#the season is Over i need to calm down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunrizef1 · 6 months ago

Text

Milk and Sugar

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not edited, cursing maybe, the ex gf isn’t anyone specific don’t @ me

Summary: Max is tired of his persistent ex girlfriend and friends that are maybe a little too empathetic about his breakup. What better way to scare them off than getting a new girlfriend? But he doesn’t actually want a new relationship. Enter: you. The perfect (fake) new girlfriend.

Word Count: 9.6k

Authors Note: this fic was kicking my ass im gonna be so fr. It took forever and I just couldn’t write the ending for some reason. Hopefully now that this is up, I can do something else lmfao

You were just doing a favor for a friend.

Or that’s what you had told yourself when Max had originally asked you to go along with his stupid idea. You hadn’t even really wanted to agree, by the way. He had just needed your help so badly and that’s what friends are for, right?

So that’s how you’d ended up in his garage, Red Bull hat pulled tightly over your head as you watched his car sail around the track in Brazil, the season well under way.

You’d met Max a few years back. You’d moved into the apartment next to his, not even blinking as your eyes scanned over the future world champion, too focused on your dog trying his best to distract you from the heavy box in your hands.

“Apollo! Stop!” You sighed at the dog as he jumped at your legs, trying his hardest to knock the box full of dog food and treats out of your arms. The dog, not knowing English, didn’t listen, of course, continuing his assault on your calves.

The box tilts in your grasp, coming dangerously close to falling out of your arms. But suddenly, the weight is lifted away and Apollo seems to turn his attention to whatever had relieved you from your struggle, giving you the opportunity to pull the small dog into your grasp, trying your best to calm his rowdiness down.

Once you’ve gotten the dog to calm down a significant amount, you look up to see who’d saved you from hours of cleaning loose dog food off the floor during your first day in your new apartment. You’re met with bright blue eyes staring back at you, a concerned look on the strangers face.

You’re too worried about the pretty man in front of you to even worry about Apollo as he starts to nibble lightly on your jacket.

“Are you okay?” And then he speaks for the first time and you’re captivated. Not in a love-at-first-sight way, of course. More of a this-guy-might-be-perfect kind of way.

You nod, gently separating your dogs mouth off your hoodie string, petting his, most-likely, empty head warmly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. This little guy just really wanted that food, I guess.”

The stranger laughs, moving the box in his arms to rest against his hip, “I’m more of a cat person, anyway.”

You fake a wince, shaking your head with a frown, “Ahh, guess we can’t be friends then, mysterious stranger. Im a dog person all the way.”

He laughs again, grinning warmly, “Any way I could help you with this? Can’t imagine it’s easy moving in with a dog running around.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your hand fumbling to fish the key to your new apartment out of your pocket, “Only if you’re free! I wouldn’t want to bother my new neighbor on my first day.”

Your neighbor shakes his head, light brown hair falling down on his forehead, “It’s no big deal, I’m surprisingly free today.”

You smile, pushing the door to your apartment open, setting Apollo down as you enter. The dog immediately starts to scope out the area, bounding up and down the halls, his collar jangling loudly as he does. You hear the man enter behind you, watching as he walks over and places the box of dog food on the counter in the kitchen.

“Usually I learn a man’s name before I invite him into my apartment,” you smirk, laughing as a blush coats your neighbors face. He takes the few steps back over to close the gap between you, sticking out a calloused hand toward you.

“I’m Max.”

You smile, repeating his name before reciting your own, clasping your hand in his much rougher one, tilting your head up at him as you shake, letting go after a few moments.

“It’s nice to meet you max,” you say, smiling as you see Max’s face light up happily, “How inclined would you be to helping me get the rest of my boxes?”

Max laughs as he sees the sweet grin on your face, shaking his head as he moves toward the door, “I’d love to help, y/n. Can’t have my new favorite neighbor moving in alone, can I?”

Your face splits into a grin as you follow him toward the exit, turning to make sure Apollo was comfortably inside the apartment so he wouldn’t try and run away before closing the door behind you.

Max did help you that day, the moving in process going substantially quicker with the help of the athlete. He even invited you over to his place for dinner, explaining that it’d be too much of a hassle for you to make dinner after moving in all day. You didn’t bring up the fact he’d been moving all day as well, simply following him next door instead.

That had been three years ago and you’d been friends ever since. It was a casual friendship, more moved by the proximity than anything else.

He’d had to explain f1 to you, you being completely unfamiliar with the sport despite having moved to Monaco, probably the place with the most connection to it. Now, you’d casually watch his races as you worked or ate dinner, not entirely sure what was going on but supporting your friend anyway.

He’d also eventually asked you to watch his cats for him, Jimmy and Sassy being surprisingly friendly with your puppy. Max had been scared about introducing them, prefacing with many statements about how much the cats hated dogs and that it really wouldnt be a problem if you couldn’t watch them if they hated each other.

All that talk went out the window when the first thing the pets did when they met each other was take a nap.

It was January when it happened. You had been sitting calmly in your apartment, watching Bridgerton and eating pasta, your work computer abandoned to the side of the couch. You had a blanket pulled over your lap, a hot mug of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Rare snow fell softly outside your window, albeit not very much snow but snow nonetheless.

You were very content.

This, of course, all came crashing down when you heard the sound of your apartment door banging open, heavy footsteps signaling the arrival of your neighbor. You’d given him a key for emergencies, although you couldn’t possibly imagine what could warrant an emergency at this time.

You roll your eyes as you hear him approach, setting your pasta down on the table and grabbing the remote to pause your show, turning as Max throws himself down on the couch next to you.

“Hello, Max. Can I help you?” You sigh, trying to force a smile onto your face. Max seems to catch your discontent and grimaces, wincing away slightly.

“Bad time?”

You let out a breath, not able to stay mad at the Dutch man for very long, “Maybe a little, but it’s fine, really. Did you need something?”

Max nods, sitting up straighter, “I may or may not have a formal request. Neighbor to neighbor.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his response, noting his slightly nervous behavior, “Okay?”

He takes a deep breath before speaking, his eyes trailing over toward where your tv was currently paused, “You know how I just went through that breakup, right?”

You hum, all too familiar with the aforementioned breakup, having had Max barge into your apartment for comfort food and movie marathons more than a few nights in the wake of his, now ex, girlfriends departure.

“Well,” Max starts and you can sense the hesitation in his tone but considering he had interrupted your night, you opted to let him flounder, “It’s been weird on the grid since then.”

“Okay,” you hum, eyes glancing over his face and catching the way he grimaces.

“Ever since the break-up, all the guys have been looking at me like I’m a child, you know? Like I might fall apart any second. Even though I’m completely fine!”

You stare, knowing more than anyone else, that he wasn’t very fine for a while, although he’d miraculously recovered over the past few months. You also stared in hopes he’d soon get to the point of the conversation.

“They also keep trying to set me up with their friends as if I need a rebound when I would really rather stay single,” Max groans, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Your furrow your eyebrows, wondering where this could be going.

Max glances up, eyes avoiding yours at all costs, “I was wondering if you could, maybe..”

Max trails off, wincing slightly. You stare straight ahead at him blankly, waiting for him to finish his request. He does eventually mumble something under his breath and you lean forward, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry?”

Max grumbles, annoyed and you roll your eyes at the attitude of the man disrupting your own night.

“Could you pretend to be my girlfriend for a while?” Max rushes out, hands carding through his hair nervously, “Just long enough for the guys to leave me alone, you don’t even have to do anything, maybe just come to Brazil and Monaco-“

Max continues to ramble on for a few seconds, words seeming to fall out of his mouth unceremoniously before he’s cut off by you interrupting him.

“Max!” You raise your voice slightly in an attempt to talk to over him. Max freezes, looking at your face for the first time since he’s crashed through your front door, “I’ll do it.”

He stares at you blankly for a few moments, trying to process your words, “Really?”

You shrug, teeth digging into your lip as you turn your head toward the large window across the room that overlooked the darkened city of Monte Carlo, “Why not? You’re my friend. Plus I work remotely and who doesn’t want to travel around the world to all those different cities?”

Max’s face lights up at your response, his lips forming a huge grin. He rolls over into a lying position, practically star-fishing on your couch, “Thank you so much! I owe you one.”

You hum, fighting the smile on your lips as you watch him close his eyes calmly. You slip up from the couch quietly, padding over to the kitchen to grab something.

“Where are you going? Did I scare you off already?” You hear Max call as you walk away. As you walk back over, his eyes are still closed though, signaling that he didn’t really think he’d scared you off.

He does open his eyes as you set the bowl of leftover pasta and a fork on his chest before grabbing your own and sitting down, grabbing the remote to press play. He glances over as you settle into the couch and move your blanket over your lap before he sits up. You take a bite of your pasta as you continue to watch your show. Max takes a second but he eventually digs in as well, sitting up in order to grasp the bowl better.

Even after the pastas finished, you both sit back on the couch in order to finish the show. You glance over at Max, his eyes still locked onto the screen.

What had you gotten yourself into?

————

“Are you ready?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you sit in the passengers seat of Max’s car, the hoards outside having no idea what was waiting for them inside. You slide your sunglasses onto your nose, hoping they’d hide at least a little bit of the anxiety flowing through you.

You nod, turning your head toward Max in the drivers seat, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Max hums, not entirely convinced but also aware he had no other option but to believe you considering he’s the one who’d asked you to do this. He opens his door, stepping out and sliding his own sunglasses on. You watch as he walks around the front of the car before stopping in front of your door and pulling it open. You pause for a moment but eventually step out, trying not to wince as the bright sun hits you.

You immediately step into his path, falling into stride next to him as you both walk toward the entrance. You hear the car lock behind you and watch Max pocket the keys.

The bright Miami sun beats down on your skin, causing you to wish you’d opted for a thinner shirt. Max had originally proposed for your first race to be Monaco but you had decided it was better to appear earlier than later for his sake. Plus, you’d always enjoyed Miami and were up for the idea of traveling there. You’d also originally planned to buy your own plane tickets but Max was quick to shut that one down.

As you both approached the turnstiles, Max pulls his lanyard out of his pocket. You don’t even notice as he pulls you inside the paddock, too busy trying not to notice the cameras surrounding you. Flashes come from all around you, the incessant clicks echoing through your head.

You finally do notice that Max hasn’t let go of your hand after he pulled you into the paddock. You grasp his hand a little tighter and he pulls you closer into his side as a response. When heat starts to rise to your face, you decide to blame it on the Miami sun.

As you both walk toward the Red Bull hospitality, heads turn to watch you walk by. You can feel people’s eyes trailing after you, locked on your unfamiliar form. Everything new in the paddock very quickly became a spectacle. Especially when it involved the current world champion.

You’re sure you’ll see pictures of yourself splashed all across the internet when you wake up in Max’s hotel room the next day. You’re sure your mom will send you whatever article they’ll attach your name to, no doubt hounding you for information about your new celebrity “boyfriend”.

You’d been curled up in Max’s hotel room the whole weekend, occasionally dipping out to get food with him between events. He’d wanted you to come to the track since Thursday but you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to step out as “Max Verstappens new girlfriend” until you’d woken up Sunday morning.

You’d woken up before Max, somehow. As you laid in your plush hotel room bed, you could hear Max’s soft breathing from the other bed filtering through the silence of the morning. Just outside the window, the city of Miami was waking up. At least, the early birds were.

You and Max had slept in the same room enough over the years, Max randomly crashing at your place pretty often, that when he suggested you getting a different room, you’d immediately turned him down. You were telling yourself it was just because it was nice to have the comfort of a friend but something deep down knew that that wasn’t the only reason.

You let the only sounds be his breathing and the light hum of the air on unit for a few more minutes while you woke up. You slid out of the bed as silently as possible, your feet padding quietly against the carpeted floor. You pull the door open to the balcony slowly, stepping out before closing it behind you. The sun is still pretty low in the sky but it still makes you flinch as it seeps into your eyes.

