "mm, just a little bit" murmuring that as a reply. your boyfriend taking off his sweatshirt that he was wearing and putting it on you. "i'm not that cold anyways. gotta go help set up stuff, karina's by the pool chairs." he gives you a kiss on your cheek.

"nice arms" you tease, moving one of your hands to squeeze his now bare biceps. you were definitely going to thank heesung later for urging jungwon to frequent the gym more. that white t-shirt was hugging all the right parts of jungwon's upper half.

"not right now baby." he speaks in a low voice to you, "can't help it you look so hot right now." whining and looking up to your boyfriend. jungwon leans down to give you a quick kiss on your lips. karina's waving over to you as you walk towards the poolside, giving a quick turn to see your boyfriend immediately jump in to help with setting up the table.

"girl you have been oogling and staring at your boyfriend for the past five minutes now, without saying anything!" karina says, waving her hand in front of you, making you finally blink again for the first time in a few minutes. "seriously thank your brother for me. he's been taking jungwon to the gym more often." your best friend just scoffs at you in amusement.

"dude, y/n has not looked one second away from you." sunghoon points out, nudging jungwon with his elbow. the members snicker at jungwon's flustered reaction, going back to setting up the table.

"jungwon!" you call out, jungwon jumps at the sudden sound of your voice. "yeah babe what's up!" he exclaims, nearly stuttering at every word. "were you guys bullying my boyfriend." you frown at his fellow members, "because he only gets like this when someone's been teasing him."

"no definitely did NOT!"

"sure, sure." you roll your eyes jokingly, turning to jungwon with a mischievous glint. now he knew that you were up to something.

"won, i think i left something in your room when i was staying with you a few days ago, can i go look for it?" "yeah i'll help you find it pretty." the other members not noticing you and jungwon disappearing, too focused on the food grilling on the barbecue and setting up the table.

walking into the house, your eyes are set on the entrance of jungwon's room, looking behind you and throwing a smirk at jungwon, quickening your pace to his room door. but you felt yourself being tugged into the bathroom.

"do you enjoy teasing me infront of everybody?" he growls, using a hand to hold both your cheeks and turn you to face the bathroom mirror infront of the counter, his other hand gripping your asscheek. you don't respond, eager for jungwon to bend you over the counter and just fuck the shit out of you.

"i asked you a question baby." jungwon says, staring directly at you on the mirror. hand gripping your asscheek a little tighter. you whine and push your hips back, feeling his bulge rub against your clothed ass, shorts rising up and you continued your movements. "need you so bad wonnie please." your boyfriend laughs at your neediness. using both of his hands to grip your waist and hold you in place.

"i don't know sweetheart. you've been teasing the fuck out of me since you've got here." jungwon murmurs, unbuttoning your cargos shorts, sliding your panties down to your knees and moving two of his digits to collect your wetness. "please jungwon! i can't help it that you feel so good everytime!" you babble attempting to wiggle your hips side to side. jungwon finds you so desperate for him to be so amusing.

"you enjoy being a needy whore for me don't you? the way you're dripping around my fingers show me that you do." humiliation tints on your face as you look at yourself on the mirror. it's thrown away when you feel two of jungwon's digits enter you all of a sudden.

you let out a gasp at the intrusion, the stretch of his two fingers hitting you so deep as jungwon already sets a relentless pace, his other hand moving up to push your hair to the side, trailing soft kisses on your exposed collarbone.

"oh shit wonnie, feels so good!" you moan, shutting your eyes as you revel in the feeling of jungwon's fingers working wonders deep inside your cunt. your small noises spurring jungwon to add a third finger.

the feeling of him scissoring and hitting your g spot repeatedly made the pleasure feel so overwhelming. "you gonna close baby?" jungwon noticing the way your pussy tighten and swirled around his fingers. in response, you nodded.

feeling jungwon's pace fasten, your pussy clenches around his digits so tightly, you felt that knot in your stomach about to be undone, but wait… that feeling fades when jungwon pulls his fingers out abruptly, laughing at your pathetic attempt to grind back against him.

"two more hours until i fuck the absolute shit out of you." your eyes widen as you whine at your boyfriend's words. jungwon helped you pull your panties back up, along with your cargo shorts. he gives your ass a playful smack, making you turn around and throw a pout at him.

"you're so mean." your lips curl into a frown looking at the way jungwon has no remorse.

. ✦ · .

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀˚ ⊹ ˚

⠀⠀ ⊹

the sounds of your and jungwon's lips smacking against each other filled the room. everyone else being long asleep, as it was pretty late in the night and the gathering ending a couple hours ago.

all that was left on your was your bra, thin material barely holding together your tits that jungwon adored and worshipped so much. the straps slid off your shoulders, being pulled down and showing your lucious tits. with your bra not even being properly off, jungwon's hands grabbing at your boobs, nipples in between his fingers as he twisted and fondled at them.

you let out low sighs of pleasure, feeling like jelly from your standing position, you would've fell down if it wasn't for jungwon's tight hold. "fuck baby, i would have you blow me right now but i need to fuck that sweet pussy of yours." your boyfriend manhandles you onto your front, onto the bed.

"arch that back for me pretty." jungwon says cursing at the slight of your slick dripping out of your spent pussy, down your legs. if only his fellow members knew he had you wrapped around his finger like this. the way you begged for him to fill you up with his thick cock that sent you into an overdrive of pleasure, fat tears streaming down your face as you go thru an intense orgasm.

and you didn't care to conceal or cover your sounds. jungwon completely forgot about that.. only focused on ruining you tonight.

but before all of this, he gave you a prior orgasm by eating you out. the sight of your needy hole throbbing, practically looking like it was ready to pull his cock in made jungwon let out a long groan.

loosing all of his patience to tease you any further. jungwon's hands are on the side of your hips guiding you to the position. you turn your head, tears slightly fogging your vision, seeing how jungwon slid off his boxers and gave his cock a few harsh strokes, you admired the veins that were decorated along his length, his pre-cum oozing out of his mushroom tip. you were entranced by the sight, mouth watering as you watch jungwon align his tip with your entrance.

circling his tip around your wetness, collecting it on his tip to use as lube. he pushes into you, one hand on your hip, and the other pushing your face into the pillow to try to suppress your loud shrieks and moans of his name. it didn't really help much because the walls were quite thin.. and the sounds of his hips smacking against the the soft plush skin of your ass echoing around the room.

you really tried to contain your sounds, hips pushing back to feel more of jungwon's cock stuffed deep into you. a hard smack lands on your left ass cheek. "naughty girl, is this not enough for you?" you mouth shapes into an 'o' as you felt jungwon increase his pace, relentless strokes hitting all parts of your body so so good.

"oh shit." you groan, eyes rolling head spinning at the sensation. it was nearly impossible with the speed jungwon's cock kept sliding in and out of you. "such a fucking pretty cockslut for me." jungwon groans, the feeling of your walls tightening around him from his words. he moves his hands to spread your asscheeks to see the way your tight walls you envelop his dick over and over again.

you let out a particularly loud moan when you feel your orgasm approaching, jungwon stopping his movements briefly to pull your head up, "shush baby, you don't want everyone hearing you like the cockwhore you are do you?"

"ngh no! too good wonnie i'm close pleaseplease?" you beg, attempting to move your hips back, jungwon's grip was too tight, just simply laughing at your state. he goes back to his moment, one hand pushing your face into the pillows, but the sounds were still quite loud, your muffled moans only spurred jungwon on more.

you lift your face up from the pillow telling jungwon that you're close, he knows by the way your body is tensing up, cunt clenching around his length so impossibly tight.

his fingers moving to your clit and rubbing your pearl as your release approaches, the coil in your stomach finally snapping around jungwon as you drop your body back onto the mattress, arms giving out and just leaving your whole upper body to rest on the sheets.

a laugh falls out of jungwon's mouth as he look at the state of you, slowing down his pace as he finishes inside of you, pulling out and seeing his cum dripping down the insides of your thighs. patting your ass softly, jungwon leans over you mumbling against your ear, "just one more pretty. i want you to ride me."

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀˚ ⊹ ˚

"oh shit" you moan as jungwon finally bottoms out in you, your walls flutter around his walls causing him to throw his head back and groan at the feeling of you. hands placed on both of your hips in a tight grip, moving you up and down on his cock. another moan escapes your lips when one of his hands move to slap one of your ass cheeks, his hand easing the sight pain afterwards. "ride me like you mean it pretty."

jungwon's hands leaving your hips and rests behind his head, enjoying the sight in front of you, your eyebrows furrowed as you try to find a good pace, soft moans of his name repeating like a prayer over and over, it was all just too good.

finally finding a good pace, you feel tired as your pace slows, jungwon groans at the feeling of his cock practically splitting you open. finally giving you some help and moving his hands back to your hips as he moves you up and down.

"mmph jungwon! m' close!" your hands find placement on both sides of his shoulders, velvety walls tightening around his length again.

"come for me y/n." was all it took for you as your eyes rolled back, nails digging into his shoulder as jungwon finishes at the same time as you, stilling his movements and painting your walls white.

⠀⠀ ⊹

your body is sprawled on the sheets, eyes half lidded as your boyfriend brings you up to help you redress yourself in a new set of clothes.

"you're insane." you sigh, knowing the next morning that your legs will be limp. jungwon laughs at you, giving you a small kiss and lays himself beside you.

as the morning comes, jungwon greets the other members a good morning, but an awkward silence is met. jungwon raises and eyebrow at the silence and the way his fellow members looked at him.

"holy shit jungwon! we didn't know you got that in you!"

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Ten

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, kissing (!!!!!!!!), Christian Horner.

Notes — Ok. Prepare yourselves. This one is a rollercoaster of emotions. Spam me with your reactions. I NEED THEM.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2020

The garage exploded around her the moment Max crossed the line.

Cheers, shouts, a metallic clang as someone slapped a wrench onto the floor in sheer joy, but Amelia barely flinched. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen, on the numbers and coloured bars and steady, glorious confirmation. They'd done it. Max had done it. No tire drop-off. No panic stops. Just pure strategy, cool driving, clean execution.

She didn’t smile. Not yet. Her hands twitched first.

Left-right stim. Thumb against knuckle. Then both hands up, fluttering briefly before she reached into her hoodie and pulled out her golf ball. It spun smoothly across her palm, rolling fast with muscle memory. The hum in her chest started to ease, just a little.

She felt electric. Not in a jump-up-and-scream way. Just charged. Lit up from the inside. She could’ve written a novel in equations with the adrenaline fizzing in her blood.

Max had asked, earlier. A quiet, sincere little question. “Will you come? If I win?”

She’d said yes. Of course she had. But now—

“Thought you might need a rescue.” Lando’s voice cut through the static in her brain.

She turned, and there he was. Still in his race suit, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, a faint flush on his cheeks. His smile was crooked, a little breathless. He’d jogged the whole way from the McLaren garage — she’d bet money on it.

For her.

Because weeks ago, nervous and hesitant, she’d asked, “When the Red Bull wins—when Max crosses the line first—will you come find me? Be there? Go with me?”

He’d remembered.

“You’re late,” she said automatically.

“I’m just in time,” he corrected, giving her an amused glare. “Podium celebrations start in three minutes. Come on.” He held out his hand for her to take, eyebrow raised, waiting. 

Amelia blinked at him. The deafening noise didn’t vanish, but it softened. Became a dull roar behind something steadier. She walked straight into his chest, hands curling around his fireproofs. He smelled like rubber and heat and gas. It itched her nose but she couldn’t tear herself away. 

“You okay?” he asked, a little lower now. Just for her.

She nodded. “I just— It got loud. Too loud, too fast.”

Lando’s eyes crinkled. “Alright. We’ll make it quiet again.”

She didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t matter. She stepped away. 

He held out his hand.

She hesitated. Just a second.

Then took it.

His fingers closed around hers, warm and solid, and for the first time since Max crossed the line, her shoulders dropped. Not all the way. But enough. “You’re lucky I like you,” she muttered as they walked, Lando carving a path through all of the gatherings of people. “Otherwise, I’d still be hiding behind the telemetry screen.”

Lando looked back at her and smirked. “You were hiding behind the telemetry screen?”

“Shut up.” She blushed. 

“God, I’ve missed you.”

Her steps faltered just slightly.

He noticed, and didn’t push it. Just gave her hand a gentle swing as they turned toward parc fermé.

Max was waiting. The champagne. The anthem. The high of a win that was already being written into the season’s story. And Amelia would be there for it; not because she had to be, but because she’d promised Max, and Lando had remembered.

— 

When her office door opened, Amelia glanced up from her laptop and stared.

Christian didn’t smile in greeting like he usually did. Instead, he walked to the table and laid a piece of paper flat in front of her.

It was a printout. A Kym Illman photo. Glossy. High quality. Nearly identical to the viral one from a year ago; Lando standing behind Amelia at the base of the podium. This time, Amelia was beaming up at Max, instead of last year’s Lewis. And Lando wasn’t watching the celebration; he was just smiling at her.

Amelia blinked at it. “Why are you holding a photo of me?”

Christian pulled out a chair and sat down, folding his hands over the table. “We need to have a conversation. About optics.”

She frowned. “Optics?”

“Perception, Amelia.”

“I know what the word means, Christian.” She frowned at him. 

He exhaled, slow. Like he was having to work hard to be patient. “People are starting to talk.” He told her. 

She nodded slowly. “They do that a lot.”

He exhaled. “About you, Amelia. About your relationship with Lando.”

Amelia paused, fingers hovering over her keyboard. She’d been avoiding Twitter all week after coming close to publicly arguing with a woman who tried to blame her daughter’s autism diagnosis on vaccines. She blinked, then looked up at Christian.

“…Are they saying something bad?”

“No. Not yet. But this is Red Bull. You know how the press is,” he said, laying a sheet of glossy photo paper on the desk in front of her. “You’re in the garage, you’re on the pit wall, and now there are photos of you with a McLaren driver, looking very… close.”

She looked down at it. The Kym Illman shot. Lando behind her, smiling at her. Her face lit up, eyes on Max on the podium. It was a nice photo.

“I’m allowed to date whoever I want,” she said plainly. “I read my contract very thoroughly.”

Christian’s jaw tightened. “Right. But it could get… complicated.”

“What part of it is complicated?” she asked, genuinely trying to understand.

He tapped the photo like it was evidence. “People might start questioning your objectivity. Your loyalty. Your role here.”

“My role is outlined in my contract. I help develop and refine trackside software, adjust data feedback loops, manage sim transitions, and review aero telemetry based on driver feedback. Lando doesn’t factor into any of that.” She tilted her head. “Also, my objectivity isn’t an issue. I’m autistic.”

That made Christian blink. Visibly recalculating. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You said it was about optics,” she cut in, voice even. “Which implies image over truth. So what you actually mean is that you’re worried I look emotionally compromised.”

Christian shifted, the corners of his mouth drawing into a tight line. “It’s not great optics, Amelia. One of our most valuable technical minds, publicly entangled with a rival driver—”

“Would you say the same if I were dating Max?”

He hesitated. “No. Max is part of the team.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed. “It’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because McLaren isn’t Red Bull.”

“Neither is Aston, but you let Dan sit in the garage like it’s his second home,” she pointed out, tone flat. “If you think I’m leaking secrets because I share a bed with someone who drives a slightly worse car, you’re not only insulting me, you’re misunderstanding the entire point of your own data security protocols.”

