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unintentionalseductress · 5 months ago

Note

More spamming for LaDs, but spicy...

NSFW HCs: Favorite non-traditional space to enjoy a good romp other than a bed for each of the boys... and maybe why it is their favorite?

Unconventional Romp Spots

This took a while but here we are! Loved the creativity of this request and let's face it, all of them are down so bad for reader that they'll do whatever she wants. 🤭🤭🤭 Warnings: MDNI, exhibitionism, PIV sex, clit play

Zayne’s favorite spot to make love to you apart from the bed was the couch. Was it incredibly unconventional? Not really but the couch was firm and warm, the place you and he sat snuggled together during those rare times he wasn’t working, countless movies and snacks shared, and drinking your morning coffee in each other’s company.

So why shouldn’t it count as a perfectly good spot to make love?

Your fingers tangle into his silky locks of hair as he kisses you, his large body hovering carefully before he lays down, his hips now flush against yours as he sensually licks your lips before parting them with his tongue. A contented sigh escapes you as the wet appendage dances with yours, sending jitters of excitement running through you as you slip your hands under his shirt, enjoying the warmth and scent of his skin.

A hum emanates from his large frame as you reach the middle of his back, your nails scratching him just hard enough to send a rush of arousal skittering down his spine, heat gathering in his veins as he drinks in the sight of you, flushed and hazy, beneath him. You help each other remove the barriers of clothing, savoring the intimate skin-to-skin contact. You nuzzle his neck then trail a line of kisses down the side, watching his eyes darken with desire.

With care, he pulls off your bra, tossing it aside and kneeling, the low couch creaking slightly as it took your weight. The TV remote lay forgotten on the coffee table as Zayne swirls a hardened nipple into his hot, wet, mouth, sucking patiently. You cradle his head as pleasurable shocks zip straight to your core. Your clit throbs in need as he tweaks your free nipple between his fingers. You writhe and moan, your hips pressing against his to seek friction.

Expertly you undo the belt of his buckle and his zip, rocking your hands against the hard heat of his erection and he releases your nipple to groan needily, his eyes flashing dangerously. Not needing any further encouragement he slides your panties off your legs, his hand coming up to cup your mound and gathering the moist heat leaking from your core onto his fingers, spreading it up towards your clit. You’re helpless under him, his long, thick, middle finger sliding so teasingly into your core while his thumb circles the little bundle of nerves.

Sighs and longing moans of need escape you as he builds up your arousal, those keen eyes watching your face for signs of your impending climax, and when you finally begin to clamp down with that familiar pattern onto his fingers, he crooks his inserted finger up into that spongy patch of delight. You erupt, a wavering moan escaping your lips as the orgasm rips through you, your clit and core spasming in pleasure around him. He pulls out his fingers, licking them clean before aligning himself between your legs.

You awkwardly part them, trying to find a comfortable angle on the narrow space of the sofa before he grabs you by the ankles and wraps your legs securely around his waist before entering you in one, long, passionate, stroke. The air grows balmy as his hips undulate, the fill of him inside you bringing all your primal needs to the surface. Your nails leave scratches on his back, and your eyes close as the sound of his ragged breathing overtakes your senses. Your eyes meet and you stroke his face, gently tracing the outline of his lips, caressing the corners of his eyes before he gathers your close, his grip leaving indents in your skin as he gives all of himself to you.

Oh, this sweet-looking man is the wolf in sheep’s clothing. He won’t hesitate to take you anywhere, anytime. His unconventional spot is his desk at the office. He loves how naughty it makes him feel.

It’s past office hours and everyone has gone home, but Xavier had been making excuses to get you to stay late since lunch. Now, finally alone he boxes you in against his desk, your body blocked from escaping by his tall frame. His gloved hands shamelessly slide under your hunter’s uniform as he gropes your tits, palming the mounds of flesh possessively, satisfaction coursing through his veins as your nipples harden under his palms. His tongue traces hot trails down your neck as you squirm against him, feeling hardness gather between his thighs.

You whimper as his teeth scrape the front of your throat, your blood humming in your ears. Xavier undoes the buttons and buckles on the uniform and your clothes slide to the floor, leaving you in bra and panties. A stain of moisture has gathered on the crotch and Xavier’s sapphire eyes become luminous with hunger at the sight.

“I’m guessing you’re just pretending when you say you don’t like me taking you at the office.” He helps you hop onto the desk and then kneels between your thighs, his nose brushing against the smear, inhaling the musky scent of need leaking from your core. He pulls apart your legs, helping you balance your feet at the edge of the desk then hooks his finger into the gusset of your panties, pulling them to the side and giving you a teasing lick that makes your hips thrust up.

Xavier chuckles and sticks his tongue into your moist hole and you moan, the noise escaping into the quietness of the office, only seeming to sound louder than when it was full. Lewd slurping noises can be heard as Xavier goes to town, sucking every drop of your essence he can find, his tongue drawing circles over your sensitive bud as your hips instinctively rock against his mouth. Xavier’s cock throbs painfully inside his slacks as he steadily builds your orgasm, your every movement and noise only adding fuel to the fire. He frees one hand from it’s glove and probes your entrance, watching your fluttering hole suck his fingers in, clenching with desire around the long digits.

Every nerve in your body is begging for release, your head turning to one side, seeing all the empty desks of your colleagues, none of whom will have a clue of what happened on the desk next to them when they get in the next morning. The thought causes heat to gather in your belly, your abdominal muscles tightening in anticipation until Xavier pushes you over the peak, your breath tearing from your throat as you gasp out in ecstasy, pulse after pulse of satisfying pleasure flooding your senses.

Xavier licks his fingers clean then quickly undoes his pants, his cock finally springing free of its confines, leaking precum on its tip. He guides himself towards your warm, wet, cunt, gently splitting you apart as he fills you up. The stretch of muscle is welcoming, and he rolls your knees onto your chest, making you impossibly tighter around him as he starts to thrust.

As the air fills with your quiet whimpers, he sighs and settles into a comfortable rhythm, ensuring he bottoms out each time, dragging his length along your inner walls as he withdraws.

“Maybe next time we should do this on Tara’s desk instead of mine. Imagine her look of confusion when she comes in and sees all her paperwork is stained.”

The beach. He enjoys the noise of the water lapping onto the sand as he pulls you away to a hidden spot on the sandy dunes. Was it really his fault that you wore that sexy little bikini, the one that showed just enough of your sweet ass and lacked just enough support that it didn’t prevent your boobs from jostling around when you walked?

Surrounded by a craggy wall of privacy, his eyes glitter mischievously as he squeezes every part of your body, enjoying the way your face becomes flushed and your kisses become sloppier as he teases your nipples through the bikini top, the peaks visible and hard. He grins unashamedly as you stretch out on your stomach on the beach blanket he’s laid out, and starts to undo the knot at your back. His lips kiss the back of your neck and trail down your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine with each touch. You’re humming lazily, then roll over to expose your breasts to him, sand dotting your collarbones and belly.

Rafayel dips his head and suckles a pert nipple, groaning. “Oh, you’re all salty babe…from swimming in the ocean. Oh delicious…” He switches to the other one, savoring the taste of the salt and your skin as you moan and reach over to palm him through his swimming trunks. He’s rock hard and throbbing as you stroke his erection and his hips snap forward with each movement of your small hand.

The sound of the waves crashing down onto the shore and the call of the seagulls disguise the moans and noises of sweet pleasure the both of you are making as Rafayel hooks a finger into the elastic of your bikini bottom and pulls it down. The ocean breeze caresses your body and goosebumps erupt all over your skin. Rafayel chuckles and covers your body, his warmth seeping comfortingly into you as your hands tickle down his back, leaning up to give him unhurried kisses down his happy trail. Unable to hide your enthusiasm anymore, you loosen the drawstring of his swim shorts, tugging down the fabric and freeing his hard meat. It pops up proudly, leaking droplets at the tip.

You swirl your tongue generously around it and Rafayel bucks almost delicately into your mouth, the moist heat welcome against the chill of the air. He clicks his tongue in dismay as you let go but surprise him by rolling him under you, and quickly changing positions so that your pussy was tantalizingly visible over his face. You go back to eagerly slurping his generous length and feel the wet slip of his tongue lick a hot stripe along your cunt and hum in gratification as he hits your clit. He tasted salty too, and you suck on his tip like a lollipop trying to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could. Saliva drips from your mouth and onto the crevices of his thighs as you pleasure each other. You let out a keening moan, muffled by his cock as he inserts two fingers into your fluttering hole and starts petting your gspot. Your hips rock against his face and when his lips seal over your clit your concentration slips, his cock falling from your mouth as you rest your cheek on his thigh and writhe, all your inhibitions flying loose.

The relentless actions of his tongue and fingers bring you to a satisfactory orgasm, the punch of ecstasy pulsing through you as your fingers find purchase in the sand, bracing yourself and letting out shuddering whines as you ride the dizzying high.

Rafayel laps at the fluid leaking from your core, and the feeling jolts you into needing more, the clenching of your cunt almost becoming unbearable. You scramble off his face, resting on your knees as you drag your pussy down his chest, then tease his swollen cockhead with your drooling hole. Rafayel hisses at the sensitivity and before you could react he thrusts his hips and sheathes himself inside you.

Full and in a haze of need, you ride him, feeling his hands firmly grasp your fleshy ass, gently prying apart your cheeks as you bounced so that he can see the way your hole slides over him, enveloping him in that sweet essence.

“Ahh fuck…” Rafayel’s thrusts get sloppy as the slap of skin on skin gets more urgent, your moans mingling in the salty air as you push him to the edge. Rafayel grits his teeth as your pussy spasms around him, milking him dry as he unloads, his milky seed flooding your channel like sea foam washing up on the sand.

It excites Sylus to take you on his private balcony. It’s just secluded enough not to give away everything that's happening but open enough that a passerby might hear or see something they weren’t expecting. The excitement is enough to get his blood pumping, a heady rush swooshing through his body as his head fills with illicit thoughts on how to get you to lose control.

“Sylus please…” You whine helplessly as his head buries itself between your parted thighs, his tongue licking a sinfully pleasurable line from your dripping hole up to your clit. Your hands grip the railing as you moan into the open air while he crouches, a powerful jaguar that wasn’t going to leave you until he’s had his fill. The dim lights of the N109 zone surround you, passing cars and the faint noise of the few people that dared to walk on the streets breaching the edges of your senses.

His hot tongue pushes into your dripping hole and your legs wobble from the heady rush of desire that surges through you. Sylus’s chuckle is muffled and he withdraws, only to replace his tongue with his long, thick fingers. You lean over the edge, trying to steady yourself and Sylus firmly wraps his arms around your middle.

“Please what kitten?” He curls his fingers up into your gspot and pops of color appear behind your closed eyelids as you twitch, your ass jiggling as you dance on his fingers. The air is punctuated with broken moans and Sylus’s eyes gleam in satisfaction at your broken state. “That’s not nearly loud enough. You’ll need to mewl harder than that to even be heard over the traffic.” He gives a teasing lick to your clit and watches your hips jerk. The puffy folds of your sex are leaking copiously, coating his fingers with your slick.

How delightful to have you at his mercy, to have the whole N109 zone hear the pretty noises you made for him, to establish his dominance everywhere. Sylus nuzzles his nose in between your sex, inhaling the sweet musk of your pussy and you reflexively push against him. “This smell when you get so needy for me…it’s intoxicating.” Caged between Sylus and the balcony you’re helpless to do anything else but accept his kisses and licks, feeling him swirl the tip of his tongue on your clit while his fingers work inside you to bring you over the edge.

When your orgasm finally peaks you sob, your body shaking uncontrollably, all thoughts of not being discovered flying out of the window as pleasure pulses through your body. You bear down on his face, pleasing him immensely as you ride out the dizzying spiral of delight. Once you calm down, Sylus gets to his feet, then to your shock, roughly yanks open the front of your blouse, your tits open to the night air. The taboo of the act brings forth a surge of fresh arousal as he palms the mounds of flesh and you hear the soft noise of a zipper being opened. His cock pushes apart your folds, the engorged head notching into your messy opening and filling your empty canal. You choke out a desperate sound, lost to the noise of the city, but more follow as he thrusts smoothly, his hardened meat kissing your cervix with each stroke.

He offers you his finger and you suck on it for comfort, whining your muffled pleasure as he continues the mutual gratification.

“That’s a good kitten. Keep purring for me, sweetie.”

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume

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knightjpg · 10 months ago

Text

Brick by Brick

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

tags: construction worker simon/neighbour reader

part 1 | part 2

Summer is the worst time of year for construction work outside. Up early before the birds are awake to try and beat the heat, arriving on site at six or earlier with bleary eyes and creaky joints from the day before. It means coming home at four or five with lots of day left to get through yet without the will or energy to do anything beside shower, eat, watch some telly, and sleep.

The pay is good and it beats sitting in a cramped office all day, but when Simon gets home with aching knees and the thrum of a headache at the back of his skull it's hard to remember why on Earth he chose the career he's in. He's drenched in sweat, large dark patches adorning his pits and back.

It's one of those days where very little can make him stray from his commute straight to home to collapse into his big falling-apart chair, but today it's not really up to him. A large moving truck blocks his driveway. The faded company logo against dirty white overtakes the entire view of his windshield, though Simon can see the back doors are still swung open. No one to attend to it, though.

Simon noticed the FOR SALE! sign had gone, of course. Remembers feeling vaguely pleased, even, that the home next to his wouldn't be empty anymore, because he of all people knows exactly how quickly places can fall apart without anyone tending to it. But right now all he feels is tired, and hot, and really fucking annoyed. Just when he's clicked his belt loose to get out of the car and see if the dolt belonging to the truck is anywhere to be found, voices carry from the open front door.

“...last. I'm afraid it's a little heavy, though, so maybe we should get the boxes out first?”

And out steps the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Hair tied up, tight little top, and shorts that give him ample view of your legs.

Maybe summer's not so bad after all.

You're talking to a bloke wearing a uniform that matches the moving truck and who looks flushed in the face from exertion. As soon as you clock Simon's car, though, you stop mid-sentence in surprise, and then quickly walk to him, brows furrowed apologetically.

“Oh, I'm so sorry—you're trying to get past us, aren't you?” Simon gives you a nod, and you turn back to the mover. “Would you mind moving the truck up a little? I don't want it to be in the way.”

There's precious little parking space ahead, so Simon rolls down his window and calls out to you, “Jus’ backing up a few yards s’fine.” He gestures to his driveway so you know that's where he's headed, and you flash him a smile and a thumbs-up in understanding.

The truck is moved, Simon parks his car, and you pull another heavy-looking box from the cube. You never reach your new doorstep with it; Simon steps in and lifts it from your hands. You blink up at him, lashes fluttering sweetly with surprise. “Oh—are you sure? It's heavy...!”

One corner of Simon's mouth tugs up. Tired as he is it weighs next to nothing, and he can't resist holding it with one arm, holding out the other.

“Can take ‘nother if you need.”

You laugh and assure him this is quite enough, then jog back to the truck while Simon pushes past the half-open door to his new neighbour's home.

It's a mess, of course. Piles of boxes, scattered furniture, rolled-up carpets. Simon puts the box down in the living room, then saunters back outside to lift another from your hands. He does the same with the couch; the mover is struggling and Simon doesn't trust him not to let it fall and crash. And you're such a little thing. Just doesn't feel right, watching you rush around and struggle without stepping in.

With Simon's help it's quick work. The mover thanks Simon before driving off, but he's not really listening. There's much more important things to pay attention to.

You're pretty. Cheeks flushed from exertion, breathing hard, flyaway hairs from your ponytail sticking up in odd directions. Simon has to suppress the urge to smooth them away.

"Thanks so much for the help,” you tell him earnestly. “I'm sorry we were in the way—we thought we'd have a little more time before people started coming home from work.”

“S’alright,” Simon says. It's nearing evening, now, the sky above you glowing in pale pink and oranges hues. The little smatter of trees across from you rustles with a gust of summer wind.

You introduce yourself and insist on giving Simon your number “in case there's ever anything you need.” Simon's more concerned about a young woman living all on her own but takes your number all the same, watching your pretty little fingers tap it in on his phone.

“I mostly work from home, but I'm very quiet and boring,” you tell him with a smile. “You don't have to worry about noise.”

For some reason that isn't the selling point it should be. When Simon stands inside his hallway, house empty and dark and quiet, he wishes he still lived in a shitty apartment with thin walls on the bad side of Manchester. Maybe then he'd hear your footsteps, or better yet, your voice. Instead the only thing waiting for him at home is silence. Heavy and thick, where he's ripped away from sweet sunshine and plunged underwater.

Simon is halfway to falling asleep on the couch when the bell rings. He groans, drags a hand over his face, and glances up at the TV. The football match is still going. The camera pans over a cheering crowd, their cries distant and quiet.

He mutes the thing entirely and heaves himself up to open the door. Swear to God, if this is the fucking salesman again...

“Hi there.”

You give Simon a little finger wave, your other hand cradling a round oven dish. When you shift on your feet the protective foil on top rustles noisily.

You look a little more put together than you did yesterday—rested, showered, fed. Just as pretty.

Although, speaking of fed...

“Alright?” Simon asks, eyes on the oven pan. He's only catching a faint whiff of something, but whatever it is smells really fucking good. His stomach reminds him that the only thing in his fridge are a couple cans of beer.

You nod and lift the dish with a shy little grin. “Yeah. Um. I wanted to say thanks again, for yesterday. And I wanted to test out my oven, so...”

You hold the dish out for him to take. Simon's fingers brush yours, large meaty paws easily twice the size of your own. When he peels back the foil you add, “Shepherd's pie. I thought about cookies, but I wasn't sure if you'd like those.”

The scent hits him, then, rich and hearty and buttery smooth. The dish is still a little warm.

Fuck. When was the last time he ate something homemade?

“No, I'll eat anything,” he says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He hasn't showered yet. Must look a nightmare. Does he stink? “Thanks.”

Your whole face lights up, and Simon's neck feels hot. He averts his eyes to avoid your gaze and pretends to inspect the pie instead. Jesus, what is he, twelve? “I'm glad. I'll leave you to it, then.”

D’you want to come in for a drink?

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't get the words out quite right and gives you a brusque nod, watching you walk back to your own home before closing his door all the way.

He eats at his kitchen table and finishes the whole thing in one go. Chases bits of flakey crust with his finger, licks up every leftover crumb. The meat is tender and juicy and for a while after the only things he smells is golden-brown potatoes seasoned with rosemary.

He mourns it when it's gone, of course. Has half a mind to go over right now and ask if your cooking is for hire—Simon can't remember the last time he felt satisfied. When he ate not just for the sake of fuel or convenience but because someone wanted him to have something nice, something special. Is it special? Is he special? Are you going around the neighbourhood handing out cookies and pies to just anyone?

Simon's sigh is loud in the silence and sticks to the kitchen walls.

The pre-made frozen meals are fine, of course. Empty plastic containers fill up the rubbish bin. They're easy and cheap and most days Simon's glad just to have something warm in his stomach.

And yet.

The next day Simon stands at your door at six in the evening sharp, holding the clean dish in his hands. You invite him in for a cup of tea, because unlike him you have good manners, and you sheepishly apologise for the stacks of boxes everywhere.

“S’alright,” Simon says, carefully manoeuvring around a large pile of books. “I don't mind.”

And he doesn't, though he does feel like a bull in a china shop. Large and much too coarse for the little tea cup you hand him while the kettle whistles on the stove.

“I'm afraid I don't have much to go with it,” you say with a flutter of your hands. “Do you like ginger snaps? I think I've got a pack somewhere.”

You don't wait for his answer and pry open one of the cupboards. First come the ginger snaps, then the box of Earl Grey, which you hold up to him with a triumphant smile. “Unpacked the important stuff first.”

Simon frowns and jerks his chin to the cupboard. “S’it stuck?”

“Oh—yeah. They all are.” You give the wood a little knock. “It'll take me some time to get to fixing everything. The house went for a good price, but only ‘cause it needs some love.” You give him a rueful smile and get up, wiping your hands on your thighs. “I'm not all that handy, so I'll have to take it bit by bit.”

Simon rises before you finish your sentence. "Let me see.”

“Oh, no, it's okay. It's not a big deal, really—”

Simon crouches down, slowly, to spare his knees, and tests the hinges. The wood is rotten in certain places, the hinges old and rusted. Rather than fixing it up it should be replaced entirely. You really better had gotten this place for good money, because this will take more than a bit of elbow grease to repair. He prods at the hinges, tuts, and looks up at you.

“Ready to fall apart, this one. You said they're all like this?”

You nod, worry creasing your brow. “I—yes. Well, the kitchen is. The bathroom seems alright. Is it worse than I thought?”

“Might be. You have anyone look at this?”

You shake your head. “I'm starting to feel silly about it now, but I was going to look up how to do it myself.”

Simon straightens. “I'll go get my kit.”

It's not as bad as he feared. Two cabinets need tearing down completely, but the others are worth saving. Simon warns you the repair job will fuck the wood, but you tell him it's no problem; you'll paint over it anyway.

You feed him tea and ginger snaps while he works, asking him several times if he wouldn't like a break, hasn't he done a lot already? You feel terrible about having him work on his day off. Didn't he say he worked construction? He must be so tired, poor man. You insist he stay for dinner. “You've been so helpful—it's the least I could do.”

Simon takes a breather to watch you cook. Chicken, pasta, summer salad. The sun sinks lower and hits you straight on from the kitchen window, painting the edges of you a dazed red-gold. An angel's halo.

“You big on reading, then?”

You turn down the heat and put a lid over the pan to join him at the table. Simon's eyeing the many books strewn about on top of boxes that say “pans” and “kitchen supplies”. Le Morte D’Arthur. Histories of the Kings of Britain. Beowulf. There's even one that prompts a vague, long-forgotten memory from his school days— The Canterbury Tales.

“I am. Always have been.” You nod to the books. “I teach at university—medieval literature. But I'm working on my own research on the side.”

Simon lets out a low whistle. His pretty bird is a clever one. Smarter than him, that's for sure. He might be big and strong but he's got bricks for brains.

That's what his dad always used to say, anyway—that he's stupid. Those always were his kinder moments.

“That explains all the books y’got.”

“There sure are a lot of them, aren't there? I swear moving really makes you realise just how much stuff you own...” You shake your head. “I'll have to get a bigger bookcase.”

“Think it's impressive.”

Your eyes crinkle with a smile. “Not as impressive as knowing how to fix my cabinets! I don't know how I would've managed by myself.” You hop up from your seat to check the food, then ask over your shoulder, “Is that something you do a lot for work, too? Carpentry and the like?”

Simon shakes his head. “We do the heavy lifting. Clearing a place out, laying the foundation. Johnny—my coworker, he's mostly on machinery. Kyle does transport and plumbing. I do the heavier handiwork.”

You hum and start plating the food while asking him more questions. Is the pay good? Is his boss fair? Are his coworkers nice?

Price's fairly strict is what he is, Simon answers, and you laugh again. He likes that. Likes that he gets you to do that.

He wolfs down a plate of his pasta and devours the chicken. It's fragrant, roasted with lemon and thyme, bursts between his teeth. He tells you more about Johnny, that he's a cocky bastard who likes playing with electricity way too much, but that he's also a loyal friend. That he's a hard worker—that all of them are.

When his plate is empty and he's eyeing what's left in the pans you push them closer without saying anything, and prompt him to tell you about that time a plumbing line exploded and Kyle got soaked from tip to toe in disgusting gunk. He smelt like sewage water for weeks.

Simon doesn't even realise how much he's talked until his throat starts feeling rougher than usual. You make it easy somehow. If he'd thought you would look down on him because of your own job he needn't have worried. You're not at all like what he imagines when he thinks of professors, none of the stuffy superiority complex he's used to weathering when people find out all he does all day is chafe his fingers on hard cement.

Maybe you're just good at faking it, but he doubts it. The sparkle in your eyes when you listen to him so intently has to be real.

You send him home with a warm thanks and dessert, and Simon feels something in his chest lurch when you peer up at him through your lashes in the doorway, smiling and sweet. Can't remember the last time he went out for dates. Can't remember having the time or energy for it.

Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

There are days when it's hard, of course. Simon is only human, and spending days and days on sizzling hard concrete would wring anyone dry. The project is coming along nicely, but at the height of summer there's plenty of times when even the promise of your smile isn't enough to keep him from falling asleep on his couch—often on an empty stomach.

But during the weekends he rings your bell dutifully. Six o’clock becomes something sacred in his mind, sweet relief after praying on his knees for hours smoothing out cement. It gets to the point where he turns down Friday drinks with the guys more than once because he's got something to go home for now, his pretty little bird that's never once mentioned a boyfriend of any kind.

“You really should let me pay you.”

Simon gives you a look before pushing his large shoulders further into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “Should be the one payin’ you. I know I'm doubling your grocery bill.”

He eats more at your place than his own these days. It gives him incentive to rush through a shower, dress like something resembling a human, then wait at your doorstep to be let in. Wagging tail and everything.

Your cheeks darken and you duck your head. “No, um... It makes me happy. To see you eat my cooking, I mean,” you confess a little shyly. “I feel like I'm the one getting everything out of this. I hope I'm not keeping you from—from spending time at home, or with your family.”

“S’just me, love.” Simon pauses, pretends to inspect the pipes. “Less you don't want me coming ‘round anymore.”

“No, no,” you say hastily. “No, I like—I like the company. Really.” Your voice softens. “And I'm not just saying that because I appreciate the help.”

Simon exhales, shifts a little to accommodate the strain in his boxers, and holds his hand out for the screwdriver.

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #if you saw me post this to the wrong blog. no you didnt.

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its-avalon-08 · 5 months ago

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Omg you recent lando fic has me smiling like crazy no joke.

I was hoping I could request something similar ish. Where reader is Max.V. Sister and Lando wants it to be secre, bu the reade thinks he only wants to keep it secret because he's going to break up with her soon. (Dating for a while), and when the reader tells Carlos this, he tells Lando, who decides to let the whole world know by running up to her and kissing her just before the race.

secrets and shushed voices (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort

The buzz of conversation in the Red Bull hospitality was overwhelming, but Y/N Verstappen had mastered the art of tuning it out. She adjusted her team polo, flipping through her notes for Max's debrief, when she felt a presence near her. Without looking up, she muttered, “Unless you have coffee for me, I’m not interested.”