You sink into one of the two chairs out on the balcony, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top, letting your thoughts run wild.

You watch Miami move below you, the sun slowly shining down brighter and brighter, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d agreed to this idea so quickly. With every day that passed, you wished more and more that you hadn’t. Doubt seeped through you with every second you watched Max from the hotel television. He was just so good at his job and such a cool, wonderful person and athlete. How could you keep up with him? The press would be insistent and non-stop invasive. Fans would, no doubt, dogpile on you as well, both warning to know everything about you as well as rip you apart. You start to wonder if there was a single positive of this for you.

The door slides open behind you and you can hear Max moving onto the balcony beside you. You don’t glance over, only moving your gaze away from the skyline as a mug is held in front of your face. You glance down at it, spotting the coffee inside before you grasp the mug out of his hands gently. The ceramic warms your hands, the steam from the liquid splaying across your face.

“There was only those little creamer pods,” Max hums as he takes a sip of his own mug, leaning against the bannister in front of you, “Hope that’s okay.”

You chew at your lip, taking a sip of your own mug, humming lightly as your gaze locks on his back, “That’s fine, thanks.”

You’d usually take your coffee with milk and a spoonful of sugar but you’d had enough gas station or hotel room coffee that you’d be able to survive with just the creamer pods.

You watch Max’s side profile as he stares out at the city, the sun bouncing off the edges and planes of his face and perfectly lighting up his eyes. You bask in quiet that settles between you, sipping at your coffee periodically. You don’t quickly forget the kindness of his gesture. Actually, the action stays in your head for longer than it probably should, mind running wild as you think about his motives.

You dismiss it, though, not wanting to linger on something that probably meant nothing.

“You coming to the race today?” Max turns around to face you, his back leaning against the rail he’d just been looking out over.

Your eyes trace him as he turns, evaluating his early morning form. As you look at this man, your friend, you think about the coffee in your hands. You think about the times he’d dogsat Apollo despite hating dogs, the days he’d come over just to keep you company when you were homesick, when he’d attempted to cook you soup when you’d been sick despite his complete inability to cook soup, you even think back to the first day you’d met when he’d helped you move in despite having known you for all of thirty seconds.

As all those memories passed through your mind, you suddenly remember why you’d agreed to do this in the first place.

“Yeah, I am,” you reply, taking a long sip of your coffee and hiding your grin as one of his own makes its way onto his lips.

————

That had been earlier that morning and know you were sat in Red Bull, watching as Max’s car passes the finish line in second. You’d been biting your nails the whole time, worry seeping through you. You weren’t the biggest formula 1 nerd but Max had forced you to watch enough old races for you to get what was going on. You’d even started watching his races when he was gone, something that had taken you months to admit.

Because of Max’s insistence, you knew enough to grimace as the safety car came out. You were right to grimace, of course, as Lando was quick to pass your friend, taking the lead and the win. Max, for what it’s worth, didn’t seem too angry about the result. You were aware of Landos lack of wins, seeing why his winning would make everyone happy, even the losers. Not that you were too happy, you’d only ever and only ever would cheer for Max, even if Lando was deserving of a win of his own.

Max doesn’t get asked about you during interviews. At least, not directly. He gets asked how life had been and he answers with a vague answer about love and how great life has been. You know he’s talking out of his ass but you’re grinning anyway, not able to hold back you mind from thinking about a world where everything he was saying was true.

“Landos gonna have a big celebration,” Max starts as he gets back to you after the podium, walking you both back toward his room so he can change, “He’ll probably be awake for the next 72 hours.”

You smile lightly, resting a tired head against his sweaty shoulder, “Good for him, seems like he really deserves it.”

Max nods with a pleasant look on his face, “Yeah, I’m not even that mad about losing. Nothing I could’ve done really. Im just glad he got his win.”

You nod, taking a breath in order to hold back the yawn threatening to leave your mouth, “You should go to his party, I’ll just go grab some dinner and head back to get some sleep.”

You both stop as you reach his room, Max facing you as he leans back against the door to open it. You notice the deep furrow in his eyebrows as he locks eyes with you, “What are you talking about?”

You furrow your own eyebrows as a response, tilting your head to the side, “You should go celebrate with your friend? Go have fun, Max!”

He shakes his head as he enters the room, quickly gathering his things to go take a quick shower, “Why would I celebrate a loss with a coworker when I can get some quality time with a friend instead? I’d rather celebrate a win with you instead of a loss without you. Trust me, you’ll be there to see me win.”

You’re already at a loss for words at his response but your rendered speechless as Max pulls his fireproofs off, tossing the shirt to the side passively. He turns away from you and you watch his muscles ripple under his skin, your face hearing greatly. His arms flex as he reaches for something and you have to bite your lip to keep your mouth closed. Your eyes are wide as he turns to glance over his shoulder at you, “That okay?”

At the risk of sounding like an idiot if you attempt to respond with words, you simply nod, eyes moving toward the floor. You don’t notice the smirk that forms on his lips as he catches your stare.

“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave,” he calls out over his shoulder as he walks into his bathroom. Your eyes are still locked onto the floor. You hear the sound of water pattering against the floor just after the door shuts.

You take a large sip of your water bottle, trying to wet your drying throat and keep the heat in your face at bay. You feel like you might be going crazy, the image of Max’s shirtless back etched into your mind.

Jesus Christ.

————

“What do you wanna watch?” Max mumbles through a mouth full of pizza, his hand coming up to covering it as he speaks.

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

Max shrugs as well, grabbing the remote off the nightstand and passively flickering through the channels as he swallows his bite of pizza, “Come get some food.”

He gestures toward the box of pizza on the edge of his bed with the remote, glancing toward you sitting in your own bed, watching him instead of the tv. You slide off the bed, taking the few steps it takes to get to his own and gently settling on the side he wasn’t currently sitting on.

Max watches you move, humming as you grasp a piece from the pizza box before he turns his attention back to the screen. You don’t notice as he settles on a movie, too busy trying not to absolutely scarf down the food in your hand.

Your eyes do leave the slice to glance over at Max, legs outstretched with his back firmly against the headboard. He’s wearing a Red Bull hoodie, even managing to wear team merch in his own bedroom. He’s also got some old basketball shorts, a faded logo sitting on the upper thigh that, no matter how much you try, you can’t understand.

You look away when you hear the familiar sound of Lightning McQueen echoing out of the television speakers. You quickly catch sight of the Italian formula car, deducing that Max has chosen Cars 2, of all movies.

You try your best not to laugh but a giggle escapes you anyway, causing you to bury your head in your shoulder to try and hide your grin.

“What?” Max asks you and you look forward again, eyes locked onto the movie, “What’s so funny?”

Your head turns toward the driver who’s grin is now matching your own, “You chose probably the only movie on here that uses the words “Grand Prix” can’t even get away from racing in your hotel room.”

He feigns offense for a few moments before reaching forward to grab another piece of pizza and sliding down into more of a lying position, “It’s a good movie.”

You both turn to the screen for a few moments but the second Lewis Hamilton’s voice rings out in the silence, you laugh loudly, Max groaning beside you.

You quickly dissolve into giggles, trying your hardest to reign it in but when you look over and see the amused frown on Max’s face, you’re right back into it again, Max laughing in response.

You both do eventually settle down, watching the movie and eating your food together. Even after the pizza box is empty and max moves to set it on the table, you don’t move from your spot, using the reasoning that it’s just easier to see the screen from his bed.

You try not to notice the proximity between you. You’d been holding hands all day and you’d pressed several kisses to his cheeks and forehead, being near him shouldn’t bother you. But when you shift slightly closer just to get more comfortable and Max’s arm falls down over your shoulder, you freeze, keeping as still as you can.

He doesn’t move his arm through the rest of the movie. Not that you’d know, considering you drift off with about half an hour to go. But Max doesn’t notice that either, considering how he fell asleep just after.

You wake up before him again the next morning, don’t the same thing you’d done the day before and walking out to the balcony. Max does the same thing he did as well, walking out with two mugs grasped gently in his grip.

When you take the mug from him, you try not to think about the fact you’d woken up limbs tangled with his and your face pressed into his chest.

————

The São Paulo Grand Prix.

It had been 6 months of this charade with Max. That’s right, you’d managed to suffer through 6 whole months of pretending to be his girlfriend. There’s been countless headlines from various news sites, trying their best to figure out every single detail about your life and relationship with Max.

The only thing keeping your mind together was the root of the problem himself and your prolonged roommate, Max.

He was actually really lovely. Every time you suggested a different room for his sake, you’d end up right where you were the week before, in a bed across from his. You’d also kept the same morning routine every day, waking up before Max and sitting out on the balcony until he brought coffee out for both of you.

He’d eventually gotten to a point where he sat in the chair next to you as opposed to standing up and leaning against the railing. There was still little conversation, though, you both enjoying the silence of an early morning instead.

This specific morning, you were watching the city of São Paulo move along below you. Goosebumps raised slightly as the wind-chilled November air nipped at the skin on your arms. The sun hadn’t completely rose yet and the previous nights rain had left the air colder than it should’ve been. You found yourself rubbing your hands over your arms and wishing you’d worn something other than a t-shirt.

The door slides open behind you and you take the mug as it’s placed in your eye line, grateful for the heat of the mug to warm up your cold hands. You lower your face toward the mug, letting the steam warm up your wind-chilled skin. You go to take a sip but it burns at your lips when you tilt the mug, causing you to set it down on the small table in order for it to cool for a few moments.

After you set it down, something lands in your lap. You look down, holding the item up and quickly recognizing it as one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies. You glance over at him but he’s still looking out over the city below, sipping passively at his mug of black coffee.

You look back down at the item of clothing, glancing between it and the owner for a few seconds before deciding to slip it on, your cold skin winning out over any reasonable thought that would tell you not to wear it.

The hoodies too big for you and it smells like Max but you don’t really seem to mind either of those things. Especially as your skin heats as the fabric passes over it.

Once you’ve got the hoodie on, you pick up your coffee again, blowing on it slightly to cool it down. You raise the cup to your lips, letting the warm liquid flow into your mouth.

You hum at the taste, quickly noticing that it tastes different than usual. You furrow your eyebrows, taking another sip. The oh-so wonderful taste that you’d missed so dearly over the past 6 months takes over your tastebuds. The taste of real milk and sugar.

You hum pleasantly, grasping the cup tightly. You glance over toward the man who’d handed you the drink, “Is this milk and sugar?”

Max glances toward you for a split-second before he looks back over the city, taking a sip of his own coffee, “Yeah, that’s how you like it, right? You always drink it like that back home.”

You ignore the jolt in your stomach when Max refers to the Monaco apartments as a shared home. You bite your lip with an affirmative hum, “Where’d you get milk and sugar?”

“Couldn’t sleep last night, went for a walk. There’s a corner store down the block and I picked some up,” Max says it casually, like it’s not the most considerate anyone had been of you, maybe ever.

You stare at him for a few moments, trying to ignore the warm feeling in your chest as you imagine him thinking about you enough to buy coffee ingredients the way you liked them.

As you sat outside, in his hoodie, sipping on the coffee he had made and handed to you, you finally accept what you’d been trying to deny for six months, if not longer.

You were in love with Max Verstappen.

You longed for the domesticity that was so present on mornings like these. You wanted to live this life with him all the time. You didn’t just want to fall asleep beside him after a race but you wanted to be able to press your lips against his when he won instead of the light touches you’d flutter against his cheek. You wanted to wear his hoodies all the time, not just when you were cold and forgot one of your own. You wanted to stop pretending in front of his friends. You wanted the hushed whispers to be sweet nothings instead of scheming and planning.

You wanted this life with him. All the time.