Christian’s expression hardened. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m asking you to consider how this looks.”

“I have considered it. It looks like I have a boyfriend who helps me regulate stress in high-intensity environments. Which, last I checked, makes me better at my job.”

“That’s not the image we’re trying to cultivate.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes slightly. “So Red Bull’s image is what, exactly? That autistic women can only be here if they’re single, quiet, and conveniently useful?”

That landed. His mouth opened. Then closed again.

She leaned back in her chair and frowned at him. “I’m here to work. And I do my job well. If you genuinely believe that my personal life is more threatening to your team than the fact your car only functions when Max is driving it, maybe you should consider redirecting your attention.”

Silence.

Christian stood up, smoothing his polo down. “We’ll talk again if it becomes a bigger problem.”

“It won’t.” She scrunched her nose faintly. “Why would it?”

He didn’t answer.

Just walked out. Left the photo behind.

Amelia stared at it a moment longer. Then she picked it up, folded it carefully into a small square, and tucked it into the front pocket of her skirt.

It was a nice photo.

— 

They were halfway through running back-to-back telemetry comparisons when Adrian broke the silence.

“Amelia,” he said, not looking up from the screen, “if Christian ever says anything to you that’s... out of line, I’d like you to tell me.”

Amelia blinked, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. “Out of line how?”

“You’ll know it if it happens,” Adrian said simply. He didn’t look over, just kept reviewing the data, as if he were talking about downforce, not interpersonal politics.

She tilted her head, trying to interpret. “He hasn’t said anything I can’t handle.”

“I know you can handle yourself.” This time he did glance at her, brief but steady. “But you shouldn’t always have to.”

Amelia frowned, processing that. “I’m not... bothered,” she said after a moment, carefully. “He’s patronising, but so are a lot of people. Especially when I’m being direct and they mistake it for rudeness.”

Adrian hummed. “Even so.”

There was a silence, save for the quiet click of her keyboard. She turned slightly in her chair. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

He considered. “Because I saw the photo. The one with Lando.”

“Everyone saw the photo,” she said flatly. “I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.”

“Neither do I. But Christian’s twitchy about image. And he’s not as subtle as he thinks.” Adrian sat back, finally meeting her eyes. “I just want you to know; if he crosses a line, I’d like to be in the loop.”

Amelia looked at him. There was no pity in his expression. Just steady intelligence, and a kind of quiet loyalty that made her chest feel tight for a second. “Wouldn’t telling you mean you’d have to act on it?” she asked. “And if you act on it, it becomes a problem. And if it becomes a problem, Max finds out.”

“Yes.” He agreed.

She frowned at him. “And if Max finds out, he’ll lose his mind.”

Adrian didn’t deny it. “He’d get distracted. Angry. It wouldn’t help his performance on track.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, chewing her lip. “So… you’re saying that you want me to come to you. Not Max.”

“I want you to come to me because I can do something about it. Quietly.” His tone didn’t waver. “And because you deserve to have someone in your corner.”

She didn’t speak right away. But she gave a small, barely-there nod. “Alright.” Then, a beat later, “That doesn’t mean I won’t tell Max if he does something especially bad.”

Adrian gave a soft laugh under his breath. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

— 

Lando was stretched out sideways across Amelia’s hotel bed, scrolling absently through something on his phone while she stood at the open wardrobe, methodically hanging up the few blouses that needed to be steamed.

“He printed out a photo, by the way,” she mumbled offhandedly, not turning around. “The one from after Silverstone. Max’s win. From the podium.”

Lando didn’t look up from his phone. “Who did?”

“Christian.” She shrugged. 

That got his attention. His head lifted slightly. “What?” He frowned, eyebrows coming together, body tightening. 

She shrugged, still facing the wardrobe and trying to decide whether to line them up in order of colour or sleeve-length. “He came into my office on Tuesday. Told me that I should be mindful of ‘optics’ regarding my proximity to McLaren personnel. You.” 

There was a beat of silence. Then the faint creak of the bed as Lando sat up straighter. “He printed it out?” 

She laughed a little. “Yeah. With the good printer paper too. He was quite unhappy about it.” She finally turned, a faint line forming between her brows. “I don’t really understand why.”

Lando was frowning now, legs swinging off the side of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as it happened?”

She blinked at him, a bit taken aback by his seemingly sudden change in mood. “Oh. Because it wasn’t a big deal?”

“It kind of is.” His voice was calm, but his jaw had tightened. “He’s… what? Trying to control your personal life? He doesn’t have the right to do that.”

Amelia tilted her head. “He didn’t tell me to stop being seen with you or anything. Just that it could ‘complicate’ things. But, of course, I reminded him that I’d read my contract and that he has no say in who I can and can’t date. It wasn’t a fight.” She assured him. 

Lando was pacing now, running a hand through his damp, curly hair. “Amelia. He shouldn't be trying to make you feel like you’re doing something wrong by being with me.”

“I don’t feel that way,” she told him plainly. “He hasn’t made me feel that way.” 

Lando looked at her, his brows drawn, still clearly wound up. “But he makes you uncomfortable.”

“No,” she denied. Then, more carefully, “I think that maybe he tried to, but I didn’t let him. And I don’t want you getting all weird and protective about it now, when it didn’t bother me in the first place.”

“I’m not being weird,” he said quickly, defensive. “I just… he shouldn’t be putting you in that position. And if he does it again, I’m saying something, yeah?”

“Why?” she asked, genuinely confused. “I already handled it.”

“Because I care about you,” he snapped, then softened immediately, closing the distance between them. “Because I don’t like knowing someone tried to make you feel bad, even for a second.”

She stared up at him, trying to reconcile the tension in his body with the warmth in his voice. “I didn’t feel bad,” she said, honest. “I just thought he was being mildly ridiculous. I’m not fragile, Lando.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I do. You’re the least fragile person I’ve ever met. I think that’s part of why I’m…” He paused, eyes flicking over her face. “...absolutely gone for you.”

That pulled her up short. Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came.

“I don’t want to fight about this,” he added gently. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t need protecting. But you’re going to have to let me care, even if it gets messy sometimes. I need that.”

Amelia considered him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded. “Okay,” she said simply. “But you’re not allowed to talk to Christian, or Max. I don’t want him getting distracted. He has a championship to win.”

Lando let out a soft, if a little bitter, laugh, stepping in closer. “Deal.”

There was a moment of quiet between them; close, but not touching. Then, with an almost imperceptible breath, Amelia leaned in just slightly. Just enough to tip the balance.

Lando closed the gap.

The kiss was careful, at first. Hesitant. Testing. But it deepened in a way that made the air shift between them, like a thread had pulled tight. His hand came up to cradle the side of her face, and she leaned into it without thinking, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

By the time they parted, she was a little dazed. “That was… unexpected,” she said.

“Good unexpected?” he asked, still breathless.

She blinked up at him, cheeks slightly pink. “Yeah. I think so.”

He smiled, dimples appearing. “Yeah. Me too, baby.”

— 

The Spanish sun was relentless, pressing down on the paddock in a way that was genuinely suffocating. Amelia stood under the Red Bull canopy, fingers tapping the edge of her tablet as she scrolled through sector analysis. Her eyes were focused, but her brain was running just a fraction slower than usual — the kind of slow that came from sleeping poorly despite Lando’s arms around her all night.

It wasn’t that she was upset. 

She just... couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. About the look on his face after, the softness in his voice when he’d called her baby, like it meant something heavy and good.

GP said something into her earpiece and she responded automatically, voice clipped and clear. She was good at slipping into focus. At pushing things into neat compartments. But the moment she caught sight of orange and black in her periphery, her heartrate jumped.

He hadn’t even done anything. He was just walking, helmet in one hand, race suit half-zipped, hair pushed back out of his face. The second his eyes met hers, her entire nervous system did something it had absolutely no business doing.

Lando gave her a grin. Casual, like nothing had changed. But his eyes lingered, the way they always did. Warm. Familiar. He didn’t stop walking, just brushed his fingers against hers as he passed, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it touch that sent a current straight to her spine.

“Focus, Amelia,” she muttered to herself, shaking it off.

Still. Her mouth tugged into a smile. 

— 

Amelia sat in the back of Alex’s garage, eyes narrowed on his telemetry screens. 

Again, their second driver had lacked pace in qualifying. Lacked power. Just… lacked. It wasn’t on Alex. She’d studied his driving style, his methodology. It should all line up.

It just didn’t.

She glanced down at her phone, blinked, and then felt her breath leave her lungs in one large exhale. 

—

iMessage — 18:09pm

Fernando Alonso Amelia, querida, I wanted you to hear this from me first. Next year, in 2021… I’m coming back. I will be driving again, with Renault. It’s not public yet, so please keep it quiet for now. But I wanted you to know. You were one of the first people I thought of when the decision was made. We will catch up soon, yes?

Amelia Brown That is phone call worthy news, Nando!!! I am very excited for you and very thrilled that you will be in the paddock again. I will call you in six hours, when I’m back at my hotel?

Fernando Alonso I will be waiting. 😊 

— 

The roar of the track echoed through the Red Bull garage, underscored by the cool, clinical click of keyboards and the sharp buzz of pit wall chatter. Max was out on track, deep into his Q1 lap, and Amelia had been glued to the data streaming in from his car; brake bias shifts, throttle maps, tyre wear deltas. Her fingers tapped quickly over her keyboard, cross-checking his live feedback with the simulator baselines.

She was in the zone. 

“Camera three on us,” someone murmured, capturing her attention.

The broadcast screen mounted on the back wall flickered. A sweeping overhead of the Red Bull garage, then a closer angle. The camera panned, through the tyre racks, past the control station, and landed squarely on her.

Amelia blinked up at it. Caught mid-thought, she tilted her head.

Then, casually, she raised one hand and gave the camera the flattest, driest wave imaginable.

On-screen, the title graphic appeared a beat later:

Amelia Brown Red Bull Racing | Engineering Intern

She frowned. It was right, she supposed. A good, clean title. A great indication of her role within the team. But it was missing something.

She leaned to the side, grabbed a spare scrap of printer paper from the adjacent workbench, and calmly reached for the thick black marker taped to the edge of her laptop. With precise strokes, she scrawled her correction.

She waited, glanced up to make sure the camera was still lingering, and held the sign beside her face. 

And Lando Norris’ girlfriend.

A few of the mechanics around her tried (and failed) to stifle their laughter. One of the Sky commentators cracked up live on air.

“And there you have it! Breaking news from the Red Bull garage, Amelia Brown making it very clear where her loyalties lie outside of work hours!”

Amelia dropped the sign flat beside her laptop, unbothered, and turned back to her screen.

Max’s lap time lit up purple in sector two.

She smiled. 

Perfect.

—

It was hours later, once the garage had settled and the media buzz had quieted and she was back at the hotel when Amelia felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

iMessage — 19:12pm

Lando Norris oh, you’re my girlfriend are you? hmm?

She blinked down at the screen, heat crawling up the back of her neck. Then her phone buzzed again.

Lando Norris the whole world knows now. hard launch executed flawlessly. bravo baby x

She didn’t reply right away. When he knocked on her hotel room door ten minutes, she just opened it and raised an eyebrow at him.“I figured I should make it official,” she said, deadpan. “Didn’t want to misrepresent the situation.”

Lando just looked at her, eyes warm and bright and so full of something she couldn’t quite name. Fondness, maybe. Or something deeper. “Oh, you didn’t want to misrepresent the situation,” he repeated, grinning as he stepped inside. “So you wrote it on a piece of paper. During a Grand Prix. In front of, like, two million viewers.”

Amelia shrugged, totally unbothered. “Am I not? Your girlfriend?” She said it casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because to her, it was.

Lando’s grin faltered for half a second, just long enough to turn into something softer. “Yeah, baby,” he said, voice quiet now. “Yeah, you are.”

He stepped closer, hands gentle on her waist, thumbs brushing against the hem of her shirt. Her breath caught as he leaned in. And then he kissed her. Softly, but sure. 

When they pulled apart, Amelia blinked at him once. “Okay,” she said.

Lando laughed. “Just ‘okay’?”

“I liked it,” she clarified, and he kissed her again just to prove a point. 

—

It was late. 

Amelia lay curled against Lando, her fingers lightly tracing across his chest without thinking. Her body was relaxed, comfortable, but her brain; well, it never quite turned off.

“You know you talk in your sleep, right?” Lando said, voice low and full of amusement. His fingers brushed slowly up and down her spine.

Amelia stilled. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said, clearly holding back laughter now. “I was up for like an hour just listening to you mutter about downforce deltas and fuel corrections. Very informative.”

She groaned and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “No.”

“Yes,” he said, grinning now, clearly delighted. “You said the words ‘wing correction’ at least five times. Very passionate. Also, I think you told someone named Dave that they had the reaction time of a sloth.”

“Ugh.” Her voice was muffled against his skin. “You’re not allowed to tell anyone that.”

“No?” he teased, nudging her cheek with his nose. “Not even Christian?”

She lifted her head, eyes narrow. “Especially not Christian. He already thinks I’m a data risk”

Lando grinned. “So what you’re saying is, if I ever want to sabotage Red Bull, I just have to record your sleep talking, hm?”

Amelia glared at him. “If you do that, I’ll start memorising fake data just to confuse you.”

“Ooooh, now I’m tempted.” He teased. 

“Lando.” She sighed. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Your sleep secrets are safe with me.”

“Good.” She relaxed again, cheek settling over his heart. “Because if you repeat any of it, I’ll probably lose my job, and then I’d have to become your trophy wife.”

He was silent. 

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Don’t even think about it. I’d go insane if I wasn’t using my brain every day, Lando. I’d end up snapping and murdering you or something equally as egregious.” She told him seriously. 

Lando leaned down and kissed the top of her head, still smiling as he tucked her closer. “You’re kind of terrifying, you know that?”

She hummed, clearly pleased. “Thank you.”

And for a while, they just laid there, wrapped up in each other and the dim light of the room. Safe. Soft. Close.

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2020 F1 Grid

George R. You lucky bastard @Lando

Sebastian V. What did I miss?

George R. Lando’s missus hard-launched him on live TV 💀💀

Carlos S. What happened? I was in the garage, didn’t see anything.

Charles L. Same. Someone explain please.

George R. Okay so they cut to the Red Bull garage during Max’s Q1 lap Amelia’s just sat there, all focused and official, watching data Then the little graphics bar pops up with “Amelia Brown, Engineering Intern” And she casually holds up a piece of paper that says “And Lando Norris’ Girlfriend” ON LIVE BROADCAST

Lando N. 🤦‍♂️

Pierre G. ICONIC behaviour

Alex A. She really did that?? I love her. No notes.

Sebastian V. Power move of the season. Respect.

Daniel R. Bro, you got HARD launched Like, season finale confession levels of launched

Lando N. She said it was “efficient and contextually appropriate” 💀

George R. That is PEAK Amelia. No fluff. Just facts.

Charles L. Also your face in the media pen when they showed you the clip?? You looked like you’d been hit with a tyre warmer 😂

Lando N. Fuck off

Kimi R. I’m very impressed. No bullshit. Good.

Esteban O. Does this mean she’s officially invited to WAG poker night?

Daniel R. Already added her to the spreadsheet, mate.

George R. @Lando congrats. Try not to fumble it.

