#that makes it impossible for him to 'just help'

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she ignored my letter!

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever)

a/n: heyyy... i had sm fun writing this, can't wait to write the rest of this bc i literally LOVE anne with an e and this is inspired by it ofc!!!! anyways, im barely writing now..smh, its cause im reading manacled and its literally heart breaking... im also editing on ae and its so hard so im slowly learning😭 but i want to finish this mini series by next week!!

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

James had liked you for a while now. He wasn’t quite sure when it started—maybe it was the way you laughed at his jokes, always the loudest in the room. Or perhaps it was when he’d catch you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long, thinking he was too distracted to notice.

With the Christmas holidays fast approaching, James knew he had to make a move. He had to let you know how he felt. If you didn’t feel the same, maybe the time apart over the holiday would make it less awkward. But he couldn’t let another term slip by in silence.

Knowing your love for all things old-fashioned, James decided there was no better way to confess his feelings than through a handwritten letter. It felt personal, genuine—something you’d appreciate. But writing it turned out to be harder than he imagined.

He’d written and discarded at least a dozen drafts, each one crumpled and tossed aside in frustration. Finally, after half an hour of agonizing over the perfect words, he settled on this version. It was short, straightforward, and sincere:

Dear, (Y/N)

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve tried a hundred times, and every single attempt has been worse than the last. So here’s the truth—I’m hopelessly in love with you.

You’ve probably guessed I’m not great at being subtle. But what I’ve never been able to say outright is how much you mean to me. The way you laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating—Merlin, you make it impossible to focus on anything else. I want you to know that you’ve made me braver, happier, better. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay—I just needed to get this off my chest.

Yours, James

He sighed deeply, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into an envelope. Your name was written on the front in his slightly shaky handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. He’d leave it somewhere you’d find it tomorrow, just before you both left for the holidays.

As he lay awake that night, James tried to figure out the best way to deliver the letter. Should he hand it to you directly? No, that was too nerve-wracking—he’d probably end up babbling like an idiot. Maybe he could slip it into your bag and avoid the risk of witnessing your reaction.

The morning was crisp, the kind of cold that painted your cheeks red and sent little clouds of breath swirling in the air. On the platform, the train sat waiting, puffing out plumes of steam that mingled with the frosty air. It was alive with the sound of students saying goodbye and dragging their luggage over the cobblestones.

James walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was doing his best to appear casual, though every step he took felt heavier with the weight of the letter in his robe.

“Let me take that for you,” he blurted suddenly, nodding toward your luggage.

You blinked, surprised by the offer, but your lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh, thanks, James. That’s really sweet of you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his ears turned a telltale shade of pink at your words. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with nervous humor.

The two of you chatted as you strolled toward the train. You told him about your plans for the holidays—how you were excited to see your family, how your mum always made far too much food, and how you couldn’t wait to decorate the tree. James listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments, even as his mind raced ahead to the task at hand.

Then, his opportunity came.

You turned away for a brief moment, waving at one of your friends across the platform. James acted quickly, pulling the envelope from his pocket and slipping it into the outermost compartment of your bag. His fingers brushed the fabric for only a second, but it felt like an eternity.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was certain it could be heard over the clamor of the platform. He straightened up just as you turned back to him, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Thanks again for carrying that,” you said with a smile, your eyes meeting his.

James gave a small, lopsided grin and shifted your bag on his shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves swirling inside him.

As the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time to board, James knew there was no turning back now. All he could do was wait—and hope that when you found the letter, you’d read it and understand the words that had taken him so long to say.

It had been days since you’d left for the holidays, and James still hadn’t heard from you. Each passing day only worsened the sinking feeling in his chest.

Did you not feel the same? Did you hate him for ruining the friendship? Or worse, were you so disgusted by his confession that you couldn’t even bear to send him a letter saying so?

By Christmas morning, the knot of worry in James’s stomach had become unbearable. He’d stopped pacing and pretending not to care. He spent the early hours staring at the window, waiting for an owl that seemed as though it would never come.

But then, just as the first rays of sunlight streamed through his frosted window, he saw it—a familiar owl perched outside, clutching a small envelope in its talons. His heart leapt with a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe you’d only just found the letter. Maybe you’d taken your time because you wanted to write something perfect.

James hurried to open the window, shivering as the cold air rushed in. The owl extended its leg, allowing him to untie the letter. “Thanks, mate,” James murmured, absently offering the owl a treat before it flew off into the winter sky.

His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, eager to see your handwriting. But his heart sank the moment he read the first line.

“Happy Christmas, James!”

No mention of his letter. No response to his confession. Just a short, cheerful note wishing him a wonderful holiday and apologizing for not writing sooner. You explained that things had been hectic at home and promised to catch up with him soon.

James felt his chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The hope he’d been clinging to was slipping through his fingers.

You’d ignored his letter.

You’d chosen to act as though he’d never written it at all, as if he’d never poured his heart out on that piece of parchment.

James scoffed, his grip on the letter tightening. Fine, he thought bitterly. If you were going to pretend his confession didn’t exist, he could do the same.

He shoved the letter onto his desk, glaring at it as if it were the source of his frustration. Deep down, though, he knew the truth: he didn’t want to ignore you. He wanted to write back, to ask if you’d found the letter, to make sure you weren’t upset with him.

But pride was a stubborn thing, and James Potter wasn’t about to let his vulnerability show again—not now.

As the snow fell softly outside his window, James sat in silence, staring at the letter and wondering if he’d made a mistake by ever writing to you in the first place.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, James made no effort to find you. Normally, he’d scan the platform, pretending it was a coincidence whenever his eyes landed on you. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

He saw you anyway, just briefly—standing near your family, your face lit up with that familiar smile. His heart leaped in his chest, and his legs almost betrayed him, ready to stride over and say something, anything. But he stopped himself.

Instead, James turned sharply, mumbling a quick goodbye to his parents before heading onto the train. He didn’t want to see you—not now.

The walk through the train felt heavier than usual. He knew exactly where his friends would be—the same compartment they’d claimed since their first year—but it felt like an eternity to get there. When he finally slid open the door, the familiar faces of Sirius, Remus, and Peter greeted him.

“Oi, Prongs!” Sirius called cheerfully, but his grin faltered when James slumped onto the seat next to Peter with a loud huff.

James leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him, curious and probing.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Sirius asked, unable to resist.

“Don’t.” James’s voice was sharp, firm. It was rare for him to be in a foul mood, let alone snappish.

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t say a word.”

The tension in the compartment was palpable. The train rattled on, and the usual chatter of the four friends was noticeably absent. Sirius kept stealing glances at James, who sat brooding, arms crossed. Peter fidgeted nervously, while Remus flipped through a book, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, about an hour into the ride, James broke.

“She ignored my letter.” His voice was low, bitter, but it shattered the quiet like a hex.

The others exchanged looks before Peter spoke hesitantly. “She really ignored it?”

“Yes, Peter,” James snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Peter flinch. Realizing what he’d done, James sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe she didn’t see it,” Remus offered, his tone calm and rational. “What if it got lost in her luggage? Or someone else found it and hid it? Maybe you gave her another piece of parchment? There’s always a chance—”

“Moony, no.” James cut him off, his voice strained. “I double-checked. It was the right letter, in the right spot. And who doesn’t check their trunk full of clothes over the holiday?”

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Sirius said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, women can be unpredictable. Maybe she’s got a secret stash for random letters in her trunk.”

“No, she checks,” James said with certainty. “I’ve slipped plenty of things into her luggage before, and she’s always found them. She just doesn’t fancy me back.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he forced a small, bitter smile. “And it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I always do, right?”

The compartment fell silent again, the weight of James’s words sinking in.

Sirius leaned forward, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not fine, James. If she didn’t fancy you back, that’s one thing. But ignoring you? That’s—”

“Don’t,” James interrupted quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t make it worse, Padfoot.”

Sirius bit back a retort and leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

The rest of the ride passed more comfortably, but the shadow of James’s disappointment lingered. His friends cracked jokes and told stories, trying to lift his spirits, but even when he laughed, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Deep down, James wondered if he’d ever stop wishing that you’d read his letter and felt the same way.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky evening sky, and the buzz of students catching up after the holiday filled the room. Normally, James would sit with Sirius to his left, you to his right, and Remus and Peter across from him. It was a familiar arrangement, one you’d fallen into without question.

But tonight, James broke the routine.

He subtly nudged Peter into the spot on his right before sitting down, leaving the space where you’d usually sit conspicuously empty.

You walked in a moment later, scanning the Gryffindor table until you spotted your usual group. But when you approached, your steps faltered. Peter sat where you always did, looking apologetic but saying nothing.

Your eyes darted to James, silently questioning him, but he avoided your gaze, his attention fixed stubbornly on his plate.

Confused, you looked to Remus for an explanation. Out of all the Marauders, he was the one you trusted most to give you a straight answer. But Remus only shrugged, his expression carefully neutral, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at discomfort.

You scoffed, your chest tightening. First, James ignored you all through the holiday, and now he didn’t even want to sit near you? Fine. If he wanted to sulk like a child, you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked further down the table, sliding into a seat beside your other group of friends. You forced yourself to laugh at their jokes and join in their chatter, but your mind kept wandering back to James.

At the Gryffindor table, James���s eyes flicked toward you more often than he’d admit. Every time he saw you laughing with your friends, his stomach twisted.

“Why is she acting like I’m the one in the wrong?” James muttered under his breath, jabbing at a piece of roast potato with his fork.

“Maybe because you’re acting like a prat?” Sirius replied, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned closer.

James shot him a glare.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius continued, dropping the teasing. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, and now you’re sulking like a first-year who lost his chocolate frog cards.”

“Explain what? She ignored my letter, Padfoot. What’s there to explain?” James hissed, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Remus sighed, setting down his goblet. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe she doesn’t even know what letter you’re talking about?”

James froze, his fork hovering mid-air.

“Just talk to her, mate,” Sirius said, giving James a nudge. “Or don’t. But if you keep this up, you’re only making it worse—for both of you.”

James huffed, slumping back in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face you just yet.

From across the hall, you caught the way James’s shoulders sagged, and for a brief moment, you considered walking over. But pride held you in place. If James wanted to act like this, fine. Two could play that game.

You and James hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. The once effortless connection you shared had been replaced with an awkward silence that weighed heavily on you. It wasn’t just James—it felt like the whole group of Marauders had grown distant, their usual antics and inside jokes missing their spark when you were around.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something to upset him. But what? You racked your brain for answers, replaying every interaction from the past few months. James had always been one of your closest friends—why was he acting so strange?

Charms class was the hardest part of it all. You always sat beside James, sharing notes, exchanging whispers, and stifling laughs when Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. Now, you sat in the same spot, the chair next to you glaringly empty.

You tried to focus on the professor’s instructions, but your thoughts were louder than his voice. Scribbling aimlessly in your notebook, you hardly noticed when someone approached your desk.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with a blue-and-bronze tie standing beside you. His face was vaguely familiar—you’d seen him around in class but had never spoken to him.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you stammered, blinking in confusion. Why was he talking to you?

He gave a polite, slightly amused smile. “Well, can you move your stuff? I’m sitting here now. We’re partners for the project.”

“Oh!” Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurriedly shoved your books to one side. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize.”

“No worries,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. “I figured you weren’t paying attention—no offense. But I was, so I’ll explain what Professor Flitwick said.”

You managed a small smile, relieved by his casual tone. “Thanks. That’s… helpful.”

While he began outlining the project details, your focus wavered, glancing at James out of the corner of your eye. He was across the room, seated next to a loud and enthusiastic partner who seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention. But James wasn’t listening.

His gaze was fixed on you.

There was a flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, maybe? Regret? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist.

You quickly turned your attention back to your new partner, nodding along to his explanation, even if you weren’t entirely listening. You felt James’s eyes on you the entire time, but you refused to look back.

Across the room, James’s jaw clenched. His partner waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oi, Potter! Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” James muttered, though his eyes drifted back to you moments later.

He hated this—seeing someone else sitting beside you, making you smile when that used to be his seat, his job. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The letter. The silence. The way he’d avoided you. It all felt too big now, too messy to undo.

Still, James couldn’t stop watching you, his heart sinking further with every laugh you shared with your new partner.

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taglist!! @zowiiiisblog , @kxnnxy , @rainingleaves , @icollectrubberduckies , @elsie-bells

[harrysfolklore]

secret - cs55

summary: carlos has been keeping his relationship secret for 6 months. the world has no idea that he's dating an a list actress

wc: 5.4k words + social media posts. face claim: emilia clarke

folkie radio: guys... why does it feel illegal to post a carlos fic that's not little bitch?? anyway i hope you like this LEAVE FEEDBACK !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by carlossainz55, zendaya and 2,445,805 others

yourinstagram Spain, you have my heart ❤️

view all 16,333 comments

username1 QUEEN

username2 she’s glowiiiing

arianagrande mother 🤎

username3 imagine being the highest paid actress in hollywood looking like that i wouldn’t take shit from anybody

florencepugh you’re the actual loml

↳ yourinstagram Love you baby flo

username4 single yn is glowing

username5 spain also has my heart but i’ve never been there i’m just obsessed with carlos sainz

username6 carlos sainz in the likes wbk he’s a fan since the first season of game of thrones

anasainzvdec 💓💓

liked by charles_leclerc, yourinstagram and 1,570,487 others

carlossainz55 Short break before heading to Silverstone 🇬🇧

view all 10,248 comments

username1 HOTTEST MAN ALIVE

username2 carlos don’t do this to my ovaries

scuderiaferrari 🌶️🌶️

username3 if he is single who is taking all this boyfriend content

username4 THATS A HUSBAND

blancasainzv 🙌🙌🙌

username5 CARLOS LET ME JUMP ON YOUR BONES

username6 it’s a crime that this man is single looking like this (not really)

landonorris A family man

↳ georgerussell63 😂😂😂

↳ username1 carlando forever

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You stand in front of the mirror, applying the last touches of makeup as sunlight streams through the bedroom window. The reflection shows Carlos lounging on the bed behind you, his dark eyes following your every move. You can't help but smile, feeling the warmth of his gaze.

As you prepare to leave, your mind wanders to the whirlwind romance of the past six months. It all started with a tweet- Carlos expressing his admiration for your character in Game of Thrones. You hadn't known much about Formula 1 then, but his charm and genuine enthusiasm caught your attention.

Fate brought you together at a high-profile fashion event months later. You remember how your heart raced when he approached you, confidently asking for your number. Within days, he'd asked you out on a proper date.

Now, six months later, you're living in a blissful bubble of secrecy. Neither his fellow drivers nor your co-stars have any idea about your relationship. It's a mutual decision - you're both in the spotlight, and this connection feels too important to expose to the world's scrutiny just yet.

You've just returned from a short trip to Spain, where Carlos introduced you to his family. The warmth of their welcome still lingers, making you feel even more connected to him. His parents had embraced you immediately, and you'd spent hours laughing and sharing stories with his sisters. The trip reinforced the feeling that you truly belonged in Carlos' life.

"Do you really have to leave?" Carlos asks, his Spanish accent more pronounced in his sleepy state.

"You know I do, darling. This film isn't going to shoot itself," you turn to face him, taking in his tousled hair and bare chest.

Carlos props himself up on his elbows, a playful smirk on his lips. "But I can think of so many better ways to spend the day."

You walk over to the bed, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips. "Tempting, but I've got to go. We can't all race cars for a living, you know."

His hand catches yours as you start to pull away. "Just five more minutes?" he pleads, pulling you closer.

You allow yourself to be drawn in, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're impossible," you say, but there's no real frustration in your voice.

"Impossible to resist, you mean," Carlos wraps an arm around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.

"That too," you laugh, running your fingers through his hair. "But seriously, I need to leave soon."

He sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the pillows. "Fine, fine. Go be a famous actress. Leave me here all alone."

"Drama queen," you roll your eyes, standing up. "You've got meetings later anyway."

As you gather your things, Carlos watches you with a mix of admiration and affection.

"You know," he says softly, "sometimes I still can't believe this is real. Us, I mean."

"It's real," you assure him, with a small smile, "And it's ours."

"I guess my obsession with Daenerys Targaryen paid off," Carlos grins, sitting up, "Though I have to say, the real you is even better than any character."

"Smooth talker. No wonder I fell for you so quickly," you roll your eyes playfully as you walk over to the bed, cupping his face in your hands. "As tempting as that is, love, we both have responsibilities. But tonight, it's just us."

He leans into your touch, then pulls you down for a deep kiss. When you part, both slightly breathless, he whispers, "I can't wait."

With a final blown kiss, you slip out of the room, your heart full and a smile on your lips. Another day of keeping your relationship under wraps begins, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Your mind is already counting down the hours until you can be in his arms again, safe in your private world built for two.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 19,836 others

ynupdates YN arriving for filming today in London!

view all 1,937 comments

username1 MY BUBBB

username2 why so serious

username3 she has a movie premiering in two months and she’s already filming another talk about an icon

username4 love the fitttt

username5 streets say she’s got a boyfriend now 👀

↳ username1 source: trust me bro

↳ username2 SPILL THE DEETS

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You sink into the plush couch in Carlos' living room, the aroma of your favorite pasta filling the air. This has become your ritual - intimate dinners at home, safe from prying eyes and camera flashes. Sometimes you cook together, but tonight you've ordered in from that little Italian place Carlos adores.

"This is perfect," you sigh contentedly as Carlos settles beside you, two plates balanced in his hands. "I'll take nosy neighbors over paparazzi any day."

"Agreed," Carlos chuckles, handing you your plate, "Though I'm pretty sure my neighbor thinks I've developed an unhealthy obsession with takeout."

"Little do they know you're just obsessed with me," you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Guilty as charged," he grins, pulling you closer.

As you eat, you share stories about your day. Carlos absently traces patterns on your knee, and you find yourself melting into his touch.

"Oh," you say, remembering suddenly. "My team suggested something interesting today."

"What would that be, amor?" Carlos raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

You take a sip of wine before answering. "They think it would be a good idea for me to attend the Silverstone Grand Prix."

For obvious reasons, you haven't been able to join Carlos for a race since your relationship began. The need for secrecy and your busy schedules have kept you from sharing this crucial part of his life.

So when your team suggested you should attend the British Grand Prix at Silverstone to promote your new movie, you felt a surge of excitement. The prospect of finally seeing Carlos in his element, even if you had to pretend not to know each other, made you giddy.

"Really? That's... wow," Carlos said, his eyes twinkling.

"Don't get too excited," you nudge him playfully. "We'll have to pretend we barely know each other, you know."

Carlos groans dramatically, flopping back against the couch. "You mean I can't sweep you off your feet in front of thousands of fans? How will I cope?"

You laugh, setting your plate aside to cuddle closer to him. "I'm sure you'll manage. Just think of it as acting practice for both of us."

He wraps an arm around you, his voice growing softer. "You know, I always imagined the first race you'd attend would be as my girlfriend. With everyone knowing how lucky I am."

"I know, love," your heart swells at his words. "But hey, we'll still be together, even if no one else knows it."

Carlos nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're right. And I am happy you'll be there. Even if I have to pretend I'm not crazy about you."

"Well, there's no pretending now," you look up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Show me just how crazy about me you are."

With a playful growl, Carlos pulls you onto his lap, dinner forgotten as his lips find yours. In moments like these, the secrecy feels worth it - these moments are yours alone, untouched by the outside world.

As you break apart, slightly breathless, Carlos murmurs against your lips, "Maybe we can sneak a moment at Silverstone. A secret rendezvous in the paddock?"

"Now that would make headlines", you laugh, running your fingers through his hair. "'Famous actress and F1 star caught canoodling behind the garages.'"

"Worth it," Carlos grins, pulling you in for another kiss.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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carlossainz55 Beyond excited for Silverstone this weekend. Let’s do this 🙌

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username1 MY MAN

username2 he’s really the hottest man alive

scuderiaferrari We got this 😌

username3 SILVERSTONE MORE LIKE CARLOSTONE

username4 manifesting another silverstone win

username5 my girl yn in the likes she’s so real

landonorris 🥵🥵🥵🥵

↳ username1 these two being single right now just means they get to be menaces

↳ carlossainz55 Weird

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The early morning light filters through the curtains of your bedroom as you help Carlos adjust his red Ferrari hoodie. Your fingers linger on his shoulders, savoring these last private moments before the chaos of race day begins.

"Remember," you tease, smoothing down his collar, "hands to yourself out there, Sainz."

"That might be a challenge, amor," Carlos grins, his eyes sparkling, "Especially with you wearing my number."

You playfully swat his arm, adjusting the Ferrari cap with Carlos' number that sits atop your head. "I mean it. We've managed to keep this under wraps for six months. Let's not blow our cover now."

"Fine, fine," he pulls you close, nuzzling your neck, "But you owe me for this torture."

"Torture, is it?" you laugh, tilting your head to give him better access. "Such a dramatic driver I've fallen for."

"In all honesty," Carlos pulls back, his expression suddenly serious, "I wish I could shout it from the podium today. That I'm the luckiest man in the world because I have you."

"Soon," you promise, cupping his face. "For now, let's enjoy our little secret."

With a final, lingering kiss, Carlos reluctantly steps away. "I'd better go. See you out there, amor."

"Go get 'em, tiger."

Hours later, you arrive at the circuit, your stomach fluttering with nerves. The Ferrari cap with Carlos' number feels like a subtle declaration, a secret sign that only you and Carlos truly understand.

"We'll start with Ferrari," your manager explains. "Given your... interest in the team."

You nod, fighting to keep your expression neutral. If only she knew the real reason for your interest.

As you approach the Ferrari garage, you spot Charles Leclerc first. Carlos had told you stories about his teammate before – his skill on the track, his competitive nature, and his charming personality. Now, seeing him in person, you understand why he's such a fan favorite.

Charles notices you approaching and breaks into a warm smile. He steps forward, extending his hand. "Hello there! I'm Charles Leclerc. Big fan."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," you shake his hand, returning the smile. "I've heard great things about you."

"All good, I hope," he chuckles. "Is this your first time at a Grand Prix?"

"It is! I'm thrilled to be here. The energy is incredible already."

"Oh, just wait until the race starts. There's nothing quite like it." He pauses, then adds, "Have you met my teammate yet? He's around here somewhere..."

As if on cue, you hear a familiar voice behind you. "Did someone mention me?"

Your heart skips a beat as Carlos approaches and it takes every ounce of your acting skills to keep your expression neutral as he extends his hand.

"Carlos Sainz," he introduces himself, a cocky smirk on his lips, "Welcome to our garage."

As you shake his hand, you're hyper-aware of every point of contact. This man knows every inch of you, has held you countless times, yet here you are, pretending to be strangers. It's thrilling and frustrating all at once.

"It's great to meet you both," you manage to say, proud of how steady your voice sounds. "I can't wait to see you race."

"Well I hope we make a good first impression," Carlos said, and the look in his eyes told you that it was taking everything in him to keep his hands away from you.

"Carlos is being modest," Charles chimes in. "He's had some of his best performances here. You might be in for a treat today."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Carlos. "Is that so? Well, now I'm even more excited to watch."

Carlos rubs the back of his neck, a gesture you know is partly genuine modesty and partly an act. "Charles exaggerates. But I'll do my best to put on a good show for you- I mean, for all the fans."

"I'm sure you both will," you say, including Charles in your gaze to avoid suspicion.

A crew member approaches, informing Carlos and Charles that they're needed for a pre-race briefing shortly, and at the same time, a photographer appears asking for a picture. You pose with Charles first and shortly after Carlos stands next to you, his hand almost squeezing your waist sending shivers down your spine.

After the photo, you reluctantly step away. "I should let you get to your briefing. Good luck in the race, gentlemen!"

As you walk away, Charles say to Carlos, "She's gorgeous, isn't she?"

Carlos feels a sudden pang of jealousy, fighting the urge to declare that you're his. Instead, he replies with a smug tone, "She certainly is. But remember, we're here to race, not to admire the guests."

You make your way to the McLaren garage, where you're introduced to Lando Norris, Carlos' best friend. Lando's infectious energy has you laughing within minutes. You can see why he and Carlos get along so well, and you find yourself wishing you could share stories about your boyfriend with his best friend.

As you're about to leave the McLaren garage, your phone buzzes with a text from Carlos.

Against your better judgment, you find yourself making excuses to your team and heading towards Carlos' driver's room. You slip inside, closing the door behind you and praying no one saw you.

Carlos is there in an instant, pulling you into his arms. "Dios mio, do you know how hard it was to keep my hands off you out there?"

"Behave yourself, Sainz," you laugh, melting into his embrace, "We have an image to maintain."

"Oh? And what image is that?" he pulls back, his eyes twinkling, "Because right now, all I can think about is how adorable you look in my cap."

"Flatterer," you tease, running your hands up his chest, admiring how the race suit fits him. "You don't look so bad yourself in this. First time I'm seeing it in person, you know."

Carlos grins, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. "Like what you see?"

"Maybe," you say coyly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "But shouldn't you be focusing on the race?"

"You're killing me, hermosa," he groans dramatically, pulling you back against him, "How am I supposed to focus on driving when all I can think about is you?"

"Well," you suggest, "Maybe you need some motivation. Win the race, and I'll give you a proper celebration later."

"Now that's what I call incentive," he pecked your lips, and suddenly his eyes light up with an idea. He reaches for his phone. "Wait, I need a picture of you in that cap. My good luck charm."

You roll your eyes but pose anyway, tilting the cap at a jaunty angle. Carlos snaps the photo, grinning widely.

"Perfect," he says, showing you the result. "This is going to be my new favorite picture."

You're about to reply when a knock at the door makes you both freeze. "Carlos? Are you in there? Last pre-race briefing in two minutes," comes a voice from outside.

You stifle a giggle as Carlos calls back, "Be right there!"

He turns back to you, stealing one last passionate kiss before reluctantly stepping away. "This isn't over," he promises.

"I should hope not," you tease, straightening his collar. "Now go out there and make me proud."

As Carlos heads for the door, he pauses, looking back at you with a soft smile. "Te amo, YN."

"I love you too. Now go be the champion I know you are."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 17,937 others

f1world THESE TWO 🥹🥹🙌

view all 2,004 comments

username1 AHHH THEY LOOK SO CUTE

username2 i bet carlos’ fanboy ass was shaking

username3 they look so good together hello????

username4 not yn zendaya-ing

username5 HER SMILE

username6 love them so much they should date

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and 3,012,368 others

yourinstagram SILVERSTONE. In another life I was a F1 driver. Yesterday I got to hang out with real ones and their pretty pretty cars. And I did not play it cool 😌

view all 36,836 comments

username1 AHHHH ICON

username2 QUEEN OF THE PADDOCK

username3 she should go to every gp idc

scuderiaferarri You’re welcome anytime 🙌

username4 “got to hang out with real ones” and just posts carlos

username5 WHERE IS MY LANDO X YN PIC

emmacorrin 😍😍😍😍

username6 CARLOSYN YES

charles_leclerc Lovely to meet you 😘

↳ username1 and she didn’t post him help

carlossainz55 An absolute pleasure to chat with you 😉

↳ yourinstagram Likewise !

↳ username2 DATE

liked by landonorris, yourinstagram and 1,289,300 others

carlossainz55 Triple header done, time to recharge and come back stronger in Hungary! 💪🏻

view all 19,498 comments

username1 CHILIIIIII

username2 of course he was going to post his pic with yn he's such a fanboy

username3 ICONS IN THE THIRD PIC

scuderiaferrari Always the Smooth Operator 🌶️

username4 YN'S FACE IN THE THIRD PIC

username5 i ship carlos and yn

username6 i like the british gp bc actual cool celebrities attend not like the miami gp

yourinstagram Amazing weekend ❤️

↳ username1 HELLOOOOOO

deuxmoi has added to their stories

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

After the excitement of Silverstone, reality had set in quickly. You had to fly to Switzerland for your latest film project, while Carlos was called to Maranello for team duties. The goodbye had been bittersweet.

Now, a week later, you're on set in Switzerland, immersed in the world of your latest film. The day has been long, filled with intense scenes and multiple takes. As you trudge back to your trailer, your mind wanders to your boyfriend, wishing you could share the day's triumphs and frustrations with him, but he was miles away.

You open the trailer door, lost in thought, and nearly jump out of your skin when you see a figure inside. Your heart rate skyrockets, then immediately settles as you recognize the familiar silhouette.

"Carlos?" you whisper, a mix of shock and joy coursing through you. "What are you doing here?"

He turns, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Surprise, baby!"

You rush into his arms, all exhaustion forgotten as he envelops you in a warm embrace. The familiar scent of his cologne wraps around you, and you feel the tension in your body melt away.

But as quickly as the joy comes, worry follows. You pull back slightly, glancing nervously at the door. "Carlos, how did you even get in here what if someone sees you? We can't risk-"

He silences your concerns with a gentle kiss. "Relax, amor. I was careful. No one saw me come in."

Despite your worries, you can't help but lean into him again, savoring the feeling of being in his arms after a week apart.

"I've missed you," you murmur against his chest.

"I've missed you too," he replies, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back, "It's like I'm addicted to you, I can't be apart from you for too long."

You look up at him, taking in the warmth in his brown eyes, the slight stubble on his jaw that you love to trace with your fingers. The realization of how much you've missed him hits you all at once, and you pull him down for a deeper kiss.

When you part, both slightly breathless, you can't help but laugh softly. "This is crazy, you know. What if my co-stars come knocking?"

"Then I'll hide in the closet like a teenager sneaking around. It'll be exciting."

He shrugged and you playfully swat his arm, but you can't deny the thrill of having him here, in your space, surrounded by the world of your work.

"How long can you stay?" you ask, hoping against hope that it's more than just a fleeting visit.

"I have to leave early tomorrow," he says, a hint of regret in his voice, "I know it's not much time together but I really needed to see you, kiss you, just be with you."

"I have to go back to filming now," you say reluctantly. "But I'll be done in a few hours."

Carlos nods understandingly. "Go, cariño. I'll wait here in your trailer. Maybe I'll raid your snack stash," he adds with a playful wink.

You laugh, giving him one last quick kiss before heading out. "Behave yourself, Sainz."

The rest of your filming flies by, your spirits lifted by the knowledge that Carlos is waiting for you. As soon as the director calls wrap, you hurry back to your trailer, your heart racing with anticipation.

Carlos is lounging on your small couch when you return, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you enter, his face breaking into a warm smile. "There's my star."

You collapse into his arms, sighing contentedly. "I still can't believe you're here."

After a few moments of just holding each other, you both decide it's time to head to your hotel. You peek out of the trailer, checking if the coast is clear.

"Okay, I think we're good," you whisper, grabbing Carlos' hand and making a dash for it.

You weave between trailers and equipment, your hearts pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Just as you're about to round the final corner to the parking lot, you spot a crew member heading your way.

"Quick, behind here," Carlos whispers urgently, pulling you behind a large lighting rig.

You both hold your breath as the crew member passes by, mere feet from your hiding spot. Once they're gone, you share a look of relief and almost burst out laughing at the same time. The situation was definitely comic.

As you make your final dash to your car, you hear a surprised voice calling your name from behind you. Turning slightly, you see one of the production assistants, their eyes wide with surprise as they take in the sight of you and Carlos hand-in-hand.

Without stopping, you give a quick wave and a "Goodnight!" before practically diving into your car. Carlos follows suit, and you peel out of the parking lot perhaps a bit faster than necessary. Thank god you're not the race car driver in the relationship.

Once you're on the road, you let out a long breath. "Well, that was close,"

"It's okay, amor," Carlos reaches over to squeeze your hand reassuringly, "Even if they saw us, it doesn't have to mean anything."

"But what if they start asking questions?" you glance at him, unconvinced, "Or worse, what if they tell someone? Deuxmoi is already onto us after Silverstone, what if someone tips them?"

"I still don't understand what Deuxmoi is," Carlos looked at you with confusion, which made you laugh, "But we'll deal with it. Remember, we haven't done anything wrong. We're just two people who care about each other."

You nod, trying to let his words calm you. "I know, I know. It's just... I'm not ready for the world to know yet. To have our relationship picked apart and speculated about."

Carlos brings your hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "I understand. And we'll do everything we can to keep our privacy."

"Okay," you agree, offering him a small smile. "Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down."

"It's because I love you," Carlos says simply, his eyes warm as they meet yours at a stoplight.

The rest of the drive passes in comfortable conversation. By the time you reach the hotel, you're feeling much more relaxed, ready to enjoy your time together.

As you park the car, Carlos turns to you with a mischievous grin. "Now, shall we make another escape to your room, or do you think we can manage to walk in like normal people this time?"

"I think we can risk it. But if anyone asks, you're just my very attractive Swiss tour guide."

"Tour guide, huh?" Carlos waggles his eyebrows. "I can think of a few places I'd like to show you."

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you get out of the car. "Come on, horndog. Let's go before you get us into more trouble."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 26,839 others

gossiphub Guess who got caught sneaking out of a movie set in Switzerland? None other than actress YN and Ferrari driver Carlos Sainz! 📸 These two were seen holding hands and looking super close. Could this be the start of a new power couple? What are your thoughts?

view all 2,836 comments

username1 OMFGGGG

username2 AH I KNEW IT

username3 this was expected after silverstone

username4 THE POWER THIS HOLDS

username5 the couple we didn’t know we needed

username6 YALL what if they’ve been actually dating for longer 😭

username7 I NEED MORE OF THIS

liked by username1, username2 and 16,839 others

sainznews “YN is someone I admire a lot. Right now, though, I'm fully focused on the season and my performance on the track. I prefer to keep my personal life separate from my professional life.” -Carlos today !

view all 1,022 comments

username1 BROOOO

username2 he said you’re NAWT getting details

username3 bold of the interviewer to ask 😭

username4 i really want them to be a couple but maybe they’re just friends

username5 COME ON SPILL THE DEETS

username6 oh well

username7 his ass was shaking

liked by carlossainz55, blakelively and 2,309,681 others

yourinstagram The train ride home ❣️

view all 29,036 comments

username1 iconic behavior

username2 girl come here address the rumors

gemmachan A beauty 🤍🤍

daisyedgarjones 🥹🥹

username3 i love that both of them are just playing dumb

username4 CARLOS IN THE LIKES

username5 ah shit they’re not going to confirm anything

username6 CARLOSYN IS REAL

username7 potential it couple and they’re playing dumb

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The headlines hit like a tidal wave after your Swiss rendezvous. "A List Actress Spotted with F1 Star Carlos Sainz!" "YN and Carlos Sainz: Secret Romance?" Paparazzi photos of your flooded gossip sites and social media. Fans and media alike dissecting every detail of the grainy images.

You and Carlos spent hours on the phone, figuring out your response. "Maybe we should just confirm it," Carlos suggested one night, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Not yet," you replied, biting your lip. "Let's wait for it to die down a bit. We don't owe them an explanation."

So you played it cool, neither confirming nor denying the rumors. Carlos deflected questions at press conferences with his characteristic charm, while you posted on social media as if nothing had changed. It was stressful, constantly looking over your shoulders, but you managed to keep your relationship under wraps for a little longer.

However, as the world premiere of your movie approached, you made a decision. Curled up on the couch with Carlos during a rare weekend together, you turned to him, tracing patterns on his chest.

"I've been thinking," you started, your heart racing.

Carlos looked at you, his eyes soft. "About what, cariño?"

You took a deep breath. "I want you to come with me to the premiere. As my date. I'm ready for the world to know about us."

Carlos' face lit up with pure joy. He sat up, pulling you onto his lap. "Really? You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure," you nodded, cupping his face, "I love you, Carlos. I'm tired of hiding it."

He peppered your face with kisses, unable to contain his excitement. "I love you too, YN. So much. You have no idea how happy this makes me."

"I think I have some idea," you teased, gesturing to his beaming face.

Carlos pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "No more sneaking around? No more pretending we're just friends?"

"No more," you confirmed.

He kissed you deeply, pouring all his love and excitement into it. When you parted, both slightly breathless, Carlos grinned. "So, do I get to coordinate my tie with your dress?"

"Is that all you're thinking about? Fashion?" you rolled your eyes affectionately.

"No," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "I'm also thinking about how I get to show off the most beautiful, talented woman in the world as my girlfriend."

The night of the premiere arrived quicker than you expected. Carlos looked devastatingly handsome in a sharp black suit, his hair perfectly styled. As you put the finishing touches on your makeup, you caught him watching you in the mirror, his eyes full of adoration.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He shook his head, smiling softly. "Nothing. I just can't believe how lucky I am."

In the limo on the way to the theater, Carlos took your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin. "Nervous?" he asked.

You nodded, letting out a shaky breath. "A little. You?"

"Excited," he replied, bringing your hand to his lips for a soft kiss. As the limo approached the theater, you could already hear the roar of the crowd. Carlos pulled you close, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Remember, no matter what happens out there, it's just you and me. Okay?"

"You and me."

The limo door opened, and suddenly you were blinded by camera flashes. Carlos stepped out first, then turned to offer you his hand. As you emerged, the crowd's volume doubled. Carlos kept his hand on the small of your back, a constant reassuring presence as you made your way down the carpet.

When you reached the photo spot, he pulled you close, his arm wrapping securely around your waist. The crowd went wild, cameras clicking furiously. You could hear reporters shouting questions, but you focused on Carlos, on the warmth of his touch and the love in his eyes.

As you made your way down the carpet, Carlos couldn't seem to keep his hands off you. He'd lean in to in your ear, his hand never leaving your waist. At one point, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, sending the photographers into a frenzy.

You stopped for a few interviews, Carlos by your side the whole time. When asked about your relationship, you simply smiled and said, "We're very happy together." Carlos would beam at you, his pride evident in every glance.

By the time you entered the theater, you were both giddy with excitement and relief. As you took your seats, Carlos leaned over, his lips brushing your ear. "You were amazing out there. I love you so much."

You turned to him, your heart full. "I love you too. Thank you for being here with me."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 20,836 others

gossiphub 🚨🚨CARLOS SAINZ AND YN HAVE ARRIVED TOGETHER AT HER PREMIERE IN LONDON

view all 3,048 comments

username1 OMGGGGG

username2 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY EYES

username3 IT WAS REAL ALL THIS TIME

username4 power couple of the century

username5 they look so cunty omg f1 needed a couple like this

username6 FACE ECONOMY TOGETHER

username7 IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS TIME

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 2,974,644 others

yourinstagram My handsome date 🥰

view all 27,635 comments

username1 AHHHHH

username2 CARLOS I WASNT FAMILIAR WITH YOUR GAME

username3 man he is so HOT

andrewgarfield Can you get me tickets for a Grand Prix?

↳ username1 HEEEEELP

↳ yourinstagram 🙄🙄🙄

↳ carlossainz55 You’re welcome anytime, mate!

username4 yn blessing us with boyfriend carlos content already

username5 this relationship is the best thing that happened to us

landonorris Oh he showers

↳ maxverstappen1 Really impressive

↳ username1 THE GRID IS HERE

↳ carlossainz55 Cabrones

carlossainz55 I love you mi amor ❤️❤️

↳ yourinstagram 🥹

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,937,267 others

carlossainz55 My 👸❤️

view all 29,022 comments

username1 OH LORDDD

username2 SIMP CARLOS

username3 he’s so in love my heart

scuderiaferarri ❤️

anasainzvdec Hermosa!

blancasainzv 🤍🤍🤍

username4 this relationship is a blessing for real

username5 CARLOS POSTING HIS GF???? HIS A LIST ACTRESS GF ?????

username6 i love them sm

username7 how long do you think he waited before turning his insta into a fanpage of her

fernandoalo_oficial 👏👏👏

pierregasly Double dates?

↳ francisca.cgomes PRETTY PLEASE

↳ yourinstagram Absolutely 🥰

yourinstagram I loveeeeeee youuuuu

↳ carlossainz55 ❤️

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Dutch Grand Prix in Zandvoort, the first race after the summer break. You were attending again, but this time, you walked into the paddock hand-in-hand with Carlos. There was no need for secrecy. You were here as his girlfriend, and the world knew it.

Fans call out your names as you make your way through the paddock, and you both wave, Carlos' arm protectively around your waist. The comfort of being able to show your affection openly still feels thrilling.

As you approach the Ferrari garage, you spot Charles chatting with some engineers. He turns and breaks into a wide grin at the sight of you two.

"Well, well, if it isn't the happy couple!" Charles calls out, walking over to greet you.

"Charles, I don't think you've been properly introduced to my girlfriend yet," Carlos laughs, pulling you closer.

You exchange pleasantries, and then Charles shakes his head, chuckling. "You know, I feel terrible now. I literally wanted to ask you out that day at Silverstone because I had no idea you were together!"

You all share a laugh at the irony, and Carlos playfully narrows his eyes at his teammate. "Watch it, Leclerc. She's taken."

"Be nice, darling," you swat Carlos' arm lightly, "Charles is just being honest."

As you watched Carlos chat animatedly with his teammate, you couldn't help but feel a sense of rightness. This was where you belonged, by Carlos' side, sharing in his world.

"Carlos, we need you for a quick strategy briefing," the engineer said, glancing at his watch.

Carlos nodded, then turned to you with an apologetic smile. "Duty calls, amor. I shouldn't be too long."

"No worries," you assured him. "I'll find ways to entertain myself."

He leaned in, kissing you softly. "I'll text you when I'm done," he promised, then followed his engineer out of the room.

With some time to kill, you decided to explore the paddock. It felt liberating to walk around openly, no longer worried about being spotted or sparking rumors. As you passed the McLaren garage, a familiar voice called out to you.

"Well, if it isn't Mrs. Smooth Operator herself!"

You turned to see Lando Norris grinning at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Lando!" you greeted him warmly. "How are you?"

"I'm good, but more importantly, how are you?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Finally free from the chains of secrecy, eh?"

You recalled the night when the headlines about your relationship with Carlos had broken, and Lando had been the first to reach out. That evening, over dinner at your place, you and Carlos had shared the story of your six-month secret romance with him. Lando had been surprisingly supportive, and since then, he'd become a close confidant and ally.

You chatted with him for a bit, he was someone always fun to talk to and you were happy Carlos had someone like him in his life.

Just then, your phone buzzed with a text from Carlos.

"Let me guess," Lando said, a knowing smirk on his face. "Lover boy is calling?"

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. "As a matter of fact, yes. I should probably go."

"Go on then," Lando shooed you away playfully, "Go be disgustingly in love somewhere else."

You laughed, giving him a quick hug before heading towards the Ferrari hub. As you walked, you felt happy to be able to walk openly into his private space without worrying about prying eyes or rumors.

You knocked softly on the door of his driver's room. "Come in," Carlos called out.

As you entered, you found Carlos sitting on the small couch, still in his casual team gear. He looked up, his face breaking into a warm smile as he saw you.

"Hey you," he said, standing up and crossing the room to pull you into an embrace.

"Hey yourself," you replied, melting into his arms. "How are you feeling?"

Carlos pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your waist. "Better now that you're here," he said, his eyes twinkling.

You laughed softly, reaching up to smooth a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Charmer. But really, how are you?"

He took a deep breath, his expression turning more serious. "A little nervous, if I'm honest. The pressure is high here."

"That's natural," you nodded understandingly, your hand coming to rest on his cheek, "But Carlos, you're amazing. You've got this."

"Thank you, cariño," he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly, "Your support means everything to me."

For a moment, you both stood there in comfortable silence, foreheads touching, breathing each other in. There was no rush, no fear of discovery. Just the two of you, sharing a quiet moment before the storm of the race.

"I love that we can do this now," you murmured, breaking the silence. "No sneaking around, no looking over our shoulders."

Carlos smiled, pulling you closer. "Me too. It feels right, doesn't it? Having you here with me, openly by my side."

You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion. "It does. I'm so proud to be with you, Carlos. To support you."

His eyes softened, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. You responded eagerly, pouring all your love and support into the gesture.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," you replied, your fingers tracing patterns on the back of his neck.

A knock on the door interrupted your moment. "Ten minutes, Carlos," came a voice from outside.

"I should go," you said reluctantly, but Carlos held onto your hand.

"Stay with me?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "Just for a few more minutes?"

You nodded, squeezing his hand. "Of course."

You sat together on the small couch, Carlos's arm around you, your head resting on his shoulder. No words were needed; your presence was enough to calm his pre-race nerves.

As the minutes ticked by, you felt Carlos take a deep breath, his body shifting as he prepared mentally for the race ahead.

"Time to go be a superhero," you said softly, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

Carlos smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before standing up. "Wait for me at the finish line?"

"Always."

liked by carlossainz55, zendaya and 2,648,937 others

yourinstagram Heart eyes for my smooth operator 🥰

view all 28,044 comments

username1 AWEEEE

username2 she’s down bad

arianagrande glowiiiing ✨

username3 couple of the century

username4 i love how they were keeping it lowkey but now they can’t stop posting each other as they should

scuderiaferarri Our paddock queen ❤️

username5 yn don’t get used to the ferrari red you’ll be wearing blue next year

username6 GET MARRIED ALREADY

anasainzvdec 😍

username7 every time the camera showed her she was either panicking or grinning from ear to ear I LOVE HER

carlossainz55 Mi amor 🤍

↳ username1 CARLOSSS

↳ username2 that should be me

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 1,026,388 others

carlossainz55 P10 ➡️ P5! Beyond happy to share the race with my love @/yourinstagram 😘 Special weekend ahead at Monza, can’t wait to race in front of our Tifosi!

view all 19,739 comments

username1 AHHHHHH

username2 BEST COUPLE EVER

username3 YN DID HOT LAPS WITH CARLOS !!!!

↳ username1 BEST VIDEO EVER

↳ username2 I LOVE THEM SO BAD

scuderiaferarri The Tifosi awaits ❤️

anasainzvdec 🙌

username4 VAMOS CARLITOS

username5 yn and carlos sainz dating is the best thing ever

charles_leclerc 👌👌👌

yourinstagram I love you 🥰🥰 I could get used to this

↳ username1 QUEEN NEVER LEAVE THE PADDOCK

↳ username2 we need her at every race

[umamaki]

tw: NSFW, explicit smut, consensual violence, color system for consent, choking, breath play, hair pulling, dacryphilia, spanking, rough sex, markings (bruises, hickies, biting), bdsm i think, things of that nature

Rafayel doesn’t really hide the face that he is a violent man. He doesn’t hide it when he sees your cute face and can’t help but feel the most intense cuteness aggression towards you. 