“Max-” you start but you’re quickly cut off by Max as he speaks instead.

“My ex is going to be at this race,” he states and you close your mouth, deflating slightly as you look away, “Just wanted to prepare you in case we run into her. You could also, um, probably stop coming once you scare her off.”

You nod meekly, taking a sip of your coffee. What had once been your idea of a sanctuary with the silence of the morning is now too quiet, allowing your thoughts to be the only noise in your head, images of Max’s ex rolling around aimlessly.

You stand up quickly, taking rushed steps back into the room. You down the last sips of your coffee and slide it onto the table, moving hurriedly around the room to gather your things for a shower. You vaguely notice Max walking back into the room with a confused look but you don’t even look up as you rush into the bathroom, “I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay?” Max says as you close the door behind you. You don’t notice the frown on his face as he disappears from view.

You’re too busy throwing off his hoodie and turning the shower to practically scalding heat, trying your hardest to rid yourself of thoughts about a life with Max, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend or thoughts about the stupid coffee he’d handed you and how stupid you were to be reading so much into it.

For a moment there, you’d thought that Max was enjoying this as much as you were. But his words were quick to remind you that you were only there to do a favour for him. He is only there to get his friends and his ex off his back. After that, you were free to go. It even vaguely sounded like Max didn’t want you to come back around the next weekend.

Why else would he have said that? Why else would he have suggested you stop coming? Especially just after talking about his ex. It was a stark reminder that you were only a tool for him to mess with his ex. She was the one he’d loved, you were just a girl he knew.

You stay under the scalding water long enough for the mirrors to fog and your fingertips to prune. Your cuticles sting from where the hot water had made its way into the raw skin, the cuts still fresh from where you’d been anxiously picking at them.

You only pull yourself from the water when you start to sway from the heat, your head going light and an ache echoing through your skull.

————

A few hours later, you’re by Max’s side again, although there’s a slightly larger distance between you than usual.

That would change soon, no doubt, when Max spotted his ex, pulling you close to attempt to show his devotion to your fake relationship.

But for now, you're an arms-length away, hoping that pushing him away would also push away your own feelings.

Max can't grasp even an idea as to why you were acting like this. Did you really want this to be over that badly? He knew he'd mentioned the idea of your… situation ending but he didn't think you'd be this eager to get away from him.

At the first camera flash, you take a step closer to Max, knowing how even the smallest hint of discontent between you would be twisted for headlines and it would end with your concerned mother calling you fifty times to check on your relationship after seeing an article on Facebook.

So you step closer, reaching over to intertwine your hands. Max doesn't resist and you try not to read into the gentle squeeze he replies with.

Brazils nice. Or at least, you assume. You'd been too distracted to take much notice. But you do notice the fans yelling from all around. Lively crowds sway and shout in the distance, hues of blue and black and orange all represented amongst the groups.

Max leads you through the paddock, determination clear in his steps. It was most likely just his own determination not to talk to anyone, especially a certain ex-girlfriend.

You both get to Red Bull without an unwanted interaction and the second you're out of the public eye, you're dropping his hand, none the wiser to the confused look on the driver's face.

The tension's palpable in his small room. Awkward conversation flows, your words biting and curt. Neither of you wants to address the obvious undertones your words contain. One of hostility and unshared secrets. But you manage to survive until Max has to leave to get ready for the race and you follow just a few minutes later, making your way to watch said race.

The race is fine. Max wins, but you were never in doubt about that. He was starting from pole, it'd be pretty hard for him to lose. Lando finished just a few seconds behind him, having closed the gap a bit after getting past George.

As the team starts to leave to go greet Max, Christian Horner pulls you along, saying something about Max wanting you at the barrier after the race. You're sure its just so he can put on a show for his ex.

But you follow along anyway, trying not to stumble in your heels as Christian walks along a lot faster than you'd want to.

You pass through other teams and friends and guests or the drivers, waving slightly at people you’d gotten to know over the past six months. The thought of not seeing any of these people again after you and Max faked a breakup made your stomach hurt but you ignore it, trying to tell yourself it was for the better.

When Christian reaches the team, he guides you both through the crowd, smiling politely at the engineers as he slides by.

It seems you both reach the barrier just in time, as Max is parking when you come to a stop. You watch as he pulls himself out of the car, cheering a bit to the fans around as he stands atop it. When he pulls off his helmet and balaclava, you try your hardest not to smile at the pure joy on his face.

He glances over his shoulder at something you can't see before he turns and catches your eye, quickly moving in your direction. Before you can even say a word, he's set his helmet down and wrapped both his hands around the sides of your face, pulling it toward his own. His lips are warm, the heat of the race still emanating off of him. You dismiss the sweat in his hair as you wrap a hand softly around the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his locks. Your other hand rests on the side of his face, your thumb tracing the marks his helmet had left around his eyes.

You pull away first, glancing up into his eyes with a gentle smile, “Good job, you did amazing Max.”

His face heats and he glances away with a light chuckle, “Thank you, baby. I'm glad you're here.”

You wish he'd stop calling you that. At least for the sake of your heart jumping in your chest every time he does.

He looks away but your eyes are still firmly locked on the side of his face, tracing the familiar path around his features that they'd forged over the past six months. The same path they took every morning when you watched him look out over whatever city you were in that weekend. The same path they took when he fell asleep first during a movie in hopes of memorizing every detail before you slunk back into your own bed to fall asleep, the image of his face still etched into your mind.

But as you stare up at Max, trying to memorize the puzzle pieces of his face while he talks to Christian, you realize how futile of an endeavour it is. Not matter how hard you try, you'll never get the slope of his nose just right in your memories. You'll never get the right shade of turquoise for his eyes. The sandy-dark-blond of his hair will fade away until it was nothing in your mind but the shade of your coffee in the morning instead of the colour of his hair.

Maybe you should find a different apartment. Surely, Monaco had a different apartment complex that was far enough away from Max to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts of him that constantly plagued your love-adled brain.

Throughout all of that, you’d almost forgotten you were in love with him.

But when Max turns back to you, a glint in his eyes and a bright smile gracing his lips, you're suddenly all too aware of that fact.

“I’ll see you in a minute, yeah?”

You nod, smile slowly drifting as he walks away to get weighed and do all the usual post-race theatrics.

Christian pats his hand on your shoulder firmly, smiling as you turn around, “Let’s get to the podium, kid.”

You let Christian lead you away, yet again making his way through the crowd to get you both to the front.

The podium celebration is cute, Max’s happiness practically contagious. Lando and George are enthralled as well, the Brits both happy to back on the podium once again.

But when Max leans over to spray the champagne on the team, you put your hands over your face as Christian laughs beside you, both of you trying to avoid the sticky liquid as much as possible.

You peel away from the crowd after Max walks off, trying to find your way to wherever Max had gone.

As you'd left, you'd wandered away from Christian, who knew the paddock much better than you did. This was your first time here and you found yourself looking around for any sign of the Red Bull driver or, at least, a familiar face who could point you in the right direction.

It takes you a few minutes to gain your bearings but when you hear the familiar sound of Max’s voice, you go that direction, turning a corner to see his face.

And you do see him, post-race glow and all. But it's not just him you find. Standing entirely too close to him with her hand resting on his shoulder, is Max’s ex-girlfriend. She's smiling warmly, nodding animatedly at whatever it is Max is saying. Which, from constantly talking to him, you know is not worth the reaction she's giving him.

He's glancing around, clearly not comfortable with the situation. You huff, looking around before conceding and walking over to the pair. Were you maybe taking your time a little bit? Yeah, but you really didn't want to do this.

You roll your eyes when you catch Max’s eye and a relieved look rolls over his face, “Hey, baby.”

Max uses your arrival as an excuse to take a step back, swinging his arm around your shoulder. He's still covered in champagne and sweat but you ignore it, “Hey, Max.”

You finally glance up to meet the eye of the woman in front of you, her eyes narrowed as she looks between you, “Oh my god, hi! You must be Max’s ex!”

She rolls her eyes before smiling tightly with a nod of her head, “Yeah, I am. You must be his new girlfriend.”

You hum affirmatively, smiling wide as you glance over to the man beside you, “I am, yeah. He's just so perfect. We’re so happy together!”

She narrows her eyes again, glancing you up and down before her eyes stop on your face. You roll your head to the side to rest your temple on his shoulder, resting one of your hands against his chest.

“Well, I’m happy you moved on, Max,” She says, turning her entire attention to the man in question, “You seem… perfect together.”

Max gleams, nodding as he leans in to kiss your cheek, “Yeah, I’m really happy.”

His ex chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before huffing and moving away, turning to shout over her shoulder as she walks away, “Have a great life, Max!”

“Thanks, I guess!” Max replies, laughing as soon as the woman is out of earshot. He pulls away from your side, turning to fully face you.

“Thank you!” Max cheers, grasping your shoulders with his hands, “Did you see her face? She was so pissed that I'd moved on.”

You hum, letting him be happy by himself while you stood quietly, “Yeah, you're welcome.”

You peel away from Max, turning to go back to the car park so you can leave. You don't say anything to Max before you walk away, leaving him to jog to catch up to you.

“You okay?” He asks once he's by your side again. You glance over, catching the concerned look on his face.

“Yeah,” you nod curtly, looking back ahead, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

He doesn't seem convinced but he leaves it be, turning away as well.

He pretends not to notice when you coincidentally step away after he tries to grab your hand.

While Max debriefs, you text one of your friends to ask if you could stay with her for a few days when you got back to Monaco. After this fake relationship was over, you needed to get away from Max for a while just to try and push away the growing feelings you have for the Dutch man.

And with the departure of Max’s ex, you'd served your purpose and you could finally get out of Max’s life and give him the solitude he so longed for.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the only noise being the sound of your nails tapping against the screen of your phone. Max glances over periodically but you eventually set your phone down, choosing to stare out the window as the dark streets of Brazil pass by quickly.

When you get back to the hotel, you open the car door before Max can get it for you like he usually does. He sends you another glance, trailing passively behind as you walk in front of him. You both pass through the lobby and the elevator, your steps determined and much quicker than Max really wanted to be walking.

He's still riding the high of his win and the defeat of his ex-girlfriend but you're in your own mind, too sick to your stomach to be happy for him.

You pull out the spare room key when you arrive at the room, pressing it against the sensor before shoving the door open roughly, letting it fall against Max behind you who catches it.

You toss the key on the table by the door and set your phone down beside it. You still don't turn around as you throw the jacket he had let you borrow down on his bed.

"What is your problem?" You hear Max’s voice ring out in the otherwise quiet room. Annoyance paints his words, causing you to pause for a split-second.

"I don't have a problem." You say, cringing when you catch how much of a lie it sounds. You move on, though, pulling your suitcase out from under the bed and unzipping it.

Max scoffs, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, "Are you sure? Because it really feels like you do."

"It's nothing, Max." You reply sharply, walking into the attached bathroom, grateful to get away from his gaze for a second.

You come back out, your toiletry bag in hand. You set it down in your suitcase and stand up, walking over to the closet and pulling your clothes off the rack. The sound of the hangers hitting together echoes through your head, only contributing to the headache that had been growing since your revelation that morning.

Max finally catches onto what you're doing and speaks, his voice almost panicked, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"What, already? Why?" You try not to be swayed by the hurt in his voice, turning around and walking past him to set your clothes down in your case.

He follows you over, stepping closer as you stand up. You try and step past him but he puts his arm out, stopping you in your tracks. You concede with a sigh, finally looking him in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Max.”

"But it does! What's wrong?" You finally step past him, on your way to go gather the rest of your things but his question makes you turn your head as you walk away.

"Max! It doesn't matter!" You immediately regret how loud your voice is but this wasn't exactly the time to be thinking about the people next door.