Lando N. Yeah yeah. I’ll try my best 🙃

Pierre G. We’ll all be watching. Closely.

Lando N. Was that a threat?

Lewis H. Yes.

Max V. Yes.

— 

Amelia was perched on her usual stool in the strategy room at HQ, reviewing data traces on her laptop when Max walked in, a towel slung around his neck, hair still damp with sweat from his training session.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just dropped onto the stool next to her.

She glanced up from her screen, then tilted it toward him. “Telemetry looks solid.”

He grunted in agreement. “I felt it. The rear’s better.”

They sat in companionable silence for a minute. Amelia adjusted a graph. Max cracked his knuckles.

Then, casually, like it was just a passing thought, he said, “So. You and Lando.”

Amelia blinked at him. “Yes?”

Max didn’t look at her. Just kept his eyes on the floor, like he was commenting on tyre wear. “If he does something stupid,” he said, tone flat, “I’ll put him in the wall.”

There was a beat. Then two.

“…Max,” Amelia said slowly, “are you threatening my boyfriend?”

“Not a threat,” Max replied calmly. “It’s just a fact.”

She huffed. “You’re not putting anyone in the wall.”

“I’d make it look like a racing incident.”

She laughed then, quiet but real. “That’s the most Dutch thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Max shrugged. “You’re important to the team.”

She tilted her head. “And?”

He finally looked over at her, eyes a little softer than usual. “And to me.”

Amelia blinked again. That part she hadn’t expected.

“You’re good at this,” he added, gesturing to the screen. “But you’re also a good person. Not many people get both right. If Lando hurts you, I won’t forgive him.”

It was blunt. Sincere. Very Max.

She didn’t say thank you. He’d hate that. So instead, she nudged his arm with her elbow. “He won’t,” she said simply. “I trust him.”

Max nodded. “Good.”

NEXT CHAPTER

[cherry-coffees]

Head Over Heels

academic rival!Caitlyn x reader

cw: 7.7K words | 18+ mdni, academic rivals, college AU, rivals to lovers, drunken confessions, college parties, mentions of drinking, kissing/oral sex/tribbing, top!Caitlyn, slight praise kink, fluff and smut with angst if you squint

Part 1 | Part 2

You get the party invitation on a Thursday night.

“Did you see this?” Your roommate, Powder, squeals as she enters the dorm room, shaking the leftover rainwater off of her boots before setting them on the shoe rack by the door. She emerges into the double room that you share, holding up a small piece of paper. “Someone slipped this under our door. There’s a huge rager tomorrow, and they’re letting anyone in.”

You’re sitting on your bed, your laptop open to some homework that’s due in a few hours. “I don’t know,” you straighten up to stretch out your back. “Ragers aren’t that fun. Everyone’s just drunk and messy.”

“That’s why you’ve got to get drunk and messy,” Powder grins, stepping over to your bed to tug at one of your blankets teasingly.

You just roll your eyes, barely glancing up from your assignment. “And get super hung over so that I throw up all night? No thanks.”

“Come on,” Powder’s voice turns whiny as she pouts. She hugs the edge of your bed frame as she flashes you her signature puppy-eyes. “Please? We can get ready and walk together. And who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone you like there.”

You don’t miss the insinuation in her tone. “I don’t need to like someone,” you claim, tapping away on the keys of your laptop. Though, you can’t help the brief flash that goes through your mind: the memory of Caitlyn guiding you around the ice rink in her arms and holding your hand as you walked back to the dorms. 

That was the last time you saw her outside of class. Caitlyn Kiramman: the girl who once seemed to be the most annoying person in all of Runeterra, your fiercest academic rival, had now claimed a soft spot of her own in your heart. You hate to admit it, you really do. But you can’t deny that she’s gradually taken up more and more space in your mind over the past week or so, carving her initials into her mind like she’s staking a claim on your affections. Maybe she is.

Powder, of course, doesn’t know this — given as she’s not the biggest fan of Caitlyn herself. All she knows is the way you used to vent about her like you were getting paid. Now, you can’t seem to stop thinking about her like you’re getting paid.

“Of course you don’t,” Powder huffs, maintaining her puppy eyes. “Just— please? You need to get out more, get away from studying all the time.”

“Fine.” You can’t help but give in to your roommate’s demands. You’ve always been too fond of her. “I’ll go. Just let me finish my homework.” 

You ignore her cheer of celebration, opting to turn back to your unfinished work. Maybe the party will be a good distraction from all your feelings towards a certain Councilor’s daughter.

|------» ~~~ «------|

“You okay?”

“Huh?” You glance up from where you’ve been taking notes on what your professor’s been lecturing about in class today. You had barely noticed when he called for a five minute break, the other students chatting amicably around you.

“You looked like you were spacing out,” Caitlyn’s icy blue eyes are laser-focused on you right now as she tilts her head in question. Her navy blue ponytail swings to the side, and gods, why does she look so good with a messy updo? It’s unfair, really. Who gave this girl so much beauty? 

“Oh,” you blink, shaking your head slightly as if to clear the fog from it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long day.”

“I see,” Caitlyn murmurs, her gaze seeming to study you. Strangely, you feel the urge to squirm under it. Holy shit, what is happening to you? Thankfully, she continues to speak. “You should sleep earlier tonight. Get some rest.”

“Ah,” you bite the inside of your cheek, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall of the classroom once more. “I was going to, but my roommate’s dragging me to some party.”

Caitlyn’s dark eyebrows furrow, trying to discern if she’s heard about this before. “Party?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, leaning your elbows on the desk in front of you. “Some huge rager. Everyone will be there, according to her. I think she just wants me to meet people or whatever.”

Meet people.

Those two words stick out in Caitlyn’s mind, and her not-so-helpful brain decides to conjure up an image of you in some hot dress being hit on by all these guys. Or girls. Or anyone, really.

She doesn’t like it.

“Meet people as— as friends, or…?” Caitlyn chooses her words carefully, not wanting to tip you off as to why she’s so curious about this in the first place. That would lead to a very long, awkward conversation about her feelings for you, and she has no idea what your response would be. Maybe you’d be weirded out and never talk to her again, and that would be the worst case scenario. 

“I guess,” you shrug, eyes dropping back down to look back through your carefully-taken notes. “It’s whatever. I’ll just go for a little and ditch when everyone gets too drunk to function.”

“Right,” Caitlyn clears her throat. She can’t help the words that fall from her lips in that moment: too focused on the possibility of someone winning you over tonight. “I’m actually going, too.”

You glance back up at her, thoroughly confused. Hadn’t she just asked you what party you were talking about? “You are?”

“Yeah,” she nods enthusiastically, and once she’s started talking, she can’t seem to stop. “I think I heard about it earlier in the week. I forgot about it, but if your roommate says that everyone will be there, then I should go too. My friend will, um, be there. Probably.”

You can’t help but smile in spite of yourself. Caitlyn’s always so composed and proper with that posh accent of hers, but somehow, she’s grown more awkward around you lately: fumbling her words like a pre-teen talking to their crush for the first time.

You quickly blink away that thought as soon as it occurs. You can’t even entertain the idea that the way Caitlyn’s been acting around you is something akin to a crush. Sure, she taught you how to skate last week, but…

But that doesn’t mean she has a crush on you. No, that can’t be possible.

“Oh,” you chew on your bottom lip for a moment. Now, you have a whole other worry about tonight: the worry that Caitlyn is going to be there. So much for a distraction from your growing feelings for her. “I guess I’ll see you there, then.”

“Yeah,” Caitlyn’s eyes are drawn to your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling a sudden spark of desire flicker in her chest. As the professor stands back up to continue on with class, she turns back to her own notes. “I’ll see you then.”

|------» ~~~ «------|

Clang!

You curse silently, bending down to pick up the hanger that had fallen from your closet. You’ve been going through outfit ideas for the past twenty minutes, unsure of what you should wear to a huge college party. A dress seems too formal, but you don’t want to be too casual either. 

And now? Now that Caitlyn, your longtime academic rival turned crush, is going to be there? You have to look decent.

“Why are you so stressed?” Powder leans over your shared sink, applying shiny, blue eyeshadow to her eyelids. 

You huff, continuing to rummage through your clothes. “I don’t know what to wear. I can’t look like a mess.”

“You didn’t even want to come until I forced you.”

“Yeah, well,” you roll your eyes. “Things change. Now, what the hell am I supposed to wear?”

Powder pauses her makeup, coming up beside you took look inside your closet. “That top’s cute,” she comments, pointing to a light, blue-grey top. The upper half of the top is solid material, while the bottom half that covers your abdomen is a soft mesh. It’s strapless: highlighting your collarbone just right.

You consider this, grabbing the hanger from the closet rack. “What bottom would go with it, though?”

“Maybe a skirt,” Powder ponders out loud, shuffling through the hangers until she finds a short, black skirt. The sides are laced up to accentuate your waist, and the length is short enough to be suggestive without being explicit. It pairs extremely well with the lighter top — though you hate to admit that Powder was right.

“Thanks,” you mumble, taking the skirt as well and darting off to change. Sue you if you want to look presentable in front of half the school.

Though, it’s really only about one person.

|------» ~~~ «------|

“Stop tugging at your hair,” Powder elbows you as you walk up the steps to the party’s location: a big house that’s a few blocks from your dorm. “You’ll mess it up.”

You stop at her protest, opting to adjust the face-framing strands on either side of your cheeks instead. “Okay, okay. Let’s just go in, already.”

At that moment, both of you enter through the unlocked front door of the house. It’s already wild: music blasting and red solo cups full of alcohol being passed around. There’s a group of people crowded in one of the common areas, dancing in front of the speakers, and couples paired up around the place to make out.

You can barely hear anything, not knowing where to go as Powder pats your shoulder. She says something about wanting to say ‘hi’ to some people before she darts off, leaving you alone in the middle of the party.

You just roll your eyes, heading off to find the kitchen. As much as you don’t want to be around your totally-wasted peers, you’re not sure if you can make it through the night without having a few drinks yourself.

As you manage to find the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of what looks like vodka, you thankfully recognize someone you know from one of your classes last semester. “Mel!” You wave her over, grinning at the sight of your friend.

“Hey!” Mel greets you cheerfully, gold dust adorning her cheeks. “You look amazing.”

“You’re gorgeous,” you beam at her. “As always. I’m so glad I know someone here.”

“Know someone? Almost everyone is here,” Mel laughs, clinking her cup with yours. “Let’s just relax and have a good time. Yes?”

“Yes.” You sip from your cup, making a face of disgust as soon as the vodka hits your tastebuds. This is going to be a long night.

|------» ~~~ «------|

It turns out, in fact, to not be such a long night. It’s a very short one, actually.

You’ve had alcohol before, but not like this. You aren’t even aware of how much you’ve had — it’s hard to calculate how many shots deep you are when you had poured some vodka into a red solo cup without thinking. You’re laughing with Mel and a few of the friends she’s introduced you to before you feel a tap on your shoulder. You spin around, your smile slowly turning into an expression of surprise.

“Oh,” your breath catches as you come face-to-face with Caitlyn. She’s dressed differently, too, with her light-wash ripped jeans and cropped, navy blue top that’s held up by thin spaghetti straps. Her matching navy hair falls to her shoulders. And, with her icy-blue gaze piercing yours, you only have one thought.

Oh, I’m so screwed.

“Hey,” Caitlyn’s eyes are practically glued to you, too busy taking in your appearance to notice your reaction to her own. “Um, I hope I’m not interrupting. I just wanted to say ‘hi.’"

You shake your head, quick to reassure her. The alcohol hasn’t hit super hard yet, so unfortunately, your nerves of being around her still surface.  “You’re not; don’t worry.”

“Good.” Caitlyn can’t help it when her stare travels down to take in your exposed legs and back up to your shoulders and collarbone. “You look…”

She trails off, and you really hope the flush on your cheeks is from the vodka instead of her. “Thanks,” you mumble, shifting in your black, platform boots. Even with the added height, you’re still short compared to her 6’1” stature. “I love your top.”

“Oh, thank you." Caitlyn seems to realize that she’s staring. She clears her throat, tugging at one of the straps of the mentioned top and eyeing the red solo cup in your hand. She hesitates, not wanting to be too forward. "Did you end up meeting people like your roommate wanted?”

It’s the question that’s been on Caitlyn’s mind ever since she had seen you in class several hours ago. Gods, she really hopes that you haven’t met anyone that you’re interested in flirting with — or even worse: hooking up with. That’s the last thing that she wants.

You sigh, shaking your head. “That was just an excuse to get me to come with her. I’ve just been talking to my friend,” you assure her, gesturing back towards where Mel is standing with a few other people.

Caitlyn’s stomach swoops with relief, her shoulder loosing a little tension. “Well, if that’s the case, do you want to maybe dance together?”

In all honesty, being tipsy around Caitlyn is not a great idea, but you nod anyways. More so, you just don’t want to say no to her. How could you ever? “Yeah, sure.”

Caitlyn starts to turn towards the direction of the living room, but she pauses when she glances back at you again. This time, it’s her turn for her cheeks to flush pink. “Okay,” she mumbles before hesitantly reaching out, slipping her hand into yours. 

Your heart flips in your chest as you allow her to lace her fingers with yours. You glance up at her, almost questioning. As if to ask: is this an okay thing to do? 

Memories come flooding back to you, even in your tipsy haze in the middle of this huge party. Caitlyn taking you ice skating, teaching you how to skate when you admitted to not knowing how to, buying you hot chocolate and walking back to your dorm. How warm her fingers had felt intertwined with yours against the cold, winter air. It was the first time you saw her as more than your academic rival — as someone you could actually develop feelings for.

The corners of Caitlyn’s lips twitch into a slight smile, and she squeezes your hand ever so slightly. It’s a silent response. She just tugs you forward, back towards the common area where people are surrounding the speakers, moving around to the beat of the music. 

You follow her as she makes her way into the crowd. Once you’re closer to the speakers, Caitlyn spins around to face you, flashing you a grin that would make you go weak at the knees if you weren’t so out of it right now. She lifts your linked hands above your head, twirling you just to make you giggle. The space between you doesn’t last long: the distance minimizing as the crowd forces the two of you together. You stay like that for a few songs: just laughing and having fun together. 

The alcohol hits you mid-way: everything suddenly feeling a lot more foggy than usual. Somewhere in the haze, Caitlyn’s hands find their way to your waist, supporting you in the increasingly hot and stuffy room. You feel a rush of gratitude as you lean on her for support. Though, as your sobriety starts to lower, so does your filter.

As Caitlyn feels your weight on her, she lifts her hands to cup your jaw, tilting your face up towards her in concern. “Are you okay? You seem quite tipsy, darling.”

Darling.

It’s the first time she’s called you that, called you anything besides 'annoying' or 'infuriating' to your face. It sounds so right in that accent of hers that just screams luxury. So you can’t help the intoxicated smile that graces your features, your head leaving her hold as it fully rests on her chest. “I like that,” your words are barely audible over the loud music. 

“You like what?” Caitlyn bites her lip. She’s unsure of what you mean, and she’s even more unsure of what to do now that your head is on her chest. It’s something straight out of one of her recent dreams (though, admittedly, those usually involved quieter, more intimate settings). Now, surrounded by many of your university peers, she doesn’t know what to do. You’ve clearly had a little too much to drink.