Greets you at his house and immediately has his head in his hands and jaw clenched tight, completely overwhelmed with the surge of emotions. He’s used to acting on his impulses, this is no different. 

The way he kisses you is telling enough. Once he feels your lips on his, a switch flips in his mind and he suddenly can’t get enough of you. Keeping you in place with his large hand holding the back of your head, kissing you with enough pressure that your teeth clash together and you reflexively walk backwards. Devours your lips to where you can’t recover fast enough to reciprocate his kisses.

Loves the way you look now, laying below him, face framed by his two hands leaving a bruising grip on your neck. Thinks it’s even cuter to see you struggle to take in breaths while he fucks the stamina out of you, letting you get a little dizzy before releasing you and fucking you impossibly harder as you try to regain your breath.

Otherwise, his hands are typically squeezing your ass, hips, tits, thighs. Gives him so much satisfaction to see your pretty body covered in darkening marks in the shape of his hands. 

Fucks you rough while the sweetest praises are coming out of his mouth. 

“You’re so cute, baby. You know that?” He coos while ramming his dick into your sopping cunt from behind. Watches your arched form below him, body jerking with each thrust and spank he gives you. Pulls you by your hair so you can turn your head just enough to lock eyes with him as you cum.

Thinks you’re even cuter with tears streaming down your face, makeup all messed up and a whimpering mess because of him. “Awh cutie, don’t cry. I know what’ll make you feel better,” he’ll say with faux comfort, only plunging his cock into you further.

Rafayel’s an artist, but he can’t decide if he likes the process or result of marking you up more. So shameless in how satisfied it makes him, seeing you covered up in developing bruises and bite marks. He’s a perfectionist, makes it all symmetrical. 

“Patience, baby, I haven’t even gotten to your left side yet,” even you’re pawing at his chest from the overstimulation.

He wants you to tell him to stop, tell him to control himself. The problem is, you’re enjoying this just as much as he is. 

“What color.” It’s less of a question and more of a demand, strained through his gritted teeth. Green, you’ll say, and he’ll grasp your chin so you’re looking at him. Makes you say it again, just to make sure his arousal and preoccupation isn’t clouding his hearing. It isn’t. Your color is still green. He gains confidence with the confirmation, makes it his mission that you’ll wake up sore the next morning. 

[dmitriene]

based on the request from my inbox.

cw: size kink, reader mostly described as petite.

könig is so obsessed with the size difference between you both it's almost laughable, through you don't have time to tease him about it, not with the way he almost clings to you and uses every opportunity of your admiring words about his body to show how much bigger than you he really is, so you better hold back from talking about it at all, liebling, even if it doesn't really help.

he's acutely aware of how much bigger than any average men his body are, with his brawny chest and the pumped lines of his body filled with coiled, hard muscles, his meaty thighs, the height that helps him tower over the people easily, even through often his head knocks against the jamb of the doors, leaving occasionally growing bumps on his forehead.

but it's nothing, tiny nuances that cannot be compared with the all fulfilling excitement that courses through könig at the knowledge that he can so easily manhandle you, scoop your dainty body up and seat you on his forearm, it's not important at all what your height is, how much you weight, for him, you're small like a pretty bunny and light as a feather, made to sit in his arms with your legs swinging around, as you decorate his rugged, smug grinning face with light pecks from your pouty lips.

könig often does that silly thing of comparing, as if trying to brag, holding your palm against his, enormous, calloused and scarred, able to encompass the entirety of your diminutive, soft hands, carrying you all around like you're some kind of not independent, lap pet, sometimes cruel, too, slapping his engorged, fat cock over your sensitive, weepy pussy, cooing at the way your folds flutter beneath, making your whole body seize and shudder, twitching violently with a wet, needy whimper.

you kick your legs in his chest, whining at the boyish, bursting laughter könig let's out, nudging his leaking, bulbous tip against your clenching, gaping little hole, watching the way you tilt your hips, chasing the feel of his cockhead rubbing up and down, catching on your slick soaked, parting lips, breaching in inch by inch, leaving your throat seizing around a loud, crying keen as he plunges you full with throbbing heaviness of him, fingers fanned out along the curve of your pulling tummy, impaling you in rhythm of his rough, pummeling thrusts.

könig is absolutely impossible to endure, he can't behave, not with how absolutely struck he is by you, by how adorable you are, sweet like a hilfloses, kleines tier, and even through it's sounds not as attractive he hoped to, his words still make your chest tighten, all fluttering inside, so you forgive his sneaking, mapping hands all around your curves, digging in your hips, kneading at your perky ass, tucking you beneath his heavy, draping hand.

you're neither can expect him to act properly when your parents invite you for a dinner in their house, dying to meet your boyfriend, not knowing that this seemingly charming, polite man with brightest, innocent cerulean eyes would take you apart in your childhood bedroom, he's been utterly respectful during the dinner, until you decided to show him upstairs, which led to your cunt being split open by his pounding cock.

each strained, blabbering mewl and gasp silenced by the pillows you burrow in, könig's gravelly voice whispering salacious, cooing praises, he's just so smitten for you, and you can't complain, not when he fucks all your protests out of your mind, enough so you'll be just a pliant, petite thing in his arms.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[moonlightwritingf1]

First Time | LN4

❤︎ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando finds out Y/N is a virgin.

❤︎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❤︎ word count ━━━━━━━ 5.3k

❤︎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex (f receiving)

Based on this request.

Friday night settled over London with a quiet hush, the city lights flickering in the distance and the occasional sound of cars passing below Y/n’s apartment building. Although the night was still and cool, a charged warmth filled the cozy living room. She sat on the edge of her couch, legs tucked beneath her, trying to focus on the movie playing on the TV screen. But it was impossible. Not when Lando Norris was sitting just inches away from her, his presence like a magnet pulling at every nerve in her body.

It had been two months since they’d officially started dating, and yet, the tension between them still crackled like a live wire. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared laugh—it all felt charged with something unspoken. Something waiting to burst free.

Lando leaned back into the cushions, one arm casually draped behind her. His fingers traced lazy patterns along the fabric of the couch, dangerously close to brushing against her shoulder. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. It made her stomach twist in the best possible way.

Lando studied Y/N’s features in silence, his gaze lingering as if he were trying to decipher a puzzle. He noticed the subtle tension around her eyes, the delicate way her lashes fluttered as she blinked, and the gentle parting of her lips with each soft breath. The slight flush on her cheeks hinted at something more—nerves, maybe, or a thought she wasn’t sharing.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, as if afraid to break whatever spell she seemed to be under. “You doing okay? You seem a little distracted.” 

Y/n swallowed. “I’m fine,” she replied quickly. She noticed her own voice sounded defensive. “Just… I was thinking about work. It was a long week.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know the feeling. Meetings, calls, deadlines… not as glamorous as I used to think a normal nine-to-five would be.” A teasing spark lit his eyes. “At least you’re off the clock now,” he added, his lips curving into a soft smile.

Y/n found herself smiling despite her nerves. There was something about his tone—soft and playful at once—that disarmed her. This was why she had let him in, despite all her reservations. His earnestness, the puppy-like devotion in his gaze. He was so unlike the rumors—so unlike how she once imagined him to be.

She stood up abruptly, the need to put a little distance between them overwhelming her for a moment. “Want some tea? I can put the kettle on,” she offered, forcing herself to sound casual.

A small frown tugged at Lando’s brows, but he quickly covered it with a smile. “Sure, I’d love some.”

While she busied herself in the kitchen, Lando took a moment to look around her apartment. It was modest—comfortable and intimate, with personal touches here and there: books carefully arranged on a shelf, a photograph of her parents near the TV, soft throw blankets on the sofa. He couldn’t help picturing how often she might curl up under those blankets, reading a novel after a long day. He yearned to be there during those quiet moments, to share them with her, to make her life a little less lonely.

The clink of the kettle switching off caught his attention. Y/n returned shortly, two mugs of steaming tea in hand. She handed one to him and then sat back down on the couch, leaving only a cushion’s width of space between them. The delicate scent of chamomile filled the air.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking a slow sip. “You’re too good to me.”

“Trust me,” she said with a small laugh, “I’m not. You just make it so easy to want to do something for you, seeing as you’re always doing things for me.”

Y/n’s mind wandered briefly to the memory of him sending her all those gifts—flowers, perfumes, expensive clothes that made her squeak in shock when she saw the price tags. She had been torn between excitement and embarrassment, but also a bit of suspicion. There was this question that kept haunting her: Could Lando be serious? She needed more than sweet gestures and pretty words. She needed true depth, true commitment. And if he wasn’t that kind of man, she’d rather know now than be hurt later.

Lando watched her expression shift, as if lost in thought. Ever perceptive, he set his mug down. “Y/n,” he said, voice quieter this time, “I can see it in your eyes that something’s bothering you. Is it us… or something else?”

She offered him a tentative smile. “I’m just… still adjusting to us, I think. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

He couldn’t hide the relief that seemed to soften his features. “I understand,” he said, reaching out and gingerly placing a hand on her knee. “I know I might come on strong, but you have to believe me—I’m in this. No matter what.”

She placed her hand over his. His words chipped away at some of her armor, and she felt a stirring of warmth that had little to do with the tea. “Thank you,” she whispered, letting her thumb brush over his knuckles.

Time felt suspended. The city noises outside turned into nothing but a faint backdrop. In the hush of her living room, the only sounds were their breath, their quiet laughter, and the hum of electricity in the background.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to lighter topics: a fun memory from Lando’s last race weekend in Europe, a comedic mishap at Y/n’s office that had everyone trying to fix a computer glitch that turned out to be user error. The atmosphere grew playful again, but a current of tension remained, rolling through the space between them like a gathering storm.

They inched closer until their shoulders touched. Lando placed a finger beneath her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his. His voice was a whisper in the stillness. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

Y/n’s lips parted, a bashful chuckle escaping her. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” he murmured, leaning in, close enough to brush her ear with his breath, “I’m not.”

And then he kissed her. Gentle at first, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the feel of her lips. She responded softly, her heart fluttering. The warmth of his mouth against hers turned every cell in her body alive.

His hands drifted from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer so that no space remained between them. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming against her own. Every time their lips parted, he whispered her name, as though it were a plea and a prayer all at once.

The kiss deepened. His hand went up, tangling in her hair, and a soft moan she couldn’t restrain slipped from her lips. Sensations flooded her: his warmth, his scent—a mix of clean soap and the faintest cologne—his unwavering focus on her and only her.

It wasn’t long before the passion of their kisses caused them both to shift. Lando’s palm skated gently over her waist and up toward her ribs. His lips traveled along her jawline, down her neck, tasting the soft skin there. She clutched at the fabric of his hoodie, eyelids fluttering shut.

The moment felt too perfect, too intense. A fierce desire blossomed in her chest, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She could feel Lando’s heart racing, or maybe it was her own.

His mouth found hers again, deeper, hungrier this time. When she felt his right hand cup her breast over her sweater, an unexpected jolt of panic mingled with excitement. The swirl of emotions—desire, fear, anticipation—was suddenly overwhelming.

She let out a quiet gasp and quickly placed her hand over his, stopping him in the motion. It wasn’t intentional, the way her body stiffened, the way her breath caught in her throat. Instantly, Lando pulled back, eyes wide and full of concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and rough from the heat of the moment. “Did…did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Y/n drew in a shaky breath, her cheeks burning, unsure how to explain. She felt her entire face glow with a complex mix of longing and worry. “Lando…” she began, biting her lower lip. She slid her hand into his for a moment, a silent reassurance that she wasn’t rejecting him, but the intensity. “I just…maybe we’re moving too fast right now.”

He nodded, pulling away a little more to give her space. “It’s okay,” he whispered, gently brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek. “We can slow down, I promise. I don’t ever want you to feel rushed.”

She looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. A fresh wave of nerves welled up in her chest—but this time it wasn’t just about caution, it was about her own decision, a burgeoning sense that maybe she was ready to take this leap with him. She’d been holding onto her secret for so long that it almost felt easier to keep the status quo. Yet tonight, something had shifted inside her. She had been convincing herself that her wariness was purely about trust, about not wanting to rush. But if she was honest with herself—truly honest—she wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted anyone.

“There’s… actually something else,” she said in a voice so soft he had to lean in to hear her.

His eyes filled with anxiety. “Talk to me, love. Please.”

She swallowed. “I’m…still a virgin.”

For a moment, the air left the room. Lando stared at her, silently processing, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his face. He exhaled slowly, as though trying to collect his thoughts. “You’re…a virgin?” he repeated quietly, the disbelief evident in his tone. “Wow, I—I’m sorry,” he quickly added, holding up his hands as though in surrender. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just… I’m surprised.”

She nodded stiffly, her gaze fixed on the space between their knees. “I know we’re the same age. I know how it sounds. You probably had…way more experiences than I ever have.” She tensed, voicing the insecurity that had haunted her for months. “I just, I never met someone I trusted enough. Or maybe I was too busy convincing myself I didn’t need it… didn’t need them.”

Lando, still coming to grips with her revelation, took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. “Hey,” he said softly, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. And what she saw wasn’t judgment or disinterest—it was gentleness, acceptance… and maybe even awe.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, voice trembling with raw honesty. “I know that couldn’t have been easy.” He lifted his free hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “And please don’t feel embarrassed about it.”

She let out a shaky breath, tears threatening to form. “I thought you’d think it’s weird,” she confessed. “You’re so… experienced. You’ve had so many women and—”

“Let’s not talk about them,” he interrupted gently. A slight sadness flickered across his face, as though all the old choices he’d made suddenly seemed trivial or even shameful. “They don’t matter. You do.” He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “And I don’t want you to feel any pressure from me.”

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “Lando, this is… important. But I—” She paused, feeling that swirl of fear in her stomach again. It was now or never. “I think… I’m ready. To be with you,” she admitted, voice barely audible. It was the first time she had truly spoken the words aloud. The admission sent a flush of heat through her entire body.

His eyes widened at her confession. “You’re… ready?” he echoed, as if carefully testing the meaning of those words. Hesitation and tenderness mingled in his expression. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want you to do this if you’re not one hundred percent.”

She swallowed, nodding. “I’m sure,” she whispered. A small laugh escaped her, colored by nervousness. “I can’t believe I just said that. But… yes. I—I want this, with you.”

Relief, joy, and something deeper flooded Lando’s features. He reached for her hands again, clasping them between his own. “We don’t have to rush,” he said, though the excitement in his voice was clear. “Just because you’re ready doesn’t mean—”

“It’s my choice,” she interjected softly. “I trust you. And it’s taken me a while to let myself feel this way, but… the truth is, I’m tired of being scared. Of holding onto my hang-ups. I want to share this with you.”

Lando exhaled, a million emotions running across his face—gratitude, longing, protectiveness. “Y/n,” he said, voice thick. “I promise I’ll be gentle. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

She offered him a trembling smile. “I know you will.”

He stood then, carefully pulling her to her feet. They stood close, the fabric of their clothes brushing against each other. Lando dipped his head so that his eyes were level with hers. He could see the mix of courage and trepidation in her gaze.

“Do you want to move to your room?” he asked, the question laced with quiet anticipation.

She nodded, sliding her hand into his. They walked slowly toward the short hallway that led to her bedroom. Every step brought a new spike of adrenaline and longing. The overhead lights were off, leaving only the faint glow from a small lamp on her bedside table. The walls were painted in calming, muted colors—soft grays and blues. The bed itself was made neatly, a plush duvet folded at the end.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. A whirlwind of thoughts chased each other through her mind: He’s here, he wants me, I want him, I’m ready, no turning back… Yet overshadowing all of it was a sense of quiet determination. She had chosen him. After all the months of hesitation, she was certain.

When they reached the bedside, she paused, turning to face Lando. The uncertainty still flickered in her eyes, but it didn’t come from doubt in him—rather, it came from the enormity of the moment. Her first time. Something she had guarded for so long.

He noticed. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and bent to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “We’ll go slow,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin.

She nodded, inhaling deeply. “Slow,” she repeated, as if the word itself were a grounding tether.

Carefully, they leaned in for another kiss. This one was warm and tentative, a promise rather than an urgent demand. Lando’s hands drifted to her waist, and Y/n reciprocated, sliding her arms around his neck. The heat between them was more controlled now, more intentional, and yet somehow even more intense. She felt safe—reassured by the unspoken vow in every gentle touch.

After a while, their kisses grew deeper, more confident. He guided her backward until her legs met the edge of the bed. They sank down together, lips never losing contact. Soft gasps and hushed whispers began weaving an intimate tapestry of sound around them. Even the hum of passing cars seemed distant, as though the outside world had fallen away and left them in a private universe.

The warmth of their kisses lingered, slow and deliberate, as Lando hovered above her on the bed. His lips moved from her mouth to her jawline, trailing soft, featherlight kisses down the column of her neck. Every touch was a promise, every sigh a silent reassurance. Y/n’s breath hitched when his tongue flicked against her pulse point, sending shivers cascading down her spine. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him close, her fingers trembling with anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and rough with desire. His lips continued their journey downward, skimming over her collarbone before settling at the hollow of her throat. He paused for a moment, his breath warm against her flushed skin, and then gently tugged at the hem of her sweater.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his eyes locking onto hers, dark with arousal but still filled with tenderness.

She nodded, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s hands slid beneath the fabric, his fingertips brushing against her waist as he slowly lifted the sweater over her head. The cool air kissed her skin, and she shivered—not from the temperature, but from the way he looked at her. His gaze was reverent, almost worshipful, as he took in the sight of her bare torso. His eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts, encased in delicate lace, and a soft groan escaped his lips.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, his hands already moving to cup her through her bra. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, drawing a sharp gasp from her. She arched into his touch, her body betraying how much she craved him.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to the slope of her breast, just above the edge of the lace. His kisses were slow and exploratory, each one sending jolts of pleasure radiating through her. When his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra, she reached behind her to help him, her hands shaking slightly. The bra fell away, and his breath caught as he took her in completely.

“Y/n…” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “You’re stunning.”

His hands caressed her breasts, his palms sliding over the soft flesh before his mouth followed. He captured one nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak while his hand teased the other. Y/n gasped, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure coursed through her. Her moans spilled freely now, no longer restrained, and each one seemed to spur him on. 

“L-Lando,” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. “That feels… so good.”

He responded by sinking his teeth gently into her nipple, eliciting a sharp cry from her. His hands squeezed her breasts together, his lips moving back and forth between them, leaving her a trembling, moaning mess beneath him. He worshipped her like this, his touch and his words making her feel cherished, adored.

“Lando,” she whimpered, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Please…”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Please what, love?” he teased, his fingers pinching her nipples lightly, making her gasp again.

She shook her head, unable to form the words. He laughed softly, kissing her lips briefly before sitting back on his heels. His hands drifted to the waistband of her leggings, his thumbs hooking under the elastic. “Can I take these off too?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with anticipation.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. But… take your top off too.”

His grin was irresistible as he tugged his hoodie over his head, revealing the toned planes of his chest. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. He was breathtakingly handsome, his muscles defined but not overly bulky, his skin smooth and warm.

He returned to her, his hands sliding her leggings down her legs slowly, peeling the fabric away inch by inch. She lifted her hips to help him, her heart pounding as she lay before him in nothing but her underwear. His gaze lingered on her, heat and adoration burning in his eyes.

“God, you’re stunning,” he said, his voice rough with want. He knelt between her legs, his hands resting on her thighs. “Are you sure about this? We can stop anytime.”

She nodded, her voice steadier than she expected. “I’m sure.”

Lando leaned down, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. She gasped, her hands gripping the sheets as his lips traveled higher, closer to the apex of her thighs. He nuzzled the thin fabric of her underwear, his breath hot against her already soaked core.

“So fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with desire. He kissed her through the fabric, dragging his tongue over her clit in a slow, teasing motion. She cried out, her hips lifting instinctively toward him.

“Lando!” she gasped, her thighs trembling as he continued to tease her, his lips and tongue driving her wild. He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

“Patience, baby,” he purred, his hands sliding her underwear down her legs. He tossed them aside, settling back between her thighs. For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression reverent. “Fuck, Y/N. You have such a pretty pussy.”

Her face burned, but before she could say anything, his tongue was on her, lapping at her folds with long, slow strokes. She moaned loudly, her head falling back against the pillows as pleasure shot through her.

Lando devoured her like a man starved, his tongue circling her clit, dipping inside her, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from her body. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her hands fisting the sheets as she writhed beneath him.

“Oh my God, Lando,” she whimpered, her thighs shaking. “That feels so good…”

He groaned against her, the vibrations making her cry out. He slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right against her walls as his tongue continued its relentless assault. She swore she saw stars, her entire body tensing as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within her. Just when she thought she might scream, he pulled back, his lips glistening and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Do you really want this?” he asked, his voice ragged. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

She nodded, her eyes glazed with need. “Yes, I’m ready. I want you, Lando. All of you.”

He nodded, his breath hitching as he reached for the waistband of his trousers. In one swift motion, he stripped them off, along with his boxers, leaving himself completely bare. Y/N’s eyes widened as she took him in—hard and flushed, his length straining toward her.

He settled between her legs, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he leaned down to kiss her. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell me if it hurts.”

She nodded, her heart swelling with affection for him. “Okay,” she whispered.

He pressed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation. It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable—and mixed with the pain was an overwhelming sense of closeness, of being connected to him in the most intimate way possible.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed, staying still to give her time. “How do you feel?”

“Full,” she admitted with a shaky laugh. “But… good. Really good.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. “You’re doing so well, love,” he murmured against her lips. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Lando began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts. Each glide of his length inside her was met with a soft gasp from Y/n, her body still adjusting to the unfamiliar fullness. He kept his pace gentle, rhythmic, almost teasing, as if he wanted to savor every second of this moment with her. His eyes never left hers, searching for any sign of discomfort—but all he found was desire, trust, and a growing need.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “So fucking perfect.”

She whimpered in response, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his chest, where she could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Her own heart raced in tandem, her breath coming in shallow bursts as arousal coiled tighter and tighter in her core. She arched instinctively, her hips rising to meet his next thrust, and Lando groaned low in his throat at the sensation.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice trembling. “It’s… it’s so much.”

He paused, concern flickering across his face. “Too much?” he asked, his tone laced with worry. “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head quickly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “No… no, don’t stop. It’s just… overwhelming. In a good way.” Her fingers traced the muscles of his chest, marveling at the way they flexed with every movement. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

The relief in his expression was palpable. He leaned down to kiss her again, his lips slow and sweet, before whispering against her mouth, “Then let me show you how good it can be.”

His thrusts grew slightly firmer, the rhythm steady but unhurried. Y/n’s moans grew louder, each one sending a jolt of pleasure straight to Lando’s cock. He ground into her deeper with every push, angling his hips so that he brushed against a spot inside her that made her gasp and clutch at him desperately.

“There…” she whimpered, her nails lightly scratching his back. “Right there, Lando… please…”

A groan rumbled in his chest as he obeyed, focusing on that spot with relentless precision. Her reactions were intoxicating—every sigh, every shiver, every desperate plea only fueled his own need. But he refused to rush, determined to make this first time unforgettable for her.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes dark with adoration. “Watching you like this… hearing you… it’s driving me insane.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she met his gaze with equal intensity, her eyes clouded with passion and something deeper—something that made his chest ache with emotion.

“Touch me,” she begged softly, her hand sliding down to guide his. “Please…”

Without hesitation, Lando reached between them, his fingers finding her swollen clit with practiced ease. He circled the sensitive nub gently, watching as her entire body jerked in response. Her moans turned into breathless cries, her hips rocking against his hand and his cock in a frenzied rhythm.

“Fuck, Lando—oh god—” she gasped, her back arching off the bed. “I’m… I’m close…”

“Let go, love,” he urged, his voice thick with passion. “Come for me.”

The combination of his hand and his cock pushed her over the edge. She cried out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her inner walls clamping down around him in a vice-like grip. Lando groaned loudly, his thrusts faltering as her climax overwhelmed him. He clenched his jaw, fighting to hold on just a little longer—to give her every last drop of pleasure she deserved.

When her tremors finally subsided, she looked up at him with dazed, unfocused eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. She was utterly breathtaking.

Still buried deep inside her, Lando kissed her again, his lips tender and reverent. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Absolutely fucking incredible.”

Y/n smiled shyly, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulled him closer. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Not yet…”

He nodded, his own arousal still burning hot and urgent, but tempered now by the reverence he felt for her. He resumed his slow, deep thrusts, each one deliberate, each one meant to draw out every ounce of pleasure she could take. Her soft moans filled the room, a melody that made his chest ache with something deeper than desire—something tender, something sacred.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with adoration. His hands cradled her hips as though she were fragile, precious. “Anything, love… just tell me.”

Her fingers brushed through his hair, her touch featherlight yet electric. “You,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Just you.”

Those two words shattered him. Not in the way of losing control, but in the way of surrender—to her, to this moment, to the depth of what they were sharing. He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating in sync. His pace quickened, not out of urgency, but out of a need to give her everything he had, to make her feel how much she meant to him.

Her body arched beneath him, her moans growing louder, more desperate. Her hands roamed over his back, not clawing, but caressing, as if she wanted to memorize every inch of him. She clung to him, not out of desperation, but out of a need to be as close as possible, to erase any space between them.

“Y/n…” His voice was strained, but it wasn’t just from the physical strain. It was from the weight of what he felt for her, the intensity of it threatening to spill over. “I’m not gonna last much longer…”

She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure began to crest. “Neither—“ she managed, her voice breaking. “Oh god, Lando—“

He felt her tighten around him again, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cry was raw, unfiltered, and it echoed through the room, a sound that would forever be etched into his memory. Her nails dug into his skin, not to hurt, but to anchor herself as she rode out the blissful aftershocks.

That was all it took for him. With a final, shuddering thrust, he spilled himself inside her, his release tearing through him with a force that left him breathless. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his ragged breaths hot against her skin as he whispered her name over and over, like a prayer, like a vow.

For several long moments, neither of them moved. Their bodies remained tangled together, sweat-slicked and spent, but closer than they’d ever been. Gradually, the haze of pleasure began to fade, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction and an overwhelming sense of closeness that went beyond the physical.

Lando was the first to stir, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone before pulling back to look at her. His heart swelled at the sight of her—flushed, disheveled, and utterly spent, but smiling up at him with such tenderness that it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice husky but filled with genuine concern. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin.

She laughed quietly, the sound warm and content. Her fingers trailed along his jawline, tracing the curve of his face as though committing it to memory. “Like I just discovered heaven,” she admitted, her smile widening. “And you?”

He grinned, leaning down to capture her lips in a lingering kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes held hers, dark and full of emotion. “Like the luckiest man alive,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Because I get to call you mine.”

Her smile softened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, her touch achingly gentle. “You already had me,” she whispered. “Long before tonight.”

His throat tightened, and he kissed her again, slower this time, pouring every unspoken word into it. When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet stillness of the room.

“I love you,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They weren’t planned, but they were true—so true it hurt.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her eyes wide and searching. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, brighter than anything he’d ever seen. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice steady despite the tears pooling in her eyes.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her as though he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, with her head resting on his chest and her heartbeat echoing his own, he knew—this was where he belonged. With her. Always.

[mossy-paws]

I have OCD, I’m unfortunately not diagnosed (as getting diagnosed for a milder version of OCD with less of the “compulsive” part is practically impossible) but both me and my parents have known for YEARS.

Because of this, I suffer from DEBILITATING “intrusive” thoughts, these thoughts can be about anything, and generally are more “what if so and so thing happened and how would I react to it?” For me they usually appear in incredibly violet, inappropriate, religious, terrifying, and upsetting thoughts that can trigger pretty bad depressive episodes/make me afraid of myself/and just generally sick to my stomach. It’s impossible for me to shut them out, and obviously no medication exists that can cause me to stop having them, luckily now as I’m older I’ve learned how to cope with them but when I was younger It would often cause me pretty bad meltdowns and episodes that we originally just blamed on “kids being kids!” (For instance, there was one time where I “what if’d” my brother dying, this caused me to freak out so bad that I BELIEVED it and that I had to BEG my mom to check up on him).

It’s so hard trying to tell people about this sort of stuff, because I genuinely can’t control it and it’s just a regular thing that happens to me, and hell even going to a professional about it is a terrifying thought because, well, what if I say too much about said thoughts and they have to call someone about it? Intrusive thoughts, especially ones attached to OCD, are awful, and almost always no one can help thinking them. Insulting one over these thoughts when it’s not their fault is an incredibly cruel and mean thing to do all around

For this Disability Pride Month, I saw a post that was shittybad and it made me angry. So have this

[cuteandhughesy]

Crawling Back To You | Matthew Knies

summary: the 5 stages of realizing you're falling in love with your boyfriend’s best friend (college!au).

19.9k (…whoops)

warnings: enemies to lovers | the slowest of slow burns. like seriously buckle up | emotional cheating? kinda not really? | thoughts of infidelity | drinking | intense make out scene | kind of a unfinished ending (sorry in advance) | suggestive scenes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: this idea randomly popped into my head before bed a few weeks ago and I immediately knew I had to write it. this is for the knies girlies (like yours truly) who can’t help themselves but fantasizing about him—I see you and I got you.

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Prologue

lucas' arm around your hips is a firm pressure, guiding you through the crowded frat house like he's done many times before. you let him easily, smiling at friends as you pass by them.

your boyfriend doesn't really notice anybody else—too busy looking for his friends in the chaotic crowd. his fingers flex around the dip of your hip, squeezing you reassuringly. "you look nice babe."

he's told you that already tonight—when you'd showed up to his door so you could walk to the frat party together—which, is only down the hall from your door—regardless though, it's nice to hear. you tilt you head back to look at him, eyes lingering over his too-sharp jaw and icy gaze. "thanks lucas."

he hums softly, not looking at you as he continues to make way through the sea of sweat covered bodies. you sigh gently, gnawing on your gloss coated bottom lip, gaze flickering away from your boyfriend.

you and lucas have been dating for almost half a year—which in hindsight isn't that long, but when you're in university and spending every waking minute with a person, it soon feels like a lifetime. you met him in the mailroom of your shared apartment complex during the beginning of last term, and hit it off almost immediately.

lucas was flirty, and so sweet that it felt like your teeth were decaying. he was smart and played on the universities hockey team—it was hard not to fall for him. but as your brief honeymoon phase came to a close, lucas started to get a little...dull.

he doesn't make your heart race, and he doesn't  have your stomach swooping with his stare or touch, and most of the time it feels like he doesn't have the time for you. but it's fine, because he's your boyfriend, and you care for him. it's just a bit...boring, and unfulfilling.

"babe." he starts again, glancing down at you. "were you able to book off that shift? the one during next game day?"

you frown, stopping in your shuffling steps. "lucas, I already told you that I couldn't."

your boyfriend stops as well, turning towards you with deeply furrowed eyebrows. "you did?"

you sigh, a bubble of irritation rising in your chest. "yes. this morning before class."

"seriously?" he all but huffs, dropping his hands from your waist. "I wanted you there."

"and like I told you this morning, there's nothing I can do about it." you've flushed with annoyance, looking at your boyfriend with a perplexed expression. it feels like you've been going in circles about this damn shift for days—and somehow everytime, lucas makes you feel like an asshole about it. you literally work at the arena, and as only 1 of 3 staff members for the concession stand, getting your shift covered was practically impossible.

his eyes flash with something similar to annoyance. "it feels like you don't even want to watch me play, y/n."

your eyes quickly dart around the room, gulping gently as you make sure nobody is watching the exchange between you and lucas—one that feels like it's on the tipping point of turning heated. your gaze flickers back to his, crossing your arms defensively. "are you seriously going to start this here? in front of everyone?"

despite your words, nobody is paying attention to the two of you—too drunk or high or both to have the awareness they needed to realize what's going on between you and the hockey teams assistant captain.

lucas sighs gently, eyes softening as he takes in your closed off, hard expression. "look," lucas grabs the sides of your face, holding you in place. "i'm sorry, okay?" your eyes drop, mind still reeling with annoyance about the whole situation. lucas thumb runs along your cheek, "we can talk about it later."

there's nothing to talk about, you think. i've already told you.

he leans in, searching for a kiss, but you turn your head just before your lips connect—lucas planting an unexpected peck to your cheek.

from a room over, matthew knies takes a sip of his beer, a smile pulling at his lips as his teammate loudly tells the group about his latest tinder date adventure—new flash, it went horrible. his teammate, gabe, wasn't the kind of guy you wanted to date, and after hearing all these different stories about how his dates went, matthew can't help but feel sorry for these girls.

sean, another member of the minnesota hockey team, nudges his elbow into matthew's side, subtly pulling his attention away from gabe and his loud mouth and comical expression—currently acting out how he'd opened the car door during said tinder date.

matthew's brows raise, looking at the tan complexion of his friend. "what's up?"

"looks like there's some trouble in paradise, huh?" sean then shifts his eyes out of the room, down into the even more crowded foyer and kitchen. matthew's eyes can't help but follow, landing upon his roommate, and another teammate of his, lucas.

but he's not alone—you're with him. matthew swallows roughly, eyes narrowing at the sight of you. he watches as lucas grabs your face, stroking the highest part of your cheek with his calloused thumb. there's a few rushed words exchanged between you, ones that matthew has no chance of hearing over the bustling party.

sean continues, rubbing his hand over his stubble. "what do you think they're fighting about?"

matthew watches as you dodge his friends kiss, your expression full of exhaustion and annoyance. he looks away from you, eyes finding sean's deep chocolate ones  "probably something lucas started."

sean snorts. "probably—dude doesn't know what he's got."

matthew hums dismissively, taking an aggressive sip from his beer bottle. the tangy liquid fizzles against his tastebuds, the alcohol already making him feel lighter. he can't help the way his eyes find you again, watching the tail end of whatever argument you'd been in the midst of.

lucas pulls off you, a tiny roll of his eyes. but he wraps his arm around you again, pulling you further into the house and in the direction of the living room.

at the sight of lucas, a few of the guys get distracted, attention pulled from gabe and his ridiculous performance—all of them hollering in the blondes direction. the smile comes easy, and he releases you in favour of greeting everyone, bringing them into a side hug before slapping the muscle on their back.

you do your best to plaster on a smile as a couple of the guys girlfriends greet you warmly—madison, you closest WAG friend squeezes your arm from the couch beside you. you briefly wonder if she's seen the tiff you've just had with lucas.

but no, you can't think like that, if you do it'll just make you more anxious than usual. you gently shake your head, snapping yourself out of your own pity. you stand awkwardly beside the couch while lucas completely disappears into his friends, cheering and laughing as they all talk about their latest win. you blink again, this time to hold back unshed tears.

"hey girl, you wanna sit down?" another one of the wags asks you, her gentle, honey laced voice filtering through the noisy room. "you look a little out of it."

you laugh gently, blinking rapidly. "I don't think there's anywhere to sit." your words stem from truth, and as you glance around the collection of mangled, worn leather couches and stained lazy boys, the space is limited. you desperately wish lucas was a doting boyfriend—pulling you into his lap and pressing a reassuring kiss against the junction of your neck.

"you can sit here." his voice cuts through the air like a knife, sending a usual shiver through your body. you hadn't even realized matthew knies was here—but you should've suspected it when you didn't hear his usual rerun of new girl in his and lucas' shared apartment.

your eyes flicker to his, and then towards the sliver of space between him and sean. the couch is most definitely sticky, and the foam is practically spilling out the cushion—the sight has you squirming. parties have never been your thing, and you've never been one to be overly social—much preferring the silence and comfortability of your own space. if you were to go out on your own terms, you'd often opt for local bars or eateries, which usually provide a more relaxed and tone downed party atmosphere.

but lucas likes frats—so here you are. your eyes find matthew's again, and immediately you're feeling a familiar pull in your chest—one that always seems to tug in the presence of your boyfriends best friend. it's not that you hated matthew knies...it's just....he is one of your least favourite people to be around.

you're not sure when it started, but the combination of his cocky attitude and the way he seemed to always be pushing your buttons with that stupid smirk on his face, just has your blood boiling.

and you really try your best to ignore him, but as soon as his pestering starts, you just can't help but bite back.

he's looking at you with that slinky pull to his plump lips, likes he's expecting you to decline his offer and just turn tail and leave—which you are desperately trying not to do.

matthew's one eyebrow raises, almost like a challenge. "you scared or somethin', y/l/n?" he takes a slow sip of his beer, adam's apple bobbing roughly under his clean shaven throat. he licks his lips, catching the lingering liquid. "I dont bite."

the use of your last name—how it so easily slips through his lips like a song—has you biting down, your teeth practically cracking under the intense pressure. all your earlier irritation has been quickly redirected to matthew, and you eye him pointedly. "doubtful."

his smirk widens.

you shoot a glance towards lucas, but to your disappointment he still hasn't realized you're standing alone—sitting comfortably between teammates and sipping from a mysterious seltzer can. slowly, you look back towards matthew, who's grin has yet to falter.

he pats the space between himself and sean, two slaps against the leather as he wordlessly invites you over.

you can't help the way your eyes roll.

sean watches the entire ordeal like a damn soap-opera, eyes darting between you and his friend next to him—hiding his amused smile behind the neck of his beer bottle.

with a gentle sigh, you make your way towards them, wordlessly taking a seat between the two athletes with an awkward cough. immediately you're warm, the combination of the crowded house and being squished between two large men sending you into a heat flash.

although, matthew may be more of a boy than a man, but you digress.

"want a drink?" he asks you—the smirk evident simply in his tone. your eyes dart to the side, finding his flushed face.

"of what?" you question sharply.

his brows raise in amusement. "anything you want." matthew laughs once, a breathy sound that has you squinting. "there's lots of options—this is a party, y/l/n."

there's that nickname again—the condescending tone dripping from his tongue as he calls you by your last name. you grit your teeth, "that's not my name."

"I mean...It is." his eyes flicker with something you don't recognize, lip twitching as his smile widens. "you're always so wound up."

you stiffen, and you can hear sean hiss quietly beside you. matthew's looking as smug as ever, fiddling with the damp, shredded label of his drink. you let out a scoff, "no i'm not—you're just annoying."

"sure." he nods condescendingly just as he lifts the neck of his bottle back towards his mouth, plump lips expertly caressing the opening and tipping the liquid into his mouth.

you watch him move—your bubbling annoyance clear. you watch behind the rim of the bottle as his smirk returns, and that has you blinking, quickly averting your gaze. "don't you have other people to bother?"

you hear his beer hit the table as he places it down, clearly done with it. "am I bothering you?" matthew chooses to avoid your question, like usual, which has you rolling your eyes for the umpteenth time.

"I personally find this really entertaining." sean interrupts, leaning closer towards you. a half smile takes over his dark complexion, and he gets further into your space, wide, amused eyes dancing between his teammate and you. "you guys fight like you're a married couple."

you head snaps his his direction so fast you neck muscles tighten up. "what does that mean?"

matthew snickers, which immediately has you attention again. "seriously, have a drink or something — you fucking need one."

"excuse me?" your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you're too far gone to care. you're really not in the mood to deal with your boyfriends best friends cocky personality, or his infuriating mannerisms and ridiculous smirk. "literally what makes you think you can say things like that to me? god, what's crawled up your ass."

"alright, alright," he interrupts, one of his large hands raised in a mock surrender. "just chill out, I'm not trying to ruin your night."

without knowing what else to say in that moment, you look away—eyes pinched and lips held together tightly. you grab sean's half full can of cherry liquor—right out of his loose grip—and down the rest of it.

he makes a noise of protest, but you don't even care. the alcohol already has you feeling better, the affects settling deep in your belly and further warming your exposed skin—you've always been a light weight. you cringe at the flavour, letting the last sip linger on your tastebuds before fully swallowing.

"fuckin jesus, y/n." sean grumbles like he's annoyed, but his eyes tell a different story. "that rilled up huh?"

you turn your back towards matthew, facing sean and his girlfriend completely. the latter is talking intently with another one of the girls—completely oblivious to the tension brewing next her.

matthew's eyes linger on your exposed back, your cream silky top dipping low enough to expose the base of your spine. he tongues his cheek to mask the grin, slowly trailing his eyes back upwards. "you're such a baby." he says knowingly, leaning in close enough that his words tickle your neck. "turnin' your back to me."

without looking at him, you huff. "you're so insufferable." you break composure, turning back in his direction. your irritated expression is still lingering, looking at matthew like you're trying to incinerate him with your eyes. "you suddenly care about me or something?"

"you wish." his response is quick—teasing.

sean snorts, clearly enjoying this much more than you could ever.

"do you seriously think you have that much of an impact on my life?"

"I know I do." matthew laughs. "you're really cranky today."

"and you need to shut the fuck up-"

"alright, you two." sean speaks again, looking almost scared as he eyes the both of you curiously. "better stop before people start getting the wrong idea."

you don't even have the brain capacity to think about what he could mean with that insinuation. you shoot off the couch, "i'm done here anyway." you mumble hastily, immediately making your way across the small living room. you weave your way through the few people standing in the middle of the space, lingering and chatting too enthusiastically for your liking.

the other couch comes into view quickly, and you spot lucas just as fast. your arms are crossed as you walk up to your boyfriend, lips already pulling in a irritated pout. the silk of your top suddenly feels too cold—too exposing—and you just want to go.

"lucas." you get his attention, "I'm going home."

his attention is pulled away from his teammates, eyes flickering over your figure once. "you okay?"

"ask your roommate." you spit. "he's fucking infuriating."

lucas grin, rolling his eyes. "you are so dramatic, babe. just come sit with me."

a couple of his teammates snicker at his words, attempting to cover their amused smirks behind their drinks—but you catch them.

"i'm not dramatic." you start, exasperated. "and no, I'm going home."

he runs a hand over his face. "kay, i'll see you later."

"whatever." you grumble, turning away from your boyfriend. you make your way back through the sticky frat house, narrowly missing the beer spilling over solo cups as drunk university students slosh around, smashing drinks together in cheers.

the early spring chill sends you into a shivering state almost instantly—the night cold stinging your skin harshly. it's only when the noise and echoing bass fade into a dull hum that you start to cry, sluggishly walking down the sidewalk as you continue the short walk to your apartment complex.

thoughts of matthew's snarky remarks and stupid smirk are plaguing your mind—sending you into a flurry of anger and vexation. replaying the interaction in your head has you scoffing out loud, muttering irritatedly like a clinically insane person.

and then there's lucas and his rude dismissal of you—his girlfriend for fucks sake. that and the way his teammates snickered at the brief moment of bickering between you just has you spiraling even deeper.

you close your apartment door louder than you intended, kicking off your shoes quickly.

your roommate, cora, looks up from her spot on the kitchen barstool, slowly slurping her mouthful of cheap ramen noodles with her brows raised in concern. "how was the party?"

all you can muster is a growl, opening to cupboard above the sink in search of a glass. your grab the first one you see, immediately filling it up with absurd flavoured tap water.

she snorts into her bowl, shoving some more noodles into her mouth. "what happened?" she questions between her chews.

you finish the water with a loud gulp, placing the empty glassware on the counter. "matthew happened."

his name alone makes cora roll her eyes, but there's a tiny grin that she can't even hide. your roommate is well used to the hostility that lingers between you and your down the hall neighbour. "just ignore him."

it's something that's been said by cora hundreds of times—it seems that anytime you're with lucas, you're coming back with a scowl and a new story about his roommate instead. "you know he only messes with you because you give him a good reaction."

you huff, stealing the fork out of cora's bowl and serving yourself a bite of her beef favoured noodles. they're not long made, and the heat slightly burns your tongue. you hiss through your teeth, "he's hard to ignore when he's up my ass whispering in my ear about how i'm 'such a baby'" you attempt at lowering you voice to mimick the athletes, and that has her grinning, taking back her fork for another bite.

"you two are so weird." she slurps a noddle noisily, "like there's some weird sexual tension or something."

"cora!" you huff, eyes comically wide as you look at her with nothing short of perplexity.

"what?" she laughs, all but innocent. "he's hot!"

"I have a boyfriend." snatching the utensil again, you twirl the prongs through the lingering food. your face begins to heat up, something that feels like embarrassment crawling at your chest. you clear your throat, praying that cora doesn't catch your burning cheeks as you chew some more food. "besides, even If I was single i'd never date someone so...arrogant."

"whatever you say." cora teases further, tucking herself further under her extra large hoodie. you know your friend is only playing around, and there's no malicious intent with her digs—so you let it slide, even though the mere thought of dating matthew knies has your stomach dropping, making you feel nothing less than nauseous. 

"I need to take these jeans off before I explode." you whine, quickly changing the subject. you already start unbuttoning the denim as you make your way down the hall, rounding into your warmly lit bedroom in search of your favourite pyjamas.

you soon swap your party, beer smelling attire for an oversized, stained hoodie and sleep shorts—throwing your hair back and popping your glasses on. already, you're feeling much more relaxed than when you first got home. "wanna watch an episode of stranger things?" you call through the apartment, already grabbing your throw blanket.

"yeah!" cora calls back, "can you bring me the niall horan blanket from your room?"

you snort a laugh, doubling back to your bed and pulling the fuzzy, 2011 one direction throw into your arms. it's been a staple piece ever since you met cora in your freshman dorm, and you learned your new roommate from wisconsin was just as obsessed with the former boyband as you are.

you make your way back into the living area of the small student apartment, your slippers slapping the floor obnoxiously as you do. "can you grab me a coke?" you ask cora as you pass the kitchen nook.

two knocks interrupt you, the sound echoing through the wooden door that separates your apartment from the hall. you jump slightly, the unexpecting thumping catching you off guard and making your heart leap.

cora eyes the clock—almost 1 a.m. her gaze skips back to you, frozen in place with the fridge wide open. "are you expecting anyone?"