Max shakes his head, following you as you walk toward the doot in order to grab your shoes, "No, no, no. You've been like this all day and I can't think of a reason why. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"

Your face twists, causing you to shake your head as you walk away, praying he wont follow you this time, "No, Max, that's not-"

He doesn't completely follow you but he does step a bit closer, shaking his head with a loud groan, "Then enlighten me! What could possibly happened in the past day that's making you act like this? Why are you leaving? Why won't you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be in this together! Why are you-"

"Because I'm in love with you, Max!" You shout, finally turning to face him as you say it, making eye contact with him for the first time since you'd walked in.

Silence falls between you and you toss your shoes down, covering your face with one of your hands. For a second, you think that Max might never respond, your stomach turning at the thought.

How hard could it be to find a different apartment in Monaco?

"What?" Max’s voice is soft and you look back to him, trying to will your frustrated tears not to fall.

"I'm in love with you! I fell in love with you and I know you don't feel the same. You only wanted me to do this to placate your friends and scare away your ex and now im getting out of your hair. I'm leaving you alone like you wanted in the first place,” Tears finally drip down your face and you don't bother to wipe them away, knowing there was only more where they came from. You look away as you explain, eyes locked onto the carpet beneath you, not wanting to face your embarrassment head-on.

"What are you talking about?" At Max’s purely confused tone, you look back to his face, teeth digging sharply into your bottom lip.

His face is soft, confusion etched into the furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips and you swallow, trying to rebuild the confidence you’d had at the start of your outburst.

The hotel room suddenly feels too cold, the air causing you to rub your hands over your shoulders in order to suppress the goosebumps that had started to rise. When you do speak again, your voice is soft, volume just above a whisper.

"This morning. You said I could stop coming after this race. And I did my job, I scared away your ex. You don't need me,” you trail off at the end of your statement, your voice breaking slightly as you shake your head, tears streaming out of your closed eyes and down your cheeks.

You expect Max to agree, to send you away, to end your friendship out of pure embarrassment after your decleration.

But he doesn't.

His voice is soft, just as yours was. His words are hushed but the emotion behind them seeps through every single word.

"I do, though. I do need you."

You look up, eyes widening at his statement. You can do nothing but stare as he steps closer, his hands grasping the sides of your face. Your own hands reach up to hold his wrists, just wanting to hold him someway.

He raises an eyebrow gently, quirking his head to ask for silent permission. You nod and its only a split-second before he's leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.

His hands cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, his kiss causing your brain to practically melt. You mold together, leaning as close to him as you can as your hold conveys months and months of pent-up and hidden emotions.

As he pulls away, your lips want to chase his but you hold back, your eyes flickering open as he leans his forehead against yours. Neither of your speak for a few moments, silence settling between the two of you ask you bask in the adoration between you.

Max’s hand drifts back to your jaw, his thumb drifting across your cheekbone passively. You see his eyes look up and you glance up as well, catching his sparkling gaze in yours.

“I love you,” the words tumble out of his mouth, falling smoothly out of the lips you oh-so wished he would press against your own once again, “I'm in love with you. I fell for you during this whole thing, everything about you.”

You go to respond but he cuts you off, shaking his head lightly.

“I only told you that you could stop coming because I thought you'd grown tired of all this,” he takes a deep breath before continuing, leaning slightly into your hand that had drifted into his hair, “But I'm kind of glad I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, quirking your head. Max pauses, allowing you the chance to admire every feature of his face, turning his freckles into constellations that you'd willingly stargaze in for hours. His hair is tousled from where your fingers had tangled in it and his lips are red from being pressed against yours. His teeth dig into said lip as he thinks before responding. You'd honestly be fine if he never finished his thought and you got to just look at him forever.

But he does finish his thought, the look in his eyes making your heart jump, "Because I don't want to pretend anymore."

You wait a moment, giving him the chance to take it back in case this was a joke, in case he didn't really mean it. But he doesn't take it back, he doesn't laugh.

And so you nod, "I want to do this with you for real, Max. I don't want to lie to anyone anymore, I want to celebrate with you after a race, not because people expect me to, but because I love you."

Max lights up, his face splitting into a wide grin at your words. Before you can react, his arms are around you and your feet are lifted off the ground as Max basically throws you onto the bed beside you.

Your laugh echoes through the hotel room, punctuated by the sound of Max flopping down next to you. You continue to giggle, glancing down to meet Max’s eyes, a special glint shining through.

You calm down after a few seconds as Max continures to gaze at you. When silence finally comes over you, Max leans up to rest on his elbows as you sit up slightly to look down at him.

“I love you too, by the way,” He says softly, “Dont know if you noticed.”

You hum, biting your lip to hold back your laugh, “I assumed so, yeah.”

You laugh as Max huffs, reaching a hand up to pull you down beside him, “Shut up.”

And you do, going quiet as your lips meet his. Later that night, as your both lying in bed, together this time, you fall asleep with your head against his chest, basking in the long-lastint but newly-confessed love between you.

The next morning, you wake up before Max, as you'd done so often. You slip out of his hold and pad over softly to the balcony, sliding on one of his hoodies before you open the sliding door.

You sink into one of the two chairs, looking out over the city of Sao Paulo as it slowly wakes up. The sun peeks out over the horizon, adding light to the previously dark morning.

Eventually, the door slides open behind you and you don’t even have to look to know it’s Max. But you look anyway, happy to take any chance to observe the man.

You take the mug from his offering hand, grasping the warm ceramic tightly. Max doesn’t walk over to the railing, instead moving toward the chair next to you. Before he sits down, he slides it over, pushing it as close to your chair as it could go. He sits down and you twist to sit sideways, leaning your legs over the arm of the chair. Max gently pulls your ankles over his chair to rest in his lap before he takes a long sip of his coffee.

You take a long sip of your own mug as well, letting the taste of the coffee coat your throat and warm your heart.

Milk and sugar, just the way you like it.

——————

Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

#scheduled #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #formula 1 #max verstappen x fem!reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader

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lemmesayimyourbiggestfan · 18 days ago

Note

frontman x reader whos a player but not because of debt but because she was investigating with gi-hun and ju-hon and got in the limousine and then in-ho falls in love with her and gets her out of the game with him like at the end of the season

can u also like not write it like a hate love relationship? like readers conflicted but still likes in-ho

Keeping you safe

Hwang In-ho x reader

hiii, pleasure writing your request! hope it’s the way you imagined :)

Word count: 3,3k

Warnings: violence, murder,…

Requests are open! i would also like to write something about Jun-ho or the salesman, so hmu

When you jumped into the limousine after Gi-hun you didn’t consider its consequences. Jun-ho trusted you to keep your eyes on Gi-hun at all costs and you were going to keep your word, even when it meant making yourself vulnerable.

The gas was sweet on your tongue and Gi-hun already slumped down on the plush leather of the limo seats. But you were wide awake, somehow defying sleep’s influence, shaking, still processing what the deep voice implied and Gi-hun demanded. “Put me in the game. But leave her out of it.”

Those words were followed by a dry laugh. You knew that meant there was no way out of it now. You started whispering into the intercom to Jun-ho, saying how sorry you were. His panicked voice was cut off by you turning off the device while you prepared yourself for the Frontman’s reaction, closing your eyes and taking shallow breaths.

“No. Those are my games and my rules. Might make them more interesting, don’t you agree, player 456?”

Then the gas started rising up from the floor. Gi-hun grabbed your hand, rumbling about how sorry he was. You smiled wearily, pressing his hand. “It’s okay, Gi-hun.” You both knew it wasn’t. It was as far from ‘okay’ as possible.

His fingers went limp and you resigned, waiting for the inevitable. With muted senses you watched the tinted protection shield go down. Behind it was the man in the mask himself, looking at you over his shoulder. Just when his gloved hand hovered over his mask, shrugging it off, you were engulfed in darkness.

***

After the first game, you thought that nothing could surprise you anymore. As much as Gi-hun tried to keep you from all the bloodshed, even he couldn’t cover your eyes and ears every time there was a gunshot. Still pale and shaken, digging dirt and blood from beneath your nails, you sat on your bed with the provided food in your lap, watching your surroundings. At least Gi-hun could be happy he found here his long lost friend, with whom he was now talking. You still didn’t speak to anyone else. You were scared that if you did, they would be dead by tomorrow.

You barely noticed there was any commotion until the sudden silence peaked your interest. There was a skirmish between three guys, two of them working together, which made the outcome of the fight quite obvious. There was another player stalking towards the group, trying to break up the fight.

“I said save the lecture for your own damn kids.” one of the guys shouted at him. That’s when you noticed the player’s still frame, like a cat before launching at its prey. And you were right; within a blink of an eye, he put both of the guys on their backs, not even breaking a sweat. You looked closer at him, reading the number 001 on his back. Even from afar you could see how deadly calm he was while choking one of them. After a moment the rage left his body and he released his grip. You didn’t expect the applause that followed his actions. You exchanged a look with Gi-hun. Were you the only one who sensed something foreboding?

You turned your attention back to the food in your lap and decided that even though you weren’t hungry, you desperately needed the energy. But in your mind, all you could think about was the player 001. Was he a police detective like Jun-ho or a former marine like Jung-bae or Dae-ho? Or something else entirely?

It took you a while to get out of your head and notice that his bed was right next to yours. With a sigh, player 001 sat down, grabbing his unfinished food. Just then he noticed your searching look and gave you a tentative smile.

“Hello, sir,” you began, looking down at your hands. A sudden wave of nervousness came over you. “I’m Y/N. Do you mind telling me your name?”

“No bother, Y/N,” he replied and you stared at his lips, at how perfectly they formed your name. “I’m Young-il. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you grinned at him in response, holding out your hand that he tentatively shook.

“Nice moves there,” you pointed your chin to the middle of the dormitory where the fight took place. “You could teach me if you had time, I’m terrible in combat.” A lie. Jun-ho himself taught you how to hold yourself and how to hold a gun. You were just trying to find out who Young-il was.

“If we have time, yes.” he nodded absentmindedly, scooping up a mouthful of rice.

“Do you mind me asking? I was just wondering if you have any children.” you said carefully.

“No, I don't.” Young-il replied, suddenly his gaze sharp.

“Well, I just thought that, based on your reaction to what that other player told you-“ you searched for the answer in his closely guarded expression. “You lost your child, didn’t you?”

Young-il didn’t say anything to that, his cutlery going limp in his hand.

“I just- I’d know that look anywhere. I know it’s not something to bond over,” you gave a startled laugh, fidgeting under his everlasting gaze, “but if you’d like to talk about it-“

“Thank you.” He reached out and squeezed your hand. His touch was calloused and warm. “I mean it.”

You smiled softly, squeezing his fingers in response. “I know.”

Preparing yourself for lights out, you couldn’t ignore his lingering gaze following your movements. Thankfully Gi-hun approached you and sat next to you on the bed, guilt visible in his expression.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to drag you into this. And I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe-“

“Don’t worry about that, sir. I can take care of myself. Anyways, I was only following Jun-ho’s orders. It had nothing to do with you.”

Unconvinced, Gi-hun sighed and moved to his own bed, not having the energy at the moment to argue with you. You finally lay down, moving the thin blanket over your body, curling up on your side.

“I overheard you talking about Jun-ho, and I couldn’t help but notice how familiar that name sounds to me,” Young-il broke the silence, looking at you with curiosity in his eyes.

“Well, he used to work as a police detective so that’s why you might know him.”

“Oh, yes, that might be possible,” Young-il gave you a restrained smile. “And he is to you-?”

“A friend. I used to work as a secretary in his department, that’s all.” you smiled back.

“Oh, sorry to pry.” he looked at his hands.