“You calling me that,” you hum, finding some weird contentment amongst the chaos. Somehow, when you’re practically nestled against your academic rival, no one else seems to matter. “It’s nice.”

“Ah—“ Caitlyn’s eyes widen, her words getting caught in her throat. Sure, she’s held your hand twice now, but this implies something more. It implies that you like her more than just academic rivals turned friends. “You’re drunk,” she exhales, her hands moving to your waist again. 

“And you’re warm,” you nudge your nose into her neck, which seems very warm and very appealing right now. 

Caitlyn has to swallow thickly and take a deep breath in order to compose herself. It’d be so easy to bring her lips to yours right now, to take you away from this party and have you in the way she’s wanted to for so long — but she doesn’t. You’re drunk, and if there’s one thing Caitlyn values, it’s your consent.

But oh, how she wants.

“We should—“ her voice shakes slightly. “We should get you out of here. You’re drunk, and I don’t want you to get hurt or—“

“You’re sweet,” you mumble, barely noticing as Caitlyn gently moves you back through the throng of people. “But I wanna dance.”

“I know, darling, but we can dance another time. I’m going to walk you back to your dorm now, okay?”

“What?” You tilt your head in an almost-protest as she guides you towards the door. “You don’t have to do that. ‘M fine.”

“No,” Caitlyn’s tone is gentle, but she’s firm in her decision. She pushes open the front door, ushering you into the cold, night air. “I want to, so please let me. Just let me take care of you.”

“Mnh–“ You're not in any state to argue as she leads you out of the house. "'Kay."

|------» ~~~ «------|

It’s not long before you’re fumbling for your keys outside your dorm, attempting to stick the key in the doorknob a few times before you can unlock it. It opens with a click, and you stumble over to the light switch.

Caitlyn keeps a firm hand on your arm as she shuts the door and guides you over to your bed. Now that the room is illuminated with light, she takes in the decor. Soft, fuzzy blankets are piled on your bed, and printed-out photos adorn the wall next to it. In between the strands of fairy lights that glow faintly, she can see the camera-ready smiles of your family and friends. Cute.

She helps you into your lofted bed, in your party outfit and all since you’re in no mood to get ready for bed. Once she’s sure that you’re settled and laying down, Caitlyn crosses the room, turning the lights back off and fishing in the cabinets under the sink for a paper bag. When she finds one, she sets it next to your water bottle on the desk beside your bed. “If you have to throw up, just use this, okay?”

Your eyes are half-closed already as you glance at her hazily from your pillows. “M’kay.”

“Right,” Caitlyn mumbles. “Goodnight, then.” She lingers by your bed for a second, unwilling to leave you. She doesn’t want you to be alone, but staying in her crush’s room when she’s drunk would be inappropriate. After a few moments, she sighs reluctantly, moving to the door.

“Caitlyn?”

Her head whips back to look at you in an almost comical speed. “Yes?”

Your eyes slip shut, already half-asleep. “You’re really pretty.”

“Um,” a pink hue springs up on Caitlyn’s cheeks almost immediately. “Thank you. But you should probably get some rest—“

“You don’t get it.” You huff almost indignantly, eyes still closed. In your tipsy state, you don’t comprehend how she’s not understanding. “You’re really pretty. Whoever you’re with is so lucky.”

…

What?

“Whoever I’m—?“ Caitlyn chokes out in complete surprise, her eyes blown wide. She takes a few steps until she’s beside your bed again. Your expression is sleepy and relaxed: giving nothing away. “What do you mean?”

Unfortunately, the land of dreams is calling to you, and you’re only conscious enough to let out a sleepy hum in response. Seconds later, and you’re gone.

Caitlyn stands frozen in the middle of your dorm room. What the fuck was that? What did your words even mean? You probably just meant that whatever girl she dated was lucky to have someone to walk her home.

Or, her brain supplies helpfully, she could have meant that any girl that I date is lucky because she gets me entirely.

You couldn’t have meant that. Could you?

But the more Caitlyn stands alone in the dark room, pondering the hidden meaning behind your drunken words, the less she can deny the obvious. You have to feel something, you just have to. Up until a few weeks ago, all you would do is glare at her whenever she walked into a classroom. But now…

Now, something has changed. She casts a final glimpse back at you before she’s stepping out into the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind her.

She’ll be damned if she doesn’t find out what that something is.

|------» ~~~ «------|

You wake up with a pounding headache.

Shit. You hadn’t wanted to go to this party in the first place because of all the drunk idiots. How had you turned into one of them?

You bring a hand up to rub at your temples, trying to recall what had happened last night. Arriving with Powder, laughing with Mel, vodka, and… oh.

Caitlyn.

It doesn’t take long to recall the basics. How she had complimented you in your outfit, taken your hand to lead you to dance, how you had ended up leaning against her chest until she walked you back to your dorm. 

Your stomach drops, in particular, as you remember your parting words to her. Whoever she’s with is lucky? You might has well have just shouted from the rooftops that you’re in love with her. Gods, what have you done?

You sit upright in bed, wincing as your head continues to pound. No vomiting, thankfully, but you sure as hell need water and a few Advil pills right now. 

Once you’ve retrieved the essentials in your bathroom, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Makeup smeared, messy hair, and your outfit from last night still clinging to your tired form. You groan, grabbing a makeup wipe as well before you walk past a sleeping Powder and back to your bed — where your phone awaits.

You have several message notifications from various friends and classmates. Some from Mel, asking where you had gone last night, and some from your family at home. Most noticeably, a single notification sits at the top of your screen.

Caitlyn Kiramman: Hey. How are you feeling?

You curse silently as so not to wake Powder, biting your tongue as you think of what you could possibly say to the girl you were fawning over last night. 

Hey. I’m okay. 

You hesitate, your thumbs pausing over your phone keyboard before you send a follow-up message.

Thanks for helping me last night.

You stare at your screen, waiting on bated breath for her response. You see the little three dots pop up on her end, indicating her typing. Yet, seconds later, it disappears. You barely have time to frown down at your phone screen before it reappears.

Caitlyn Kiramman: No problem.

Then, silence.

That was it?

Your phone screen fades to black as you set it face-down on your desk. You lay down on your bed, bringing your knees to your chest to curl up in fetal position. Maybe you did ruin everything. Back when the two of you were just academic rivals, such short conversations were the norm (though they were far more passive aggressive). 

However, in recent times, Caitlyn had been much more attentive over text. It’s yet another one of the things you’ve come to love about her: when her perfectly-poised composure falters, and you can see the awkward girl underneath. It’s endearing. And now— now, you have a hangover, and an empty stomach, and Caitlyn is being dry after your subtle confession.

You will yourself into sleeping for another few hours, tossing and turning as your mind fills with thoughts of her and only her. How good, how right it had felt when you were pressed against her, and how much you had hoped to feel that again. When the images of all the possibilities that could entail flood your mind, you finally open your eyes again.

“What’s with you?” Powder asks groggily from across the room, sitting up in bed with a blue tuft of hair falling in front of her face. “It’s not even ten, but you can’t even lay still.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, staring at your turned-off phone as if you can physically will another text to come through. Namely, from a certain navy-haired sharpshooter.

“Did something happen at the party?” Powder guesses correctly, her tone not unkind as she eyes your expression. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

“You won’t like my answer.”

“I won’t?” She tilts her head, curiosity peaked. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

You just sigh, too tired to push back. “It’s Caitlyn.”

“Caitlyn Kiramman?” Powder wrinkles her nose. She’s not fond of Caitlyn — often chalking her up to some rich girl that thrives off of her mother’s money and name. “Your academic rival? Who cares about her? Don’t let her work you up; you’re better than her.”

“She’s not—“ you cut yourself off, reminding yourself that you’re supposed to be explaining rather than defending the woman. “Look. I know you don’t like her. But she’s the one who helped me back here last night. She’s walked me home and paid for me and been so sweet and respectful towards me. As I’ve spent more time with her, I— well, I guess I—“

“You like her,” Powder finishes. Her gaze is just a tinge softer than when you had started.

You drop your head, staring at the blankets covering your lap. “Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a few moments before Powder continues carefully. “So…what happened?”

“I fucked things up,” your response is immediate, and unwanted tears burn your eyes. You know it's stupid to cry over this, but being hung over is not helping. “I think she knows I like her. I was so messy last night, and I’m worried that I crossed a line and that now she hates me.”

Too busy staring at your bed, you don’t notice Powder getting up until a soft thump is heard from her side of the room. Your eyes dart up to see her weary form cross over to your bed. “Look,” she pats your knee. “This isn’t me saying that I like her — or that you should be with her. But I think you should talk to her. Otherwise, you’re never going to know.”

“Do I even want to know if she hates me?”

Powder just shakes her head. “Look, I doubt that she hates you. If she’s really done all the things you say she has, then it sounds like she likes you too.”

You hesitate, picking at your fingernails anxiously. “She’s just always been... more forward than I am, I guess. Then I make a drunken confession and she isn’t acting the same.”

“Then isn’t it your turn to be forward?”

A beat passes before you nod slowly. Powder’s words make sense. As much as you dislike the anxiety of actually confessing to Caitlyn, you owe her as much after all she’s done for you. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Powder grins, evidently happy that you’re actually listening to her. “Then go find her.”

“Like this?” You pout slightly, gesturing to your outfit and messy hair — though your face is now clean from the previous makeup.

“Yeah, the outfit’s cute. Because I picked it out, of course.”

“Alright, alright,” you can’t help a roll of your eyes, finally succumbing to the urge to pick up your phone and send a message.

Can we talk?

|------» ~~~ «------|

You find Caitlyn on a bench outside of her dorm building. 

It’s nice out, especially for winter: the sun warming you despite the cold air. She had responded to your text only a few minutes after you had sent it, so you’re still wearing the same outfit from the party — as Powder had suggested.

Caitlyn doesn’t miss this detail. Her blue eyes seem to shine in the sunlight as her gaze flits over your top and short skirt, though her eyes flick back to yours a second later. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you respond quietly, sitting on the opposite side of the bench. There’s distance between you two: distance you long to close. But you don’t. Instead, it’s quiet for a few moments, the only sounds being the distant sounds of other college students walking around the campus.

“I want to apologize,” you shift slightly, head turning slightly upwards to meet her eyes. “I wasn’t paying attention to how much I was drinking last night, and I was careless. I’m sorry if anything happened that crossed any boundaries.”

Caitlyn shakes her head. “No…” she starts, then clears her throat. “No. You didn’t upset me or do anything bad. It’s okay.”

“Okay…” you trail off, having no idea where to go with this. It’s quiet again, and your stomach swoops with nerves. “I also, um, wanted to talk about what I said in my room last night.”

“Yeah,” Caitlyn exhales, strands of navy hair escaping her messy ponytail. “I had some questions about it, but I wanted to let you rest.”

“Thank you for that,” your voice lowers into a mumble. “But, well, I meant what I said.” You turn your body to fully face her on the bench. If you’re going to confess, you’re going to at least do it properly.

“You did…?” Caitlyn repeats slowly, almost a question.

“I know we’ve always been rivals,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “And we always fought each other for the top grades, but then we got to know each other and went skating that night. And somewhere along the way, the old feelings faded, and I really saw you as a person. I liked you as a person. So when everything got hazy last night, I guess I just was a lot more honest about it.”

“Wait, so,” Caitlyn’s sharp features narrow, as if she’s trying to discern what you mean. “You like me as a person. Does that mean—?”

“I like you,” your lips curve into half smile, looking up at her almost shyly now in spite of your anxiety. “A lot. I was just worried that I messed things up last night because you didn’t feel the same. And if you don’t, it’s okay, we can still be friends and—“

“Wait,” Caitlyn gently interrupts you, placing a hand on your arm as your words halt. “Why would you think that I don’t feel the same?” Her eyes implore yours questioningly.

“I—“ You stumble in your words, your cheeks growing hot under her gaze. You don’t really have a reason as to why she wouldn’t return your feelings, but of course if you’re nervous to confess to your crush. “I don’t know.”

Caitlyn has to bite back a smile as her heart soars at your shyness. It’s adorable, and she couldn’t ask for anything more. “Of course I like you. It’s why I wanted to go skating with you in the first place. All that bullshit I made up about a competition,” she mindlessly traces circles on your arm. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”

You freeze, words failing you. All that comes out of your mouth is a small, “oh,” and Caitlyn smiles fully at this.

“And when I went to the party, I just went because I knew you’d be there. Maybe it was selfish,” she admits, “but I wanted to be the one to take you home at the end of the night. Not anyone else.”

Your cheeks continue to darken, and your eyes drop, unable to meet her gaze. “I didn’t want anyone else to, either.”

Instead of a verbal response, you feel a light pressure under your chin, and your eyes widen when Caitlyn tilts your head up with a single finger to meet her eyes. Gods, that’s hot. “So, if we only want to be with each other in…that way, maybe we should be.”

“Yeah,” your eyes curve up into little eye-smiles that Caitlyn may or may not be totally obsessed with. “I think so.”

“So, let me do this properly then,” Caitlyn announces suddenly, standing in her casual hoodie and jeans before reaching out her hands to help you up off the bench. When you place your hands in hers, she gently guides you to your feet. She doesn’t let go, only closing the distance between the two of you with her hands holding yours. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes,” you beam, barely able to restrain yourself from bouncing on your toes in compete joy. It’s what you’ve been dreaming of — what you’ve both been dreaming of — for weeks now. You feel sixteen all over again: enthralled by the joys of young love.

Caitlyn’s expression matches yours: sparkling eyes and cheeks hurting because she’s smiling so hard. “I really want to kiss you,” she confesses, bringing one of her hands up to cradle your jaw while the other remains in yours. “But I know we’re still on campus.”

“Who cares?” You just shake your head, far past the point of giving two shits about who sees. It’s just a kiss: people can deal with it.

That’s all the permission that Caitlyn needs before she’s leaning down to capture your lips with hers. It’s a sweet, innocent kiss at first: both of you smiling and giggling too much to get anywhere else. But gods, it feels so nice, and you force yourself to contain your happiness just so you can do it all over again.

Caitlyn seems to be following the same thought pattern, and she uses the hand that’s holding yours to tug you flush up against her chest. The new angle allows for your lips to meet in a deeper kiss, her tongue teasing at the seam of your lips. Her height advantage allows her to take most of the control, and your lips slant against hers as you return her kisses with equal fervor. 

“Wait,” Caitlyn mumbles, reluctantly pulling away to catch her breath. Your lips chase hers, tugging into a pout at the feeling of being ripped away from her mouth. “I— we should probably move this somewhere else.”

“Your dorm?” You suggest, eyeing the building next to you. It’s the closest space that’s private — because of course Caitlyn Kiramman has a dorm to herself. 

“We could,” Caitlyn’s tone is displeased as her gaze follows yours, evidently not satisfied with the idea. Why should she settle for a twin bed when she has a huge bed at her parents’ house? “Or…we could go back to my place.”

“With your parents?” You gape at her, slightly mortified. Her mother is the Councilor Cassandra Kiramman, and the last thing you want is for her to know about what you’re doing with her daughter. That’s the worst way to meet your new girlfriend’s parents.

“Relax,” Caitlyn huffs out a laugh, already pulling out her phone to call an uber. “They’re not home. Promise.”

“Okay,” you give into her wishes, leaning your cheek on her shoulder as she taps away on the screen. “I just want you.”