"no." you swallow, making you way to the door. "are you?"

she almost snorts. "definitely not."

skeptical, but curious, you grasp the chipping bronze handle. you're hoping it's lucas—lucas who has hopefully come to his senses and has left the party in favour of giving you an apology. with a gentle shrug, you turn the handle and pull the door open in one swift motion.

matthew is there, leaning against the door frame in all his smug, infuriating glory. at the sight of you opening the door, a small smirk grows on his face, and in that moment you think the universe must be against you—because what the actual fuck.

"hey." he says simply, his stupid smirk growing impossibly wide. "glad to see you're not dead in a ditch." your brows begin to furrow, and he continues — much to your dismay. "saw you leave the party all stompy."

you're almost speechless, at a loss for words as you blink up at him. "it's almost 1."

"very good." he snickers, like he's congratulating you for knowing the time. you want to punch him in the mouth and get rid of that insufferable grin.

"can I like, help you or something?" you question roughly, crossing your arms over your hoodie. it's a bit awkward considering the mountain of blankets in your arms, but you manage. "i'm kind of busy."

matthew peers behind you, looking into your very much empty apartment. he sees cora, still lingering in the kitchen—watching the exchange like it's a SNL skit with a tiny, amused smile on her face.

he meets your hard eyes one again. "I don't think you are, actually." he licks his bottom lip slowly, an action that seems instinctual. "are you going to be neighborly and invite me in? or just keep standing and staring."

a scoff leaves your mouth, but before you can protest, cora speaks up, her cheery voice making your heart drop. "come on in, matthew—don't mind the mess." she kicks some loose shoes out of the way, subtly pushing you to the side as well.

matthew smirks at you again, stepping into the small foyer of your apartment. you tear your gaze away from the tall boy, sending your roommate a slightly panicked look.

she just shrugs, looking back at matthew quickly. "i'll let you two chat—i've gotta get the pillows..and...stuff, from my room."

pillows and stuff? her excuse is just sad, but before you can stop her, cora is turning on her heels, practically skipping down the hall and into her messy bedroom.

now alone, you look back at your boyfriend's friend with raised brows. "so? what is it?"

something flickers across his face, and before you can register it, he sighs. "listen, i've come to say i'm sorry for tonight. I was an asshole."

"an asshole is one way of putting it." you scoff, arms crossing tighter. you pause, eyeing his seemingly sincere expression. with a sigh, you falter slightly, "but thanks."

his smirk is back. "welcome." the formality is mumbled through his plump lips, and you swallow roughly at the lazy grin.

"anything else?" you hum pointedly.

matthew shakes his head. "nope." he reaches behind his broad back, grabbing the doorknob and turning it. "i'll be seeing you around i'm sure."

you watch as he opens the door, the fluorescent lights of the hallway illuminating your dim apartment. you kiss your teeth, a reluctant nod following suit. "oh, i'm sure."

he snickers. "goodnight, y/l/n."

your face falls—a bubble of irritation quickly rising once again. you don't say anything, watching through the corner of your eyes as matthew walks down the hall to his and lucas' shared apartment.

he shoves the key in the lock, and just before he walks inside, matthew shoots you one more stupid smirk that sends your head reeling.

you click your apartment door shut, and as soon as it does, your forehead hits the flat surface, an angry groan leaving your chest.

STAGE 1: Confusion

"can I get three tequila sunrises, please?"

the burly bartender behind the counter sends you a curt nod, turning on his heels as he grabs three empty glasses to begin making your drinks.

the bar is crowded, more crowded than your usual visits, but it is a saturday night and this is the closest place to drink from campus—so it’s business doesn’t come as a shock. you look around the room, eyeing the sea of students and young adults alike—all smiling and dancing together as they down shots and sip their respective drinks.

your eyes find your small table, seeing cora chat happily with your mutual friend, rachel. you'd all been in a deep conversation about your psychology midterm results when you'd slurped up the last bit of your drink—cora already fiddling with the ice cubes at the bottom of her glass.

with a pout from rachel and a plea from your roommate, you slid off the high stool and begin sneaking your way through the bar. you sigh gently, turning your attention back to the busy bar, watching as the bartender works around his co-workers in their hectic environment.

"hey." his voice has you stiffening. slowly, your gaze flickers to your right and that's where you see matthew, leaning against the sticky bar top in his usual stupid way.

you frown, glancing over your opposite shoulder to see if he's talking to somebody that's not you—maybe a teammate or your boyfriend who has magically decided to show up tonight.

matthew snickers. "yeah. i'm talking to you."

you look back at him sharply. "why?"

he shrugs, his index finger tracing one of the raised splits on the wooden bar top. "just saying hi to a friend."

"a friend?" you question, one breathy laugh passing through your stained lips. your gaze turns pointed, looking at matthew with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "we're not friends."

"no?" he hums lightly.

you shake your head once, firmly. "I think you're forgetting how you know me."

"we live in the same apartment complex." his smile has returned at full strength, sending your chest contorting in a way that makes you angry. he's trying to rile you up, you know that by now, and even if you didn't, that grin on his stupid chiseled face gives him away—he's up to no good.

you make a face of faux innocent, mouth falling open to form a small, perfected 'o'. "oh, so that's how you know me?" your face falls, and you grab your wallet off the bar top. your hands are slightly shaky, and definitely clammy due to the adrenaline and irritation running through your veins—it's all so infuriating.

you turn to leave, but matthew's hand encloses around your wrist, stopping you. your head snaps back so fast that for a moment your vision blurs—and you have to blink quickly to clear it.

"c'mon, y/l/n, i'm trying to play nice." his grin falters slightly, looking down at you with a gentle expression.

it makes you even angrier. "well, I don't want you to play nice."

matthew squints playfully, leaning further down into your space. "kinky."

your eyes widen to unfathomable size, and your skin flushes all over. it's exactly the reaction matthew wanted to pull from you, and his eyes twinkle with amusement as he watches your face further contort into an expression of disbelief and frustration.

you take a few shaky, shallow breathes, trying your best to not yank your hand away and high tail out of the bar completely. "I have a boyfriend." despite the firm town of your voice, your words are quiet, only for the two of you to hear.

matthew's brows shoot up. "okay, I don't know how stupid you think I am, but I know you have a boyfriend—I live with him. i'm just being a dick."

you can't help the way your eyes roll. no shit. it's like matthew finally realizes the gentle grip he's still got around your wrist, and he drops your arm rather quickly upon realization. matthew brings his hand back to his side, fingers flexing as he tries to shake off the unknowing sensation. he clears his throat, eyes not leaving yours as he continues. "speaking of, where is lucas? thought you'd be up his ass tonight."

you hesitantly tuck your wallet under your arm, holding it to your side. after all, you're still waiting for drinks, and you're not going to let matthew drive you out of the bar before you can deliver them. "like you said," you huff, "you live with him, so you should've noticed he was home tonight."

matthew's lips drop in a small frown at your words, because no, he doesn't remember seeing lucas after they passed each other on the way to the bathroom that morning.

the tattooed arm of the bartender comes back into your peripheral vision, and he slides theee glasses in your direction. "here's your drinks."

you quickly menover your black wallet back into your hands, pulling out a $20 bill and passing it to the rather attractive tender. "thanks." he nods, tucking the money into his waist apron before turning away, attending to one of the many awaiting customers.

you look back towards the athlete at your side, who still hasn't taken his gaze off of you, and send him a sarcastic smirk. "wish I could say it was nice seeing you matthew, but i've never been a liar." you grab two of the glasses, frowning gently as you realize you can't quite grip the third. you place them down, attempting another time.

"oh wow good one, y/l/n." matthew laughs breathily, watching as you continue to struggle with three, condensation coated glasses. "are you going to ask for help now?"

you snort, "i'd rather eat glass than ask for your help."

you look like a lost puppy—one of the glasses pressed between your arm and boob, and the other one clutched awkwardly in your hand. your fingers barley reach around it, and it looks like a disaster waiting to happen.

"jesus christ, just—" matthew mumbles, reaching towards you and taking both glasses from you. and because he's annoying and has the hands of a giant, he scoops the third glass off the bar, holding the three together.

he looks at you triumphantly, which makes you want to kick him. "must you be so proud?"

"I must." he chimes. matthew finally looks away from you, which has you letting out a breath you hadn't realized you've been harbouring. his eyes filter through the crowd, brows pinched together. "where's your table?"

on cue, cora's distinctive laughter fills the room. "never mind I can hear your roommate." he begins walking in the direction of the table, maneuvering through the room like he owns it—which induces an annoyed eye roll from you. watching the crowd practically part as they see him coming through is even more infuriating.

you follow behind him, trying your best to keep up with his long strides. "her mouth is almost as loud as yours!" you smile with faux enjoyment, looking up at his side.

you merely miss getting bumped by some hammered frat guy, too busy yelling and terribly singing along to the shitty (but addictive) pop music. you miss the glare matthew sends the strangers way before he looks down at you, a smirk on his face. "seems like a match made in heaven then."

"or hell." you hum.

he laughs tauntingly. "don't be jealous."

"why would I be jealous?"

"took you long enough!" cora shouts, teetering on hammered—she's been pregaming since 5.

you watch rachel's eyes trail to your side, and immediately she's lighting up. "oh and you've brought a friend."

"not a friend—just a nuisance."

matthew laughs, too loudly for your liking, brushing past you to step onto the platform where your friends sit. "think that's the nicest thing you've said about me, y/l/n."

if your eyes roll one more time tonight they're surely to get stuck. "don't you have something else to do, knies?"

cora takes the glass from matthew's large hand, batting her lashes up at him like a damn cartoon character. she immediately takes the straw into her mouth, chewing on the plastic. "thank you matthew."

he turns back to you with a smug expression. "see, y/l/n, that's how you're supposed to respond when someone does something nice for you."

"oh well— I can't wait for the day you do something nice for me!" you clap your hands together like an exaggerated cheer, stepping up the the platform as well. you almost bump into his chest, underestimating just how close matthew was.

he just smirks, eyes slowly flickering down your body.

you swallow. "okay, you can go now."

"anything else?" matthew questions, brows raised expectantly.

"what?" you breathe through your teeth.

his smirk grows. "i'm waiting for a thank you."

you exhale through your nose, eyes briefly flickering closed for a passing moment. when they re-open, matthew doesn't falter, if anything he looks even more cheerful. "thanks." you grit out.

"you're so welcome." he shoots you a quick wink, waving goodbye to your friends before he steps off the platform, making his way back to whichever group of loud cronies he'd been with before he started pestering you.

"you two are so ridiculous." rachel laughs into her glass before taking a hearty sip—her eyes not once leaving you.

you whine, taking your original seat next to cora. "i'm one more interaction away from transferring schools."

cora groans loudly. "oh my god."

the conversation thankfully shifts after your dramatic remark, and the rest of the night seemingly goes by in a flash. you actually end up dancing for most of the evening, sandwiched between cora and rachel as you all scream song lyrics and laugh with one another. it's nice and refreshing—thankfully taking your mind of him.

you end up feeling more tired than you expected soon after, the combination of drinking, dancing and being at school since 10 that morning is taking its toll on you. "i'm gunna head out." you tell cora, leaning in close so she can hear you over the bassy one direction throwback.

"what?" she pouts, her hazy eyes wide. "I don't want you to go!"

you laugh gently, accepting the hug as she throws herself at you—stumbling over her own two feet in the process. "i'm tired." you admit. "do you and rachel wanna come with me?"

"no! the night is still young." cora looks at you like you're crazy for even suggesting that.

"okay party animals." you bid another goodbye to both of your friends, ordering and uber for yourself before stepping outside. you're hoping the chilled air will sober you up a little bit—because the last thing you need is to fall asleep in an uber, or worse, get sick.

you sigh gently, swaying on your feet as you stand outside the bustling bar. strangers and traffic are steady, providing a surprisingly comforting atmosphere.

the door creaks open behind you, the inside chaos growing louder for a split second until the threshold is closed once more. instinctively, you glance over your shoulder, and the sight has you groaning. the universe must be praying on your downfall, because there he is. "seriously? are you stalking me or something?"

matthew's brows raise, his hands shoved in his jean pockets as he walks towards you. "that doesn't even make sense—you've already seen me tonight…”

his words have you scoffing, and you turn your head away from him as you grumble frustratedly. "fucking...whatever."

he doesn't respond immediately, and the night life is the only sounds heard. ever impatiently, you check the uber app again, praying your ride is almost here—but they're still 5 minutes out.

"where are your friends?" matthew's voice interrupts your peace.

"why?" you question with hesitance, your glare pointed as you look towards him.

he laughs briefly, although it sounds more like a scoff. "god, you're so tightly wound! i'm just trying to make conversation."

you're taken aback for a moment, blinking quickly as you take in his words. with a quiet, irritated sigh, you look away from him once again. "you really don't need to."

you peer down the road, praying you see the uber that somehow has magically sped through time. matthew scoffs again. "why don't you like me?"

"besides the obvious?" you question condescendingly, eyes not leaving the road in front of you.

"sure, besides the obvious."

you spin on your heels, which in hindsight isn't the smartest decision because your stumbling dangerously. matthew's eyes widen in concern for a moment, but you catch yourself before he has the chance to reach out. you eye his flexing hands with anger, a grumble leaving your stained lips. "you're just, ugh! insufferable."

his brows raise. "i'm insufferable?"

you nod. "yes."

"really?"

"yes, matthew! god this, what you're doing right now is quite literally the definition of insufferable. like, if you looked up the definition a video of this interaction would play." you breathe roughly, gesturing between the two of you like a crazy person. at some point during your rant, you'd stepped closer to him—close enough that you have to tilt your head back to properly look at him.

matthew's lips slowly contorts into a smirk, one that sends your blood boiling. "you're such a nerd ."

you laugh in disbelief. "que the insults!"

his eyes change then, his smirk dissolving as a more serious and intense expression takes over his face. matthew licks onto his bottom lip, gaze pointed. "it's wasn't an insult."

your breath hitches, catching in your throat as you watch him…watch you. before you can say anything—do anything—the sound of tires screeching to the curb has you pulling away.

the passenger window rolls down, and a middle aged man come into sight. "uber for y/n?"

"yeah, that's me." you say quickly, walking away from matthew as fast as your feet allow you, and practically jumping into the running car, as soon as the seatbelt is clicked into place, the uber is moving, sending you falling back against the seat.

you watch through the window as matthew looks at the retreating car—not talking his eyes off the vehicle until you're nothing but a set of break lights in the distance. you swallow roughly, blinking away the flurry of emotions pulling and pushing at your chest.

STAGE 2: Shifting

almost a week has passed since your...interesting? annoying? pointless? conversation with matthew outside the bar, and you thankfully haven't seen him since.

which is surprising considering you've been at his apartment almost every night with lucas. as much as you hate to admit it, and as much as it makes you angry, you were curious about his whereabouts. anytime you'd been cuddling with lucas on the couch, watching some shitty show he liked—your mind would wander, and anytime there'd be any noise in the hall, you'd wonder if it was him.

where was he? what's was he doing? is he avoiding you? but no, because matthew loves pissing you off too much to just avoid you...right?

you curse yourself everytime matthew pops into your mind, quickly distracting yourself with whatever task you could get your hands on. like right now, ruffling through the snack display on top of the counter at work.

the arena is extra cold today, and as your arms touch the metal basket containing the various chips and crackers, you shiver—not even the team branded zip up around your torso is helping.

"y/n," the floor manager, jason pops into the booth. "we need some more pineapple. can you get some from the players kitchen please? just the frozen stuff for smoothies." his voice is hopeful, looking at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

you sigh gently, kissing your teeth as you turn to look at him. "sure."

he smiles in your direction, but just before he leaves, jason doubles back. "oh! and a few protein bars, i'm starving."

"sure." you nod curtly.

"and while you're there, grab me a green juice?" this time at least jason manages to look somewhat guilty, his grin almost doubtful.

you almost find it amusing, and you raise your brows as so. "why not."

jason cheers. "you're the best."

with that you make your way out of the room, not fully shutting the door behind yourself as you know your arms will be too full to use a handle when you come back. the walk to the players section of the facility isn't a long one, and it's only a few minutes until you're entering the 'smoothie room' — as you like to call it.

it's always in pristine condition, and you almost feel guilty for simply breathing in there. quickly, you grab everything you need from the room, including the bag you'd filled with frozen pineapple and some nasty smelling green drink for jason.

with your arms full, you leave the room and begin making your way back to the snack bar. you round the corner into the most open part of the corridor, expect this time it's not empty, and around 10 of the guys have started kicking the ball around—a pre-game warmup that a lot of them liked to participate in.

you plan to just sneak through, keep your head down and try to not too badly interrupt the ritual—for lack of a better word. timidly, you begin making your way towards the rowdy group, eyes focused as their voices get closer and closer.

the sound of the soccer ball smacking against the wall has you freezing, and before you know it the inflated ball is soaring towards you. you don’t have a chance to react, and it hits you right in the chest, sending everything you'd been previously holding scattering to the floor.

embarrassed and irritated, you sigh, crouching down as you begin to attempt and salvage the mess at your feet. an all too familiar pair of running shoes appear in your vision, coming to a squeaky stop as they approach. "damn, you alright?"

you look up, squinting from the glow of the fluorescent lights lining the corridors. like you thought, it's matthew. his expression almost resembles one of concern, which has you pulling a disgruntled face.

he's slightly breathless, running around and kicking a soccer ball at you must be the cause. he's alive, you think reluctantly.

you look away from him, grabbing the two bottles of green juice and tucking them under your arm. thankfully, neither plastic bottle cracked when they hit the tile.

he sighs roughly, and you can practically hear the roll of his eyes. matthew slowly bends down as well, grabbing the astray protein bars from the ground. "good talk." he mutters condescendingly.

your eyes dart up, a scoff tumbling past your lips. the audacity of matthew to be annoyed with you is just beyond comprehension. "sorry i'm not in the mood for small talk with you matthew after you just kicked the ball at my chest—i'm going to have to throw this fruit out now, thanks."

the pineapple is a wet, spilled mess across the floor. the bag had split when it dropped, and the ball has smooshed the fruit as it fell with it. you're not even sure what to do about the mess—looking at it hopelessly.

"I didn't kick anything at you, but sure it's my fault." he grumbles, looking at you once again.

"really? then who did?" you tone is dripping with doubt, looking at matthew with nothing but exasperation.

"ask your perfect little boyfriend." matthew immediately looks like he regrets his words, eyes widening momentarily before his gaze darts away from your face.

"my perfect little boyfriend who's also your friend?" you scoff.  "god, touch some grass matthew." you know it's a terrible rebuke, and the way matthew smirks in disbelief following your insult has you feeling even more irritated with your choice of comeback.

you don't dwell on it much longer as the sound of somebody else approaching you both captures your attention. you look up just as lucas joins you, standing behind matthew with a tiny grin. "hey! babe you okay?"

you stand up, clutching the drinks to your chest. "fine." you nod.

lucas smiles again, moving to wrap you in a hug. it’s awkward, with your arms pushed against your chest and the green juice pressing into your boob uncomfortably. he kisses your head quickly. "sorry, we were all just messing around and I didn't see you."

your face falls, and you pull back from your boyfriend. "it was you?"

"yeah." he repeats, looking anything but guilty. "said I was sorry."

you unwrap yourself from his hug, stepping back. the whole conversation with your boyfriend has rubbed you the wrong way, and even if he didn't mean to kick you with the ball, his apology wasn't enough of a sincere gesture as you would expect from someone who supposedly loves you.

"I gotta get back." you say quietly, eyes downcast as you further back away from your boyfriend. instinctively, your eyes flicker towards matthew's tall stature. you both hold eye contact for a moment, unknown words lingering in the air between you.

you blink, picking up pace as you walk through the hall.

jason beams as he spots the pile of protein bars in your hands, taking two along with his green juice before skipping out the room. trying to shake off the weird feeling from the interaction with matthew in the corridor, you get back to work, organizing the fridge in preparation for tonight's game—you know how much the minnesota students love their alanis, and you need to make sure that fridge is fully stalked.

there's a good 5 minutes of silence, nothing but you, your thoughts and the loading of the fridge—until there's a knock at the open door.

you look over you shoulder, and there matthew is again. you don't know what to say because you don't know why he's here or what he wants. is he here to gloat? to apologize? to taunt?

matthew takes your silence as an invitation, stepping into the snack booth with a neutral expression. he's still dressed in his sports clothes—a team branded sweatshirt with matching shorts overtop compression pants, completed with his backward basball cap. it oddly suits him, and your stomach drops at the realization of what you've just done.

you kinda sorta checked him out.

"here." matthew interrupts your thoughts, clearly unaware of your wandering eyes and the inner turmoil happening in your brain. he walks further into the room, and that's when you see it—a bag of pineapple clutched in his hand.

in your rush to leave the corridor, you'd completely forgotten to run back and get more fruit.

"where do you want me to put it?" he questions.

"uh," you hum lightly, eyes moving around the room for some available space. it's kind of a mess in here, and you really need to get your shit together before you open. "just beside the coffee machine for now."

matthew does what you ask, putting the frozen ziploc beside the kureig on the side counter. he doesn't say anything else, and walks out the room without so much a second glance in your direction.

you bite your inner lip, knawing the soft skin as you blink furiously— trying to collect your whirlwind of thoughts. above all, you're angry. angry that you were hit with a ball, angry that matthew was right about who kicked it, angry that lucas gave you a shit apology, and that matthew didn't even attempt to annoy you when he'd brought you the pineapple.

—

lucas presses a chaste kiss to your mouth, pulling you into his chest on the outskirts of the lit up courtyard. around you is busy, lingering students and staff members alike chat and walk through the space with an upbeat pace.

every year since you've been attending the university of minnesota, the hockey team and staff members would host a barbecue and movie night in the schools courtyard. it was always an amazing turnout, and for only $5 dollars to get in and get something to eat and watch a throwback film (this year being freaky friday), it was quite the rage. plus, the money went to a fundraiser that helped public schools in the area have breakfast. so it’s a win win.

so not only do you go with the intent of supporting the youth of neighbouring schools, but your boyfriend is one of the co-organizers of the event. so of course you show your face.

which brings you back to the current moment, pouting up at lucas with the best puppy-dog eyes you can manage. lucas sighs gently, running his hands over your jean jacket covered arms. "don't give me that look."

you don't let up, but your lips begin to form into a grin. "what look?"

"the look you're doing right now." he laughs once, squeezing your biceps tightly. "you know I have to be all over the place, babe. I can't just stand with you."

your exaggerated, playful pout quickly changes into a real frown—even though you don't want to show that emotion. because lucas is one of the co-organizers of the event, he's got lots of duties to attend to while the event is happening. so although you're technically here to spend time with your boyfriend, you'll barley get to see him.

plus, cora is sick and had no choice but to stay back at the apartment and watch re-runs of friends, and rachel wouldn't be able to come until the movie starts—coinciding with when her shift at work ends.

"I know but..." you trial off, taking your bottom lip into your mouth anxiously. you've never been a huge fan of crowds—especially when it's tightly gathered in a confined space—and the idea of having to be alone right now is rather daunting. "can't I just help you? like just go with you?"

lucas sighs again, eyes flickering out to the crowd around you. the smell of cheap burgers and hotdogs are already filtering through the air, providing the most perfect early spring atmosphere for the evening. he meets your eyes once more, "it just won't work like that. hey, you'll be okay."

he kisses your cheek, doing his best to reassure you, but you still feel down. "right, okay."

"get yourself a drink and just chill—i'll find you when I can, okay?"

you send him a closed mouth smile, breathing through your nose in a gentle exhale. "okay."

with that he turns away, quickly moving through the lingering crowd as he makes his way into the courtyard. you huff lightly, looking around the sea of people to see if you recognize anyone—literally anyone you can stick with until rachel gets there. but nobody is there.

you eventually follow the crowd, entering the lit-up courtyard. it's decorated in various streamers and balloons representing school colours, along with a spread of beanbags and camping chairs set up for the movie. it looks really good, and even though it's not the warmest temperature due to the night sky, the collection of bodies and decor have the place feeling cozy.

you spot a long table through students, full of what seems to be drinks—various waters, juice and sodas lining the gray fold away surface. you sneak your way through, eyeing the options before inevitably deciding on water. caffeine will just make you anxious, and your favourite juice flavour wasn't an option.

in your peripheral vision, you see a member of the hockey team standing on the other side the table—presumably keeping track of beverages and taking payments. without properly looking up you begin shuffling through your clutch, "how much for the water?"

"it's free."

the all too familiar and cocky voice of matthew knies has you freezing. slowly, your eyes creep upwards, only to be met with the light eyes of his. he'd been the hockey player in your peripheral, and you curse yourself for not noticing sooner.

his brows raise, anticipating a snarky remark. but much to his dismay you turn away, walking back through the crowd and away from him.

he turns to mitchell, one of his teammates, patting his shoulder quickly. "mind watching the table for a sec—gotta do something." matthew doesn't even wait for a response before he's following you, easily making his way between the bodies crowded around.

matthew catches sight of you off to the side, seemingly unaware that he’s hot on your trail. he approaches you swiftly, getting your attention as he speaks. "you're like really bad at the whole socialization thing."

your eyes widen briefly, watching as he casually leans against the nearest table.

"maybe I just don't want to socialize with you." you retort, eyeing him pointedly before taking a slow sip from your water bottle.

matthew smirks. "that's mean."

"don't care." you answer, looking back out into the yard.

a beat passes. "you come alone?" matthew questions, seemingly curious.

you cross your arms. "sort of."

"sort of?" matthew parrots, eyes briefly scanning the crowd. "what's does sort of mean?"

you look at him again. "well I came with lucas, but he's busy so now i'm here...with you." the last part has you pulling a face, scrunching your noise is displeasure.

he snorts. "don't pretend like you don't enjoy my company."

"enjoying isn't quite the word i'd use to describe how I feel about you and your company." you retort lightly, brows pulling tightly.

matthew sucks his bottom lip, containing his grin. "okay, so why aren't you mingling? this is supposed to be a event of socializing."

"I'm not a fan of mingling." you tell him earnestly, clearing your throat in a moment of venerability. "or crowds. besides the fundraiser, I only come for lucas."

"yeah crowds aren't for everyone." matthew's genuine tone has you taken back, and you eye with an almost shock like gaze. "sorry that you're dealing with it alone."

you feel weird—why does the sincerity in his voice make you tingly? "well," you begin. "i'm not alone because you've insisted on coming over here to annoy me."

his smirk is back. "it is my specialty."

you laugh a real laugh, a very brief moment of quiet joy that takes you by surprise. the way his eyes twinkle and smirk widens at the sound of your giggle goes unnoticed by you.

"babe." lucas voice calls out, jogging up to you and matthew. "hey." he greets, pulling you into his side and kissing your temple. "I got a minute, thought i'd see what you were up to." his eyes flicker to matthew's. "see you've found a friend."

matthew's eyes don't leave you, waiting and watching for your reaction to your boyfriends words. you swallow gently, "he was just keeping me company."

"she's not a fan of crowds—thought i'd take a few minutes from work to make sure she's settled." this time when matthew speaks, he's only looking at lucas, and you don't miss the underlying message in his words.

lucas seems oblivious to the hostility underlying his teammates admission, a smile overtaking his face. "anyways, I gotta get back. gunner was telling me about this new club out on main—i'll catch you guys later."

as soon as your boyfriend is out of ear shot, you send matthew a furious glare. "what was that?"

"what was what?" he questions innocently, eyes yet to meet yours again.

"i'm not stupid, matthew, you were trying to..I don't know? like one up lucas by insinuating he's a bad boyfriend for not spending time with me. what the fuck." you spit angrily, gaze tinted with fury.

"I'm not insinuating anything, i'm simply just calling it as I see it." matthew retorts.

you breath a shocked laugh. "what the fuck is wrong with you? you're lucky he didn't catch on to your stupid little coded message." you take a breath, arms tightening over your chest. "he's your friend—why are you trying to ruin that?"

matthew takes a step towards you. "like I said, i'm just calling it as I see it."

"bullshit." you chime. "what's it to you that lucas is busy tonight and he's not able to spend time with me? seriously."

his brows raise, an amused expression on his face. he knows he shouldn’t argue with you, especially when what he wants to say will only further upset you—but he can’t help himself. "he's too busy to spend time with you, yeah? but tell me why we're in the same job position and I haven't left your side since I saw you. so call whatever you want bullshit, but the real bullshit is the guy standing next to his teammate doing absolutely nothing but making you look stupid."

matthew's words have you pulling back, face faltering. you feel emotion clawing at your chest, flushing your skin a rosey pink as the embarrassment and anger about the situation hits you all at once.

his face flashes with remorse, looking down at you with a lingering guilty gaze. his mouth opens slightly, as if to speak—but nothing comes out.

"fuck you." you hiss quietly before turning on your heels and leaving. everything in your body feels like it's on fire, walking through the courtyard with a determination you didn't even realized you had. you can feel matthew's eyes boring into your retreating figure, but you don't dare turn around and look.

he's right—god, he's fucking right. matthew not only calling out your boyfriends shitty behaviour but your obliviousness to the truth about the situation, stings you hard, and you didn't know what else to say or how to react besides the way you did.

you’re even angrier about the fact that even within the little attention matthew had given you tonight, was more than lucas had all day—and the time matthew spent at your side in the bustling courtyard, had your anxiety about the crowds fizzling.

STAGE 3: Denial

the sound of basketball shoes squeaking against the polished wood of a court has always been one of your least favourite things. it's a high pitched, constant sound that has you cringing every time.

you eyes flicker up towards the scoreboard—it's almost half time. it's a relief, and you are almost giddy at the fact that the stupid squeaking while be on a momentary pause.

lucas squeezes your thigh, right over your jeans. you look over at his gently, met with the sight of his curious grin. "what's up babe?"

you shrug, "just watching the timberdogs!"

"it's the timberwolves." he corrects you, eyes twinkling with amusement. you laugh it off, looking back out into the basketball court, eyes following the players as they zip back and forth on the length of the floor.

lucas' dad has always been super into basketball—like more that the average person. he's got a room in his childhood home that's designed to resemble the minnesota timberwolves court, as well as a plethora of jerseys and seasons tickets for every year.

you're not sure why his dad couldn't make it to this game—lucas had told you in the car on the way to the game but you'd been too distracted with everything else going on inside the vehicle to truly pay attention. maybe he was sick? it also could've had something to do with his car breaking down? you don't recall—but regardless, the tickets weren't being used, and they were offered to lucas.

you assumed it was just two—because lucas didn't have any siblings, and you would think it was just his parents attending these games. but no, there's four tickets, because it was always a group of 50 year old men attending together.

so what you hoped was a date night between you quickly turned into a little group outing with your respective roommates. which wouldn't of been such a problem if you weren't still reeling about the last conversation you had with matthew—in the courtyard when he practically called out your entire relationship.

the reminder makes you shift in your chair, angling yourself away from matthew even further. you can hear him sigh to himself, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as his leg bounces up and down with a feverish pace.

it's annoying—more than the shoes on the court. you huff, turning to look at him. "can you stop moving, it's distracting."

he turns to his head. "how is it distracting?"

"i'm trying to watch the game." you retort.

matthew's brows raise incredulously. "you've been watching anything but the game since it started."

"that's not true." it is true, and his call out has you feeling even more infuriated than when you first got to the arena. "I love basketball."

"sure you do." he nods, unconvinced. "instead of watching me then, get back to watching your timberdogs." matthew messes up the name of the NBA team on purpose, teasing you with your own fuck-up.

you huff. "you are so-" the sound of the buzzer echoing loudly throughout the court silences you, whatever insult you'd been conjuring up dying on your tongue. the players begin filling off the court as halftime begins, leaving the crowd to begin freely moving and walking throughout the stands and hallways—replenishing snacks and/or drinks.

on the opposite side of matthew, cora leans forward, looking at you with wide eyes. "hey! i'm going to get another coke. do you want one?" her voice is loud, and even still it's barley heard over the rowdy crowd.

"yes please." you smile. your roommate nods in understanding before getting up, making her way down the row of seats before disappearing out of sight—leaving you with only lucas and matthew.

matthew snickers—mostly to himself—eyes downcast as he fiddles with a loose thread on the knee rip of his jeans. "didn't think you were capable of such manners."

"didn't think you were capable of such big words! woah, i'm impressed." your face falls, words dripping with sarcasm as your annoyance builds higher and higher.

you shoot a look towards lucas, but are only met with the sight of him engaged in his phone—playing fucking candy crush of all things—completely unaware of the tension rising between you and his friend.

"of course your impressed." matthew insists, "everything I do impresses you."

the lingering crowd around you seems even more roudy than before, but your too enthralled with matthew to even look away and glance around. despite the noise, you can hear him fine—too fine, if you're getting specific. 

your mouth drops, a tiny puff of disbelieved laughter leaving you. "oh so we're back on the 'y/n is obsessed with matthew train.'"

matthew slowly leans closer to you, his elbow nudging yours on the tiny shared armrest between your seats. his cologne invades your space—something clean like fresh laundry mixed with a spicy cinnamon. it's almost intoxicating, and you're left frozen in place.

"we never got off that train." his words are dripping with a teasing undertone, licking his bottom lip slowly.

a hand nudges matthew shoulder from the row of seats behind yours—gathering his attention. curious, you turn as well, finding a guy seemingly only a few years older than you, looking down at you both with a sheepish grin. "you guys are on the jumbotron."

both your heads whip back around, darting up towards the jumbotron hanging from the exposed ceiling of the court. much to your horror, you and matthew are on the screen—the image framed in a heart filter with 'kiss cam' scribbled across the bottom.

you and matthew both flush—although your heat is definitely more visible, trailing down your neck and appearing in splotches over your exposed chest. "no." you say, making a cut off motion beside your neck with your perfectly manicured nails. "we're not together."

it's no use— the jumbotron can't hear your pleas. matthew shakes his head, joining in on your attempt to get the camera off you both. through the screen you see matthew shift his attention to you, which has you whipping around to look at him. his gaze is almost soft—curious, maybe.

suddenly the crowd gets louder, their unison chants echoing through the building. "kiss kiss kiss!"

the commotion finally has lucas looking away from his phone, and at the sight of what's happening in front of him—his face falls. his brows furrow slightly, gaze switching between the jumbotron and the both of you—staring at one another.

lucas quickly grabs your face, turning you away from his roommate and planting a messy kiss on your lips. your eyes widen slightly, but eventually flutter closed—allowing your boyfriend to move his lips along yours.

matthew swallows roughly, looking away and back towards the screen. the camera has since shifted, showcasing you and lucas in the last lingering moments of the bruising kiss. the crowd cheers, but as soon as you pull away from him, the couple on the jumbotron changes.

lucas expression shifts, lips pulling into a frown as he pulls away from you—his hand quickly retreating back into his lap. "why didn't you nudge me?"

your mouth open and closed quickly, "I-I don't know."

"you don't know?" lucas's tone is quite, but firm, clearly unhappy with the situation that just transpired—even though nothing really happened.

you shrug, and blush once again, but this time is purely from embarrassment about the scolding from your boyfriend. "no, the crowd was looking and I just, I tried to say no but the camera wasn't hearing me. are you seriously mad at me?"

your eyes quickly flicker around the immediate area, making sure nobody is outwardly eavesdropping on your hushed argument.

"should I be?" lucas retorts, pulling your attention back to him. he's looking at you curiously, tinged with something that seems like hope as he waits for your response.

you swallow roughly, once shake of your head following. "no."

lucas exhales shakily, the corner of his mouth sliding into a grin. "okay," he mumbles, throwing his arm over your shoulders. "then i'm not mad."

you allow yourself lean into him easily, but your mind is a whirlwind of confusion and a million unknown feelings, and when you try and even begin to understand them, you're just left more confused.

the crowd begins filtering back into the arena, finding their original seats as the halftime clock begins winding down—the third quarter approaching quickly. cora comes back down the isle, squeezing past outstretched legs as small apologies spew past her lips.

you catch her eye, and her smile grows. "a coke for you." the posh, royal tone she often uses comes to a slow halt, passing you your drink as she eyes your somber expression.

you take the plastic cup. "thanks."

cora gives you a knowing look—one that says your sudden shift in mood will be discussed later in the comfort of your shared apartment. you're not sure why you're dreading that so much.

just as the buzzer sounds throughout the arena again, signaling the resumption of the game, your eyes flicker back towards matthew again. his jaw is tight, and you can see the tendons moving under his skin as he grinds his teeth together. matthew's leg is bouncing again, faster than before—his gaze locked on the court.

it's a longer glance than you intended, but you can't help yourself—something inside you is unwilling to look away.

that dreadful noise of shoes on the polished floor pulls you away, your nose scrunching as you inwardly cringe at the sound.

quickly, matthew's eyes flicker to you—only to be met with the side of your face. he watches gently as your face drops from the previous tight pull, your smooth skin stretching over your perfectly shaped nose.

the puffiness of your lips and the lingering blush on your cheeks, and the way your hair cascades down your back in the most delicate blowout...matthew can't help the way the faintest grin ghosts over his face.

the rest of the game thankfully goes by quickly, and before you know it you're all back in lucas’ car, making the drive back to your apartment located near campus. thankfully cora and lucas fill the lingering silence with pointless conversation—you and matthew only chiming in when necessary.

you don't know what exactly happened, but you know something has shifted. you don't know what it means, or what will happen because of it—and that has you feeling really weird.

as soon as you're back in the comfort of your own apartment, cora smacks her purse down on the counter, gathering your attention with the harsh sound. "what's going on with you?"

your shoulder deflate. "I don't know."

she frowns, walking further into the apartment where you've decided to flop dramatically on the couch. your pants pull uncomfortably around your waist, and the button is digging into your belly pouch like nobodies business.

cora sits down beside you, facing you with curious eyes. "did something happen at the game? it felt like when I went to get the drinks, I missed something."

"I was on the kiss cam." you breathe.

"okay?"

"with matthew."

"oh." she is momentarily taken back, blinking three times quick as she digests your words. cora is very much used to your and matthew's supposed hatred for one another, even though she's never believed it. but the look on your face at the game isn't adding up to just 'being on the kiss cam with matthew'.

cora's brows pull tightly, creating a deep wrinkle between them. "what else happened?"

"I think," you start, voice dropping as if you weren't the only two people in the room. "I think matthew wanted to kiss me."

her eyes widen to an unfathomable size. "what?! how do you know?"

your mouth opens, a sharp breath passing through your lips. "I just....I don't know, there was something about the way he looked at me. am I being crazy?"

instantly cora shakes her head, a gentle frown on her face. "no. the eyes never lie."

your expression droops in a mixture of confusion and fear, eyes beginning to glaze with emotion as you look at cora.

she continues, "and if he tried to kiss you, what would you have done?"

"I don't know." you exhale shakily.

you hear your roommate coo gently, wrapping her arms around you in a much needed hug. your eyes pinch shut, holding onto cora's arm as you continue the embrace.

you are so screwed.

—

how lucas managed to drag you to another loud and obnoxious frat party is honestly beyond you, but there you were—doing your best at mingling and letting loose while lucas was off doing god knows what with his teammates.

rachel thankfully ended up being at the party, and as soon as she ran up to you and made herself known—you didn't leave her side. which in hindsight maybe wasn't the best idea.

you love rachel, truly, but she's never been the best influence—especially when alcohol is involved. one minute your sipping your first seltzer, and the next you're stumbling over, 10 drinks in and screaming chappell roan lyrics like nobodies business.

which means right now you're hammered, sluggishly walking through the busy frat house as you attempt in finding your boyfriend. because drunk you is clingy—and a little horny—and all you want is the warm touch and attention of a man.

unaware, drunk bodies bump into from both sides—too caught up in the party atmosphere to even notice you. it makes the journey a bit harder, but somehow you haven't managed to fall on your ass, so you'll count that as a win.

"y/n?"

the sound of your name has you blinking, looking around the room until you locate the culprit. matthew's hand touches your exposed shoulder, grabbing your attention. his brows pull together, and he bends his knees slightly so he's able to properly look into your eyes. "hey are you with me?"

you blink. "your eyes are like really pretty." a fit of giggles follows your slurred admission, tumbling forward slightly as you clutch your belly.

matthew's hands steady you easily. the combination of your shitty balance and surprisingly playful and kind words tells him all he needs to know about your current state—you're drunk.

"where's lucas?" he asks you, beer can abandoned on a side table beside one of the terribly stained couches lining the makeshift sitting area. matthew eyes you again, "or did you come with cora?"

you shake your head. "cora's a loser and had to work—so here I am."

he can barley understand you due to the slurred, sluggish string of words, but he catches the jist of it. "so you're alone."

"no..." you retort, huffing like you're annoyed. "lucas is here. wait! have you seen him?"

"not for hours." matthew tells you. "I think you need to go home though."

you whine a protest, shaking off the hand he'd still had on your shoulder. matthew isn't having it, and before you can register what's going on, he's grabbing the meat of your biceps, guiding you to the couch before sitting you down.

"hey!" you huff, falling back against the cushions—wow, for a frat couch it's really comfortable.

"i'm going to find lucas, okay? stay here." matthew tells you firmly before walking back into the heart of the crowd, on a mission to find your boyfriend. it's actually not a hard task, and he's only looking for a minute or two before he spots lucas—in the back corner with a couple guys from the team and some mystery girls, all laughing and passing around a joint.

"hey," matthew starts firmly, grabbing the groups attention. lucas brows pull, taking a slow drag from the joint resting between two loose fingers.

"lucas man, y/n needs to go home—she's practically black out."

lucas groans, passing off the joint to the blonde girl closest to matthew—the same girl who's been eyeing him since he walked up to the group a few moments ago.

"fuck, man. I forgot she was here."

his word have matthew's jaw ticking, eyes squinting pointedly. "you forgot your girlfriend was here?"

lucas, ever oblivious, doesn't catch the irritation lacing his roommates words, and he only shrugs nonchalantly before taking a hearty sip of beer. he looks at matthew, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. "listen, I'm still having a good time. can you like, take her home?"

matthew can barley hold back a scoff. "seriously?"

"i'd really appreciate it." lucas says. "I can trust you, right?"

that really rubs matthew the wrong way, because what the actual fuck is he even trying to insinuate with that comment. before he can bite his tongue, matthew's anger comes boiling to a point. "yeah, because i'm not some no good boyfriend who's spending his time doing drugs and flirting with 18 year olds while my girlfriend is alone and vulnerable."

lucas blinks, taken back—but matthew doesn't care. matthew sends one more harsh glare towards him before leaving the area, weaving back through the party.

when he reaches you again you're practically sleeping, holding your knees to your chest and using them as a pillow. your face is squished, your blinks slow.

"we're going." matthew tells you, gently nudging your knee.

you groan, lifting your head. "where's lucas?"

"he's not coming."

"oh." you sigh, blinking with unshed emotion. your hair is wild, like you've been sweating and running your fingers through it all night—which you have. and if matthew wasn't so frustrated with his roommate right now, he'd probably tease you about it.

matthew helps you off the couch, wrapping his arm around your waist to provide you with some stability as he guides you both outside.

the fresh air is shocking, sending you into a fit of shivers almost immediately—despite the mid may warmth. thankfully it's not a long walk back to the apartment, and matthew only has to stop with you twice because you claim you're going to throw up—spoiler alert, you don't.

you stumble out the elevator, tripping over your own two feet. matthew grabs the back of your tank top, halting you back up. "okay, slow down."

"but i'm tired." you whine, head falling back dramatically.

"you're gunna be real tired when you smack your face off the ground and end up in the ER." matthew let's go of your shirt, but takes ahold of your wrist, practically pulling you down the hall towards your apartment door.

"I don't want to go to the ER." you tell him, eyes widening with panic.

matthew's almost amused, sending you a small smirk over his shoulder. "okay, then let's get you inside."

"okay." you nod in agreement. thankfully the door is unlocked, because matthew didn't even want to start asking you about the whereabouts of your keys while you're this obliterated.

you sigh happily, kicking off your shoes messily before stumbling through your dark apartment. blindly, matthew finds the switch beside the door, flickering on the overhead light.

as soon as the room becomes illuminated he located you again, lounging half on the couch. he moves towards you, his smirk growing. "that's not your bed."

"it's not?"

he stifles a laugh. "no."

you whine again, head lolling to the side dramatically. "can you take me there?" your arms extend out towards him, resembling a mummy. "please. don't be mean."

matthew gulps gently, but takes ahold of your hands, pulling you back into unstable feet. "i'm not mean." he tells you, letting go of your hands. it proves to be a mistake because your immediately falling backwards.

matthew curses, grabbing you before you hit the couch and pulling you back up. you laugh, feeling very much like a ragdoll. you look up into his eyes, "you are too."

"you're mean too." he says, wrapping an arm around your hips and looping his fingers through your belt loop. he begins walking you both down the hall, "you're the one who calls me names."

you gawk loudly. "i'm only defending myself, matthew."

"whatever you say, y/n." he hums playfully. "which room is yours?"

you tell him that it's the room at the end of the hall, and allow matthew to continue guiding you to your bedroom. he nudges the half open door with hip, opening the threshold completely.

he drops you to the bed, and you go easily, falling against the unmade pile of blankets with a smile on your face. "where are your pyjamas?"

you lazily point towards the tall dresser next to the door. "top drawer."

matthew nods, pulling it open and immediately stifling through the jam packed drawer. he manages to pull out a t-shirt and plaid pants—ones he's seen you wearing at his place before. he tosses the items beside you. "think you can manage that?"

you sit up quickly, a lazy scoff falling past your lips. "yes." you grab onto the pyjamas, and before anything else your eyes widen, glancing back to matthew. "turn around."

matthew snickers at your tone—obviously he was going to turn around, but seeing you get so worked up over it has him left amused. he turns on his feet, broad back facing you as he looks into the dark hallway—patiently waiting for you to change.

you begin taking off your tight, alcohol sticky clothes, desperate to get into something comfortable and climb under the blankets. you lift your shirt over your head, and the momentary lack of vision has you stumbling, falling into the chair beside your vanity.

you hear matthew's quiet snicker. "shut up." you grumble, pulling on the pyjama shirt.