“Not at all.” He looked into your eyes and your eyes crinkled with another smile. Only when he looked away did you turn around in your bed. A few minutes later you heard Gi-hun and Young-il talking and even though you didn’t want to, it was impossible to not overhear. Young-il was explaining the story of why he’s in the games and why he chose to continue playing - how his pregnant wife was gravely ill and he needed the money due to her medical bills. Somehow, this answer shocked you, even though you shouldn't have been thrown off by it. Of course he was married.

Only after the whole dormitory fell silent did you finally fall into a fitful sleep.

***

“Thank you, Young-il.” you whispered to him, gratefully touching his shoulder. Young-il turned his gaze your way and the corners of his eyes crinkled under the influence of a smile. Only his supportive words during the six legged pentathlon could calm you down, which resulted in you successfully completing your mini game. The memory flashed through your mind - tears welling in your eyes, hands shaking as you reached again and again for the gong-gi pebbles. You could sense your teammates’ growing unease but that even worsened your situation. After the third attempt, Young-il grabbed you by the elbow, leaning closer as he said: “Ignore everything else okay? Just listen to me and focus.”

You nodded, bewildered eyes setting again on the pebbles. You were kneeling in a puddle of blood, which didn’t exactly help calm your nerves.

“Just concentrate. I know you can do it. Look at you, all flushed red and focused. This look suits you.” The pebbles balanced on the knuckles of your hand, just one more throw. You looked up at Young-il, lips slightly parted. Were you hearing correctly? Maintaining eye contact, you threw the pebbles op with a sudden surge of confidence and caught them flawlessly. Everyone cheered and you were hoisted up by your team, but all you could hear were Young-il’s last words whispered in your ear: “Good girl.”

Now he was looking at you, this new tension between you two palpable.

“Anytime.”

***

While you tried to act nonchalant, it was just impossible. The way Young-il now watched you at all times drove you crazy, feeling his gaze like a branding on your body. You were grateful for keeping a watch during the lights off, thinking that it could distract you from your own dirty thoughts. But it was quite the contrary.

Overlooking the silent dark room, those words echoed in you even more soundly. Good girl. With a sigh you stretched out your legs, trying to ignore the tightness in your underbelly. You were annoyed with yourself. Why did the words of a stranger make you feel this way? Words of a married stranger, more like it.

“You seem distracted.”

You jumped at that impassive raspy voice. Thankfully, once Young-ho sat down next to you, he couldn’t notice your flushed cheeks due to the impassable darkness. Your shoulders touched and to your surprise he didn’t immediately move away.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” you smiled with your head bowed, nearly chuckling at how clueless he must be.

There was an awkward silence following your reply, so, without thinking about it, you said: “Thank you again for today, truly. You helped me a lot.”

Young-il looked at you, searching for something in your expression. Apparently he found it. “You think about that a lot, don’t you?”

“Sorry?” you stumbled over your words, not knowing how to react, what to say.

“My words alone made you quiver. Now imagine what my tongue could do.” he whispered, teasing you, a spark in his eyes.

“Young-il-“ you breathed out, suddenly aware of how close his face was to yours. You felt your underwear getting wetter by the minute. But you put that all in the back of your mind as you said: “I know you are married. Expecting a child, even. You shouldn’t say things like that.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Does that bother you? Or are you bothered by the effect I have on you?”

You sighed, looking away from his handsome face. Was he sent here just to test your boundaries?

“I still have enough self control to know right from wrong.” But your body wasn’t in line with your thoughts.

Young-il stared at you for a moment, then sighed, irritated. “My wife and my child are gone. I just don’t enjoy talking about them in past tense. I joined the games out of misery, nothing more. Are you happy now?”

You froze, looking at the way his arms formed into fists at his sides. It was like having ice cold water poured all over you.

“Young-il, I’m so-“

“Don’t be. It’s been a long time.” Eyes meeting, he smiled at you tentatively. You squeezed his warm hand and he relaxed, loosening his fist.

“Right now, I don’t care about anything but you.” He caressed your cheek with the back of his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Moving closer, he kissed the bruise already blossoming on your jaw. And you let him.

“I don’t want to scare you away with my… infatuation. But right now, I’m so desperately weak for you.” Your breathing hitched as he moved his lips to your ear.

Just when you thought he would kiss you, he suddenly pulled away.

“I’ll take over the watch. You should sleep, muster some energy for tomorrow.” You nodded as if in a trance. He helped you stand up and led you to your bed. Young-il left you standing there, leaving only the whisper of his lips branding your cheek.

***

The third game was a whirlwind of movement. Only thanks to Young-il were you still alive and breathing. Every time a number was announced, he firmly grasped your wrist and dragged you with him wherever he went. Not that you were complaining - you were so overstimulated by all the commotion that you were glad you could keep up with him.

When one player tried to separate you from him, Young-il bared his teeth and kicked him square in the chest. “She’s mine,” There it was, the cold expression and clenched jaw. Even though you were on the brink of dying, a shiver ran down your spine.

You made it safe with your group into one of the rooms and soon were walking out to play the last round. You knew exactly what the woman’s voice was going to announce and you were right: “Two.”

Young-il was already moving, pushing people out of your way. Everything seemed to go smoothly, until you reached the room; a player was already inside.

“Get out.” Young-il growled and reached the man, trying to get him on his legs and out of the room.

“We were here first,” the player whimpered. You noticed other players running to the door you were standing next to and panicking, you closed it, pushing your whole body against it.

You looked over your shoulder at Young-il, wanting to see if he was any closer to pushing the player out through the doors. But you froze when you saw he was holding the man in a headlock, choking him. All you could do was stare.

Young-il was looking straight back at you. And with one smooth motion of his arms he broke the man’s spine, leaving him staring at the ceiling, going limp in Young-il’s grip.

“I’d do anything for you, Y/N.” Young-il said, slowly getting up. You couldn’t tear your gaze from the lifeless body on the ground.

Only when he knelt in front of you did your eyes meet his. He grabbed your cold, shaking hands, kissing the knuckles while staring into your eyes.

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“You poor thing,” Young-il said absentmindedly, wiping your tears away. “I can keep you safe, Y/N. I promise. All I’ve done was to prove that to you.”

“It’s scaring me how far you’re willing to go for me,” you sobbed, fighting the urge to flinch when he caressed your cheek. Still, you couldn’t find a reason to hate him. All the things he was saying were true, he did all of this for you, he killed a man for you, for your own safety.

The lock on the doors clicked and you closed your eyes, letting yourself be guided by Young-il out of the room. You knew that if you looked once more at the corpse, you would never let Young-il touch you again.

So you kept your eyes closed, choosing the easier path.

***

When the lights went out, all you could do was hold Young-il as hard as possible and count the minutes until the slaughter was over. Head against his chest, you concentrated on the sound of his heartbeat, every other sound pushed into the background. His hand was on your lower back, holding you as close as possible.

“I want to go home.” you whispered, clutching the front of his T-shirt like a small child. It was all a mistake. You shouldn’t be here.

“Okay, you will, okay? When we disarm the guards, you stay hidden, but once we take control of the rest, you have to come to my side, you understand?”

You nodded into his chest. Young-il kissed the crown of your head before leaving you under the bed as the guards tried to take control of the situation.

After many gunshots fired, you were crawling to the group of players formed in front of the main doors. Without hesitation you claimed one of the smaller guns for yourself. Somehow, the familiar weight of it calmed you down a bit. Young-il looked at you with tenseness.

“Keeping secrets, I see.” In reply you just loaded the gun, staring back.

Gi-hun looked your way over his shoulder, sending you a quick nod. The group exited the room, moving quickly down the corridor. Young-il stayed back, moving slower than the rest. Once the first guards got in your way, he pushed you to the side, saying: “This way!” Looking over your shoulder, everyone was shooting at the enemy, moving the other way. You looked back at him, unsure.

“You wanted to go home, didn’t you? Well, this is it.” seeing how indecisive you were, he sighed, “You trust me, don’t you?”

Hesitant, you followed his lead. You took the side stairs up and you got a bad feeling in your stomach. Young-il didn’t bother to check the corners, nor the other stories as you climbed the stairs. He walked like someone who knew this place, someone who wasn’t scared that he might be shot.

You stopped in your tracks, aiming your gun with a trembling hand. Young-il, upon noticing you were not following him, turned around. There was something like betrayal shining through his demeanour.

“You’re going to explain.” you said, trying to keep your voice and hand steady.

“Oh, Y/N, I think you already know.” Young-il pointed out, a corner of his lips curling up. He took one step towards you.

“What. Is. Your. Real. Name.” you said through gritted teeth, cocking your gun.

“Hwang In-ho.”

All this time, he was the long lost brother Jun-ho was trying to find. You felt the sting of betrayal in your bones.

“Was any of this real?” Tears stung in your eyes and you hated yourself for being so vulnerable.

“Oh, baby,” In-ho sighed, walking to you, kneeling in front of you again. The muzzle of the gun touched his forehead, which he seemed unbothered by.

“Everything.” he said, looking up at you.

“I keep trying to hate you,” you whispered, trying to muster at least some hatred that would make you pull the trigger. “It would be so much easier if I did.”

In-ho reached out and gently took the gun from your trembling hand. He threw in on the ground, making it slide on the floor.

“I know,” he whispered, grabbing your hips with his hands. He stared at you yearningly. There was a burning ache in your chest clawing its way into your throat.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“I can’t. And I don’t think you want me to either.”

The worst part was that he was right.

“I know I should stay away from you, but I can’t. It’s not that simple.” A sob tore out of your throat, making it hard for you to breathe. There were so many emotions in you that your head was spinning. All you knew was the fact that you couldn’t hate the one person who deserved it the most.

“Stay with me, love. I beg you,” In-ho said hoarsely, gripping you harder, trying to make you understand. “You will be safe with me. I will not break that promise.” His eyes were filled with hope. “You felt it too, I know.”

You closed your eyes, composing yourself and your thoughts. You knew it was wrong. But you always had a weakness for the forbidden.

In-ho stood up, taking your face in his hands. He kissed your forehead, your temples, your jaw. And when he kissed you on the lips, you let yourself melt into the touch, forgetting everything else.

“You’ll be the death of me.” you whispered against his lips and he smiled into the kiss, knowing you were his.

#hwang in ho x reader #in ho #in ho x reader #hwang inho x reader #inho x reader #front man #front man x reader #young il x reader #young il #squid game 2 x reader #squid game x reader #squid game 2 #squid game

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usuallydyinginside · 8 months ago

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TLDR: Francesca Bridgerton is Autistic. Fight me.

Okay so I did not go into Season 3 of Bridgerton expecting to have any feelings about Francesca Bridgerton. We have seen her only in glimpses in the show and I have not read the books, so I knew basically nothing about her before binging the first four episodes.

But guys. GUYS. I will die for this autistic queen.

Okay, so starting with first impressions. We know that on her big day, Francesca went out of her way to avoid her nosy, loud family by having a very early, quiet breakfast by herself and then calming down via playing the piano (clearly a special interest of hers).

In her first balls, we see Francesca light up any time she talks about music (clearly her current or forever special interest) but as soon as men try to take it to a flirting place she IMMEDIATELY shuts down. It's clear that even as she states very matter-of-factly that she plans to marry this season, she also is baffled and uncomfortable any time someone tries to actually, ya know, court her.

At one of her first shindigs, she got attention and then went up to her brother and (while making almost no eye contact) told him (rather than asked him) that she needed a sec.

She then sat by herself in the side of the ballroom.

Later on, she left a ball in search of quiet and solitude to fix her sensory overload, so she went outside this time. (A thing that we know from pervious seasons is a HUGE no-no, particularly unchaperoned. But she was very respectfully near the door so maybe that's fine?) The point is that she cares very much about staying respectable so she can get this marriage thing over with and get people to stop perceiving her, yet she risks some scandal by going outside just so she can be somewhere quiet alone.

Enter: this absolute (also autistic) Prince Charming.