A soft chuckle answered her. “What if I said I could charm you into being interested?”

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing at the source. Lando Norris leaned casually against the table, his grin infuriatingly perfect.

“Charm me?” she repeated with a raised eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume that’s possible.”

“Bold is my middle name,” he shot back, undeterred.

“Funny,” she quipped, turning back to her notes. “I thought it was ‘Overtakes on Softs.’”

His laugh was genuine, and she hated that it made her chest flutter. “Touché, Verstappen. Touché.”

Over the next few months, their paths crossed often—media days, driver briefings, paddock run-ins. Lando made it his mission to tease her relentlessly, and to her dismay, she found herself looking forward to it.

One afternoon, she’d been ranting about how Max ignored her race notes.

“I bet he ignores them because you write, like, an essay for every corner,” Lando teased, plopping down beside her in the lounge.

“You’ve never even seen my notes!”

“I don’t need to. You scream ‘overachiever.’”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “And you scream ‘class clown.’”

“Ah, but clowns are memorable.”

“Annoying, more like.”

“Annoyingly charming,” he corrected with a wink, making her laugh despite herself.

Their playful banter became a staple in the paddock, much to the amusement of their teams. Max often shot her knowing looks, while Carlos liked to poke Lando with, “Mate, just ask her out already.”

But Lando enjoyed the chase. Every lingering glance, every sarcastic comment, every moment they shared—it all felt electric.

One night after a particularly chaotic post-race party, they found themselves on a quiet balcony overlooking the marina.

“You’re surprisingly tolerable when you’re not trying to be funny,” Y/N remarked, leaning against the railing.

“And you’re surprisingly fun when you’re not intimidating,” Lando countered, nudging her playfully.

She looked at him, the usual walls in her eyes softening. “You don’t actually think I’m intimidating, do you?”

“Only in the best way,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re... different, Y/N. In a good way.”

Her breath hitched slightly, but she covered it with a smirk. “You’re such a flirt, Norris.”

“Only with you.”

It was after a rainy qualifying in Silverstone when everything changed. Y/N had stayed late in the garage, waiting for Max, when Lando appeared, soaked and grinning.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked, handing him a towel.

“Trying to decide if I should do something really stupid,” he said, his voice unusually serious.

“What kind of stupid?”

“This kind.”

Before she could process his words, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly. The world seemed to blur as she kissed him back, a hundred unspoken moments between them finally falling into place.

Dating Lando was like stepping into a secret world. Behind closed doors, he was thoughtful, goofy, and overwhelmingly sweet. But in the paddock, he insisted they keep their relationship under wraps.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed,” he’d said one evening, his hand brushing her hair back as they lounged on the couch. “I just want us to have this—our thing—without the world tearing it apart.”

She had nodded, understanding his reasoning, but over time, doubt began to creep in. What if he wasn’t ready to commit? What if this secrecy was his way of keeping an exit strategy?

As Lando hugged her tightly after another stolen moment in the shadows of the McLaren motorhome, her thoughts spiraled.

He’s holding on so tight, but for how long? Am I just a phase he’s going to grow out of?

His voice broke through her haze. “You okay?”

She forced a smile, burying her face in his shoulder. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But as he held her, all she could think was, How much longer until he decides to let go?

Y/N sat in the McLaren hospitality, her hands gripping a lukewarm cup of tea she wasn’t drinking. She’d just watched Lando breeze past her in the paddock—no glance, no smile, not even a quick touch on the arm. He’d turned the charm on for the cameras as if she didn’t exist, leaving her to stew in the weight of their secrecy.

She set the cup down with a loud clink and stormed out. A short walk later, she was in the Ferrari hospitality, where Carlos and Rebecca sat chatting.

“Carlos,” she blurted, her voice trembling. “He’s going to break up with me.”

Carlos frowned, sitting up straighter. “¿Qué? Who’s breaking up with you?”

“Lando!” she exclaimed, collapsing onto the couch beside Rebecca, her emotions spilling over. “He doesn’t want this anymore—I know it!”

Rebecca placed a calming hand on Y/N’s knee. “Slow down, cariño. What happened?”

Y/N sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “It’s everything. He didn’t even look at me this morning. No hug, no kiss. Nothing. He just… walked past me like I wasn’t even there. And it’s not just today—it’s been months of hiding. He insists on keeping this a secret. I thought it was romantic at first, like we had something private, but now—” Her voice cracked as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Now you think it’s because he’s trying to find an easy way out,” Carlos finished, his tone heavy with disapproval.

Y/N nodded, sobbing into her hands. “He says it’s to protect us, but I don’t feel protected, Carlos. I feel like I’m not good enough for him to want people to know.”

Rebecca pulled Y/N into a hug, rubbing her back soothingly. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re more than good enough. If anything, it’s him who’s too blind to see what he’s doing to you.”

Carlos crossed his arms, his brow furrowed in thought. “Has he given you any reason to believe he doesn’t care about you anymore? Other than the secrecy?”

Y/N hesitated, her voice muffled against Rebecca’s shoulder. “It’s all the little things. He’s so different when we’re alone—he’s kind and loving and makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world. But the second we step into the paddock, it’s like I don’t exist. I just… I can’t do this anymore.”

Carlos’s face hardened, his protective side kicking in. “He needs to hear this, Y/N. But not from you—no, not while you’re like this.” He stood abruptly. “I��ll talk to him.”

“No!” Y/N sat up, her eyes wide. “You’ll just make things worse!”

“I won’t,” Carlos said firmly. “But he’s my friend, and I’m not going to sit here and watch him break your heart because he’s too much of an idiot to see what he’s doing. He needs a reality check.”

Rebecca nodded in agreement. “Carlos is right. He knows Lando better than anyone—you should let him handle it.”

Y/N sniffled again, her resolve softening under Rebecca’s calming presence. “You’re sure you won’t tell him I sent you?”

Carlos crouched in front of her, his expression softer now. “I’ll make it about what I’ve noticed. He’ll never know you said anything.”

Y/N nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”

Rebecca gave Y/N a comforting squeeze before Carlos kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll fix this, amiga. Trust me.”

As Carlos left, Y/N leaned into Rebecca’s side, her tears slowing but her heart still heavy. “What if he really does want to break up with me?”

Rebecca stroked her hair gently. “Then he’s the biggest fool on the planet, and we’ll make sure he knows it.”

Carlos leaned back in his chair in the McLaren hospitality, casually sipping on a bottle of water as Lando scrolled through his phone. They had been talking about summer break plans, with Lando suggesting a group trip to Ibiza.

“Ibiza would be fun,” Carlos said, setting his bottle down. “But only if you bring your girlfriend.”

Lando choked slightly, quickly glancing around to see if anyone overheard. “Shh, man!” he hissed, leaning closer. “What if someone hears you?”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Lando frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Carlos straightened, his tone turning serious. “Y/N came to see me today. She’s convinced you’re going to break up with her.”

“What?!” Lando’s voice rose before he quickly lowered it, glancing around again. “Why would she think that?”

“Because, mate, you’re treating her like some big secret, like she’s something you’re ashamed of,” Carlos said bluntly. “Every time you refuse to acknowledge her in public, every time you say no to posting a picture or holding her hand, she feels like she’s not enough for you.”

Lando’s face paled, his phone slipping from his hand. “That’s not… I don’t—” He stopped, his mind racing. “I’ve never said I’m ashamed of her. I thought she understood why I wanted to keep it private.”

Carlos leaned forward, his eyes hard. “She might have understood at first, but it’s been ten months, Lando. She’s tired. And frankly, I don’t blame her.”

Lando opened his mouth to argue but stopped as Carlos’s words sank in. His mind spiraled into a series of flashbacks.

-flashback-

He remembered the first time she’d asked if she could post a picture of them on her story. It was a harmless shot—just their intertwined hands on a table.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he’d said quickly. “You know how people can be.”

Her smile faltered, but she nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”

-flashback-

After a race in Monaco, Y/N had waited for him by the McLaren motorhome. When she tried to hug him, he’d gently pushed her into the shadows.

“Not here,” he’d whispered, glancing around nervously.

Her shoulders had slumped, and she took a step back. “Right. Sorry.”

-flashback-

At a post-race party, Rebecca had taken a picture of them laughing together. Y/N had been so happy, showing it to him with a hopeful smile.

“Becca sent this to me. Can I share it?”

Lando had hesitated. “Maybe not. It’s just… better if we keep it private.”

The light in her eyes had dimmed, though she tried to mask it with a nod. “Okay.”

present day

Lando’s chest tightened as the memories hit him. He hadn’t realized how often he’d dismissed her feelings or how much his need for secrecy had chipped away at her confidence.

“She thinks I want to break up with her?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos nodded, his expression softening. “She’s scared, Lando. She loves you, but she’s scared that you don’t feel the same way.”

Lando ran a hand through his hair, his heart aching. “I’m such an idiot.”

Carlos smirked faintly. “You said it, not me.”

Lando ignored the jab, his mind already working. He couldn’t let her think he didn’t care. He couldn’t let her feel like she wasn’t enough.

“I need to fix this,” he said firmly, standing up so fast that his chair scraped against the floor.

Carlos leaned back with a satisfied grin. “About time.”

Lando’s mind raced with ideas, his determination growing. He’d spent months hiding their relationship from the world—now, he’d show everyone exactly how much she meant to him.

The pre-race chaos was in full swing. Mechanics bustled about, drivers made their final rounds with engineers, and the paddock buzzed with energy. Y/N stood to the side near the McLaren garage, watching quietly as Lando spoke with his team. Her arms were crossed, her heart heavy from the morning’s events.

She had seen him arrive, head down, moving past her like she didn’t exist. Again. The weight of the past few months pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Rebecca’s words from earlier played in her head: “If he doesn’t see what he’s doing to you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Maybe he doesn’t.

Suddenly, she noticed Carlos walking toward Lando, giving him a nudge and pointing in her direction. Lando froze, his head snapping up. Their eyes met briefly before Y/N turned away, unable to handle the hurt.

But before she could step back into the crowd, she heard his voice calling her name.

“Y/N!”

Her heart jumped. She turned to see Lando jogging toward her, his race suit partially unzipped and flapping as he moved. She frowned, confused. What is he doing?

As he reached her, he stopped, slightly out of breath. “I need to talk to you.”

“Now? You’re about to race,” she said, her tone wary.

“Now,” he insisted, his blue eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “I’ve been an idiot, and I need to fix this.”

“Lando, what are you—”

He didn’t let her finish. Instead, he stepped forward, cupping her face gently with his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m so sorry for making you feel like you’re not enough, for hiding what we have, for… everything.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Lando…”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his forehead resting against hers. “Not of being with you, but of the world ruining what we have. I thought I was protecting us, but all I did was hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” she whispered.

His eyes widened in shock. “No. God, no. I want you, Y/N. I love you. I’ve loved you since the day we met, and I’m done pretending I don’t.”

Before she could process his words, he pulled her into a kiss—deep and unapologetic, right there in the middle of the paddock.

The world around them seemed to pause. For a moment, there was only him—his lips on hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her, as if he was afraid to let go.

When they finally broke apart, she noticed the stunned silence around them. Cameras clicked furiously, and the hum of murmured voices grew louder.

“Lando…” she started, her cheeks flushed.

He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Let them talk. I don’t care anymore.”

“But the team, the media—”

“Let them say what they want,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I’m not hiding you anymore, Y/N. You’re my girlfriend, and the whole damn world is going to know it.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart pounding. His words, his actions—it was all so overwhelming.

“Say something,” he said nervously, his grin faltering.

She threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

Cheers erupted around them, and Carlos’s loud, teasing whistle cut through the noise. “¡Eso es, chico! About time!”

Lando laughed, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You good now?”

Y/N nodded, her tears finally spilling over—but this time, they were happy ones. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Because I’m not going anywhere, and I’m making sure everyone knows it.”

She smiled through her tears, and he kissed her again, sealing the promise with every ounce of love he felt.

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months ago

Note

Okay hear me out, Eddie nervous on your first valentines day together wanting to make it special and only knowing how to valentines from what he's seen at school and he panics and is very eddie about the whole thing 👀

please my heart almost couldn't take this. i swore nothing over 1k but nervous and panicking eddie being all cute?? yeah i couldn't help myself. this isn't edited, sorry in advance. no warnings, just fluff.

wc: 2.2k

He feels stupid.

It's the only thought ringing through his head as he sits at the Munson's dining table, scraps of construction paper strewn over the worn wood, glue stick drying out to the side and scissors digging into his knuckles.

It had started as a prophetic vision after a few hits from his blunt; it was quickly souring into the most ridiculous thing he’s ever done.

The high had worn off, Eddie had glued his fingers together thrice now (seriously, how was this glue stick approved for children?), and the end product…. Well, he hated it.

The card was tacky. The flowers were uneven. He didn’t even have the willpower nor time to make a full bouquet as he had originally wanted to while under the influence. Pink glitter was now overtaking the trailer, and he’s never seen his uncle look so damn entertained.

“Boy, what on God’s green Earth are you going?”

Normally, the twang of Wayne’s accent would be comforting. But right now, all Eddie could hear was held back laughter choking up his old man’s throat, and a glint in his eye that felt a lot like a taunt, and he felt the farthest from comforted in a very long time.

“Mind your business, old man,” Eddie grumbles, tongue sticking out as he tries to reglue a corner of a paper heart he had cut out, needing it to stick down properly. He probably should have purchased glue, in hindsight.

“Where did you get all this paper?”

“I said mind your business.”

“Is that pink glitter?”

“Don’t you have work?” Eddie huffs, grabbing at the Valentine card he was attempting to salvage, cheeks blushing more vibrant than any of the arts and crafts supplies spread about.

He didn’t want to admit how embarrassed he was. He didn’t want to give anyone else the satisfaction. It was his own damn fault, really – he had offered for your nightly diner dates to be on him one too many times this last month, and entirely forgotten to put away any extra cash to get you a proper Valentine. And this was his last resort.

He’d tried to convince the local florist to discount the flowers missing one too many petals for him, he’d tried to scope out the cheapest cards available at Melvald’s. He’d begged and bartered with every option in town to simply get you something for the day of love, and in the end, he’d simply fallen short.

So now, all he had was a palm full of gritty glitter and homemade items that looked worse for wear.

One of the kinder ladies that lived two trailers down had been happy to offer Eddie some of her scrapbooking papers, throwing in the glitter for good measure, and he still had an old glue stick from when he’d built one of his custom tabletop maps for a D&D campaign. With five hours and a dream, he was now the not-so-proud creator of three handmade paper roses, and a card hardly large enough to fit in his palm.

When he took a step back to look at it all, Wayne was right to be snickering on the couch over it all.

“They’re going to hate it,” Eddie laments, glaring down at his creations, “They’re going to hate it, and I’m going to get dumped on our first Valentine’s day together.”

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, son,” Wayne tries to genuinely comfort Eddie now, leaning forward to get a better look at his last five hours of work, “I’m sure they’re gon’ be happy that you just thought of the-”

“My life is over,” Eddie interrupts, walking over to the couch to collapse dramatically.

Wayne stops him, however, throwing up a hand, “Nope. You’re not gettin’ that damn pink glitter all over my couch. Go mope in your room.”

After a brief stare-off, a whole ten seconds wasted when Eddie could be wallowing in his self-pity, Eddie does exactly that.

He hopes Wayne is right, for all their sakes. There’ll be bigger things to worry about than just glitter if you really do hate Eddie’s attempt at a sincere Valentine.

—

It takes nearly a full minute of knocking on the Munson’s trailer’s front door before Eddie opens it for you – that’s your first sign that something is terribly wrong.

Your next sign is when Eddie hardly adds any enthusiasm into your welcome kiss, so reserved, as though he might be in a constant state of cringing; a constant state of preparing for the worst.

“Is something the matter?” you ask innocently enough, toeing off your shoes and shifting your bag in hand. You’d picked up a few movies for the night, a variety of cheesy rom-coms Eddie expressed a slightest bit of interest in along with a few more up his alley. A horror film that neither of you had seen that looked to have a budget of $10 and a dream, and Labyrinth.

The latter, you’d both already seen. Neither of you would pass up seeing David Bowie in his full glory, though.

“It’s fine,” Eddie huffs out, still refusing to meet your gaze, “Want me to put on some popcorn?”

You can’t help but light up as you follow him in his rush to the kitchen, “God – yes, please. I also got some sour patch kids, your favorite, and-”

You cut off when you catch sight of the dining room table.

Eddie doesn’t glance back as he reaches up to the cabinet holding the stash of popcorn he keeps around for your movie nights, “And?”

“Eddie…” you slowly draw out in a questioning tone, looking at the mess before you, “What, uh, happened here?”

It’s an explosion of quintessential Valentine’s day. Pink paper hearts, strips of deep reds discarded messily. A shimmering glitter covers the table, and you can’t recall any DIY projects of Eddie’s for Hellfire that might involve that.

“What?” He’s quick to turn around at that, and you watch as all the blood drains from his face, “Oh, fuck, I-” he launches himself back around the kitchen counter frantically, grabbing at any piece of paper he can find, “Shit, I meant to clean this up earlier, I’m sorr-”

“What were you making?”

Eddie pauses all movement, glancing up at you in fear.

You’re not even sure what he’s afraid of. All you can do is furrow your brows, twist your lips, scrunch your nose.

Was it meant to be a surprise of some sort?

He swallows hard, standing up straight as he shifts uncomfortably on his feet, “I….”

When no words follow, you raise a brow, trying to silently encourage him to continue on.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And oh, he’s such a bad liar. A pretty one, but a terrible one.

There’s no sign of the stellar poker face you’ve seen him wear during Hellfire sessions, no impeccable cockiness to cover up the obvious. His wringing hands draw your attention to his knuckles, all the drying glue and glitter peeling off bit by bit.

“You sure about that?” you press, grin slow spreading as you take a step closer to him, eyeing the mess he tries to shift in front of to block from your sights.

“Positive.”

“Has anyone told you you’re an awful liar, Munson?”

“I’m not ly-”

You scooch around him effortless, dropping your bag in the process and making him yelp out as he tries to catch you. His arms are quick to wrap around your waist as you try to get a clearer view of what he had been so desperate to conceal, but even his best efforts can’t stop you.

It’s all a bit childish from the outside. Reckless giggles, flailing limbs – even Eddie is smiling in his panic.

“Let go of me!”

“Then leave it alone!”

“I wanna see what you made!”

Each screech between the two of you is overcome with laughter as he pulls you flush to his chest, caging you in and yet failing to cover your eyes.

You spot what he was trying to hide, and all attempts to escape his hold cease.

“Are those…” you start, a little breathless as you stare in awe. You swear, you could burn up from the warmth blooming in your chest. When his arms go the slightest bit limp, you have your answer before finishing the question, “Are those for me?”

A small jar, one that had once held some of Eddie’s pick collection, now holds three handmade paper roses. Mingling petals of two different shades of red, with tightly rolled pieces of green paper servings at their stems. Two even have leaves, cut jagged and true to nature.

Leaning against the small paper flower display is a card.

It’s a messier ordeal than the flowers, but you’re still prying Eddie’s forearms from your stomach in a rush to grab it.

“Hold on,” he rushes out, no longer laughing as you get a hold of the card, “Wait, listen, I can explain. I just- I spent most of my money when we went to Benny’s for shakes last week, and I forgot I wouldn’t get any more cash before today, and I just-” he’s stumbling over his words, a mess of flying hands and wide eyes as you turn to face him, “I… I’m sorry, okay? I swear, they’re just placeholders until I get you a real gift for Valentine’s Day.”

You’re hardly listening to him as you look down at the small paper, folded over fairly impressively to mimic one of the fancy cards from Melvard’s. It’s thinner, sure, but you’re mesmerized as you trace over the heart cut out of the center. It’s filled with pink glitter that clings to your fingertip as it passes, and you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

And then you open the card.

The outside was plain white save for the heart, but the inside is gorgeous. Hand drawn vines and flowers fill the empty space inside. Roses, mums, lillies – every flower you can think of is amongst the bunch. All etched out in ink, an ink you recognize from Eddie’s favorite pen, and every gentle line sketched out to make the larger picture sends your heart racing a few beats faster.

Underneath the glitter heart is a large bee, made with a speech bubble.

“Placeholder?” you laugh breathlessly, biting your lip to stop from smiling like a fool. “You call all this a placeholder?”

Bee mine?

It’s so cheesy, it aches.

Written in makeshift cursive, not quite as neat as it could have been, but clearly a valiant effort from the shy man standing before you. You can’t fathom how he’s embarrassed about this when you look up at him with fluttering lashes and a chest full of fizzling love.

“I thought you were going to hate them,” he hoarsely whispers as he reaches a hand to the nape of his neck.

“Hate them?” you repeat in disbelief, turning your attention back to the handmade flowers. “In what fuckin’ world would I hate these?”

You lift one of the roses from the mini jar, and sniff it on instinct. It should only smell like paper and glue, but it doesn’t – Eddie’s obviously spritzed his cologne onto the flowers.

The miniscule detail has your heart bursting.

He’s still petrified as he stares at you, shrugging hopelessly, “I just know it’s our first Valentine’s together, and people usually go all out-”

“This is going all out, Eddie.”

You can’t imagine being capable of any more love for the boy in front of you. Genuinely – you don’t believe your bones could handle the weight of it, that your heart could take it. You’re filled to the brim with it, buzzing like summertime cicadas beneath your skin from all the vibrant emotions you have for him. For every blemish across his skin and every kink in his curls, for those big brown eyes simply staring at you now. Those knuckles covered in glue and glitter. Those lips that you can’t handle another second not kissing.

And so you don’t. Not another second is wasted as you fling yourself forward, nearly dropping the paper flower in hand as you grab each side of his face, bringing him to you in a hard kiss.

You hope he feels all that love. You hope the weight of it presses down on his shoulders, even if just a little, so he gets it.

“I fucking love it, Eds,” you laugh into the kiss, pressing your forehead, “I- Honestly? I think this is the nicest Valentine I’ve ever gotten.”

“Really?” his eyes pop open, pulling back from you slightly until you simply won’t allow it. You want him close – you need him pressed against you. “Well, shit. I thought you were going to hate them and break up with me.”

“Me, breaking up with you? After this?” you parrot back in disbelief, shaking your head, tip of your nose rubbing against his through the action, “God, you’re an idiot, Eddie Munson. My idiot, but still.”

He finally cracks a smile, and you lose yourself in the dimples that appear as he asks, “Does this mean you’ll be my Valentine?”

“Absolutely.”

#ghost's stories #v-day party #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #i can just imagine how beautiful his sketching style would be and i am dreamily sighing #i hope this is what you were looking for friend <3

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fastandcarlos · 9 months ago

Text

Hometown Champ : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: winning silverstone was all that lando had ever dreamed of, was this the year that it finally came true?

“And as we head into the penultimate lap of the race it’s Lando Norris and Charles LeClerc battling for the head!” Crofty commentates as the volume of the crowd increases once again with Lando right at the front.

Your heart is racing as you stand in the garage, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen. The tension is unlike anything that you’ve experienced before in the garage with everyone watching on nervously, cheering and willing Lando to cross the line in top spot.

There was less than a second between them both, and although Lando had tried multiple times to overtake, Charles managed to defend every single time. You didn’t know how he did it, but if there was one person stubborn enough to keep trying to succeed, it was definitely Lando.

“He’s going to do it,” Adam smiled, matching your worry as he stood right by your side.

You briefly glance at him, nodding your head in response as you tried to match Adam’s enthusiasm. Better than anyone, Adam knew how resilient Lando was, confident that he wouldn’t give the race up until the last part of his car crossed the line. He tried his best to remain calm, but on the inside, he was just as nervous as you were right now.

The last lap arrived and you took another step towards the screen to get a better look at what was going on. “Come on Lan,” you whispered to yourself, pressing your hands together to try and distract yourself.

As the two cars entered yet another straight, you knew it was a case of now or never for Lando, taking a deep breath in as you knew watching his on board that he had everything mapped out in his head.

It was everything that he had dreamt of since he stepped into a Formula 1 car, this was Lando’s chance and he wasn’t going to blow it. He thought of you, his dad, and everyone else in the garage with you, all those people that had made sacrifices just for him.

You couldn’t believe how close he was, even though he’d hoped about it earlier in the day, you never imagined that the dream might actually come true.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

“Every British driver dreams of winning at Silverstone,” Lando smiled as the two of you looked out onto the track from the paddock. “I never thought that chance would arrive, but this year I’ve just got such a good feeling babe, I really feel like this could be my year,” he excitably told you.

“If anyone has the skill to win this race, it’s you,” you encouraged, taking a hold of your hand. “Just drive the race I know you can and I’m confident you’re going to smash it.”

Lando nodded, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “As long as I’ve got my bigger fan cheering me on today then I’m sure that top spot on the podium will be mine.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You were snapped out of your daydream by a shout from beside you. “Come on Lando!” Adam yelled.

It felt like a moment of disbelief as you watched Lando swerve to the left, with DRS he flew past Charles and slotted in in front of him, leaving Charles unable to attack.

The volume increased in the garage once again, with a few people reminding everyone to stay calm until Lando crossed the line. The whole room was on tenterhooks with increasing confidence that finally Lando’s time had come. You felt an arm drape around your shoulders as Adam pulled you into him, the smile on his face bigger than you had ever seen it before. His glance gave you the confidence that you needed, Lando had done it, you were sure of it now.

The last few corners went by in the blink of an eye as you soon watched Lando go past the checkered flag, feeling your legs buckle underneath you, with Adam there to hold on and keep you upright.

You couldn’t quite believe it, watching as Lando started to his cool down lap to rapturous applause, waving out to the sea of orange that encouraged him around every single corner.