"didn't say anything."

"you thought it." you retort. eventually you get into the pants as well, and immediately climb into your bed. the sound of your delightful sigh and ruffling sheets have matthew peeking over his shoulder, making sure you were decent.

once he sees that you are in fact dressed, he faces you again. "do you need to be sick?"

you pause, is if you were assessing yourself to find an answer. a beat passes, "don't think so."

he hums doubtfully, walking towards your vanity and taking ahold of your tiny trash bin sitting underneath. you'd emptied it that morning, so there was nothing but a makeup wipe and a few q-tips in the bottom from when you'd gotten ready. matthew puts it beside your bed. "just in case you're lying."

"excuse me," you huff, squinting pointedly. "I don't lie."

he ignores you, picking up the stuffed zebra sitting on your bed, wedged between the pillow and the headboard. matthew snorts, examining the matted fur and scratched button eyes of your most prized possession. "awh, who's this little guy?"

you push up, snatching your zebra from his hands and bringing it to your chest. "don't touch ross with your filthy hands."

"his name is ross?" matthew snickers as you cuddle the stuffed animal, rubbing your cheek against the top of its head.

you nod. "yes."

"cute." he hums.

your eyes feel heavy with sleep, and it has you falling back towards the pillows, your beloved ross smooshed against your face. matthew swallows gently, watching the way your breath begins to even out and your blinks become slower.

"goodnight, y/n." he whispers.

matthew walks out your room, slowly shutting the door behind him—but just before the latch click, you mumble his name. it has him pausing, slowly pushing the door open once more.

you're looking towards the door lazily. "can you stay with me.”

matthew's face falls, swallowing roughly at the sight of you—laid out on your bed, completely relaxed and pretty. you don't even know what you do to him, and it drives him insane. he sighs. "no. I can't."

you pout, a breathy wind blowing past your dry lips. "pleaseee...lucas never stays with me."

the mention of your boyfriend has matthew scoffing, the conversation they'd had earlier coming back to him in a angry wave. "lucas is a dick."

he's expecting your to scold him, so matthew is surprised when your gentle giggles float through the room. "such a dick." you slur in agreement.

a moment passes, and your quiet giggles slowly die. wordlessly, your hand comes out fromunder the covers and pats the spot beside you—inviting him on your bed.

matthew's breath hitches, but he doesn't walk away. matthew softly shuts the door before walking back through your room, stepping over stray shoes and your discarded party clothes on the way to your bed.

"I don't bite." you grin teasingly.

matthew can't help the smirk that makes its way onto his face. "doubt it."

your smile mimics his, and that has matthew getting onto your bed, sitting atop the covers and leaning his upper body against your plush headboard.

it's only a few more minutes before your gentle snoring is heard throughout the room, a tell tale sign that you've fallen into a deep sleep. matthew watches you for a moment, letting the peace linger between you—a peace that has never been between you before.

matthew's eyes begin to feel heavy, and before he knows it, your soft snores are lulling him to sleep.

STAGE 4: Ignorance

when you woke up the following morning, you were in a state of confusion, still dealing with the lingering affects of alcohol and trying to re-collect your memories from the night before.

with a groan, you got out of bed, shuffling down the hall and into the living room. thankfully, cora is still sleeping after he late night shift—so you're in complete silence as you pour yourself a hefty glass of ice water.

it comes back to you in flashes, each blurry memory worse than the last—rachel convincing you to have another drink, followed by another, the loosing rachel at the party and having to walk through the house while hammered. then matthew is bringing you home, without lucas for a reason you don't recall—matthew in your room, changing behind his back, him touching ross...you pleading for him to stay.

your breath hitches—a mixture of embarrassment and hangxiety hitting you at full force. then you feel yourself panic, your stomach dropping. had you even checked beside you this morning? was your boyfriends best friend still in your bed?

you quickly—much quicker than you should be moving when you're that hungover—make your way back down the wall, sheepishly peeking into your bedroom.

he's gone. and that makes you feel worse than before.

you don't see him for the whole day, and then the next day comes and you still don't run into matthew knies. not in the hallway of your apartment building, and certainly not in the elevator. you don't see him at school, or even at the hockey rink. the one time you spend the night at your boyfriends, matthew is nowhere to be found. almost two weeks pass, and you haven't seen him at all.

it's making you anxious, and not only can cora tell—sending you looks of pity anytime you're making dinner together—but lucas can tell something is up with you too.

anytime he'd ask, you'd brush it off with a easy excuse—you're tired, or you have a headache—but it was never believable, and it was becoming repetitive.

did you say something to him? did you do something to him? you're reeling with possibilities of what could've happened between you and matthew knies to have him actively avoiding you.

but honestly, you're no better, and after a few days the anxiety of it all was getting to you—and you begin actively avoiding him as well. you  call in sick to work anytime your shift is during a game, and you've only spent time with lucas if it's at your apartment. you leave early for class with the hopes of avoiding running into him, and you stay behind late for the same reason.

it was exhausting but you couldn't help it.

so when cora texted you this afternoon about meeting up for lunch between her classes, you easily agreed. wednesday's were your free days, with no classes to take up your schedule—moping around your apartment while dealing with the mess of emotions in your head wasn't your most ideal choice of productivity.

so with only an hour until cora's lunch gap, you strip out of your pyjamas, tossing on your robe before making your way to the bathroom. you throw your hair up, only intending to wash your body and hopefully clean off any lingering lazy and anxious energy from your skin.

you sigh, pulling back the floral printed shower curtain. immediately, you scream, jumping backwards as the sight of a large, brown spider that greets you—scurrying up the walls before slipping back down.

your eyes begin welling up with tears as dry sobs rack your body—of course there's a fucking gigantic spider in your bathtub.

you rush out the bathroom and make a beeline for the front door, pulling it open with the upmost urgency. you don't even close it, speed walking down the dimly lit hallway until you're at your boyfriends apartment.

your knocks are frantic, perfectly capturing the emotions your feeling. thankfully it's only a few moments of your panic stricken knocking before the handle turns, the door opening to reveal not lucas.

matthew's taken back at the sight of you—hair piled on top of your head with a makeup stained robe around you, bare feet on display. quickly, his eyes land upon your face, and the sight of your tears and pale skin has him faltering. "what's wrong?"

you swallow roughly, a few tears trailing down your blotchy cheeks. "I went to take a shower, and there's a huge fucking spider and i'm so scared of bugs—I don't know what to do, I need help." you're a babbling, sniffling mess, eyes darting between matthew and back down the hall.

"it's okay." he says quickly, stepping out into the hallway. "i'll kill it, okay?"

you nod, blowing out a shaky breath. "okay." for as long as you can remember you've had a crippling fear of any and all creepy, crawly insects. something about the way they scurry around quickly, unable to know what it's thinking and what it's planning to do to you, never fails to leave you shaking.

your fear has completely taken over your body, and it's the only reason you're able to speak to matthew knies without remembering the past few weeks between you—or rather, the lack there of.

you follow him back to your apartment timidly, trialing behind his broad shoulders like a lost puppy. he breathes gently as he enters, grabbing one of the extra shoes at the front door—the spider killing weapon of choice, clearly.

"it's in the tub." you mutter, eyes darting down the hall. matthew nods, walking towards the bathroom like he's not about to battle the eight legged beast residing in there.

he pulls back the shower curtain further, and you peek around his bicep—locking eyes with the creature. you shiver, a disgruntled moan leaving your mouth. matthew looks back at you. "sure you wanna watch?"

in all seriousness, you nod. "I need to know it's dead."

"okay," he hums, grip tightening around your floppy, strappy sandal. the spider is still crawling around, attempting to escape over the lip of the bathtub but inevitably falling back down.

it's definitely not as big as you described it, but matthew doesn't even dare bring that up. at least, he won't until the spider is gone and you're returning back to a normal heart rate. he brings the shoe up before quickly bringing it back down, but before it can be smooshed, the spider scurries away.

you squeal once again, eyes filling with salty tears as you grip matthew's arm—hiding your face is the soft material of his sweater. "its moving!"

he has a hard time stifling his laugh, looking down at you with an amused expression. "why are you cryin?"

"i'm scared." you mutter, fingers digging into his arm muscle. "hurry up and kill it—oh my god, i'm going to be sick."

matthew rolls his eyes, the action laced with fondness rather than irritation. "well I can't kill it if you're holding onto me for dear life." he watches the way your eyes dart towards the grip on his bicep, and you quickly release him, taking a small step backwards.

now with his arm free, he approaches the tub again, and this time when he brings the sandal down, it finds the spider, smacking the unwanted insect with a sickening plat.

you practically gag, wringing out your hands in disgust at the sound.

matthew looks at you again. "you good?"

hesitantly, you nod. "yeah."

thankfully matthew cleans up the remnants of the spider from your white tub with some toilet paper, eliminating any disturbing evidence of its existence.

as he does, and your frantic state comes back down to normal, you come to the shuddering realization of what's happening—matthew, the man you haven't since since your impromptu sleepover, is standing in your bathroom—all while you cry and stand naked under a robe.

he flushes the paper down your toilet, the hallow flush echoing through your ears. matthew turns back to you, sending you a closed mouth, awkward smile.

you hate this—this isn't the matthew you know. you hadn’t realized how much you missed his annoying remarks and infuriating smirk until you no longer had them. you're panicking again, expect this time it's because you don't want him to leave and you never see him again.

you clear your throat, stepping in his path. "I haven't seen you."

his brows pull tightly, eyeing you up and down curiously. "what do you mean?"

"you've been avoiding me." you huff, nerves settling low in your belly. you’re not even worried about how desperate you sound, and you play with the string of your robe with nervous, trembling hands.

"only because you've been avoiding me." he retorts firmly.

"what?" you breathe roughly—exasperated. even though you so badly want to say that you haven't, it would be a lie. you have been avoiding him, and clearly he's caught onto the fact. so you decide to play coy, and somewhat petty, crossing your arms. "i'm literally with you right now."

matthew snickers. "not by choice."

"and since when have I ever spent time with you by choice?" you question lightly.

matthew's almost playful expression falters, and a more serious look blossoms over his features. he swallows gently, adam’s apple bobbing prominently. "since you've never decided to walk away."

your mouth opens, nothing but a hitched breath coming out. you blink once, and then again, feeling nothing less than speechless from matthew's words.

his eyes dart over your face, taking in your seemingly surprised reaction. he too blinks roughly, shaking his head slightly as if he didn't mean to say that aloud. matthew clears his throat once, "i'm sorry for being all weird these past couple weeks," he pauses, eyes finding yours, "I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

you frown. "you didn't." a gentle, shaky laugh leaves you, "if I'm remembering correctly, I begged you to stay."

his lips quirk upwards in a smile, "more like pleaded."

"okay!" you laugh in amused disbelief, covering your eyes with a still shaking hand. "don't remind me."

"but you see, this reaction is going to make me remind you at every possible opportunity." matthew teases, reaching towards you until his fingers gently brush yours, moving your hand away from your blushing face.

your eyes flicker back to his, smile falling as you blink up at him. you gulp gently, feeling your stomach swoop with a combination of emotions—nerves, confusion, fear, denial...need.

matthew's eyes slowly trace over you face, lingering on your damp lips before reluctantly tearing his gaze away. but he can't help but to drink you in further, admiring your exposed neck and collarbones—the fuzzy peach housecoat and the crazy hair—the silver initial necklace hanging around you, dangling above your sternum like the perfect accessory. it's all so new and so you.

your gazes meet again, and this time you sigh, a breathy noise that shoots right through matthew.

you blink, and without knowing what to do, you look away, back towards the shower. "how do you know there's no more spiders?" you question timidly, an awkward, unsure laugh following.

matthew holds onto his sigh, turning back to the bathtub. he puts his hands on his hips, stepping closer. "hello? anybody here?" he directs into the shower, looking around the porcelain white walls comically.

you smile fondly just as he looks back to you. "no more spiders."

something is seriously changing between you and matthew, and that makes you feel even more anxious than before. as you finally shower—speedily because you're still scared of the possibility of more creatures—and get ready for lunch, you can't help but wonder.

the what ifs and possibilities all involving your boyfriends roommate are very prevalent in your head, even as you begin to walk to a local campus cafe. as soon as you sit down, you're spilling your guts to cora.

no, you think, you can't like matthew because it's wrong—it's crazy. you're in a relationship, and a few months ago you hated him...at least, you thought you hated him.

and as you expressed it all to your friend, she listened with nothing but love and understanding. when you eventually stop your panicked ramble, cora sighs, looking at you like she just knows.

in that moment you know—the eyes never lie.

STAGE 5: Breaking

you scan the page of your textbook carefully, reading the history material in the hopes of applying it to your research assignment—but your mind is in a million other places.

since you've come to the realization 3 days ago that you have some sort of feelings for matthew, you haven't stopped thinking about him. you're still not sure what it is exactly you feel, so in all honesty you don't feel guilty about it—at least, not yet.

you blink, focusing your eyes as you attempt at reading the same paragraph again. the library is thankfully empty, meaning there's nobody to provide any type of distraction—the last thing you need is another distraction.

well, you're not completely alone, lucas is sitting across from you, typing away on his laptop as he attempts at starting his assignment that was due tomorrow. god, just thinking about that stresses you out. his legs stretch out underneath the table, invading your space, as well as his things spread across the tabletop—providing little to no breathing room.

all day there's been a lingering, awkward energy between you and lucas. he's been unusually quiet, and anytime he did talk to you it was quick and uninterested. unfortunately you've been too busy within your own head to notice the sharp glances he's been sending you, and the way his lips pull into a frown anytime you'd make a sigh of frustration or worry.

it was constant—and lucas was at his breaking point. as you have to restart the scentence again, a tiny huff leaving your lips, he shuts his laptop, the heavy click echoing throughout the library.

you look up quickly, brows pulled together as you eye him. "you okay?"

he huffs in disbelief, "your mind is like somewhere else recently—it feels like you're just a host of a body. it's like you don't even want to be with me." lucas tone is dripping with frustration, sounding nothing less then condescending and irritated.

you blink quickly, taken back from his sudden outburst. slowly, you put down the pen you'd been using to follow along with the words, eyeing lucas with a confusing tilt. is he joking? the last person who should be complaining about anything like this is lucas.

his face stays stern—looking at you like he's just watched you kill his dog. he's not joking.

you scoff quietly, but the disgusted tone is more than prevalent. "seriously? that's rich coming from you lucas. it feels like you haven't wanted to spend time with me for the past three months."

"that's not true." he retorts quickly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"is it not?" you question sarcastically.

"no!" lucas practically shouts, leaning on the table as he eyes you wildly. "you sound stupid right now."

the remark that you had dies on your tongue, mouth snapping shut. your jaw clicks as it tightens, anger coursing through you at lucas' insult. "how come you didn't take me home at that party a few weeks ago?" you question softly, a knowing look in your pointed gaze.

he wasn't expecting that, and it has him flattering slightly, leaning back as he blinks two quick times. lucas runs a hand through his unruly, light hair, tugging at the root in frustration—trying to think of answer.

"I don't know...fucking seemed like matthew had it under control." he swallows, pausing for a moment. "why does it matter?"

his admission give you confirmation you hadn't realized you'd been looking for. you laugh in disbelief, "yeah, well it seems like matthew is the only one who cares about me."

it was a low blow, one that has lucas' anger rising rapidly—but it was your truth, and you know that now.

"yeah too fucking much." he snarls.

"sorry that he cares about me—unlike you."

lucas jaw tightens, eyeing your face with a look you've never seen before. "we need to break up."

you look at him with disbelief and disappointment, your lip beginning to quiver. "so you're not even going to deny it? not even going to try and fight for me?"

this conversation has taken a turning point you weren't expecting—at least not today. there's nothing but anger between you, but yet you're not upset about being broken with. you're upset because you feel stupid, and everything you've feared about your relationship is true. lucas may love you, but he doesn't care about you.

his eyes flicker with something unknown, and he sighs, "I don't think you want me to."

you close your textbook and shove it into your bag, pushing off the table as you hastily get to your feet. "you're a dick." you don't wait for his response, leaving the library with your heart in your hands.

you push open the grand doors, and immediately you're enveloped in rain. you curse, tightening the hold on your book bag as you begin speed walking in the direction of your apartment. it seems that the rain only gets harder as you go, pelting against your skin like mini bullets and completely soaking you.

it's the cherry on top of everything, and you can't wait to get home, strip completely naked and cry in bed.

the sigh of relief is loud as you finally get back to the apartment building, walking into the lobby like a wet dog. you make a b-line to the elevators, not making your usual stop in the mail room—something that was habit anytime you'd come home.

you wring your hair out between your hands, the water hitting the elevator carpet with a small plopping noise. thankfully, it doesn't stop and you make it up to your door without any interruptions.

you sniffle away the emotion creeping up your chest, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway. you only make it a few steps before a door is opening, distracting you.

it's lucas and matthew's apartment, and our steps the latter, gym bag slung over his shoulder. you come to a slow stop without meaning to, looking at him with a soft, yet curious gaze.

his eyes dart to you, but as soon as he sees the state your in he's moving, stepping closer to you with a worried expression. "woah...you okay?"

just the caring tone of his question has you welling up with tears, and it feels like everything is crashing down on you all at once. the confusion, the anger, the heartbreak, the lust, the curiosity...it's all there, drowning you.

you shake your head, mouth opening and closing unsurely. "I-I don't...i'm so." your voice is shaking, and you're borderline hyperventilating as you attempt at getting a coherent sentence out.

matthew lets his gym bag slip off his shoulder, hitting the ground with a hard thud. he takes ahold of your biceps, squeezing the fleshiest part firmly. "take a fucking breath, y/n, you're gunna make yourself sick."

closing your eyes, you take a few deep breaths, attempting to calm yourself down from the sudden emotional attack set upon yourself. it takes a minute, but eventually you feel yourself begin to relax, your heart rate slowly creeping back down.

you let your eyes flutter back open, meeting the concerned ones of matthew. your brows pull tightly, a nervous gulp following. "why are you looking at me like that, matthew?" your question is barley above a whisper, as if you were almost scared of the response.

"like what?" he breathes, not once breaking eye contact.

it's almost intimidating, but it's also confirming of so many things. but of course, you're hesitant—heck you're scared and nervous and so unsure about what's going on between you. your brows are still drawn together, creating a tiny indent in the middle of your forehead.

matthew has to fight every urge in his body to not run his thumb over the indent to smooth it out.

"like...like you fucking care about me. like you want me." you answer firmly, eyes frantically moving around matthew's face as you attempt at gauging his reaction.

he doesn't release the hold on your biceps, his gaze turning completely soft. "y/n." he says your name knowingly, fingers gently running up your arms. that’s his answer.

"matthew." you exhale shakily, distracted by the gentle pressure of his fingers on your skin. "you're making me all..."

"all...what?"

"confused." you say honestly, looking up at him with the most vulnerable expression he's seen.

matthew swallows roughly, jerking his hands off your body like you just told him that's he's burning you. "i'm sorry"

the soft, hopeful look on his face doesn't falter, and if anything it increases. "no," you shake your head, "stop."

"what? stop apologizing?" he questions with a frown.

"no," you repeat, "stop looking at me like that."

a moment passes before he speaks again, his words laced with desire— stressing his words. "I can't."

another beat of silence, nothing but the hitching breath of both and you matthew to be heard. you lick onto your bottom lip, "lucas and I...we broke up."

"you did?"

you only get one nod out before matthew rushes forward, grasping your face like he's been waiting for the opportunity since he was put onto the earth. you tilt your head back instinctively, and it's just timed as matthew leans down to kiss you.

the kiss is instantly desperate, the clashing of lips and teeth alluding to so. your tongues glide across each others like second nature, elevating the kiss to a higher, more intense level. it's exhilarating—it's right.

you sigh into his mouth, trembling hands reaching up and grabbing onto matthew's wrists—keeping him against you. you've completely forgotten that you're soaked from head to toe, and how you've just had a fight with lucas that lead to a break up...it's all lost in matthew.

his hands slide farther back, fingers intertwining with your wet strands of hair. it's a gentle and welcoming pull, and you can't help but sigh in pleasure.

matthew follows suit, groaning into your messy kiss. it's been months and months of tip-toeing around one another, too scared to admit the truth in fear of ruining everything and everyone else along the way. but now it's just you two, and matthew can't help but moan at the thought.

the elevator doors slide open, and you’re both pulling apart instinctively at the sound.

but as lucas stands there, jaw ticking with anger as he stares at you—you know it's too late, and he's just seen you making out with his friend. or better yet, he's seen his friend making out with his newley ex-girlfriend.

"are you two fucking serious?"

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. it looks bad, you know it it does—mostly because it is bad. you've been thinking about matthew for much longer than you care to admit, and the first thing you did after getting broken up with is run into his arms—letting matthew kiss you like you're both horny teenagers.

"lucas..." matthew trails off, turning to his roommate with a guilty laced hesitation.

but lucas is only looking at you, that same disgusted smirk on his face from the library. "can't even remember the last time you kissed me, but yet the first thing you did after leaving the library was make out with my roommate. I didn't realize you were such a slut."

you inhale sharply, tears quickly welling up in your eyes.

matthew rushes forward, and before he can logically think of the consequences of his actions, he punches lucas square across the face.

"matthew!" you gasp, moving towards the two men with concern pulling at your face. "no."

he doesn't hear you, looking at lucas as he clutches his jaw. matthew's gaze narrows, shaking out his hand. "don't fucking talk to her like that."

your ex-boyfriend laughs in a mixture of shock and disbelief, stretching his jaw out before he looks back at you. lucas doesn't say anything else, turning and leaving down the buildings stair well.

you're shocked, embarrassed and guilt ridden—your watery gaze locked on the empty space lucas was only moments ago occupying.

"y/n?" matthew questions gently, snapping you out of your own head.

you blink hard, shaking your head. "i'm sorry, I just need some space." you turn away from matthew before he has the chance to answer—mostly because you're too scared that if he begins to speak you'll crawl right back into his arms.

matthew watches you walk away, and all he can do is stand there, focused on your fleeting figure as he slip into your apartment—your lip trembling without another glance in his direction.

his face is contorted, not in anger, but in a look of concern. guilt flashes across his features, and he can't help but groan, running a palm over his face in frustration. did he just loose you for good?

you shut the apartment door behind you, and the tears begin falling down your face at a rapid pace. your lips tug into a frown, a sob wracking through you as you lean back against the door.

cora rounds the corner at the sound, her eyebrows pulled in concern. "what's wrong?" she breathes, rushing towards you.

"I did something terrible." you admit through your stuttering gasps, looking at your roommate with a million different emotions.

"honey..." she coos, wrapping you in a hug. your tears intensify as cora squeezes you in the embrace, and you bury your face in her shoulder to mask your desperate cry.

Epilogue

“god miller! just kiss me already!”

“no, not like this!”

you groan, falling into the couch cushions. the scene on the tv illuminates the room, the late afternoon sun hidden behind the blackout curtains you’ve had drawn since this morning.

nick and jess from new girl have not only been giving you entertainment all day while you mope around, but they’ve also been stupid cute and in love—it makes you want to die.

you’ve only been two places since the chaotic ending to last night; your bed which you cried in all night, and the couch which obviously you also cried on. you keep running through the events of yesterday—the breakup with lucas, finding matthew in the hallway, borderline confessing your feelings to him…kissing him. it felt good—so so good.

but just like that it was snatched from you, and the guilt riddling your body is just nerve wracking and wrenching. while you were kissing matthew, the last thing you were thinking about was lucas, and the possibility of him finding you both like that wasn’t even in your mind. but it happened and now everything feels like a mess—and you feel like an awful person.

you’ve clearly hurt lucas—that much was evident in the awful things he said to you. when you told cora everything last night, eyes stinging with tears and snot dribbling from your nose, she was quick to remind you that lucas never treated you good, and that no matter what he shouldn’t of said that to you.

your phone buzzes against your thigh, making you sit up—brows furrowed in question.

lucas

are you home?

you pause the tv quickly, all while reading the text over and over again as you try and make sense of it. what does he need? does he want to talk? is he going to yell at you? is he simply just curious? does he want to fix your relationship?

you hold your breath as you shakily type your reply.

y/n

yea

you exhale as it goes through, and in habit you bring your thumb to your lips, nerves consuming you as you begin gnawing on the skin around your nail.

your phone buzzes with an incoming message again.

lucas

can I come talk?

you swallow, sitting up straighter as you read his message. this can’t be good, you think—you’ve done nothing positive in the last twenty four hours that warrants a civil talk with your ex. you desperately want to ignore him—throw your phone across the room and get back to new girl on the tv.

a show that you only started watching because it’s matthew favourite—your brain reminds you. you look down at your phone again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you contemplate.

you deserve not only closure, but happiness—not matter what.

y/n

sure

you barley have a minute of speed running the apartment, picking up the empty tub of ice cream and what feels like hundreds on snotty tissues from your crying, before there’s a knock at your door.

even if you didn’t know he was coming over, would could tell it was lucas by the weight of the knock. it was soft, almost hesitant—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually be at your door. it always sounded like that.

before you back out, you pull open the door, revealing yourself to a deadpanned face lucas who’s standing with his hands shoved in his pockets. he gulps, eyeing your figure briefly. “can I come in.”

you nod reluctantly, stepping to the side to create enough room for him to slip inside your apartment. lucas sends you a forced smile as he enters, moving through your place like he’s done many times before.

the door shuts with a gentle click, but the room is so tense and quiet it sounds like a bomb. you follow suit, walking into the living room where lucas stands stagnant—eyeing around the apartment with an unsure expression. suddenly his eyes meet yours, “did you cheat on me?”

“no.” you tell him. “I would never cheat…on anybody.”

he sniffs, the sound annoying and disgusting—it’s like he’s trying to stay calm. “but you like him, right? you like matthew?”

you’re so used to trying to please him that you want to stay quiet—because you know if you admit your feelings for his friend, everything is going to completely change…more than it already has. and as lucas looks at you now, his gaze nothing but knowing, you decide you’re done trying to hide from him.

“I do.” you confirm. “but nothing ever happens, and…I didn’t even know when these feelings started. i’ve been so confused for the longest time, and I was scared because I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.” you pause, wringing out your trembling fingers as you collect your next thoughts. “but i’m sick of doing things for everyone else…and I need to let myself be happy—whatever that ends up being.”

lucas stay silent for a moment, but you can see his mind running a mile a minute. his eyes dart all over you, analyzing your face and body language—you’ve never seen him look at you so intently, and it has you wanting to shy away.

he sighs, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m sorry, y/n—for everything.”

your shoulders deflate, and you feel the emotion you’ve been suppressing since lucas texted you coming back to the surface. “thank you. i’m sorry too.”

“can I give you a hug?” his hesitance is evident, looking at you like he’s unsure of your response—how you’ll react. looking at him right now, you can’t be mad at him. not about your relationship, the breakup or the name he called you in his rage. lucas is a good guy, you know that—he’s just not the guy for you.

“yeah.” you breathe. “i’d like that.”

lucas takes the three steps of distance between you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he brings you into his chest. your hands find place around his waist, holding him against you in a wordless goodbye. his cheek rests on the top of your head, a comforting gesture that has your eyes flickering shut.

he takes a deep breath—his words quiet as he speaks. “I think we met for a reason, y/n. and that reason is matthew.” you feel lucas swallow against you, like he knows what he just said is the final nail in the coffin—everything starts now. “have you noticed how he looks at you?”

you pull back, and watch as the corner of his lips begin to turn upwards—the faintest smile growing. lucas may not like it, but he’s accepted it, and it’s feels better than anything you could imagine. your own smile begins to show, and you nod. “I have.”

matthew knies was an enigma—a giant, infuriating mystery that you never expected to entangle yourself in. but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in the past few months, it’s that you’re easily intrigued, especially when the enigma has always cared for you, no matter how rude and stupid you acted towards him.

perhaps you never hated matthew, but rather the way he made you feel. you hated the idea of being in love with him because you had a boyfriend, so you'd turn into an easily irritated girl, who secretly wanted nothing more then the attention of the boy down the hall. the boy who was more of a boyfriend than lucas could ever be. the boy who you don't hate, but love.

of course, there’s still the lingering feelings of confusion and nervousness—because you don’t know where you and matthew will go from here.

but later in the day, on you way back from your evening class, as the elevator doors open to your floor and matthew stands there—a grin growing on both your faces at the mere sight of one another…you think you have an answer.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

playlist

every breath you take (i'll be watching you) by the police

pushing it down and praying by lizzy mcalpine

wrong by zayn

your needs, my needs by noah kahan

do I wanna know? by hozier (cover)

each time you fall in love by cigarettes after sex

if I can't be with you by olivia obrien

I would by one direction

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 7

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: sexual content, mental abuse, toxic relationship, language Wordcount: 7.7K A/C: SHE'S BAACKKK!!! omg i missed you guys so much you don't even know! I AM BACK and i'm locked in and i finally got this chapter out for you, ty for being so so patient with me, i will have more time to write for everyone now!! ily guys and tysm for 1k followers, i have a little surprise to you to celebrate that soon :)) ILYM <33

italics are flashbacks

-

Before London

“You buckled up?”

“Yes,” I murmur, crossing my legs and looking out the window. It’s one of those days where it’s been grey and gloomy since the morning. The dark clouds billow in along the horizon, causing an unbearable humidity to fall over Dallas. The weather felt heavy, everyone hoping for a gentle May storm to bring some relief. I could feel sweat growing in my neck, the humidity causing my hair to turn unruly, impossible to manage, dark curls twisting every which way except the direction they were supposed to.

The heaviness was impossible to escape, even in Paige’s car - though I’m not exactly sure if it’s the weather or the tension between us having my stomach doing flips.

“Jesus…” The blonde mumbles to herself when a song by The Weeknd starts playing, nimble hands quickly skipping it.

Since our interrupted moment on my couch we hadn’t talked about it, neither of us wanting to be the first to bring it up. We left it at that, just a moment of weakness between us both, Paige avoiding my gaze whenever she could. The blonde, however, had been growing uncharacteristically more frustrated ever since. Whether because of what happened between us or the game tomorrow, I wasn’t sure.

“So… When’s your dad coming?” I ask carefully, knowing she has been irritated all day. Matter of fact Arike and Lou had warned me about it earlier.

“Tonight, I’ll pick him up from the airport,” she mumbles and then groans, hitting the steering wheel like remembering something. “I was gonna clean before but I forgot.”

“Do you need help?”

“Nah.”

“Paige, I really don’t mind,” I insist, watching the hooper driving with practiced ease in her Nike sweats and a black t-shirt. “I kind of owe it to you since you took care of me…”

Paige’s blue eyes flicker from the road to me, back to the road, face turning red at the memory of us on the couch. Just as she’s about to answer, another song by The Weeknd begins to play.

“This fuckin’ playlist,” Paige groans, quickly skipping every song with any type of sexual implications. It was almost funny, really, the way she was behaving. She’s huffing, fumbling with her phone to change songs before throwing the device to me. “Just put on sumn Iz, please, I’m getting pissed off.”

“I can see that,” I chuckle, picking another list which seemingly is more chill. “Nervous about the game huh?”

“I dunno man,” she mumbles, rubbing her face and leaning back against the seat, jaw clenching. Truthfully, I felt just as frustrated, my mind spinning around how the girl felt on top of me. Everything she did felt so effortless, yet had me probably wetter than I had ever been in my life with such ease. The mere memory had been driving me mad, my own hand trying to relieve the ache between my thighs but with no such luck. Honestly the tension was driving me just as frustrated as Paige is. And God this stupid, overbearing heat, the way it had turned my skin sticky, making it hard to breathe. Paige rubs her own chest, as if feeling the exact same.

Even now, watching the blonde, her veiny hands on the wheel, arms glistening with sweat from the humidity, neck bobbing as she swallows heavily, blonde hair down and straight. all of it had that familiar ache grow between my legs again. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone this much.

I lick my lips and move my eyes to the road, beginning to feel flustered. The temptation of toying with the idea of going to bed with the blonde had been growing stronger and stronger, driving me up the wall. Maybe it was time for me to try on someone else. But I felt afraid, it had been years since I slept with anyone else but Jasper. Maybe this could be a good chance to see how it might make me feel? But then again Paige would need to understand that it has to be just sex. Nothing more. No attachment. 

Memories of her filthy words repeat in my head. I swear no one’s ever spoken to me like that before. No one had ever told me such dirty things. It was exhilarating, it had me soaked. 

The drive is quiet, Paige letting out frustrated huffs now and then and chewing on her lower lip.

“Will we still do the pregame interview for socials tomorrow?” I ask.

“Course,” she huffs with annoyance.

“Okay no reason to have an attitude with me now,” I answer, growing a little annoyed or perhaps frustrated too.

She pulls up to our building’s parking lot, exhaling loudly. “You right,” she mumbles and turns to me, face softening exponentially. Paige reaches over, taking both my hands into hers. It’s enough to make my stomach flip. “You right Iz, I’m sorry. Ion wanna be like that with you I just… It’s this damn heat and everything.”

Our eyes lock, and I consider leaning over the center console and kissing her. But I wasn’t brave enough. Not yet, at least.

“It’s okay Paige,” I hum. Slightly hesitantly, the blonde brings my hands up to her mouth and presses a soft kiss to both of them, eyes fluttering shut. I feel the familiar blush build on my cheeks as I watch her, jolts running through my body. No, I’m done being scared. I need her now.

“Can I come over to yours please?” I ask as politely as I can, though the look in my eyes lets Paige know exactly what’s on my mind. I swear I’ve never seen her nod so quickly, barely letting my words sink in. She clumsily climbs out of the car, practically running to my side to open the door and helping me out. The blonde’s steps are hurried, long strides making it hard for me to keep up as we climb to her floor, a slight grin on my face as I watch the eagerness in which she was moving with. 

Paige’s hands scramble with the lock, the key shaking a little in her hand as she finally opens the door, allowing me in first. My stomach starts to twist, and there’s a burn spreading around my upper thighs as I take off my heels, suddenly significantly shorter than the blonde girl following on my tail.

I hear the door close and turn around, chest heaving much like Paige’s is as I watch her blue eyes roaming my body, the black pencil skirt and the body hugging maroon short-sleeved top, her gaze landing on my face, mouth already agape and breaths growing heavy. 

For a moment we just breathe, our eyes locked on each other, taking the moment in. The tension, the pent up frustration, the need we have for each other, until the blonde snaps and pushes me into the wall which feels cold against my warm back. Paige’s hands land on my waste as our lips crash into a messy, sloppy, needy kiss. A type of kiss I had never had before. It leaves me breathless, my arms wrapping around her shoulders, long fingers wrapping into her hair and pulling the girl closer. She moves her lips off mine, beginning to trail to my neck, hands on my waist travelling downwards to my ass, groaning as she feels it under her grip. 

“W-wait,” I gasp breathlessly, legs already beginning to shake. 

“Mhm,” Paige hums against my skin, lips never quitting working on my neck. 

“I- fuck,” I whimper. “I just need you to know that this has to be just sex.”

Without even thinking I feel the blonde nod, lips sucking right below my ear. “Okay, whatever you want Iz.”

I pull her away from my neck by her hair, meeting her eyes. “I’m serious. Just sex.”

Paige’s eyelids are heavy, the normally bright blue of her eyes turning dark with lust as she gazes down at me. “Izara, I mean it. Whatever you want me to be I’mma be okay?”

When those words leave the blonde’s mouth I nearly crumble to the ground. I can’t wait for a second longer, the wetness pooling between my legs enough proof of that.

“Take me to bed,” I tell the younger girl, who picks me up with ease as my legs wrap around her torso. She kisses me hungrily, our tongues meeting in a battle for dominance which the blonde soon wins as she places me down on her bed softly, my skirt now hiked up halfway up my thighs.

For a moment Paige stands above me, eyes roaming my body as she shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re so beautiful,” she mumbles, then climbs on top of me, her right hand hiking my skirt all the way up, revealing my lacy red panties. When Paige notices, she lets out a groan, practically drooling but working hard to pace herself.

“Take this off,” I murmur, yanking on Paige’s t-shirt.

“Yes ma’am,” she replies, pulling it over her head and onto the floor. I watch the way her muscles in her abdomen clench and I can’t help but drag my fingernails along it as she sits up on top of me, straddling me while I lie flat against the soft blanket.

“Fuck,” she moans hoarsely, throwing her head back, her hands inching underneath my top.

“Would you like it off?” I ask, chest heaving.

“Yes. Please.”

I pull the top off, the blonde’s fingertips leaving tingles as they drag over my ribs. Somehow I don’t feel nervous, all my anxious thoughts left the second I felt Paige on me again.

“Goddamn…” The girl sighs, her hand dragging to my matching lace bra and palming my round breast, making me whimper. I pull her down by the chain on her neck, kissing her feverishly, my underwear growing wetter with every passing moment, mind spinning with need. As I let out a whine, Paige gets the hint, her right hand dragging down my body to my bare thigh and squeezing. 

My back arches off the bed, another whine spilling from my lips but quickly silenced by the blonde’s kiss, her fingers trailing up my inner thigh torturously slowly.

“Paige,” I cry out.

“Tell me what you want?” Paige asks, her voice gravelly in a way I haven’t heard before.

“You to touch me,” I whimper, my brows furrowing with need. “Please.”

“So polite ma,” she grins, beginning to kiss my neck, inching downwards my body to my breasts. “I’mma take good care of you baby, don’ worry.”

My legs spread wider in anticipation as her lips trail downwards along my stomach. I can feel my head spinning, unable to accept that this is real and actually happening. That I would finally find relief to the awful ache inside me.

Faint giggles take me out of the moment, snapping me back to reality. I must’ve imagined - no wait, I can definitely hear giggles. “Paige,” I say.

“Mhm,” she hums, kissing along my inner thighs now.

“You hear that?”

“Hear what,” she mumbles against my skin, nuzzling it, her eyes finally opening when I sit up.

“Listen,” I complain, pushing her off by her forehead to make her pay attention.

“I hear nothin, just lie down and re-”

It’s clear. The sound coming from the front door. Paige’s front door, someone fumbling with the key in the keyhole, turning it and-

“What the fuck?” Paige asks, abruptly getting off me and hurrying to the door of her bedroom, peeking into the corridor in her sports bra and sweats. I get up too, pulling my skirt down, wanting to cry with frustration.

-

There they are. By my doorstep. KK, Ice, Azzi, Jana and Ash, holding balloons and banners and other decorations, giggling amongst each other.

“I- wh- KK? Ice? A- how did y’all get in?” I ask, eyes flickering between the girls and Izara in the bedroom, pulling her skirt down and throwing her top on frantically. 

“Why aren’t you at practice?”

“It ended early,” I say, my voice rising uncharacteristically as I attempt to steady my breathing from what almost just happened. How close I was to getting what I had been craving for weeks. I loved these girls but, God could I kill them right now. “How the hell do y’all got a key to my place??”

“Oh it’s your dad’s,” Azzi giggles. “We were gonna surprise you, he’s downstairs.”

Oh so not only my girls but my dad was gonna arrive at the scene. With a girl in my bedroom. I glance at Iz, who’s fixing her hair in the mirror, but she looks completely fucked out. And I bet I do too. I had no idea how to explain myself out of this one.

“Wh-” I start

“Yeah why aren’t you hugging us and shit? You forget all about us?” KK huffs.

I rub my face, letting out a heavy exhale when Izzie walks out of the bedroom into the eyeline of the group of girls. All their eyes widen, and I can’t ignore the shared looks between them. Quick, Paige, say something.

“Uhh, guys this is Iz- I mean, Zari, she uh, was over to uh…” I scratch the back of my neck, KK already covering her mouth trying not to laugh.

“I just needed to borrow…” Izzie’s eyes scan the room. “Paige’s lamp! Mine broke, so. Couldn’t see to read my book.” Her face is bright red, the usual composure with which she presented herself completely gone. I almost groan at the excuse but realise that would just make the situation seem a million times worse.

“Yes! She was! Uh let me get it for you,” I mumble, about to walk into the bedroom to actually grab a lamp for the girl.

“No no! You say hi to your friends, I can do it myself!”

I wanna bury my face into my hands and go back into the bedroom and lock the door and never come out. All the girls are staring with amused faces, hands holding balloons and flyers and little decorations in preparation for my first game tomorrow, clearly suspicious of us two. Just when I think it can’t get worse, my dad - yes my dad - walks in.

“Why are you girls all- Oh hi, don’t you have practice?” He asks, holding a cake.

I rub the bridge of my nose, not sure whether to laugh or cry at this point.

“Got home early,” I sigh, too flustered to even enjoy the fact that my best friends and my dad were here to see me.

“This girl here is borrowing a lamp,” KK mumbles under her breath to my dad, trying to hold in her snickers. What a stupid excuse. I thought Izzie was supposed to be smart. Borrowing a lamp, what kinda excuse was that?

My dad’s eyes land on Izzie, flickering between me and her and the awkwardly large distance between us as if that might help us look less suspicious. Though based on the small grin on my dad’s face, I can tell it’s doing the exact opposite.

“I’m Bob, Paige’s dad,” my dad slides inside through the girls who are eyeing the situation with amused expressions, shaking hands with Iz like I wasn’t just between her legs ready to do something unimaginable.

“Hey, I’m Izara. I’m a friend of your daughter’s.”

“Izara huh?” He turns to me with a sly grin, something I’d inherited. “You haven’t mentioned an Izara?”

“She prefers Zari,” I correct, trying to avoid his eye. “She does media for the Wings.”

For a moment everyone’s quiet, multiple pairs of eyes staring at me, then Zari, then me again. The silence lingers, bordering on uncomfortable when to everyone’s relief KK speaks.

“Bro we don’t even get a hug or nothing?”

-

She’s there, sitting on my couch, in between Ice and Azzi and laughing that sweet giggle of hers. She looks comfortable, already gaining the approval of my friends with ease. We’re sitting in a circle around the coffee table eating pizza, easy conversation flowing between everyone. But all I could pay attention to was the brunette girl, how easily she fit in, how she had already charmed the hell out of my dad. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, the way her eyes sparkle when she laughs at my friends’ stupid jokes, or the coy smile on her perfect lips when my dad asks her a question. I needed her, badly, even more than before if possible. 

“Excuse me, I need some water,” Izara catches my eye and excuses herself to the kitchen. Without a word I get up, following on her trail like a puppy. I know everyone notices us leaving, but I don’t care. I wanted to take every second to be with her, to touch her, to have her to myself.

“Hey,” I mumble, leaning against the doorframe and watching as she looks through my cupboards for glasses.

“Hey,” she hums with a smile. I walk to the girl, pressing my front into her back as I reach for a glass in the cupboard above us.

“Oh, thank you,” Izzie says, her voice shaky as my hand lands on her waist. The girls’ voices are loud but distant, echoing around the sparsely furnished living room. So in a moment of weakness I allow my head to tilt down into the crook of Izara’s neck, inhaling the fruity, gentle jasmine scent of her perfume, nuzzling my nose against her goosebump forming skin. I feel her shift, the curve of her ass pressing against me as I allow my lips to press soft kisses onto her golden skin.

The dark haired girl lets out a shaky breath and the sound drives me wild, it taking every drop of my self discipline not to make everyone leave just so I could have my way with her, just to make her feel good. Izzie’s head tilts back, resting against my chest as I bite on her shoulder, my lips gliding and leaving sloppy kisses on her neck.

“Paige,” she whispers chuckling, clearly torn between asking me to stop and asking for more.

“You’re fucking killing me,” I murmur into her ear, my voice hoarse and trembling with need. 

The girl turns around, her green, emerald eyes wider than usual looking up at me as her hand moves onto my chest. I let my fingertips slide underneath the hem of her shirt, feeling the soft skin there. “We’ll have time. Later,” she comforts me softly, but it’s not enough.

I throw my head back in frustration and groan, like a child not getting their way.

“Izzie I’m so forreal, I need to have you before the game tomorrow or I’mma be so out of it.”

The girl giggles, shaking her head, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Come over in the morning?”

“I gotta leave at 10. Needa take my time with you.”

Izzie chuckles. “Okay, 8:30?”

“8:00,” I argue, though no amount of time would be enough.

“Do you need two hours?” The girl laughs but I shake my head, trying to stifle the grin on my face.

“Ion need more than five minutes ma, trust,” my words make Izzie’s cheeks turn a shade of red. “But need to take my time. Wanna do it just right.”

Izara might be poised and have a great poker face, but I can tell she needs it as bad as I do. It’s in the way her chest is heaving, the way her pupils are wide and the way her mouth is parted. So I lean in, my lips hovering over her ear.

“Gonna eat that pussy so good ma, gonna have you crying-”

“Yooo…”

I pull away urgently, helped by the fact that Izzie practically pushes me off her, both our heads turning to KK standing in the doorway, trying not to laugh.

“Uhh, I’mma be back,” she says turning around but I grab the shorter girl by the arm and pull her back in.

“Whatchu need?”

Izzie is blushing, trying to hide the smile growing onto her face by holding her hand over her mouth and staring at the wall.

“A tissue, I dropped some food,” KK says.

I gasp. “Bro not on the rug right?”

KK scoffs, grabbing the tissue from me. “Dallas changed you already ‘cause why you care about a rug more than me?”

-

Paige

Yo I’m so sorry I gotta head in early

That’s okay Paige, good luck. I’ll see you before the game, yeah?

I reread the texts on my screen that I never got an answer to. I’m not worried, she’s probably nervous. Or busy. But it’s so… unlike her. Paige was usually the one to message me back the moment I texted her. I was probably overthinking. I hated how I got when I liked someone. Not that I liked Paige. I wanted her badly. But there were no feelings involved and there surely could never be. I wasn’t even close to being ready.

Despite all that I could feel an uncomfortable twist somewhere deep in my stomach watching the way the blonde girl had left me on read. Like I always did when I began to get feelings. I was painfully aware of how scary it was, those feelings stirring within me again. I just had to keep them in control. I know how these things end. I know Paige seems amazing right now - unreal almost. But it was just an illusion. Soon she’d be bored of me, leaving me in tears, crying myself to sleep at 3am. That’s how it always ended up. I promised myself I’d never be that girl again.