He says hello (so she knows he's not like trying to sneak up on her in the dark like a creep) and then just stands there. 10/10, no notes, best way to flirt I have ever seen in my life.

Seriously just look at this. I'm in love. Never before has there been a greater sign of love at first sight than in this "standing politely five feet apart in total silence in the middle of a ball and enjoying each other's company."

I need to go watch these first four episodes about a hundred more times, but I THINK this might be the first sincere smile we see from Francesca??!? I at least got the impression immediately that this is the first time she's felt genuinely comfortable and happy while not entirely alone this season.

Like, these nerds did not even exchange names. They barely exchanged a word. Yet you can see them falling head over heels in love right there in that moment. I don't even LIKE love at first sight tropes and they have my whole heart. They are the only exception.

Then, of course, you have this second absolutely iconic Scene of Silence where the entire Bridgerton family stares in neurotypical confusion a these two amazing weirdos. The way these two do not know each other but they DO know each other. The way they are both so happy and so comfortable but also still playing the whole society game the way they were told they had to?? I just don't have words right now.

LOOK AT HER SMILE, GUYSSSSSSSS.

Look how happy this tiny, silent moment is making her. How she understands immediately what he's doing and is absolutely delighted to participate too even knowing her entire family is hardcore judging them from not that far away.

And then you get this smug little look from him and it's like you can see his autistic ass thinking, "Yes. I calculated correctly. This was the correct romance option. Gold star to me." (Okay, maybe that's just how my brain works but shhhhh)

Which, of course, brings us to this absolutely hilariously awkward ND attempt at flirting. We start off with some fairly normal "whoops, I'm flustered cause you make me nervous" sort of moments, but notice how little eye contact she makes. How she only looks in his eyes very briefly and it seems like she almost has to remind herself to do so when she's doing the "polite" answers (OR later when she's genuinely interested in a topic).

So as soon as Francesca is like "oh shit, I ruined it. I forgot how to neurotypical. It's over" then she loses patience with the practiced social niceties.

I spent like 30 minutes trying to find a GIF and I should already be asleep so I'm not going to go learn how to make one BUT I needed to look up exactly what happens next cause it's basically the most autistic thing I've ever seen.

WHICH IS that in response to the second awkward silence after Francesca shares all of this, John's response is, "That is helpful. If you'll excuse me."

Then dude bro just WALKS AWAY WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD.

Like it would be awkward anyway but now Francesca thinks she misread a social cue so she's feeling sad, and meanwhile this absolute king is over here on a romantic mission no one asked him to do because he is that set on showing her he's listening and cares.

The man shows up at the ball and as soon as he had a paper we were all screaming "he wrote her a song!!!"

Again, notice the eye contact (or lack thereof). I think with period dramas and women, it's easy to just go "oh she's just shy" or "she's just being demure like she's supposed to" but like NO. This girl does not want to meet anyone's eyes.

Until she does. Because in moments where she's talking about music or enjoying quiet, it's worth it to purposefully meet his eyes and see how he's feeling too. To make sure he can see she's happy.

ANYWAY, it was so much better than him writing a song for her.

SO. MUCH. BETTER.

Because he didn't just give her any ol' music. He sought out the music they'd specifically heard in the street, and he took her exact specifications on what was "wrong" with the music, and he FIXED IT. He then put the whole thing on sheet music and handed her a copy with no further explanation than this.

Our autistic lass was so excited she basically sprinted out of that ball so she could find a piano. (Which, the fact that she does this rather than try to stay and flirt/dance with the man who just gave her this incredible gift ALSO says a lot, just saying. Daphne could never.)

So our girl finds a piano and GUYS. LOOK AT HOW HAPPY SHE IS.

I'm pretty sure this woman would accept a proposal right this second. Maybe make one herself. She is so head over heels in love with this man that it's absurd. We have watched her mask in these first four episodes, but the last two where she's interacting with John are the first times she seems genuinely happy and like the real her is shining through.

Like, does she enjoy her family? Sure. But it's obvious (and she even tells us) that she finds them overwhelming and generally to be A Lot. But these scenes? This gesture?

You can just get how seen she feels. How weird and wild and amazing it is to her that this man can see who she actually is and wants to join her there instead of making her play some part of the perfect Bridgerton who likes to be the center of attention.

(And even here - the EYE CONTACT. She glances at people when she's talking to them, but the way she looks at the sheet music is so much more intense and intimate and personal than anytime she's looking at the average person in the show. She still even in places she's most comfortable, such as sitting at the piano, makes very little eye contact and only at very specific moments.)

Anyway I'm going to sleep now but I'm sure I'll add more thoughts as they come to me. Feel free to add your own case for why Francesca is autistic and/or otherwise neurodivergent. I want to hear allllllll the thoughts.

#francesca bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton s3 #john stirling #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton season three #Francesca is Autistic #Autism #Autistic

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whytheylosttheirminds · 3 months ago

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Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 7

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 6.7k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! non-descriptive mentions of vomit

A swing and a miss, again.

Rafe’s game was all over the place, he hadn’t been able to focus in batting practice all week, and now it was the bottom of the ninth in Academy’s rivalry match against Kildare County. He was down in the count when he asked the ump for a timeout.

He had resisted the urge to look in the stands the whole game, afraid he knew what he would find, or rather, what he wouldn’t.

You usually sat behind the dugout, wearing his old jersey that he’d given you after his record-breaking freshman season, and his number in black eyeliner on either cheek. Sometimes, it would take a few days for it to wash off, and you’d show up to school with the hint of his number still faded on your skin.

No one - not his coaches, not his teammates, certainly not his father - could read him like you could. Sometimes he’d pop his head out of the dugout between innings so you could tell him his swing was a few seconds too early for the pitcher’s fastball, or that he needed to stop chasing the backdoor slider. You were never wrong.

They’d tease him in the dugout, tossing sunflower seeds at him and taunting, “what is she, your hitting coach or your wife?” Then he’d ignore you for a few innings, though he almost never got on base without checking in with you first.

Your absence from this game was glaring, one of those same teammates taunting, “can someone please get Cameron’s hitting coach on the phone for fuck’s sake?” after his third strikeout.

He’d brushed it off, but now the game was on the line, and he realized he’d endure any amount of teasing if it meant looking up and seeing you in the stands.

He stepped out of the batter’s box, took a deep breath, and craned his neck to your usual seat, hands gripping the bat tighter when his fear was confirmed - it was empty.

He struck out, and they lost the game.

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It’s actually about to happen, the moment you’d wished for on every star, every eyelash, every birthday candle since you were six years old. The moment you never thought would actually come. You’ve played this scene in your mind a million times, what your first kiss with Rafe would be like. None of the many versions took place in an alley behind a Florida nightclub, but none of them were real either, so now was not the time to be picky.

Rafe’s thumb was still lingering on your bottom lip, the rest of his long fingers caressing your jaw.

“Can I? Please?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, dimples creasing his cheeks so handsomely, and leaned in. You realized you were holding your breath as you awaited the first brush of his lips against yours.

It never came. The door to the club slammed open, making you both jump. Your already thumping heart flew to your throat as Kelce stumbled out the large metal door.

“Woah, sorry,” he jumped back, smirking at the sight of you and Rafe pulling away from each other quickly.

“What could you possibly need from me right now?” Rafe said, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed in warning.

“I came out here to find her,” Kelce pointed at you. “So calm your ass down.”

“What is it, Kelce?” You asked gently, hand on Rafe’s arm to hold him back as he started stepping menacingly toward his friend.

“Something’s wrong with Carter,” Kelce said.

“What?!” Your face flooded with concern, you started toward the club, and Rafe didn’t stop you, knowing the sound of your sister’s name dashed any hope he had of keeping you in this alleyway.

“What happened?” You asked Kelce as you brushed past him back into the crowded club, Rafe following behind the two of you.

“I don’t know, she got into an argument with Top and then she stormed off,” Kelce shouted over the thundering music as he struggled to keep up with you.

You scanned the whole club, but couldn’t find her, just Topper ranting emphatically to Tom in the corner, and Sabrina and Maddie on either side of the bathroom door, trying to talk to someone on the other side.

Kelce and Rafe were lost to the crowd as you beelined toward the bathroom, forcefully pushing angry clubbers out of the way to get there. You didn’t care, you were locked-in on finding your sister.

“Is she in there?” You asked as you approached the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Maddie confirmed, looking worried, and a little queasy. “But she won’t let anyone in.”

“She’s so wasted it’s crazy,” Sabrina added with a hiccuping giggle.

You ignored her lack of concern for your sister and banged loudly on the door.

“Car? It’s me,” you shouted, “you gotta let me in, alright? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

After a moment, and the thought that you’d break this fucking door down if that’s what it took, the handle finally turned. She opened the door just a crack to let you slip through, and closed it back firmly behind you.

Sabrina wasn’t wrong, Carter’s intoxication was written all over her face. Flushed, clammy skin and bloodshot eyes. She threw her arms around you, squeezing tight enough to knock the wind out of you.

“What happened? Are you okay?” You asked nervously.

Before you got an answer, she was on her knees in front of the toilet bowl. You rushed to grab her hair and hold it back, getting it all out of the way with just seconds to spare before she got sick.

Thinking through the day's events, you realized no one had eaten much before you left the house, and you knew this group well enough to know it didn’t take much for them to get hammered. What you didn’t know was that while you were distracted with Rafe, the rest of your group was in the club throwing back drinks and racking up tabs like the world was ending.

Rafe was having a similar realization out on the floor, trying to wrangle everyone to the front door where he had a pair of cabs waiting. He physically dragged Topper away from the bar as he demanded another drink, the bartender shouting that he was cutoff. He led Maddie and Sabrina away from some sketchy looking guys who were inviting them back to their house boat, which they proudly advertised held gallons of their homemade moonshine. He stopped Tom from sucker punching a guy who booed when the DJ played a Drake song. He lost Kelce twice.

Once he had finally corralled everyone into the cars, he convinced the drivers to hold up so he could come back and find you. He stood by the bathroom door until you appeared behind it, jumping at the sight of him standing so close.

“I got cabs waiting,” he yelled over the music, eyeing Carter sprawled out on the dirty bathroom floor behind you.

“I can’t get her up,” you told him defeatedly, eyebrows knit together with worry. “She’s not doing good.”

Rafe brushed past you without a word or a second thought, and leaned down to scoop Carter up with ease, fireman carrying her out of the club like your own personal Superman. You followed closely on his heel, feeling guilty that you were thinking about how strong his shoulders looked and not how concerned you were for your sister.

You opened the door so he could lower her into the first cab, which only had enough seats left for you and her. Once you slid in behind her, leaning her head against Maddie, who was already dozing off with her forehead pressed on the window, Rafe made sure you were settled before closing the door.

He motioned for you to roll down the window, ducking down so he could lean on it.

“Yo Rafe let’s go man!” Topper yelled from the cab behind you before Rafe could speak.

“Give me a fucking second!” He yelled back.

Forearms against the window sill, he leaned in close enough so only you could hear.

“Just, um, don’t stop thinking what you were thinking in the alley.”

Your lips twisted into a smirk, “couldn’t if I tried.”

He gave you a wink before hurrying back to the other cab.

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You didn’t stop thinking about it. You didn’t stop when the cab driver took the wrong turn and made the trip twice as long as it should’ve been. You didn’t stop when Carter asked the driver to pull over every five minutes so she could hurl on the side of the interstate. You didn’t stop when you finally got Carter up to her room, ranting incoherently about her argument with Topper. You didn’t stop as she kneeled in front of the toilet bowl again and you held her hair back, attempting to soothe her with gentle shushes.

You should’ve been focused on your sister and the awful night she was having, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the shape of Rafe’s mouth.

The thing that finally pulled you from your thoughts of him was a sight you hadn’t seen in almost a decade; Carter started to cry.