“Oh, darling,” Caitlyn tilts her head to the side to press a kiss to your forehead, and your body glows like you’re walking on sunshine. “I’m all yours from now on. And when we get back, you’re all mine.”

|------» ~~~ «------| 

Caitlyn practically yanks the car door open when the driver pulls up to the Kiramman manor, mumbling out a hurried “thank you” before dashing over to your side. She’s clearly in a hurry: wanting to get you alone to make up for lost time. Though, she does, admittedly, insist on opening the front door for you so that you can enter first because Caitlyn Kiramman is nothing if not a perfect gentlewoman.

You barely register entering the house, barely register the walk up to her room. The only thing you’re focused on is when she leads you into her room, shutting the door and immediately pushing you against it. Her hand cups the back of your head, careful not to let it slam onto the wood: a tinge of tenderness in a heated moment.

Her lips are back on yours before you can even speak, her tongue wasting no time on finding its way past your lips. She explores your mouth like it’s something to be studied, taking careful time to entwine her tongue with yours. This pulls a soft whimper from you — one which Caitlyn swallows.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” she mumbles as her mouth breaks from yours: a single strand of saliva connecting the two. “Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“That would— ah— be you!” You gasp, your head tilting back against the door as her lips move to kiss the corner of your jaw before they trail down to your neck. 

Caitlyn doesn’t bite; she’s much too attentive to your wants and needs to risk anything that hurts right now. She’s a possessive woman, though, caused by being an only child who had all the wealth that she never had to share. So, in place of a love bite, her lips trace over your pulse point before darting her tongue out to meet it. She sucks softly at your skin, just hard enough to leave a mark that everyone will know is hers. More importantly, that you will know is hers.

Her hands are on a journey of their own, sliding down to your hips to give them a squeeze. “No one could ever compare to you,” Caitlyn mumbles against your neck in response to your last comment. “Can’t believe I have you now. I want to make you mine in all the ways I can.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” you pant, helpless to do anything but take in just how good her mouth and hands feel all over you. Vaguely, you wonder how they’d feel in certain other places, too.

It’s not long before Caitlyn’s tugging you over to the bed, guiding you onto the mattress before moving on top of you. “Can I take this off, darling?” She tugs at your blue-grey top, making eye contact with you to ensure that this is what you really want.

You nod almost desperately, unable to wait much longer. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Begging already,” Caitlyn hums, almost absentmindedly. Her naturally authoritative aura comes from her desire for control — in every sense of the word. You’ve noticed this about her, even fantasized about it, but you’ve never had it turned on you before. Gods, is it attractive.

Caitlyn makes quick work of your top, tugging it over your head before shrugging off her sweatshirt to reveal her bra underneath it. This makes you lean up on your elbows, eyeing her breasts like they’re something to be devoured. They are.

Caitlyn, meanwhile, is entirely focused on your now exposed bra. It’s a tiny, lacy little thing that you had chosen specifically to go under your party outfit from last night. She caresses the detailed edges, barely restraining herself from ripping off your skirt, too. Caitlyn could go feral just thinking about the likely matching panties that she bets show quite a decent amount.

She settles for unclasping your bra, instead, sliding it off to reveal your breasts. Caitlyn immediately brings her mouth to one of them, lavishing your nipple with her tongue while one of her hands comes up to pinch the other.

You grip onto her shoulder, your knuckles turning white with the pressure meant to offset the pure pleasure that’s coursing through your body. “Cait!” You gasp as her mouth parts from your nipple.

She watches it pebble under the cool air, gently blowing on it just to watch it harden for her. She coos at your gasp, too. “So perfect,” she murmurs. “So good for me.”

“Please, Cait, I need you!”

“Oh, you need me?” She reaches to undo her own bra and slip off her jeans. “How do you need me, darling? Tell me what exactly you need.”

“Anything,” you counter, your tone whiny and pleading. “Everything.”

“Anything and everything, huh?” Caitlyn muses, lifting your skirt just enough so she can see the wet spot in your black panties underneath. She reaches out to touch it, the light pressure of her finger making you gasp. Her eyes darken. “We’ll see about that.”

Your skirt’s being tossed to her bedroom floor in a flash, Caitlyn’s hands lifting your hips off the bed so she can tug your panties down. “Beautiful,” she breathes when she sees your fully exposed core, now dripping from how she had worked you up. She only admires it for a moment— diving in when her desire overwhelms her restraint.

You keen as her tongue meets you slick folds. You squirm, unable to keep your hips from jerking at the relentless onslaught of pleasure that your girlfriend’s giving you. Caitlyn, for her parent, rests her hands on your inner thighs, spreading them to give her better access to you.

She licks, sucks, and nips at your folds before she traces her tongue all the way up to circle around your clit, pulling another gasp from you. “That feels— mmnh— so good!” Your voice shakes, growing increasingly uneven as Caitlyn continues to toy with your sensitive nerves. 

But at the height of it all, just when you’re about to come, she separates her mouth from your core with a small pop. You instantly whine in protest, shifting your hips back towards her talented mouth. Caitlyn just tuts at you, clicking her tongue in ways that make you clench around nothing. “Patience, darling. I want our first time to be together.”

Before you can even fully process what she means, she’s moving her hands back to her own body to slide her panties down her legs. Caitlyn throws them to the ground without a single spare glance, moving forward to balance herself on top of you. “Tell me, love, have you ever scissored with a girl before?”

You shake your head up at her, your eyes blurry from your building orgasm that had been denied. 

“Oh, perfect,” she continues to coo. “Then let me show you how this goes, darling.”

When both of your legs spread and your dripping cunt meets hers, your mouth drops open. You’ve never felt pleasure like this before — even with how well she ate you out. Your eyes practically role back as you gasp out a moan.

Caitlyn also falters in her composure, hissing when she starts to continuously grind her slickness against yours. “Shit, you feel so good. Just like that. Just lay there and take it.”

And you do — half because you want to listen to her and half because you doubt that you’re physically capable of doing anything else. You won’t last long: not with the way Caitlyn’s shaky sighs and the movements of her hips combine to form the hottest image you’ve ever seen.

“I can’t!” You gasp after several more moments. “I can’t go much longer.”

“It’s okay,” Caitlyn’s exhale resembles more of a soft moan. She’s grinding her hips faster now, chasing her own release. “We’ll come together, okay darling? Just come for me, show me how good it feels.”

You come at her words, falling apart under her touch like you’ve wanted to do this whole time. Your hips move up desperately, riding out your delicious high while Caitlyn lets go with a grunt of her own.

A few seconds pass in which all the two of you can do is rut back against each other, stealing every last bit of pleasure that you can manage. When you start to come down from your orgasm, Caitlyn maneuvers herself next to lay next to you upon her silk sheets. She slings an arm across your torso, manicured fingers splaying across your abdomen.

You pant, still trying to catch your breath after your mind-blowing first time with Caitlyn. “You’re really good at that,” are the first words you manage out. 

Caitlyn laughs, throwing her head back against the pillow in her own afterglow. “You’re a natural too. Best sex I’ve ever had,” she pauses to press a kiss to your cheek. Then a second. Then a third. “Best woman in the entirety of Runeterra. All for me, all mine.”

“Yes, all yours,” your laughter comes out as an amused, tired huff. “But I don’t know about me being a ‘natural.’ Sounds a little cliché.”

“Well then,” Caitlyn adjusts your positions so your head is tucked under her chin. She’s keeping you warm, safe, and protected — just how she likes it. “Guess we’ll have to practice some more.”

You smile against her collarbone before press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to it. “As much as you want.”

“Of course, my love,” Caitlyn lets out a deep, contented sigh, throwing the comforter over both of you and settling into her little cocoon. Silk sheets, plush comforter, and you. What else could she ever need?

“We have all the time in the world.”

Longest fic I've ever written! Glad it was for academic rival!Caitlyn...I love her sososo much!

Thank you for all the love on my fics lately, my lovelies. You guys are the sweetest, and I appreciate you so much <3

~Cherry 🍒

[endzithefangirl]

"I'm gong to put 'being a WAG' on my CV"

Authors note: Here's a little Max Verstappen x TechCEO!Reader. Bet you didn't see that comng. Anyway, got the idea for this a few days ago, and I guess my love of Italian food made me finish this

Summary: Max's new relatioship causes a social media stir, but the new couple couldn't care less whilst in Italy.

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, female reader, famous reader

Word count: 2k

You understood it, to a degree. Max had just broken off a three-year-long relationship right before summer break, and now suddenly he was spending the summer with you. Now you’re at the paddock... No wonder people thought there was some crossover.

The truth? You two met last New Year's at a party for some sporting event. You, being one of the sponsors for your country's national sports committee, were invited, and Max... well, Max was Max Verstappen. You hit it off, exchanged numbers, showed him around your company a few times, and took him to all of your favorite restaurants in NYC. But you knew he had a girlfriend; everyone knew. And he was taking care of her kid too.

That breakup was hard on him. He had stopped loving her, but he couldn't just kick a woman and her kid out of his house. Max waited for them to have a huge fight, and then they just... broke up. And to your surprise, he was in New York the next day, saying that he needed someone to talk to. Bullshit. You knew he liked you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come all the way here 'just to talk.'

But here you were, in Italy, spending time with him before Monza. You were currently typing away on your phone, trying to make peace in the finance department. Max glanced up from his phone every so often, stealing peeks at you while grinning.

He had never quite been so into someone like you. You were smart, funny, talented, pretty, and on top of all that - you were also rich. But you were also the most challenging girl to flirt with Max had ever met.

"You look like you could use a break," he said, after watching you tap away at your work laptop for a few minutes.

"Probably. What's the point of having interns if they don't do anything?"

"Then you should consider hiring me; I'm pretty good at helping out," Max teased, looking up from his phone and sending you a cheeky smile. He loved a woman who was in power, who knew what she was doing, and he could tell you were used to being the boss. "Come on, take a break. You know you deserve it," Max encouraged, resting his hand on top of yours to stop you from working some more.

"I guess I could eat…" You say, closing your laptop. "I saw on Google Maps that there’s a nice pizza place down the road. We can go if you’re hungry.”

Max smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m starving; let’s go,” he said, reaching for the car keys.

“No, it’s okay, let’s walk,” you stop him. He turned towards you, slightly confused. Usually, women would give anything to drive around with Max Verstappen. Maybe that’s just what makes you special.

The two of you walked out of the hotel, your bodyguard Lenny standing outside the door. The tall, muscular man just nodded as the two of you entered the elevator. Max found it funny that you preferred Lenny guard your stuff more than you. Especially the laptop. He sometimes wondered what you kept in there...

“Is Pierre gonna be at the race?” you asked as you exited the building, breaking the silence.

Max’s head snapped towards you, and he raised his brow. “Uh, yes, of course he is… Why?”

“Because I want to see Kika.”

“Oh, so she’s your secret F1 crush, eh?” Max said, relaxing.

You laughed. “Pierre is a solid seven with a better haircut. Kika is a twelve on a bad day.”

As you got to the bigger streets, you started to understand why Max drove everywhere. Unlike you, who were a chiller and niche celebrity, despite being incredibly rich, Max was a real superstar. Your short walk to the pizza shop became a fan meet and greet, with people coming up to you every three seconds and asking for photos.

“Is this your girlfriend?” one of the people asking for a picture asked. As you finished taking the photo, you noticed Max’s slightly flustered face as he heard the question. He stumbled, but you answered with a simple “Yeah.”

As you arrived at the restaurant, you noticed that Max was staring at you. He seemed… surprised. You laughed at his facial expression. The sound of your laugh calmed him instantly, his heartbeat beginning to return to normal. Max cursed himself in his head; he was better than this. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it something I said?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heating up slightly. "No, no... Not really," he reassured you, trying to sound casual. "I was just... thinking."

"Okay, well I'm thinking about the food. I think a Vesuvius sounds great right now."

Max chuckled and quickly glanced down at the menu to hide his embarrassment. "Vesuvius? What the hell is a Vesuvius?" he asked, though his eyes scanned down the menu, searching for it.

"It's a type of pizza," you teased. "It's been like three minutes; have you not even skimmed the menu?"

Max fidgeted under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "What?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You tell me. Why are you staring?" Max shook his head, glancing up at you questioningly. He had no idea what you were thinking about. "No... What are you thinking about?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"There are pots from 4000 years ago found in ancient Egypt that are made out of an incredibly difficult to manage material and are cut to such perfection that they balance on their round bottom."

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was expecting something totally different. Something that had at least a little bit to do with him. He chuckled, still somewhat surprised as he studied your face. "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously.

"The Egyptians. They were like, cooking pots and stuff. Royal cooking pots probably, but still," you teased.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're thinking about cooking pots, and here I am, just trying to figure out what I did to make you say that we're together so casually."

"What do you mean? Are we not together?"

"Well, of course we're together," Max said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now. He glanced around the restaurant briefly, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "I just... I didn't expect you to say it so casually," he said, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know we were keeping it a secret. I mean, I was at the paddock and all last time, and I took days off work to come to this race—"

Max shook his head, realizing you completely misunderstood what he was saying. "No, no, it's not that... I just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. He took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "It's just... you're so casual about it... and I'm... a bit too flustered for my own good," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

You softened up a bit. "Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a bit too shocking for you... Yeah, sorry."

Max felt his heartbeat a little faster when you softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it was a bit... unexpected for me," he chuckled, feeling somewhat silly for being so flustered. "But it's fine, honestly."

"Do you think my stomach is gonna have space for gelato later? There's a really good gelateria; I can see it from the window... They make the ones with the macarons..."

Max chuckled, loving how you were so excited about the gelato. "Well, based on the amount of pizza you usually eat," he teased, a smirk on his face. "I'd say you're probably fine."

"No, they put the macarons on the gelato."

"On the gelato?" Max repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he said, leaning forward to get a better look out the window at the gelateria you were talking about. "Well, in that case," he said with a grin, "we're definitely going there for dessert."

After eating so much that your belts barely held, you came back to the hotel, Lenny greeting you at the door as usual. Max's stomach was stuffed to the brim, but he was in such a good mood from the good food and even better company, he didn't even care. He walked back into the hotel together with you, his hand still holding yours. Lenny greeted the two of you as usual, but Max couldn't help but notice the way Lenny looked at you, like he was analyzing you.

"All good, Len. You go to your room for the night," you said to Lenny. He nodded, smiled at the both of you, and then went off. Max watched as Lenny walked off, then turned to you, a small frown on his face.

"He was looking at you funny," he said, a protective edge to his voice.

"He thinks it's funny. That I'm dating a Formula 1 driver."

"What's so funny about that?" he protested, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "He just... I don't know, he's a big fan of yours I don't think he's processed it yet". Max's frown relaxed as you explained it, his ego immediately soothed a bit. Of course he was a big fan of his, who wasn't?

"Oh, so he's a big fan?" he teased, a hint of pride and cockiness in his voice.

You take your shoes off and lay on the bed, your stomach bloated from all the good food "Yeah. Talk to him a bit, I think it'll make him happy" You let out groan as you move "I hate you Italy. You has so much good food... I love it though"

Max chuckled, watching as you dramatically threw yourself onto the bed, your stomach protesting the amount of food you just had. "You're such a drama queen sometimes," he teased, grinning as he took off his shoes as well and joined you on the bed. He lays down beside you, running a hand over your bloated stomach. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, you know what I saw on TikTok?"

Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his hand now resting on your stomach. He didn't typically pay too much attention to TikTok, but he was more than happy to listen to you.

"What did you see?" he asked, turning his head to look at you.

"Well first of all, I'm a WAG now. Thank you for that, I will be putting that on my CV. But second, they liked that I was wearing Red Bull merch. I thought they wouldn't like it, but they did"

Max chuckled as you spoke, amused by how casually you mentioned being a WAG, and how seriously you were taking the fact that you were wearing Red Bull merchandise. "Well, of course they liked it," he said with a smirk. "You were wearing the merch of the best team out there."

He gave you a smug look, his hand moving up and tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. "Not to mention the merch of the best driver out there."

[bbokicidal]

"Are you serious...?" - Angst! [Hyung Line SKZ]

Notes : These are all obviously fictional situations, the red flags are just based off of habits we know they have (like Chan's need to be needed, Changbin being blunt/honest.) This post isn't me saying I think they have these red flags, it's just a fun angsty prompt I wrote down. If you don't like it, scroll and don't read.

If people like this - a maknae line will be written! If not, prolly not lol.

Warnings : Angst with no comfort, red flag behavior - some of these aren't even that bad or could be misunderstandings but still.

Maknae Line | "Good Luck, Babe." Part Two!! Here!

BangChan - Brushing off/Having the wrong priorities

One time, it was him forgetting a dinner date - the next, he was staying at the studio late when he was supposed to be meeting your parents for the first time. You let it slide because ultimately you understood that his job took up a lot of his time, and honestly? It wasn't easy to forget about but he had a tendency to take care of you and make up with it by quick gestures before he left the apartment or when he came home; Soft back hugs, quick cuddles before he fell asleep, or kisses in passing. Lately, however, he's been slacking. He'd begun to shrug you off any time you'd touched his arm or hand, nudging you away while he typed on his laptop. He'd tip his head away from yours while laying in bed together or he'd sit further away on the dressing room sofa.

The tipping point was when he was getting ready to go on stage and was standing in wait for the others to be ready. There was still five minutes and Chris looked a bit jittery, so you figured a quick hug or kiss would help ease his nerves. However as soon as you approach and reach to touch his arms, he steps back and keeps his eyes trained on his phone. You reach again, hesitant, and his brow furrows as he maneuvers to the side to get away. "Don't touch me."

Your lips pop apart in surprise. "...Are you serious?"

He looks over, eyes briefly wandering your face before he reaches to fix his in-ear and walks away to the door, disappearing around the corner and leaving you standing there alone. Even the soft touch of Felix's hand on your back as he passed by was warmer than anything you'd felt from Chris in the last two months.

Lee Know - Keeping secrets / Prioritizing Privacy within himself

Minho had a very, very bad habit of not telling you things. In this instance; That he was leaving for tour in two days.

A world. fucking. tour. The only reason you didn't know about it was because you hadn't been out of your home in the last few weeks unless it was for a quick coffee at the cafe or to grab lunch with a friend. Work was heavy during this time of year and as someone who worked remotely, you often spent grueling hours in your office on your computer - hunched, tired, head pounding and back sore.

So you would think that when you entered your bedroom one evening after just finishing up sorting files in your office, you'd be happy to see your boyfriend already there. And you were for a moment, until you realized he was packing three rather large suitcases full of his clothes and necessities. He looks to you, then away, wordless.

"Are.. you.. moving out, or something?" You breathe in a laugh, eyes wandering over Minho as he folds a t-shirt and tucks it into his suitcase with the others.

"No. I have to bring all of my luggage to the company building tomorrow so they can have it at the airport when we leave for Australia."

"Australia?" Your brows quirk. "When -- Why --"

"Tour." He stops his movements to stare over at you, a hint of irritation evident on his face. "We're going on tour for six months."

"Six--" You breathe out, eyes widening. "Six months. And you didn't think to tell me?"

Minho moves to drop a pair of pants in his suitcase. "I would've told you if you could handle the news, maybe. Every time I mention leaving all you do is whine and pout about how long I'll be gone."

"I get upset, yes, what girlfriend wouldn't be upset that her boyfriend is leaving for a week or two? But six months, Minho, I --"

"Don't start." He all but huffs out the words, shutting you up immediately. Minho turns away to continue folding items of clothing on the shared bed and as you watch him do so, you stand and have to wonder if you want to be there when he returns home from the tour.

Changbin - Not knowing the difference between being rude and being blunt

He didn't seem to understand when to stop. Changbin had a tendency to be honest, sometimes to a fault, though you never seemed to complain about it because most of the time it wasn't a big deal. He called Jeongin out for saying the wrong word when singing, or blatantly threw people under the bus when a joke was taken too far.

And he was like that with you, too. He would be honest with you when you asked his opinion of something - was the shirt unflattering? Were you being too loud? Was your makeup bad today?

He'd lay it on you point blank. Yes, the shirt fit a little weird. Yes, you were being a bit loud in his ear. And yes, your eyeliner was going in two different directions. Criticism that was asked for. But when it wasn't asked for? Oh.

"What is your problem?" He bites as he follows you down the hallway to your bedroom. "We have ten minutes, just wear the damn dress and put your shoes on. We have to go."

Your huffs mix with stifled sobs as you rip open your dresser drawer and dig for other options, hands shaking and eyes teary. "You just told me the dress looks ugly, Changbin. I'm not wearing it out if you don't like it--!"

"What does it matter if i don't like it? It's your body, wear what you want!"

"You're my boyfriend!" You retaliate, frustrated. "I want to look nice for you and -- for the group, and I want you to like what I wear, obviously!"

Changbin lets his eyes roll before he turns out of the bedroom doorway and down the hall. You pause to watch him go, listening as he bites about how he doesn't have time for this and needs to leave for the group dinner. You stand in front of your dresser in shock as the door to your apartment slams shut, leaving you in silence and all on your own.

Hyunjin - Being too cocky / Making you feel inferior

It hadn't happened before now, and you weren't sure why it happened at all. But it did.

You'd approached to gently hold onto your boyfriend's arm as he talked to an older idol - someone he looked up to and had just done a collaboration video with. You'd only come up to tell him that the food was delivered and he could have dinner before his stage, but the look he gave you when he finally turned his head was .... wild.

No words were needed. The way his eyes directed to the side you stood at before falling as if looking you over and then immediately looking away; The way the smirk on his lips only widened and his tongue pushed at his canines as he redirected his gaze elsewhere. The soft scoff that left his lips. The way his arm slipped away from your hold in clear nuance that he didn't want you touching him.

It made you feel like less. Like he was pretending he didn't know you - Like he wanted you to bug off and disappear from his line of sight.

Hyunjin had a tendency to put on a confident, bold persona when he was on stage and at first you thought maybe that was why he was acting this way. It was lingering in his body from the dance video he'd just filmed with the other idol and eventually, it would wear off.

But as he turned from you and lifted a hand to fix his hair, he talks to the other as if you're not even there at all. And you have to wonder if it's a persona for the video, or a side of him you had just experienced for the first time. Now you could only hope it wouldn't happen again.

[booksandteaandtears]

Teaching Hospital

Michael 'Dr. Robby' Robinavitch x f!prosecutor!reader

Summary: You're a prosecutor and end up in the Pitt with a dislocated shoulder. You're a teaching case for Javadi and Dr. Robby supervises. Supervision turns into flirting quite easily

genre: pure fluff, smart and older female reader, flirty!Robinavitch, reader takes the first step, Dana is a wingwoman, Javadi is scared she'll mess up

about 1.4 k words

masterlist and I wrote a part 2

You had walked into the Pitt, your left arm supporting you right, two cops trailing you with worry. You'd told them several times already that it was your own fault for deciding to hop aboard their patrol. After two decades of relying on police investigations in the courtroom, you had wanted to see more of the process, but you were regretting it now.

You knew a lot of police work was dealing with rowdy drunks, even around noon on a weekday, so you'd stayed back when the cops had stopped outside a bar downtown. You had been so focused on what was happening in front of you that you hadn't seen the guy coming from your right. And now you were in a busy ER, holding your arm because it felt like it was going to get ripped from its socket.

Once you'd been triaged, given a sling and the doctors had decided you weren't badly injured, the cops you'd been with apologised and continued their shift. Your jacket had been cut open to access your injury, so the remaining half was draped over your right shoulder. The painkillers started to work after a while. You sat on a sticky plastic chair, surrounded by the nightly clientele of the Pitt, wishing you'd brought your laptop. You made do with your phone, pinching your eyes to read through the case you'd been sent that morning.

You were so caught up in it, that you didn't notice a deep voice calling your last name until he was right in front of you. A pair of soft brown eyes was looking at you, with a nice looking face to match. "Shoulder that needs resetting, that's you right?" He asked. "Sure, yes, sorry!" You apologised. "I got caught up in work, barely notice anything around me when I get into it." The doctor laughed softly at you and gestured towards an open bed. "You take a seat, I'm going to get a medical student and then we'll get about putting your shoulder back in the right way." You nodded and shuffled yourself on the bed awkwardly, trying not to make wild moves and make your arm worse.

The doctor came back with a petite girl who was smiling sweetly at you, but you could see the fear in her eyes. "Right," the bearded doctor said, "I'm Dr. Robinavitch, this is Dr. Javadi, our med student. She put a hip back in place last week, so she'll be trying your arm this time, this being a teaching hospital and all. I'm just here for support." Javadi cleared her throat and looked at the chart. "You've been given pain medication when you came in, correct?" You nodded and smiled at the girl. She was radiating anxiety and you could see her swallowing her fear. "It says here you were trailing with the police when someone knocked you down, is that correct." You nodded again. "And you work as a prosecutor here in Pittsburgh?" You sighed, "Yup, I got myself into this mess trying to get some hands-on experience." Dr. Robinavitch smirked from behind his med student. "Guess you're not trying that again anytime soon?" You laughed, wincing slightly as you moved your arm. "I'll be sticking to court for the next while, I think."

You smiled back at the doctor while Javadi prodded around your shoulder softly. His brown eyes focused on the student's hands, giving soft directions on what she should feel for. You were enjoying yourself, spending some time looking at him. Smart, ambitious men had always been your type. Bonus points if they looked cute. You startled and gave a small moan when Javadi prodded a particularly tender part of your shoulder, and she jumped back in worry.

You tried to make light of the situation to take some of the stress away. "Don't worry, Dr. Javadi, if you hurt me I'll only prosecute you for injuring a public official." You smiled up at her and saw that your joke did not have the desired effect. All the blood had left Javadi's face.

Dr. Robinavitch cleared his throat and Javadi turned to face him. "Go get the type of sling she'll need, take a breath, then you'll put it back." Javadi nodded and rushed off. "Sorry," Dr. Robinavitch said, "teaching hospital means teaching moments sometimes." You smiled up at him. "That's alright, Dr. Robinavitch, that's how we all were, those first years on the job. I called a judge mom in my first month, was about to quit then and there. Glad I stuck to it though." He laughed. "Dr. Robby." You raised your eyebrow. "What?" "It's Dr. Robby. At least for people who tell me their embarrassing stories within ten minutes of meeting me." You smiled at him and tasted the name on your lips. "Dr. Robby it is." You could swear you saw his ears go slightly red.

Robby tried to focus on something that wasn't your face because he could feel his ears turning red. Unfortunately for him, that was the moment the remains of your jacket slid of your shoulder, and he was staring at your collarbones beneath the spaghetti straps of you tanktop. Great, now his whole face would be turning red. You shivered and tried to grab your jacket from the floor, pulling a face as you twisted your shoulder. Robby reached forward on instinct and gently guided you upright again. He zipped his hoodie down and draped it over your shoulders. "Here, take mine. Yours isn't worth much and I've got an extra in my locker." The smell of laundry, cologne and something manly hit you. You liked it. "Thanks, I'll give it back before I leave." You said, smiling up at him once more.

Dana caught Javadi rushing back from the supply closet. She startled again and looked towards the charge nurse expectantly. "You just stay here for a minute longer, darling." Collins stopped next to Dana, both looking towards your bed, where Dr. Robby had rolled his chair slightly more towards you. "Do my eyes deceive me..." Collins started. "Or is Cap flirting with that poor girl?" Dana finished. "I think you're right. He's actually smiling at her. Oh look, she's flirting back, putting her hand on his arm. Poor sad boy, he's turning bright red. And my god, is that his hoodie that she's wearing?"

Javadi came back and set your shoulder expertly, earning her a nod from Dr. Robby and many thanks from you. You were sorry when they were called into an incoming trauma, leaving a nurse with you to discharge you. You tried to hang around for a while, but soon came to the realisation that they needed the bed. You hung near the desk for another ten minutes, hoping that Dr. Robby would emerge from the trauma room soon.

"You waiting for Robby?" A blond woman stood next to you, sipping a cup of coffee. "Yeah, just wanted to give him my thanks." The woman pulled up an eyebrow. "I thought Javadi treated you?" You sighed. "You caught me. Just wanted to ask Dr. Robby some questions." "Questions about what? Anything to do with that hoodie you're wearing?" Dana took a sip and stared at you. "Well, I guess straight forward is your way, ma'am. I appreciate that, 'cause it's my way as well. I have two questions mainly. If he's single, and if yes, if he's free for a date somewhere this week. I have a nice bottle of wine that needs opening but I can't really make it work with this arm." You pointed at your sling. The nurse smiled back at you. "I think a bottle of wine is just what that man needs. Can't help you with his schedule, I'm no personal assistant, but I can give you his cell number if that's of any help?" She winked at you. "Just tell him Dana gave the number, cause he's too much of a chicken to have done it himself. And tell him I like you and your straightforward ways." You flashed a bright smile at her. "Will do Dana, thank you. I'll tell him you're the best wingwoman I've ever met."

You were still wearing Dr. Robby's hoodie when left the Pitt, clutching a post-it with his phone number in your good hand.

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 | Javier Peña x reader

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summary | Javier needed a vacation, badly.

author's note | for writing through the seasons, hosted by @guiltyasdave (happy birthday bby!!) & @sizzlingcloudmentality. such a beautiful challenge and i really enjoyed writing something a little lighter for javi. and a big thank you to @kedsandtubesocks & @hauntedhowlett for helping me plan this out.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, post narcos s3, old partners, holding grudges, enemies to lovers, javi in shorts, drinking, less than subtle flirting, shower sex, unprotected piv and creampies, some feelings at the end <3

word count — 7k

Being forced out of Colombia had been a blessing in disguise, really.

With an asshat like Javier Peña as the attaché and taking that power to clean house, you had been an innocent casualty among the masses. There were about twenty of you, some lower staff, some agents - like you, but it was all the push you needed to switch gears.

The passion you initially started with had waned slowly, desensitized to every drug bust and dead body; young, old. It was draining, debilitating on some days. Taking a job at the inn had rejuvenated you and washed away the heavy weight of the DEA and all the baggage that came with it.

As for Javier, he spent weeks searching for a proper place to use as his getaway, constant whispers and recommendations from friends about a small island off the coast of Hawaii - discreet, quiet, a place where he didn’t have to be known. He wanted to exist away from home; the occasional spotlight—he wanted to disappear.