Whilst everyone else rushed out to welcome Lando back in, you hung back in the paddock, deciding to reunite with Lando in a more private setting. Adam remained by your side, unable to hide the smile that was on his face.

“I can’t believe it,” you chuckled once the two of you were finally alone. “I’ve never seen him drive like that before.”

Adam proudly smiled back at you, “he’s got so much more confidence in himself this year. If I’m honest, I think that’s all thanks to you.”

Your eyes glanced back at the screen as Lando pulled up behind the number one. He climbed out of the car, jumping onto the front and raised both of his arms in the air. His helmet hid his smile, but you knew better than anyone that behind the visor was a wide smile, an overwhelmed figure who couldn’t quite believe what he had just managed to achieve.

Lando was congratulated by an army of people as he slowly made his way around the team and into the paddock. Everyone wanted to tell him how proud they were to see him win his home race, but as thankful as Lando was, there was only really one person who he wanted to celebrate with.

You stood to one side as Lando finally appeared before you, thanking the last couple of people. His eyes darted as soon as he entered, chuckling loudly as they landed on the one thing he wanted.

He couldn’t get to you quick enough, jumping over all the equipment that had been left out to get to you.

As soon as you were before him his arms wrapped around your waist, burying his head into the crook of his neck. You could hear, and feel, his sighs of relief, struggling to believe what had just happened for him. You held on tightly to Lando, unable to hide your smile, despite the smell of sweat that lingered from Lando.

You’d seen firsthand the blood, sweat and tears that Lando had put into his career, and although Miami was nice, winning his home race was so much sweeter. It was everything that Lando had ever wanted to achieve, and with you right there to support him, the moment couldn’t get any better for him.

“I did it,” Lando whispered into your ear after a few moments, pressing a kiss against your cheek. You could hear the excitement in his voice, adrenaline leaving him bouncing on his feet. “I just won at Silverstone.”

You pulled back from Lando, meeting his eyes, making sure that he was definitely listening. “I’m so proud of you, so so proud Lan.”

It was all that he wanted to hear, all the hard work and sacrifices had paid off to know that you were proud of him, it was the one thing he wanted more than anything else.

“Thank you for everything,” Lando smiled after a few moments, “I don’t think I’d have ever have had the belief to really do this if it wasn’t for you always being there by my side.”

Your head shook as Lando pressed a kiss against your lips. “This is all on you, your amazing drive and incredible talent, I didn’t do anything,” you laughed, kissing Lando back, brushing your hands through the messy curls that hung in front of his forehead.

As you went to pull away, Lando pulled you back for more. His kiss was full of appreciation for you, wanting to let you know just how thankful he was for all of your support.

When you eventually pulled away, Lando kept you as close to him as he could, his grip tight so you couldn’t try and get away.

“You’re the best,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “I don’t quite know what I did to ever get you in my life, but I’m so thankful that you’re here. I love you so much.”

Your smile was wide, cupping against Lando’s cheek. “I love you,” you whispered, pecking against the tip of his nose. “Come on, there’s a podium and thousands of fans waiting for you, it’s not every day you can call yourself the champion of your home race.”

“British Grand Prix champ, I don’t think that’ll ever sink in.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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pboogerswbb · 2 months ago

Text

SO IT GOES - chapter 8

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: angst, panic attack/ptsd, descriptions of an abusive relationship Wordcount: 5.1K A/C: HEY MY BABIESSSS instead of talking about the game let's just read this chapter okay? okay. (would love to say this will cheer you up but prepare for some angst lol). anyway thank you for being patient with me AGAIN! i'll be real i've been feeling a little unmotivated bc of the anons i get rushing me and it's really getting to my head but i'm pretty sure most of them have disappeared and left are you all amazing lovely patient people so yay :)) ty for supporting me and this series ily mwah

Before London

“Good game, Paige,” Phee whispers into my ear as she hugs me tight. I’m standing next to Dorka, just done taking what felt like 500 pictures with her. I let out a self-deprecating laugh, raising my brows at the woman. Phee smiles with empathy, rubbing my shoulder, still sweaty and sticky from the game.

“No one’s first game is good,” she comforts me. We’re standing in the middle of the court, people buzzing around us as the crowd makes its way out. From the corner of my eye I see Izara’s jet black hair set in perfect waves, joined by Trey standing next to her, hand on her lower back. A flash of jealousy shoots through my body watching the two of them, laughing as they walk through the crowd filming content. I didn’t want anyone touching her but me. Ever. I knew we were just supposed to be friends but it felt impossible. Whenever my eyes landed on her my soul burned, every part of me craving her in a way that I knew was more than just friendship, or even more than lust.

“We went brick for brick huh?”

My blue eyes move from Izzie to Arike, her hand squeezing my shoulder. The woman was right, neither of our shots had gone in. Neither of us had found a pace or confidence to support one another. It was almost embarrassing. No, it was definitely embarrassing. Especially when I saw my dad’s face in the crowd, hissing to himself when I missed both my free throws. The only thing that could make me feel better now was getting to take Izara, no interruptions, no thoughts, just me and her.

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Zari’s eyes lift and land on mine. With a softened gaze, I let out a sigh of relief, swimming in her green eyes lined with black as time seems to slow down around me. The other people might as well not exist. It’s only her.

“Yeah,” I chuckle quietly to Arike, pushing through her and the rest of the crowd, urgent steps just wanting to feel the dark haired girl. She’s alone now, holding a notepad, standing in the middle of the court surrounded by crowds of people, sounds of chatter echoing around the arena.

“Paige-” Izzie mumbles as I reach her, but with a simple look I silence her, hand wrapping into hers as I pull her behind me off the court, away from everyone. The corridors are quiet, dim, yet I navigate them with ease. The sounds of the crowd turn muffled, the noise of our heavy breathing and hurried steps overtaking them. My heart pounds in my chest, weakened body ready for surrender.

I pull us into a darkened unlocked room, some sort of storage I guess but I’m too busy to look around and make sure. As the door closes I push her against it in the dark, my sweaty body still in the brand new, strange jersey, pressing into Izara. I’m barely conscious of kissing her, my body working before my head can. But I feel starved, tongue meeting hers as our lips collide.

“Wait, wait,” Iz mumbles breathlessly, but I don’t hear it. The pounding in my chest too loud in my head. My hands travel from her waist to her hips, squeezing the skin as I slot my thigh between her legs.

“Paige…” the girl mumbles with a whimper, a raspy moan spilling from my lips against hers.

“Please baby,” I murmur, feeling like I could cry from how overwhelming the ache in my body is growing. Stirring within me are all the feelings combining into one - disappointment, failure, sorrow, longing, want. I wanted to bury them all into the girl in front of me.

I’m kissing her neck now, my fingertips slipping underneath her top. Her bare brown, silky skin feels smooth and delicate.

“Paige, stop.”

“Huh?” I ask, nose nuzzling her skin, inhaling.

“Stop, please.”

Confused, I pull back, my hands resting on her waist as Izzie’s green eyes avoid my gaze, looking around the dim room.

“Are you okay ma?” I ask, attempting to calm down my breathing.

Izzie’s brows are furrowed and she licks her lips, a soft sigh escaping her mouth.

“We have to talk.”

“Bro, I just played the worst game of my career, let’s talk after,” I chuckle sarcastically. “Need you baby.”

I lean down to kiss her neck again but Izzie’s manicured hand is on my chest, holding me back. Her eyes are rounder than usual as she stares up at me.

“Paige, we really need to talk. Now.”

She’s serious. I can tell she is. Without thinking the first thought I have slips my mouth.

“Is it Jasper?” I ask, pulling my hands off her body.

There’s a moment of silence. I can barely see her face sink in the dark, eyes slowly growing used to the lack of light. Izara rolls her eyes and turns to step out of the room but my hand is on the handle before she can reach it.

“Ma,” I murmur, pressing my front into her back.

“You can’t call me that anymore Paige,” she sighs, back facing me.

My heart sinks, my mind trying to wrap around what she’s saying. The implications of what the words might mean. I pray to God I’m wrong.

“Whatchu mean Iz?” I ask, voice beginning to shake with anxiety. The girl turns around, chewing on her bottom lip - something I had never seen her do.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

There it is. What I was dreading. I’m glad it’s dark, that the girl doesn’t see my eyes begin to well up. Why would I cry? We had never been anything. We’d never even fucked. So why did I feel like my heart was about to break?

“Whatchu mean this?” I ask, it takes every bit of my concentration to maintain a steady voice.

The dark haired girl sighs, eyes roaming me for a moment. “I could get fired,” she whispers. “If we got caught.”

“Who gives a shit?” I ask, scoffing. She could always get a new job. I thought I’d be worth more. But then again why would I be? She was the one who said it was just sex. Except it hadn’t even had the chance to be that.

“You must be joking,” Izara jeers, finally pushing me off her. “You are so selfish.”

She’s reaching for the door handle but I hold it shut. I can’t have her leave like this.

“Bro no I didn’t mean it like that,” I sigh. I always had a habit of speaking before I thought it through when my feelings took over. “I just… I’m having a hard time getting what you’re tryna say.”

“What I’m saying,” she starts. “Is that we can’t keep fooling around anymore.”

She takes a deep sigh. “Actually, I don’t know if it’s so smart for us to be friends anymore Paige.”

The panic sets in, my heart beginning to pound at a rapid rate.

“Wh-what? The fuck you mean we can’t be friends?”

“I mean from now on we should keep our relationship strictly professional.”

Her voice is so cold, calculated, that it’s almost like it doesn’t even matter to her. That it doesn’t phase her one bit.

“Is that what you want?” I ask sternly, mirroring the coldness of her voice.

“I-” the girl starts. “I can’t lose this job. I can’t go back to London.”

“Aight.”

I walk out.

And just like that I lose my best friend. My only friend in all of Texas. Sure I had Arike, I had Lou and I had the team. But she was my only friend, the only one I felt like I could truly talk to, who truly got me. And I lost her. Just like that.

Need paige to look at me like that fr

yoooooo paige ntm

BOAFFFF who that next to Paige???

Paige got a starin problem

PAIGE IN LOVE WITH THAT GIRL ARE YOU KIDDING

My eyes skim through comment after comment under the video filmed before Paige’s first game in the Wings. We hadn’t been as slick as we thought. In hindsight it was obvious, the way Paige’s blue eyes roamed my body with that sly smirk, the way my cheeks flush red when my eyes met hers. God, I can’t believe I had been behaving like that, right before my peers. The people I worked with. In a public video. I felt so embarrassed. It just wasn’t me. That had been a couple weeks ago now though.

“Zari, stop reading the comments sweetheart,” Trey chuckles, resting a hand on my shoulder. I sigh, putting the phone down and groaning.

“We should just delete it.”

“Nah,” the man says. “Would be weird to delete it now.”

I sigh, looking up at him. His hand comes to my chin, holding my gaze. “Linda’s not gonna read em.”

“You sure?” I ask carefully. Trey nods, brushing a strand of hair off my face. It annoys me, but I don’t know how to reject his touch.

“You ready to head home?” He asks.

“I can take an uber Trey,” I murmur, pulling away from him finally, unease stirring in my stomach.

“C’mon, I don’t mind driving you.”

“You sure? it’s out the way for you.”

“Let’s go home Zari.”

We walk to the car, Trey’s voice echoing in the hallway but I barely hear him, the faint sound of Paige’s voice laughing on the court making its way into my ears and taking me out of whatever the man next to me is trying to say. The weight on my chest makes it hard to breathe. I fan myself, trying to help the airflow.

Other than the occasional talk regarding media work, or the rare interview on TikTok I hadn’t spoken to Paige for 13 days. Not more than a hello, or a “good game” after a night of watching her on the court. When we met in the apartment stairway there barely was an awkward smile as we passed each other. I missed her badly.

I had realised I hated Dallas, I hated the fake niceness of the Americans, I hated the heat that had grown unbearable in the past couple weeks. But I loved my job. I loved working with the sport I loved. I was good at it. I think everything would be better if I found a position with another team, but it would be risky to ask around. I was in a rut, my only friend was Trey.

The entire drive home is silent on my part as I stare out the window at the other cars. Driving home used to be my favourite part of the day. I felt giddy as Paige opened the door for me, as we took turns picking songs to play. I felt my heart drop everytime we said bye. I found myself sitting in my living room staring at the living room, thinking about her afterwards. Her blue eyes, the way she looked at me as if I was the only person on the planet. How her gentle grazes felt on my brown skin.

So I repeat that routine, urgently saying bye to Trey and hurrying into my apartment. Closing the door and plopping myself down on the couch, staring at the wooden shelf decorating the otherwise blank wall in silence. The shelf Paige put up for me.

As I’m five minutes into my staring ritual a strange faint thumping noise reaches my ears, distant but clear in a steady rhythm. It’s coming from above. It’s coming from the blonde’s apartment. No doubt.

Just as I stand up to walk around and listen to the sound further, high pitched whimpers and gasps reach my ears. It doesn’t take more for the nauseating mental image of what’s happening in the apartment above to pop into my head. These walls were thick too, no noise, stomping, or music came through. Ever. It felt like torture. The stirring thoughts of what Paige was doing to some girl, lying on top of her, pinning her down. The way she was on top of me. The way I nearly got to have her.

“Fucking shit,” I mumble to myself, shaking my head as I rummage my bag for my headphones, turning the first song I find on a volume that might make me go deaf. Good. Anything to cover up the noise.

I hated Dallas. I had somehow convinced myself for a brief, fleeting moment that it wasn’t so bad. I was wrong. I hated it here. I had begun to dread every game. I was in a rut. I had no idea how to get out. My first two weeks in the league had been disastrous. Thank the Lord for Arike, for she had taken me under her wing, motivating me to stay consistent, challenging me in practice to do my best. But in front of the crowd, in front of all the players I grew up watching and admiring, I bricked up.

Chris was an angel. Telling me I’d get over it as long as I didn’t give up. I wasn’t a quitter and I found comfort in the fact that other freshmen had a hard start to the season as well. Except Olivia Miles who had been hustling like crazy in the Storms. She earned it, but still the competitive side of me was drowning in jealousy. That was supposed to be me. I needed to be the rookie of the year. But this rut was taking all the joy out of me. I know what Geno would be saying. That I’m throwing myself a pity party and I needed to get over it. And once again I’d hate to admit that he’s right.

It took every ounce of strength I had to stay away from Izzie. To not gaze at her when she appeared in the corner of my eye, to not yearn for her presence when I lay in the dark at night, to not inhale as deeply as humanly possible every time she passed me. It felt like torture to pretend nothing happened between us.

To my demise it wasn’t just her body I longed for. It was her giggles, her stern stares when I played too much, it was her existence that I missed the most. Her weight on the opposite end of the couch, her quiet humming as she sat in the passenger seat of my car. It was killing me to stay away from her. Killing me. The only momentary relief I found was hooking up with other girls, but the moment it was over I always wanted them gone as quickly as I could.

“I’m sitting next to you okay?” Lou murmurs as us Wings pile into the airplane, moving in a slow line towards our seats.

“Good, I’mma need to take a nap,” I mumble, my voice hoarse and tired. We’re flying out to Chicago for a late night game, forcing us to catch a 5AM flight. Inhumane working conditions, I swear.

Somewhere behind me Izara is whispering to someone, her voice immediately recognisable to me even as a faint sound. My stomach turns as I grind my teeth together to distract from the desire to flip my head and look at her just for a moment. I slide myself into my seat next to the window, but as Lou is about to follow after, Chris stops her.

“Sorry, I know it’s early but Trey said they got an idea for some media stuff for you Paige. You don’t mind right?” Chris asks, holding Lou back and looking around. Before I can stop him or resist, he’s waving someone over. “Zari! You can do it now!”

The dark haired girl’s eyes widen as she looks around, trying to find someone to replace her. There’s no one. I want to die and from the look on the girl’s face, so does she.

“Just come sit next to Paige, c’mon, don’t be shy,” Chris chuckles, clearly unaware of how close we used to be. Good, at least we fooled someone. He might’ve been the only one we fooled.

Izzie looks as classy and elegant as ever, holding a beige trench coat in her hands, wearing boots and a champagne coloured satin skirt, hair and makeup done to perfection even at 5AM, standing out in a sea of messy hair and hoodies. I can tell she’s uneasy as she passes Chris and Lou, whispering a sorry to the brunette girl. I immediately stand up out of an old habit, pointing to my seat.

“You want the window one?” I ask gently, quietly, so no one hears my voice shaking.

Her green eyes twinkle as she looks everywhere but me, smiling awkwardly. “No, thank you though. I’m fine here.”

We sit down together, the heat radiating off her shoulder nearly rubbing against me making my eyes flutter shut just for a second. This better be quick or I might explode.

“Uh ok,” I mumble, watching as she sets her purse down and pulls out that notepad full of lists, mind maps and schedules that she always carries around. “Soo… how you been?”

“Just fine,” she whispers absentmindedly, looking for the right page. “I mean, good. I’ve been good. And you?”

The way she talks to me causes an ache in my heart, the coldness of her tone as if we were nothing more than co-workers. I guess that’s all we were now.

“I’m fine,” I reply with equal distance in my voice. “So whassup?”

“Well me and Trey,” of course her and Trey. All she did nowadays was walk around with him, giggling and whispering, letting Trey guide her by the small of her back. “We thought the fans might like it if you filmed a sort of game day vlog today. Would that be okay?”

I sigh, the tiredness not helping the pregame anxiety already making my chest tight. “Uhh, today?”

“I know, it’s going to be such a long day,” Zari mumbles, her eyes meeting mine, suddenly filled with empathy. “I’m sorry.” I think she might mean more than just today. I think she means us.

For a moment we stare at each other, and I think I see a hint of longing in her eye, but it soon disappears when Trey plops himself on the aisle seat on the other side of Izzie.

“How are we doing here ladies?” He asks, looking at the dark haired girl, bringing his hand to squeeze Izzie’s knee. Pulling my hand into a fist, I quickly look away, body trembling with jealousy. I hated Trey. I hated how he touched the girl I was meant to be with.

“We’re good Trey,” Izara smiles softly, but moves her leg further away from the man.

“You sure Zari?”

His tone softens, hand following the girl's knee despite the clear sign she doesn’t want to be touched by him. I grind my teeth together trying not to intervene. I know if anyone it’s Izzie who can handle herself.

“Trey,” the girl sighs. “We’re just fine. I’ll show Paige what to do and come sit with you, okay?”

She’s annoyed. I can tell because I knew her, really knew her. Trey doesn’t.

“Okay, I’mma go to my seat,” Trey smiles, waving bye to me. I barely lift my hand in response.

“Dude’s persistent,” I mumble, watching as he walks away. Iz scoffs, returning to her notepad.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she murmurs. I scoff too, leaning back on the seat and spreading my legs further to feel Izara’s calf against mine. She doesn’t move, matter of fact I think she presses back just the tiniest bit.

“I mean that guy wants you bad,” I whisper.

Izara’s green eyes flicker to mine for a moment, before she rolls them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I thought Linda didn’t like y’all dating coworkers.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Then why you letting Trey feel you up and shit?”

“Paige,” Zari warns me with a quiet scoff. Her eyes are stern. I know she means it. But I can’t help the jealousy stirring in me.

“If you into him you shoulda just said.”

“Paige!” She scoffs, eyes widening in shock at my attitude. I’m taking it too far, but I felt overwhelmed with everything going on in my life. And it’s not like I was ruining our friendship, it was already ruined.

So I don’t answer or back down. I stare straight into her green eyes, not looking away. Izzie’s entire face hardens as she rolls her eyes and is about to stand up, I assume to switch seats just as the seatbelt light turns on.

“You gotta sit do-”

“I know!” She huffs. I had never seen her composure crack this much out in public. It gave me a sick kind of satisfaction, to know I was getting under her skin.

We sit in silence, the girl tapping her foot nervously as the plane begins to move towards the runway. Iz chews on her lower lip, fingers scratching her arms, eyes shut. She’s anxious.

“You okay?” I ask, softening my voice a little.

The girl sighs, eyes fluttering open. “I hate the takeoff.”

I nod, watching Izara closely. Not sure what to say as we begin to accelerate for the ascend, I offer my hand to her. Without hesitation, the dark haired girl grabs it. I feel like I might burst into tears, realising just how bad I had missed her soft hand in mine, her gentle fingers grazing against my skin. As the plane takes off Izzie’s fingers tighten around my fingers, long nails digging into my skin. I don’t mind. Matter of fact I hope she draws blood, I hope she leaves scars and marks me forever. So she can be a part of me and my existence until I die.

She doesn’t let go until the seatbelt light turns off.

“Fucking shit!” I groan to myself, slamming the bench in the dressing room. Another shit game. Not for everyone, we won. But for me. And I couldn’t blame the coaching, I couldn’t blame the team, I couldn’t blame anyone but me. I felt livid. Furious. I couldn’t believe this was how my story had turned out. This couldn’t be God’s plan for me. It wasn’t right.

What made it even worse was the online discourse. The comments and the noise had become too much. I couldn’t open Twitter or TikTok without seeing comments of how I fell off, of how Uconn ruined me, how I had officially flopped. That I’d always be the girl who peaked in college.

“Fuck,” I hiss to myself as I feel Arike’s hand come to my shoulder and squeeze comfortingly as she passes me - a wordless comforting gesture that had become routine for us. She knew I wasn’t in the mood to talk after games like that.

“I’mma get some air,” I mumble, fully aware that I was behaving like a toddler who couldn’t get her way. I couldn’t help it. It was like I was out of my body, watching as I pull the jersey off in frustration and throw it behind me on the floor, walking out of the dressing room with a slam of the door.

“Ow!” Izzie’s screams as she bumps into my chest. Hard.

“Shit!” I yelp, grabbing her shoulders.

The dark haired girl chuckles softly, clearly unaware of my bad mood. “Hey, I was just looking for you. I was going to suggest that you-”

“Iz, no offense but not right now,” I groan as I walk past her, trying to keep the anger bubbling right beneath the surface in check. It wasn’t working, I could feel myself wanting to explode, skin itching and feeling hot.

“Oh,” she hums, following after me. “I’m sorry… Is there something I can do?”

“Fuck, Zari! Just leave me alone!”

My voice echoes back to me in the empty hallways. The scream is harsh, mean. I never call her Zari. I would never yell at her like this. I can’t believe myself. It immediately takes me out of my anger, and in that moment I turn over to see her.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Iz-”

The room is spinning, my pulse rushing into my head. I hear the thumping of my heartbeat in my ears. Cheeks growing hot. I might be sick. I can feel my hands trembling - no, not my hands. My whole body. Without letting the blonde finish her apology, I walk off. I don’t hear anything but the pounding in my head.

Every raised voice I heard nowadays had me struggling. Ever since my engagement I couldn’t handle being screamed at. Something about the yelling fits Jasper got into had left a permanent mark on me. I could feel my palms sweating as I walk away from Paige aimlessly, unsure where I was going. Unaware of the blonde following after me until her clammy hands grab my shoulders.

“Izzie, I’m sorry, I dunno why I yelled ma,” she says remorsefully but it barely registers. In the midst of some sort of panic attack I try to fan myself, my clothes suddenly seeming too tight and overstimulating against my skin. I can feel the seams digging in, the tags rubbing into me irritatingly.

“Izzie you okay mama?”

My breathing grows shallower, head increasingly spinning more and more. Suddenly I feel hands wrapping around my body and pulling me into a tight hug, warm breath tickling in my ear.

“Breathe. Breathe with me Izzie,” her comforting, hoarse voice whispers. I feel her body expanding against mine as she takes slow, deep breaths. Focusing on the feeling I follow her pattern of breathing, now and then breaking into fast gulps of air only calmed down by Paige, reminding me to focus on her breathing as she rubs my back gently. Eventually the feeling of being unable to breath passes, replaced by utter exhaustion and lingering sadness. My body melts into Paige’s, molds against hers perfectly as we sit there and embrace. As the blonde begins to pull away I realise I don’t want her to let go of me. So I wrap my arms around her waist and tighten my hold of her. She gets the hint and embraces me for another five minutes or so. Until distant steps echo around the corridor.

“Someone’s coming,” I whisper, realising I’d been crying when I hear my own voice, shaky and soft.

Paige pulls back just enough to look around before pulling me into a random room. The fluorescent lights of the bathroom are bright compared to the dim corridor. I blink my tears away as Paige sits me down on the edge of the sink, never letting her hands fall of me. They rub comfortingly as she chases my gaze, a sad look in her eye.

“Are you okay?”

I nod. I’m not, but better than earlier. Better now that she was here with me.

Paige sighs, shaking her head to herself. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry I yelled, I didn’t mean to I was just-”

“No, I understand,” I nod. It had been hard to watch the first couple weeks of Paige’s time with the Wings. I knew how bad she needed a win for herself, how badly she deserved it. I could tell it was wearing her down. “Was a bad game.”

“Yeah but I never woulda yelled if I knew you freaked out like that.”

“I know,” I nod, sniffling a little. Paige grabs some toilet paper and hands it to me. I offer her a weak smile as I pat the tears off my cheeks. “I just…”

A deep sigh. I had never talked about this with anyone.

“My last relationship was really… just shit, yeah?” I explain. Paige furrows her brows, and I can tell she’s really listening. Really understanding how important this was for her to hear.

“And, he yelled a lot. Threw things, hit things, he never touched me but he’d break dishes and explode over the smallest things and somehow always make me out to be the bad guy. The one who needed to apologise- well anyway, ever since then I just… I can’t handle yelling. At all.”

Paige’s blue eyes blink at me as she nods, understanding. There’s a veil of sadness over her face.

“I know I overreacted. I’m sorry Paige,” I mumble meeting her gaze but immediately the blonde shakes her head.

“No, fuck, I’m sorry Iz,” she sighs licking her lips. “I’m never raising my voice around you again. I pr-”

“No, it’s just something I need to learn to live with,” I resist but Paige shakes her head again, more sternly now.

“I promise. Never, okay?”

We look at each other for a moment. I wish I could tell her how badly I missed her. But like reading my mind Paige’s mouth opens.

“I miss you so bad.”

My heart nearly stops. I missed her more than anything. Just her presence, her closeness, her stupid jokes, the car drives. Everything.

