#the subtle romance happening between these two

[adooble]

puppy

[crystallinestars]

Just Confess Already! Part 2

Drabbles about Genshin men (or you) confessing with the help of a wingman. This is pure fluff.

Characters: Kazuha, Kinich, Ororon, Wanderer, and Cyno.

Part 1 here.

I apologize if the endings sound abrupt, I've edited and rewritten this many times, and at this point I just want to get this finally posted. I also apologize for the length, my writing style has changed since part 1.

🍁 Kazuha

Everyone and their mother at The Crux could tell you and Kazuha had a thing for each other. The way you guys spent most of your free time in each other’s company discussing poetry or music, the way Kazuha always volunteered to help you with your tasks, how you took care of Kazuha when he got drunk, and just the overall subtle romantic tension about your pair tipped off pretty much everyone.

Though Beidou didn’t want to pry into the love lives of her crew, she’d sometimes catch glimpses of you and Kazuha chatting up in the crow’s nest of the ship and noted that the way you smiled at each other was endearing. Otherwise, she paid little attention to it, thinking it was only a matter of time until one of you confessed and you guys became an official couple.

However, that time never came. The two of you pussyfooted around the topic of laying bare your feelings, and everyone at The Crux was getting a little annoyed that you were stuck in the pining phase. There was a limit to how long Beidou could tolerate watching you give each other pining glances without snapping and telling you two to get together already.

One time when you were out on an errand, Beidou and her crew invited Kazuha for a drink. The friendly and cheerful atmosphere prompted some members to share their life stories, and the topic breached romance. Someone asked Kazuha why he hadn’t confessed to you yet, and the drunken ronin answered that he treasured your friendship and didn’t want to jeopardize it in case you didn’t feel the same way.

Beidou could only scoff at his excuse. It was so obvious that you liked him back, and since when was Kazuha such a coward? He could go up against the Raiden Shogun’s deadly Musou no Hitotachi, but had his tail between his legs at the prospect of admitting he loved you to your face? Preposterous! Moreover, she had to tell her crew to settle down because they were creating a spectacle out of your crushes on each other and making bets on which one of you would confess first (she betted on you).

If Kazuha was too much of a coward, Beidou thought, then maybe you’d be braver.

That same evening, she happened to find you alone in your cabin and took the opportunity to bring up the issue of your longtime crush on Kazuha. Though she was no expert on romance, Beidou wanted to help you. She got you to open up and confide in her, patiently listening while you expressed your fears about confessing to Kazuha. You also didn’t want to ruin the friendship you had with him, so Beidou stated outright that he returned your feelings. If you didn’t believe her, then see for yourself.

With that, she pried open a window in the cabin. Over the gentle lapping of the waves, you heard the crew’s laughter up on the deck, and the faint sound of Kazuha’s familiar voice. It was a little difficult to hear what he was saying over the crew’s chatter, and his speech was slightly slurred, but you made out a few words. He frequently spoke your name while reciting a few clumsy haikus. But they weren’t just any random poems about the sea or sky—they were love haikus.

Beidou patted your shoulder and told you to have courage instead of wasting your life wondering about what-ifs and regretting not doing anything.

Over the following days, Beidou sent you and Kazuha out on joint errands in Liyue Harbour. The errands themselves weren’t all that important, but they served as good excuses to give you two some alone time. Kazuha was no fool and quickly deduced that Beidou was setting you two up on purpose, but he wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to spend more time with you.

Beidou hoped something would finally change by the time you returned, and sure enough, when she spotted you and Kazuha walking back to the ship, she smiled. The two of you were holding hands and smiling warmly at each other, a good sign that your once-suppressed feelings were now in the open. Naturally, the rest of the crew noticed the change as well and grew excited when you confirmed that you and Kazuha were now in a romantic relationship.

That night, they brought out the good wine and food to congratulate you and Kazuha on finally getting together. Most of the Crux’s crew joined on the festivities, with some members being nosy and asking you for details on how it happened and who confessed first.

When you admitted to confessing first, Beidou smugly accepted her winnings and took a big swig of her drink before yelling out a cheer. Her crew followed suit in toasting and cheering much to your and Kazuha’s embarrassment, but it was all in good fun. Beidou made sure to make it up to you by distracting the crew with a drinking game and sending you a wink as she allowed you and Kazuha to make a quiet escape from the party. The Crux gang would have plenty of time to tease you in the future—for now, you and Kazuha deserved to enjoy this newfound relationship without others poking their noses where they don’t belong. Beidou would make sure of it.