-

“Jasper, please, could we just sit down and communicate?”

My voice is steady, gentle, like it had to be when he was in one of these moods. I sit on the couch, watching as he paces around me, trying not to blow up. I try to make myself small, breathe quiet, not look him in the eye, anything that might set him off. Once Jasper was set off there was nothing to do. I knew that better than anyone.

“Here we go again,” he groans, throwing his head back in frustration. A bitter, sarcastic laugh escapes his mouth.

“No, not like that, please. I swear I just want to talk-”

“No Izara you want to bitch about my drinking again. You’re behaving like a controlling bitch-”

There’s a pang of pain in my chest, the tears I’ve been swallowing making themselves known as my eyes grow wet.

“Please, Jasper, I’ve asked you before not to call me that,” I plead, my voice still soft but growing weaker.

The man rolls his eyes at the sight of me. “Wow, here we go again. Poor Zari, always perfect, always the victim.”

“I never said I was perfect, far from it! I’m just asking you to not call me a bitch,” I debate, my voice rising in response to feeling defensive.

“I didn’t even say you were a bitch! I said you’re behaving like one!” His voice is harsh, cutting through the air and ringing my ear painfully. Familiarly. This was a discussion we’d had about 15 times before. And it always went the same. I don’t even know why I was still trying. 

“God, you’re so manipulative, trying to put words into my mouth,” he murmurs under his breath. He’d said those words so many times part of me had started to think he might be right. Maybe I am manipulative. Maybe I need to just let him be. I’m being dramatic and his drinking wasn’t an issue. Jasper never physically hurt me or hit me. It could be so much worse. Words can only do so much.

I feel the tears spill over finally, dripping down my cheeks. As Jasper notices he lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “What, you’re crying now? Like you’re the victim here?”

“Jasper, please, I’m tired,” I cry, my voice shaky as I bury my face into my hands. “Can we just forget this and go to sleep? I’ve got that important meeting tomorrow.”

“Well probably should’ve thought of that before, huh? Before starting all this drama for nothing!”

“I just wished you wouldn’t have been so drunk tonight! I was having a hard day, I needed you with me!” I finally snap, yelling back. I never yell, but sometimes with Jasper it felt like it was the only way for him to hear me. Even though I always hated myself afterwards.

“So what? I’m a bad boyfriend? Worst boyfriend in the world?”

“No, that’s not what I said-”

“Fine, if I’m so bad I’ll leave,” Jasper simply says. walking to the entryway, grabbing his coat off the coat rack. Urgently, I get up and run after him, panic spreading all over me. He knew this triggered me. He did this every time he was about to “lose” one of our fights. Because it hurt me the most.

“Wait, wait wait wait,” I cry, my voice weak and trembling as I grab his arm. “Please no, don’t go, please, Jasper, please.”

He ignores me, pulling his arm out of my reach and looking for his keys.

“Jasper,” I sob, legs too shaky to hold me up anymore. I fall to my knees, trying not to throw up all over the man. “Jasper, please. I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m too hard on you. You’re so wonderful to me. I love you okay, I love you. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

The man finally turns, looking down at me and shaking his head as my wide eyes blink up at him. With a deep sigh, he puts down his keys and lifts me up from the ground.

“Are you done?” He asks, voice frustrated and tired.

I nod, tears still spilling from my eyes. “I’m sorry, please don’t go. Please.”

“I won’t Izara, but these fits of yours need to end,” Jasper says as his comforting, familiar arms wrap around me.

“You’re right, Jasper. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

-

My cab finally pulls up to College Park Center, and I quickly slide in through the side door, making my way through the confusing corridors with practiced ease now. I wanted to find the blonde girl, just to make sure she was okay. Just to see her before the game. I check the gym, the weight room, the dining hall but see no sign of her. Finally, as a last resort, I knock on the door of the dressing room, shifting on my feet and smoothing over my black mini skirt and the red sweater hanging off my right shoulder nervously. At last the door opens, Lou peeking her head out with a smile.

“Oh hey.”

“Hey Lou, happy game day!” I greet her, trying to not make it obvious I was looking for someone. Like I was just casually there to wish the girls good luck.

“Thanks Zari, big day,” the girl smiles, looking at me expectantly.

“Oh, uh, is um, is-”

“Paige is here, you need her?” I don’t miss the grin on the brunette’s face, the knowing look she has in her eyes. Thought I had been hiding it better with Paige, apparently not.

“Yes, actually I do,” I chuckle awkwardly, clasping my hands in front of me, acrylics scratching against my skin. My heart races as I wait, my stomach turning at the idea of seeing her. Seeing Paige.

Soon the blonde girl arrives at the door, but the familiar wide smile isn't there. Her eyes look red, tired, the skin darker than usual underneath, mouth in a straight line. 

“Paige, are you okay?” I ask, taken back by her appearance.

She looks at me for a while, blue eyes landing on mine, big hand rubbing her jaw. “I’m alright.”

I can tell that she’s not. 

“Paige,” I repeat, looking at her challengingly. The blond sighs and shrugs and it’s then I notice the shaking of her hands. Uncontrollable, clearly visible. “Whoa, what’s going on darling?”

She looks back into the changing room before stepping out, shaky hand rubbing her eyes. I don’t miss the slight tremble of her lower lip, the way her blue eyes grow glossy.

“Whoa, hold on love,” I coo, grabbing a hold of her hand and pulling her into a new corridor, opening the door to the often empty media team office to find it desolate of people once more. “Come on.”

I close the door behind us and watch closely as the blonde plots herself down on the couch, chest heaving fast. 

“Paige, talk to me,” I comfort her, following behind and sitting next to her. As the blonde lifts her blue eyes off the floor, I see she’s tearing up avoiding my gaze.

“I’m so fucking scared Iz,” she admits, lower lip quivering. My heart fills with affection, and instinctively I wrap my arms around her broad, bare shoulders in her sports bra. 

“Of what?”

“Of screwing up, everyone got crazy expectations. Everyone gonna be watching,” Paige sighs, sniffling weakly. I had never seen her like this, in my head she wasn’t afraid of anything. Guess I was wrong.

“Paige,” I begin, pulling back and grabbing hold of her warm hands. “It’s a big moment, it’s okay to be nervous, to be scared even. But you’re not gonna fail. The only expectations that matter are the ones you put on yourself.”

“I don’t know, I love my girls y’know but fuck I don’t need em here today,” she sighs, wiping a tear from her left cheek. I let my thumb help her a little, brushing against her soft skin. 

“They wanted to surprise you, they love you very much, you know?”

“I know,” Paige murmurs, her thumbs rubbing the skin of my palms. “But I just needed to focus on myself today. I dunno, just feel really fucking overwhelmed.”

“Hey,” I stop her, chasing her gaze. The blonde’s blue eyes meet mine, finally softening. “You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to pretend it’s just you and your team at practice. No audience today, no one you know watching. Just you. And whether you get none of your shots in or all of them, it’s okay. And you get to try again. You’re just dipping your toes in okay? This isn't the defining moment of your career. It’s just one of many.”

Paige listens and takes every word in, processing as her eyes remain locked in mine. Finally her brows soften and she lets out a final, relieved breath. 

“My dad really liked you, talked about you all night after you left.”

“Really?” I grin, making the blonde nod with a smile. 

“My friends too, they wanna get to know you better,” Paige adds. I feel a slight panic in my chest for a moment, the fear of what Paige might’ve said to her friends about us. After all, we had agreed to be just friends despite everything. I hope she didn’t have the wrong idea that I might change my mind.

“Wish I had time to come see you this morning.”

I feel my cheeks heat up immediately. “Yeah?”

She nods, a small grin growing on her face. “Yeah, wouldn’t be feeling so tense.”

I chuckle as her hands let go of mine, landing on the back of my head and pulling me into a sweet, caring kiss that takes me by surprise. But I can’t bear to pull away, nor do I want to. So for a moment we kiss, our lips moving together sending jolts all over my body as the blonde’s hand lowers to my waist and pulls me closer to her. Without a thought my body obeys, skirt hiking up as she pulls me on top of her to straddle her.

Both of our breathing grows heavier as the kiss turns more urgent, Paige exhaling loud through her nose as her hand finds the soft skin of my bare upper thigh, grabbing it needily making me wince. I could feel my arousal pooling between my legs once more, the blonde’s hand sliding upwards until her thumb meets the sheer fabric of my panties, pressing against my clit. We both let out a quiet, desperate whimper, me from the contact, her from how wet I already was. 

This wasn’t sensible, anyone could walk in. Paige’s first ever game in the league would start in only a few hours and she had just been crying from feeling so overwhelmed. But both of us had forgotten, too consumed by the lust that had been eating us alive. I needed her. She needed me.

Paige pulls away from the kiss, long eyelashes blinking at me and pink lips slightly parted. She looked beautiful, like she was already completely out of it. 

“Need to feel you ma, please let me,” she whines, looking for any sign of approval on my face. “Need to feel this pussy around my fingers.”

No one had ever spoken in such a filthy way to me before. And it drove me crazy. The sheer dirtiness of the things Paige said, the way her voice turned hoarse and whiny, the way she really, truly behaved like she would die unless she got to fuck me. I had never experienced it before. Everything about it intoxicated me, my soaked panties prove of how much so.

“Paige, are you sure this is smart?” I ask, my voice weak and shaky.

“Ion care about smart, need to fuck you before my big game,” the blonde murmurs, beginning to kiss my neck, fingertips rubbing gentle circles on my clit against the fabric. “Please mama, need to make you cum, that’s all I want.”

I let out another whimper, her words winning me over.

“C’mon ma, can feel how wet you are for me. Lemme help baby, lemme take care of you.”

Finally I snap, desperately nodding. Without missing a beat, Paige’s fingers hook around the edge of my panties, pulling them to the side as I stay straddling her, feeling the cool air on my dripping cunt.

“This ain’t right. I gotta see that shit,” Paige murmurs and before I understand what she means, she’s pushing me back, my spine hitting the couch as she remains still, my thighs spread wide for her as she sits in between.

Paige’s blue eyes are nearly blown out black with lust as her gaze travels slowly from my flushed face, to my heaving chest, down my stomach, all the way to the panties slid to the side, finally landing on my core. I swear I have never seen the girl so dazed, like everything around her disappeared, her lips parting further, tongue darting out to lick them.

“Fuck,” she whispers, fingers spreading my lips apart to see my wetness glistening in the lighting of the office. To see my folds and the way I was already throbbing for her. I had never been looked at like that before, yet didn’t feel shy or unsure. Because I could tell Paige was in absolute awe.

“So fucking pretty, huh?” The blonde asks, finger carefully brushing up and down against my folds and clit, making my whole body shiver. She was barely touching me yet I couldn’t fight the whine spilling from my lips. This was so unlike me, spread out in overhead lighting in a room anyone could walk into at any moment with a girl I hadn’t even been out on a date with. But it was the last thing I cared about. I needed Paige Bueckers to fuck me now.

“Paige, fuck me,” I demand, my voice breathy and brows furrowed as I watch her.

A sly grin forms on her lips as she gathers wetness through my folds with ease, beginning to circle my clit lazily. The sound is obscene, caused by how slick I had grown for her in the past few minutes. I moan softly, covering my own mouth and letting my eyes fall closed.

“What do you need? Tell me baby,” Paige coos, but she knows. She can see the way my pussy is clenching around nothing, crying for her, begging to be filled. 

“Baby,” I whimper, bucking my hips but the blonde’s free hand brings me down by my thigh.

“Use your words ma.”

“Inside,” I whisper, cheeks growing redder at having to tell the girl with words what I needed from her.

“Yeah? You need my fingers inside your pussy?”

I nod, the words making my arousal grow even more.

“Please,” I add, hoping to hurry the blonde along.

Suddenly, Paige’s fingers slide downwards towards my entrance, circling before two of them begin to break into me, painfully slowly. A loud gasp threatens to spill from my lips but the blonde covers my mouth quickly, her fingers sliding into me all the way. 

It’s impossible to describe how good it feels, to feel her touch me like this. The stretch of her fingers making my body tense and relax simultaneously. I was in heaven, surely sex never felt like this before. Only with her.

“Oh fuck you’re so tight,” Paige hisses, beginning to curl her fingers against me. The sound of squelching quickly takes over, only joined with both our moans. My back arches desperately, and I feel myself writhing for more, for the blonde to move faster.

It’s in the moment I’m about to start begging for more, the familiar sound of a keycard being slid against the reader takes over. Someone’s about to open the door. Both of us panic, Paige pulling her fingers away and quickly getting up from the couch as I struggle to get off my back, pulling my skirt down eagerly right as Trey walks in.

“Oh hey!” He smiles widely, oblivious to the heavy breathing me and Paige are both trying to get under control. “Oh Paige! Whatchu doing here?”

“Uh,” she murmurs, fingers still glistening with me before she wipes them on her thigh. “We uh,”

“We were planning that pregame interview! Should we film it soon?” I quickly interrupt, noticing Paige’s flustered expression. The shake in my legs is obvious, so I lean against the wall next to me.

“Yeah yeah, the interview,” the blonde murmurs which makes Trey’s brown eyes light up.

“Well great! Why don’t you go change and we film after.”

Paige glances at me as I do her, both of us trying to ignore the tension in the room that the man seemed to not recognise.

“Uhh yeah, lemme go do that,” the taller girl mumbles and leaves, my heart pounding faster than ever from earlier. As she closes the door, Trey turns to me.

“By the way Zari, we shouldn’t let anyone back here that isn’t part of the team, okay? Linda would freak.”

“Oh,” I say, brushing my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Trey looks at me for a while, leaning back against the desk behind him.

“You know, it’s okay to be friends with players but I think it’s better to keep things at a professional distance. Don’t wanna be getting too close, you know what I mean?”

I can tell he’s digging for something, trying to get me to fess up. Instead I cross my arms over my chest and nod. “Agreed, shall we prepare the interview?”

-

“Okay, Paige, stand here.”

Trey is maneuvering the blonde around, trying to find the best lighting as I check my notes over and over, my mind still swirling with all the interrupted moments that are growing tiresome. Paige is fiddling with her hands, staring at anything but me feeling just as frustrated by the interruption.

“Ahh, got it. Zari, would you.”

“Yes,” I murmur and step next to the blonde, a slight awkward distance between us. Every cell in me was itching to get closer, to press into her. I was dying for her. But it wasn’t the time. I had to focus on work. It was just hard to look away from her. That’s it.

“Closer Zari,” Trey chuckles, reaching for my shoulder and pushing me closer to Paige. We exchange an awkward, slightly giddy smile and I can tell the girl is beginning to blush, our shoulders pressing together. The blonde gazes upwards towards the low ceilings of the corridor, trying to kill the smile growing on her face.

“Okay, we good?” Trey asks, and I let out a soft giggle. Paige looks at me and giggles too, confusing the man behind the camera. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, we’re good,” I giggle, looking to the floor. The blonde nods in agreement, licking her lips to stifle the grin.

“Whenever you’re ready ladies,” Trey says, pressing record.

I take a deep breath, turning my eyes to the blue ones beside me. The ones I could get lost in forever. But now wasn’t the time. Not the time Izara. Work.

“I am here with our dear rookie, Paige,” I smile, licking my lower lip and looking away from the blonde, her intense gaze becoming too much. “First game today, how are we feeling?”

Paige kisses her teeth and sighs. “Oh man,” she starts, blue eyes boring into the side of my face. “It feels surreal, I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life and now it’s finally here. Feelin’ really blessed and fortunate for sure. Playing my first against the Lynx just feels right, you know.”

I watch as her lips move, the way the edges of them curve when she speaks, barely registering the words coming out from how badly I needed her. 

“Favourite thing about Dallas so far?” I ask, crossing my arms and smiling up at the blonde. Her blue eyes are sparkling, a slight glimmer in them as she watches me with a smirk. As if the camera wasn’t filming every moment.

“Oh definitely the ribs,” Paige grins, suddenly interrupted by Arike standing at the other end of the corridor.

“Yooo, bro what?!” 

Me and Paige both begin to laugh, leaning into each other as we do. My hand instinctively graces her forearm as Trey pangs the camera to Arike.

“Alright, alright. And Arike,” Paige chuckles, making me scoff.

“Oy!” I shout, slapping her arm playfully.

“And you!” She grins, raising her hands in defeat. I can’t help the blush covering my face or the stupid smile stretching across.

“As I should be,” I joke, taking a deep breath and trying to remind myself of the planned questions and of Trey’s watchful eyes. It felt impossible under Paige’s gaze so intensely roaming my face, eye fucking me.

“You’ve got some friends and family in the audience tonight, who are you most excited to see you play tonight?”

The blonde looks at me for a meaningful moment, and I don’t miss what she wants to say. What she’s trying to express with her eyes. What she can’t admit in front of Trey.

“Uhh,” she blinks stupidly, finally breaking eye contact. “Probably my dad, yeah. But I’m excited to play for all the Wings fans too, needa impress them.”

“I’m sure you will,” I smile, my tone clearly flirty yet I don’t even recognise the fact. “Happy game day!!”

“Happy game day,” Paige echoes my words, wrapping an arm around my shoulder just as Trey puts the camera down. Yet the man keeps staring over at the two of us, studying every move, every exchanged look.

“Paige! Go change and let’s start warming up, c’mon!” Chris nods the blonde towards the lockers. I see her eyes turn to me once more, softening. 

“Wish me luck ma,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me into a hug. I let her.

“Good luck Paige,” I mumble into her eyes, letting go and watching as she walks into the dressing room, leaving me alone with Trey. I could feel nerves bubbling in my stomach, heart beginning to pound in anticipation for the game. The man watches me for a while, deep in thought.

“Zari…. I gotta ask you something,” the man starts, his voice echoing in the corridor. He walks us to our office letting me know this wasn’t going to be a light subject, which made me nervous.

I sit on the desk, my legs hanging off as I cross them and watch the brunette pace around the room for a moment before turning to me. 

“Is there something going on with you and Paige?”

Fuck.

I think about lying, looking through my brain for any cover up story. There isn’t one. I was a horrible liar anyway. So I just sigh, looking down before nodding.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean for there to be but I like her. She likes me,” I admit, carefully looking at the man. “Look, it’s nothing though. Nothing serious, just fun.”

“For fucks sake Zari,” Trey sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“Excuse me?” I ask offended. Sure, it wasn’t great, but he was hugely overreacting.

Trey walks over to me and grabs a hold of my hands, stopping much too close to my liking.

“Zari, Linda is very… strict. You know this. But she does not allow anything like this, she must’ve told you? She gave me this big speech too when I came in.”

I blink at him, my lips parting a little. It wasn’t allowed. That’s it. That simple.

“Wh- no she never said,” I murmur. Trey nods, letting out a sigh.

“Zari you have to end it. You could get fired.”

My heart drops, mind starts spinning. I could get fired. Have to go back to the UK. Just like that. Fired. Just because I didn’t have the self-discipline to resist Paige.

“Trey, you’re not going to-”

He shakes his head. “No, of course not. Linda won’t know. But only if you end it now, okay? If she finds out I know I could get in trouble too.”

I look at the walls, covered in pictures of the entire Dallas Wings overtime, faces changing and some persisting year after year. I finally land on this year’s picture, on the blonde standing on the right side, smiling that familiar, wide, charming smile. It didn’t matter how much I liked her, how badly I needed her on me. None of it would matter if I got fired, if I got my visa revoked. I couldn’t do this dance we’d been playing the past month anymore. I had to end it.

-

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[gffa]

When it comes to Jedi discourse I think a lot depends on the amount of sympathy behind a statement there is. For example, "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war." is something Lucas has said, but it's in the context of how they were drawn into a trap, they were forced into roles that they were never meant to be, there's sympathy there for how the only choices here are shitty ones. "Do they compromise their morals (to fight in this war) or does everyone die and it's pointless anyway?" is basically what he said. I agree with that! But I have seen many people say, "The Jedi became corrupted by the war." and they mean it as the Jedi no longer cared about people, only themselves, they were only looking out for themselves, they were making selfish choices. There's no sympathy for the rock-and-a-hard-place situation the Jedi were in, and I disagree with that and I think that's what a lot of people are arguing back against. "They allied themselves with a corrupt government!" is another one--like, yeah, the Republic government wasn't great! But, when I say that the Separatists were worse, it's not because I'm refusing to admit the Republic had any fault, I'm saying it because that's basically the choice laid out in front of them--either you help the Republic or you let the Separatists take over, who were committing war crimes on screen. I do think the Jedi were hamstrung by their connection to the Republic! I just also think the alternative was worse, that the whole structure of Star Wars as a story was designed to hem them into this impossible choice (in as much as Star Wars is about the Jedi, when they're very much not the core of the story), that they couldn't find better options because the story wasn't set up to allow that. Could the Jedi have handled Anakin better? Ehhh, I think that's hard to say because the story itself doesn't present that, so making hard proclamations about what they did/didn't do wrong is reading into something the story didn't address. The story is about Anakin refusing to emotionally accept Jedi teachings--can we read beyond that and say there were ways the Jedi failed him? I think you can and some of them are fair (and some of them aren't), that it's a fun conversation to have, but that it's not what the narrative intention is, if we're talking about actual narrative intention. The narrative intention is that Anakin, though very human in his failings and Lucas clearly has so much affection for his Blorbo, failed to learn what he needed to learn. But there, too, I think a lot depends so much on how much sympathy comes across for the choices being made. I don't think we're meant to see Anakin as someone we can't relate to, Lucas even says that Anakin is a victim in TPM (of the Hutts and Watto, to be clear), I don't think criticism of Anakin can come without that he was trying, that he did genuinely love people. The ending of ROTJ doesn't work without us wanting for Anakin to find the good in himself! That we knew had to be there all along. So much comes down to how much sympathy there is in the criticism, how much sympathy there is for the reasons why any given character chooses the paths they do, and that's where a lot of disconnect comes from. So much Jedi criticism is done in the vein of saying, "They failed." and meaning it as an accusation of how a better choice was super obvious. But if you say, "They failed." in the sense that there was no way out of the trap that they could have possibly forseen, given the circumstances, that they did their best and they shouldn't have to be perfect to be good, then I'm all the way onboard! It's about how much sympathy there is for the context around a given character's choices and what the story allowed for them. I have no issue with saying the Jedi failed in the war, that they became corrupted by it, that their connection to the Republic led to their genocide, because I don't think the Jedi were bad for it, I think they made the best choices they could in the worst situation.

[keeryhours]

Sucking Eddie’s cock is an experience. Every time.

He’s so weak for it. When you get on your knees in front of him he groans immediately, eyes half lidded as he watches you kneel before him. He watches as your hands unbuckle his belt before undoing the button of his jeans and sliding the zipper down. He lifts his hips for you to help you pull his pants and boxers down and release his cock, thick length slapping against his stomach and precum already leaking from the tip.

“God, princess, y’look so pretty on your knees for me.”

When you wrap your hand around his cock, it twitches in your hold, his hips involuntarily thrusting up into your fist. You slowly drag it along his length, his cock smooth and soft while also impossibly hard. Your thumb pays extra attention to the vein on the underside of his dick, just the way he likes.

“Fuuuuck. Shit, that feels good. Yeah, keep moving your hand jus’ like that. Stroke that big dick, baby.”

He knows he’s huge. He gets off on watching you struggle with it, the way your hand can’t wrap all the way around it, the way you gag and choke taking it down your throat, the way tears roll down your face as he stretches you out around him.

“Too big for you, princess? C’mon, you can take it. You always do.”

When you wrap your lips around his tip, he sighs in relief, hand tangling in your hair. He pushes you down on him, thrusts his hips up into your mouth, watching the way you gag and sputter around him, struggling to take him all.

“Fuck, yeah. Yes baby. Thas’ it. So fuckin’ sexy with my big cock in your mouth. You can barely fit it, can’t you, baby? ‘s okay, you’re doing so good. Taking me so well.”

His praise only spurs you on, and you open your mouth as wide as possible as you lower your head, taking every inch of him until your nose is pressed against the curls at his base. He thrusts up into your mouth again, and you quickly pull off, making him laugh darkly.

“C’mon princess, try again. I know you can do it.”

You take him in your mouth again, this time bobbing your head along his long cock and taking as much of him as possible. You managed to take him all the way each time, and it had Eddie falling apart above you.

“Shiiiit princess, yes, yes, yes, keep doing that. Don’t stop, please baby. Need you to keep sucking that cock. Need you to take all this cum down your throat.”

You get sloppy with it, because he fucking loves that. Drool slipping from the corners of your mouth, getting his dick nice and wet. The sounds you make around him are obscene, wet and hot and so fucking filthy.

“Yeah, get real messy on it baby. You know how I like it. So good, princess.”

As he gets closer, his whines become high and desperate, his cocky facade fading the closer he gets to his high. He grips your hair tighter, his chest heaving with his breaths, thighs trembling beneath your hands. He starts fucking your face, not caring anymore about being rough, only thinking of his own pleasure.

“Fuck fuck fuck princess, keep taking it, yeah thas’ it, fuck, baby I’m so close, keep suckin’ my cock just like that. Gonna cum in your pretty little mouth.”

You want that, badly. You start moving faster, deeper, and his whines and whimpers are bordering on pathetic now, but it only encourages you. You take him all the way one last time and he holds you there, groaning as he pumps his cum into your mouth and down your throat.

“Shit! Yes yes fuuuuck, take it, take it, take every fucking drop of my cum. Take it baby, doin’ so perfect, yes fuck yes-“

When he’s done you pull off of him, tongue darting out to lick the remaining bit of his cum from the tip of his cock, making him shudder. He looks down at you with wide eyes, breathing heavily, completely fucked out.

“God, princess. You’re fucking perfect.”

[frost-queen]

🅰🅵🆃🅴🆁🅼🅰🆃🅲🅷 // part 8 (Reader x Young-il / player 001)

Tag: @slythetic, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @bitchybananaflower, @anjautembear, @noiyaaa, @filmedbyharkness , @uniquecutie-puffs, @r3va-dwme, @annasnape7, @starkeyszn, @bonelessghoul, @carrotjuicepdf, @imenekiki, @gay4hotmilfs, @yummycement, @sooyasya, @nerdytif, @hollxe1, @venavanup, @love-zami, @formula1love, @coruja12345, @ingstadstarlight, @samanthadegaro, @sweetheartlizzie07, @enhasrii, @lokiscure, @esposadomd, @hanta-seros-wifey, @verouys , @p1ckld3r, @thelastemzy , @Iglily, @hanakokunzz , @lovelifeyolo18 , @dumbestchaos, @watasinekoru , @bloooooopblopblop, @mrsyixingunicorn10 , @kyxmlii , @angelofthorr , @carolinevoight , @ooddiieesblog, @reka13, @solarpotato, @fallout-girl219, @avery-043009, @colorwastaken, @kiss-themoongoodbye, @metalbaby2

Summary: When friends are eliminated, you catch yourself losing it all. Cursing at everything around you for your loss. With a group strong, you are not left alone. Friends gathering to seek support for what is yet to come. [series]

The two pink suits neared. Coming down the steps. Gi-hun in absolute distress. Squirming against their grip. Unable to stop looking behind him. Grunts of devastation echoing through the room. The pink suits let go of Gi-hun. Dropping him or rather tossing him to the ground. He stumbled through his knees, flat forwards making you run up to him.

Kneeling down in front of him, you took a hold of his chest. Pulling him more up. Feeling Gi-hun’s hand pierce firmly in your shoulder. – “Gi-hun… where is Young-il? Jung-bae?” – you asked with desperation. Gi-hun let out a cry. Grabbing you firmer. Letting his head fall onto your shoulder.

Crying loudly as it made you swallow hard. Gaze staring in front of you. Watching the pink suits leave, yet you weren’t looking that clearly. Vision blurred with a deafening emotion. Gi-hun was tugging on your shirt, wailing as his arms wrapped around you.

The realization slowly sinking in. The reason why he had returned on his own. Young-il. Jung-bae… were no more. Eliminated. You weren’t dead, but you could feel yourself bleed out with pain. Body beginning to shudder. Shudder with grief. Gi-hun felt your sudden shudder against his chest.

Making him cup your cheeks, lifting your head up to meet up with his eye-level. Seeing how close you were at the brink of breaking apart. – “Y/n.” – he breathed out, wiping some hair out of your face. – “Mianhae.” – were the only words he was able to get over his lips. – “Mianhae Y/n.” – he kept repeating with tears.

The mission was impossible to begin with. Yet you had hope that they would succeed. You had faith that Young-il would return to you. He was untouchable. Invincible. You never thought a mere bullet would take him out. He was Young-il. He couldn’t die. Not like this. Not when you begged him to come back to you… alive.

You felt people move closer to you. Two gentle hands settling on your shoulder. – “Y/n, gaja.” - Hyun-ju said softly. Nodding numbly, you allowed her to help you up. Geum-ja walked past you, taking Gi-hun by his shoulders. Telling him to get up as well. Gi-hun kept crying unable to compose himself.

Hyun-ju’s arm moved around you, keeping you upright. Knowing if she let go, you’d just collapse under the weight of grief. She turned with you, making her way back to the beds. From your side, you noticed some people coming closer. One particular stepping to the front. Releasing himself from the group.

“That’s what you get!” – the older guy shouted. Pointing strictly with his finger around. – “Thinking you can outsmart the games.” – he added making you slow down. Turning your head slightly to the O side. Another particular guy stepped forwards. Feeling extremely smug. – “I feel bad I wasn’t the one that killed him, but I’ll gladly take his money.” – Nam-gyu laughed out.

“Ya! Jugeullae?!”– you screamed out, breaking free from Hyun-ju’s grip. Nam-gyu moved back as you were ready to attack him. – “Y/n!” - Hyun-ju called out rushing up to you. Wrapping an arm around you to hold you back.

You kept protesting, forcing your way forwards to give him a piece of your mind. – “Mi-Chin-Nom!” – you cursed out swaying your arm forwards. – “Dae-ho!” - Hyun-ju shouted for back-up. She felt how she couldn’t keep you at bay. Dae-ho came joining in, taking you by the other arm. – “Y/n, gaja.” – he said telling you to not let him get under your skin.

You screamed loud in protest. Every fibre in your body shuddering. Leaving a bone-chilling feeling through-out the room. Screams dying out in tears. Loud sobs as your feet gave away under you. You had cracked. Grasping for air. Feeling yourself choke on your tears.

“He won’t save you now!”  - Nam-gyu called out. Hyun-ju turned sharply at him. – “Shut up before I silence you!” – she made clear with a glare. Nam-gyu swallowed, tugging his hands in his pocket. Sniffing loud as he moved back. Trying to make it as subtle as possible. Dae-ho and Hyun-ju helped you back to the beds.

Gaem-ja having comforted herself over Gi-hun. Jun-hee neared but could only stare saddened at the ground. Hyun-ju and Dae-ho helped you sit down. – “Y/n?” - Hyun-ju asked as your cries had silenced. Tears streaming down your face. Voice swallowed in. Having crawled back in your shell. Nothing but staring in front of you from shock. She came sitting in front of you slowly.

“Leave her be.” – Gaem-ja spoke when you didn’t respond to Hyun-ju. Hyun-ju looked over her shoulder to her, shaking her head. – “She needs time to grief.” – Gaem-ja continued. Sounding all motherly. Trying to comfort things over. – “I will not let her grief alone!” - Hyun-ju called out with trembling cheeks.

Angering herself that Gaem-ja was asking her to shut herself out from you. To distance herself from you when she wanted to be close. Hyun-ju looked confused back as she noticed you got up. Watching you with wide eyes. Wondering what you were going to do. Hoping you wouldn’t do anything reckless.

She watched as you moved further up the platforms. Crawling onto a bed. A bed that was not yours, but Young-il’s. Taking the pillow from behind you and holding it against your chest. It made her exhale soft, feeling your pain. You cradled his pillow close, pulling your knees up. Allowing your chin to settle in the softness of his pillow.

Smelling his scent as it painfully reminded you of him. More tears streamed down your cheeks. Sinking your face in the pillow to hide yourself. Hide for you not wanted to be here anymore. All felt empty without him. Without Jung-bae.

Gaem-ja grabbed Dae-ho by his shoulder. Shaking her head to not approach you. Dae-ho came sitting back down with a hard swallow. Jun-hee came sitting by his side. Allowing her head to lean against his shoulder and slipping her hand in his. Dae-ho shuddered out a breath, taking her hand firm.

Dae-ho felt tears come up, making him look up. Blinking rapidly to keep them at bay. Jun-hee sniffled quietly at his side. The room dimmed. Yellow lights illuminating the ceiling. Knowing what was about to come, you pressed your face deeper into his pillow. The piggy bank lowering. You didn’t want to watch it. Hating it. Hating the money. Hating the games. Hating the pink suits. Hating the game master for being so cruel.

The voice came through the speakers. Announcing the players that had been eliminated. You pressed your fingers firmer into it. Player 390 eliminated. Your muscles contracting. Player 001 eliminated. Body shuddering as you started sobbing loudly in the pillow.

The money dropped into the piggy bank like a lottery win. Flashing lights and music to make it exciting. To making it thrilling and appealing. The yellow lights dimmed as you knew the piggy bank was getting pulled up. The room briefly dimmed till the bright lights flashed back on.

After a while your tears dried out. Having none left to cry. Young-il’s pillow stained with your salty tears. Deepened with your touch. A sudden weight joining you on the matrass made you slowly lift your head. Gaze going higher to meet up with Gi-hun’s. Gi-hun staring saddened back at you. Lifting your head a bit more up. Gi-hun’s gaze fell upon the wet-stained pillow.

It made him reach out for your hand. Taking it in his. Pulling your hand slowly towards him. Your upper body, leaning forwards from his tug. – “Mianhae Y/n.” – he let out in a hushed voice. Young-il’s pillow lowered to your lap as you got pulled closer to Gi-hun. – “I couldn’t save him… I couldn’t save them.”

He gave you one last pull, moving his arm behind your back. Pushing you against his chest. Wrapping his arms around you. You let your chin rest on his shoulder feeling how his body started to sway. Sway from side to side. Rocking you in his embrace. At first it made you press your lips together.

Then you loosened up. Feeling how his gesture loosened you up. A soft laugh escaping your lips. A brief moment of joy. To allow yourself to relieve the burden of the games. Just Gi-hun and you in this moment. Another laugh came from you, hearing Gi-hun let out one too. Blinking thoughtfully, his swaying slowed.

Rocking you in his embrace fading out to a stop. Breathing out deep, you moved your arm around his shoulder to put your hand under your chin. Even if it was for a moment. Gi-hun had brought some light back into you. A light you had sniffed out for good. – “Gomawo.” – you whispered to him.

Feeling another touch on your shoulder, made you pull away from him. Hyun-ju staring with teary eyes back at you. You nodded with teary eyes back. She leaned down, wrapping her arms around you. Dae-ho and Jun-hee nearing as well. Hugging them as well. Lights blackened out, leaving everyone in darkness.

Except the vivid red and blue glow of the ever so present X and O on the floor. Everyone returned to their beds. You remained. Staying in Young-il’s bed. Cradling his pillow as comfort to your chest. Needing an embrace for the duration of the night. Knowing he wouldn’t be there when you wake up.

What felt like too short, was so. The lights beaming on. The voice announcing the next morning. You had no idea how you had closed your eyes, but somehow they had. Laying on your side, pillow against your chest. – “Y/n.” – Gi-hun came kneeling beside Young-il’s bed. – “It’s time to get up.” – he said. You nodded as he made way for you to get out. Gi-hun joined the others down as the doors opened.

Pink suits entering. Triangles up front. Parting as circles rolled in the voting machine. Ah yes. Due to a tie, there would be another vote in the morning. Sighing loud, you left Young-il’s pillow on his bed. Already missing the comfort of it. Going down the steps, your eyes fell on the walls once more. Now that some amount of beds had been cleared out, it became clearer.

The figurines. Showing red light, green light. Furrowing your brows, you turned your head to the side. Seeing another set played out by figurines. Six legs. Another one. Mingle. Turning around you narrowed your eyes on a set that had not been familiar yet.

Then another one and another one as it gave you a sense. A sense of hints to what was to come. – “Y/n.” – Jun-hee called out. Pulling your gaze away, you ran down the remaining steps. Everyone gathered to vote. It seemed pointless at this point. You had lost too many X voters last night. You were outnumbered. The O’s knew it. The X’ers felt it.

Whatever hope they had left, gone. Crushed within a few moments. The voting started. You watched as the O count went up. The X count barely. “Player 400” – you stepped forwards. Pressing hard on the X button. Taking little time to vote. What did it matter anyway. You couldn’t escape another game.

Looking back at your friends, it made you swallow painfully. Then your gaze went up to the walls. Observing the hints of games. You weren’t able to rely on anyone else anymore. You needed to find strength within yourself. Strength to undergo all this. This time Young-il couldn’t keep you save.

The score settled. O voters winning with pride. They celebrated and cheered on their side. X side staring gloomy and moving restlessly around. Some pink suits leaving with the voting machine. Others entering, rolling in breakfast. You lined up, receiving yours. Silently you followed your friends back to the beds.

“Y/n?” – Gaem-ja asked seeing something in your eyes. With one look back at her, she saw enough. A lust to fight burning deep into the pools of your eyes. Contemplating. Brooding. Waiting for the announcement of the next game.  

----------------------------------------

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[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

You sat at the table, doing your best to appear interested as your date droned on about his latest work achievements. Something about managing accounts, sealing big deals, and being “essential” to the success of his company. You’d lost track of the details five minutes in, your polite smile starting to feel like a workout for your face.

“…but you wouldn’t get that,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, like you were a child. “Teaching kids and all. It’s like... coloring books and snack time, right?”

Your smile faltered, and you tightened your grip on the stem of your wine glass, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Not quite. It’s actually pretty challenging—teaching is about shaping young minds, not just... crayons.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding like he wasn’t really listening. “But you have to admit, it’s not exactly high stakes.” He leaned back in his chair, a smug grin stretching across his face. “I mean, no offense.”

“None taken,” you replied tightly, though the bile creeping up your neck said otherwise. You took a slow sip of your wine, hoping the glass might serve as a buffer between his words and your patience. Spoiler: it wasn’t working.

Inwardly, you cursed yourself for agreeing to this. What had Ava said when she pitched the idea? “Girl, you’re way too cute to be single and wasting away in that apartment of yours. You need to get out there. Shake things up. And this guy? Total catch—tall, successful, and probably rich. You’re welcome.”

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Ava’s relentless confidence had rubbed off on you, and the idea of putting yourself out there sounded... productive, if not promising. After all, your secret crush on your cute neighbor wasn’t going anywhere.

Carmy.

You couldn’t help but think about him as Ben prattled on about his “huge network.” Carmy was quiet, focused, and sweet in a way you didn’t think he realized. But he was also impossible to read. Sure, you’d had a few conversations here and there, shared a laugh or two, but he’d never made a move. You hadn’t either—paralyzed by the thought of misinterpreting things and embarrassing yourself.

Which is how you’d ended up here, with Ben. Wonderful, condescending Ben, who clearly thought your life’s work was a joke.

“And this place,” Ben said, gesturing around the restaurant with a smug grin. “Pretty great, right? Super exclusive. I know a guy who knows the chef here. Heard he’s like, a genius or something. Figured we’d go all out.”

You glanced around the dimly lit space, suddenly more aware of the upscale decor—the polished wood tables, the soft amber glow of the overhead lights, and the quiet hum of conversation that seemed to fill the air like music. It was... fancier than you’d expected.

The Bear.

You’d heard of it, of course—who hadn’t? It was one of those places people raved about, where getting a reservation was an accomplishment in itself. The kind of place where you know the food would be incredible, but the bill would make you question your life choices. Nice, but you were pretty sure you could only afford, like, a cup of water here.

Ben leaned in closer, grinning smugly. “This chef guy? Supposedly some kind of prodigy. I don’t know the details, but people say he’s a big deal. Good thing I’ve got connections, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, noncommittal, as you glanced toward the bustling kitchen. A wave of heat and light spilled out from behind the pass, where you could just make out the shadowed figures of chefs moving in synchronized chaos.

As you sipped from your wine glass, trying to find something redeemable about Ben’s endless self-promotion, you wondered if maybe Ava had oversold this whole “dating adventure” thing.

Carmy spotted you the second you walked in.

He’d been at the pass, focused on plating an intricate dish—a delicate arrangement of seared scallops and edible flowers—when his gaze drifted toward the dining room. His hands paused mid-motion, a faint crease forming between his brows as he recognized you.

You were hard to miss, sitting near the window in a corner booth, your posture poised but just slightly tense. Dressed in something a little sleeker than usual, you looked... different. Not in a bad way—never in a bad way— Not that you ever looked anything less than beautiful, but tonight, something about you seemed… striking, enough that he found himself staring longer than he should’ve.

His eyes flicked to the guy sitting across from you. The guy who was laughing too loud, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, gesturing with wild hands as he talked. You, on the other hand, wore a polite smile that didn’t quite light up the room as it usually did.

Carmy’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure why the sight of you with someone else tugged at his chest the way it did, but it lingered, heavy and unwelcome.

It’s none of your business, he told himself, forcing his focus back to the dish in front of him. You weren’t his to worry about.

You weren’t his at all.

Still, his gaze flicked back toward your table, almost involuntarily, catching the way your date seemed oblivious to your discomfort. Carmy’s stomach twisted at the thought. He didn’t know what he expected—maybe for the guy to notice the way you played with your napkin or to tone down his boisterous tone—but it wasn’t this.

“Chef?” Sydney’s voice broke his focus, sharp but professional.

“Yeah,” he muttered, snapping back to reality. His eyes returned to the plate in front of him, the arrangement now slightly skewed from his distraction. He adjusted it quickly, his movements precise but tighter than usual. “Thanks, Chef.”

As Sydney moved on, Carmy risked one last glance at you. The corner booth, the dim lighting, the guy who couldn’t seem to shut up—it all felt wrong. But he pushed it down, buried it under the quiet rhythm of the kitchen, telling himself it wasn’t his place to care.

And yet, he did.

He cared enough to, like some kind of creep, step out of the kitchen and hover near the hallway that led to the restrooms. It wasn’t a plan—not really. He told himself he just needed a breather, a moment to clear his head and shake off the knot in his chest. But he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself.

The low hum of the restaurant buzzed in his ears as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t even know what he’d say if you saw him. Maybe he’d play it off, and act like he just happened to be there. But then, what were the odds you’d even notice him? You were here with someone else, after all.

It was ridiculous, he knew that—irrational even— he should go back, really what the fuck was he thinking--

But the sound of heels clicking softly against the floor pulled him from his spiralling thoughts. His breath hitched as you turned the corner, and your expression turned to one of shock when you spotted him.

“Carmy?” you said, stopping mid-step. Your voice carried a note of surprise, but there was something else there too—curiosity, maybe, or even relief at seeing a familiar face in such an unfamiliar situation.

“Hey,” he said, standing a little straighter, as if he hadn’t just been loitering near the hallway like a guilty teenager. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You blinked, your eyes flicking over his clothes—the crisp white uniform. The realization dawned on you, and your brows lifted in surprise.

“You work here?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “I, uh... I own it.”

Your eyes widened, and you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. “You own it?”

“Yeah,” he said again, a bit softer this time. His lips twitched into a faint, almost sheepish smile. “I started it a while back. Kind of… a long story.”

You took a moment to process this revelation, glancing around the restaurant as if seeing it in a new light. The warm lighting, the carefully plated dishes you’d glimpsed on their way to other tables—it all made sense now. Of course, this was Carmy’s place. It was thoughtful, deliberate, but somehow unpretentious.

“Wow,” you said, meeting his gaze again. “That’s... impressive.”

Carmy shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. “It’s just work. Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy?” you repeated, a small laugh escaping as you gestured toward the elegant decor. “Carmy, this place is gorgeous. You’re way too modest.”

"Thanks," His lips twitched into a faint smile, but his eyes lingered on you, searching before he added, “You didn’t look like you were having a great time out there.”

You blinked at the sudden change in topic, your surprise melting into something closer to embarrassment.

“Oh,” you said, glancing toward the dining room before meeting his gaze again. “Yeah, it’s... it’s a date.”

Carmy’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, though his expression didn’t waver.

“Figured,” he muttered, his voice steady but low.

“Not a great one,” you admitted, your lips quirking into a dry smile. “Blind date, courtesy of Ava. It’s... fine, I guess. He’s just... not my type.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What’s your type, then?”

The question caught you off guard, your breath hitching slightly as his words hung in the air. You laughed softly, deflecting. “I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t treat teaching like it’s a hobby or call it a job anyone can do.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, and he shook his head in disbelief. “He did not say that.”

You groaned dramatically, closing your eyes as if the memory physically pained you. “Oh, but he did. Word for word, and I quote: ‘Teaching is important, I guess. But it’s gotta be, like… easy, right? Summers off, finger painting, all that?’ And then—then!—he laughed. Like he’d just unlocked the secret to stand-up comedy.”

Carmy blinked, his smirk fading into something closer to incredulity. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” you said, sighing dramatically. “You’d think he was trying out his Type Five for open mic night. And the pièce de résistance? He throws in the classic ‘no offense.’ Like that’s a verbal Ctrl+Z or something.”

That earned a real laugh from Carmy this time, his shoulders shaking slightly as he shook his head. “What the hell? So, this is what you’re dealing with?”

“Oh, but I’m thriving,” you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm waving your hand dismissively. “Peak romantic energy. Nothing like being told my career is a glorified arts-and-crafts workshop to really get the sparks flying.”

Carmy leaned slightly against the wall, crossing his arms as he listened. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—irritation, maybe, or quiet disbelief. “And you’re still out there?”

“Excellent question, Chef Carmy,” you said, pointing at him with mock gravity. “I think it’s a mix of morbid curiosity, sheer stubbornness, and maybe a touch of guilt. I mean, he did spring for the wine. Even if he did refer to it as a ‘top-shelf pour.’”