“Me too,” I admit. “But nothing’s changed Paige.”

“I know,” Paige murmurs, fingertips coming to play with the ends of my hair as she remains standing between my legs. I usually didn’t like anyone touching my hair after I’d done it. But something in this moment had me not caring.

“Maybe,” I start but then shake my head. Horrible idea. But Paige is eager for any solutions to our little problem. Well not so little, it had consumed me.

“No, tell me. Please Iz, c’mon,” she speaks in that soft tone that always drove me wild.

“I don’t know if it’ll work Paige.”

“Please mama, I’ll do anything. Just don’t wanna lose you. Need you in my life too bad right now.”

The two words are enough for me to fold.

“We could be friends. But that’s all it can ever be. Nothing more. Just friends,” like I said, a horrible, impossible idea. Even now my body was burning for her, her hands on my lower back leaving sparks on my skin.

Paige thinks for a while and then nods. “Then we’re friends.”

“Paige, are you sure we can be just friends?”

The blonde nods, meeting my eyes again. “I told you, I’ll be anything you need me to be.”

Fuck.

“I’mma be your friend. Till you want more. I’mma wait.”

“Paige-”

“Just say the word Iz and I’ll be more.”

She’s serious, her face hard as she looks at me.

“But for now friends, yeah?” Paige asks, thumb brushing a strand of hair that I’m not sure was even there off my cheek. Friends, what a terrible idea.

“Yeah. Friends.”

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter @thaatdigitaldiary @pb524830 @bueckersfive @lupinqs @sierrale8ne @d3arapril @lovegalor333 @avvwritesstufff @rosemariiaa @bueckers22 @taylynbueckers44 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @rizzlerbuckets @wosolipa @bridgetloveswomen @paiges-1vur @slut4uconnwbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @janaelalfysblunt @omg-imtumbling @angryflowerwitch @ohbueckers @ohmybueckers

#paige bueckers #so it goes #lilas writing yaps #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers fic #wnba x oc

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jyoongim · 1 year ago

Note

Hey there! My first time asking/making a request lol, but I had two separate ideas and you can just pick one or something.

First was an alastor w/ fem reader, it's mating season for red and this ones diff bc he's had his eyes on reader or smthn for a min and decides this season he's going to do his best to show off to her, lmao like "look look, I can provide and protect!" a bit intense bc it's mating season, but reader is CLUELESS until at some point it finally clicks and she's all "huh.. ohh SHIT"

Second idea was one that I thought would be funny, like so.. lucifer finds out Al likes reader and even tho he doesn't really like Al he's like " don't worry, I can definitely help with this" but he's lowkey a terrible wingman even tho miraculously it somehow helps in the end???

Again you can choose from either and end it however you want, fluff/nsfw/sfw. Or if none of this is your cup of tea then just ignore me!!

Not me on a fluff binge hehehhehe

hope you guys like it! I’ve been a bit slow to write and upload but I’ve enjoyed reading every request! I’m still taking a slight break but I try to give y’all SOMETHING. Hope y’all don’t mind!!

Lots of love-jyoongim

——————————————————————————————-

Mating season.

Usually an awful time of year that made Alastor more on edge than usual.

But something was different this year…

This mating season, the deer demon wanted a partner….

Alastor had his sights on a pretty doe and he was going to ensure that she was going to be his for the season…

—————————————————————————

You rubbed the sleep out your eyes as you greeted everyone as you took a seat for breakfast.

Pancakes. Bacon. Sausage. Eggs. Fruits.

Your stomach rumbled at the delicious smells.

”Fine hellish day isn’t my dear?” Alastor chirped as he piled food fruits and meats on your plate. You blinked at the amount of food on your plate.

”Al my stomach is only so big” you giggled causing the demon to hum as he took a seat beside you.

”A full belly makes a happy doe” he smiled as you happily ate the food.

Alastor watched as you ate, a soft purr rumbling in his chest.

”Why don’t we go for an outing dear?” Alastor suggested as you let out a burp.

You agreed.

It was rather chilly for Hell.

You and Alastor waltz around the city. You happily looked at the displays in many windows.

You didn’t know Alastor’s agenda but you didn’t mind accompanying him.

You must have lagged behind him a tad as a demon slithered up beside you as you looked over some jewelry.

”what’s a cute thing like you doing all alone?” A deep voice asked causing you jumped, surprised.

”O-Oh hi um I’m just looking that’s all” you gave a nervous smile. Your skiddish nature took over as you took a step back. The demon advanced on you. He was big, could easily overtake you if need be.

”Why don’t I show you around? I don’t see a ring. I can show you a good time” sharp teeth smiled at you menacingly.

Your ears flattened, you might be small but you could defend yourself. You bared your teeth at the demon making him chuckle

”Now now little lady lets not get ugly”

You hadn’t realized he had backed you into a corner.

The demon pounced, making you screech as he pinned you to the wall.

Your ears perked as heavy static buzzed through the air. The demon didn’t seem to notice

“You’ll make a fine piece of ass”

Black smoke poured through the alleyway and static popped.

”That’s no way to talk to a lady”

Black tentacles dragged the demon and blood-curdling screams escaped the demon, but were quickly silenced as Alastor ripped him apart.

”mine mine mine” Alastor growled as he chomped on the demon.

You gagged as chunks of flesh flew around.

Satisfied that the distasteful demon was in his belly, Alastor looked towards you.

A large sharp claw traced your face, he was growling but his eyes were soft. He morphed to be a bit smaller and helped you up, his red eyes roaming over you.

”I’m okay Al” you reassured giving him a smile. He seemed to calm down and looped your arm with his.

”dishonorable filfth” he hissed as he made his way back to the hotel. You pouted you really wanted to buy something but you’ve had enough excitement for one day.

You looked at Alastor and tilted your head “Al your antlers”

The usual small antlers were now big and standing tall on top his head.

”Nice rack” you giggled making the red demon smirk, his chest puffing proudly.

”than-thank you for all that. I really appreciate Al” you said sheepishly.

The tall demon hummed

“Don’t mention it my dear. What kind of man would I be if I couldn’t protect you?”

——————————————————————————

Alastor had been lingering around you since the little accident. He had growled at anyone who got too close to you.

He was very possessive and protective of you, which you thought was sweet that the demon was worried about you.

You groaned as the sun peaked through your window. You sat up and you blinked in confusion.

Flowers, breakfast, and a tiny box.

Rest up little Doe ~Alastor

Your tail wagged in happiness. You don’t know why Alastor had been so attentive but you were eating it up.

You placed the flowers in a vase and began to eat breakfast.

Your face wrinkled as you pulled a piece of meat from your teeth.

what the fuck?

It was soft and fleshy. You shuddered but ate the rest of your breakfast. You opened the tiny box and keened when you saw the bracelet you had been looking at earlier in the week.

There were cute little radio themed charms.

You quickly cleaned up and went downstairs.

Charlie and Vaggie were sitting in the lobby chatting.

You smiled and waved, your bracelet caught Vaggie’s attention.

”Hey where you get that?” The question also caught Charlie’s attention, she immediately began gushing

”Oh my! Did Alastor get that for you? Omg so cute!”

Vaggie deadpanned “Alastor have been very cozy towards you what’s that about?”

You shrugged “I don’t know but it can’t be anything bad right?”

————————————————————————————-

“I see you got my gift” Alastor said, coming behind you as you red on the couch. You smiled “Its really nice Al but why the sudden gift giving?”

Alastor smiled “well my dear its mating season”

You blinked. Mating season? What did that have to do-

OH SHIT!

Your eyes widened “Y-You’ve been…”

His lips pulled into a genuine smile “Courting you? Why of course my dear!”

His hand circled the wrist with the bracelet. He brought it up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it.

Your body shuddered in delight and your ears flicked as he nipped at your fingers.

Your nose wrinkled at the smell of his pheromones, your tail wagging.

You let out a purr as you rubbed yourself against him and took off running, throwing a wink at him as he followed suit, giggling as he made a grab at your hips as you evaded him.

”Come and solidify your place Mr. Radio Demon” you teased slipping into his room.

A soft growl escaped Alastor as he followed you and had his shadow guard the door.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor the radio demon #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel #Alastor fluff #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel x you

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mrsfancyferrari · 2 months ago

Text

My Darling

Summary: Out of all the things George says over the years, there's one word that still makes you blush.

Song: Earned It · The Weeknd

Author’s note: THANK YOU FOR THE 1K FOLLOWERS!! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 6.3k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the engine vibrates through your chest, a familiar feeling that settles you even amidst the pre-race jitters. The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. The final race of the season. Another year you’ve spent on the edge of your seat, watching George chase his dream.

You adjust your headset, the noise-cancelling mufflers doing little to completely silence the cacophony of the paddock. He's starting P3 today. A good position. A position where anything can happen.

You've known George Russell since you were awkward teenagers, navigating the minefield of secondary school. He was the lanky, perpetually energetic kid obsessed with karting, and you were the quiet one, buried in books and content to observe from the sidelines.

He dragged you into his world, fuelled by passion and the unwavering belief that he was destined for greatness. He was right, of course.

Now, standing in the Mercedes garage, surrounded by a whirlwind of mechanics and engineers, you feel a surge of pride, so potent it almost makes you dizzy. He’s come so far.

Your focus snaps back as George's voice crackles through your headset. "…and then, darling, I told Toto that the balance felt a little off in turn 7. We made some adjustments, and it's feeling much better now."

Darling.

That single word, so casually dropped, still manages to send a jolt of electricity through you. It always has. It's a habit of his, a comfortable term of endearment he seems to bestow on everyone from his mother to the team's catering staff. But when he says it to you, it feels different. Warmer. More intimate.

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. "Good to hear. Just focus on the start, George. You've got this." You manage to say, hoping your voice doesn't betray your inner turmoil.

"Always do, darling. Always do." He chuckles, and the sound sends another shiver down your spine. "See you after the race."

The line goes dead, and you let out a shaky breath. You hate this. Hated the way one simple word could throw you off balance.

You grab your clipboard, feigning interest in the tyre strategy, desperately trying to regain your composure.

The race unfolds in a blur of adrenaline and anxiety. You watch, heart hammering against your ribs, as George battles for position, expertly navigating the tight corners and high-speed straights.

Every overtake, every defensive move, sends a wave of relief or panic washing over you. He finishes second. A great result.

Later, after the post-race interviews and the podium celebrations, you find him in the cool-down room, towelling off his sweaty hair. He looks exhausted but exhilarated, his eyes shining with hard-earned triumph.

"You were amazing out there," you say, offering him a water bottle.

He takes a long swig, the muscles in his throat working. "Thanks. Felt good. Could have been better, but I'll take it." He grins, and the weariness seems to melt away. "So, darling, what did you think of that move on Leclerc in turn 6?"

There it is again. That word.

You feel your cheeks flush. "It was… impressive. Very aggressive."

He laughs. "Had to be! He wasn't going to give me the position otherwise. Besides," he adds, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I knew you were watching. Had to put on a show."

Your heart skips a beat. "Oh, really?" You try to sound nonchalant, but your voice wavers slightly.

"Of course! Always got to impress my biggest fan." He playfully nudges your shoulder. "So, fancy grabbing some dinner? Celebratory Nando’s?"

Nando’s it is. You and George have had a tradition to go to Nando’s after every single race since he started in F1.

The restaurant is buzzing with energy, filled with fans buzzing about the race. You and George manage to find a relatively quiet booth in a corner, and settle in.

"So," George says, after you've both ordered your food, "what did you really think about the race?"

You tell him honestly, praising his overtaking skills, gently pointing out a couple of areas where he could have been smoother. He listens intently, nodding occasionally, absorbing your feedback. He values your opinion, always has.

Even after all his success, he still trusts your judgement.

"You know," he says, leaning back in his seat, "I really appreciate you being here, at all the races, darling. It means a lot."

The word hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken meaning. You look down at your hands, fiddling with the edge of the napkin.

"I wouldn't miss it," you say softly. "Seeing you achieve your dreams… it's incredible."

He reaches across the table and takes your hand, his touch warm and comforting. "You've been there since the beginning. Through all the karting races, the Formula 4 championships, everything. You've always believed in me, even when I doubted myself."

You meet his gaze, your heart swelling with emotions you've kept buried for far too long. "I always will, George."

A comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the clatter of plates and the murmur of conversations around you. Then, George speaks again, his voice thoughtful.

"You know, I don't think I tell you enough how much I appreciate you, darling. You're not just a friend, you're… you're family."

Family. The word echoes in your mind, a bittersweet melody. You cherish your friendship with George, but you long for something more. Something deeper.

"I feel the same way," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

The food arrives, momentarily interrupting the conversation. You both dig in, the familiar taste of peri-peri chicken a welcome distraction. But the unspoken feelings still linger in the air, a tangible presence between you.

At the end of the meal, George drives you home. As he turns to you before you get out of the car, he says, “I had a great time, darling. We should do it again.”

As the years pass, George's career continues to soar. He wins races, challenges for championships, becomes a household name. Your life, too, evolves.

You pursue your own dreams, excel in your chosen field, building a successful career. But through it all, your friendship with George remains a constant, a source of unwavering support and affection.

And still, he calls you "darling."

He doesn’t realize the effect he has on you. How your heart skips a beat when he says it, how your palms get clammy, how you have to consciously fight the urge to blurt out something ridiculously embarrassing. He uses it with everyone, you tell yourself.

It's just a friendly term of endearment. But still, you can't help but feel a little different when he says it to you. Special, even.

One evening, years after that Abu Dhabi race, you're at George's house, helping him pack for the summer break. He's sprawled on the bed, surrounded by a mountain of clothes, looking utterly overwhelmed.

"I have no idea what to take," he groans, running a hand through his hair. "It's supposed to be relaxing, but I always end up overpacking."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Leave it to me. I'm a master packer."

You start sorting through the clothes, folding shirts and neatly arranging them in his suitcase. George watches you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"You know," he says, after a few minutes of comfortable silence, "you're the only person who can make packing look effortless."

"Years of practice," you reply, without looking up.

"Speaking of years," he continues, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "we've known each other for a really long time, haven't we, darling?"

There it is again. That word. But tonight, it feels different. Heavier. More deliberate.

You finally meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. "We have," you say softly.

He held your gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. You could see the gears turning in his head, something shifting behind those hazel eyes. You braced yourself, wondering if he was finally going to say something, anything, to acknowledge the undercurrent that buzzed between you.

But then, he blinked, and the moment was gone. He chuckled, a light, disarming sound. "It's crazy, isn't it? All those years of school, all the races we've been to, all the… well, everything. Time flies when you're having fun, I guess."

Relief and disappointment warred within you. He wasn’t going to confess anything. He wasn't going to say anything at all. He was just going to keep calling you “darling,” completely unaware of the effect it had on you.

You forced a smile, trying to match his lighthearted tone. "It does. And we've definitely had a lot of… everything."

He nodded, leaning back against the headboard. "Remember that time in Monaco, when you accidentally dumped a bucket of ice water on Toto?"

You groaned. "Don't remind me. I thought I was going to be banned from Formula 1 for life."

He laughed, a genuine, booming sound that filled the room. "You were lucky he has a sense of humor. Anyway, back to the packing. What do you think? Three pairs of swim trunks or four?"

The tension had dissipated, replaced by the comfortable familiarity that had defined your friendship for so long. You sighed inwardly. The moment had passed, and with it, any hope of clarity.

You turned back to the suitcase, picking up a pair of bright blue swim trunks. "Three is plenty, darling. Unless you're planning on entering a speed-swimming competition."

He grinned, completely oblivious. “You never know!”

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable blur of folded clothes, shared memories, and lighthearted banter. You told him about your upcoming photography exhibition, he regaled you with stories of his disastrous attempt at learning to surf, and the word "darling" continued to slip from his lips with casual ease, each utterance a tiny pinprick of longing.

Later, as you were leaving, George walked you to the door. He paused, his hand resting on your arm. "Thanks for doing this," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "I really appreciate it. You always know how to make things easier."

"Anytime," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just promise me you won't spend the entire vacation glued to your phone."

He chuckled. "I'll try my best, darling."

He hugged you goodbye, a brief, friendly embrace that left you wanting more. As you walked down the driveway, you could feel his gaze on your back.

You resisted the urge to turn around, knowing that seeing him standing there, bathed in the warm glow of the porch light, would only make your heart ache more.

You knew, with a certainty that settled heavy in your stomach, that George wasn't going to say anything. He was comfortable with the way things were, with your comfortable friendship, with the casual affection he expressed so freely.

And you, you were destined to remain on the periphery of his life, forever blushing at a word he didn't even realize held so much power.

As you drove away, you whispered to yourself, “Goodbye, darling.” It tasted of longing and unrequited hope. You knew that the word would continue to haunt you, a constant reminder of a love that could never be. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Maybe the quiet ache of longing was better than the risk of shattering the fragile balance of your friendship. . . .

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

The Ibizan sun beat down on George, but he barely registered it. He lay sprawled on a white sun lounger, the epitome of relaxation, yet a million miles away in his head.

His family buzzed around him; his father tinkering with the pool filter, his sister Cara splashing in the shimmering water with her children tossing a frisbee. Normally, he would be right in the thick of it, teasing his nieces, engaging in some competitive sports.

But not today. Today, he was lost in the past.

He clutched his phone, the screen replaying a grainy video. It was eight years old, a relic from a simpler time. A time before roaring engines, screaming fans, and the relentless pressure of Formula 1. A time when his biggest concern was acing his Physics exam and impressing a certain girl with sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin.

That girl was Y/N.

The video, a chaotic mess of shaky camera work and teenage exuberance, documented a day in their 'exciting' secondary school life. Y/N, the mastermind behind the whole thing, had insisted on capturing their mundane reality for posterity.

He remembered protesting at the time, embarrassed by the prospect of immortalising their awkwardness. Now, he was grateful.

On the screen, a younger version of himself, all gangly limbs and nervous energy, fumbled with his tie as he walked alongside Y/N. Her laughter, bright and infectious, echoed from the phone's speakers, cutting through the gentle lapping of the pool water. She was narrating, her voice brimming with youthful enthusiasm.

"Good morning, world! It's Y/N, and this is 'A Day in the Life of Two Utterly Average Teenagers'. Prepare for thrills, spills, and questionable fashion choices!"

The video cut to a shaky shot of the school gates, then to a montage of their lessons. George cringed as he watched himself struggle to solve a quadratic equation, Y/N whispering the answer beside him with a playful smirk. There was a clip of them sharing chips at lunchtime, fighting over the last one. Another of them huddled over textbooks in the library, Y/N’s hand resting lightly on his arm as she explained a complex concept. He could almost feel the warmth of her touch, the faint scent of her lavender perfume that always lingered in the air around her.

The video was utterly pointless, utterly ridiculous, and utterly captivating. It was a window into a time when life was uncomplicated, when happiness resided in shared glances and whispered jokes. It was a reminder of the deep connection he shared with Y/N, a connection that had only deepened with time.

He was supposed to be sharing this holiday with her. They had planned it for months, a much-needed escape from the relentless F1 calendar. But then, a last-minute work commitment had forced her to cancel. An important project, she had explained apologetically, her voice laced with disappointment. He had understood, of course, but it didn't make her absence any easier to bear.

He was so engrossed in the video, reliving those cherished memories, that he didn’t notice someone sitting beside him until they spoke.

"Where's Y/N? I haven't seen her in a while," his mother, Alison, asked, her voice laced with concern.

George jumped, startled, nearly dropping his phone. He looked up at his mother, her eyes filled with gentle curiosity. “Oh, hi Mum. She… she couldn’t make it. Work stuff.”

Alison's brow furrowed. "That's a shame. I was looking forward to seeing her. She's practically family at this point."

George smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "She is, Mum. She really is."

He paused the video, the image of a laughing Y/N frozen on the screen. "I miss her, you know?" he confessed, the vulnerability surprising even himself. "I miss just… being around her. Being normal."

Alison reached out and squeezed his hand. "I know, darling. It's hard when life pulls you in different directions. But you two have something special. Don't let anything break that."

He nodded, his throat tight. "I won't." He knew she was right. Their connection was strong, forged in the crucible of shared experiences and unwavering support. It had weathered long distances, demanding careers, and the constant pressures of his public life. He wouldn't let it falter now.

"Show me the video," Alison said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Let's see what you two were like back in the day."

George hesitated for a moment, then handed her the phone. As they watched the video together, he found himself explaining the context, reliving the stories behind each clip. His mother laughed at their teenage antics, her face softening with fondness. He realised, with a surge of gratitude, that his family understood his relationship with you. They saw something special in it, something he had been too afraid to acknowledge.

After the video ended, Alison handed the phone back to him. "She's a good one, George. Don't take her for granted."

"I won't, Mum. I promise," he'd replied, a little too quickly.

Then came the bombshell. “Try and ask her out soon,” she added, her eyes twinkling.

“What!” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He hadn’t expected that. He thought his mum would be more cautious, tell him to take things slow. This was the opposite of that.

“Oh, come on! Everyone can see it, George. Except maybe you, in your state of blissful denial.” His sister, Cara, perched beside him on the sun lounger, her eyes knowing. "She's practically perfect for you, you know. Smart, funny, loves dogs… what's not to like?"

The rest of the holiday passed in a blur of sun, sea, and a constant internal debate. You were always on his mind.

He found himself reaching for his phone to text you, only to stop himself, unsure of what to say. He didn't want to jeopardize their friendship with clumsy advances. Rejection scared him, especially from you.

He glanced at the group of sunbathers by the pool, families laughing and couples holding hands. It made him feel a pang of loneliness, a longing for something more than just friendship with you.

Finally, on the last day of the holiday, he decided he couldn't put it off any longer. He needed to talk to you. At least, send a message. He typed and deleted several texts, each one sounding more ridiculous than the last.

“Hey Y/N, just thinking of you. Hope you’re having a good week!” - Too generic.

“Missing you! Greece is great, but it would be better with you.” - Way too forward.

“Fancy grabbing a coffee when I get back?” - Too casual.

He groaned and threw his phone onto the sun lounger. He was overthinking it. Terribly.

Later that evening, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, George found himself alone on the beach. The gentle lapping of the waves was the only sound that broke the silence. He picked up a smooth, white stone and skimmed it across the water.

"Overthinking it, are we?"

George jumped, startled, and turned to see his sister, Cara, walking towards him, a knowing smile on her face.

"How did you…?" he began.

"Oh, please. I know you better than you know yourself," she said, sitting down beside him on the sand. "Look, George, I know you're scared. You don't want to ruin the friendship you have with Y/N. But sometimes, you have to take risks. Life's too short to wonder 'what if?'"

He sighed. "It's just… what if she doesn't feel the same way? What if I make things awkward? What if…?"

"What if she does?" Cara interrupted. "What if she's been waiting for you to make a move? You won't know unless you try. And honestly, the way she looks at you? It's pretty obvious to everyone but you."

Cara’s words hung in the air, a stark challenge to his own self-doubt. He knew she was right. He couldn't let fear dictate his actions. He had to be brave.

When George returned home, he went straight to his apartment and after some thought, he texted you.

He replayed their text exchange in his head, his palms sweating.

George: Hey darling, how are you doing? Hope work isn't too crazy.

Y/N: Hey George! Glad you're back from your holidays. I'm good, swamped with work as always, but surviving. How was Ibiza?

George: It was nice, but glad to be home. Actually, I was wondering if you were free sometime this week? I’d love to hear all about what you’ve been working on.

Y/N: I might be. What did you have in mind?

George: There’s this new italian place I've been wanting to try.

Y/N: Dinner? You’re asking me on date, George?

That text had sent his heart into overdrive.

George: Only if you want it to be.

The agonizing minutes of waiting, the wave of relief when she finally responded.

Y/N: I’d like that very much.

He knew he had to confess. He couldn’t just dance around the issue any longer, teasing himself and her. He had to lay it all on the line after dinner.

Now, as he waited for the time to pick her up, he felt a nervous energy he hadn't experienced since his first F1 race. He checked his reflection one last time, smoothing down his hair.

He was wearing a crisp, dark blue shirt, tailored to fit perfectly, and dark jeans.

Smart casual, he hoped. . . .

The hum of the hair dryer vibrates in your hand, a dull counterpoint to the frantic drum solo your heart is currently playing. George asked you to dinner. Just dinner. A friendly dinner. To discuss work and his upcoming holiday.

You repeat the mantra in your head like a lifeline, trying to quell the butterflies that have taken up residence in your stomach.

The dryer clicks off, and you stare at your reflection in the mirror. A strand of hair stubbornly refuses to cooperate, twisting into a rogue curl despite your best efforts.

You sigh. This is ridiculous. It's just dinner. With George. Your best friend. Right?

Your gaze drifts towards the two dresses laid out on your bed, each a stark contrast to the other, each holding a different promise. The first, a little black dress, is a classic. Short, sleek, and undeniably alluring.

It hugs your curves in all the right places, the low-cut neckline hinting at just enough skin to be intriguing without being overtly provocative. You imagine yourself in it, feeling confident and sophisticated, ready to take on the world.

Or at least, ready to face George.

Then there's the blue dress. Long, flowing, and ethereal. The color is a vibrant cerulean, mirroring the summer sky, and the fabric shimmers with a subtle, almost otherworldly glow.

It's elegant and understated, the kind of dress that makes you feel like you could float away on a gentle breeze. It hides more than it reveals, whispering of secrets and untold stories.

You pace between the two dresses, your mind a battlefield of conflicting desires. The black dress screams confidence, but is it trying too hard?

Would George think you're trying to send a message that isn't there? The blue dress, on the other hand, feels more like you. Honest. Authentic. But is it too… casual?

After what feels like an eternity, you make your decision. The blue dress. It feels right. It feels like you. And tonight, you need to be yourself.

You slip into the dress, the cool fabric cascading down your body like liquid silk. You smooth it over your hips, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. A light touch of mascara, a swipe of your favorite lip gloss, and you're ready.

The doorbell rings, and your heart leaps into your throat. You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure, and walk towards the door.