Carter never cried, she was your rock, the shoulder for you and all her friends to cry on. She didn’t cry when she fell off the monkey bars in third grade and broke her arm, or when she was rejected from her dream school, or even when your parents got divorced. But here she was, on the cold tile of the Airbnb bathroom floor, bawling.

“Hey, hey, woah,” you said, alarm ringing in your mind as you rushed to sit beside her on the cold tile floor. “What’s going on?”

“I’m such a mess,” she gasped between sobs.

“Well, for starters we need to get you a makeup wipe,” you countered.

“No I mean, like, emotionally,” she wiped her tears with the backs of her hands, only for a new round of drops to fall and further streak her mascara down her skin.

Your sister spent her life running from difficult emotions. It was something you tried to gently point out to her many times, but she’d typically push it away with a sarcastic joke or just ignore you altogether.

You started therapy about a month after you got to college, taking the university health center up on its free psych eval offerings for freshmen. You’d shown up to your therapist’s office every Wednesday at 2:30 since then, religious about not missing a session.

You recommended Carter do the same, but she’d just brush you off with a teasing, “nah I don’t need all that, I’m supposed to be the normal one, remember?”

Taking the hint, you stopped bringing it up after a few months. But now, with Carter’s tears pooling on the floor of this Airbnb, you wished more than ever that she’d listened to you.

“Well, that’s okay,” you gently brushed the hair from her shoulder. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

Carter laid her head on your criss-crossed lap and let the tears fall harder. You rubbed her back and continued to reassure her all was going to be okay, waiting until the tears began to slow and her breathing steadied to broach the subject again.

“Do you want to…” you swallowed, preparing for her to brush you off again, “do you want to talk about it?”

She was quiet for a long moment, you sighed in acceptance that she would pick the ignoring you route this time.

Then, in a small, feeble voice, she whispered, “it’s too scary.”

“What is?” You whispered back, hand resting on her arm for comfort, praying she wouldn’t get spooked and would keep talking.

“Loving him,” she confessed.

Your heart nearly burst. You didn’t need to ask who she was talking about.

“Topper, you mean?” you responded.

She nodded slowly, “it was easier when I didn’t love him. I’m supposed to be leaving in a week. I’m supposed to be on to my next big thing, and all I can think about is what the best time to facetime him is if I’m six hours ahead. I should be thinking about me, but all I want is him, and that’s fucking terrifying.”

The thought sent her into another round of sobs, tears soaking the skirt of your dress.

“I know it feels scary, and new,” you tiptoed to your point, “but…have you ever really not loved him?”

She thought over your words, but the alcohol and drama of the evening was starting to pull her into a restless sleep.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she mumbled, half-asleep already. “So much.”

“Let’s just get you into bed, yeah?” You said, pulling her up off the floor. “We can talk tomorrow.”

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In the darkness of Carter’s room, your phone lit up on the nightstand.

You pulled your arm from under her slowly, praying not to wake her up now that she was finally snoozing peacefully, though her deep snores were occasionally interrupted by shaky breaths, the aftershocks of her sobs. You’d gotten both of you changed and into bed with some difficulty, a strategically placed trash can next to her side of the bed just in case. You reached over to check your phone, turning the brightness down so as not to disturb her.

You had a text from a number that wasn’t saved in your phone, starting with the same 252 area code as yours. You didn’t need to ask “who’s this?” because you’d know that seven digit combination on your deathbed. Deleting his contact from your phone had really been more of a cathartic exercise than anything else.

‘She asleep yet?’

‘I think so but it’s been rough, what about Top?’

‘Same, but he’s out like a light now…and snoring like a jet engine.’

You stifled your laugh so Carter wouldn’t hear, keeping your movements slow as you climbed out of her bed and padded towards the door. Wincing at the squeak of the door hinge, you pulled it slowly closed until the handle clicked.

Down the hall, the same click sounded from Topper’s door. Rafe stood with his hand on the doorknob, listening for any signs that his exit woke the sleeper inside.

His eyes flashed up to meet yours, and you shared a knowing, nervous smile. You each walked a few steps towards the other, Rafe immediately picking up on the water pooling in your eyes. You’d held it together up until now for Carter’s sake, wanting to be strong for her like she’d always been for you, but now the heartbreak of seeing her so upset was finally settling in.

“Hey, hey,” Rafe whispered, lengthening his strides to close the gap between you faster. “What’s wrong?”

He ducked to search your face for a second, your small sniffles breaking his heart. When a tear slipped from the corner of your eye, he pulled you in by your shoulders, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You let your arms circle his waist, not taking the time to worry if this was strange or if you were okay being this vulnerable with him, just reveling in the comforting smell of him and the rise and fall of his sturdy chest under his t-shirt.

A few more tears slipped out, but with his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while you breathed him in, your sadness faded slowly into a calm reassurance.

“You good?” He whispered, his chin resting on the top of your head.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arms still wrapped around his torso.

“I just didn’t know she was so sad,” you explained, your lip trembling slightly at the thought of your sister, with all her strength and tenacity, slumped over on the bathroom floor. “I should’ve been paying closer attention. I came on this trip for her and all I’ve been doing is thinking about myself. I’m so selfish.”

That thought caused more tears to roll down your cheeks. Rafe placed a palm on either side of your face, his thumbs reaching out to swipe away the salty drops.

“You,” he said firmly, his voice just above a whisper now, more concerned with making sure you heard what he had to say than making sure not to wake anyone, “are not selfish.”

Once your tears were dried, he lifted your face towards him so he could look in your eyes. You ever-so-slightly nuzzled your head into his palm, wondering if he could even feel the gentle way you were surrendering to him. His soft grin told you he could.

“He’s a mess, too,” he nodded back toward Topper’s door.

“I love them, but those two are exhausting,” you chuckled softly.

Even as the conversation lightened up, his hands didn’t fall from your face, and your arms stayed firmly in place around him, just holding each other as you whisper-laughed about the antics of the whole group this evening.

“Sabrina said you had to chase Kelce half a block,” you giggled, and he’d never felt so relieved to see someone’s tears give way to laughter. “Your dad instincts really kicked in there, huh?”

“I don’t know,” he smiled, his eyes creasing with the upward tick of his lips, “the way you basically parted the crowd to get to Carter? Topper might have competition for house mother. Maybe we’re the real mom and dad.”

You snorted at that.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you blinked back, “just funny that you’re already talking about being parents when you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

Rafe nodded, tongue darting out to lick his lips, feigning seriousness, “you’re so right. We should probably do something about that.”

“You should probably do something about that,” you taunted.

His persona cracked and he laughed, eyebrows raised.

“Oh yeah? Should I?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling at him as he leaned forward, eager to recapture the moment that had been so unceremoniously stolen from you a few hours ago.

Just before your lips touched, a vile retching noise came echoing down the hall from Topper’s room. He was vomiting again, and the romance was zapped from the air.

Your head fell back in frustration, groaning.

“You wanna go for a drive?” Rafe offered, hand sliding down your arm to find yours, fingers lacing together like they belonged there.

You nodded quickly, a smile replacing your annoyed frown. He led you down the stairs fast and you padded behind excitedly, giggling at his speed and urgency.

“Shit,” he paused before reaching into the bowl on the kitchen counter where everyone was keeping their keys. “I forgot Sabrina blocked me in.”

“We’ll take Carter’s jeep,” you offered, fishing around the bowl until you found her fuzzy pink keychain. “She parked on the road.”

“She won’t mind?” He asked.

“I have a feeling she’s gonna be out for a long time,” you pointed out. “I’m driving though.”

“Just like old times,” he grinned, your heart doing cartwheels at the memory.

Fingers intertwined, you let him pull you away from the house, and the risk of any more interruptions.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

The sky glowed with that pre-sunrise blue fog, turning the world around you into a collection of navy silhouettes. The only shape you cared about seeing was the faded profile of the man in the passenger seat next to you.

Though the air still held the chilly nip of dawn, it was warm enough to roll the windows down, which was always your preference. Your hair whipped around you in a frenzy of wind. You could feel his eyes on you as you drove, but you didn’t look back, suddenly filled with nerves, butterflies crowding your stomach and doubt flooding your mind. You just kept driving, suddenly terrified of what would happen when you stopped.

After a few minutes of unreturned eye contact, Rafe finally tore his gaze away from you, poking around Carter’s car to have something to do with his hands. He opened the glove box, and the middle console, fidgeting with every little button and knick-knack he could find.

You smirked at his restlessness and kept driving straight, not entirely sure where you were going. Rafe opened the sun visor above him, gasping at what he found.

“No fucking way,” he laughed with a disbelieving shake of his head, “Carter has CDs? Still?”

He pulled the sleeve of CDs from the visor’s clip, inspecting them closer.

“Wait,” a slow smile bloomed on his face as he observed knowingly, “these are yours.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because they’re the same ones you had in your car in high school.”

“Didn’t think you’d remember,” you scoffed.

“I remember everything about you,” he said, like it was the most obvious and casual admission anyone had ever made.

Even with the cool morning air blowing in through the window, the car suddenly felt too hot. Too hot and too small. Your chest and neck bloomed with a nervous blush as your breath quickened. How were you supposed to respond to that?

Rafe kept sorting through the CDs, nodding at each one in recognition, leaning back in his seat as if he hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb into the conversation.

You needed to fill the silence before he noticed the tornado of anxious thoughts tearing through your mind.

“You gonna pick one?” You urged him, eager for the sound of familiar music to erase his words that hung in the air between you.

He finally made it to the back of the plastic sleeve, to a familiar silver disc decorated in sharpie in your handwriting; your favorite homemade mix that you’d played every single day from ages fifteen to seventeen.

You’d titled it “car mix,” though a more accurate title would be “Rafe’s mix.”

Sometime during your freshman year, you’d spent a whole day sitting in front of your computer, meticulously sorting through songs that made you think of him, or that you wanted him to listen to, hoping he would hear them and finally understand you somehow. It was a love letter without words, and he’d heard it a thousand times, but you doubted he ever really listened. Par for the course.

“I think that one got scratched,” you tried to discourage him from playing it, the flashback to your desperate, lovestruck younger self a little too much to handle at five a.m.

Rafe turned it over in his hands, inspecting it for those so-called scratches, finding nothing satisfying.

“Looks good to me,” he disagreed, popping it into the CD player and beaming bright as the first song began to play through the speakers.

“Oh my god,” he laughed, “it’s like we’re in a time machine.”

You agreed, the familiar opening notes of the first song you’d picked for him sent you flying back in time, to a girl you thought was long dead, and the boy next to her, whom she’d loved to her grave.

Chills shot up your spine, a warning shot before the tears that were beginning to gather on your lash line. You pulled the car quickly to the side of the road, sand flying up with the screech of the tires. You realized then that you’d somehow found your way to the public beach, the parking lot empty and sandy shore free of any sunbathers or surfers.

Rafe turned the music down, looking at you quizzically as your foot slammed on the break. Before he could ask what was going on, you were pulling the keys from the ignition and throwing off your seatbelt, hopping down from the driver’s seat and slamming the door behind you. He scrambled for his door handle as you started walking quickly toward the water and away from him.

The salty air was so thick you could taste droplets of seawater on your lips before you were even halfway to the shore. The waves crashed violently, remnants of the week’s storms throwing the water back and forth until it was foaming and angry.

Angry. You were as angry as the sea, sand kicking up with each stomp of your foot as you hurried as far away from him as you could possibly get. His long legs were already catching him up to you as he chased you down, calling your name.

Despite your efforts to outpace him, you could feel him gaining on you, nearly at your heel by the time your toes touched the water’s edge. Flight would not be an option, it was time for a fight.