It was perfect, walking up the lone inn on the tiny island with a deep, relieving breath and his bag slung over his shoulder, approaching the desk with his natural swagged, the gentle sway of his hips in those figure hugging jeans, fit perfectly to his muscled thighs and a peach colored button-up to match.

Not beach attire, but easily clocked. Your face is buried in the laptop you swing around to the front desk, a faint clearing of a throat coming a few inches away and up, catching a glimpse of the watch, then the plush lips pushed out under a thick mustache, yellow-tinted glasses that hid those pensive fucking eyes.

You both realize it at the same moment.

What the fuck are you doing here?

It’s said in unison, laptop snapped shut as you take in his cliche attire.

In the year since you’ve been let go, he hasn't changed a bit.

“I’ve got a room booked for the weekend,” Javier continues despite your pinched expression, the strong wave of bitterness returning as you glare at him, staring up at the clock that read a quarter ‘til five, only fifteen minutes left on your shift before your next break.

Maybe if you waited him out you could send him on his way, knowing very well there wasn’t any other possible booking on the island and he would have to find a flight back home.

Fuck him. God, fuck him.

As good as you had it now, it didn’t lessen the sting of a career you had worked so hard for, crumbling to nothing with a flick of pen and someone's shitty opinion, crossing your name off like it meant nothing, like you hadn’t done enough grunt work for him to even earn a simple thank you.

You existed around him, not with him.

Even now, he’s staring at you like he’s waiting for you to spin on his axis, tap your fingers delicately against the work computer and handing over his room key with a smile. Practiced, forced.

He could find somewhere else, surely.

He doesn’t realize he let the thought slip audibly until you’re replying with an amused tone, “No, you can’t,” It was cocky, but oozing a venom that Javier knew to steer clear of, “we’re the only place on the island.”

Silently you type in his name, knowing that despite your immediate distaste that returns like a natural, learned behavior—you had a job to do.

But, it doesn’t stop your mouse from hovering over the cancel button for a moment too long, watching his expression turn from smug to pitiful.

It was a glaring dichotomy, personalities swapped, watching a once confident man shrink in shame as he scratches his cheek and looks away, your fingers typing quietly at the keyboard before you eventually disappear without a word, fetching the room key.

It was a pricier suite, unsurprising. Room 213. You swing the key ring around your finger and double-check the information, seeing that he had paid ahead of time and handled all the necessary additions over the phone with a different employee.

“This what you do now?” He asks - it was a question of genuine curiosity, but it comes out judgmental, at least, it reads that way. He takes the key from your extended finger and ignores the obvious tension that was weaving around you both like a tangled mess.

“It’s surprising how hard it is to get back onto a job at the embassy when the head attaché fires you without proper reasoning—overstaffing, was it? Budget cuts?” You tilt your head slightly, staring him down with a polite smile as you slide the paper receipt across the counter, “I guess we’ll never know, huh?”

“Hey, that’s—”

“I don’t care, Javier,” You reply honestly, interjecting before he has the chance to spit out an excuse, whatever it may be, “Yes—this is what I do now.”

So much for anonymity, he thinks.

Just like that, his entire vacation had soured.

And for you, it was the only sliver of peace you had here.

Gone. Vanished.

You watch his walk of quiet shame as he glances over his shoulder briefly before boarding the elevator, his jaw tense and tight as you lock eyes, doors closing slowly before you release a breath you didn’t realize you were still holding.

Fuck.

It was time to take your fifteen.

–

You liked Fridays because it meant relaxation—and drinks, beachside and under the soft, soothing tune of whatever was playing through the bar speakers, the crash of waves on the shore and a misty spray that kissed your skin, sipping silently at your drink as your finger circles the wet ring on the surface of the table.

The sun was setting by now, a few hours since you hated spoken or seen Javier Peña.

It was hitting you now, realizing you never quite processed how hard the lay off had been to process, how blindsided you had been, or how little appreciation was shown in the aftermath.

Right—it only mattered if your name meant something, if it was attached.

You were like mice, rats—taught and trained, scattering to find evidence and intel, return and filter it through your superiors and still somehow manage to not get murdered or discovered in the process and all the while, expected to complete your paperwork on time. 

You were used to people taking the credit from you, but with Javier, it was different.

He had a way of making you feel special; always calling you by name, never letting you feel inferior when he needed something, making sure to comment on your appearance in a respectful manner, greet you like you’ve been friends for ages, a mere effort to keep up with his title.

But, you had built a strange kinship over long late night stake-outs, shared nonsensical details about your life - like how you despised the taste of liquor but toughed it out for the sweet aftertaste, enjoyed drinks for the aesthetics rather than the feeling.

Javier was a messy eater, too. Not careless, but rather ravaging. He’d tear into his fruit like an animal finding the first spec of food in a week, juices covering his fingers and oblivious to the obscene sounds he’d make as he chewed, sucked, and licked. It was irritating, but inherently him. He didn’t like music much either, opting for silence instead. It drove you insane on particularly long nights.

It didn’t matter that you had shared nights in each other’s apartments, grueling over dead-ends and lackluster information, sharing meals that would end with both of you falling asleep in heaps, never mentioning them as you woke.

Neither of you had ever crossed that line, too vehemently aware of his title.

Both professional and rumored.

So, when he was the one who signed off after you were ordered out of the office, badge and gun returned by end of day, you didn’t know how to react.

And it was only as he resurfaced now, a year later, that you find all of those bottled up feelings and resentments boiling at the surface.

“Osita,” You hear him greet with an estranged fondness, hating the way it rolls off his tongue like it was normal, “you’ve changed.”

You sip on your drink with disregard, hearing the silent squeak as he takes his seat a couple seats away and orders a plain tequila - nothing fancy, just liquor and a glass.

“Actually, make that a double,” He adds, tapping his wallet idly against the surface of the table as he waits, offering a reserved thank you as the two glasses are slid in front of him.

You pointedly turn away, hoping the fleeing sun and shifting color of the sky; a soft oceanic blue into tangerine skies and the flock of seagulls circling overhead. Unfortunately, it isn’t enough to block out Javier, who when he needs or wants something, is going to get it.

And currently, it was your attention.

“You know that was never my decision,” He deflects, “I’m fed a list and if I don’t sign it I look like I’m not willing to do my job, if I could have suggested they take you off—”

“You should have,” You bite, “if you felt so passionately about it, but as all things go in Peña’s world–if it doesn’t hurt you, then who cares, correct?”

You had only ever known Javier as the serious figurehead above you, not the one of tales told by co-workers, how mischievous he used to be, how daring. Los Pepes had really done a number on him apparently.

“I’m trying to apologize, alright?” He offers weakly - and Jesus, when had he downed the first glass of tequila in the time you had started talking to him? He quickly throws back the second glass and pushes them aside, “I came here because I heard it was a good place to disappear, that I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone knowing my name—and you just happened to be here, I’m not trying to invade, but I’m sure we can just…exist around each other for a weekend.”

When it came down to it, you knew there wasn’t much Javier could have done—sure, a word or two would have been nice in your defense, given how closely you two had worked together toward the end of your career in Colombia, but even then it assumedly wouldn’t have done any good.

You received a good pension and are living nicely now, making enough money to live comfortably somewhat off the grid—you could hold a grudge, it was easy. But, you don’t.

“Yeah,” You offer lamely, “apology accepted, can you leave me alone now?”

“I retired,” Javier slips as he shifts in his seat, “thought you should know.”

This motherfucker—he knew how to reel you in; hook, line, sinker.

“You? Retired?” You scoff, “Who roped you into that? Is someone blackmailing you?”

Javier makes a face of incredulous disbelief, “Blackmail—the fuck? No. I got tired of all of it, all the work we’re doing and half of the government is under the cartel’s dominion. From one extreme to another and there was no change in sight, it was pointless.”

He wasn’t wrong; you constantly put your life on the line for a cause, fruitless and impossible to change, it was like chasing your own tail half the time.

As you finish up your drink you order a beer politely, the bartender offering a flirty smile that Javier catches with a keen eye, but he files it away for another time. The subtle buzz of alcohol was already filtering through your head as you sip from the beer slid into your hand and Javier makes a motion with his finger, ordering a third drink.

“I see you haven’t changed,” You comment slyly.

“You either,” He remarks, eyes shifting toward the bartender.

As much as Javier had his indulgences, so had you.

It was unspoken how you both hid the trauma and stress under alcohol and sex, just never with each other, but this - Javier was reading it completely wrong.

“Oh, gross,” You grimace in disgust, “He’s a friend and I’m almost certain I am not his type.”

As the words leave your mouth, your friend approaches Javier with a third drink, mirroring his earlier actions with you but adding a subtle once-over with his eyes, admiring Javier’s toned physique and tanned skin, years of chasing after cartel members keeping him fit.

Though, his posture is slacking, slumped in his seat as he works on the third glass of tequila, still dressed in his earlier attire and it almost transports you back to the nights spent in his car, a glass of liquor tucked between his legs and his phone and binoculars resting on his thighs.

“Please tell me you brought more than just…that,” You inquired, eyes pointedly dragging over his figure in a less subtle manner, “like—actual vacation clothes?”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” Javier defends, a confident smirk gracing his face as his hands spread over his knees and curls, gulping down the last sip of alcohol, “it’s fine—ladies love it.”

“Sure, if you’d like to stay stuck in the eighties for the rest of your life,” You jest, “I just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in shorts, actually…I don’t think I’ve ever seen how you dress outside of work.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love to know,” He teases, watching as you wobbled to your feet and grabbed your wallet and room key, “wait—you’re leaving already?”

“Yes,” You answer blatantly, “I don’t need you pestering me the rest of the night when I could spend it alone, in my room, like I do every night.”

“That eager to run off, huh?” Javier retorts, “God, you must really hate me.”

“Since when do you care what I think about you?” You ask him, genuinely curious. “I haven’t seen you in over a year and you show up here and expect me to fall to my knees and worship you like I did back in Colombia? You’re not my boss anymore and we’re not chasing after drug lords. Go fuck yourself, Javi.”

Truthfully, Javier Peña was only a shell of what he used to be. 

He’s softened, far less rigid than he used to carry himself. Working with his father had led him to live a quieter life, enjoy being around his family, and come to the realization that what didn’t want to be stopped, couldn’t be. He’s let things go, moved on, but for some reason—with you, he’s finding it difficult. 

He grabs your wrist as you intend to walk past, standing from his seat and turning to you as your body shifts toward his, like being transported back to the work office with the buzz of noise and voices around you, blaming the alcohol in your system for the way your eyes linger on his face, blinking as you take a stumbling step back.

“At least let me walk you back to the inn,” He suggests.

“Worried I can’t handle myself?”

“No,” He answers quickly, fully aware of how easily you could, “I’m just—let me, alright?”

“Fine,” You relent after a long pause, “whatever, but—don’t talk. Your voice is annoying.”

“Oh? Is it?” He responds with a chuckle, quickly realizing that you had no intention to wait for him as you’re already fleeing by the time he turns around to grab his wallet, jogging to catch up with you.

“Keep up, Peña.” You mock him, a subtle grin on your face as you hear his rushing footsteps in the sand, “You’ve really let yourself go, huh?”

Javier scoffs in amusement at your words, but doesn’t answer.

For once, he listens and keeps his mouth shut.

–

You take the scenic route, unusual for you, but with Javier at your side you try to remind yourself to be a decent tour guide—he was here for a vacation after all. There were a few locally owned shops that you suggested for breakfast and souvenirs, home-grown and made with love.

He takes them into consideration, noticing how much lighter you sound as you talk, the alcohol taking your body hostage, aware of how little you needed to consume before you were spilling unnecessary information and giggling yourself into tears. But, in the current moment, it was a quaint relaxation that washed over.

The sun had set now, both of you traveling in the dark as you approached the inn. Javier shared very little about how life has been for him back home, more interested in hearing your stories about crazy guests and cute, older retired couples who needed a week away from the city.

“When I first got here I would spend all of my time in the water, or near it,” You admit, fishing for your keys without much luck, reaching your room on the first level of the inn, “it’s so nice here, Javi—I mean, you think about all the stuff we endured back in Colombia and you wonder how the fuck we survived and suddenly you’re relaxing on the beach like none of it ever mattered.”

“It’s hard to let that shit go,” Javier admits, “still…wakes me up at night, you know?”

You knew well, nodding solemnly as you fumble to find the correct key, swaying on your feet before Javier decides to put you out of your misery and step in, gently prying the keys from your hand as he sifts through to find one similar to his own before he hands it back, shaking your head in amusement as you laugh quietly.

“Still terrible at handling your liquor,” Javier comments, hands hovering around you as you stumble forward, ready to catch you if you fall, luckily you stay on your feet, “wait—do you like, live here? At the inn?”

“For a stretch of time, yeah,” You answer as you step into your room, immediately toeing off your shoes and turning on your heels, hand gripping the doorknob as you face him and rest the knob against your hip, staring him down from a couple inches away, the threshold forcing the distance, “I have a place further in town when we close down for a couple months—you worried about me, Peña?”

He can’t explain why his stomach clenches at the words, an instinct to agree swirling in his gut.

He’s thought about you since your departure, but as he moved back home and forced himself to let go of that part of his life, things had started to fray around the edges of his mind, slowly disappearing.

His non-answer is telling, analyzing your features like you’ve seen him down a hundred times. Usually it was for signs of deception or misleading information, constantly on edge of a possible mole or betrayal. He never fully trusted anyone, but he knows he never sensed that with you.

“I’m a big girl,” You assure him, “I can handle myself.”

“I know,” He replies, his right hand curling around his belt, thumb rubbing against the mix of denim and the leather band, his left hand rubbing over his mustache and chin, “so—I guess I’ll see you ‘round, then? If I don’t, I can’t say I’m upset—I got to see your face again.”

“Cute,” You smile genuinely, head tilting against the doorframe, “All’s forgiven, I guess. I think I’m starting to realize how much of that shit was out of your control.”

“You were a good partner,” He says lowly, a grit to his voice that makes your insides quiver, “If I had a say, you would’ve stuck around.”

His brown eyes were a dangerous weapon, his face softening into that boyish charm he liked to use on you when he needed something inconsequential; a coffee, something he’d forgotten at his desk, or when he needed you to pick up the snacks before a stakeout.

You were definitely going to regret your next words.

“A few friends of mine are having a bonfire tomorrow,” You tell him, “It’s small—but I think you’d enjoy it. Plus, Elio would murder me if I didn’t extend the invitation.”

“Elio?” 

“You know,” You tease him, mocking the less than subtle grin and eye drag of your friend back at the bar that makes Javier chuckle, “that Elio. The Peña charm works down here in Hawaii too, I guess. He usually cuts people off after two drinks.”

“It’s about all you can handle,” Javier retorts, your relaxed, drunkish grin growing as you shove weakly at his chest, his hand winding around your wrist with ease, less urgent this time.

Your eyes drag to the touch, lingering for a moment as Javier’s thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, the rhythmic thrum of your pulse under the surface as your mouth salivates.

You hadn’t felt that touch in months, a gesture that shouldn’t hold so much weight, but brings you back to the constant idiotic decisions you would make with no regard for your safety. 

As reckless as you knew Javier to be prior to Escobar’s death, he had changed somewhere between then and when he met you, his touch was the only thing that grounded you in many high stress situations and instances when you felt impulsive - impatient.

But, this touch—it’s different.