When you open it, George is standing there, looking impossibly handsome in a tailored crisp, dark blue shirt and dark jeans. His blue eyes widen slightly as he takes you in, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face.

"Wow darling," he says softly, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "You look… amazing."

You blush, feeling your cheeks flush with heat. "Thanks," you manage to stammer, your voice betraying your nervousness. "You look pretty good yourself."

He grins, that familiar, boyish grin that still makes your heart skip a beat after all these years. "Shall we?" he asks, extending his arm.

You slip your arm through his, and together, you step out into the warm evening air.

He leads you to his car, a sleek, dark Mercedes that screams money and success. He opens the passenger door for you with a flourish. "After you darling," he says, a playful glint in his eyes.

As you slide into the buttery leather seat, the scent of his cologne – a subtle blend of spice and citrus – fills your senses. You buckle your seatbelt, acutely aware of his presence beside you.

“So,” he says, pulling away from the curb. “Italian tonight? Heard they make a mean carbonara.”

“Italian’s perfect,” you reply, relieved that the awkwardness seems to be dissipating. “I’m starving.”

The drive is comfortable, punctuated by easy conversation. You catch up on his whirlwind month – the adrenaline-fueled races, the sun-drenched beaches of his holiday. He listens intently as you recount your own, significantly less glamorous, experiences at work.

“It’s nice to just… talk,” he says, his voice softer than usual. He glances at you briefly, a fleeting smile playing on his lips. “It feels like it’s been forever.”

“It has,” you agree, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “A month is a lifetime in George Russell time.”

He chuckles. “Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel like I’m living five different lives at once.”

The restaurant is tucked away on a quiet street, a charming establishment with twinkling fairy lights and the comforting aroma of garlic and herbs. George leads you to a table tucked in a cozy corner, away from the main bustle of the dining room.

“Table for two, Signore Russell?” the waiter asks, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

“That’s right,” George replies, flashing him a charming smile. “And this lovely lady is… Y/N.”

You smile at the waiter, feeling a surge of affection for George. He always remembers to introduce you, no matter how famous he gets.

As you settle into your seats, you have the familiar sensation of being utterly at ease in George's presence. You've known each other since you were both gangly teenagers with braces and questionable fashion choices.

You've seen him at his best and his worst – celebrating victories, nursing broken hearts, struggling through exam stress. He's seen you through equally tumultuous times.

The conversation flows effortlessly as you peruse the menu. You reminisce about old times – the disastrous school play where George forgot his lines, the time you accidentally set his hair on fire during a chemistry experiment, the countless late-night study sessions fuelled by copious amounts of sugary snacks.

“Remember Mr. Henderson’s history class?” you ask, laughing. “He used to fall asleep mid-sentence.”

George shakes his head, grinning. “And we’d draw moustaches on his notes. Good times, darling, good times.”

That word again. Darling. It still has the same effect on you.

As the waiter takes your order, George leans forward, his expression becoming more serious. “So, how are you, really?” he asks, his blue eyes searching yours. “How’s everything going?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how much to reveal. “I’m… okay,” you say cautiously. “Work’s been hectic, but nothing I can’t handle.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “And personally?”

You sigh. “Honestly, it’s been a little lonely. I miss having you around.”

His gaze softens. “I miss you too,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “More than you know.”

As your meals arrived, the waiter offered a bottle of Chianti. George raised an eyebrow at you in question, and you nodded, deciding to throw caution to the wind. The wine was rich and smooth, loosening your tongue and easing the tension that still lingered beneath the surface.

"Remember that time we tried to sneak into that over-18s club?" you asked, swirling the wine in your glass.

George laughed. "And got caught immediately! Your fake ID was so bad, it said you were born in 1888."

"Hey, it was worth a shot," you retorted, grinning. "Besides, we ended up having more fun at that dodgy karaoke bar. Your rendition of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was truly unforgettable."

The laughter flowed freely, punctuated by shared memories and inside jokes. You talked about everything and nothing, the years melting away as you rediscovered the easy camaraderie that had always defined your friendship.

"It's just… it's hard, isn't it?” you said, the smile fading slightly. “Watching you achieve all your dreams, knowing that you're living the life you always wanted. I'm happy for you, I truly am, but it also makes me question my own choices."

George reached across the table and took your hand, his touch sending a familiar shiver down your spine. "Don't," he said softly. "Don't ever think that your life is any less important or fulfilling than mine. We all have different paths to follow, different things that make us happy."

He paused, his gaze intense. "And, to be honest, sometimes I envy you. You have a sense of normalcy, a stability that I often crave. The racing world is… insane. It's all-consuming. Sometimes I wish I could just escape it all and live a normal life, like you."

You laughed, incredulous. "You? Want to be normal? I find that hard to believe."

"Believe it," he said, squeezing your hand. "And you know what else? All this success, all the trophies and champagne… they mean nothing if I can't share them with the people I care about."

The rest of the meal passed in a comfortable haze of wine, conversation, and shared history. As the waiter cleared the table, George suggested a walk. You readily agreed.

As you stepped out onto the bustling city street, the cool air sent a shiver down your spine. The night was alive with the hum of traffic and the murmur of conversations spilling from open doorways.

Neon signs cast a colourful glow on the wet pavement, reflecting in the puddles like scattered jewels.

"Do we know where we're going, or are we just wandering?" you asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

George simply grinned, that familiar, charming grin that had always made your stomach flutter a little. "Don't worry, trust me."

Trust George? You always had. You'd known him since the awkward days of secondary school, a lifetime ago. He was a constant, a familiar comfort in your life. You started walking, falling into step beside him.

The conversation flowed easily, as it always did between you. He talked about the upcoming Formula 1 season, the pressure, the anticipation, the relentless training. He spoke of the new car, the tweaks, the improvements they were hoping for. His passion was infectious, even to someone like you, who only understood the basics of motorsport.

Then, you found yourself venting about your own work. Another day, another unreasonable client, another project that felt soul-crushingly pointless. "Honestly, George," you sighed, "I think I'm going to lose my mind if I have to write another article about the top ten cat breeds for apartment living. My creative soul is dying a slow and painful death."

He chuckled, squeezing your hand gently. "You know, you could always quit. You're talented, you could do anything you want. Write that novel you've been talking about for years. Open that quirky little bookstore you always dreamed of. Life's too short to be writing about Persian fluffballs."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Multi-Millionaire Racing Driver. Someone has to pay the bills."

"Hey," he protested playfully, "I'd happily support you. Think of it as an investment in the arts."

"Very generous," you teased. "Maybe I should just marry you for your money."

He stopped walking, turning to face you, his expression suddenly serious. "Don't say that, even as a joke." He paused, then added softly, "I wouldn't want you to marry me for the wrong reasons."

The intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. You quickly looked away, a sudden wave of nervousness washing over you. "I was just kidding, obviously."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and resumed walking. The comfortable rhythm of your conversation was slightly disrupted, replaced by a strange, unspoken tension. You both walked in silence for a little bit.

After some time, you noticed that the sounds of the city were fading, replaced by the gentle roar of the ocean. The air smelled of salt and seaweed.

"Where are we going?" you asked, curiosity piqued.

He just smiled mysteriously. "Almost there."

Finally, he stopped. You were standing on a deserted stretch of beach, the waves crashing softly against the shore. In the distance, you could see the faint glow of the city lights reflecting on the water. And then you saw them.

Balloons. Dozens of them, bobbing gently in the night breeze. They were inflated with helium, their strings tied to small weights that kept them from floating away. And emblazoned across the balloons, in large, cheerful letters, were the words: "WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You must have stumbled upon someone else's surprise, you thought. It was a sweet gesture, incredibly romantic. You started to turn to George, ready to apologize for intruding on someone's special moment.

"George, I think someone is asking some…" The words died in your throat as you saw what he was holding. A bouquet of your favorite flowers, lilies and roses, their delicate petals illuminated by the faint moonlight.

Your hand flew to your mouth, stifling a gasp. What? This couldn't be…

George looked incredibly nervous, his usually confident demeanor replaced by a vulnerability you'd rarely seen. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clutching the flowers tightly.

He took a deep breath and began to speak, his voice slightly shaky. "Darling," he said, and the sound of that single word sent a shiver down your spine. Out of all the things George had said to you over the years, there was something about "darling" that was uniquely special. It felt warm, intimate, and utterly disarming.

"Darling, from the moment I was paired with you in year nine to do that disastrous science experiment," he continued, a small smile playing on his lips, "I knew you were going to be a special person in my life. I just didn't know how special until a few months ago. Will you be my special person and be my girlfriend?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You couldn't believe this was happening. You and George? After all these years? It felt like something out of a movie, too perfect to be real.

"Yes, George," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Relief washed over his face, and the biggest grin you'd ever seen spread across his features. He carefully placed the bouquet on the sand, then stepped towards you, his eyes shining with happiness.

He reached out, cupping your face in his hands. "Really? Yes?"

You nodded, unable to speak. The tears were flowing freely now, but they were tears of joy, of disbelief, of pure, unadulterated happiness.

He lowered his head and gently kissed you. It was a soft, sweet kiss, filled with tenderness and affection. It was a kiss you had dreamed about countless times, a kiss you never thought would actually happen.

When he pulled away, he was grinning from ear to ear. "I can't believe it," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You actually said yes."

"Of course, I said yes," you replied, laughing through your tears. "What took you so long?"

He chuckled, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I was terrified," he admitted. "I didn't want to ruin our friendship. You're one of the most important people in my life, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

You hugged him tighter, burying your face in his shoulder. "You could never lose me, George. I've been secretly in love with you since that disastrous science experiment in year nine."

He laughed, squeezing you even closer. "So, all this time…"

"All this time," you confirmed, pulling back to look at him. "Now, about those balloons…"

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter, whispered confessions, and stolen kisses under the moonlight. You walked along the beach, hand in hand, talking about the future, about your hopes and dreams, about all the possibilities that lay ahead.

Later, as you sat wrapped in his arms, watching the sunrise paint the sky in hues of pink and orange, you finally found the courage to tease him.

"You had me scared for a second there," you laughed softly, nuzzling into his chest.

"Why?" George asked worriedly, his arms tightening around you.

"Your speech sounded like a proposal," you said, your voice light and teasing.

George grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, you're going to be a fiancée soon enough."

You gasped, playfully shoving him. "George! Don't even joke about that!"

He laughed, pulling you closer. "I'm not joking, darling. I know we've only just started dating, but I know what I want. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Your heart fluttered. "You're crazy," you whispered, but there was no denying the warmth spreading through you.

"Crazy about you," he corrected, kissing your forehead. "Now, tell me, what kind of ring do you like? Just so I have an idea," he winked at you

You playfully roll your eyes, burying your face in his shoulder. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

"Am I?" George playfully nips at your ear. "Maybe. But a guy can dream, can't he?"

The first rays of sunlight kiss your skin, a soft warmth that mirrors the feeling in your heart. You are finally with George, the man you have loved for so long.

And as you look up at him, at the love shining in his eyes, you know that this is just the beginning of your beautiful life together. . .

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hulknussen · 5 months ago

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Something that has gone largely unnoticed by the wider community is how absolutely lethal of a combination haas with nico and kevin specifically is. don't get me wrong, haas has been on an amazing upwards trajectory, and ayao has been transforming the team. but that does not mean there are no issues. they have huge holes specifically in strategy and tyre wear that, thankfully, nico and kevin have been able to patch over.

we know that nico is amazing at tyre management and overdriving his cars. we see it every saturday in qualifying, really. but he's what I have filed away as a nervous driver in my head. he qualifies well and then bottles his starts. he runs in p3 and makes stupid, stupid mistakes. he gives up battles too quickly.

kevin on the other hand is really good at defending and overtaking. he doesn't have the most overtakes on the entire grid for the 2024 season for no reason. he didn't pull off jeddah for nothing. and he may not be able to get miracles out of the haas as nico can, but he does still drive it to the max.

nico has pointed out that the difference between them isn't as big as it's sometimes made out to be. that doesn't mean there isn't a difference. I do believe if you are looking for the raw race pace of the car you should look more at kev than nico, because nico feeds his cars crack and snorts a line of cocaine before getting in. he isn't the benchmark we should look at for '25, kevin is. the team is doing well, but there is still work to be done in 2025.

now, you can probably already see where this is going. being shit on the tyres is fine if you have a guy who could drive his tyres to the moon and back. of course, being good on the tyres would mean you could fight for higher positions and even podiums, but the below average performance from the team gets made up by the above average performance from nico to come out at, well, averages. p8's and p9's and so on.

and you can get away with fucking your driver over in strategy if he is just going to keep going, elbows out, and make his spots back up. if kevin will relentlessly continue fighting and driving like it's a win.

kevin is also a very late braker. his driving style looks, still, despite the years, very imprinted from his FR3/FR3.5 days (which as you may know was the series he competed in before making the jump to F1), where he is fast and late in the corners. this means he needs a stable and heavy rear to balance him and not send him flying into the person he is overtaking or the wall. what would cause understeer for others is a good set up for kevin.

here we get back to nico. nico is crazy adaptable. he's a bit older than kevin, and you can also see that in his driving. he went from GP2 to F1. the cars of the 2000s/late 2000s are a lot more aggressive than nowadays--which is why we saw a lot of the older drivers start to fall off around the 2018 mark. not all of them could adapt to this change. smoothness is the name of the game.

if you watch nico's race on boards, you'll find this smoothness, because he needs it to not wear his tyres. but for qualifying, and being quick over one lap pace, you want as much tyre grip as possible, and for that he reverts back to a more aggressive driving style. this isn't the norm. it took the rest of the pack that started around the time nico did or earlier time to adjust to the new car driving style because you don't just snap your fingers and switch that up. or, you know, you aren't supposed to.

apart from that, you will also find that nico tends to brake late, though not as much as kevin. it still means they do well with similar setups.

however, what this lead to, is that nico came into the team in 2023 to a car that was primarily set up after kevin. and they could just keep going with that, because nico can make all of his cars work. he can snap his fingers and feel around a bit and then he's back to his usual strengths and weaknesses. this is one of the parts that tends to go unnoticed, because realistically he doesn't have that many strengths beyond tyres and pace. we dont see this adaptability as the average viewer. beyond both of them being late brakers and carrying lots of speed in the corners, they can iron out the kinks for kevin. it's also a constellation he is used to, with checo also needing this rear in a heavy set up (and max doesn't, which is part of the reason we started seeing such gaps in their performance when the car started being shit. it was, at least, still set up for max, but not for checo).

we already know that their driving styles work together well; that nico is open to experimentation with setups; that kevin does well with the haas car because he has been their driver for six years. he has been with haas for six out of their eight years. they quite literally built this team and their cars around him. they need someone like nico who can deal with that, who doesn't need them to change up everything as they have done their entire time in the sport for him. it makes it comfortable for haas, because they are a small team, and they have budget issues. the more they can focus on upgrades and strategy, the better. they don't need to waste time on figuring out what works, because they know what kevin needs and can trust that nico will manage with it.

that's the car. at the end here I already started getting into it from a team dynamics perspective. kevin is incredibly loyal to them, and we know the team is to him (not talking about gunther, or even ayao/management. talking in the race engineers and mechanics sense). kevin brought them their first and only pole. haas stayed with him when everyone else seemed to have given up on him. we joked over it on this side of tumblr when it happened again in baku, but historically, haas does not do well without kevin. the team seems to basically fall apart. of course we can't know the specifics, how deep this actually runs, how much feedback he actually gives and how much of it is just coincidence and being used to him, so on and so forth. and it's not like this is impossible to fix, with time and effort. but it is something that is real.

there's also strategy. haas is shit at it, there's no better way of putting it. canada's brilliant wet tyre gamble and how badly they fumbled it. how often kevin is running well and then gets demoted to somewhere p13-p18 because someone on the wall fumbled it. but this is okay, because kevin and nico are both incredibly aware of the entire field. they are not as reliant on the team outside of when to pit. listening to their on boards is a steady drip of information, and I do mean both of them. they know the times of the three people behind and three in front, tyres of said people, how well they are doing on said tyres, who is boxing and when, where they are coming out, who they are going to be a threat to. all the stuff about covering someone with a pit stop, or not overworking the tyres now so that you can overtake x person later, kevin and nico do themselves. I know more about the rest of the field listening to haas onboard than to the broadcast. compare that to oscar's radio--which I put up in baku when kevin wasnt racing--there was dead silence. crickets. kevin and nico are incredibly aware of the rest of the field at all times. it is rare that it is ever silent on the radio for long.

haas is an incredibly fragile team, and they need this consistency and austerity to put in performances like we have been seeing over the past season.

but what does this mean for the future? well, it's not completely bleak. esteban seems to also prefer an understeer heavy style of driving, but I will admit to not being as familiar with him. either way, he shouldn't be completely out of familiar waters getting into a car that has been developed and set up around this style. and oliver seems adaptable enough, jumping from F2 to ferrari to haas and at least not dying in the process. he is also in a relearning period regardless of what team he is in, because he is moving up to F1 for the first time proper. he'll be able to learn things the haas way immediately.

the real kickers are going to be if haas will manage to iron out these issues that kevin and nico have been accounting for. yes, they should ideally improve upon their race pace some more, so that they can comfortably and consistency achieve those p10-p8 positions. but they need to figure out how to make their car sustainable on the tyres, and for god's sake fix their strategy.

that is the biggest issue I see at the moment, in strategy. I do not see rookie oliver bearman being able to cope with the overload of information haas is unloading on kevin and nico because it makes things easier for them. I have never listened to esteban's onboard, I don't know what that is like. even if all three of them, esteban and bearman and haas manage to adjust to each other (realistically we'll end somewhere in the middle, haas doing more of the heavy lifting themselves, but bearman and esteban still having to pick up the slack), this will take time. it won't be tomorrow. I don't even know if it will happen within the first half of the season, or the first season altogether.

I think there is a lot of potential in haas as they currently are. I see them doing well with esteban, kind of their new kevin. guy who has been slowly but surely excluded from the rest of the grid (not talking from a drivers POV, talking teams and media) and rubber stamped as aggressive and dangerous. haas has a history of taking on guys who no one else wants anymore. esteban and ayao have history. I can see them going for long, and doing well.

(I personally do not see bearman staying there for long; either making it and moving on to ferrari or breaking and earning himself the same fate as mick schumacher. haas is not a place for rookies in my opinion--and maybe with all the things I mentioned earlier you can tell why--but that isn't the point here.)

and for kevin and nico? well, kevin is leaving. nico is still adjustable, and no matter how shit sauber will be I think we can continue to expect him to outdrive his car. the only question is if that will be enough to put the car into the points or not.

nico didn't ask kevin to come to audi with him for nothing. it's something fun and light hearted to think about initially, but think on it deeper; when has this ever happened? a driver asking for his teammate to follow him? advocating for it with his team principal? I cannot think of it happening before. kevin makes things easy for nico. he works his way through the problems with the car, lets haas fix them; and nico can do the rest himself, the tiny bits that are adjusted to kevin and not to nico. they also get on well off-track, and I do think we have seen them learn from each other. nico seems less nervous, more open to overtaking. that maturity he gained from kevin isn't going to stop him from being a big baby on the radio; but we see it on track. similarly, we have seen kevin put in some amazing tyre management, and his qualifying pace seems to have also improved.

it is an absolutely coked up combination haas managed to have for these past two seasons. and I am grateful it got me (back) into the sport, and that I got to see it.

#nico hulkenberg #kevin magnussen #haas f1 team #formula 1 #esteban ocon #ollie bearman #hulknussen #haasbands #if you squint

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siriuslylantsov · 2 months ago

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clandestine

pairing: sirius black x reader

description: in which, you try sneaking a vegetable into the pasta sauce for dinner but apparently, you're no match for sirius' taste buds and his distaste for carrot.

tags: fluff, established realtionship, gn!reader, so much carrot hate?? (i like carrot i promise, i just picked the first vegetable that came up), brief cameo of puppy sirius, feeding eachother, silly and kinda stupid.

a/n: based on this request, first fic from the event!! we are starting off with the original puppy boy. this was very heavily inspired by those videos of moms sneaking vegetables into pasta sauces so their kids eat more. i had a very sad approach to this request initially but ended up doing it this way intead, it's lighter. anyway, happy reading!!

wc: 521

“that tastes... different,” sirius remarks from where he's sitting opposite you on the small table, hovering his fork over the food in thought.

fuck.

“hmm, really?” you murmur, poorly concealing your guilt. “i didn't do anything differently.”

you’re a crap liar and he knows that. you watch as he takes another bite and how recognition passes over his feature.

“there's carrot in this,” he deadpans as he washes down the food with a sip of water.

you figure there's no point in trying to convince him there isn't so you relent with a sigh, standing up to grab the bowl of pasta with the untainted sauce from the fridge, having prepared for this. you whisper a quick warming spell and replace his food.

“how can you even taste it? there's like five different vegetables in that,” you say disbelievingly.

“i know the taste of sweet, sweet deception, angel,” he smirks, looking up at you a little smug that he’s figured it out.

you roll your eyes, biting back a smile when he holds your hand.

“thanks,” he nods to the new bowl, appreciating your anticipation. he tugs you down, prompting you to sit on his lap sideways.

“i don't get it. you like carrot cake,” you inquire, curious lilt to your voice.

“that doesn’t taste like carrot though,” sirius replies, circling an arm around your waist.

you lazily poke at the pasta with a fork and bring it to his mouth. he eats it, humming in approval.

“good?”

“mhm, the absence of rabbit food is very good.”

this makes you chuckle and he smiles at the sound.

“picky,” you mumble, chidingly. “y’know carrot’s supposed to be very good for your eyesight.”

“my eyesight is excellent already, thank you very much.” his lips part again as you scoop up more pasta. after feeding him, you help yourself.

“i think it tastes better with the carrot, adds a hint of sweetness,” you hum thoughtfully.

he leans forward and licks the bit of sauce that sticks to the corner of your mouth, “you’re my hint of sweetness.”

you dip your head and bring your shoulders up sheepishly. he kisses your cheek swiftly before picking up the fork.

“now, c’mon. eat with me, your bowl is spoiled,” he brings the utensil up to your mouth, arm tightening around you so you don’t leave. “i’m not encouraging food waste but i am encouraging... kisses from your boyfriend.”

you watch as he tries to find his words while you chew and swallow. “it’s that bad that you won't kiss me?” you ask, knowing full well he doesn’t mean it. he’d kiss you forever if he could.

he nods, chewing diligently, having fed himself another mouth.

"what would you say if there happened to be a kilo of said vegetables in the fridge? the market had a really good selection today," you say, thoroughly amused by the displeasure that overtakes his face.

"i’d say you should give them to two new parents whose baby most certainly inherited his father’s shit eyesight," he grumbles, frowning.

"okay," you giggle, knocking lightly his head with yours.

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

im still taking more requests for the event so send them in!!

#sirius black #the marauders #marauders era #sirius black fic #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #padfoot #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #marauders #sirius black fluff #fluff #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #☆ alisha's 500 wtsily

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choism · 2 years ago

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Jester's Game | b.tc

Captain Buggy x Pirate!afab!Reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff (If you squint)

Summary: Trying to overtake Captain Buggy's ship leaves you asking questions, and surprisingly, getting answers

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: top!buggy, afab!reader, unprotected sex (pls dont), cunnilingus, fingering, creampie, squirting, rough sex, gentle sex (yeah wild), inappropriate use of detached limbs, spit as lube (also a no no), overstimulation, pet names (sweetheart, princess)

A/N: WOOHOO ITS MY FIRST NON KPOP FIC!! I knew I would write for other stuff eventually but I definitely did not expect it to be a recent hyperfixation. Buggy just has me bricked up okay! Anyway I hope y'all enjoy, don't forget to let me know what you thought of the fic in the tags !

It’s a rather unfortunate series of events, really. Sure, you could’ve told your navigator to sail away from the ship with the giant clown crossbones flag. Yeah, it might’ve helped if you had told your crew that they were about to fight some of the toughest pirates in the East Blue. But where’s the fun in that? As their captain, it’s your job to seek the adventure, and well, this was an adventure all right.

It started with you telling your men to approach, cannons firing, your crew hopping their ship, the infamous ship commandeered by none other Buggy The Clown. Yes, the ship your measly crew has decided to board. Listen, it was strategic! Buggy had somehow gotten the map to the grand line back, and your ship just so happened to be within the vicinity of his, so why not seek the opportunity to take it? Well that was your first mistake.

Now, you find yourself here, hands bound behind your back and kneeling with your crew in front of Buggy’s stupid, dumb throne in his stupid, dumb circus tent cabin.

“You all truly are fools for thinking you could take on my band of freaks,” Buggy lazily sprawls over his throne, seemingly unimpressed by your, in his words, ‘lackluster crew’.

“It’s funny actually, how pathetic it was, I mean even Mohji got in a few punches! Ha! Truly a fine show.” The man you assume being the Mohji that Buggy had just poked fun at, slumps his shoulders sadly at his jab. “Now, time to get to the good stuff…” Buggy trails off, standing up and taking a few strides in your direction, his dirty boots stopping directly in front of you. He detaches his hand and uses it to lift your head, pointing your chin up to look him in the eye.

Looking up, you spit and it lands on his cheek, he simply swipes it off with his attached, gloved hand. “So what if you defeated us, it doesn’t make you any better of a pirate, and doesn’t get you any closer to the One Piece.” You tilt your head and smirk. He may have overcome your crew, but he will never overcome your overwhelming ego and pride. It matches his just as equally.

“Ah, that's where you’re wrong, princess,” His grin is just as wide as yours, and briefly you’re confused, what could he mean? “Given your set of thieving skills, probably some of the best in the East Blue, I’ve heard, you’re gonna join my band of freaks, and I’m not giving you a choice sweetheart,” Buggy removes his hand from your chin, and it floats to his arm, re-attaching itself.

“Boys, throw their crew overboard, we have no use for them.” He rolls his eyes and sits back on his throne, “Oh! And go show them to their new quarters, make them feel at home.” Buggy laughs a deep boisterous laugh, one that genuinely sends shivers down your spine.