“You remember everything?” You whipped toward him, nearly knocking him over with the force of the glare that met him. You stalked toward him, catching the way he backed up just a step before squaring his shoulders and planting himself until you were nearly chest to chest. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that, Rafe?”

“What are you talking about?” He asked desperately, scrambling from the whiplash of your sudden outburst. “What the hell just happened?”

He was genuinely so clueless as to the reason for your sudden shift in mood, reeling like he was mentally still back in the car listening to music, eyes scanning your face as he tried desperately to catch up. You almost took pity on him. Almost.

“I can’t,” a lump lodged itself into your throat and you bit your lip for a second to hold it down, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What? Can’t do what?” He begged for clarity.

You just shook your head, a final plea to your own tears not to fall in front of him, but they betrayed you, one single drop slipping down your face. You turned from him quickly as a final ditch ending to hide them from him, and stepped away further down the beach.

“No, no wait, please wait,” with two easy strides he was close enough to touch you, wrapping his hand around your wrist to turn you toward him. “Don’t do this to me. You said you’d remember the alleyway, we were so close. We are so close.”

“Are we?” You challenged him. “If we’re so close then why can’t I even ride in the car with you without feeling like I can’t breathe? You don’t get it, Rafe. You don’t understand that every memory feels like a fucking sucker punch.”

“Then let’s not focus on the memories,” he suggested, “I just want to be with you right now.”

“Why now?” You burst out, another tear breaking through the barricade and sliding traitorously down your cheek. “Why not then?”

They were the two questions that plagued you since you saw him on the beach. You felt you knew the reason. You looked different, he was attracted to this version of you. Even though it would hurt like a bitch, you really wished he would just admit it, that he only wanted you because of how you look now, so you could finally just hate him and move on.

Instead, he continued his time honored tradition of giving you the exact opposite of what you wanted.

He looked straight at you, no waiver in his voice as he said, “because I wasn’t ready for you. I wasn’t good enough.”

It was the perfect answer, and your worst case scenario. Heartfelt, honest, a hot knife to the wall of ice you’d worked so hard to build between you and him. As he’d done so many times before, Rafe melted you.

Soft eyes, you tilted your head as you studied him, “and you are now?”

“No,” his laugh surprised you, scoffing as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world. “But I’m smarter. Smart enough to know that I’ll never be good enough for you. Who could be?”

The last chips of ice melted away entirely at those words, the image of his sweet smile when he said them etched itself on your heart in a way you knew was completely permanent.

As so often happened when you were at a crossroads with your own mind, you heard Carter’s voice ringing through your thoughts. Though this time, it wasn’t a quippy comment about Rafe, or a catchy mantra to encourage you to hold your head high. Instead, you heard her weak, cracked voice as she cried on the bathroom floor just hours ago; “it’s too scary.”

Suddenly, you knew exactly what she meant.

Your every instinct was to pull away from him, hide away the vulnerable thought to avoid any risk of him making it worse. But as he looked down at you, the first traces of sunrise streaking across the horizon, casting a gold-pink glow on his cheekbones, something in the back of your mind was saying you could trust him.

“I’m scared,” you all but whispered.

Rafe lifted his hand slowly, as if you were an elusive, wild thing that would run off at any sudden movement. When you didn’t flee, he took the chance to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, voice dropping low as he said, “I know.”

“How am I supposed to know you won’t hurt me?”

Your deepest fears continued to flow out of you, into his waiting hands, praying he wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers.

“I don’t think you will until you give me a chance to prove it to you,” he countered.

You knew he was right. Holding him at arm’s length would never get you the answers you needed from him. You’d never know if he had really changed unless you got close enough to relearn him, and you’d never know how he really felt about you unless you gave him a second chance to show you. You aren’t generally opposed to second chances, more likely to give them out then, say, your sister is.

“You know what Carter would say?” You chuckled darkly, unable to detangle your sister’s voice from your own conscience even if you wanted to. “That you don’t deserve any more chances.”

“That might be the first thing I’ve ever agreed with her on,” Rafe was quick to acknowledge. “But you know what else she’d say?”

“What?” You asked with raised brows, skeptical that he had any clue what Carter would actually say, and knowing she would hate that he was claiming to.

“That you deserve a chance.”

Funny thing is, that’s exactly what Carter would say. She didn’t really know how badly you wanted him, that you were starting to suspect you might just be happiest when you’re with him, but she always encouraged you to do what made you happy, even when it was something she didn’t understand.

“And if I’m what you want then I just happen to be the luckiest idiot in the world, because I want you too. You have no idea how badly.”

The tide was coming in, the very edge of each wave nipping at your toes before being pulled back out to sea. Rafe’s confession made you feel so unsteady, you wondered if you’d crumble and get pulled out right with it. Your mind reached for anything to ground you before you drowned in him completely.

“Why?” You asked him, needing his answer like a port in the storm.

“Why?” He repeated, either confused by the question or by the need for it. Somehow, both possibilities annoyed you.

“Yeah, tell me why you want me,” you placed your hands on your hips, shoulders squaring up with him in challenge. “And you’re not allowed to use the word beautiful, or cute, or call me baby.”

“This kinda feels like a test,” he laughed, scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah? Maybe it is,” you huffed. “And this time there’s no cheating, no open book. And no me to slip you the answers.”

“Can I get a few minutes to review my notes?” His cheeky pout was so cute you worried you were about to fold right there on the spot.

“Fine,” you allowed, “you get one minute to think about it.”

He feigned worry, faked stress, biting his thumbnail and looking out over the waves as if he actually had to think it over.

In reality, he was more prepared for this test than any he’d ever taken in his life. He’d spent years thinking about this moment, about what he would say, what he could say that would possibly be enough.

While you waited for him to speak, you mirrored his stance, facing the water with your hands wrapped around you.

Rafe turned his head slightly to take in your profile, the sliver of daylight creeping over the horizon making your features glow so romantically.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you tried to focus on the count in your head, dutifully keeping track of the seconds until his allotted prep time was up.

Evidently, he didn’t need a timer, his voice broke the silence before you had even gotten to forty-five.

“Y’know, I got a walk-on tryout invite for baseball at Chapel Hill,” he started.

You resisted the urge to look at him or respond, despite your mind racing to connect the dots between that statement and the challenge of explaining why he wants you.

“I was…so shitty,” he laughed at the memory, “I mean just awful. Striking out in the cage, my fielding was all over the place, I dropped a fucking pop fly. I’ve made that play a thousand times and the one time it counted, I dropped it. I mean, you wouldn’t have even recognized me out there. And the best part was that my dad came to watch. He bribed an old alum buddy to get him into closed tryouts just to watch me absolutely shit the bed.”

His smile faded.

“It was the worst day of my life. The coaches didn’t even call me themselves, they sent me an automated email to tell me I didn’t make the team. They were nice enough to send me some film from the tryout, though. I must’ve watched it a hundred times. I was spiraling like a bitch, just full on meltdown. I watched that film over and over, like some kind of torture. When I watched it, I just kept wondering how that guy could’ve ever been considered good.”

He turned to you, looking down at you intensely, hesitating for the first time since he started talking.

“I know I fumbled you. I knew it from the second it happened. And,” he swallowed hard, struggling with the next part. “I knew you were in love with me.”

Your head snapped to the side to look at him, face beat red.

“I was an idiot, but I wasn’t blind,” he continued before you could interject a defense. “The problem was never that I didn’t know, it was that I didn’t know why. But the way you looked at me, I don’t know, it made me feel like I must be like, somewhat good. Why else would you care about me if I wasn’t? But then when I was fucking rotting in my dorm watching that film over and over it dawned on me…you didn’t love me because I was good. I was good because you loved me.”

Breath escaped you, eyes glossy as you let those beautiful words sink in, but he wasn’t done.

“I thought it was just a lucky break that I got you for four years. And of course I fucked it up, I fuck everything up. After those tryouts, I had nothing, no one. I failed my classes, dropped out of rushing a frat, I stopped talking to everyone. Shit, even my sisters were calling me to see if I was okay. I got it together eventually, kind of, but it’s never been the same. I have never been the same…since you. But then I saw you on the beach the other day, and it kind of hit me. The biggest loss wasn’t your love for me, or my fielding skills, or the bullshit frat parties. It was my best friend. You were my best friend. You were - you are - my favorite fucking person. When all that shit happened, you were the only one I wanted to talk to, and I couldn’t, I didn’t deserve to. But god, I’d give anything, anything, to have my best friend back. You don’t have to…be with me. I understand if you don’t want to. But please, can we just be friends again?”

You blinked up at him as he finished his monologue, all his words swirling around your head like cartoon birds, dizzying and all consuming. You wished it really was a test, cause then you’d have a printed copy that you could study and analyze and go over and over with different colored highlighters.

But it wasn’t a test. It wasn’t a metaphor. It was just you and the boy you love standing on the beach at sunrise, looking at each other like you were the only two people on earth.

“No.” You said, shaking your head.

His eyes blinked rapidly, trying and failing to hold back his emotion. Before he could spiral any further, you added,

“I don’t wanna be friends.”

His eyes flicked over yours for just a second, double checking, asking you silently if that meant what he thought it did. You gave him the slightest nod, as if to finally say “yes, Rafe.”

Rafe’s hands landed firm but gentle on either side of your face, pulling you towards him. Your lips met in a symphony of passion and affection and need and a mutual sigh of fucking finally.

He tasted better than you’d ever imagined, a sweet rush to your head as his tongue parted your lips slightly. He pulled back just an inch to let his uncontrollable smile break against yours, laughing into each other’s mouths in disbelief and pure, unadulterated joy. Once he was satisfied that you understood how happy he was, he pulled you back in.

If the first kiss was a spark, the second kiss was a goddamn explosion. He kissed you like the tide kisses the shore in a hurricane, his tsunami waves crashing into you over and over again. His tongue took over, claiming you, taking up space in your mouth like he never planned to leave. His hands drifted, one to the back of your head, laced in your hair, the other on the small of your back, holding you against himself. Your hands snaked up his arms, savoring every inch of him until you reached his shoulders. You linked your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you as you stood on your tiptoes to meet him, finding middle ground for the first time in your lives.

After a while, your lips parted, both of you desperate for breath, the lack of oxygen dizzying.

“So,” he smiled, hand still cradling your head and his thumb sweeping over your bottom lip, “did I pass?”

“Hmm,” you pretended to consider it, “A minus.”

“What? You must be grading on a curve,” he shook his head.

“Maybe you could do some extra credit,” you flirted.

With a sly smile at that, he returned his lips to yours, and you forgot a time when you didn’t know what it was like to kiss him.

Time passed, the sun rose, night bloomed into morning, and Rafe kissed you for what could’ve been a lifetime. With each minute that passed with his lips on yours, you felt all the bad memories fade to gray, the past washing away with the crash of the waves, leaving only him.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Carter’s Jeep sat parked on the side of the road, the interior dark in the early morning light, except for the phones buzzing uncontrollably on each seat.

On the passenger's side, Rafe’s phone blew up with texts from Topper. The most recent reading ‘dude, we’ve got trouble at the house…’

On the driver’s seat, yours lit up with twelve missed calls and a single text from Carter,

‘Don’t come back.’

(chapter 8: part one)

a/n: please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

2K notes · View notes

earthtooz · 1 year ago

Text

x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous.

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh.

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm.

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him.

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse.

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye.

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.”

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture.

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug.

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you.

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious.

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup.

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.”

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.”

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!”

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why.

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!”

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate.

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?”

“No one. Now get lost.”

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.”

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love.

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

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

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe.

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar?

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you.

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over.

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression.

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

“What guy?”

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.”

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.”

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.”

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him.

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?”

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile.

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh.

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.”

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?”

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?”

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands.

“So why aren’t you apologising?”

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in.

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner?

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest.

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs.

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party.

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.”

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue.

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad?

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.