That made Carmy snort, his head dropping slightly as he tried to compose himself. “Top-shelf pour, huh? Sounds like a real charmer.”

You laughed softly, though there was a bite of bitterness in it. “Oh, totally. It’s been a real dream date. Honestly, if he makes one more crack about teaching being ‘easy,’ I might just—” You mimed strangling someone, your hands curling dramatically as you added a mock growl for effect.

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you shot back, your grin sharpening. “It might get me out of this date, but I’m pretty sure assault charges aren’t a great look for me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.”

Your playful energy dimmed slightly as you glanced toward the dining room. “Anyway, I should probably get back out there before he starts mansplaining the wine list to the waitress. Again.”

Carmy’s lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh, but instead, he straightened up quickly, the weight of his role as head chef settling back onto his shoulders. “Yeah, I should... head back to the kitchen too. Got a lot to wrap up tonight.”

You turned back to him, your expression softening. “Thanks, by the way,” you said, holding his gaze. “For... checking in, I guess. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged a gesture that looked casual but felt like it carried more weight. His voice dropped slightly as he replied, “Yeah, I did.”

The words hung there for a beat, his meaning lingering just beneath the surface as the two of you locked eyes. The air between you felt heavy, almost tangible, like a thread being pulled taut. You wanted to say something—anything. Maybe a joke to break the tension, or maybe the truth: that you liked him, that you wished it was him sitting across from you tonight, making you laugh instead of testing your patience.

Unbeknownst to you, Carmy’s thoughts ran dangerously close to yours. He’d been replaying every interaction with you since the day you moved in next door, every laugh, every casual smile. The thought of you with someone else—someone who didn’t seem to notice the little things about you the way he did—made his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.

But before either of you could give voice to the thoughts swirling in your heads, the faint sound of your date’s voice carried through the hallway, breaking the moment like a needle scratching across a record. You winced slightly, the weight of reality pulling you back.

“Ugh. That’s my cue,” you said, shooting Carmy an exaggerated grimace. “Duty calls.”

Carmy nodded, his expression carefully neutral, though the flicker in his eyes betrayed the emotions he was trying to keep in check. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks,” you said with a wry grin. “I’ll need it.”

Despite his words, his gaze lingered on yours, as if searching for something unspoken. For a moment, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d say something more, but instead, he stepped back, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“See you around,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, your heart squeezing as you turned to head back toward the dining room. “See you around.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were leaving something unfinished behind. And Carmy, watching you go, felt much the same, his hands flexing at his sides as he fought the urge to call after you.

When he finally turned back toward the kitchen, his jaw tightened, the moment still playing over in his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck, willing himself to focus as he pushed open the swinging door. The familiar clatter and hum of the kitchen greeted him, but it did little to drown out the thoughts circling his head.

He barely made it three steps before Richie appeared, leaning casually against the counter with his signature smirk firmly in place.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Richie drawled, crossing his arms. “What’s the matter, Cousin? Lose track of time out there? Or were you too busy making googly eyes at the customer? Can't blame you thought, she's gorgeous.”

Carmy’s jaw ticked, his shoulders stiffening. “Shut up, Richie.”

--------

Your date’s voice droned on, a monotonous background noise to your growing sense of regret. Why had you agreed to this? Why hadn’t you just stayed home with a glass of wine and a good book?

Just as you were contemplating an excuse to leave—feigning a sudden headache, maybe, or an urgent call from a friend—a waiter approached your table. It wasn’t the same one who had been serving you throughout the evening, but an older guy with an easy smile and a glimmering of mischief in his eyes carrying a small plate in hand. The plate held an assortment of beautifully arranged pastries, each one delicate and intricate, like a tiny work of art.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you said, your brow furrowing as you looked up at him.

“It’s from the chef,” the waiter replied, his tone polite but with a glimmer of something knowing in his eyes.

Your eyes widened slightly, your breath catching as you glanced instinctively toward the kitchen pass. Sure enough, Carmy was there, leaning slightly against the counter, his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze was fixed squarely on you.

Your heart gave a little jolt, heat creeping up your neck as you turned back to the table.

Your date, meanwhile, was entirely oblivious to the silent exchange. He grinned widely, puffing out his chest a little as he gestured to the plate. “See? Told you this place was top-notch. They must’ve recognized me. Perks of being a regular.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing. Instead, you bit back your amusement, your lips twitching into a barely restrained smile as you reached for one of the pastries.

“Right,” you said lightly, turning the pastry over in your hand. “Must be your VIP status.”

As you took a bite, the pastry practically melted in your mouth, a perfect blend of buttery richness and delicate sweetness. It was so good it almost made you forget the company you were keeping—almost.

“You know, this kind of attention doesn’t happen just anywhere. It’s all about knowing the right people.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, taking a bite of one of the delicate confections. It melted in your mouth, rich and buttery, with just the right amount of sweetness.

When you glanced back toward the pass, Carmy was already gone, disappearing back into the kitchen as seamlessly as he’d appeared. But his gesture lingered, wrapping around you like a quiet reassurance, a small thread of comfort in an otherwise unbearable evening.

And for the first time that night, your smile wasn’t forced.

A/N: Heyyy I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to all those people who comment, like and reblog. Like fr you all make my week. Always looking for some ideas so please feel free to ask.

Also, please tell me if you want to be tagged. Be safe out there, please the world is too crazy at the moment. <3

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe

@akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1

@darkestbeforethedawn16 @turtle-cant-communicate spideybv28 veryberryjelly @daisy-the-quake

[almostfoxglove]

ALI FAKHSDJGKH okay it's taken me 100 years to reblog this but I WANTED TO QUOTE SO MANY PARTS IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO NARROW THEM DOWN. holy shit. this was??? EVERYTHING. like, this is the canon I needed - redemption for what could have been with Helena and fulfillment of every delusion I've ever had about this man. it felt so true to the world of the show and to javi I'm actually announcing this as Canon. sorry folks!! I don't make the rules!!

gonna pop some favorite bits under the cut :,) AH

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

lord help me I would not survive this I am NOT god's strongest warrior I am a puddle on the FLOOR this is him holding the secretary's finger and complimenting her nail polish all over again DSDKFHJK

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

this is SO HEARTBREAKING ALI like what the FUCK oh my god. I feel like I can hear her and see her scared face and I'm going to cRY ABOUT IT

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys. “Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

sdhkfjhaskjhgfa

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

OHHHHH, to take javier pena apart with a massage!! HOW I YEAAARRRN

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

I love them so much. she's so charming and brings out the CRINKLY EYES and I would die for them both ok ANY DAY ANY TIME

“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately.

this is so !!!!! JAVI. saying it without saying it, ya know? that he sees her. I'm gonna cry brb

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently. “There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

MY HEART POUNDED SO HARD AT THIS PART I DONT THINK YOU UNDERSTAND

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely. Tell me where he touched you.

*screams heard in the distance* *more wailing* *barking* *hollering*

“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”

THE URGENT IN THE MOMENT NOT THINKING "BABY"??? MY PERSONAL KRYPTONITE?? ALI THIS WAS AN ATTEMPT ON MY LIFE

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

oh my god the pain of this realization fucking SLAPPED ME I just!! was there!! feeling her fear!! my chest is so TIGHT the angst is so GOOD

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special. A code, a message. A lifeline.

this was such a perfect ending. hopeful and soft but also still so javi!! and I'm obsessed with it. I've read this three times, oops. AND WILL DO IT AGAIN <3 all the ways you wove in the moodboard (THEIR LITTLE CODE PHRASE AHHHHH) are so fucking perfect and seamless. ugh. so good. thank you soso much for joining the challenge and sharing this fucking masterpiece with us, WE HAVE BEEN BLESSED. you are a talent and a gem and I adore you <3

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 | Javier Pena x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Javier's a creature of habit, a man of opportunity, and you were unlucky enough to find him when he's at his most desperate.

author's note | written for @almostfoxglove angst challenge, i really hope i did this moodboard justice ghjfkd. thank you @amanitacowboy for reassuring me while writing this behemoth + translations are at the end.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, informant!reader, set through beginning of season 3 narcos to end, angst, smut, involvement with the cali cartel, paying for info and sex, javier's a gentleman i swear, gratuitous smut, jealous!javi, protected/unprotected piv, creampies, oral (f receiving), some vague violence toward the end, happy ending

word count — 10k

The new influx of customers has been an adjustment, used to the elder regulars with orders that never changed and people who were grabbing a bite after a late night shift, it left you flustered as you reached for the pen and paper shoved into your apron, smoothing out the cloth as you approach the group of men, carrying on their conversation without a care.

“El envío llega el domingo,” It was Friday, which meant whatever was coming in would be here in a couple days—they never said what, but it was always something.

And their eyes always eat you up, hair pulled back loosely as you greet them with a smile, taking down their order as they keep their sights locked on you and commenting on the swing of your hips and the curve of your ass as you depart. 

Like rabid dogs, feral and hungry.

You’ve learned to catalog their conversation, catching onto a regular pattern of when things were coming in and out, knowing that whatever nefarious business they are involved in couldn’t be good—but they tipped well and that wasn’t lost on you.

It was almost a month of daily interaction when a new customer pops in, nearing midnight as he settles into his booth quietly, thin button-up stretching over his shoulders as he removed his jacket and tossed it into the space beside him, yellow tinted sunglasses tucked into his shirt, catching the ashtray with a single finger and lighting the cigarette already settled between his lips.

You attempt to greet him, lips parting before he interrupts you, barely acknowledging your presence as he spits out the order for a coffee, black. Dickhead, you think. The pen and paper is shoved away in your pocket and you swing your hips around the counter to fulfill his order with a side of spitefulness.

When you approached again, it was with a nauseatingly sweet smile.

“Can I get you anything else?” You ask, catching his eyes briefly as they flicker up before he shakes his head, a roar of laughter and slaps coming from the booth a few feet away, perking your eyes up at the subtle information they were sharing, scooting out of the both as they slapped a bill on the table, passing by with a vicious smirk that had your blood running cold, the graze of fingertips brushing against your ass that had you biting down on the inside of your cheek to steady yourself, nearly falling into the table as they pushed by.

The stranger perks up at that, his eyes trailing over your body with the same robotic motion as them, but with an air of curiosity, like he was examining you and your reaction. 

“No—no, just the coffee,” He assures you, both of you watch as the group of men climb into their shared truck, “those your regulars?”

“Unfortunately,” You let slip without thinking, “I’m sure their boss would hate to hear how loud they talk about all transfers and shipments—can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

His eyes drag to your breasts, more pointedly toward the nametag pinned in your shirt. 

He speaks your name before introducing himself, “Javier,” He addresses, turning to dig into his jacket before he pulls out a leather wallet, opening it to flash off his credentials, “DEA.”

“Oh–I’m…I’m not…involved with them, if that’s what you think…” You don’t know why the revelation has your nerves shot, but the fingers that wrap around your wrist ground you.

Javier has spent weeks—not a single lead or piece of evidence to follow. You were his saving grace, a goddamn miracle. He tugs lightly, pulling your attention to him.

“How often do they come in here?”

“Uh,” You blink rapidly, trying to think, “Um—three or four times a week, usually every other day.”

He speaks your name gently, his demeanor changing as he releases his hold on your wrist before he motions for you to sit, looking around briefly to assess how busy the restaurant was.

At this hour, it was only you and him.

You slide into the booth and place your palms against the table, fiddling nervously with your fingers, watching as he puffed at the cigarette a few times before placing it in the ashtray, followed by a generous sip of his coffee. 

“Everything they’ve told you,” Javier begins, pointing his finger vaguely in your direction before he points down, fingertip pressing against the table, “tell me—not a detail spared.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as your mouth opens, tongue dragging against your bottom lip as you try to access the memory stored in the back of your brain before you remember the small, mostly indecipherable notes you had been taking.

You rip the wrinkled paper from your notepad and pass it over, his brow furrowing as he attempts to decipher the information and to your surprise, he does.

Unknowingly, you had captured a loose schedule they seemed to follow when they shipped things in and out, the day trading off as weeks passed, constantly changing to throw off suspicion, but eventually things overlapped and repeated.

Quietly, Javier pulls his wallet from his pocket and tosses over a wad of bills in your direction.

You stare at it blankly, eyes dragging up to his face as he nods toward the money.

“Should cover the coffee—and a tip.”

You reach for the money, pulling it apart to count, suspicious of the amount.

Prying the bills apart you count, eyes widening as the number rises.

“Sir—uh, Javier. This is…too much.”

“Not for the information,” He clarifies, peering cautiously over his shoulder, “If I come back every week can you promise more?”

You scoff lightly, pocketing the money regardless, “I can’t promise anything—besides, it’s always the same stuff. Just when things are coming and going, nothing more.”

“Can you get more?” Javier asks curiously, an eyebrow raising as he taps the ash off the cigarette and brings it to his lips, “Like, names—anything?”

“I can try, but—”

“I’ll pay.”

Unfortunately, waitressing was a shitty job.

And you were more than willing to allow Javier to turn you into his little informant.

You nod quietly.

-

His order changes depending on his mood.

He never orders food, usually coffee or whiskey.

Nothing less, nothing more.

And you do dig deeper, giving in to the absurd attempts at flirting and playing it up, allowing the occasional touches that make your skin crawl, returning them with fervor. Luckily, you had a strong stomach and handled it with ease, catching the names of the four that frequented the restaurant often, curiously asking about work and life, giving them vague or fake answers for your own when they pried.

“Three are single,” You tell Javier as you slide him a glass of whiskey neat, “desperately.”

Surprisingly, he chuckles at that. You’ve never heard it before.

It’s a nice sound.

“One is married, two kids.” 

You pass him a piece of paper with names and information, trading off for the cash he transfers in return, pocketing it inconspicuously. He’s never there at the same time as them, so the weight on your shoulders is lifted, but the creeping feeling of being watched stays put.

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

“They like it down,” You retort with a forced smile as a customer passes by with a nod, “so—up it is.”

Conversation was always easy with Javier, his charisma oozes out without even trying. It was natural for him, casually taking your hand into his during a slow shift, examining the lack of jewelry.

“Could get you a fake one, if it would help,” Javier suggests.

Unless you already had one, of course. His eyes flick up in a silent question.

“I don’t think it would matter,” You admit, “If they want something, they’re going to get it.”

The routine continues like this for a while, until eventually, it doesn’t.

A new group of men come in one Friday, the other, and another, throwing you off kilter.

They started rotating them, keeping you on edge as the information is becoming harder to obtain despite your attempts to dig and frustrations arise in Javier, but never with you.

Sometimes they don’t even speak at all, hushed tones at the table unless you’re needed—but, occasionally they get messy. It’s usually the younger guys, inexperienced, fresh-faced, eager to please the big boss but riding on an uncapped power high.

One of the men gets particularly ostentatious, always coming in on a drunken stupor and slurred words, eyeing you like a piece of meat that he was eager to sink his teeth into. He slips you his number more than once, ignores your polite attempts at a subject change when the rest of the men are hyping him up, and rarely takes your refusal into consideration. 

Eventually the fear that has built in you overflows, suspicion arising when you leave work a night after Javier had long departed, a night of very little information exchange outside of casual talk—and even that was forced, understanding how frustrated Javier had become. 

One of the men had stuck around, only a brief crossover as Javier had stepped into the restaurant, his eyes tracking you the entire way out before you’re pulled in by Javier’s voice ordering his drink of the night, squeezing his shoulder gently in response.

You should have known better, you should have spoken up.

Javier would’ve done something then, but instead, you convince yourself to forget about that uncomfortable feeling that crept in. You knew what would help, biding your time until Javier left for the night, ignoring how he seemed to eye you too, but with a glazed over expression of worry.

There was a car you barely noticed, swallowed up by shadows and turning on as you drove down the road when you finally clocked out, the minutes dragging before you pulled into the parking lot of the chapel you had sped towards with a weight on your chest and a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You couldn’t recall that last time you had visited, but you were desperate now more than ever.

You needed solace.

Prayer comes naturally, dedicated to begging for protection over yourself, allowing the silence of the space to consume you as soft footsteps of other patrons walked by, just raising your chin as a hand clasps over your shoulder, nearly falling to your ass as you turn to connect the owner of the hand to a body. 

“Javier?” You ask quizzically, “Did you follow me?”

“No?” He looks confused, answering with full honesty.

That twisting feeling in your gut sinks further, looking around briefly.

“I can provide protection,” Javier tells you, “if you need it.”

You stay quiet, chewing gently at your bottom lip, scanning the room for familiar faces.

“Something is wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it, back at the diner.”

There was only Javier, still mostly a stranger.

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

“I spent a long time trying to take down Escobar, I find that kind of insulting, chiquita.”

He’s met with silence, understanding your need for reassurance. 

“Yes, I am,” He tells you, his gaze unwavering, “I should’ve offered a protection detail to you from the jump, but I figured me being around often enough would work—did someone follow you here?”

“I don’t know, I kinda lost sight of them.”

You fall silent, staring at a crease in the denim of his jeans as you speak. 

“Should I be worried?” You ask quietly, turning your body toward him, “Like—are they going to kill me?”

“They’re getting uneasy,” Javier responds vaguely, before assuring, “Not because of you.”

“I should…I should tell you,” You take a breath, “One of them invited me to a party, I have his number. I told him I would have to work some things out, but I never…”

“Was it this weekend?” Javier asks suddenly, the lines in his forehead creasing at the mention.

“Yeah—yeah, why—”

“Say yes,” Javier urges, “I’ll keep you safe.”

It was a big promise, but Javier’s pleading eyes worked like a spell.

“This is gonna cost, Javier.”

“Name your price, hermosa.”

–

Javier’s touch is white-hot, cigarette tucked between his lips as he brushes your hair behind your ear and presses the in-ear monitor inside, hiding it behind the gaudy jewelry attached to your ear and adjusts your hair back over, stepping back and raking his eyes over your frame casually, pinching the cigarette from his lips with his thumb and pointer finger as he blows the smoke out.

“It’s small enough they won’t notice but try and keep it covered,” He tells you, his free hand shoved into his front pocket as his presence fills your apartment, moving around sheepishly under his gaze, “I’ll be a few minutes away, if anything goes south I’ll get you out.”

You stumble slightly slipping on your heels, caught by his tight grip as he steadies you. 

“Sorry—I’m freaking out,” You admit, looking away nervously as his grip loosens but doesn’t leave, firm around your bicep as you sleep your other foot inside the hell, “Th—thank you.”

“You smoke?” Javier asks causally as you stand.

“Not really,” You respond, “Occasionally, I guess. It’s probably more social, if I’m being honest.”

He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and offers it to you, placing it between your lips as you take a small puff without thinking or being told, an effective way to calm your nerves as you focused on the action as he points toward the cigarette, “Don’t drink or smoke anything they give you tonight,” Javier warns, “communication works both ways, I need you coherent.”

He pulls the cigarette away and places it between his own lips again.

The nicotine stings your throat and chest, giving you a noticeable distraction that calms your mind. “How do I look?” You force a tight smile, twirling on your feet as the dress clung to your curves, a soft, velvet red, “Fuckable, I hope. Otherwise I’m not getting anything out of them.”

Javier snorts at that, brow creasing at your crudeness.

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys.

“Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

“Yeah, sure,” He mumbles around the cigarette between his lips, “fuckable.”

The way the word rolls of his tongue is visceral, ignoring the pulse between your legs at the vibrato in his voice and the chuckle that follows—regardless, it helped ease your nerves. 

–

It’s loud, sweaty, and overwhelming.

You thought they would choose something less…obvious.

But, it was becoming more and more clear how much of the town was under the Cali Cartel’s payroll, learning more and more information as Javier shared it with you in bits and pieces, your curiosity getting the better of you.

The idea was to mingle, drifting far enough away from your date that you might happen upon one of Javier’s more meaningful targets, not going as far as to infiltrate the heads, but someone damaging if you sunk your teeth in. 

You quickly come upon the realization that most of the men are confusing you with entertainment, rather than being a guest, quickly side-stepping the hands that reach for you as you squeeze your way toward the bar, sliding into an empty seat with a breath of relief.

“They are animals,” The voice beside you speaks—belonging to a man who was scientifically handsome; oddly perfect, hair perfectly coiffed and mused into place, a perfect set of teeth hidden behind plush lips and piercing green eyes—you had memorized the face in the picture Javier had shown you, “¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?”

You almost forget he’s talking to you for a moment, staring up at him distractedly before Javier’s voice speaks softly in your ear, “Answer him, chiquita. He’ll get suspicious.”

“Oh, yes,” You answer quickly, moving in closer to converse over the roar of music and the heavy buzz of strobe lights flashing overhead, “I seem to have lost my date, though.”

“Don’t worry,” He smirks, “I will keep you company.”

It does take a few drinks and you nursing your own, but you play into the act of being a mere accessory on the mysterious man’s arm, allowing him to drag you around the club with no real path to follow, eventually ending up with a smaller group of men huddled away in a corner, standing dutiful and quiet as the men talk amongst themselves in obscure words, almost like a code. 

“I can’t—I can’t hear them,” Javier’s speech is garbled, drown out by the music as you squint at the pain of the feedback in your ear, “can’t—hurry—”

Eventually, you find an opening to excuse yourself.

“Hermosa,” The voice freezes you in place, but the touch is gentle, surprisingly, “I would like to see you again, outside of here—”

You quickly ramble off the name of the diner, attempting to pull away, but not before a kiss is pressed against the front of your hand, feeling the heat burn through your skin like a brand before you’re slipping through the crowd, unable to take a deep breath until you’re outside.

You walk the distance to where Javier had parked originally, finding him buried deep in a conversation with someone who had pulled up in another car, hands curled around the driver’s side window, his head turning as he heard the distinct click of your heels.

“Fuck,” He curses, approaching you with his hands hovering around you—not touch or prodding, almost hesitant to cross that boundary unless it was absolutely needed, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” You answer confused, nose scrunching up as you peered around him at the unknown agent, his window rolling up before he drove off, “what’s that about?”

“We think someone might have jammed the comms—there’s no way to know, it could have been the club itself, one of the agents is going to look into it—”

“Can you drive me home?” You interrupt suddenly, rubbing at the spot on your hand that the man had kissed, feeling dirty, “I’m full up on being felt up tonight and I want to change.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Javier replies after a moment of hesitation, “let’s go.”

You rip the device from your ear the moment the passenger door closes.

–

Javier places your heels against the floor as you walk barefoot into your apartment, a simple but kind gesture as your belongings scattered against your kitchen counter, fingers dragging through the front of your hair and back as you smeared your makeup in the process.

“Oh, the uh—the code,” You remember suddenly, “something about a bridge, as the sun rises…something with water. The guy, the picture you showed me. He approached the four you told me were important. I don’t think they liked me being there, but I also think they assumed I was too ignorant to remember a few words.”

Javier pauses, hands digging into his hips as he paces near your door.

“Do you want a beer?” You ask curiously, the furrow in his brow sinking deep as he attempts to decipher the code, he nods silently.

You figured with the information bestowed he would leave, but instead he stays, sipping at his beer for over an hour as you watch him move, his brain working things out in real time.

He’s beside you know, hands pressed into the counter as he pushed his body away, staring down at his feet as he repeated the words aloud, but quietly, like a murmur. 

“Are you sure they aren’t distributing right under your nose?”

Javier’s head tilts to the side as he looks at you, confused by your analogy.

You stare out your window for a moment, curtains pushed open, the gray luminescence of the moon illuminating the inky night sky, “I mean, they’re obviously paying people off, always partying at clubs—wait, the bridge and water,” A thought pops into your head, grabbing Javier by the hand before you’re pulling him to your apartment window, “what if they’re meeting on boats? I mean, not to say that’s how it’s getting it in, but—”

“That…makes sense,” Javier says, void of any distinct emotion as he takes a long chug of his beer before placing it on the ledge of the window, rubbing at the shoulder of his opposite arm.

“Annoyed you didn’t think about it first?” You tease, turning to tilt your head at him like he had earlier.

“Hadn’t gotten that far yet, we’re still trying to put the pieces together,” He grimaces at the tightened muscles, rolling his neck as his hands settle back against his hips, “that’ll help, though.”

“Sit down,” You urge him, pointing toward your couch and Javier looks at you with dull amusement before you’re urging him again with your insistent finger, eventually he relents.

Immediately, you round the back of the couch and allow your fingers to dig into his shoulder, working out the soreness with deft fingers, “Shit—you don’t have to,” Javier begins to protest before your hand is curling around the back of his head and pushing it forward, molding him to how you needed him positioned as your fingers dig in deep, “that’s, fuck, that’s…shit, right there.”

His voice is pure erotica, but it makes your lips curl in amusement. It was that pathetic desperation you heard so often from the men you served daily—that slight pitch to their tone as they tried to grab your attention, but with Javier, he’s completely detached.

His hands were tucked between his legs, head resting forward as you dug in with a strong, pointed touch, his groan reverberating down his spine. 

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

“Oh, come on,” You tease, “I was just getting started.”

Javier shakes his head and stifles the laughter in his chest, resting against your couch as his hands circle the beer in his grasp, looking up at your face, tilted down toward his own as your fingers curl around the back of the couch, straps slipping down your shoulders in your relaxed state.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Javier checks, given you’ve had a proper amount of time to wind down from the adrenaline of being inside the club surrounded by dealers and potential kingpins.

He’s worried. He barely knows you and he’s still worried.

“It’s a rush,” You admit candidly, “But, I’m pretty resilient, Javier. Work is work. I’ve dealt with worse assholes on the job, I’m good at putting on a face when I need to.”

“What about now?” Javier asks curiously, eyes exploring your morphing expression of amusement to bashfulness, the way he’s staring at you outright, words unspoken.

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

He doesn’t like the way this job winds him up, the tension taught in his spine and unrelenting, staring up at you with a tinge of a buzz from the alcohol and the sight of your sloping breasts spilling out of your dress.

He’s used to driving miles and miles for peace of mind and a nice body to sink into, but you’re here, you’re smiling at him and he’d be damned to refuse the opportunity you’re presenting to him, leaning down as his hand comes up without thinking, twisting in your hair as his head turns to meet yours at the same angle, placing his beer down in the same instance.

“The fucking worst,” He echoes, his hands crawling up the edge of your dress as you climb over the couch with his guidance, speaking through rushed exchanges of lips, his hot, beer-tainted breath against your skin as he situates the dress up at your hips, straddling him without a second thought, “you were right about the dress—”

“Fuckable,” You both agree in unison, sighing audibly at the kiss he places to your chin, neck, shoving his face between the valley of your breasts as you work silently at his jeans, the clang of his buckle, metal against metal as you loosen it enough to free his straining cock, his breath catching as you wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his shaft.

“M-My wallet,” He chokes out, muffled as your tongue dips into his mouth, stop briefly to savor the touch as his hands cups your face, eventually drifting into your hair in a similar manner to earlier but then he’s tugging, “got—got a condom.”

“Of course you do,” You snort in merriment, “is that—is that what we’re doing?”

Javier nods eagerly, never separating more than a millimeter from your lips as you stare at him, his eyes staring right back, searching your expression for any minute twitch of deception.

When Javier fits himself inside of you it is with a broken grunt, a curse under his breath, and a hand squeezing tight at your hip, fingers digging into the bunched up cloth as he wraps his opposite arm around your back, pulling you toward him with a sharp snap of his hips.

You gasp, falling over the back of the couch as your hands grasped at the surface in desperation, the start of a quick but all consuming pace of his hips, his lips mouthing at your skin; arms, fingers, even over your ribs, biting gently through the velvety fabric of your dress, stifling his shaky moans, attempting to avoid the glaringly obvious fact that he hasn’t been able to release his stress like this in weeks.

A willing participant, a body, convenience. 

Deep down, you know. 

But, you found yourself in the same mix of issues.

Regardless, you both ignore it.

–

Javier is gone by morning—or, what is left of it. 

The exhaustion of the night and the sex catching up to you, coming undone on his cock as he gripped your ass, feeling the bruises he’d left in the process and remembering the soft, filthy words of encouragement he had whispered against your skin as you came.

He even locked your apartment and slipped the key under the crack in the door, stumbling toward the glinting gold piece on the ground and the folded up note on the ground, eyebrow creasing at the sight as you kneel to the ground, adjusting your dress hastily. You squint to read the hastily written note.

Got a lead. Money is for last night.

You peel the paper open and spot the money inside, eyes widening as you slowly realize that this was far more than he’s given you before, nearly double the first time, slowly you fold the paper back over and check the back, inspecting the item as a whole before you notice the writing on the back.

We should do it again sometime, chiquita. 

You look up at the door slowly, at the cash, before peering over your shoulder at the couch, still indented with sleep and a blanket strewn carelessly over the cushions.

He paid you for sex. He’d made it transactional. 

There’s a brief moment where you’re stricken with offense, half the mind to track him down and chew him out, but you remember how your exchange started and ultimately how it would end.

Plus, it was half your rent paid for from the result of the type of sex you haven’t allowed yourself to have in far too long, disconnected from feeling and fully freeing. 

Besides, it must be a regular thing for Javier and you couldn’t even blame him.

He was only doing his job.

–

A protection detail does work for a brief time, at least, it eases some of your worry.

It was a younger agent, Javier had told you, little to no responsibility outside of keeping his eyes on you and reporting back when necessary. As some of the leads start to blossom, Javier appears less and less, but still follows through on his payments when you have information to exchange, even if it’s only a name or time of day for something.

You do find the boldness to ask him about the money he’d forked over for sex, flowing lightly into conversation as he gives you a recount of his time with Escobar after a night of curiosity and lacking customers drags you into the booth beside him.

Always taking careful note of any personal tidbits he would offer. You knew he wasn’t married or that, at the very least, he was an expert at hiding it. No kids, no spouse, no baggage.

“Is it hush money?” You ask bravely, counting through your tips for the night as he sips gingerly at the glass half full of whiskey, “Because if so, I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyways.”

His brow creases, confused for a brief second before you mouth the words.

My couch, the sex.

“Didn’t want things getting confusing,” Javier admits, “If it’s any consolation, the sex was good.”

“You’re too complicated for me anyways,” You snort softly, separating the bills accordingly as you glance over at him briefly, a soft hum in his throat as his lips wrap around the edge of his glass as he downs the rest of the liquor, “Was it a one time thing?”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Javier admits, “figured I should draw the line early—you aren’t offended are you? Because if you need me to remind you how good it—”

As you finish, dragging the money into one pile, you shrug, “I’m off in thirty.”

The sway of your hips as you exit the booth and head toward the back of the restaurant is enough to have Javier suffering half-hard in his jeans, legs widening as he inconspicuously rubs his palm over the denim to adjust himself, awaiting the small nod of your head around the corner that comes half an hour later. 

–

Javier is efficient, you learn.

What first starts off as a casual trade turns into pure, unrestrained stress relief. 

It bleeds into work for both of you, finding time to drag him off into the back office when you knew it was available, fucking over the desk with any empty kitchen and diner as the hours waned into the early morning and everyone was either on break or asleep.

You never offer up much about yourself, very little about your life before moving to Colombia or why you’ve stuck around for so long—but he does know you’re disconnected from your family almost entirely, completely alone.

He has a huge family back in Laredo, people that clearly care about him, catching him on the phone with his father one night as they bickered lightheartedly, something about Javier needing to find time to vacation sooner rather than later.

When you have sex at your apartment, he always smokes afterwards, whether in your bed or by the open window in your living room, always careful about the barrier of clothing that remains, never entirely naked in front of one another.

He doesn’t look at you either, won’t kiss you further than something quick—a wet, sloppy exchange of tongues as he fucks into you from behind, pulled back tight to his chest as his hand strains and squeezes around your neck to turn your head toward him.

And he never stays, doesn’t stay hung up on goodbyes. 

He waits until you’re asleep, places the money at your bedside, and leaves.

But, there is a moment when you hear the tone in his voice switch, almost offended.

You’re both naked from the waist down and he’s thrusting into you lazily as his lips latch onto the section where your neck meets your shoulder, recounting the details that you’ve learned today, easily killing two birds with one stone.

He mentioned something earlier that night about a bust gone wrong, chewing frustratedly at his bottom lip as he spoke more with his eyes than his words before you had dragged him toward the back.

“Benny offered to take me on a date,” You address lightly, voice hitched as Javier used his palm against the inside of your thigh to spread it wider before it curls around the back of your knee and pulls up high over his lip, “he bought me an outfit and everything.”

He racks through the catalog of names in his brain.

Benny. Benny…Benito?

He wasn’t aware he’d spoked the name out loud until you’re responding with a soft acknowledgement as the desk bangs against the wall, your hand flattening out behind you for support, “Yes—same thing. I’m sure it’s for the—”

“The gala, yeah.”

He had spent the past few weeks trying to approach a way to get inside, knowing that this would be an opportunity to track the ever-expanding tree of sellers and suppliers, a front for the obvious drug trade that was happening, as you phrased it, right under his nose. 

The boat lead had only gotten them so far, knowing that there was much more nefarious shit going on that he was grasping at straws to collect off of, using you as his main source of information.

He knows it’s dangerous, but damn were you good at it.

“When did that c—come up?” Javier asks, grunting into your neck as his orgasm creeped in, his fingers drifting expertly over your clit as they had a dozen times before.

“Couple weeks ago,” You reply casually, both you falling into your eventual orgasms and only hearing him speak as he’s already disposed of his condom and was buttoning his jeans up.

“When were you gonna tell me that?”

It feels like a heavy weight on your chest, the clear betrayal in his voice coming from absolutely nowhere, immediately forcing you into defense mode as you sneer at him, adjusting your top back into your jeans as you tie your apron around your waist.

“I’m telling you now,” You retort, “I wasn’t even sure he dropped the clothes off here yesterday.”

It couldn’t have been that crucial of a detail, given that the gala wasn’t happening for another week according to the information that had been figured out.

Javier looks stiff suddenly, shoving his wallet into his back pocket before your hand is twisting around his bicep and shoving him back until he faces you.

“Is there something you need to say?” Your eyebrows raise slightly, expectant of the harsh words that were bound to be slung your way.

“I’m paying for information—honesty, too.”

“Yeah, well, you’re also paying to have sex with me.”

Javier isn’t sure why he feels it—it isn’t jealousy, necessarily. Just betrayal, that over the last few months you didn’t feel comfortable enough to share the information with him immediately, weary of the temptations of the cartel and the idea that they could pull you in, flip you against him.

He worries for your safety and well-being, knowing that he would be the one living with that guilt if anything happened to you. You were a friend at the very least, something few and far between for Javier after Steve had left. If he wasn’t at work or his own apartment, he was with you.

Javier forces a breath through his nose and huffs, eyes flicking toward you intensely. 

“It’s important to know this shit, so we can prepare.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, alright? It’s not like I’m keeping secrets. I’m sure you could do your research on me if you wanted, if you haven’t already. I have nothing to hide and nothing to gain, Javier.”

His shoulders relax slightly, widening as he puffs his chest out and takes a breath, “Yeah, but they have plenty to gain from you—we have to stay ahead.”

Always one step ahead.

–

The gala comes and goes without much preamble—and you know you’re serving as mostly arm candy, dressed scantily as you hand on the arm of a man you barely know, paraded around as a prize he’s won and showing off to his friends, but he’s surprisingly respectful.

Or, biding his time. You couldn’t tell. 

You don’t force off his small advances, a gentle touch or something too close for comfort as he lips pressing against the shell of your ear, whispering something you don’t pay much attention to as you survey the event, spotting a flurry of faces familiar and unfamiliar, picking up on names and information as it arises.

Javier could still hear everything on his end with the small, nearly invisible communication device shoved into your ear, hidden underneath your hair similar to last time, careful of which side you allowed Benny on.

“My boss is sending us on vacation soon,” You didn’t pay much attention, but Javier was, “could be fun, if you wanted to go—I could talk to him, he’d like you.”

Perfect. Useful. You can already hear the words that would float around if the opportunity arises. You prayed it would never get that far.

“Change the subject,” Javier says tensely, knowing you were traversing into dangerous territory.

“I’m sure your boss won’t mind, I’ll talk to him, too,” You can feel the smirk over your shoulder before you turn, wondering if he had ever met the owner of the diner or he was purely assuming, regardless, you laugh it off quietly.

“I have to stick around and keep things going, they wouldn’t survive without me,” You switch gears easily, “I don’t see you often, just your friends—why don’t you come around more?”

He’s only appeared a couple times and both were brief, first to ask you to the gala and then to give you the dress, almost like he’d rather avoid the place entirely. You were careful of giving him any personal information outside of where you worked, knowing that it wasn’t already accessible information.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t think it’s about what I want, is it?” You retort playfully, a smirk growing on his face as his thumb slides over your chin, careful how deep of a jab you make, “It’s up to you.”

Benito’s hand rubs over the back of your dress and down, fingers modeling against the loose wrinkles in the fabric as he moves over the curve of your ass and squeezes, a small squeak escaping your lips as you bite down at the inside of your cheek, ignoring the knee-jerk reaction to elbow him in the stomach.

“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately. 

The next hour drags painstakingly slowly, but eventually Benito drops you off at the diner at your insistent request, despite his pressuring you to invite him back to your apartment.

When you step into the threshold of your living room, Javier is already opening up the dinner had ordered at your subtle request earlier that evening, a smug smile on his face as you shake your head in exhaustion, sleeping over you hills in and instant and half-way stripping out of your dress before you even make it to your bedroom.

Javier grins in amusement as you thrust the device that you rip out of your ear into his chest, quietly tucking it away on the table as he prepares the food.

You’re dressed for comfort when you return, a shirt reaching beyond your thighs as you settle the bare skin against the barstool, underwear peeking out as you sit, immediately shoveling the food into your mouth.

You ramble out the names you caught onto, watching as Javier scribbled them down, rubbing at your temples to soothe the growing headache as you finish up your food and shove it aside, eventually slumping against the counter as you groan weakly.

You can feel Javier’s hand graze your knee, squeezing gently at your thigh, a silent invitation.

“I’m so tired, Javi,” You admit, “You can keep your cash, don’t worry. The whole thing was a bust, anyways.”

The chair creaks as Javier leans toward you, whispering against your ear, “Ven aqui,” He beckons as he pulls at your arm, guiding you silently to your room, half-expecting him to tuck you into bed and leave, but then he’s guiding you backwards toward the mattress and spreading out between your legs on the duvet as he removes your underwear, your lips forming into a subtle pout until he’s splitting you open with his tongue, a gasp escaping at the sudden sensation, fingers twisting into his hair roughly.

“Javi, what are you doing?” You inquire—it was new, a careful line drawn between you both earlier on that it was strictly sex, disconnection, but now he was trying to leave the impression of his tongue against your cunt as he devoured you all at once, squeezing at your thighs to spread them open further, a sated expression on his face that had to be a mix of his own exhaustion, delirious with want.

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently.

“There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,” You squeeze down tightly as your eyes fall shut, his mouth sucking over your clit as your back arches off the bed.

You come faster than you expect and had you known his mouth was so talented, you would have suggested this earlier, but through the waning of your orgasm you feel his tongue drifting over your skin in the wake of his previous touches, lapping at the salty skin before his tongue eventually finds the way toward your breast, swirling around the sensitive skin as your nipple hardens against his mouth, innately curious of his actions but not voicing them.

There was never any predicting with Javier, figuring that maybe he needed a little more distraction tonight, but as your orgasm dissipates and the hand in his hair stays, he never moves, only a low rumble to his breathing as you attempt to catch your own breath before you’re slowly leaning up and realizing his eyes were shut and he had fallen asleep.

Whatever was ailing him had finally taken hold, able to squirm away through his heavy sleep before you’re draping a blanket over his frame, still dressed from the day.

You can’t find the courage inside yourself to disturb him as he took up half of your bed, opting for the couch in the off-chance he woke up in the middle of the night to you beside him, stirring up another list of issues you didn’t feel like dealing with.

–

Surprisingly, you wake before him. The sky barely fading out of night as you stir, rising from the couch as the bulky phone on the counter—it was Javier’s, you knew that.

But still, you answer it. It couldn’t hurt, just tell them to leave a message.

Instead, as you hear the familiar voice on the other end, you find yourself pulled into an unsuspecting conversation with his father that drags into the morning hours as the sun rises, meandering over breakfast before you here him stirring in the other room, trying to ignore how pleasant but telling the conversation with Javier’s father was as you place the phone down on the counter and begin cooking breakfast, silently, still half-dressed in the clothes from the night prior, minus your underwear strewn somewhere on your bedroom floor.

He’d asked how Javier was doing when you told him your name, surprised that he was familiar with you, learning that Javier had spoken about you to him, though briefly.

Probably in passing, maybe. You try not to dwell on it.

“He seems fine,” You told him, “Busy, though.”

He’s always busy, he tells you. Cuidar a mi hijo.

He was worried, rightfully so. But, Javier was an adult, his own person. 

He wasn’t your responsibility and you weren’t his.

And you try to ignore the strange sensation in your chest at the immediate elation from his father hearing your name, like an old family friend hearing from you for the first time in years, even though you knew very little of his father.

You’ve learned enough about Javier, at least. His likes and dislikes, vague interests that he commented on, the grimace in his face that would grow deeper the harder he got stuck on something, a thought or idea.

Javier clears his throat as he enters the kitchen, avoiding your gaze as you slide the meat and eggs onto two separate plates before passing it to him.

“You could have woke me up,” He said, looking up at you briefly with mused hair, his shirt wrinkled from sleep.

“Your father called,” You ignored his comment, “you should call him back.”

“You talked to him?” Javier asks blankly, no distinct emotion shining through.

“For, like, half a second,” You lie, “I just told him you were asleep.”

He didn’t need to know his father’s worry or how much he’d given away about what he knew of you, secrets that were obviously meant to be kept between them, but as Javier chews with thought, eager to break the lingering silence, he asks.

“He mentioned it, didn’t he?”

You shrug your shoulders cluelessly, “I think you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“That I’ve talked about you, or at least, he knows who you are.”

“It’s none of my business, really.”

“He hears you, at the diner—he’s nosey. I’ve mentioned you in passing. I just…I know how he gets, I don’t want you thinking anything is going on,”

“I’m not paid to think, Javier,” You tell him.

It’s disparaging, his nose scrunching up slightly at your words and the emptiness with which you throw them. This is where he always seemed to fuck up, distinguishing work from his life but somehow maintaining the balance of peace and humanity.

Do you want to explain last night? You mind screamed, but instead you offer him his coffee, the usual black with minimal or no sugar, giving him the option as you slide the mug and container in his direction. He fishes blindly for his wallet but your hand stops him.

You sigh, “That’s not—I wasn’t implying you need to now. I—I just think we should maybe reframe what we’re doing, given that things have…progressed,” The word lingers on your tongue while you bite at your bottom lip. “I’m worried they might find out where I live or about you—or the fact that I’m literally helping the DEA catch them and praying can only do so much and I’m here alone—”

“Hermosa, slow down,” Javier urges, shoving his wallet back into his pocket at your guidance and avoiding the obvious domesticity of having slept overnight in your apartment and ate the breakfast you cooked him. 

It was in his nature to care, to a degree. It was his downfall sometimes, to a devastating fault. He striked while you were vulnerable and roped you into his own mess, now paying for it with guilt that had seeped into his personal life, spending the entire night prior picturing how Benito was handling you, how he could step in—how it could have been him instead.

“She doesn’t sound like work,” His father had told him a week ago, returning a flirtatious quip as you had passed him his usual coffee and offered him a light for his cigarette after his hadn’t worked, that sort of boyish tone in his voice that his father picked up on in a second.

The lines had blurred with Helena after a while, a similar circumstance that he continued to find himself in—paying for info, paying for sex, attempting to make it impersonal. But, here you were, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, and he didn’t know how to fix the mess he had made. 

He couldn’t see you hurt or send you into danger like he had with Helena, the helpness he’d felt as he discovered her near lifeless body, covered in blood and bruises after she had been beaten and traded around—it couldn’t happen, it wouldn’t.

–

Javier returns with a phone later that day, similar to his with his number attached to a piece of paper he shoves into your hand as he directs you to pack a bag in the case of an actual emergency, something quick to grab that you wouldn’t have to second guess about. 

“You’re making it seem like I should be leaving now,” You tell him, taking the items he passes into your hand as you fold a stack of clothes and toiletries into the bag.

Javier shakes his head, “It’s better be safe,” He explains, “I…doubt—I don’t think they would be. We have someone listening around the clock, people on the inside, there haven't been any red flags.”

“What if something does? What if I can’t reach you?”

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” He tells you simply, your face contorting in confusion. “It’s a code—a phrase only you and I know. If you use that, it means danger. Through a note, or that phone. I just have to hear it.”

You zip the bag up in silence, feeling the weight of the web you had tangled yourself in finally settling, curious if you would be back at square one, fleeing to a different country to escape your problems.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

You nod, a subtle motion but Javier sees it.

“Javier, we should talk,” You echo once more, though with different meaning, “about last night.”

“I’ll still pay, hermosa—that isn’t a problem.”

You could handle the way it was eating at you.

“No, I mean—I mean why did last night happen? Why is your dad telling me to keep you safe?”

His face hardens at the mention of his father.

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely.

Tell me where he touched you.

“You started this, you know?” You remind him, “You made this transactional.”

Was he scared of you?

Eerily silent he remains, you speak for him.

“I’m not a whore either, so if that is how you view me—I really don’t want your help at all.”

The keys in hand are gripped tight as you chance a glance toward the floor, his body entirely unmoving, his eyes downturned and staring in a similar direction, almost like he couldn’t find the words.

I”m not asking you to give a shit about me, but—”

His answer is a kiss, searing and intense, keys tossed to your bed as his fingers dive into your hair, curling around your head as you make a sound of surprise, steadying yourself as you grip his biceps and stumble backwards, tripping over the dress you had stripped yourself of last night.

You still hadn’t dressed from earlier, his hands flattening against your hips as he molds the soft flesh under his grip, his teething biting into your bottom lip as he murmurs, “Belt, get my belt,” without question, your fingers go to work, ripping the leather away in a practiced motion as you continue to unbutton his jeans, “—think I don’t give a shit, are you fucking insane?”