The pirates lead you into, what is actually, quite a nice room in the lower deck of the cabin, lit by a few candles, and a cot in the corner. Surprisingly, they cut you out of your ropes, and shut the door without locking it. What’s their deal? Don’t they know you can escape at any time if you wanted? Sneak out and steal one of their emergency boats, and sail to the nearest Island? Granted, you aren’t sure where the nearest Island is, you’re a thief, not a navigator.

Instead of worrying about escaping, you roam the small room, admiring your surroundings. The whole ship is clown themed, front he flags to the cabin to everything, but this room is different. Not a single sign of jester-like decorations anywhere. In fact, it’s as if this cabin was decorated specifically for you. Before you can think more of it, the door opens suddenly.

Buggy enters, and closes the door behind him. When he enters you’re sitting on the cot, legs crossed and unamused.

“Not thinking about escaping? Not that you could anyway, we are miles away from the nearest island, and realistically it would take you days to get there on one of our measly boats.” He rolls his eyes, as if annoyed by how small and fragile the boats are, before sitting backwards on the chair at the short desk next to the cot.

“So what do you even need a thief for? Why am I here?” You blurt, already growing impatient from the lack of information being given to you.

“I need you for many reasons, being a thief is only one of them, sweetheart.” Buggy grins and removes his hat, setting it on the desk. “You already have connections at the grand line, and while I know you need my map to get there, I know that you know the people I need to talk to, to gain safe entry without slaughtering half the fucking pirates there.” He leans back and relaxes a bit, observing your facial features.

“And why do you think any of the people I know would want to help you? You’re just some lowly pirate.” You spit at him, angered by his casualness. In what world would you even willingly help him? Who does he think he is?

“Ha…Me? A lowly pirate? This coming from the literal captain of a crew is hilarious! Tell me another joke, please.” He grins knowingly, he knows how to get a rise out of you for sure. You look over his facial expression, smugness overtakes his face and it makes your stomach twist, not with disgust though for some odd reason, with another feeling you don’t quite recognize.

This whole situation has you feeling all kinds of anxious. How did you just happen to raid the ship of a pirate who just happened to need you for this specific thing, and why is his presence making you feel so…weird? Something isn’t right here, and it can’t be because of your connections to the grand line. No, he’s hiding something.

“What are you hiding, clown? There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

His face drops, and he gets suddenly very serious, “Listen here, princess,” Buggy gets up from the chair and gets close to you, leaning down, your noses almost touching. “You’re gonna get me to the grand line, I don’t care if I have to torture it out of you, got it? No more questions tonight.” He gets up and suddenly grins very brightly, as if nothing ever happened. “Night night!” Buggy walks out and slams the door, then you hear a locking sound.

Fuck, he locked you in your room. You should’ve expected this, honestly. The way he reacted to your question was so strange. You knew there was something fishy, but you didn’t think whatever it was could’ve prompted that kind of reaction out of him.

***

The next day you wake up to yelling outside of your cramped room. Yawning, you get up and put your ear to the door,

“I’m sorry Captain Buggy! I didn’t know that was their ship I swear I promise!”

You hear what sounds like a kick to the jaw and a yelp,

“Didn’t know? Didn’t know?! You couldn’t tell by the giant crossbones flag that very obviously bares their symbol? I’m tired of you, someone go throw him off the deck.”

You hear screams and pleads of “No please!” and “I didn’t know I’m sorry captain!” before hearing water splash, then silence, then- oh shit footsteps coming towards your room. You scramble back to your cot and lay down, pretending to sleep. You hear a couple of knocks before hearing a feint “What the fuck am I doing, I go where I want!” Before Buggy barges into the room after unlocking it.

“Get up, I know you heard everything.” He spits gruffly, sitting back in the chair again the same way as yesterday. You sit up abruptly. Last night you couldn’t shake this feeling, of what you felt when Buggy had gotten so serious, and it’s just gotten worse being in his presence. Your abdomen feels hot, your ears feel hot, everything feels hot. It’s like butterflies in your stomach if the butterflies were armed with knives.

“Yes, I did hear, what do you mean by my symbol? I thought bumping into you was a coincidence?” Buggy smiles faintly, and chuckles.

“Yes, it was, I wasn’t informed of what ship we attacked, just that my men captured you all, oh but when I saw you…I knew.” Buggy stands up and motions for you to do the same, getting so close to you, your chests almost touch. He brings his hand to your arm, caressing down the length before gripping your wrist harshly, causing you to wince. “Do you….” he trails off, “Do you really not remember me?” He brings his eyes from your arm to your face, making direct eye contact.

You struggle to find words, what does he mean, remember? Yeah, he gives you a strange feeling everytime you're near him, but you’ve never met this man in your entire life. You think. Honestly you can’t remember anything before the age of seventeen.

“I– no, no I don’t…”

His smile fades, and he lets go of you, “I thought you would remember once you saw me, we were on Gold Roger’s crew together years ago, but you went missing after a particularly tough battle.” He pauses, thinking carefully about what to say next, “You– We– We were close, and I was devastated, I thought you were dead.” He’s being surprisingly vulnerable right now, and it’s kind of scaring you.

“I don’t really remember anything before I turned seventeen, All I know is one day I woke up on an island, a group of pirates took me in, I left, and I’ve been on my own since. The only reason I am where I am today is because I wanted to find who I was, and I figured I could find that out at the grand line.” You feel overwhelmingly sad. Why are you sad? You don’t even know him.

There’s a long silence between the two of you, it’s uncomfortable, tight, and makes you want to leave, until he says, “Let me show you.” He says abruptly, and you think you see a blush across his face.

“Sorry, I mean, please,” Buggy steps into your space again, this time his eyes flit between your lips and your eyes, back to your lips. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you, I’m sorry you had to go through that, I missed you so much y/n” That was the first time he’s said your name this entire time, but it’s not one you recognize.

“Is that my name?” Your lip quivers, he’s so close now, your lips are inches apart.

“Yes it is, y/n, sweetheart, princess, I’ll call you whatever you want, just let me show you.” The thick air has disappeared and is now replaced with tension. Something deeper, heavier, fills the room. But it’s not a bad thing.

“Let me show you who you were to me.”

You let his face drop to yours, and your lips finally connect.

The kiss is slow, languid. It’s like his lips were meant to connect with yours. Buggy wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you in closer, and kissing you deeper. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you let him kiss you as deep as he wants. The pace quickens and he slots his leg in between yours, rubbing against your pants and providing much needed friction.

You moan into his touch and he walks the both of you backwards until the back of your knees reach the bed. He lowers you onto it and hovers above you, kissing you again before departing. “Is this okay?” Buggy asks, brushes his hands underneath the bottom of your shirt, slowly lifting it.

“Only if you return the favor.” He chuckles and lowers his head to your neck, sucking and biting gently while riding up your shirt until your chest is exposed. You sit up briefly to take off your shirt and as promised, he does the same. He isn’t overly ripped like most pirates are, but he’s still well toned. His muscles flex as he shifts lower, kissing down your chest, down your stomach and stopping just above the navel.

“When I saw you were the one my men captured, it took my breath away,” He lifts your hips so he can remove your pants and undergarments, “I was scared, anxious, I didn’t know what to do, so I pretended I knew you for your skills, not for your past.” After removing everything, he pushes back, kissing your thighs before sitting up, taking his gloves off with his teeth and throwing them to the side. Man that was hot.

Buggy detaches one of his hands and lets it roam up your torso, reaches your neck and gives it a gentle squeeze. Before leading his fingers over your mouth, asking for entry. You grant it and his index and middle finger slip into your mouth, swirling your saliva around and coating them generously. “When you suspected I knew more, I didn’t know what to do. When you boarded I just knew you by name, not face, there was no way I could’ve expected this.”

He removes his hand from your mouth and moves it down to your center, rubbing through your folds gently and inserting two fingers, scissoring you open and prepping you for what's to come. Buggy uses his still detached hand to remove his own trousers, his cock springing free from its confines. He strokes it slowly, clearly getting off to his detached hand fingering you open.

“Buggy…” You moan, you can’t even reply or form a sentence, the pleasure too good.

“Shhh just relax sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.” He brings his hand away from your now dripping cunt, reattaching it and leaning down. You feel his breathe over your core, he kisses your clit before taking it in his mouth, lapping up your taste and fucking you onto his tongue. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly as he flits between sucking on your clit and tonguing inside of you, but he pulls away.

“Fuck! Why’d you–”

You’re interrupted by his cock entering you and your legs being lifted by his hands so he can enter as deep as possible. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. His cock fits so nice and feels so good and he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Fuck you’re so tight and wet for me, so fucking good huh? Letting me fuck you like this.” His pupils are so blown out, he watches his own cock pull out and start to thrust into you, it just fuels your arousal further. Buggy starts out slow, just getting you used to his size before he picks up the pace, fucking into you even deeper and faster.

“Shit, gonna cum Buggy please.” He moves your legs to prop onto his shoulders and he grabs onto your waist, pushing down and holding you in place as he fucks into you roughly.

“Gonna cum for me? Go ahead sweetheart. Cum all over my cock.” He moves his hand over your abdomen and presses down, the pressure making you feel dizzy. You feel white hot, the band finally snapping as you come. “Fuck, gonna cum soon too, gonna fill you up so good.”

Buggy relentlessly fucks into your cunt, overstimulating you and causing a pressure to build that’s unfamiliar. “Wait Buggy I, fuck I feel weird it feels good.” Soon, with a loud cry you feel a wetness rush between your legs, causing you to let out a loud string of moans and curses.

“Squirting for me already? God you’re full of surprises. Shit, I’m coming.” A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his hot cum fill you up, as promised. It feels so good. He slows down and pulls out, his load leaking out of you and onto the sheets below. “So good for me.” He whispers, leaning down and kissing you gently. He cleans the both of you up quickly and gets dressed, ready to go back to his quarters for the night.

“Wait Buggy, before you go…” You trail off and he turns around, listening intently. “If you don’t mind, can you tell me more about my- about our, past? I need to know where I came from, what happened.” Buggy smiles gently, walking up and kissing you on the forehead.

“Of course princess, later”

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown smut #buggy the clown x reader #opla smut #opla x reader #op smut #op x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #buggy #buggy the clown

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giverjoe · 2 years ago

Note

…. also biker!eddie taking you in the bathroom of some shitty bar because seeing you bent over the pool table makes him feral 🫠

JEALOUSY

((older!biker!eddie x fem!reader smut))

word count: 1.7K

18+ only! feedback and re-blogs are appreciated! ❤️‍🔥

a/n- this was literally supposed to be a blurb and I went absolutely crazy instead. I really hope you guys enjoy this, it’s my first long smut in a long time so I’m so nervous! thank all of you for supporting me!

The smell of alcohol and sex fills your senses as you step into a grimy bar in the middle of downtown. Normally this wasn’t your scene, but Eddie had practically begged for you to come. His whole crew was already inside sitting at a booth when you arrived.

Besides, who were you to pass up an opportunity to be seen out with your hot boyfriend? He ran a biker gang and was the sexiest guy in town. Women, and men were practically begging at his feet for a chance, but he was all yours.

As much as you had a jealous streak, Eddie’s was worse. The older man couldn’t stand it when someone tried to get at what was rightfully his, especially when that was you.

Completely oblivious to a man checking you out in the corner of the bar, you lean over the pool table in the middle of the room, chatting up Chrissy Cunningham as you play together. You lean your head back laughing loudly at some joke she was telling you, but before you could respond anymore you feel a rough hand grab your arm.

“Hey! Fuck off-.” You’re cut short, turning around and widening your eyes at your fuming boyfriend. “Eddie…. I’m sorry baby I didn’t know it was you!” You quickly start, trying to apologize the best that you could but it was of no use, he was already pushing you towards the bathroom, a dark look overtaking his face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” He shouts at you as you step into the bathroom, pushing you up against the door as he locks it. Your whole face flushes as you try to stutter out a response. “You know exactly what you were doing, don’t you? Don’t play dumb with me doll.” He says. You shake your head ‘no’, pouting up at him and nervously shuffling your feet.

“I swear, I wasn’t trying to do anything sir I was just playing with Chrissy.” You say softly. He slowly reaches up, wrapping his hand around your neck, putting just the right amount of pressure for your knees to feel weak and for your head to start spinning. “You, bent over that pool table, showing off to everyone, and people were looking princess, and I think you wanted them to. Now, I’m gonna have fun making all of those disgusting perverts listen to you scream about who you really belong to.”

He pouts at you as you whine. “Awww, what’s wrong doll, you thought that you could get away with teasing me all night? That’s too bad. Get on your fucking knees.” You’ve never moved faster in your life, seeing Eddie worked up this way was already making you throb and all he’d done was hold your throat. You drop down onto the floor, looking around at how filthy it was but right now you didn’t care. Right now, all you wanted was for him to fuck your throat, and nothing was going to stop you.

Your eyes almost roll into the back of your head as his calloused hand reaches forward and drags your face to his crotch, pressing you up against it. “That’s it baby, you’re gonna put on a show, you can be louder than that music that’s playing I know you can. Let them hear how filthy you are for me.” He says, titling your chin up and making you look at him. “Lemme see that pretty little tongue.” Your mouth drops open, and before you know it his spit is rolling down your throat. “Good fucking girl.” He growls out, slapping your cheek before working on the button and zipper on his pants.

You keep your tongue out for him, looking so pathetic drooling for him on the grimy floor of the bathroom. He loved seeing you this way, his desperate little fuck doll that he could do whatever he wanted to. “Fuck, please.” You moan as he finally takes his cock out, it’s harder than you’ve ever seen it, leaking precum, his balls heavy with the cum that would soon be going down your throat.

Your eyes focus on the piercing that’s through the top of his head, you smirk before leaning forward and teasing it with your tongue. He got it pierced years ago but you still found it incredibly hot, it made you drool every time you saw it. Eddie moans out, watching as you tease his head over and over, swirling your tongue around it and giggling.

“Tastes so good, baby.” You whisper before going back down, sinking yourself down onto him all in one go, gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat. “Christ!” He says, bucking his hips against your face, fucking himself deeper, you didn’t know how that was possible. You were sure by now there was a line for the bathroom and your friends were wondering where you went, but you didn’t care as Eddie fucked your throat as hard as he could. His filthy praises make you tremble, as you keep your legs apart, feeling your underwear getting soaked more and more as he keeps going.

Suddenly you’re being pulled up and off of him, you gasp as he yanks your head back, looking at you with his lust blown eyes. “Can’t take it anymore baby doll, gonna fuck you, gonna sink my cock into that pretty pussy and let everyone hear you scream, get up against that door and show me your needy holes. Now.” He demanded.

You whimper, his words running right through you as you press your face up against the door. You reach back with both of your hands, spreading yourself for him as he stands behind you working his cock in his fist. He groans, seeing the outline of you through your panties from how wet you are, before taking one of his rough fingers and hooking it in the waistband, pulling them down slowly.

“Always so fucking wet for me doll, bet that guy out there couldn’t make you get wet like this, could he?” Your mind spins as Eddie spanks your pussy, once, twice, before his cock is pushing into you roughly. “O-ohhhhh fuck.” You scream out, if getting someone to check you out was the way to make Eddie fuck your brains out, you were considering doing it a lot more now.

He thrusts a few times, his balls slapping harshly against your clit as you try to hold yourself up against the door. It’s no use, you slowly slip down it until you’re standing bent in half, with Eddie holding you up by your hair, fucking into you as hard as he could. The sound of your breathing and moans fills the room, dirty words slipping past yours and Eddie’s lips like some sort of song. The sound of him losing his mind because of you was one that you’d love forever, you wish you could hear it all the time.

Feeling him tense up behind you, you turn your head back the best you can to look up at him. He looked beautiful, the years had been kind to him, he only had a few wrinkles here and there. His hair had gray coming through but it only made him sexier. Not to mention all of the tattoos he had, your favorite one was right above his cock, ‘lucky you’ it says. He was one smug bastard but he’d earned every right to be.

The feeling of your orgasm inches closer and closer the filthier he gets, muttering something out about how you’re his favorite cock sleeve. You push your ass back against him, begging for him to go deeper, harder you wanted to feel him for days after this. Eddie is never the type to turn down any request you ask of him, you scream in surprise when Eddie pulls out of you, hooking his arms under both of your legs before holding you up with just one of them.

His biceps bulge as he lines himself back up with you before he’s sinking you down onto himself. He turns towards the busted mirror in front of you and makes you watch him. “You love it don’t you baby? Having my cock this deep inside of you. Who’s pussy is this?? Say it loud and proud, I want everyone to know.” He whispers in your ear, biting the lobe harshly. You can barely keep your eyes open, your mind is floating as you hear your own voice screaming out for him. “It’s your pussy- all yours Eddie please!”

“That’s it princess, fuck!” He yells out, giving you no warning as his cock throbs inside of you, causing you to squeeze down around him. Your own orgasm taking over your body. Both of you are breathing heavily as Eddie slowly puts you down. He catches you as your legs buckle, you giggle and he smiles at you. “You know I wasn’t actually trying to make you mad right baby?” You ask, bending over to find your underwear, Eddie wolf whistles behind you and you roll your eyes.

“Oh I know sweetheart, you love me too much, but that guy out there looked like he wanted to eat you alive, I had to show him who you belong to.” He tucks himself back into his boxers, zipping his pants back up and buttoning them. As you shake your head at him. He was adorable, getting jealous enough that he just had to fuck you in a dirty, darkly lit bathroom.

“Cmon big guy, let’s get back out there before Chrissy comes looking for me.” You say, smiling at him and opening the door. You hear Eddie laugh behind you, just as you turn around to ask what’s so funny you see the man that Eddie was talking about standing right in front of the door. His ears red, and face flushed as he looks between the two of you.

After tonight you were certain of one thing, you were going to make Eddie Munson jealous again, but this time it would be on purpose.

this is like my baby, please be nice to me I took so much time writing it haha, hope you enjoyed!

Taglist 🏷️

@reidsbtch @dani-is-a-princess @probablyin-bed @avobabe87 @live-love-be-unique @tlclick73 @urfavoritevamp @lilthbunny @tylevx @onegirlmanytales @inourtownofhawkins @eddiesxangel @xxhellfiregirlxx @moonbeamsandmayhem @chrissymjstan @comfortcharactercraze @f4ndomfa1ry

#biker!eddie smut #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson x you smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson fic

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nnight-dances · 2 years ago

Text

ADORABLY, YOURS.

pairings: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader, feat. choi seungcheol tropes: love triangle, friends to lovers (jeonghan x you), strangers to friends to fwb to friends (seungcheol x you), kinda slowburn, one-sided love (or is it?), pining, slight age gap (2-3 years) etc. genres: fluff, angst, jealousy, sexual content (no explicit smut content but references to it) with vulgar language, cafe!au, non-idol!au, college!au. word count: 12k (I am sorry about this.) what to expect: You’ve liked Jeonghan since you met him through your best friend, Wonwoo. But little by little every day you’re convinced he knows you like him and his non-action can only mean your feelings are not mutual. Then, you run into Seungcheol, a childhood best friend of Jeonghan’s, who instantly develops a soft spot for you. The resulting love triangle that wreaks havoc on your emotions might as well end being the answer to your problems. Bittersweet like coffee but decisive as a caffeine rush, this is the story of how you beat all odds to be with Yoon Jeonghan. warnings slash author’s note: I warn you beforehand: the logistics of this love triangle are a bit morally ambiguous, i.e. I can’t tell if I used Seungcheol purely as a plot-point or not. I probably did. But in my defense, I think all love triangles are inherently a little bit evil and cruel. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this admittedly self-indulgent mammoth of a fic. I had a headache the whole three days I was writing it. I love Jeonghan and I promise there will be a make-up fic for Seungcheol, because I’m biased but not corrupt. As always, this isn't proofread but I will get to that in the next few days! All right, that’s all. Love you, friends and foes!

It’s one of those days. You can’t help yawn after yawn and no amount of caffeine is washing the throbbing in your head away. To make things worse, you’ve managed to sleep with a spine posture worse than even your worst days which means your back hurts from standing at the register all day. But the day is far from over as a glance at the clock informs you; your cafe shift has a good three hours remaining.

And whenever you’re hoping to take a break on the uncomfortable chair propped in a corner near the register, the door to the cafe will jingle with the presence of a new customer. At least your co-worker for the day, Joshua, is also a friend so you can talk his ear off about the various ways in which you might escape the prison of existence.

Just as you’re going into detail about how you wouldn’t mind dissipating into air, the glass door swings open and in comes a tall man clad in a suit, the heels of his dress shoes clanking against the floor of the coffee shop. You reign in the surprised look that threatens to overtake your face – because goddamn, the man is gorgeous – as you greet him, “Good morning! Welcome to Moon Coffee!”

“Good afternoon to you, too,” the man corrects you with a dimpled smile. You wince at your mistake and nod, “Right, sorry about that. What can I get started for you?” You force a smile that you hope is friendly enough onto your face, gesturing to the large menu boards above you, “Please, take your time.”

As the man busies his eyes with the plentiful options displayed on the boards, you busy yourself with questioning what a fancy ass man like him was doing at the campus coffee shop. His hair was long, brown ends curling around his neck and as he ran a hand through it, deep in thought, you could essentially smell how rich he was.

“The hazelnut mocha sounds like it’s good but also really sweet,” he comments, looking at you for a second opinion.

“Right, it’s one of our best-sellers! And it is on the sweeter side because of the chocolate in it, but you could balance it out with a double-shot?” you suggest and then, “Otherwise, our classic mochas are not as sweet.”

The man nods with a slight smile, “Hmm, I like the sound of the first option. I’ll have that, please.”

“Is that an iced hazelnut mocha with a double-shot for you?” you ask with a smile. When he nods, you punch in his order, “Can I get a name for the drink?”

“Seungcheol.”

“All right, thank you very much. That’ll take just a few minutes. You’re welcome to take a seat and wait.” He nods as he walks to one of the tables next to the window.

Joshua’s already getting to work with Seungcheol’s drink and you take a moment to rest your back against the counter, throwing a glance or two at the new (and gorgeous) face in town. But thankfully for this rich stranger, today is the day you don’t have the energy to go down a rabbit hole trying to find an explanation for his presence. Instead you wave him a good day as he leaves with a satisfied smile on his face and an iced mocha in his hand.

Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.

A week later has you eating your words. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Thursday afternoons are the busiest times of your shift at Moon Coffee. Most students were either rushing to down caffeine to finish some daunting assignment due at the end of the week or otherwise, others would be early in celebrating the fast-approaching weekend. The first kind you can deal with: they’re easy to relate to and they don’t really care if your customer service is the bare minimum from how tired you are.

But the second kind? You wish you could be granted with some kind of powers that would take away any more weekends from the rest of their lives. If the way they strolled in grinning and took their time with the menu didn’t have you fuming, their inane but obnoxious questions about your life would have you at the edge of your temper every week. You were only thankful you didn’t have to work the Friday crowds or you’d actually be declared a public threat.

But today, unfortunately for you, Jeonghan’s decided to make a visit to the cafe and if the fact that he’s not even a student anymore wasn’t enough, he was celebrating his birthday week. Which meant he was even worse than in exhibiting his usual infuriating customer behavior. But annoying customer or not, Jeonghan was also the guy you’ve harbored feelings for since two years ago now.

So when he strolls up to the counter with Seungcheol, the polite rich man from last week, by his side, you have more than one reason to stare at them dumbfounded.

“Oh, hey, it’s you!” Seungcheol starts, eyes trailing to the name on your tag, “Y/N!”

Jeonghan shoots you a confused look and then elbows Seunghceol, “Don’t even pretend that you know her. I totally caught you looking at her name tag. Have a little shame, Cheol.”

You clear your throat, “Um, good afternoon and welcome to Moon Coffee! What can I get started for you?” You punctuate the question with a smile that you hope screams please order fast and get out of here!

But Jeonghan evidently has long missed the memo when he pokes Seungcheol again, “You know sometimes I come here just so I can see Y/N smiling. She never smiles off the clock. It’s truly devastating.”

Seungcheol looks amused, “Is that so? I mean, fair enough. With a smile like that, you ought to be paid to show it.”

You cough into your palm, caught off-guard but quick to conceal the shy grin that’s crept up your face. You pray that the heat in your neck doesn’t climb up to show on your face. “Will you be ordering the same as last week? Iced hazelnut mocha with a double-shot?”

Seungcheol’s face lights up a little at your recognition but Jeonghan’s quickly butting in with an affronted expression, “Oh, so you recognize this man who’s been here once, but not your close friend of a long long time? Do you even know how much money I’ve spent on the seasonal lattes here?”

You sport a sly smile, “Right, thank you for enjoying our seasonal menu of beverages. We hope you continue to love the upcoming drinks. Feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions here!” You hand him a brand-new index card and gesture at a drop-box next to your monitor.

Seungcheol cackles at the defeated look on Jeonghan’s face and grins as he says, “You know what, I think I’ll get the same mocha again, Y/N. It did wonders for my mood.” You find yourself grinning almost immediately, tapping in his order with a hum.

“And for you?”

“...”

You know Jeonghan’s scheming something but you can’t afford to let him play out whatever sick mind games he’s planned out at your workplace so you’re quick to appease him, “If I might, I suggest you go for the salted caramel brownie latte. It’s perfect for this weather and it tastes suspiciously like birthday cake.”

Jeonghan can’t help a smile at your words, rolling his eyes a little, “Fine. That does sound tempting. I’ll have one of those, but only if I get a personalized note from you wishing me a very very happy birthday.”

You contain a scoff, “Of course.” You nod, “Thankfully for the line behind you, I already have your names down. Please step aside while we prepare your drinks. Thank you.”

–

“She’s hilarious,” chuckles Seungcheol, bumping shoulders with Jeonghan as they settle into his car. “Didn’t think I would witness Yoon Jeonghan’s downfall in a random college cafe.”

Jeonghan scoffs, “I think you’re too happy about this. Plus, my downfall started a long time ago when I stopped cheating in board games.” He takes a sip of his latte, “Fuck, this does taste like cake. What the fuck?”