“I’m not inviting you in, Javi,” You tell him steadily, eyes still locked on your wrist as his are on your face, “I do still have some respect for you—us, whatever that was before.”

“Sleep well, chiquita,” He says after a beat, turning your wrist in his hand as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand and departs for the elevator, leaving you in a drunken haze.

You almost change your mind, opening your mouth to beg him to stay.

The words never come out.

–

You never told him the exact details of where the bonfire was happening, but as he peeks out of his window the following night - forcing himself to spend the entire day away from you rather than sniffing around for you like a lost, helpless puppy - the fire was enough of a tell.

And you knew you wouldn’t need to tell him, either.

Elio is smirking as he glances over your shoulder, the soft tuft of sand shifting behind you as you peer up, finding a shockingly dressed-down version of Javier sans his tinted sunglasses that were almost a trademark to his look, sitting perfectly on his aquiline nose.

“So, you do have legs,” You tease, catching a glimpse of his uncovered shins as he takes a seat beside you on the towel laid over the sand, greeting your friends politely and shaking hands as they approach him, nodding as one of them shoves a beer into his hand.

 “Thank you—” He only processes your words after his first sip, brow furrowing in confusion, “hold up, what the hell does that mean?”

“I’d almost believe you were some type of robot if I hadn’t,” You joke lightly, the teasing falling completely flat as Javier glances down at his legs and bare feet, “sorry–bad…bad joke, it was something people used to say around the office. You never took a break, people thought you were some kind of machine or something.”

“You have not changed,” Javier reminisces, shaking his head with a chuckle to match.

It was your turn to share in the confusion, waving goodbye to a few friends who were wandering off for the night, shooting him a similar expression.

“Fumbling over your words, bad jokes, terrible conversation—”

“Oh, fuck you, Javi,” You shove his shoulder and he chuckles louder, “I can still kick your ass,”

“I don’t doubt it,” He agrees, sharing a brief exchange of eyes that makes your face heat and you’re internally willing the feeling of adoration away.

Not him, not now.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You ask in an effort to change the subject, “Only about twelve hours left, right?”

“And I’m sure you’ve got your countdown going,” Javier remarks, “It’s been good—needed it more than I realized, it’s so fuckin’ quiet out here.”

As your mouth opens, you catch sight of your friend who had been particularly interested in speaking to Javier—or more specially, Javier Peña. “Oh, right,” You interject, introducing him to your coworker turned friend, “he had a few questions about Escobar, figured you wouldn’t mind answering them.”

Javier didn’t necessarily mind, but he knows you’re doing it to irritate him.

As his attention turns away from you, you turn toward Elio who was relaxing nearby, talking amongst a few of his own friends but still vehemently aware of your presence, “If you two don’t just fuck each other already,” He remarks with a flippant, dismissive smile, “—missed opportunity, seriously.”

“Mind your business,” You retorted with no bite.

He shrugs in a matter-of-fact way before disappearing as Javier turns to you again, distraction gone as you meet him with a smile, “I’m gonna walk the beach for a bit.”

“Is that an invitation?” Javier inquires, casually you reach for his hand and tug him along.

The silence that grows as you walk alongside each other vaguely resembles the comfort that those late nights would bring, the gentle ambience of crashing waves that wash over your feet and the low roar of a boat engine as it passes by.

“They’re still trading,” Javier beings offhandedly, “—right in my fuckin’ Pop’s backyard.”

“Boats?” You surmise, never having sniffed out that type of activity on the island, relatively clean from the cartel’s reach. “There’s too many hands in the mix, you know? You were never going to stop that on your own.”

“Tried,” Javier retorts grimly, “Just ended up chasing my own damn tail in the end.”

Eventually, you find a spot closer to the inn - an incline in the sand that you both move to sit and perch, far enough away from the shore that you don't have to worry about getting wet.

“You made the right choice,” You assure him, “I think some of that resentment was only aimed at you, not necessarily my job. I’m happier here, but you—I just—”

Javier’s eyebrows raise in encouragement for you to finish, unsettlingly quiet.

“I think I was starstruck for a time, seeking your approval,” You admit, “but then I realized that we don’t mesh. We work well, but outside of that…I couldn’t match up with the others.”

It was a kinder way of saying that you didn’t like the locker room talk that happened often among his colleagues, often on the outskirts as you listen to them dig into the nitty gritty details that were never work appropriate, bragging and talking over one another. Javier was usually subdued, but he did occasionally make comments that reminded you exactly why you swore of men like him or them.

“You know what I appreciate about you,” Javier begins after a dragging silence, your eyes locking on him curiously, “You didn’t need the approval to do a good job, you just did it.”

It was easy with you.

Regardless of how badly you did want the recognition.

“A thank you would have been nice.”

Javier cracks a weak smile, swiping a few grains of sand from your knee before he squeezes your leg and offers a genuine, “Thank you.”

It was better than nothing, you suppose.

“Also, serious question,” Javier interjects quickly, “What did you mean by mesh?” 

You turn to him with a bigger grin, raising your finger to press against the center of his chest, between his unbuttoned neckline, “You - are not my type. At all.”

Javier guffaws at that, genuine disbelief, “I’m everyone’s type.”

“Good thing I don’t have one.”

“C’mon—not even once?” Javier presses, sensing there was more beneath the surface.

You almost considered letting him inside of your room the first night he arrived, some half-assed excuse about respect that Javier knows you could care less about, more-so setting a boundary for yourself, reminding you that this wasn’t something you should allow yourself to have.

Javier was enough of a gentleman to respect that and throughout the entirety of your partnership, had never attempted to make things weird, despite how he may feel.

You were beautiful and he could tell you that to your face, a striking personality and witty humor to match—and he’s never prided himself on respecting the rule about workplace relationships, having dabbled in enough bad behavior with interns and receptionists that filtered through. 

You scared him—not in a bad way. But, Javier’s never been quite so intimidated. 

“Let me change your mind,” Javier says jokingly.

There’s a brief flicker as he says it, a blip of miscommunication before you realize his tone and you pray Javier moves on—of course, he doesn’t.

“Let me,” He tries again, his voice softer as you find your bodies gravitating toward each other, his hand nudging your chin up like he’s done it before, a practiced motion before your lips are pressing together gently, a small noise behind Javier’s closed lips as you return the gesture tentatively, “I’ll give you a reason to change it, chiquita.”

“Javi,” You plead, not asking for more or less, but rather begging for an excuse; a reason to deny him or a thousand ways this could go badly for the both of you, “we shouldn’t—”

His hand slides down your cheek to your neck, guiding your chin up to allow room for his mouth at your neck, placing wet and open-mouthed kisses against your skin as your fingers wrap around his wrist, a sigh pushing out of your throat as you relax under his touch.

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to—”

“Don’t,” You interject quickly, sounding breathless, “don’t say that—just…stop talking.”

Javier chuckles, nosing his way up the side of your face before his eyes peek open, locking with your own as his right hand drifts down your neck to your waist and squeezes, pulling you in with a cocky grin, “Tell me to stop touching you, then.”

“You haven’t changed,” You retorted fondly, the tiniest trace of venom in your tone.

The lack of acknowledgement to his direct command makes his grin grow stronger.

The exchange of lips gains an edge of intensity as your hands reach for him almost on instinct, his right leg slotting between yours where they were spread, a hand wrapping around your thigh as he moves over you, back pressing against the sand while your own hand moves along the back of his neck and through his hair at the nape.

You sigh into his mouth, lips parting as his tongue traces teasingly and slides along your own, silently pushing at the loose fabric of your shirt as it moves up your abdomen, the gentle breezing hitting your skin and you make a small noise, your own fingers curling around the collar of his shirt, fingers fanning out over the tanned, freckled skin of his shoulder.

“Forget the bed,” Javier huffs against your lips, “let’s do it right here.”

You giggle at his insistence and shake your head, nose rubbing against his with the motion as you part, hand against his chest to force some distance as he sits back with a flushed expression, similar to how he’d look after a foot chase but his eyes darkened with pleasure.

“You can’t be serious?” You inquire, a boyish shrug of his shoulders as his teeth peek through his smile, hearing the faint chatter of friends a distance away, both of you perfectly hidden from view. Still, you weren’t that reckless.

“Still have that whole respect thing for us going on?” Javier teases, eyes flicking briefly toward the darkened inn, most of the patrons already tucked in for the night. 

You roll your eyes with an obvious fondness as you shove him away, moving to your feet as you brush the sand away, casually holding out your hand as he mirrors your actions, “Not tonight.”

You were almost positive you would regret it later, but for now, you acted on the impulsivity.

–

Javier was as eager as you expect, on you the moment your door clicks shut, holding you close as you stumble backward into the bathroom and flick on the light, equally trading touches as he strips you naked without a word, down to your underwear before you can push him away for long enough to turn on the water.

He strips as you adjust the temperature, “Be honest, was it because I was your boss?”

You give him a look of irritation that is quickly quelled by his touch, wet hand fumbling to grip his shoulder as he strips you down to nothing, stepping quietly out of your panties as he drags them down your thigh, tilting your head down as he stays kneeled for a moment.

“Not even close,” You remark, feeling the emphasis of his intention with every press of his lips; one at your shin, knee, two on each thigh before he presses one gentle kiss at your mound, his bottom lip catching against your skin as he slowly moves to stand again.

Javier strips himself the rest of the way as you step inside of the hot shower, closing your eyes as you wet your hair under the gentle spray, his lips attaching to your throat as he climbs inside and shuts the curtain, hands pressed against the curves of your body, cradling you.

You shiver despite the warmth of the water, your skin tingling everywhere Javier touches. His hands roam your body with a reverence that makes your breath catch. 

"Then why?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and husky.

You turn in his arms, pressing your body flush against his. Water cascades over both of you as you look up into his dark eyes, clouded with desire.

"Because I knew if we did, it would only make things worse,” You admit, “Sex always complicates things, I like how he worked together without it.”

“Well,” He chuckles, both hands spreading out over your back and down to your ass, gasping at the way he squeezes so greedily, teeth digging into your skin gently, “we’re not partners anymore.”

“No,” You breathe out in a shaky attempt at grounding yourself, his hardened cock nudging at your stomach, “we’re not.”

Javier’s hand slides lower, wrapping around the back of your knee as he guides you back against the cold tile wall in the tight space, gasping at the cool to touch surface and the hand that hikes your leg up, Javier’s foot raising to rest along the edge of the tub.

The hand not occupying your knee slides teasingly between your folds, releasing a shaky sigh as you tilt your head back, the water soaking Javier as it hits his back, dripping down his hair and along his nose, carefully examining the subtle changes in your expression as his fingers graze your clit before he slips his middle finger inside of you, hooking the digit in a way that has you squeezing your hands as they reach for his shoulder.

“Tell me you want this,” He growls, an inflection in his voice you’ve heard before but have never felt aimed at you. It makes your head spin, suddenly dizzy.

Instinctively still, you know what to say.

“I do. I want this. Want you, Javi.”

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, all the pent-up desire from months of working together finally unleashed. You reach for his cock, taking a moment to admire him. It shouldn’t strike you how endowed he is, thick and resting just at his belly button, a couple inches more than you’ve ever encountered before and cut, a protruding vein running along the side of his cock from his shaft to just underneath the head of his cock, running your thumb along the ridge and over the weeping slit, suddenly dying for a taste as your mouth watered.

Javier was too impatient, though.

There’s a exchange of unspoken communication, a simple and subtle head nod as Javier fists his cock, rubbing the head between your folds before he pushes inside of you, a palm flat against his chest as you hiss at the faint sting, a stretch you weren't accustomed to and the nails that dig into his skin shouldn’t turn him on like they do, but he leans into it, shallow thrusts inside of your cunt until he’s fully sheathed and your fingernails are biting into his skin, tiny rivulets of blood washed away by the water overhead.

Javier’s movements are slow and deliberate, using the leverage of your unsteady position as you stretch onto your toes of the foot still pressed against the floor of the shower, the other leg held tight at his hip as he fucked into, careless of the water splashing to the floor where the curtain was set askew by his knee pressing into the fabric.

"God, you feel so good," he groans against your skin, his voice rough with desire. "So tight, so perfect. Knew you’d be perfect.”

“H—how - fuck - how often have you thought about this?” You ask, licking away the droplet of water from your lips as Javier smiles, the kind that only carried mischief, as he noses at your neck.

“Every damn day,” Javier admits, lips dragging along your ear as he fucks you with a newfound furiosity, “—mierda, she’s squeezin’ me so tight—all the time. At the office, those late nights in the car. Thought about—fuck, jus’ bending you over the trunk and fucking you there.”

His hips snap into you with force, driving you back against the tile wall. A gasp rips from your throat, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, scrambling as you slipped but Javier is already there, steadying as he adjust his position to lock your legs at hips, suspended in his hold as his cock brushed deep inside of you, eyes rolling back.

“All you needed was some attention,” Javier surmises, “someone to tell you how good of a job you were doing, right?”

It would have been nice during your tenure, but now, it feels taunting. 

“You’re good,” Javier tells you, “so fuckin’ good—”

“Oh, god,” You moan, hands tangling into his wet hair as his lips find your neck again, the faintest scratch of stubble against your skin, teeth nipping at your skin as he drives his hips into you relentlessly, “Jav—Javi, please—”

“That’s it, baby,” He groans, a soft release of breath, “let me hear you.”

The deep, coiling heat in your belly twists as he presses you tight against the wall, releasing your leg haphazardly to drag his thumb over your clit, the franticness of his movement matching his desperate need for release as he moves his finger in quick, hurried circles over your clit.

Your soft cries are muffled by his cheek as you press your mouth against him, drawn so close that it was near suffocating, “S’right there, Javi—I’m close,”

His groan is deep, hips stuttering with your words, “Where?”

Your eyes connect for a stretch of time - another unspoken acknowledgement as you tug at his hair, walls squeezing tight around his cock and nod, his jaw clenching as his orgasm approaches and he brings you with him.

It’s a sensation that makes your body go taut, his hips slowing as he pushes his seed deep inside of you, moaning brokenly into your shoulder as he eventually pulls out and lowers you back on steady ground.

"Fuck," Javier mutters, breathing heavily as he pushes away from you and notices your sated expression, a subtle smile pulling at your features. There's a softness in his face you've never seen before, a vulnerability.

You continue the shower in a comfortable silence as you both settle, like a well-oiled machine with how easily you both move around each other and with, watching as Javier quietly pushes the damp washcloth between your legs and cleans up the mess he’s made.

As you dress, he’s more subdued. Solemn. Brooding.

This was the Javier you remembered so well.

He’s waiting for the words, fingers working slowly at the buttons of his shirt before you fingers wrap around his wrist, dressed in a thin satin slip you had pulled from your drawers, sticking to your wet skin in all the places Javier’s touched, the remnants of his touch still stuck on your mind.

“Stay,” You insist—watching as he succumbed so easily to your touch, shirt half-buttoned and hanging from his frame, “if you want.”

Nobody ever asks him to stay, always on the other end, begging for a moment longer.

For me, your eyes plead.

For the night, he knows.

But, the words strike deep.

“You’re gonna make it impossible to leave,” Javier comments, smiling at the giggle you let out.

“Good,” You tease him, dragging out the syllable, “more of an excuse to come back.”

Not for his own selfish reasoning.

For you, Javier tells himself.