“A little,” You jest, “I mean—I’m helping you, aren’t I?”

This felt strangely vulnerable, his fingers pulling at your shirt with a deliberate endgame.

Naked in the natural lighting of your room, his fingers reaching for his own shirt as you work his jeans down his hips, appreciating his tanned skin as it shines with a thin layer of sweat. Despite the sticky heat that permeated throughout your apartment, his touch is cooling, comforting even.

“Another freebie?” You tease him further, hearing him snort as he reaches for his wallet and crowded you on the mattress, opening the tight leather before he grabs a wad of cash and shoves it into the sheets before tossing his wallet aside and diving between your breasts.

“Making me a poor man,” Javier retorts, peeking up through your tits as he squeezed them in his grip, mouthing delicately along the skin, “shit—but this, s’fuckin’ priceless.”

“I’m—fuck, I’m kidding, Javier. I don’t want your money. Never wanted it.”

It had always been about convenience, never expecting things to end up like this.

It was a mess, both of you were.

He’s seeing all of you, for once, and you him. 

And you know he needs, wants, without saying.

He fucks you slow, legs hitched around his hips as buries his head into the space beside yours, only rising as your noises grow with intensity, the bluntness of your nails digging into his skin.

“Inside,” You beg, “inside of me, Javi.”

He moans pathetically, lips squished against your cheek as his hips falter.

“Yeah?” He grunts, “Can I?”

You giggle airly at his question, nodding fervently.

“Mierda,” He curses brokenly, groaning softly into your skin as he pumps himself inside of you, the warmth of his cum filling you to the brim, oozing out as his hips slow, his hands kneading into your skin as he rests, breathing rapidly against your chest.

“We should—should talk, Javier.” You tell him again, after a moment of silence. “Like, really talk—you know?”

Javier hums in acknowledgment, “Tonight—give me until tonight, okay?”

Tonight was good enough, for now.

–

The first thing you feel when you rouse from sleep is pain.

White-hot and persistent, restrained by your hand as they’re tucked behind your back. You feel more hands, the sound of stiff leather and the smell, overwhelming as it invades your senses.

“I see why he keeps you around,” The voice comes from behind, eyes bleary as you blink before the hand in your hair grips tight, only catching the fist coming at you from your peripheral before your world goes dark.

When you wake again, you’re upright and in a chair, head slung back uncomfortable as you attempt to stretch, feeling heavy and groggy as you move, remembering the moment from earlier you become alert within seconds, eyes searching around frantically as you spot two men.

They were strangers, faces covered, but obviously sent here for a reason.

“Benny thought he could get it out of you,” The man says dismissively, “you foreigners—stupid, messy, predictable.” He grabs the fabric of your dress and plucks the small, miniscule device from the fabric that you missed, squinting to see it before the man breaks it between two fingers and tosses the dirtied fabric aside.

“We got her to ourselves, plenty of time to—”

“No,” The other man replies sternly to the obvious subservient man, “her boss—that’s what we came here for.”

“My boss?” You croak eventually, “At the diner? What do you want with—”

The gun he pulls from his back silences you in an instant. He reaches for the phone on the counter, the yellow sticky note still attached, “That him?”

“It’s mine,” You reply with ease, “I’m forgetful and—”

Your throat swells as he ignores you, dialing the number.

You hadn’t let the reality of the situation settle until you heard Javier’s voice on the other end, careful to not give anything away as his voice comes across more energetic than usual. They didn’t seem upset at the lie, but the finger on the trigger squeezed slightly as his voice came through, a silent order to play along.

“Hola, chiquita,” Javier greets smoothly, “¿Todo bien?”

You laugh softly, “Yes—yeah.”

You know what they want, what they need.

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” You beg, voice unwavering as you stare the two men down, both of them seeming satisfied by your ploy to get Javier to the apartment without much argument.

The line falls dead without a response, the phone tosses aside to the floor as it shatters into pieces. 

Unfortunately, they weren’t going to get it easily.

–

You wished you could warn him.

One wrong move and the blade at your throat, the gun to your head—they would be your undoing.

You stared blankly at the broken lock and hinge of your door, footsteps approaching as you whimpered, the sharpness of the knife pressing against your skin as Javier whips around the corner and into the apartment.

The white-hot pain returns as you’re met with the butt of the gun, slumping from the chair as chaos whirls around you, curled up on the floor and crawling desperately away from danger as someone screams, gargling as it sounds, probably on their own blood. 

You couldn’t look back, breathing panickedly as you hid behind the couch and huddled in on yourself, a gun going off unexpectedly as your ears ring, gasping as you hear the sound of a blade puncturing skin once, twice, before it clamers to the floor.

You wait a moment, although it feels like eternity, expecting the cold press of a gun against the back of your skull, but instead it was a hand and eventually another, the faint smell of a familiar cologne that brought you comfort and warmth.

“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”

Out?

You look up, his eyes wild but lacking any indicators of violence.

“It isn’t safe here.” He reiterates, “Can you walk?”

You nod weakly, feeling his hand wrap around your waist as he assists you in rising to your feet, still discombobulated and wobbly, he sticks by your side as you grab your things, silent as he eventually, alongside the crowd of presumably agents and police that pass by, invading your apartment, Javier is a guiding light of reassurance before you’re barricaded in the safety of his car.

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

You blink, feeling the sting of tears as you look up at Javier.

“Things are getting worse. It isn’t safe for you here, not anymore.”

“Here? What—what do you mean?”

–

Here meant Colombia.

Which is how you ended up in Texas two weeks later. Laredo to be specific. 

Javier had a place close to home. His family.

And you had talked extensively, it was the only thing that kept the panic from consuming you that night as he drove you to the embassy, tying up some loose ends before he drove you to the airport without any explanation until he was shoving the ticket into your hand.

His father had been waiting for you, as somber in expression as his son. 

They were so similar it made your heart swell, an unfamiliar feeling. 

Javier couldn’t explain what he was feeling for you and you could accept that, but he was careful and adamant in the idea that you would spend your time at his home, already setting you up with a similar job in town, a seamless transition that felt strange, but oddly easy to settle into.

“What if I just left?” You tease him one night, hearing his desk creek as he head slumps into his unoccupied hand, “Would that be easier for you?”

“No,” Javier says sternly, “I’m—this…I think I might be done. Feels like I’m fighting a battle that I’ll never win, feelings fucking pointless.”

It had been months now, curled up on his couch as you stared out the window and toward the empty road, wondering if the chill of fall was creeping in as the cool breeze hit your skin, “No more waitresses to help you out down there, huh?”

Javier snickers at that, though it was quiet.

“Stop that,” He chastises, “It’s not funny.”

You giggle in return, “I know, I know—just remember who’s keeping your bed warm every night, yeah? Oh—and your dad, he keeps asking when you’re gonna call.”

You hear him huff at that, clearing his throat awkwardly as he mumbles an apology to someone on the other end, the faint hum of the office around him feeding through the receiver. 

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.”

It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special.

A code, a message. A lifeline.

Javier was barely surviving amongst the cartel as tensions had pulled taut and drug trade seemed at an all-time high, nearly unstoppable anymore. 

It was beyond him, out of his control.

And for the first time in a long time, he has a reason, a want, to come home.

“Soon, chiquita. Soon.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice and it worried you immensely. 

“Don’t let it consume you, Javi. You’ve done enough.”

On the other end, his brow furrows. Disgruntled and annoyed at how right you were, echoing the similar sentiment his dad had told him a thousand times. 

He was done, he wanted out.

-

"El envío llega el domingo." / The shipment arrives on Sunday.

"¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?” / How are you doing? Are you having a good time?

"Cuidar a mi hijo." / Take care of my son.

[chxnsgirl]

현진 ─── the night we met

♡ pairing ៸៸ fratboy!hyunjin x afab!reader genre ៸៸ fluff, angst(ish) ៸៸ cw ៸៸ college!au , mentions of roofies (one is slipped but not consumed) , jake is a meanie (not enha jake, an oc) ♡ synopsis ៸៸ your friends drag you to a frat party. little did you know, you'd make a new friend that night. [ 7.4k words ] a/n ๑ i hope u guys like this , i started writing this after hyunies buzz cut but never got around to finish the first part. there WILL be a part two. ♡ masterlist

ordinarily, parties like this wouldn’t even cross your radar. but tonight was different, thanks to your friends, karina and yuqi, who had practically dragged you out of your cozy dorm. if it were up to you, you’d be holed up with your textbooks, preparing for midterms. instead, you found yourself being strong-armed into attending zeta nu’s pre-winter break bash. they were adamant about going, and equally adamant that you come along. why? you couldn’t fathom. it wasn’t like they didn’t know you were a die-hard introvert. you weren’t exactly a sparkling conversationalist, especially with your anxiety making it nearly impossible to hold a conversation for more than a few minutes. and when it came to talking to guys? forget it—it was a whole new level of nerve-wracking.

this party wasn’t just intimidating because of the social setting; it was who was hosting it. zeta nu wasn’t just any fraternity—it was the fraternity, packed with campus heartthrobs. you’d always had a tendency to lump frat guys into one category: loud, shallow, and hopelessly clueless. and while some of the zeta nu brothers certainly lived up to the stereotype, there were a few you’d noticed around campus who seemed to have some semblance of normalcy. still, the thought of mingling in a house full of them made your stomach churn.

despite your reluctance, you did put some effort into your appearance. you weren’t about to freeze to death in a paper-thin dress like some partygoers. instead, you opted for practicality without sacrificing style: a snug black sweater, thermal tights, and a cute black skirt. it wasn’t extravagant, but it was warm and cute—perfect for braving both the cold and your nerves.

the party was as stereotypical as they come—music blared through the house, its bass vibrating the walls, while couples made out or grinded on each other in dimly lit corners. the kitchen was no exception to the chaos, packed with people eager to fill their cups with whatever concoction was closest at hand. you weren’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse, but your friends had already vanished into the crowd. karina and yuqi were likely off flirting with frat members or losing themselves on the dance floor—activities you had no interest in partaking in tonight.

left to your own devices, you made your way into the kitchen, thinking that maybe a drink could help calm your nerves. standing in front of the counter, you eyed the variety of liquor bottles scattered across it. vodka, whiskey, rum—it was all there, unopened and glaringly intimidating. after a moment of hesitation, you sidestepped past a couple making out aggressively against the cupboards and found your way to the punch bowls.

pouring yourself only the bare minimum, you sipped cautiously. you didn’t want to overdo it—just enough to take the edge off the knot of anxiety that had been sitting in your chest since you walked through the door. cup in hand, you lingered near the wall, keeping to yourself while observing the crowd. occasionally, you nodded your head in rhythm to the music, trying your best to blend in.

a sudden wave of cheers and hollering erupted near the kitchen entrance, drawing your attention. your curiosity got the better of you, and you glanced over to see what all the commotion was about. and there he was.

hyunjin.

the heartthrob of the campus strode into the room with effortless confidence, his presence magnetic. nearly every girl at school had some kind of infatuation with him, and it wasn’t hard to see why. he was tall, his honey-toned skin glowing under the dim lights. his features were impossibly striking—full lips, a perfectly sculpted nose, and eyes that seemed to hold an entire galaxy. you’d always thought he was stunning, but the recent buzz cut he’d gotten made him look even better. the new hairstyle, lighter in color, somehow emphasized his sharp features and perfectly complemented his skin tone.

“how are you late to your own party?” felix, one of the frat members, called out to him with a laugh.

“had something to take care of,” hyunjin replied vaguely, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise as he made his way to the kitchen island where the liquor bottles were displayed.

as the frat guys gathered around him to take shots, the kitchen grew even more crowded. someone jostled you, and you stumbled, bumping into a girl who looked far too drunk to be standing upright. she turned her bleary but sharp gaze toward you, her expression immediately souring.

“watch it,” she hissed, her tone dripping with disdain as her eyes gave you a once-over. she lingered on you for a moment longer, clearly unimpressed, before staggering off toward the living room without another word.

you sighed, shrinking back toward the corner, feeling as out of place as ever. the night wasn’t going as planned—not that you’d had much of a plan to begin with.

the confrontation with the girl must’ve thrown you off more than you realized because, for a while, the world around you faded into a dull hum. it wasn’t until a sharp whistle cut through the noise that you even blinked, but even that barely registered. a light tap on your shoulder, however, finally brought you back to reality.

you turned, lifting your gaze from the floor to the person standing behind you. he was tall, with tousled blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that sparkled in the dim kitchen light. his smile was easy, almost disarming, and there was a casual confidence about the way he stood.

“hey,” he started, his eyes flicking over you briefly, though not in a way that felt invasive. “are you okay?”

you blinked at him, fumbling for words. “no, um, yeah—i’m okay. thanks,” you stammered, your fingers tightening nervously around the cup in your hands.

he chuckled softly, clearly amused by your flustered state. “i’m jake,” he said, gesturing broadly to the space around him. “i’m in zeta nu.”

“y/n,” you managed to reply, your voice a little steadier now. but as the conversation unfolded, a wave of anxiety washed over you, making you hyperaware of every little movement. your hands suddenly felt awkward, like you didn’t know where to put them or what to do with them. jake seemed to pick up on your nervous energy and smiled, a warm, easy expression that somehow put you slightly at ease.

“what’re you drinking?” he asked, leaning slightly to peek into your red solo cup.

you gave a soft laugh, shaking your head as you held up the cup. “just some punch from over there,” you said, nodding toward the bowl on the counter.

jake raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a playful grin. “punch? nah, you need something stronger. look at you—your shoulders are practically glued to your ears.” he stepped past you with a light chuckle, weaving through a cluster of his frat brothers to grab a bottle of tito’s from the counter.

he unscrewed the cap and held the bottle up, giving you a questioning look. “what do you say?”

your heart thudded nervously in your chest, but you found yourself nodding. “um, sure.” you extended your cup with a slightly shaky hand, watching as he poured a generous splash of vodka into the punch.

“thanks,” you muttered, glancing down at the cup, as though measuring the alcohol now mixed in.

“go on, down the hatch,” jake said with a playful nudge, raising his own cup to his lips. his smirk was small but somehow endearing, his eyes watching you expectantly.

you hesitated, the tangy smell of alcohol wafting up to you as you brought the cup to your lips. taking a tentative sip, you winced at the sharp burn that clawed its way down your throat. the sensation settled in your stomach, leaving a faint warmth in its wake.

“atta girl,” jake teased, grinning at your reaction.

you gave him a shy smile in return, bringing the cup to your lips for another sip. the taste wasn’t any better the second time, but at least it wasn’t as much of a shock.

“careful,” jake warned, his voice light but genuine. “you don’t wanna drink too fast. trust me on that.”

as the night went on and the alcohol loosened your inhibitions, you found yourself growing more comfortable around jake. the two of you had been chatting and laughing, the drink in your hand slowly dwindling with each passing minute. what you didn’t notice, however, was the pair of sharp eyes watching you from across the room.

hyunjin leaned casually against the doorway to the kitchen, but his posture was deceptive—his focus was entirely on you. the noise and chatter around him had faded into the background as he observed you, a flicker of intrigue glinting in his dark eyes. you were new, unfamiliar, and that alone made you stand out in a sea of familiar faces.

but it wasn’t just curiosity that held his attention—it was something else. something more protective.

he noticed the way jake hovered close to you, his body language bordering on possessive. hyunjin’s jaw tightened, a subtle but telling sign of his unease. jake was a name he knew all too well, and not in a good way. the guy had a reputation within the frat, one hyunjin wasn’t particularly proud of. jake’s charm was surface-deep, and his intentions were rarely anything but self-serving.

hyunjin stayed where he was, his gaze unwavering as he silently kept an eye on the two of you. he didn’t want to overstep or cause unnecessary drama, but the uneasy feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. something about the way jake interacted with you felt off, like he was toeing the line of what was acceptable.

then it happened.

hyunjin’s stomach sank as he caught it—jake’s hand moving swiftly, almost imperceptibly, toward your cup. you were turned away, laughing at something one of jake’s friends had said, completely oblivious to what had just occurred. hyunjin’s eyes narrowed as he saw jake slip something into your drink, the motion so practiced it was clear this wasn’t his first time.

a surge of anger flared in hyunjin’s chest, hot and immediate. his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought the urge to storm across the room and confront jake then and there. but causing a scene would only make things worse, and he knew it.

all he could think about was getting to you before you took another sip.

hyunjin pushed off the doorway, his heart pounding with urgency. he moved through the crowd, his strides purposeful but controlled. every second felt agonizingly slow, the distance between him and you somehow stretching endlessly. as he approached, his mind raced with how he’d handle the situation. should he confront jake directly? should he quietly pull you aside?

you were still laughing, entirely unaware of the danger sitting innocently in your cup. jake had leaned closer to you now, his easygoing smile masking his true intentions. hyunjin’s anger bubbled closer to the surface as he reached you, his gaze darting to your cup and back to jake.

“hey,” hyunjin called out, his voice calm but firm enough to break through the chatter around you.

you turned toward him, startled. for a moment, you were struck by how impossibly handsome he was, his sharp features softened slightly by the concern in his eyes.

“oh, hi,” you said, blinking in surprise. “do i know you?”

“we’ve never met,” hyunjin replied, his tone steady despite the storm brewing inside him. his eyes flickered briefly to jake, who tensed but tried to play it cool. “can i talk to you for a second? alone?”

jake frowned, his posture shifting defensively. “what’s up, man? we’re in the middle of a conversation here.”

hyunjin’s gaze didn’t waver, locking onto jake with quiet intensity. “it’s important,” he said, his voice low but resolute.

you hesitated, glancing between the two of them. something about the seriousness in hyunjin’s expression made you uneasy, though not in the same way jake did. it was protective, not predatory.

“uh, sure,” you finally said, your curiosity outweighing your reluctance.

hyunjin gently guided you a few steps away, his hand lightly brushing your elbow. once you were out of earshot, he glanced at the drink in your hand.

“don’t drink that,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

your brow furrowed in confusion. “why not?”

he hesitated, clearly wrestling with how much to tell you. “i saw jake put something in it,” he finally admitted, his tone laced with barely restrained anger.

the words hit you like a truck, your stomach dropping. you stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. “what? are you sure?”

hyunjin nodded, his expression grim. “i wouldn’t say this if i wasn’t sure. please, just trust me.” 

before you could fully process hyunjin’s words, jake appeared beside you, his easy smile now tinged with suspicion.

“everything okay here?” jake asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp as they flicked between you and hyunjin.

hyunjin didn’t back down. his posture straightened, his sharp jaw tightening as he turned to face jake fully. “not really,” he said evenly, his voice steady but carrying an edge that made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for games.

jake’s brows furrowed, a feigned look of confusion crossing his face. “what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, forcing a laugh as if to brush off the tension.

“it means i saw what you did,” hyunjin replied, his dark eyes fixed on jake with a piercing intensity.

you froze, your heart pounding as you realized the confrontation was unfolding right in front of you. the party noises around you seemed to fade as your focus honed in on the two men.

jake’s expression shifted, his smile dropping for a fraction of a second before he recovered. “i have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice carefully measured.

hyunjin scoffed, his calm exterior beginning to crack as anger seeped into his words. “don’t play dumb, jake. i saw you put something in her drink. you think no one noticed, but i did.”

a wave of shock and fear surged through you as you clutched your cup tightly. you looked down at the liquid, bile rising in your throat at the thought of what could have happened.

jake’s facade faltered, his eyes narrowing. “you’ve got some nerve, man,” he said, stepping closer to hyunjin. “accusing me of something like that? do you have any proof?”

hyunjin didn’t flinch, his voice unwavering as he retorted, “i don’t need proof to know what i saw. and i don’t need it to stop you.”

the tension between them was palpable, drawing the attention of a few people nearby. whispers started to ripple through the crowd as partygoers noticed the confrontation.

jake glanced around, clearly aware that the situation was drawing unwanted attention. his expression darkened, and he leaned closer to hyunjin, lowering his voice. “you don’t want to make this a bigger deal than it needs to be,” he said, his tone dripping with thinly veiled aggression.

hyunjin stepped forward, closing the distance between them. his voice dropped, but it carried the weight of barely contained fury. “the only person making this a big deal is you, jake. whatever you thought you’d get away with tonight isn’t happening.”

jake sneered, his composure finally slipping. “you don’t even know her,” he hissed. “why do you care so much?”

hyunjin’s jaw tightened, and his response was immediate. “because what you did is disgusting. and i don’t care if i just met her or if i’ve known her my whole life—what’s right is right.”

you watched the exchange, your chest tightening as the gravity of the situation hit you. hyunjin’s words struck something deep inside you, and for the first time that night, you felt a sliver of safety amidst the chaos.

before things could escalate further, another voice broke through the tension. “what the hell is going on here?”

felix, had appeared, his face a mixture of confusion and concern. he glanced between hyunjin, jake, and you, clearly trying to piece together what was happening.

hyunjin turned to felix, his expression firm but calm. “jake spiked her drink,” he said without hesitation.

felix’s eyes widened, and his gaze snapped to jake. “is that true?”

jake’s face twisted, his confidence slipping as he realized he was outnumbered. “no! he’s making shit up!” jake exclaimed, his voice rising defensively.

felix’s expression hardened, and he looked at you. “did you drink it?” he asked, his tone serious.

you shook your head, your voice shaky as you finally spoke. “no... not yet. hyunjin stopped me.”

felix let out a relieved sigh, then turned to jake with a glare. “if this is true, you’re done here, jake. we don’t do that shit.”

jake’s defensive posture shifted, his bravado cracking under the weight of felix’s accusation and the judgmental stares of the other frat members who were now gathering around. “this is bullshit,” jake spat, his voice rising. “he’s lying. i didn’t do anything.”

felix’s gaze remained on jakes for a few minutes, before he finally came to a decision and spoke up. “jake’s done here. we’ll handle this.”

the other frat members murmured their agreement, some shooting jake disgusted looks. felix stepped closer to jake, lowering his voice but keeping his tone firm. “leave now. we’ll be reporting this, and if you show your face here again, you’ll regret it.”

jake glared at hyunjin one last time, his lips curling into a sneer. “you think you’re a hero, huh?” he hissed, but the words lacked their usual bite. without waiting for a response, he shoved past the crowd and stormed out of the kitchen, his retreat drawing murmurs from the partygoers who had witnessed the scene.

felix sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. he turned to you, his expression softening. “are you okay?”

you nodded, though your hands still trembled as you clutched your cup. “yeah… thanks to him,” you said, glancing at hyunjin.

felix offered hyunjin a grateful nod. “let me take that from you.” felix gestured to the cup that was still in your hand. you handed him the cup, happy to get rid of it. “thanks.”

hyunjin didn’t respond immediately, his focus still on you. “you shouldn’t be here,” he said gently, his voice much softer now. “let me get you out of this place.”

you hesitated, glancing toward the living room where the party was still in full swing. the idea of leaving felt like relief, a way to escape the chaos and process what had just happened. 

“o-okay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

hyunjin offered a reassuring smile. “come on.”

he guided you carefully through the crowd, his hand hovering near your lower back without actually touching you, giving you space but also silently signaling he was there if you needed him. the cold night air hit you like a wake-up call as you stepped outside, the muffled bass of the party fading into the background.

“do you want to sit for a minute?” hyunjin asked, nodding toward a quiet bench near the edge of the yard.

you nodded, letting him lead the way. the two of you sat down, the crisp air biting at your skin. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the events of the night hanging heavily between you.

“thank you,” you finally said, your voice trembling slightly. “i don’t even know what to say. if you hadn’t been there…”

hyunjin shook his head, his expression serious. “you don’t have to thank me. i just did what anyone decent would do.”

you looked at him, taking in his earnestness, the way his dark eyes held a mixture of concern and kindness. “not everyone would’ve stepped in like you did.” you murmured. 

hyunjin offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’m just glad you’re okay.”

the silence between you wasn’t awkward—it was comforting, a shared moment of calm after the storm. you found yourself relaxing for the first time all night, the tension in your shoulders easing under his quiet presence.

“can i walk you home?” he asked after a moment, breaking the silence. “just to make sure you’re safe.”

you hesitated, then nodded. “yeah… i’d like that.”

as the two of you walked away from the party, side by side under the glow of the streetlights, you felt a strange sense of gratitude—not just for what he’d done, but for him. there was something about hyunjin that made you feel seen, protected.

hyunjin glanced over at you, his expression thoughtful. “you don’t seem like the kind of person who goes to frat parties often.”

you let out a soft laugh, still a little shaky but genuine. “that obvious, huh?”

he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “a little. you looked like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“because i would’ve,” you admitted, clutching your coat tighter against the cold. “my friends dragged me there. they thought it would be good for me to ‘get out more.’” you air-quoted the phrase, rolling your eyes playfully.

hyunjin chuckled, his warm laughter cutting through the chilly air. “guess they didn’t expect you to almost need rescuing, huh?”

“yeah, not exactly what i had in mind when they said ‘fun night out,’” you replied, shaking your head. “what about you? you don’t seem like the typical frat guy either.”

hyunjin shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. "well, you know what they say— book, cover." he said with a playful grin. "truth is, i’m not really into parties either. felix just likes having me around, so i showed up."

“and ended up saving someone from disaster,” you said with a small smile.

he smirked, tilting his head as he looked at you. “not the way i thought my night would go, but i’m glad i was there.”

you walked in silence for a moment, the rhythm of your steps syncing.

“so, what do you usually do when you’re not being dragged to parties?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

“studying, mostly,” you admitted. “i’m kind of a nerd. i like staying in and reading or watching movies. parties aren’t really my scene.”

“books and movies sound way better than parties,” hyunjin said, nodding in agreement. “what do you study?”

“english literature,” you said, feeling a little more at ease. “i’ve always loved stories—reading them, writing them, analyzing them. it’s like stepping into another world.”

hyunjin’s eyes lit up. “that’s cool. i’ve always thought literature was beautiful, even if i’m not great at it. i’m more of an art guy.”

your interest piqued. “art? like painting and drawing?”

he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. i’ve been drawing since i was a kid. it’s how i make sense of things, i guess. and painting—it’s like therapy for me.”

“that’s amazing,” you said sincerely. “i wish i could draw, but i can barely make a stick figure look decent.”

hyunjin laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made you smile. “it’s not about being perfect. it’s about expressing yourself. stick figures count too, you know.”

you grinned, feeling warmth bloom in your chest despite the cold. “maybe i’ll have to give it another shot sometime.”

“you should,” he said, his voice encouraging. “i could even show you some basics if you want.”

your eyes widened slightly. “you’d do that?”

“of course,” he replied with a shrug. “you might surprise yourself.”

the conversation flowed easily as you walked, each step bringing a new layer of comfort. hyunjin shared stories about how he found inspiration in the smallest things—sunsets, the way light reflected off a window, even the texture of tree bark. you told him about your favorite books and how certain characters felt like old friends.

by the time you reached your dorm building, the unease of the night had melted away, replaced by a quiet warmth.

“this is me,” you said, gesturing to the door.

hyunjin nodded, stopping a few steps away. “well, i’m glad you’re home safe.”

“thanks to you,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “i really mean it. thank you, hyunjin.”

his smile was gentle, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. “you’re welcome. get some rest, okay?”

you nodded, hesitating before heading toward the door. something about him made you linger, a pull you couldn’t quite explain.

“hyunjin?” you called, turning back.

hyunjin paused mid-step, turning back to you with a curious tilt of his head. "yeah?"

you bit your lip, debating for a moment before gathering the courage to speak. “i know it’s late, but… would you want to come in for a bit? i mean, you did save me tonight. it’s the least i can do—offer you some tea or something.”

his brows lifted slightly in surprise, but his smile quickly returned, soft and genuine. “tea sounds nice,” he said, stepping back toward you. “if you’re sure i’m not intruding.”

“you’re not,” you reassured him. “i’d actually like the company.”

with that, you unlocked the door and led him inside. the quiet hum of the building greeted you, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the party you’d left behind. your dorm was small but cozy, with a few personal touches—books stacked on a small shelf, a throw blanket draped over a chair, and fairy lights strung across the walls casting a warm glow.

hyunjin took it all in with an appreciative glance. “this is nice,” he said, his voice low as if not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. “seems very you.”

“thanks,” you replied, setting your coat aside and motioning for him to do the same. “make yourself comfortable. i’ll get the tea.”

as you moved to the kitchenette, hyunjin wandered over to your bookshelf, scanning the titles. “you weren’t kidding about loving books,” he said with a small laugh, pulling one off the shelf. “this one’s a classic,” he added, holding it up.

you glanced over your shoulder, smiling. “pride and prejudice. it’s one of my favorites.”

“really?” he flipped through a few pages, his expression thoughtful. “i’ve always wanted to read it but never got around to it. maybe you can tell me why you love it so much.”

you returned with two steaming mugs, setting them down on the small coffee table. “it’s the characters,” you explained as you sat down, motioning for him to join you. “elizabeth bennet is so strong and smart, and mr. darcy... well, he’s misunderstood at first, but he has a lot of depth. it’s about how they grow and learn to see each other differently.”

hyunjin sat across from you, cradling his mug as he listened intently. “that sounds... kind of beautiful,” he said after a moment. “i think i’d like it.”

“i could lend it to you if you want,” you offered.

his smile widened, his gaze meeting yours. “i’d like that.”

the conversation drifted from books to art again, and you found yourself captivated by the way hyunjin spoke about his creative process. he described the way he saw the world in vivid colors and shapes, how even the most mundane objects could inspire a new piece.

“you must have an amazing sketchbook,” you said, leaning forward with interest.

hyunjin chuckled, a hint of bashfulness coloring his tone. “i do, but it’s pretty messy. lots of half-finished ideas and random doodles. maybe i’ll show you someday.”

“i’d love that,” you replied softly.

time seemed to slow as the two of you continued talking, the earlier tension of the night now a distant memory. hyunjin’s presence was calming, his laughter infectious, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely at ease.

eventually, the clock caught your attention, and you realized how late it had gotten.

“i didn’t mean to keep you so long,” you said apologetically. “you probably have things to do tomorrow.”

hyunjin shook his head, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “no complaints here. this was a lot better than that party.”

you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. “i’m glad.”

as he stood to leave, hyunjin turned back to you, his expression sincere. “thank you for inviting me in. tonight didn’t turn out how i expected, but... i think it turned out better.” 

you watched as hyunjin reached for the door. something about the way he spoke, the warmth in his voice, made your chest tighten. you didn’t want the moment to end—not yet.

“hyunjin, wait,” you called, taking a small step forward.

he paused immediately, his hand dropping from the doorknob. turning to face you, his brows raised slightly in curiosity. 

you hesitated, the words tangling in your throat. your heart was racing, but you didn’t want to overthink it this time. “i just… i don’t think i can thank you enough for what you did tonight. i don’t even want to think about how it could’ve gone if you hadn’t been there.”

hyunjin’s gaze softened, his expression melting into something both tender and reassuring. “you don’t need to thank me anymore. i was just doing what anyone should do.”

“but it wasn’t just anyone,” you replied quietly, stepping closer. “it was you.”

the space between you seemed to hum with unspoken emotions, the quiet hallway amplifying the sound of your heartbeat. hyunjin’s eyes held yours, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, but instead, he simply watched you, as though waiting for you to continue.

you took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly. “i don’t think i’ve ever felt this safe around someone before. not like tonight.”

hyunjin’s lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but then he stopped. instead, he closed the remaining gap between you, his movements slow, deliberate. “i’m glad i could be that for you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

your breath caught as his gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. the tension in the air was palpable now, a magnetic pull you couldn’t resist. without overthinking, you reached out, your fingers lightly brushing against the edge of his coat.

“hyunjin…” you murmured, leaning in just slightly.

he didn’t hesitate this time. gently, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin as he leaned down, closing the space between you. his lips met yours softly, the kiss tentative at first, as though testing the waters.

the world seemed to fade away, the moment stretching into something timeless and fragile. his warmth enveloped you, his hand steady against your cheek as the other hovered near your arm, as if unsure where to go.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet. hyunjin’s eyes fluttered open, his cheeks dusted with the faintest hint of pink.

“that was…” he began, but words seemed to escape him. instead, a small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips.

“yeah,” you whispered, mirroring his smile.

for a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of the kiss lingering in the space between you. then hyunjin’s hand slipped from your cheek, his fingers brushing yours. “are you sure you’ll be okay tonight?” he asked, his voice gentle.

you nodded, the warmth of the moment still thrumming in your chest. “i think i’ll be more than okay.”

he smiled again, his eyes soft as they searched yours. “good. then… i’ll see you soon?”

“definitely,” you said, your voice filled with quiet certainty.

hyunjin lingered for another second before finally stepping back toward the door. as he left, you couldn’t help but touch your lips, a soft smile spreading across your face. tonight hadn’t turned out how you expected either—but in the best way possible.

a few days after the winter bash, you and hyunjin found yourselves texting constantly. the conversations were effortless, flowing from lighthearted banter to meaningful exchanges about your dreams and fears. he shared sketches of his art, and you sent him snippets of your writing, both of you encouraging and admiring each other's talents. despite the chaos of the party where you first connected, something special had grown between you.

when hyunjin invited you to visit the local art gallery before midterms, you eagerly agreed. it felt intimate, a shared space where he could reveal more of himself to you.

the gallery was quiet, with the low hum of classical music playing in the background. the soft glow of lights illuminated the vibrant and haunting pieces adorning the walls. hyunjin led you inside, his presence both calming and exhilarating.

“i come here a lot,” he admitted as you wandered past a series of abstract paintings. “it’s like stepping into another world. art makes sense to me in a way that words sometimes don’t.”

you smiled at the thought. “i get that. it’s how i feel about books. they’re a way to escape, to see things through someone else’s eyes.”

hyunjin stopped in front of a sprawling canvas painted in deep reds and golds, the colors swirling together like a storm. “this one’s my favorite,” he said softly. “it’s chaotic, but there’s beauty in the chaos. like... even in the mess, there’s something worth finding.”

you studied the painting, trying to see it the way he did. “it’s beautiful,” you murmured. “it kind of reminds me of you.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “me?”

“you’re so passionate,” you explained. “there’s this energy about you, like you see the world differently. it’s inspiring.”

hyunjin’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away, smiling. “that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

the moment felt perfect, like you were sharing something sacred. as you moved through the gallery, he pointed out more pieces, sharing their stories and what they meant to him. you hung on every word, feeling closer to him with each step.

but as the two of you stopped at a sculpture that seemed to twist and defy gravity, hyunjin’s phone buzzed in his pocket. he glanced at it briefly, his expression flickering with discomfort.

“everything okay?” you asked.

“yeah,” he said quickly, tucking his phone away. “just felix checking in.”

you didn’t push further, though something about his response left a faint unease in your chest.

the gallery’s warm light faded as you and hyunjin stepped into the brisk evening air, your breaths visible in the cold. the quiet hum of the city surrounded you, and the sharp chill seemed to heighten the glow of the night. hyunjin glanced at you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, before motioning toward a nearby café with a soft smile.

“want to grab something warm?” he asked.

you nodded, the idea of a hot drink too tempting to resist. the two of you walked side by side, the air between you charged with a quiet camaraderie that felt both new and familiar.

inside the cozy café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. hyunjin ordered a coffee, and you opted for a hot chocolate. afterward, you found a bench outside, under the soft glow of a streetlamp, and settled down with your drinks.

as you sipped from your cup, savoring the rich, velvety warmth, you noticed hyunjin pulling a small sketchbook from his bag. he flipped it open and began drawing, his pencil gliding across the page with practiced ease.

“what are you working on?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him, curiosity piqued.

he hesitated, his lips curving into a small, shy smile before turning the notebook toward you. your breath hitched as you saw yourself staring back at you from the page. it was an uncanny likeness—your soft, thoughtful expression captured in exquisite detail, the curve of your fingers around the cup, even the way your scarf bunched at your neck.

“wow,” you whispered, touched and a little awestruck. “it’s beautiful.”

hyunjin’s cheeks turned pink, and he looked away bashfully. “i wanted to remember this moment,” he admitted softly.

warmth bloomed in your chest, and your heart beat a little faster. just as you were about to respond, his phone buzzed on the bench beside him. for a brief moment, his brow furrowed, but then he silenced it and slid it back into his pocket without even glancing at the screen.

“when i finish it, i’ll give it to you,” he said with a grin, slipping the notebook into his bag.

“you’d do that?” you asked, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“of course,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “think of it as an early christmas present.”

before you could respond, the jingling of a bell caught your attention. you glanced up toward the café’s door to see felix walking out, a steaming cup in his hand and a surprised smile on his face.

“well, look at you two,” felix said, his gaze flicking between you and hyunjin. his expression was warm, but you noticed the faintest hint of curiosity in his eyes—like he’d stumbled upon something unexpected.

hyunjin cleared his throat, his fingers idly spinning his coffee cup. “just grabbing a drink,” he said casually, though there was a slight edge of awkwardness to his tone.

“yeah,” you chimed in, glancing at hyunjin for a moment before turning back to felix. “we went to the art gallery down the street before this.”

felix’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his grin widening. “this a date?” he asked, his tone playful but his gaze lingering on hyunjin, as if gauging his reaction.

you froze, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink as you instinctively glanced at hyunjin.

“u-um, yeah,” hyunjin stammered, his voice faltering slightly as he nodded.

felix’s smile softened, and he gave a small nod. “good for you,” he said lightly before taking a sip of his drink. “well, don’t let me interrupt. have fun.”

he shot hyunjin a knowing look before walking off into the night.

the silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. hyunjin turned to you, scratching the back of his neck. “sorry about that. i... probably should’ve asked first.”

you laughed softly, the sound easing the tension. “it’s okay. i didn’t mind.”

“really?” he asked, his tone careful, his eyes searching yours.

you nodded, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. it’s... nice. unexpected, but nice.”

hyunjin’s features softened, and his lips curled into a smile. “well, in that case,” he said, lifting his coffee cup slightly, “here’s to unexpected nights.”

“to unexpected nights,” you echoed, clinking your cup lightly against his, rolling your eyes playfully.

the week before winter break was an exhausting blur, a whirlwind of stress that left you teetering on the edge of burnout. between the seemingly endless midterms, the chaotic frenzy of packing, and the careful coordination of plans to visit your family, there was barely a moment to catch your breath. each spare second was consumed by last-minute assignments, looming deadlines, and the relentless pressure to wrap everything up before the semester ended.

amid the chaos, hyunjin had become a constant presence in your life, an unexpected source of calm. the time you spent together felt like a refuge from the storm—a quiet interlude of shared smiles and easy conversation that made the weight on your shoulders a little lighter. the dynamic between you had shifted subtly but unmistakably; there was something growing, something unspoken but palpable.

hyunjin’s presence had a grounding effect. whether it was the way he’d catch your eye during study sessions and offer a reassuring smile, or how he’d casually walk you back to your dorm after late nights at the library, there was a comfort in his company that you hadn’t realized you were craving. he had a knack for making even the most mundane moments feel meaningful—offering to share his notes when you were drowning in coursework, or surprising you with a hot drink when he noticed you were running on empty.

it wasn’t just the gestures, though. it was the way he listened, truly listened, when you spoke about your dreams and fears, your frustrations and triumphs. it was in the way he’d share pieces of himself in return, his thoughts and stories painting a picture of someone who was far more complex and thoughtful than you’d initially realized.

whatever was growing between you two felt fragile yet promising, like the first bloom of a flower peeking through the frost. it wasn’t something either of you had labeled or defined yet, but it lingered in the way your conversations lingered a little too long, in the way your eyes sought each other across crowded rooms, in the way his hand would brush yours as you walked together—and neither of you would pull away.

one afternoon, you were holed up in the library, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you stared at the blinking cursor on your screen. a paper due by midnight mocked you, and no matter how hard you tried, the words wouldn’t come. frustration mounted, and you leaned back in your chair with a sigh, rubbing at your temples.

“i need a break,” you muttered under your breath, standing abruptly.

deciding a walk might help clear your head, you wandered aimlessly through the quiet aisles of books, the muted hum of the library’s heating system filling the air. you turned a corner near the back hallway, where the restrooms were located, and stopped short.

the sight that greeted you made your stomach lurch.

hyunjin.

he was leaning casually against the wall, his expression soft and animated as he spoke to a girl. she stood close to him, smiling brightly, her body language open and familiar. they were deep in conversation, seemingly oblivious to the world around them.

your initial surprise was quickly replaced by a sharp pang of unease. you didn’t want to intrude, so you took a cautious step back, intending to leave before they noticed you. but then, hyunjin’s laugh rang out, low and warm, and you couldn’t help but peek around the corner again.

and that’s when it happened.

hyunjin leaned in, closing the distance between them, and kissed her.

your heart dropped like a stone.

for a moment, you were frozen in place, unable to process what you were seeing. your chest tightened, a lump forming in your throat as disbelief washed over you. you hadn’t officially defined anything with him—hadn’t even explicitly talked about what your relationship meant—but seeing him with someone else felt like a punch to the gut.

without thinking, you stepped back quickly, your heel scuffing against the floor. the small sound echoed in the quiet hallway. hyunjin pulled back from the kiss, his head turning sharply in your direction.

your eyes met his, and the color seemed to drain from his face.

“y/n?” he called softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty and guilt.

panic surged through you. you shook your head and turned away, your heart pounding as you hurried back the way you came.

“wait!” hyunjin’s voice followed you, but you didn’t stop.

he caught up to you near the library’s entrance, his footsteps quick and light. “y/n, please. just—let me explain.”

you whirled around to face him, your emotions threatening to boil over. “explain what, hyunjin?” you asked, your voice trembling. “i saw enough.”

“it’s not what it looked like,” he said, his expression pleading.

you crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “then tell me. what was it? because it sure looked like you were kissing her.”

hyunjin ran a hand along his hair, his frustration evident. “it wasn’t planned. she... she kissed me first.”

“and you just went along with it?” you snapped, your hurt spilling out.

he hesitated, and the pause spoke volumes. you let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “i can’t believe this.”

“y/n, i’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “it didn’t mean anything. she’s just—”

“don’t,” you interrupted, holding up a hand. “i don’t want to hear excuses right now. i just—” you exhaled sharply, your chest tight. “i need to go.”

without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving hyunjin standing there, his face etched with regret.

the cold air outside hit you like a slap, but it did little to numb the ache in your chest. you didn’t look back, too afraid to betray your words if you did.

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[4vanaa]

—PILOT “Family Dinner (Or Whatever This Is)” outer banks modern family au

[It’s family dinner night at Pope and Cleo’s house—an attempt at a civilized gathering that, predictably, turns into an absolute disaster before it even starts. Each family is scrambling to get ready, kids are causing havoc, and in classic Modern Family fashion, the confessionals, give us an inside look at just how unhinged this crew really is.]

[LO: CAMERON HOUSEHOLD]

The camera cuts to Rafe standing in the living room, staring at a screaming Poppy (3), who has decided she doesn’t want to wear clothes. Milo (10) is sitting on the couch, fully dressed but casually eating a Pop-Tart, while Ava (15) is still upstairs, refusing to come down.

CONFESSIONAL Rafe & You

YOU: deadpan “We’re supposed to leave in five minutes.”

RAFE: chuckling, gesturing to the mess behind him “Yeah… that’s not happening.”

YOU: “Ava won’t come downstairs, Poppy is running around naked, and Milo—” glares off-camera“—MILO, STOP FEEDING THE DOG CHIPS.”

RAFE: shrugs “At least the dog’s eating.”

—Cut to Ava upstairs, dramatically lying on her bed, scrolling on her phone.

CONFESSIONAL Ava

AVA: “I don’t even know why we have these family dinners. Every time, someone storms out, someone cries, and last time Uncle JJ almost set the backyard on fire.” pause “It was kind of iconic, though.”

—Smash cut to Rafe yelling up the stairs, “AVA, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE OR YOU’RE GROUNDED.”

CONFESSIONAL Poppy

POPPY: grinning, wearing fairy wings and no pants “Daddy said a bad word.”

[LO: MAYBANK HOUSEHOLD]

The Maybank house is too calm, which is a bad sign. Jax (7) is fully dressed but covered in dirt, while Maya (12) is filming a TikTok dance in the kitchen. Kai (16), still shirtless, is texting someone suspiciously while JJ is making nachos instead of getting dressed.

CONFESSIONAL Kiara & JJ

KIARA: “JJ doesn’t understand the concept of—” hand quotes “— getting ready.”

JJ: mouth full of nachos “That’s because dinner is at seven, and it is currently—” checks phone “—not seven.”

KIARA: death glare

Meanwhile, Jax is whispering something to Milo(who is FaceTiming him), clearly planning some kind of mischief.

CONFESSIONAL Jax & Maya

JAX: grinning mischievously “Milo and I are bringing stink bombs.”

MAYA: rolling her eyes “This is why we’re never invited anywhere nice.”

—Cut to Kiara snatching JJ’s nachos, forcing him upstairs. Kai is still standing there, texting, when Kiara calls him out—

KIARA: “Kai. Shirt. Now.”

KAI: grinning “Ava likes this one.”

JJ: (off-screen): “Damn right she does—OW! KIE!”

[LO: ROUTLEDGE HOUSEHOLD]

Sarah is running around, trying to wrangle Lily (9) & Bennett (4) into their shoes, while Carter (14) is sitting on the counter, eating chips, and doing absolutely nothing to help. John B is... well, he’s looking for his shoes.

CONFESSIONAL John B & Sarah

SARAH: exasperated “We’re late every. Single. Time.”

JOHN B: defensive “Okay, but, like, time is a social construct.”

SARAH: “Tell that to Cleo when we show up forty-five minutes late and she glares at us until we die.”

—Smash cut to Carter smirking.

CONFESSIONAL Carter

CARTER: “Mom and Dad are always late. I don’t even try to get ready until at least ten minutes after they freak out. At this point, it’s a science.”

[LO: HEYWARD HOUSEHOLD]

Pope and Cleo are setting up dinner, the only responsible people in the entire family. Zara (13) is helping, while Jude (8) is sneakily trying to set up a booby trap near the front door.