Despite his words, Jeonghan smiles when he sees the note you promised him:

jeonghan – happy birthday week, u weird old man! please invite me to ur birthday party so i can give u the best gift of ur life and maybe also stick ur head in cake :) lots of love, y/n.

“She’s in her senior year, you said?”

Jeonghan looks up with a nod, “Yeah, I met her through Wonwoo, back when we shared a class in college. And then when I graduated and settled here, I’d invite them to get-togethers because I know how miserable the nightlife on this campus is.”

“Wow, look at you, such an admirable role model,” Seungcheol jokes, “And Wonwoo? Was he the glasses guy who you FaceTimed this morning? He seemed… cool, I guess.”

Jeonghan shrugs with a shoulder, “He’s a piece of work, alright. But that explains why he and Y/N are inseparable. Anyway, you’ll meet the rest of the crew later tonight. Thursday night is board game night.”

‘Board Game Night’ was a very, very loose term for the weekly gathering at Jeonghan’s place – it was a mix of Jeonghan’s friends, namely Dokyeom and Woozi, from work doing karaoke, his tired college friends (aka your friend group) lounging around on their phones, and maybe a group of two to three actually playing board games.

Tonight is slightly different, though, because the alcohol that Jeonghan otherwise wisely guards most weeks has made its presence known to everyone, the fancy bar table propped in a corner of his living room finally finding meaning.

You make it to his place, around thirty minutes past the usual starting time, exhausted from another soul-sucking shift at your job. You’d planned to sit on Jeonghan’s couch and binge-watch some mindless TV show but you’re thrown off when a reddened Seungcheol answers the door.

“Y/N! You’re late,” he exclaims. His speech is normal, thankfully but as you step in to take in the rest of the people, you look back at Seungcheol, eyes doubtful.

“I did not know my night was going to involve babysitting a bunch of drunk old men,” you mutter, not quite meaning for Seungcheol to catch your words. But he does and chuckles, hand at your elbow as he steers you to the bar.

“C’mon, you don’t have to babysit anyone. I’ve got it under control. Now, let me pour you a drink. What can I get for you?”

You watch the tall man with a skeptical smile, a little flustered because he’s standing close enough that you can feel him hard bicep against you and a little bit amused because well, this was new. It’d been a while since you’d been flustered around a man other than Yoon Jeonghan.

“Oh, so you’re making me a drink now?” you ask, “How did you even convince Jeonghan to let out the alcohol? You must have some special powers over him for this to happen.”

Before Seungcheol can supply a reason, Jeonghan appears behind the bar counter, smirking, “Ha! You think I’d let this coward dictate my actions? Nope, this was completely my decision. I couldn’t let the week of my birthday be dry! That’d be such a shame.”

“You’re funny, Han,” you mumble, turning to him with a quirked brow, “How many drinks are you down?”

He waves your concern away, “Shut up. I’m older than you, I don’t need you fussing after me. Now, get yourself a drink before I get mad.”

You raise your hands in surrender, “Sure, wouldn’t want the birthday boy to be made at me.”

“So what will it be? Do you want a beer? Or maybe a good old rum and coke?” Seungcheol offers, eyes already searching for the ingredients.

You narrow your eyes at him, “I think I’ll have a Scotch and Soda, please.”

A few hours later finds you sprawled on Jeonghan’s couch, nevermind the alcohol in your system and the ruckus your friends were creating. You had engaged with their antics for an hour: playing stupid drinking games (only to get drunker by the minute because you suck at games) and retiring early.

Jun starts to complain when you announce that you’re giving up, mainly because he’d be the next target of the crowd, but Jeonghan firmly leads you to the couch.

“You okay?” he asks you, warm fingers steadying you by the neck. Your world spins as he becomes the focus, ironically enough. You nod as you welcome the soft couch underneath your unsteady body, “Hmm. I’m just bummed out that you didn’t help me out by cheating.”

He laughs and the sound unsettles you with its vibrations. “I told you I don’t cheat anymore, silly. Also, I’m pretty sure you’d have lost even if I did pull out some master cheating moves.” You gasp, weakly pushing him away, “Whatever, man, I don’t need your attitude.”

If Jeonghan’s started to genuinely get worried about you, it only gets worse when you cough into your elbow, groaning as you pull away. His hands find your neck again. You hate his touch because you lean into it so naturally, your eyes following him just like he wants. You hate the warm feeling you feel when he feels your forehead with a concerned frown. You hate how you’re practically burning at his touch because he’s a breath away and your fingers twitch in your lap from wanting to touch his hair.

But soft like the strands that tickle your ear, Jeonghan whispers, “God, you’re burning up. Maybe you did drink too much. Fuck, let me bring you some water and then, let’s get you to sleep.”

You protest his lamely sensible plan of action but he isn’t listening as he departs, leaving you feeling cold. You wrap your arms around yourself to compensate, trying to keep an eye on Jeonghan when another tall figure encroaches your field of vision.

“Y/N?” Seungcheol calls out and for a moment, you’re unresponsive, eyes fixated on something beyond him but then you perk up in recognition, pouting as you beckon him to the couch.

“You–!” you point at him with a squint, head working hard to recall his name, “Um, um, Cheol?”

Seungcheol smiles at the nickname, taking a seat next to you, leaving some space but extending an arm behind you because of how you’re dangerously swinging. “Right, that is me. How are you feeling? Not too nauseous I hope?”

You shake your head, “”M fine. But tell that to Han because that weasel’s trying to make me sober up and sleep.” You breathe out a little angrily and then when the world swims around you, you lean your head against the back of the couch– that is currently occupied by Seuncheol’s arm.

He jumps a little at the unexpected contact but steadies himself when he sees your closed eyes, your skin hot against his forearm. “Now, why would he do that? You literally just got drunk,” he tells you, trying to keep you engaged in the conversation, lest you should pass out.

“Right?” you exclaim, opening your eyes, head still against his arm, “It’s like he’s never had fun in his life. For how much he likes to tease people, he sure is a killjoy.”

“Ha, I’m surprised you know him so well, honestly. People usually just take him at face value and think he’s a devilish troublemaker. But god knows how mature Jeonghan is. It makes me mad sometimes.”

You giggle and Seungcheol’s stomach swims at how he can feel the sweet sound in his veins, like literally. “You get me, dude. How long have you known him?”

“Um, like, nearly ten years now? I don’t know, I kinda lost count at some point.”

“Wow, that’s a long time. I’ve known him for like two years?” you hum. “Yeah, he told me.”

You quirk a brow at that, lifting your head up in amusement. “You two been talking about me? What did he say? That I’m Wonwoo’s evil twin?”

“Hmm, yeah, something along the lines of that.”

Jeonghan’s back by your side, suddenly, his strong grip straightening you up and holding up a glass of water. His expression is stoic as hell for a board game night and you don’t know if you feel scolded or cared for. It’s always hard to tell with him.

You stare at him blankly, not drinking the water like he wants you to. Instead you turn to Seungcheol, “I don’t want to.”

Your plea is unreasonable, you and Seungcheol both know, and he can practically feel Jeonghan’s glare when you ask Seungcheol, “Cheol, can you tell him I’m not dying? I don’t need to be babied.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jeonghan says, touching the cold glass against your skin. You jump a little with a soft unfair! and Seungcheol sighs, “Hannie, let her be. I don’t think she wants to go to sleep yet.”

“Thank you! At least someone has ears ‘round here!”

Jeonghan shoots his best friend an unreadable look, still firm, “Well, she needs to drink water either way. Unless someone wants the worst hangover of their life the next morning.” This time, his unoccupied hand finds the back of your head, settling into the stray strands of your hair there. “Please, just drink this.”

You find yourself giving in, lips opening up to the glass and you swallow a few gulps of water, the cold liquid soothing your insides. Before you know it, the glass is empty. He holds it up in front of you, “See? That felt nice, didn’t it?”

There it is, again. The playful glint in his eye and the sly tone of his voice. You ignore the burning tips of your ears and give him a half-nod, throwing yourself against the couch again with a relieved sigh. “Thanks, old man! What would I do without you?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes as he stands up, “Ever so grateful, Y/N.”

“Y’know, Cheol and I were in the middle of a very mind-opening discussion about you.”

“Me?” his interest is piqued and he glances at Seungcheol, who he jostles lightly, “What’ve you been, shit-talking me?”

Seungcheol laughs as he throws the man off, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Anyway, if you want to go back to your game, I have a lot of anecdotes to share with Y/N. It’s our bonding time.”

And bond, you do. You spend the rest of the night talking to Seungcheol on Jeonghan’s couch, the owner of the place long forgotten as you go on to talk about everything else: college experiences, Seungcheol’s job (“So how rich are you exactly?” you grill him), and life interests.

“I can’t believe you like college so much! I hated it a lot back in my time.”

You snort, “You sound really old for someone who graduated two years ago. But I mean, each to their own. I prefer the comfort of the bubble here, you know. No real responsibility most of the time and you’re allowed to make some mistakes now and then. The real world? That’s like hell. I don’t think I’m ever going to feel like an adequate adult ever. Like, tax fraud is real, you know? And I never know which law I’m going to break? Don’t even get me started about the living situation.”

Seungcheol laughs throughout your troubled rant, “No, I get it. But don’t you feel excited about the independence you get to have? The freedom? And plus, if you get lucky with your job, working is actually very fulfilling.”

“Ugh,” you throw your head against the back of the couch again, “I don’t think I’ll ever feel fulfilled. Like ever. I feel too immature to be anything but a college student.”

He frowns on hearing that, confused because he’d never imagined of spending a whole night talking his heart out to a college student. But it happened because it was you, with your quick-witted responses and thoughtful questions. So, he’s fast to counter, “That’s not true–”

But his defense is cut short when Wonwoo approaches you, tapping at your shoulder with a smile. “Hey, you wanna head back?” You look up and are shocked to find the living room nearly emptied of its earlier occupants. When did everyone leave? “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your room. It’s getting late,” Wonwoo continues.

“Oh, damn, I didn’t even realize,” Seungcheol mutters, looking down at the watch on his wrist. “You guys sure you want to head back this late? You could just crash here. I would offer to drive but I drank.”

Wonwoo’s eyes trail to you, leaving the decision up to you. You mull it over, “I don’t know if Han’s gonna want a bunch of wasted kids at his place?”

As if you’d summoned him, Jeonghan appears beside Seungcheol with a yawn, “What’s this about me? Why’re you guys still up? Come on, let me show you to the empty rooms and please go to sleep before I have to use force.”

Wonwoo laughs, “He didn’t even leave us a choice,” and you watch as Jeonghan turns around, expecting you to follow him.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you turn to your best friend, “Please tell me you don’t still try to suffocate other people in their sleep?”

The boy contains a grin, “I don’t know. It depends on how annoying the person I’m with is.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor, asshole.”

–

Seungcheol has a problem.

He likes to think of himself as a reasonable adult, with the ability to make logical choices and admitting to his flaws here and there. But had he been reasonable enough, he wouldn’t be this hung up over someone he met twice over the course of two weeks. It’s ridiculous: the way his heartbeat’s racing when you tread down to breakfast the morning after the board game night turned bonding time.

He’s smiling his way through an excited “good morning!” before he can collect himself. You look tired, albeit a little bit lesser than usual, and your hair’s down in something of a mess. Seungcheol vaguely recognizes the faded gray tee you’re wearing, probably a donation of Jeonghan’s. “Morning,” you mumble to the breakfast table, everyone present now that you’re here.

Wonwoo snickers, “You look like shit, dude.” You glare at him as you’re reaching out for a fork, “Thanks, Wonwoo, I see that you’re as sweet as ever.”

Jeonghan lightly slaps Wonwoo’s arm, “Be nice to her. Who knows what a hungover Y/N might do?”

You turn to Jeonghan, finally eating the piece of watermelon that you’d been reaching for, “I’m flattered you’re concerned but I’ll have you know I’m not hungover.”

“That’s impressive,” Seungcheol chimes in and you smile at him, “See, I can’t believe this man I met last week understands me better than my best friend and my other friend.”

“Your other friend? That’s what I am to you???” Jeonghan gasps, hand clutching his chest dramatically and Seungcheol laughs louder than he ought to, but he can barely help it, he’s all giddy. All it took was a half-compliment from you.

So yeah, easy to say, Seungcheol has a problem and it has something to do with the way you lean into him when you ask him to pass a slice of toast.

Luckily for Seungcheol, you also have a problem, and it occurs when you declare you need to head back, hoping that they’d let you go alone but Jeonghan’s standing up instantly with a nod. You have a problem with the way he’s unbothered with his behavior, easily saying, “I’ll walk you,” as if your best friend of years wasn’t sitting right there.

You look to Wonwoo, hoping he’d feel the heat of your expression but he simply stretches his limbs out with a groan, “Think I’ll go take a nap before I leave.”

“Don’t you have a class at 12?” you nudge him subtly, trying to ignore Jeonghan as he stands at the table, fingers tapping at the chair that he’s behind.

“Eh, I’m ahead of the syllabus in the class and attendance is a joke.”

You sigh in defeat and meet Jeonghan’s eyes as he lifts his lips into a smile.

And the smile only leaves his lips once you’ve stepped out, clad in your clothes from last night again, groaning when the morning sunlight hits your eyes. “Ugh is right,” he mumbles beside you as he starts walking.

You catch up to him, hands stuffed down your pockets, and he asks, “You have class?”

“Not really. But I do have an upcoming paper I want to finish over the weekend so I don’t perish next week.”

Jeonghan chuckles as he glances at you, “Wow, you’re still this hard-working, huh? I thought your lifestyle would’ve worn you out by now.”

“You’re one to talk about detrimental lifestyles, Han,” you scoff, “Just because you hang out with us once a week doesn’t mean we don’t know you’re overworking yourself for the rest of it.”

He’s silent for a beat and then he exhales, “Huh. I don’t know. Feels like I have the other kids fooled. It’s always you, with your smart little head and truth bombs.”

You laugh, hitting his side with your shoulder, “I’m serious, Han. Take it slow, won’t you? You’re going to end up burning yourself out to death by the time you’re 30. And then whos’ going to host board game nights?”

Jeonghan laughs and he turns to look at you, walking pace slowing down as he trains his eyes on you. You raise your brows in confusion, a slight smile playing on your lips as you try to guess what he’s thinking this time.

“You and Cheol have been getting along really well, huh?”

You’re thrown off guard, not having imagined this to be his next words. You shrug. “Yeah, he’s really easy to talk to, especially given his… I don’t know, social status?”

“Social status?”

You cough in embarrassment over your words. What were you saying? “Don’t know. It’s just nice to meet someone whose hopes and dreams aren’t being crushed by student debt.”

Jeonghan’s silent again and now it’s your turn to frown because you’re wondering if you said the wrong thing. God, does he think you’re creepy for liking his childhood friend? Fucking hell.

“I’m glad,” he says but you can sense a strain in his voice, “I was worried he’d get bored to death when he came to visit me.”

“Ah, well. How long is he around?”

“He took a month off, I think? But he’s got it easy with his flexible hours, so really, it’s up to him when to leave.”

You nod a little, “Cool.” You exhale in relief, a little bit reassured now that Jeonghan was back to talking like his usual self. You’ve finally reached the steps to your dorm by the time the conversation fades away and he waves at you, “Better be on time tomorrow for my party. And don’t forget to bring the best gift of my life.”

You groan when he quotes your note on his coffee from a day ago, shrugging as you turn around to run up to your room and melt into your pillow. But you’ve made it to two steps up when he calls out for you again. You swerve around to face him with a questioning glance.

“Y/N, remember you can come to this old man if you ever need anything, okay? I’m here for you, always.”

??????????

–

Okay, let’s rewind a little.

You’ve known Jeonghan for two years now, enough time to fall for him. You argue it was inevitable because all your life, you’d only been disappointed in your love interests, who would either ghost you in the talking stage itself or break up a few months into the relationship. One time it was because you were too busy with your studies and the third and final time because well, you were apparently too aloof. Not loving enough.

Which is why when Jeonghan came into the picture, you found yourself changing ever so slightly. Not to say you weren’t still a little bit wary of people and took your time opening up, but you met a lot of friends through him and he taught you that trust and attention goes a long way in relationships. If only you could apply this newfound knowledge to new relationships.

You’d tried: Wonwoo had set you up with a friend from class, Mingyu, and while you’d been able to sit through the first date, by the end of the night, it was clear that both of you were more interested in sex. Which was fine. But then there was the guy who was a regular at your cafe who had given you his number and you’d ended up wondering why you were with him in the bathroom, staring at a text from Jeonghan.

So you were down pretty bad for him. And as Wonwoo had voiced multiple times before, the next move to make was to actually tell the man that you’d been suffering in your feelings for him. But every time the topic came around, you had only one answer prepared: he already knows. Or so you’re convinced.

You had good reason to think so. Once, the group of you had been playing an online game that involved picking red flags for other people’s ideal types and when it was time for others to pick some for you, all hell had broken loose. “I bet she likes bad guys who are emotionally unavailable,” Jun had said, quick to drag the flag that said emotional constipation on it. You had defended yourself quickly, “UH? No thanks, men with no emotional intelligence are a hard pass for me. I don’t want to feed into some idiot’s Oedipus complex just because I’m the mom friend.”

“The mom friend?” Wonwoo had questioned, “Please, Y/N, if anything, you’re the dead friend with a severe case of RBF. Jeonghan’s the mom friend.”

Jeonghan’s shrug had been followed by a hysterical Joshua going, “Wouldn’t that mean Y/N’s ideal type is Jeonghan? I mean, it makes a lot of sense, he’s mature and emotionally intelligent.”

You’d choked over your next words, cheeks burning, “No, that’s stupid. Don’t be weird.”

Yeah, very weak defense.

When Wonwoo brought up the fact that you’d refuted Joshua’s claims and that probably led Jeonghan to believe you weren’t into him, you simply told him to remind himself of what happened next. Dokyeom had laughed, “But you definitely go for older men? I can’t imagine any guy in college being too smart like that.”

You’d agreed in the end, his logic being pretty solid. You had also noticed the way Jeonghan excused himself to the kitchen with a lame excuse about bringing more snacks when there was an array of unopened chips still lying around.

“Okay, so that’s one example, from like two months ago,” Wonwoo argues as you roll around in bed to avoid his glare, “Do you really think he remembers that incident so well?”

“Two months ago was not that long ago. And it wasn’t just this once. I’m a mess around Jeonghan.”

“You’re a mess period,” Wonwoo casually declares and when you sit up with an unhinged jaw, he laughs, “No offense.”

“Whatever. I hate you. And I hate Jeonghan. I should just skip his birthday party or I’m just gonna make things worse for myself.”

“Right. And what about the Lego set you spent half your life savings on?”

You pause, heart skipping a beat when you remember the gift sitting on your desk, wrapped securely and the purchase of which you could only justify with the words: Yoon Jeonghan.

“God, I must be insane. Why did I even buy that for him? He’s gonna think I’m genuinely weird. Does he even want gifts? He’s turning 25 for god’s sake.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond so you can hear yourself and eventually, you do. Jeonghan himself had told you to be on time to his party with the gift alongside. You’re going to cry.

“You really think I should tell him?” you ask quietly.

Your best friend nods eagerly, patting your arm through the mess of your bedsheets, “Please. It’s high time. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Weird promise to make, but fine. I’ll do it.”

–

The weight of your promise settles into your veins when you’ve arrived at Jeonghan’s place, self-consciously straightening out non-existent wrinkles in your dress when he comes over to greet you and Wonwoo. It doesn’t leave when he grins at you, wider than usual, and it definitely only gets worse when he accepts your gift with a low whisper that he’ll be sure to open yours first.

You’re thankful for Seungcheol when he shows up next to you, dimples out as he compliments you in your dress and you return it with a shy smile. Half because you need a distraction and more because Seungcheol’s presence is calming, you follow him to the bar.

“How’s your night going so far?”

“It could be better,” you mumble, eyes searching for Jeonghan and settling when he doesn’t seem to be anywhere close, “A little bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” he asks you, sliding you a drink and you smile as you take a sip: Scotch and Soda.

“Hmm, it’s nothing honestly. A lot of work piling up as we speak,” you joke. Seungcheol’s frown melts away, “Ah, of course. Senior year must be crazy.”

The night picks it pace up thereon, with your nerves finding some peace in the buzz from alcohol and your cheeks only hurting the longer you talk to Seungcheol.There’s some dancing of course, here and there, but you find yourself avoiding Jeonghan actively, retracting from the floor whenever he’s close.

It helps that Seungcheol stays close so that you have an excuse to appear occupied and somewhere along in the night, you tell the man with a smile, “You’re really charming, you know, Cheol?”

He breaks out into that giggle of his, “You think so? I haven’t even pulled out all the stops yet?”

“Really?” you find yourself stepping closer, encouraged by how quickly his hands are at your waist, “What haven’t you done yet?”

A breathy hum leaves his lips at your provoking and you’re close enough to brush lips against Seungcheol when suddenly, you’re being pulled away. For a moment, you let out an annoyed groan, certain that the iron hold on your bicep is Wonwoo being stubborn again. So when you tilt your head and catch sight of Jeonghan’s black hair falling into his eyes, a glare in place, all words leave your system.

You’re aware he’s dragging you away and also that Seungcheol’s following, reaching for your hand with words leaving his mouth, but you can’t make anything out. The blood’s in your ears and your heart is in your throat. You can feel Jeonghan saying something at Seungcheol, who glances at you in doubt, and leaves.

By the time you've calmed down, you find yourself in Jeonghan’s room, door half closed.

“Jeonghan?” you question a little weakly as he finally lets go of your arm and sits on the bed, his head in his hands. Is he okay? you wonder, standing helplessly near the door. You call out his name again, “Han? Are you okay?”

You step closer to him but stop when he looks up, startled by the lack of humor in his expression. “What were you doing back there?”

“Um, talking to Cheol.”

“Talking?”

“Are you annoyed at me, right now? Or jealous? I can’t tell.”

Jeonghan goes silent again, gaze dropping to his feet. You’re feeling annoyed by the minute.

“You’re acting like an idiot, Y/N. You don’t know Seungcheol. And you’re drunk.”

There it was: that strict tone of his, that always left you feeling conflicted and hurt. Today you actually tell him about it, “I’m not a kid, Jeonghan, I know what I’m doing.”

He looks up at you when you say that, eyes wide. “I never said that. I’m just saying that you should be more careful.”

“I am being careful,” you retort, a hostile edge to your voice, “I don’t know why you do this.”

“I thought you liked me.”

The words stun you into silence and your ears ring as you freeze. Your eyes don’t leave Jeonghan’s form though, watching him, waiting for him to disappear into nothingness as if this was just a dream. How you wish it was.

But Jeonghan’s on his feet when he notices the horrified look on his face and it’s only when he starts to come closer that you reach for the door.

“No, Y/N, please let’s talk about it–” he grabs hold of you and you feel your vision go blurry with tears, your back hitting the wall when Jeonghan shuts the door behind you.

“I knew it,” you mumble out through tears, “You knew about my feelings?”

Jeonghan’s eyes find yours in the dim lighting of his bedroom and you shiver when his hand tightens around your wrist, “I’ve known for a while. But then you went around flirting with Cheol like it was nobody’s business and I…” he trails off, “I was jealous. And confused.”

You force yourself to breathe out, heart going wild in your chest because of course, Jeonghan’s not addressing the elephant in the room. “Well, I was going to confess to you today and get it out of the way. But there’s no need anymore, I guess?” You cringe at the way you can hear the quiver in your own voice, “Just let me go now?”

“Why?” he asks, “You haven’t even asked me if I like you back?”

You scoff, “God, Jeonghan, you make it sound like we’re in high school or something, all this ‘liking’ talk.” You try to sound stable, only to be contradicted by the tears that leave your eyes, “And I figured you didn’t return my feelings. Or you would’ve done something about it.”

There’s a pause then. A shift. Jeonghan’s grip on you loosens ever so lightly and you fear you’ve understood him too well. For once, you wish you weren’t right.

“You’re right,” Jeonghan breathes out as if on cue, but his grip is still unyielding to your dismay, “Well, I thought I didn’t like you. I mean, you’re really pretty and funny and being around doesn’t tire me out like it does with others, but… I just liked you as a friend.”

Your heart’s shriveling up at his words with uncertainty because he might be talking about your love for him being one-sided but it is also in the past tense… right?

“What are you trying to say, Jeonghan?”

He flinches, “Um, I’m sorry. I just– I’m so confused about my feelings, right now. God, I thought I was more mature than this.”

You can’t help the disdainful laugh that leaves your lips as you push him away, brushing your tears away with the back of your hand. “Look, Jeonghan, I’m sorry I don’t have the time to sit down and help you untangle your feelings… about me. It really hurts to hear you go on about this, honestly. I think I’m just going to leave. Happy birthday, I hope you like your gift.”

–

The night outside is much more welcoming to you now, your shoulders more relaxed than ever now that your stupid crush on Jeonghan’s out in the open for him. You hadn’t expected it to go down like this but well, at least you were right about him already knowing, you know?

Lighter than before, the drinks you’d chugged before to gather courage catch up to you in the moment when you nearly run into a pole on the street. You would have run into it if Seungcheol hadn’t swerved you out the way with a, “Look out!”

“Fuck,” you mumble when you’re steady on your feet, Seungcheol’s hand firm around yours, “Sorry. I was in my head.”

“I know you were but you gotta watch where you’re going, kid,” he scolds, “I don’t want to have to carry your unconscious body to your room.”

You roll your eyes, “What is it with everyone and calling me a kid tonight? So much for keeping up a track record for being reliable and responsible.”

“It’s not that you’re not those things, Y/N,” Seungcheol says, hand still on yours reassuringly, “It’s just that sometimes you’re… dense. And maybe even something of an idiot.”

“Ah! Excuse me!” you protest, “I am not an idiot. Say that to my grades.”

“An idiot as in someone who doesn’t see what’s right in front of them.”

That shuts you for good, then, and you stop walking with a sigh. “I don’t even know about that, anymore.”