CONFESSIONAL Pope & Cleo

POPE: stressed “This is a simple dinner. Why is that impossible?”

CLEO: deadpan “Because we’re related to crazy people.”

The doorbell rings. It’s Topper, who has arrived early with Finn (15) & Ruby (6).

CONFESSIONAL Topper

TOPPER: smug “I don’t know why it’s so hard for everyone to be on time. My family runs like a well-oiled machine.”

—Cut to Ruby throwing a juice box at Finn’s head while he scrolls through his phone, completely unfazed.

༝ Your family shows up fifteen minutes late, and Poppy is still wearing fairy wings (but now has pants).

༝ JJ & Kiara’s kids immediately run off with Jax’s stink bombs.

༝ John B & Sarah arrive last(again), and Cleo just glares at them.

༝ Ruby and Bennett start a war over the last dinner roll.

༝ Ava & Kai are flirting, which makes Rafe visibly twitch.

༝ Jude’s booby trap actually works, and Topper gets hit with a bucket of water.

CONFESSIONAL Pope

POPE: staring blankly at the camera, wine glass in hand “I hate them all.”

CONFESSIONAL JJ & Rafe

JJ: “See, this is why we don’t try to be responsible.”

RAFE: “You don’t try because you’re lazy.”

JJ: grinning “And yet, here we are. Surviving. Thriving. Watching Topper get hit with a bucket.”

—Cut to Topper still dripping wet, cursing under his breath as Ruby and Bennett cackle.

CONFESSIONAL Poppy & Bennett

POPPY: whispers “Uncle Barry said this family is crazy.”

BENNETT: nodding seriously “Uncle Barry is right.”

—Smash cut to Barry arriving fashionably late with a six-pack of beer and a bag of chips, looking at the disaster in front of him.

CONFESSIONAL Barry

BARRY: grinning “Yeah, this is exactly why I don’t have kids.”

[bluemerakis]

that last sb fic 🫡 i owe you everything for that BUT i do have a request that's been rotting in my brain for days and i need someone as talented as u to give it a go

soldier boy x vought exec daughter!! the power play, the (healthy) age gap, forbidden desires????!!! need it, thank u, i love ur work

first off, i’m so so glad you enjoyed the fic anon! 😭 you’re making my heart incredibly full with the lovely compliment!! mwah!

secondly, that pairing is actually to die for??? wait i need it too. I GOTCHU!! thank you for trusting me with this wonderful wonderful idea, i hope i did it justice!! never stop using that amazing mind of yours to brainstorm these pairings 🩵

─ ۶ৎ ─

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ synergy ❞

part i

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ soldier boy x vought!exec!daughter

warnings .ᐟ cussing, porn with plot, age gap, power play, reader has daddy issues (sorry this just makes it so much hotter), slow-burn enemies to … hate-sex partners, i guess lmfao; pet names, tension thick enough to cut with a knife, soldier boy just being typically insufferable in the best way ever

synopsis ─ as the daughter of vought’s executive director, you’ve got a pivotal role to play in the upkeep of the company. that means keeping payback in check—uniforms, brands, rehearsed speeches, and keeping a clean mouth (and nose) on the leader of them all—soldier boy.

the last task seems impossible to achieve, especially when the lead supe seizes all opportunities to get beneath your skin, and your skirt, during your every interaction. it makes working with him mostly insufferable, but you can’t deny the unspoken tension between the two of you—a tension that vouches for the slither of you that craves anything other than fleeing his presence.

word count ~ 9k

──────────────────────

“I’m not going to sugarcoat it, sweetheart, this job’s going to be tough on you.”

You listened to your father speak from where you stood only a few inches away from his desk—hands looped tidily behind your back, chin tilted upward in poise, and expression carved from the same stone that had built this building up from the ground. Honestly, you currently felt no different than a troop standing at their superior’s attention. And yet, you knew that it’d been by design. Your father’s design.

You tried not to pay too much mind to the way his use of sweetheart pricked the hairs of your neck. It was a name your father had spent years branding as your own term of endearment, but knowing what you knew about him, and what you meant to him, the term felt more like belittlement. You hated it.

You couldn’t help but hitch your brows at his statement—a brisk act of defiance that vanished almost as quickly as it’d come. Growing up, your father had never been anything but tough on you, and it’s a scar you’d carried well into adulthood. So you would have thought that, by now, he’d have learnt to stop doubting your capabilities.

A girl can dream, right? Because at the end of the day, entering your father’s company meant that you were fresh meat, and taking on this job wasn’t so much like being tossed into the lion’s den as it was being fed directly into the jaws of this man-operated corporate. It was a suffocating environment, but no different to the air you’d grown accustomed to breathing in the artificial circumstances of your upbringing.

After all, your father had practically raised you for this job.

You watched as the man of your nightmares circuited his unkempt desk with a chilled whiskey clutched at the ready, his hair the type of unruly that could have only been styled by a stressed hand. His head was tilted down to the ground, eyes studying his every step as though your existence before him had never been fathomable to begin with. Or demanding of the sort of respect that warranted even a second of eye contact.

His free hand whisked through the air as he spelled out all sorts of gestures tinged with subtle exasperation. “You’re going to be working with Supes,” he continued, glass lifting to his lips to down an eager gulp, as though the mere term was a distasteful pill to be swallowed. You caught his jaw unclenching for the first time this evening as his tongue waltzed with the liquor, and once the sip had lost its frisk, he discarded it with a swallow and a grunt of pleasure.

The scene before you had you stifling a wry grin. Supes were no saints, your father had always disclosed that much to you—but this? Drinking at the mere mention of them? Your father could be easily rattled at times, but for the most part, he was overly talented at holding his temper together when it came to dealing with. . . alternative groups. And drinking was a vice he’d long since worked hard to wean himself off of—for the most part, at least. So, if this atypical demeanour of his was the haunting preview for the horrors you were about to endure on this job, you knew you were in for one hell of a ride.

Your father continued his disgruntled pacing to round the corner of his desk, where he took up his throne and settled into its comfort with a dramatic creak. There, in the symbolic comfort of his importance, he found it in himself to finally acquaint your eye at last. A king addressing his lesser subject.

“Most of these Supes have been around since before me—some senility modifications they’d worked into the compound V formula. Has them looking not a day over forty,” he explained sullenly, as though perturbed by the science of it all. “Regardless of those insignificancies, the knowledge of their alterations make them presumptuous, it makes them insolent, but most importantly, it makes them dangerous—a liability, if you will.”

“A company’s kryptonite,” you droned suddenly, breaking your unspoken vow of silence with words that made your father’s lips curve up in satisfaction—and why wouldn’t it? They were his words, after all, words he’d spent all your growing years imbuing into your vocabulary of his selection so that you were not unlike his shadow. A part of you wondered, out of spite and just for a fleeting second, how he’d react to you finally stepping out of it and into your own light. Into your own legacy. Maybe, this job would be exactly the way to do it—the start of something new, born of something ancient.

“Precisely,” your father hummed gleefully, studying you though a slight narrowing of his eyes that told you all you needed to know—that he was currently admiring the fruits of his labour. His life’s work. You, a fail-safe investment, should his time to bite the dust arrive abruptly. “I taught you well,” he added with a suffocating smugness.

You taught me obedience, you retorted silently. But because he was always right, you offered a faux smile of agreement. “I’ve got big shoes to fill,” you said—lacquering his ego, maybe, but simultaneous making your future favours all the more sizeable. “I can’t give anything less than my absolute best.” He taught you that, too. Repeatedly. A mantra forged with every intent to instil a festering fear of failure, rather than nurture any hopes of sure succession. A grenade he’d planted within you, one hand always on the pin, just waiting to implode all that you were at the first mistake.

Your father never could refuse another flower in his bouquet of self-importance, so he received your praise with greedy palms, utterly oblivious to the spiteful thorns furled around their metaphorical stems—thorns that you vowed would eventually come back around to nip him where it hurt.

You watched his lips quirk with a smile that felt deeply displaced—like he’d been given a brief rundown of what to do, but lacked the practice to perfect it authentically. “Your mother would be proud,” he declared suddenly.

Admittedly, those words made the air catch in your throat for a brief second—your airways thickening with some unresolved emotion that made your lungs stutter for their next breath. You blinked in rapid succession, as if flipping through the pages of the behavioural manual your father had written into your code for instances that threatened to usurp your composure. Instances like these. But there was nothing that could’ve prepared you for your emotionally-uninvested father taking a casual stroll down memory lane.

You settled for a thick swallow and a slight perking of your chin, brows kneading with a purpose meant to push forward a steadfast narrative, but was really just a show of your greatest restraint. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” you pushed out bravely—but there was a slight hitch in your tone that you hoped your father’s attuned senses hadn’t snagged.

You’d never truly known your mother—she’d walked out of your life before you’d even learnt to crawl. But despite her apparent abandonment, your father had never failed to recall her memory in warmth—when he did bring her up. So you thought, then, that she couldn’t have been all that bad—and that, maybe, if she’d stuck around, she could have saved you from his bone-chilling, mind-numbing tundra of a heart.

Your father absentmindedly twirled his partially-emptied glass at the rim, eyes hovering on you for a duration that began nudging at your unease. They were narrowed, calculating. It was the same look he wore anytime he reviewed new proposals to implement—or those to scorn and discard without a second glance. It had always been a gift of his, to be an enigma never telling of which decision he’d eventually settle on, and it made you squirm more than you’d have liked to admit.

Eventually, he uttered a simple hm, your heart lurching at the cryptic noise—he, who always voiced his verdict with the intent for the world to hear it, settling on a sound so indefinite. Then, he drew in a deep, decided breath as he craned himself forward in his throne, free hand unfurling across the expanse of his cluttered desk to pluck up some folder he’d clearly set aside for this very conversation.

Slowly, he lifted it in your direction, a silent beckon for you to shed your salute and approach him at last. You obeyed on slightly wobbly legs drawn into rigidity by a show of confidence, striding over to a cover a distance close enough to snag the file, but not close enough to be drawn into his consuming orbit. “What’s this?” You asked, eyes buckling to skim the folder’s title for an answer that would precede your father’s.

Payback. The name placed immediately amongst the ranks of your knowledge. The super-abled team of heroes that the entirety of new York had practically claimed their new religion—deserving of praise and worship and altars in the form of billboards and big screens that spanned every skyscraper in view. The gods that could, would, and should do no wrong, according to the sheep of America. But wiser men could see through the white robes. Wiser men, like yourself, knew that Payback were nothing more than wolves loitering on the horizon, discreetly thinning out the naive herd. One by one—so sparse as to go unnoticed by the masses.

So, the question begged whether the file you currently held was cluttered with information intended to inform, or blackmail designed for your shortcomings to contain them.

“Open it,” your father instructed, earning a mildly wide-eyed glance from you. He lifted his glass with a glare that looked grim, then drained the last of the whiskey that had been slowly drowning in the glass keep as he waited for you to follow through.

You did, eventually, after watching him set down his glass, but flipping open the cover was driven by greedy curiosity, rather than the need to obey his every command—as you often found yourself doing. Your palm fanned beneath the spine to support both ends of the file as your other hand began flipping through the information-heavy sleeves.

Black Noir, Crimson Countess, Gunpowder—all the ridiculous names you tried not to pay too much attention to as you flitted through the pages. You skimmed through enough of the information to deduce that you were practically holding an old-school Wikipedia on each of Payback’s members, and it was a finding that had your heart sagging an inch lower into your chest with the sheer disappointment of it all.

You didn’t doubt that your father was hounding all the good stuff for himself. You also didn’t doubt that he’d ever hand you the key to that safe willingly. He trusted you with enough to become the skeleton of his company, but not the heart, lungs and soul of it all—hoarding the deepest, darkest secrets that would send the entire organism collapsing should it ever become public knowledge.

Fair enough. You’re new on the job. And you’re not him—even though he’d spent years trying to make you enough of a splitting image. Hell, you’re not even the child he wanted. You were the exception—the lemons he’d had to utilise to create worthwhile lemonade. You supposed that this job was your own sack of lemons to turn into something worthwhile, and that your father would have to have a taste of it before deciding when you’d have access to the more exciting information.

You hadn’t bothered to page toward the end of the file, the exploration terminating a rough three quarters in, where a picture of The TNT Twins stared back at you. You couldn’t have glanced away faster to relieve the discomfort their beady stares evoked. “What am I supposed to do with this?” You asked your father bluntly.

His hands were folded together now, elbows resting promptly atop his desk. At some point during your brief reading, he’d run another hand through his hair to recollect the class he often modelled throughout the hallways of Vought’s building. He looked almost respectable again. “Research,” he said.

“Research?” You echoed. “I’ve already done my research. And there’s nothing in here that I don’t already know. I doubt—”

“Do it again,” he cut in firmly. It sent a chill down your spine. With your lips pressed into a silent, sullen line, you watched his elbows slink from the frame of his desk as he settled back into his throne. His chin perked up as though needing to re-establish his elevated status, even from where he sat below you. “If you are to be the new manager of those Supe scoundrels, you will need to know everything there is to know about them. Every minuscule detail. From their first names, to their family history, down to every last transaction they’ve ever made.”

Manager? Of Payback? You reiterated silently. And it made your cheeks burn hot. That’s the so called job your father had been making a fuss over? That’d you’d paid all the years of your life toward preparing for? It was the coldest bucket of ice water your father could’ve dumped atop your head, but it did nothing to quench and cool the fire you felt bristling within.

The file’s covers clapped together as you closed it and held it against your chest, where you heaved an exasperated breath beneath the provided cover. “So you want me to micromanage a bunch of reckless superheroes?” You asked with practiced patience—your tone cool and level despite the irritation drawing your jaw rigid. This was not the job you’d expected after all you’d endured. After all the relentless, soul-sucking training your father had subjected you to.

Your father’s gaze narrowed in on your expression with unveiled scrutiny, and your heart must’ve felt it through the stack of paper shielding it because it began to thump rapidly. “You’re perfect for the job,” he said decidedly, and it felt like a dagger had pierced your chest to still the earthquake within your heart that had been rattling you from within. “We all had to start somewhere, sweetheart. My father didn’t hand me the other rein to the company until I’d learnt how to mount the horse without a leg-up.”

You began stroking your thumb across the file’s cover in calming patterns as you held your father’s stare. “I’m capable,” you pushed out tensely. “You know I am.” I was made for more.—that’s all you’ve ever told me. So what fucked up game are you playing with me right now?

“You are,” he agreed nonchalantly, as though oblivious to the dagger he kept on plunging further and further into your heart. “And that’s why I’m not trusting just anybody to nurture the faces of this company. I’m trusting you.”

Oh, is that right? You laughed bitterly. Silently.

A long time ago, you’d made peace with the knowledge of the childhood you’d never gotten—friends, parties, terrestrial playtime, being care-free. You’d made peace with it because you hoped you’d have had the job to compensate your losses. A job worth a damn. But this? Helicopter parenting a bunch of super-abled, overgrown babies with scorching tempers? It felt like the biggest, rankest pile of stinking shit had been hurled at the door of your housed self-respect. Yet, a part of you felt anything but surprised—the part of you that shared your father’s DNA, and that knew exactly how his brain worked.

Clutching the file against your chest even tighter than before, you drew in a calming inhale, your lips settling on words of peace. “Okay,” was all you offered, knuckling under to avoid starting a war you knew you wouldn’t win. Not now, at least. Not anytime soon. But you’d show him. When the time was right, and you’d collected all the right cards from the corporate deck, you’d show your father just how much you were capable of achieving.

A satisfied hum reverberated in his chest. “Wonderful,” he said, shifting forward in his seat to whisk a hand through the city of stacked paperwork erected along his desk. “Tomorrow morning, I’ve arranged a meeting with Payback. I’ll have you introduced to the group and leave you all to get better acquainted. I expect Soldier Boy might make a show, but word has it that he’s just been plucked from another one of his benders in some city slump.”

Your father’s head shook disdainfully as he recalled the reported skirmish. “I don’t bother to hassle myself with that Supe’s shenanigans, anymore. This isn’t the first time that fool’s nearly dragged Vought’s name through the sewers with his reckless addiction,” he grumbled, glancing up at you with another file he’d plucked from some part of his desk. “As the new manager, you’ll have to keep an extra close eye on that one, sweetheart. Here,” he added, lifting the extra-reading in your direction.

You leaned forward to receive the folder, rotating it to decipher the upside-down text. Soldier Boy. You couldn’t help but scoff at the fact that he had his very own folder separate from the rest of the group. Oh, he had to be trouble, alright.

Out of curiosity, you tore your gaze away from the new addition to glance at your father. “What happened to the last manager, anyway?”

His head had buckled again to rummage through pages laden with script you couldn’t discern. “It’s logged in the last few pages of Soldier Boy’s records,” he said distractedly.

There was a lot to question about that single sentence, but you settled for the most prompting one. “Records?” You echoed with a frown.

Your father hummed confirmation. “You’ll need to log everything Soldier Boy gets up to. It’s the conditions the board settled on last time he was picked up from some party he’d turned bloody. You have to account for all hours of his day, make sure he’s rehearsed his written speeches before airings, and that he’s not floating in the skies of narcotics throughout it all. Though, the last task has proved impossible as of late. I don’t doubt he’s got an inside man supplying him. But with everything else Vought’s got going on, we can’t spare the men to hound that particular trail. As long as he keeps his nose clean while on the job,” he finished dryly, as though he knew his hope was severely misplaced.

Your frown deepened spitefully as you heeded Soldier Boy’s repute. “Why the hell is somebody like him still running this show? He clearly can’t even keep his own life together.”

Your outburst didn’t come as a surprise to your father, whose attention didn’t stray from his desk to soothe you. “No, he can’t,” he agreed. “But he’s been around long enough to warrant the hassle. Vought’s name has piggybacked off of Soldier Boy’s past—propaganda and all—for years, now. So, you try discreetly removing America’s sweetheart from the company and dealing with the outrageous consequences of the masses.” He laughed wryly.

“Besides, as insane as it might sound, we have better control over what that imbecile gets up to under this company’s roof. There’s no telling what bullshit he might spew to the streets if he was let go from his pride and joy.”

You pressed both files against your chest, eyebrow hitching thoughtfully. “Is there no way to. . . you know, neutralise him?” You asked carefully, half-expecting your father to whip you with a horrified glare. But it seemed as though your words were as natural as the next breath he took.

“We’ve tried,” he said simply, still fixated on the documents sprawled out before him. “We can’t. Not yet, at least. But they are working on a way to contain him.”

Your interest piqued greedily. This was the type of company secrets you’d hoped to get a taste of—important details. Something worth a damn. “Who’s they? And how?”

That was enough of a probe to earn his attention finally. He halted whatever document he was sorting through, eyes upturned to yours with an earnest glint. “You need not worry about that, sweetheart.” You bit down on your tongue woefully. “All I need you to do right now, is make sure that Payback is on their best behaviour. And keep Soldier Boy in check.”

The disappointment throttled your chest, making it hard to breathe and form any genuine words to acknowledge your purpose. So you watched in silence as your father averted his gaze to reach for a loose pile of documents, humming absentmindedly as he gathered them into a neat assembly. He paused to do a sweep of his desk before setting on his stationary box, where he reached to take up a stapler. He seemed to have forgotten you were here entirely.

“Is that all?” You piped up eventually.

The stapler hovered along the corner of the stacked pages as he glanced up at you briefly. “That’ll be all,” he confirmed. “Oh, and the meeting will be at eight a.m tomorrow morning,” he added.

“Right,” you murmured, trying your best to lighten the sound into something that resembled excitement, or at the very least, acceptance. “Goodnight,” you offered meekly, and with tonight’s work clutched tightly in both hands, you turned on your heels to make an exit.

You’d barely gotten into the rhyming click-clack of your departure before your father’s voice rung out across the space. “Sweetheart?”

You came to a slow halt, casting an apprehensive glance over your shoulder. “Yes, dad?”

He’d laced his fingers atop his desk, like a judge about to rule a decision. “Watch your back,” he advised, his expression softening into something that almost looked like concern. But you hadn’t thought it humanly possible of him. “Especially around Soldier Boy. He’s crude, and exploitative, and he won’t hesitate to try and sink his fangs into you.”

The corner of your lip quirked dryly. He didn’t sound like much of a challenge you weren’t already used to encountering on a day-to-day basis. “I can handle Soldier Boy,” you assured him.

His chin dipped in the slightest of nods—curt, but enough of an acknowledgement that made you yearn for another taste of his approval. You chided that voice. The voice of the little girl who’d done everything to mimic the exact footsteps her father had laid out amongst the sand. The little girl who’d rarely gotten praise for her many victories, but had been endlessly berated for her sparse failures. You silenced her.

When the time was right, when you’d worked hard enough to make something for yourself, you’d allow that voice to have a say once more. Only then, it wouldn’t voice pleas for your father’s approval, or beg for scraps of his company. It would be to acknowledge your own hard work, to raise up your own status, and to give yourself the encouragement you’d always sought from him.

You returned your father’s nod, and without lingering on him any longer, you turned and finally exited his office.

As you clattered down the winding hallways muffled by nighttime’s silence, your gaze drifted over to the looming windows in passing, noting how the sky’s starry army saluted you at intervals. You made a beeline for the elevator up ahead, which stood open in waiting, and thankfully, with nobody else inside. You slipped into the tiny, four-walled space and hit the button for your floor, watching as the doors trailed close with a rather dramatic creak. Definitely behind on maintenance. When you reached your designated floor, the elevator dinged and parted for you to step into the open, which you did hastily.

Your eyes bowed with exhaustion now. You’d need to brew a pot of coffee as soon as possible if you had any hopes of powering through your work in preparation for tomorrow. As you made your way down the hall, you heard the elevator depart behind you. Somebody must’ve pushed the summons button, and you hoped they weren’t en route toward your floor. The thought daunted you a bit, hastening your steps toward the door marking your suite. You didn’t have the energy to entertain conversation right now.

When you reached your abode, you clutched both files beneath one arm as your free hand reached into your blazer pocket, feeling out the security card that would grant you access. You plucked one out in a smooth motion between your index and middle finger, hand outstretching to hover it over the sensor. But the light declined you with a blaring red, and your brows furrowed as you brought it forward to study the details.

It was then that you noticed you’d pulled the wrong card—one that granted access to your father’s suite. You reached back into your pocket to swap it out for the only other card, and then in the distance, the elevator dinged open.

Oh, fuck me, you groaned internally.

You tossed a glance over your shoulder just in time to see who the doors had parted to reveal. The first thing you noticed was a couple, faces connected in a heated war of the lips. The woman was pressed against the back wall of the elevator, hands wrapped around the neck of a man in a uniform that would’ve looked misplaced if it hadn’t been worn inside of Vought’s building. A superhero uniform.

Your interest piqued a hundred times over, and you found yourself staring to gather more information. The man’s hands roamed the women’s waist in messy, hungry motions, tousling her clothes about the place. You squinted at the colours of his uniform, head craning forward an inch, and then instantly recoiled with a wide-eyed stare as you recognised the colours of Soldier Boy.

Just then, the woman pushed him back at the chest with an obnoxious giggle, uttering some shrill sentence that skipped the frequency of your hearing channels entirely. Soldier Boy’s laugh, however—deep and reverberating—didn’t go unnoticed. It graced your ears almost pleasantly, and you watched as he herded her out the elevator with an exploitative study of her behind.

You were immediately drawn to his striking face. You’d seen it countless times all across the city, but somehow, it didn’t do him the justice that an in-person encounter did. His hand came forward to cup the woman’s ass with a clap that echoed down the hallway, and she let out a delighted squeal then had him chuckling in success. Neither of them noticed you loitering further down the hallway.

You grimaced at the sight of Soldier Boy. Never meet your heroes—now that was a saying that was onto something. Not that Soldier Boy had ever been your hero. Still, it did help knowing just what sort of person you’d have to deal with so thoroughly. And despite knowing what you knew about him—courtesy of your father and your research—you wished this instance hadn’t been your first impression of him. You’d count your blessings, though because by the sounds of his reputation, this behaviour of his was nothing of note.

“Come on, baby,” Soldier Boy’s voice boomed through the quiet air. “Let’s get you back to the room, hopped up on some bennies, and then I’ll show ya the best night o’ fuckin’ your life, yeah?” He chuckled, hand stringing around her shoulder to guide her around a corner that plucked them both from your view. And thankfully, in a direction away from your suite.

Benzadrine and an illegal, after-hour guest? Boy, he was not up to a great start in your books. You should have pursued them both, halted them in their tracks and started your case before bleeding his ear with repercussions, but you didn’t. Instead, you pulled out the correct access card, scanned it in, and hummed contentedly as the suite parted for you to drift inside, leaving the day’s shit outside the door.

Technically, you weren’t on the job yet. So, whatever obvious mischief Soldier Boy was currently up to was anything but tonight’s problem. You had other things to tend to for tomorrow’s big day, and there, you’d meet the leader of the Supes, anyway. Good to see he was around, after all, but it was simultaneously a fact that had you clenching your jaw an inch.

You knew men like soldier boy—avoided them like the plague, usually. But this time, with a miserable job like the one you’d been stuck with, you’d have no choice but to work with him.

ミ☬彡

You’d hardly gotten sleep last night. Between sifting through the files of Payback’s history and learning the names of the important personnel you’d have to consult at least once in your life, you’d been busy. Busy was an understatement. You’d been drowning.

When the clock had struck five in the morning, you’d wrapped up the last of your reading to take a power nap until six, and then hopped straight into a much needed shower. After drying off, dressing proper and gathering the day’s documents into a case, you’d taken a moment to grab a quick bite to eat before heading to the meeting room.

For the sake of punctuality and practicality, it helped that you lived in Vought’s tower. You’d been assigned permanent residence in one of the suites tucked into the top floors, and if you’d skimmed the blueprint correctly, it was only two floors above where most of Payback was situated. Though, judging by last night’s encounter with Soldier Boy, you could deduce that he lived on the same floor as you—likely a show of his lead-Supe status. Great for him, bothersome for you.

You had to admit to yourself that living where you worked, and working where you lived was far from the ideal lifestyle, but there wasn’t much you could do to change it now. You could only endure, so endure you would. But first, a cup of coffee to kickstart your energy reserves was a must.

After a quiet elevator ride, you’d traversed the winding hallways to reach the double doors of the meeting room. When you slipped inside, you weren’t surprised to find the room completely empty. It was only a little over seven, and that gave you roughly an hour to cram in a little more reading before the rest of the crowd arrived.

You settled at one of the chairs tracing the circumference of the large, winding table. The shape was semi-circular with the middle hollowed out to allow for addressing the members as the centre of attention, and it was a position you’d find yourself in very soon.

Around you, the world drowned into non-existence as you began skimming the first of your pages, the minutes ticking by like fleeting seconds. When you checked your watch again, it read quarter to eight. You hoarded your notes back into your case, chair screeching aside as you wandered over to the corner of the room where the coffee machine idled. You began prepping enough coffee to fill the mugs of the first four people lucky enough to claim it, and sip on a hot cuppa to ease them into this morning’s meeting.

You hovered by the machine until it brewed finish, keeping your hands entertained by aimlessly rearranging the mugs and other clutter. You were feeling slightly anxious about this big day, but at the same time, thrilled. This was your first ever job, but one you knew you could handle and blossom within until something greater came along. Until you seized something greater for yourself.

You reached for the coffee pot and began filling your mug, and it was just then that you heard the doors to the meeting room slide open, loud chatter seeping into the quiet atmosphere you’d grown comfortable in. You glanced over your shoulder briefly to spot a mixture of smart, simple uniforms and more dramatic, colourful ones trailing inside—board members and Supes alike, streaming inside in unity.

You found yourself glancing away almost instantly, head dipping to the pot of coffee that you continued to pour until your mug was filled to the brim. Your heart started to beat a little faster, now, the reality of it all sinking in. But you paced a breath or two to steady your nerves before placing the pot back into the slot.

It’s okay, you’ve got this, you steadied silently. You can’t afford to make mistakes, your father’s voice chimed in, but you pushed it away with a light frown. Bringing your mug up to your lips, you took the first, hot sip, savouring the bitter taste of it before swallowing it tensely. The warmth was soothing as it slid down to your stomach, almost enough to lay off the edge entirely.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” the first gruff voice of the morning furled through the air to harass you from some distance outside of your view. The vanity saturating his tone almost made you want to ignore it entirely, but as the daughter of Vought’s Executive with a reputation to uphold, it would be best not to soil both your family’s name—and your own—on your first day on the job—even if you had to bust a tooth or two clenching back biting remarks.

So, you lowered your mug back onto the table, your head jerking with a slight breath of patience. The corners of your lips quirked up in forced duty before you turned on your heels to face the man so determined to believe his every one-liner was some hypnotising spell.

You were instantly greeted by a handsome face modelling a potent grin—perfect white teeth that must’ve been tirelessly polished by his sense of self-importance. And his eyes, so impressively green, held this tantalising glint to them that almost made you not want to look away. The one and only Soldier Boy, even more striking this up close. But you had a feeling—many feelings—that his mouth was about to open to invalidate everything physically appealing about him.

“There she is,” he said lowly—a melodic rumble that managed to instil goosebumps along the nape of your neck. “A face as pretty as expected. Tell me, sweetheart, would you mind pourin’ me a cup? Black, and hold off on the sugar—unless you’re offerin’,” he added with an animated wink.

His use of sweetheart made your stomach curl in a manner that paled in comparison to the emotions your father evoked when addressing you. Maybe because everything Soldier Boy said felt like it came with unvoiced strings attached that you’d climb into his bed come the end of the day. And you wouldn’t even get started on the commercial wink he’d perfected to the point of being laughable outside of rolling cameras.

God, he was a faux-fest of charm.

“Oh,” you laughed dryly, head slightly tilting to one side, if only to scorn Soldier Boy further. “You must be mistaken, I don’t work for you.”

Soldier Boy’s eyes narrowed an inch. Whether it was from a place of surprise that you’d talk to him this way, or that—for once—he was being met with mockery rather than admiration, you had no idea. Didn’t care.

“Excuse me?” He chuckled carefully, but his gaze was anything but calculated as he did a bold sweep of your figure. “Everybody works for me, sweetheart,” he countered, eyes finding yours in a frown. “That’s kinda the perk that comes with bein’ Vought’s pocket-fillin’, undeniably handsome pussy-magnet, and the face of this entire operation, ‘course.”

“Well,” you chuckled, but it lacked humour. “Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people. But, if you’d like a cup of coffee, I’d be more than happy to step aside and let you pour one yourself.” The furrow in the Supe’s brows deepened at your bluntness, and you offered another forced smile before turning your back on him.

You did good on your word and side-stepped an inch to accommodate him while recollecting your own mug. But instead of sliding in beside you to fulfil his caffeine craving, Soldier Boy’s gloved palm came down on the countertop, his exposed fingers tapping at the wood.

“Bold,” he remarked sultrily. “I like it.” He brought himself forward to hover over your shoulder, the contact so close that you felt his chest graze your shoulder. Your head sank back an inch with a breath of patience as you turned to give him the attention he so clearly couldn’t live without.

“Can I help you with something?” You asked pointedly, your hands coming up to cradle your mug against your chest.

A faint grin stretched his lips as he peered down at you, his eyes narrowing on your every feature like you were an object of fascination that needed to be thoroughly studied. “Apparently not,” he chuckled lightly, slipping an intentional glance at your coffee. When he tuned back to eye-level, his chin jerked a small gesture in your direction. “What’d you say your name was, again?”

“I didn’t,” you answered vaguely, bringing your coffee to your lips for a sip. Your eyes didn’t stray from his as your nose dipped past the rim to drain a mouthful, and neither did his as he studied your every move with a twitching lip. You were testing his patience, alright. It made you grin against the porcelain.

“Right,” Soldier Boy cleared his throat, hand coming up from the counter to join his other in a cross against his broad chest. “Well, I’m sure I need no introduction,” he chuckled haughtily. “So, why don’t you tell me your name, sweetheart?”

You lowered your mug with a dramatic swallow, weaving a look of confusion through your features. “Yeah, I know who you are,” you said. The Supe quirked an eyebrow and gave a slight nod that said well, of course. “You’re The Boy Soldier, right?” And just like that, the grin was wiped clean from his face.

The Supe leaned himself into your vicinity. “You fuckin’ with me?” He murmured, as if the foul mouth on him was any secret.

You tilted your head in mock. “Obviously,” you shot back. “But it wouldn’t hurt you to learn some modesty.”

Soldier Boy’s lips quirked with a scheme as he softened his glare. “Oh, yeah? You gonna teach me?” He jeered.

You held his stare levelly. “Careful,” you warned, your fingers tightening around the body of your mug.

The Supe relented an inch at that, tall frame straightening to full height as he stopped encroaching on your space. “Not really my style, sweetheart.”

“It should be. Especially around me,” you retorted, leaving the statement to dangle in front of his face as you brought your mug up for another sip.

Suddenly, Soldier Boy’s expression tackled something other than a shit-eating smirk, his charm sobering up into a look of apprehension. “The hell you on ‘bout?” He demanded in a hushed, but gruff tone. “Who are you?”

You downed the last of your coffee, turning to lower the mug onto the coffee table with a deliberate slowness that made the Supe grimace and draw his lower lip into a frustrated bite.

“Enough o’ the goddamn theatrics,” he snapped, hand coming down rather firmly onto the coffee table. A second later, he was glancing around to see if he’d drawn any attention, and you did the same, only to find that everybody was far too absorbed in their own conversation to eavesdrop yours.

Glancing back at Soldier Boy, you caught his returning eye with raised brows. “What? The entertainment industry got you sick of the suspense?” You jabbed. His jaw clenched, causing you to huff a soft breath of satisfaction.

“Who am I?” You continued more seriously. “I’m just somebody that saw you sneaking in your pick of the Soldier Boy kiss-ass litter last night. And, I heard you offering her drugs, no less. Not a great look when you’re supposed to be following some sort of rehab program, you know, as per the terms of your last. . . probation, if you will.”

The Supe’s face tensed with the knowledge of getting caught, and it made your chest brim with satisfaction, but it was short-lived as he took a step closer to size you up and glare you down. “Yeah? And what about it, huh?” He murmured. “You think anybody’s gonna believe a single world outta your mouth? Over me—the Soldier Boy?” He gave a huff of laughter, gaze averting to the side for a second before narrowing on you again. “Sweetheart, you have no idea who you’re messin’ with.”

You raked your glare across his figure, as if trying to comprehend his audacity. “And you think that you do?” You shot back, your own arms coming up in a cross of restraint.

The gesture was enough to earn the Supe’s attention with a condescending smirk and hitch of his brow, which only made it all the more pleasurable to continue.

“Have you forgotten that you have no idea who I am?” You pointed out. “Besides, do you actually think that your word means anything to any person with a functioning brain? You’ve got the entirety of Vought elbow-deep in NDAs and rampant insomnia trying to cover this company’s ass after all of your reckless stunts. So trust me when I say that your word is as valued as a toddler crying wolf.”

The Supe’s chin perked with the slightest, almost imperceptible movement, clearly reflecting on your speech while simultaneously attempting to conceal a mixture of indignation and unease—because Soldier Boy wouldn’t be caught dead quivering before anybody. If there’s one thing you could thank your father for, it was his unintentional hand in teaching you how to decipher a man’s mind.

Eventually, the Supe mustered up his remaining nerve, his lip taking on a slight quiver of some emotion you couldn’t exactly place. It looked. . . ailed, but his brows were so intent on memorising discontent. “You gonna tell me who you are, sweetheart, or are you just here to tease my dick til I give you somethin’ to show for it, hm?” He asked in a low murmur.

You squinted at the mouth on him. “Don’t worry, you’ll find out who I am—soon enough,” you told him, and the ambiguity made the Supe glance off to the side with a muffled for fuck sakes.

Just then, one of the board members—a shorter, elegantly dressed lady—politely inserted herself between the two of you with a soft-spoken greeting. Your attention flickered over to where she reached to pour herself a mug of coffee, then back to where Soldier Boy remained glaring you down—only silenced by the newcomer’s presence. A blissful silence. You took that as your opportunity to ditch his interrogation, flashing him one last grin before you turned on your heels and moved back to where you’d left your belongings at the table.

You gathered your things together and set it down at your seat, and it wasn’t long before the chatter around you died down, your father streaming in through the doors. Almost immediately, members were rushing to take up their seats. In either side of you, you were faced with a man and woman dressed smartly, who introduced themselves as part of the board. You exchanged your own name, but purposely neglected revealing your second name. That would come in due time—undoubtedly attached to some degree of judgement. But for now, you’d savour the last remaining moments of peace that came with your mystery.

“Good morning, all,” your father greeted, and the crowd sizzled with softer reciprocations. He brought himself to stand in the centre of the space, doing a quick turn to drink in all the surrounding faces, his stare stuttering on the view of you. He offered a small nod, which you reciprocated subtly, and then he was turned back to addressing the rest of the room’s occupants.

Just past him, on the opposite curve of the table, you saw Soldier Boy slink into his seat of choice. He caught your eye almost instantly, and already, you could see some degree of puzzle-piecing taking place amid his expression—especially as he gauged your seat amongst important personnel, as opposed to watching you leave the room with the other assistants.

That’s right, you chuckled internally, holding his stare boldly. I’m here to stay.

Soldier Boy was drawn rigid in his seat as he endured your visual probing, the singular, gloved hand he’d come to rest on the table subtly tapping at the wood. Eventually, he averted his gaze off to the side, like he’d grown exasperated with your attention, and you birthed a light smirk before turning your focus back to your father.

For the first half the meeting, he gave a quick rundown on Vought’s current dealings, soliciting input from some of the gathered board members on new strategies and information they may have. It was knowledge public enough for the Supes to listen in on, but they did so deploringly—as if it were a waste of their precious time. Your attention snagged onto Soldier Boy in particular, whose glare had wandered back over to you in the short time you’d spent ignoring him. Now, it seemed as though he just couldn’t neglect you, not even for a second.

You knew that his mind was likely on a rampage of nagging thoughts about who you were and just what the hell else you knew about him. And each time you caught his eye, you let nothing on, despite the mean amusement that made you want to grin boldly. Is this what having powers felt like? Yours was a lot less tangible than a Supe’s, but still real enough to have an effect—if Soldier Boy was any testament to that.

The meeting droned on for a while longer before your father was clearing his throat with the claim of an important announcement, and the crowd equipped a new sense of interest. Even the surrounding Supes seemed to perk, some even slipping you a glance, as though they expected you might finally be introduced. And you were.

Your father’s head turned toward you, his hand outstretching in a beckon as he called your name. “Please, join me,” he said.

You would’ve gladly done so without a second thought, but then he continued onto summoning another person to his side—and of course, it had to be Soldier Boy. You watched as the Supe made haste on his summons, intentionally avoiding your deploring eye as he drew up beside your father.

With a small, preparatory breath, you moved to relieve yourself from the table, the atmosphere falling silent enough to emphasise the harsh screech of your chair as you straightened up. You worked your way around the other seated members, turning the table’s corner to join Soldier Boy at your father’s other side—in the centre of it all.

When you reached the waiting pair, you tried not to directly acknowledge the tense scrutiny etched across Soldier Boy’s face as he watched you enter the bubble of importance. But in the corner of your eye, you caught the way he shifted his weight between his boots, and the slight, choked clearing of his voice. It coaxed forward a grin that tugged at your lips, but for the sake of remaining professional, you pursed them to ease it off.

Your father’s hand outstretched to receive you at your back as he ushered you beside him, head turning to address the room. “For those of you who haven’t yet met her, this is my daughter,” he began, sparing you a brief, enigmatic glance. “In fact, today marks the first day that she enters the Vought family—as the new manager of Payback.”

Soft murmurs of surprise arose from the gathered people, and you couldn’t help but do a sweep of the peering faces. Most of the board members looked faintly surprised, heads tilting together as they exchanged hushed words. But the rest of the crowd—the Supes, looked almost exhilarated, like you were a new game to be played. You knew it was likely an attempt to scare you off, but if anything, it only made you feel more determined.

Still, your attention didn’t stray to where Soldier Boy stood. But you guessed he must’ve looked a combination of every member’s shock.

Your father cleared his throat, and it was the singular sound needed to quiet the room once more. “I expect great things for this company moving forward,” he continued, and you were faced with the back of his head as he glanced over at Soldier Boy. “Let us seize this new change with vigour, and show America why we are worthy of being her face.”

All around you, the members erupted with scattered claps, but as the seconds dragged on, it became more paced and prominent. You found yourself modelling a proud smile as you gazed upon the room, feeling a new sense of importance.

Maybe, just maybe, you could work with this job.

Around you, the room lit up with chatter and the shrill voices of moving chairs as the meeting dispersed. Your father’s hand on your back drifted away as he retreated a step, earning your attention back to him—and regrettably, Soldier Boy, who was now in appreciable view of you.

The Supe’s expression was stoic as he glared at you, but you saw the muscle of his jaw flicker when you met his gaze, and the way his hands had drawn into tense fists at his side.

Your father turned to face Soldier Boy. “Ben,” he addressed him—you’d almost forgotten the Supe’s very normal name, but you’d pocket it for a time when you could best use it to your advantage.

The Supe angled his body an inch to face your father, but not without sparing you a quick, accusing glance. “Sir,” he cleared his throat thickly.

If your father noticed the silent, ricocheting tension between yourself and Soldier Boy, he didn’t show it. “You’ll find that my daughter and you are quite alike,” your father said.

You grimaced at that observation, which must’ve been potent enough to beckon to the corner of the Supe’s eye because he flashed you a look of subtle offence before modelling neutrality more.

“But I hope that in your similarities, you will find yourselves working synergistically, rather than butting heads.” Your father’s words sounded oddly optimistic—almost cheesy, but you knew that everything he was saying was an indirect warning that the Supe not stir up trouble. A naive hope.

The hands Soldier Boy had bundled at his sides released to loop around his back, chin tilting up slightly to embody the essence of his name. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered hoarsely, then added, “sir.”

“Good,” your father murmured, a satisfied look settling into his sharp features. “Now, let us formalise this new partnership with a handshake,” he decided, his attention straying over to where you waited in silence.

“Handshake?” The Supe echoed almost dumbly, earning a side-long glance from your father.

“Is there a problem, Ben?”

Soldier Boy’s frown reached you briefly before he glanced back at your father, eyes narrowing before he lifted his head determinedly. “No, sir,” he answered firmly. And then, without further command, he took initiative by releasing his formation and strolling over to where you stood.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” your father said with a quick nod, before he strayed toward the crowd of chirping board members.

Tensely, Soldier Boy drew up before you, his gloved hand outstretching into your vicinity. When you glanced him in the eye, he looked as though he were attempting to probe your mind. Your lips stretched with a smile that was meant to be polite, but that you knew came off far too smug, and you lifted your own hand to link with his.

“I look forward to working with you, Soldier Boy,” you said, your voice clear-cut and ringing through the tense air circulating between you two—connecting all that you were.

The Supe’s lips quirked into a one-sided, insincere smirk, scrutiny heavy on his brows. But he said nothing, much to your didappintment. With a soft hm, you loosened your fingers in an attempt to shake his hold and terminate the handshake, but then his grip on you tightened, stilling you in your tracks.

“I’m sure you do, sweetheart,” he finally answered, his typical, mischievous demeanour making a formidable comeback. “I ain’t gonna lie, you’ve perched yourself on one helluva dick by takin’ on this job. But, you strike me as the typa gal that loves a challenge, so I’m gonna make damn fuckin’ sure you get it,” he promised lowly, delivering one more meaningful squeeze to your palm before you found it strung up against his lips with a single, strong pull.

There, he pressed his lips to your knuckles in a chaste kiss—an action so far from expected that you’d seized into speechless confusion. The intense green of his eyes seemed to gleam brighter as he drank in your reaction to his touch, and when he withdrew his lips and lowered your hand, you found him modelling a charming grin.

You yanked your hand free of his touch, arm flying back to your side in rigidity. “You—” you attempted to chide, but your tongue trampled itself into a hot, speechless mess. And at your side, upon the knuckles Soldier Boy had branded, you felt the lingering sensation of his lips.

“Me?” The Supe entertained, head tilting almost mockingly.

You felt your cheeks simmer, but not with embarrassment—just sheer frustration. “Behave yourself, Ben,” you choked out, arms coming up in a cross.

His expression beamed with a look of pleasant surprise, and then he was humming in approval. “Say that again,” he urged, eyes narrowing devilishly. “I could get used to the sound o’ my name on those pretty lips o’ yours,” he chuckled.

Your head tilted at his toying. “Really? Even if it’s as I’m reporting last night’s little house-party bender to the board?” You retorted. Soldier Boy’s light immediately dulled at that, and you quirked your eyebrows in accomplishment. “I expected as much,” you huffed, arms unfurling back to your side. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

And with that, you turned and took your departure, leaving Soldier Boy in the stunned rear. Just when you thought you’d heard the last of his voice for today, his insistence trailed after you in one last statement.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart, I’ll be waitin’.”

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a/n ─ first off, sincerely sorry that i took so long to get this request out, anon!! one thing about me is that i do tend to take long with writing but literally only bc i am way too hard on myself (perfectionist tingz) and always end up changing things 10000 times until im satisfied. secondly, this dynamic is so scrumptious pls, i really enjoyed fleshing it out—anon your mind is amazing. i split this into two parts bc it became a long one (as it always does with me) and it’s already written, but i’ll be releasing it at a later stage just to edge you all 😵‍💫 not sure when yet tho as i’m driving back to college sat and i’m super busy as of now but i’ll keep yall posted. i hope you all enjoyed this first part! also my & @floralscented’s world both collided with this request so i encourage all you lovely people to go and check out her take on it as well!! i don’t think there will ever be too much of this pairing 🙂‍↕️

thank you for reading!! please show your support with likes, comments & reblogs—they are deeply appreciated ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @angelicjackles @deansbbyx @titsout4jackles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @floralscented @deansbeer @deansbbyx @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @whisperingdaze @st4rmarley

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