Seungcheol watches as you slow down, tears behind your eyes and his heart hurts for you, thanks to his problem. When he’d found you storming out of Jeonghan’s room with fists wiping your tears away, he’d wrapped an arm around you immediately, listening as you quietly told him you needed to leave. He’d offered to walk you home and you’d watched him for a moment before nodding.

“Why are you doing this, Cheol? Shouldn’t you be back there, comforting Jeonghan?”

“See, there it is. The idiot side of you.”

You go silent again, looking down at the hand that was clutched in his a few moments ago.

“...you like me?”

“Bingo. Plus, I don’t think Jeonghan wants to hear from me tonight. Not after I almost kissed you in front of him.”

You let out a surprised sound, hand flying to your mouth when you recall the near-kiss, ears turning impossibly pink under the streetlights. “Fuck, I forgot that happened. I’m sorry? Or you’re welcome?”

“Nah, I can’t thank you till we actually seal the deal,” Seungcheol teases, stepping closer to you and dramatically ducking his head as if going in for a kiss. You push his shoulder away, “Fuck you, Seungcheol.”

“I mean, sure, if you want to!”

“Ugh!” you start walking with a pout on your face, “I hate the guts of the men in this place!”

“That’s not what your face said thirty minutes ago at the bar!”

“Go away, Cheol, or I’m reporting you to the campus authorities.”

“Aww, you called me Cheol even when we’re fighting. Aren’t you the sweetest?”

–

When Monday rolls around, you think you’ve got a good hold on your head this time, especially after a few grueling hours at your shift at the cafe. That is until you spot Jeonghan walking in, hair tied back in a half-ponytail and hands crossed across his white cardigan. The sight of him sends you into a frenzy and you debate your options as being between: ducking behind the counter and switching positions with Joshua, or otherwise, manning up and facing the aftermath of your actions.

You glance at Joshua’s back, his hands busy cleaning the espresso equipment and before you have a minute to ask him to switch, Jeonghan’s at the counter (where’s a line of customers when you need it?), calling you out. “Hey, Y/N, do you think we could talk for a minute?”

You look at him blankly, not expecting him to take the direct route after everything. But you malfunction a little and cut his advances off, “Welcome to Moon Coffee! What can I get started for you?” you ask loudly and then add in a softer voice, “Conversation with me is not on the menu.”

“Hm?” Jeonghan looks devastated at your cold response but his eyes search the menu board frantically anyway, “Uh, I guess I could get just an iced americano, then, please?”

You note that down with a half-smile, and almost go on to ask for a name for the order but decide against it, not wanting to stretch your pettiness limit for the day. “Alright, thank you for your order! Please feel free to take a seat while you wait.”

You relax when he nods with a hesitant smile and takes a seat, close to the window but close enough to the counter to hear his name being called out. You feel the pit in your stomach burn a little at how deflated his shoulders are and you wonder if you ought to drop the act; you’d been into the man for two years now. Right?

But before you can pursue this heart-wrenching line of thought, you’re distracted by the sound of the door opening and– great, it’s Seungcheol. By the surprised look he shoots Jeonghan’s sat figure, they hadn’t planned this… ambush, but you reign in your usual cordiality anyway as Seungcheol approaches you.

“Hey there, morning. How’ve you been?”

What did you have to do to have one customer who came in here for coffee?

“Good afternoon,” you correct him, pleased at the reversal of your first meeting with Seungcheol, who chuckles a little. “Welcome, what can we get you today?”

He pauses, casting a glance to Jeonghan over his shoulder, whose attention is on this interaction, legs crossed and brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, didn’t know he was in here. I just wanted to check up on you.”

“What are you apologizing for?” The question slips before you can remember to be professional and also, a little bit quieter because almost certain that Jeonghan’s heard you by the way he averts his eyes. “Um, I mean, sorry. I can recommend you a drink for the day or do you want to get your usual?”

Seungcheol mulls it over, “Hm, I’m fine with anything you choose for me.”

You pause before punching in the order for a hazelnut mocha, without a double-shot this time. He can deal with the sweetness for a day, you reckon. You glance at Joshua who’s still cleaning up before getting started on the orders because well, it’s a slow day. Or it’s supposed to be.

As you thank Seungcheol for his order and he’s about to step aside to wait, you add in a quick, “And next time, if you want to check up on me, do it when I’m not working.” He does nothing to hide the grin of acknowledgment that takes over his face, a sight that only darkens the storm known as Yoon Jeonghan brewing in the cafe.

You walk over to Joshua, “Dude! Hurry up, we have customers waiting.”

He turns to you slowly, wiping his hands off ever so slowly, even the smile on his face slow. “Don’t worry, it’s just Jeonghan. We know these guys. We can take our time.”

You narrow your eyes at him, wondering if Jeonghan put him up to this act, but don’t question it because even that would be admitting defeat. “Whatever. I’ll make the drinks if you’re going to be annoying. Where’s the syrup for the mocha again?”

Joshua slaps the hand that you’re using to reach for the syrup with a firm, “Uh-uh! Hands off, young lady. That hazelnut mocha is all mine to make. You can work on the iced americano if you really want to help out.”

You groan, throwing your hands up, “So you were slowing things down on purpose, you little bitch.”

“Hello? Please be mindful of the language you use around here. I can report you–”

“Yes, yes, of course, I will just shut up and make that americano so I don’t have to listen to your voice again.”

A few minutes later, you’re scribbling Jeonghan’s name onto the cup, proud with the quick work you’ve made of the drink and also thankful nobody was coming in right now. “Han–” you stop yourself just as the nickname slips your tongue, flinching when you remember you’re supposed to be acting stuck up right now.

You turn, hoping that Jeonghan hadn’t heard you but nevermind that because he’s at your side, quicker than he ought to be really (any other scenario, he would be declaring all kinds of knee problems), that sly grin plastered on his face.

“Hi there,” he greets you, “Called for me, did you?”

“...I did. An iced americano for Jeonghan.” You try hard to make your sentences brief but Jeonghan’s chuckling as he takes the drink from you– using both his hands so that you’re brushing against his. Classic middle school boy behavior.

If anything, this ordeal was making you question if the man was as mature as you’d believed. Either way, he thanks you with a smile and leaves promptly, leaving a very affronted Seungcheol in his wake. “Hey, I thought you said you were gonna wait for me!” he calls out after Jeonghan, who doesn’t respond as he slides out.

“A hazelnut mocha for Seung…Cheol?”

You glare at Joshua who frowns at the name as that was the first he’d heard of it, and the guy just shrugs as he puts the drink down. “Sorry about that. Joshua’s feeling rebellious this afternoon,” you tell a frowny Seungcheol (you are a minute away from admitting how cute he is when he’s upset), “Anyway, here’s your drink, Seungcheol. Have a good day!”

“Cheol!” you call out when you spot the brown head of hair outside the cafe when your shift ends. He’d texted you a while after he’d walked off with his drink in hand, pouting because you insisted on calling him Seungcheol.

meet me after your shift? his text reads.

do u even know when my shift ends dude

no and thats why im asking u. when does your shift end?

… u are insufferable.

insufferable enough to fall 4 u i guess

when are u going to stop holding your feelings for me over my head?

when you do something about them.

meet me at 6 outside the cafe.

Yeah, so you wouldn’t say you’re being your wisest self right now. To begin with, you should probably seek out Jeonghan and find closure of some sort. But something tells you to wait on him, wait till he’s ready to seek you out (no, coming up to you during your work shift did not count). Instead, you choose to pursue the… spark that you have with Seungcheol, his feelings for you aside. The night after Jeonghan’s party he’d made it clear that he didn’t really want anything serious, just to get to know you more while you were still around.

A little fooling around never hurt anyone, right?

So when Seungcheol whines out, “Oh, so I’m back to being Cheol now, huh?” you finally let out the laugh that you’d held back at work at his antics.

“Nobody ever told me you were such a pouty baby,” you tell him, eyes shameless trained on his pink lips.

“I don’t pout for anyone, baby,” Seungcheol shoots back, hand on your back as he leads you somewhere. You look at him in question. “What? We’re getting dinner.”

“I was not aware,” you reply, “But all right. Let’s do it.”

Dinner is comfortable. Which is more than you ask for on a date these days.

“Your dates have really been that bad, huh?” Seungcheol asks you. You shake your head, fork scraping some tiramisu onto it, “You can’t even imagine it, Cheol, it’s hell out there. I’m lucky if the guy pays for the dinner so I don’t have to work an extra shift to make up for it.”

He laughs and you savor the sight, because hanging out with this often hadn’t meant you had become indifferent to his looks. If anything, it was the other way around.

“Thanks for dinner,” you tell him later as he sneaks his hand into yours. You allow yourself to feel guilty for indulging him like this but then he squeezes your hand, “Anything for you, m’lady.”

Later that night, you invite him to your room. “It’s not much,” you add to the invitation, “But you know, I do happen to have some wine in my fridge that Wonwoo forgot to pick up. And my bed’s pretty cozy to watch movies in.”

Seungcheol is breathless by the time you’re in your room, not only because of the trek up the stairs but also the fact that you’d held his hand in yours the whole way up. “Wow, it sure is cold in here,” he comments as you turn the lights. It is the textbook college room, albeit a little bigger since you’re in a single.

You cough, “Um, sorry about that. Let me turn on the heater. And you can sit on my bed…” you pause when you remember the mess you’d left on your mattress this morning, in a hurry to make it to your shift but nevertheless, insistent on putting together a fit.

You sweep up the pile of discarded clothes from your bed and onto an already burdened chair, making a show out of it. You dust your hands off with a smile at Seungcheol who’s been watching with a hand on his hip. “Change your mind about me yet?” you question, teasingly.

He rolls his eyes as he walks closer to you, effectively bumping you onto your bed, the new angle forcing you to look up at him. He kneels in front of you, his smile turning loving as he takes your face into his hands. “Not a chance,” and then he leans in until his warm lips are on yours, the heater whirring irrelevant now that heat’s rushing up to your temples instantly.

You taste him and then pull away, “Mhm. Not so fast, you sly little man. I promised you wine and a movie in my bed. And I,” you say as you crouch in front of your fridge, “am a woman of my word.” You shake the cold bottle of red wine at him and he grins.

An hour later, you’re curled around Seungcheol, glasses of wine long consumed and movie long forgotten in favor of cuddling. You stare at him and then when he smiles shyly, you finger one of his dimples, “Hey. You sure you’re not serious about me? Because I’m…” you hate the way you trail off, the very thought of Jeonghan derailing any sense of coherence you’ve ever had.

“I know,” Seungcheol’s hand comes to your wrist, “I knew I didn’t stand a chance against Jeonghan since I saw you guys fight at the cafe that day. You look at him like he has all the answers.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you brush off, not completely refuting him. “But if you knew, why’d you stick around and… I don’t know, flirt with me?”

Seungcheol laughs into your neck, “Call it a bad habit of mine.” His hands play with your hair now, brushing it away from your face, “I see a pretty girl and I have to charm her.”

You drop your head into his chest with a groan, “Stop! You sound so creepy. Like a predator.”

“Hey!” he protests, his chuckles vibrating through you, “You’re the one who called me charming the other day!”

“Hmm. I guess I did.”

His hands slowly pry you away from his chest and to his face, lips pressing against yours. You smile a little and then open up for him, shifting until you’re situated on top of him. You close your eyes, surrendering yourself to the kiss and – “Shit, you’re a good kisser.” The man underneath you moves you closer with a pleased smirk, voice smug when his lips trail down your neck, “That’s not the only thing I’m good at.”

–

“Sex with older men really is different, huh?”

You gasp at Wonwoo’s vulgar words, slapping his arm mercilessly making him jump away from you. “Dude! Mind keeping it down? We’re in the library, not your mom’s house.”

“Ha! Jokes on you, I wouldn’t be making dirty jokes in my mom’s house because Jeonghan is my mom away from home and he would really kick my ass if he heard me talk about you and Seungchel fucking–”

Another slap on the arm and Wonwoo shuts up, groaning in pain. You grimace when you notice a few heads turning your way at the commotion, and bow in apology. When they’re looking away, you glower at Wonwoo, “Seriously, man, what are you up to? Drop the horny teenager act for once so we can focus on the problem at hand.”

“Judging from the tone of your voice, I’m guessing that you’re not talking about the problem of calculus in front of us, but rather, the problem of… life?”

You stare at Wonwoo blankly, “I’m so glad you find this entertaining.” As you’re about to continue giving him a piece of your mind, your phone buzzes, cutting you off much to Wonwoo’s relief, who sneaks a look over your shoulder anyway.

cheol: rate last night on a scale of ‘okay’ to ‘let's meet up again tonight’?

You scoff at the audacity and Wonwoo’s already clinging onto this new piece of evidence. “Oh, so what was that about this being a one-time thing? Next thing I know you’re moving in with him when you graduate.”

You slam your phone face down, “Listen, I know you think this is a joke but it’s not. I’m not going to sleep with Cheol again because that’s obviously the right thing to do. But as for Jeonghan, well, it’s been radio silence from him all week.”

“And since when have you let Jeonghan take the lead on your relationship with him? You know he’s a working man so I’m not surprised he’s not texting you at noon on a Wednesday.”

You glare at Wonwoo, “Seungcheol is also very much a working man? I don’t see your point. And also, I don’t know when this became a competition between the two?”

“Since you confessed to one and then slept with the other?”

You exhale heavily, unable to shoot him down because he was at least a little bit correct. Instead you heave your head into your arms. “Maybe I should just fake my death and move away.”

“You’ll give up your dreams of graduation over a stupid love triangle, consisting purely of men?”

“Shit. You’re right. That’s not happening,” you look up, “Jeon Wonwoo, what would I do if you weren’t by my side bringing me to my senses? You’re the best friend I ever had.”

“Actually, your use of ‘friend’ is very offensive to me,” he complains, fisting his palm dramatically, “I consider myself one of the girls. Or even better, your guardian. Refer to me as Your Highness exclusively or I will not listen.”

You stand up with a screech of your chair, “Okay, that was the last of your reasonable thinking. I’m going to go to my shift and work until I can no longer think or pine.”

“Great plan, young one!”

“Touch grass while I’m gone and you might have hope yet.”

–

“Look, I really don’t think we should be doing this anymore.”

Seungcheol laughs, eyes searching your face for signs of humor. You flash him a grimace of seriousness and doom. He deflates. “I saw this coming. Should’ve known you would only ever ask me out to a fancy restaurant for dinner to break up with me.”

You flick his forehead, “Break up? Don’t call it that. It gives people the wrong idea.”

“Interesting, Y/N L/N admits to caring about whether or not people get the wrong idea about us. Very interesting,” he comments, not at all sneaky with the way his arm snakes around you, “Anyway, you want me to pay for dinner and what, drag my sorry ass back to Jeonghan’s place?”

You stiffen at the mention of Jeonghan and then sigh, the following conversation almost inevitable given your current situation. “So speaking of Jeonghan, has he been talking?”

“Um, yeah, he sure has been opening his mouth and saying words.”

“Fuck you, I meant as in, about me? Has he said anything?”

“Not in specific. Although he did inquire if I had slept over at your place two nights ago and when I said yes, he threw a slice of half-eaten apple in my face. Since then whenever I see him, I duck.”

“That’s very funny.”

“Don’t worry, I made sure to tell him how hopelessly in love with him you are–”

“That was not needed.”

“–And how you accidentally moaned his name on my cock.”

You glare at him, “What about those statements made you think they were okay to voice out loud, not only once but twice?”

As Seungcheol comes up with a witty defense for his lapse in judgment, your phone buzzes next to your thigh and the name that pops up has you zoning everything out instantly.

han: hey, can we talk?

You look away from the screen and breathe out, “And that makes two of us dragging our sorry asses to Jeonghan’s place.”

When you knock on his door, the last thing you expect to see is a red-eyed, very sniffly Jeonghan. Heck, you hadn’t ever even come close to imagining the heartbroken look on Jeonghan’s face, his eyes downcast when you visibly look taken aback at his state.

“Han?”

“Hey,” his voice is hoarse and good lord, you can’t stand this. “Let’s sit in the living room. I was going to go grab some water anyway.”

You follow him speechlessly, watching the way his hands disappear into the sleeves of the black sweatshirt that hangs loose around his frame. You keep watching when he reappears, and it’s when he sits down quietly, fingers whitening around the glass of iced water in hands that you lose it.

“Talk to me, Han. Are you okay?” you breathe deeply to contain the multitude of concerned questions that threaten to leave your system. For one, you didn't know how to interpret the crestfallen expression he held up when he met your eyes. While someone like Wonwoo (aka a naive little kid) would argue that the only reasonable explanation for it would be that he was devastated that you’d been avoiding him the past week. But knowing what you did about him, you couldn’t let go of the possibility that he was just mourning the impending loss of a friend, i.e. you, when he breaks it to you that he doesn’t like you back.

Jeonghan senses you’re in your head when you’ve been staring at him for a moment too long, mouth agape, so he moves closer, taking the water out of your hands and placing it next to his emptied glass.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Fuck. An apology?

You stammer, “S-Sorry? Why?”

“I’m sorry I called you an idiot the other day. You’re the farthest thing from an idiot– and you’re definitely not a kid. I’m so sorry that I made you feel like that. I just… I’ve been thinking about us, and I realized that somewhere along the way, I became really over-protective of you. I started treating you like you were fragile or something, and I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m listening,” you tell him, frown letting up now that he’s finally speaking up.

“And I’m sorry for being a cowardly little bitch about my feelings for you,” he mumbles, eyes dropping to your lap where your fingers play with the fabric of your shirt uneasily. He stops your fiddling, his hands coming to envelope both of yours. “I’m the idiot for thinking I could be anything other than in love with you.”

“Huh,” you exhale again, biting your lip to hold the smile that threatens to spill.

“And finally, I’m sorry for not doing anything about it when I knew your feelings were mutual. As you know, I’m getting old and–”

You stop any further stupidity from leaving his lips by – you guessed it – by pressing your lips against them. He lets out a surprised gasp and your smile finally turns into a giggle when his hands tighten around yours in your lap.

You pull away, only to detach your hands so you can bury them in his hair instead and Jeonghan smiles at you, his eyes crescents as they watch you lovingly and you think: the pain was worth it.

Jeonghan’s smile widens when he feels you thumb at his skin, tenderly tracing his eye-bags.

“You look terrible, Han, I’m sorry,” you mutter, kissing his cheeks and then his forehead. He’s already mellowing under your hold and he hums, low, “You should be. I went to hell and back when Seungcheol announced he slept with you. I mean, what were you thinking?”

You break, guiltily looking away. “That was not my smartest moment but I was also very distraught about my relationship with a certain someone who wouldn’t contact me outside of my working hours.”

“You and your stubborn need to remain professional. Y/N, it’s a campus cafe, I don’t think anyone’s going to care if you break your act once in a while. I don’t know, if I don’t get a kiss the next time I visit you– I might just rethink this.”

You scoff in disbelief, “You’re a real pain in the ass, Jeonghan. Maybe I’ll just go back to my room and cry myself to sleep.” But as soon as you make moves to stand up, Jeonghan’s bringing you back to sit, taking the chance to pull you closer into a hug. “You will do no such thing.”

You freeze when you feel his nose settle into your shoulder, warm breaths relaxing when your hands reclaim their place in his hair. “I love you, Y/N.”

A beat passes and with a kiss to his head, you return, “I probably love you more, old man.”

“If we’re going to date, that nickname has got to go!”

“What? You’re the one who was complaining about your knee problems last week. It’s fine, I can add this relationship to my list of community service activities.”

Jeonghan pulls away, standing up abruptly and jerking you upward as well. Your smile falters but then, he’s steering you to his bedroom, throwing the door shut with a grunt. You side-eye him, “What’s up–” He cuts you off, lips hot against yours.

A few minutes later, when his tongue finally lets up, he mutters, “I just remembered that you kissed Seungcheol with this mouth. I’ve gotta do everything I can to erase that memory.”

“I can’t tell if you want me to forget… or yourself.”

“Shh, I bet he couldn’t even– Wait, why aren’t you wearing a bra? Don’t tell me you were–!”

“You sure love asking questions, old man,” you whine and before Jeonghan can question you further, you take ahold of his hand, sliding it over your stomach and down the waistband of your jeans, the space tight and hot but not as hot as the groan Jeonghan lets out when he feels you. “Holy fuck, you’re wet.”

You grin when he falls to his knees, your jeans unbuttoned and pulled down in next to no time. “There’s more where that came from,” you mumble before he’s between your thighs, ripping out scream after scream from your throat.

–

Genuinely and honestly, if you’d foreseen waking up in Jeonghan’s bed, his hair a mess from last night but face comfortably snuggled in your arm– you would’ve been less mean to Wonwoo. Because it turns out that his voice (of reason? or of deviance? you would never figure it out) in your head had been right: Jeonghan did return your feelings all those times you thought he might.

He tells you all about it when you’ve collapsed later that night, replacing the curses on your lips with dampness in your eyes because of how vulnerable he is, pouring his heart out to you like this.

Propped up on an elbow, he played with your hand, “I remember when you first came over with Wonwoo. I thought I’d met myself, but younger and prettier and sillier.”

“I hate it when you combine insults with compliments so I can’t attack you.”

“I learnt that from you, silly,” he kisses your nose but continues, “But honestly, the more we talked, the more I realized how different you are from me. I mean, sure, are you tired out of your mind half the time like me? Yeah. But you were so observant and so keen on getting to know people. It’s hard to come across people who are invested in friendships for more than just small talk and someone to have meals with.”

But just as he’s getting deep on you, he adds, “Plus, you smell a whole lot better than anyone else. I’d go crazy sitting next to you, especially because you just love to throw yourself at people in laughter.”

“Not that I’m complaining–” he stops your protests quickly, “I swear my heart would skip a beat everytime you laughed at something I said. And then the time we were talking about ideal types and you got all flustered over everyone teasing you about me? Dude, I had to run to the kitchen before I could do something rash. Like kissing you in front of everyone. Or worse, bride-style carrying you into my room so I could enjoy the adorably lovesick look on your face.”

You groan into his pillow, “Stooop. This is just embarrassing for me. It’s not like I was trying to be obvious.”

“I know, baby,” he coos, gentle hands prying you away from the pillow, “But you know, you have the same look on your face right now.” He laughs, kissing the pout off your lips with a sweet, “For what it’s worth, I was yours for a long time. Just took a minute for me to realize it.”

You huff but smile despite it and pull him closer, “I’m glad. Now hold me to sleep or I’m gonna be sad.”

Another laugh reverberates through the two of you when he slides down, pulling the sheets closer over you, and pats your back as you settle into him with a satisfied sigh. “Sleep well, my love.”

–

“And when I’m gone, please don’t stop eating breakfast in the morning. I know you think that it’s consequential to your life completely,” Seungcheol pauses for dramatic effect, “but it’s important. It could be the difference between living 20 less years or 50 more.”

“How scientifically true is that?” you mumble to Jeonghan under your breath, who being the devious little brat he is voices your concern, earning you a look from Seungcheol.

“Whatever, I knew my words were undervalued in this household ever since you guys started dating and refused to keep it down at night. Like, it’s not that hard, right?”

You punch Jeonghan’s arm to both keep him from telling the dick joke he’s about to say and also, to show Seungcheol that you wanted no part in this. “I told this guy to keep you in mind but that just made him mad which in turn led to… screaming. Sorry.”

Seungcheol sighs as he glances at his watch, “Okay, okay. I have to get going now so bring in whatever last-minute reconciliations you two have for me.”

Jeonghan steps forward and hugs the man, surprising both the latter and you. But you watch with a pleased smile playing on your lips, relieved that their friendship still seemed to go strong, bumps and all. When it’s your turn to hug Seungcheol, you scoff at the hesitant look he casts at your boyfriend and wrap your arms around his middle.

“Thanks for everything, Cheol. Keep in touch. And do something about this second-lead syndrome of yours. I better catch you in a happily stable relationship of your own next time around.”

Seungcheol chuckles quietly, waiting for you to pull away to say, “If that’s an order from the main female lead, then I guess I have no choice, do I? Unless,” his eyes mischievously stray to Jeonghan who already knows what’s coming next, “the male lead fucks up and leaves a certain pretty girl single, huh?”

You don’t have time to decipher if that’s a threat wrapped up in a punchline because Jeonghan’s arm’s around your shoulder, moving you away and besides you, he says, “You’ll be waiting all your life if you wait on me to fuck this up. Bye, Cheol, I can see that your Uber just pulled up.”

“Ha! Good one. Alright, this is goodbye for now. See y’all on my feed. Or it might be better if I don’t. Anyway, bye and don’t kill anyone.”

With Seungcheol gone, you look up at Jeonghan with a smug smirk, “Oh, so you plan on sticking around with me forever? That’s a long time, you know.”

Your boyfriend chuckles, his eyes twinkling, “Please, if I had the patience to watch you hug Seungcheol right in front of my eyes, being with you forever will be a breeze in the park. So yes, I plan to stick to you forever, like superglue.”

“Gross, you couldn’t say something romantic like candy or syrup?”

“Sorry, babe, but I was just distracted by how all mine you are that I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“Never mind, I think it’s worse when you’re all cheesy. Go back to being gross?”

“I love you. Now, come here so I can kiss every single surface of your face. And then we can go on a walk and tell everyone who told me to give up to suck it.”

You lose balance when the laughter finally escapes your mouth but thankfully, Jeonghan’s arms are around you, promising and playful when you meet his eyes. “Ugh, whatever. I love you. So I guess we can do all the weird annoying stuff you want to do for now.”

Despite your banter though, the two of you are so happy together that you’re shocked by the picture of you with Jeonghan that Wonwoo Airdrops, after your walk. You have the dopiest smile on your face and Jeonghan’s looking at you with a cheesy grin. You hate to admit it but you do look like an “old married couple” like Wonwoo’s text teases. But for once, you give in, snuggling closer to Jeonghan’s body because well, yeah, you did plan to stick to him. Like superglue.

–

#once again apologizing #jeonghan x reader #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt fluff #svt angst #svt x reader #yoon jeonghan #choi seungcheol #seventeen smut #jeonghan angst #seungcheol angst

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