🟩 Kinich

Kinich’s relationship with you perplexed K’uhul Ajaw. The Almighty Dragonlord couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, but something between you two changed. Recently, Kinich had been giving you discounts whenever you asked for his help, and sometimes even did things for you for free. Kinich the Malipo giving someone special treatment? Unheard of! And on top of all that, his servant had been visiting you more frequently during downtime, and there was also that strange glint in Kinich’s eyes whenever he looked at you, something akin to endearment—

Oh.

Kinich liked you.

Oh, this was going to be good!

Ajaw’s diabolical nature wouldn’t let him keep Kinich’s feelings for you a secret. The next time you came to hang out with their duo, the saurian waved his little stubby arms and ran his mouth as soon as you were within earshot. “Hey, human! Our lowly servant has developed romantic feelings for you like some sort of prepubescent schoolboy! Isn’t that a riot?” and cackled, thinking Kinich would be thoroughly humiliated and put in his place.

To Ajaw’s dismay, instead of looking disgusted by the news, you appeared… hopeful? A tad surprised by his outburst, but was that hope shining in your eyes? To Ajaw’s even greater dismay, Kinich lacked any sort of outward reaction to having his crush on you vocalized so brazenly. Instead, the saurian hunter told you to ignore Ajaw’s nonsensical words in his usual calm manner, before smacking the pixelated menace away for a timeout. Right before he got locked away, Ajaw managed to catch a glimpse of disappointment in your eyes when Kinich brushed the situation aside as if it were nothing.

That day, K’uhul Ajaw realized that Kinich’s feelings were not one-sided like he originally thought. You liked Kinich too. The mere thought of you two acting all lovey-dovey with each other was sickening, but the saurian figured poking fun at you and Kinich would be a good source of entertainment.

After that day, Ajaw became even more insufferable. Every chance he got, he’d swoop in with a taunting remark and make fun either you, Kinich, or both.

One time while accompanying Kinich through a dense forest, you slipped on a wet tree root and were sent falling towards the ground. However, Kinich swiftly caught you and pulled you to his chest to help stabilize you. Ajaw had a field day laughing and crowing about how scandalous you were for practically throwing yourself at Kinich like that. Were you that desperate to be in his arms? Disgusting!

The saurian also used every opportunity he could find to reveal all of Kinich’s secrets to you. Did you know Kinich gave you special treatment? No? Are you blind?! Can’t you tell he does stuff for you for free? Why do you think he brings you game and wild berries free of charge every once in a while--to show off how good he is at hunting?! Have you at least noticed Kinich smiled more and acted softer towards you, or are you really that blind? He doesn’t treat anyone else that way, you know! …And so on and so forth, though most of his attempts to out Kinich are interrupted by the man himself locking Ajaw away before the dragon reveals too much.

As fun as it was to watch your pair’s awkward attempts at showing signs of affection for each other, Ajaw eventually grew frustrated with standing witness to the mutual pining that never progressed anywhere. It made the little saurian’s blood boil with annoyance.

Whenever he and Kinich were alone, Ajaw would complain that the hunter should stop being a dimwit and a coward and just confess to you already! How could he not see that you obviously liked him back?! Seriously, how bad was his luck to end up with such an imbecile for a servant?!

Kinich coolly rejected Ajaw’s insistence for confessing his feelings. It was not in his nature to recklessly rush into the unknown—he needed to carefully analyze and weigh his options before coming to a sound decision. As such, his relationship with you was not to be rushed. This didn’t sit well with Ajaw, but no matter what he said, Kinich stubbornly refused to listen.

The Dragonlord’s patience reached a breaking point during one fateful day. It was getting dark, and Kinich had offered to escort you home. Once you were safely at your doorstep, you made the bold move of kissing Kinich’s cheek in thanks. For a split moment, Ajaw swore there was palpable romantic tension between you as your and Kinich’s eyes met (gross). Kinich glanced at your lips, looking as if he wanted to lean in and kiss you (doubly gross) and Ajaw prepared himself to make disgusted gagging noises, except… nothing happened. With a seldom seen blush on his cheeks, Kinich awkwardly cleared his throat and bid you goodnight, preparing to leave.

Ajaw exploded.

“This is painful to watch! You two were clearly made for each other—both equally cowardly and blind to each other’s feelings! Just admit you like each other already; you’re not fooling anyone! Kinich, you cowardly, brainless, insufferable insect—just lean in for that kiss, you obviously want to! And you! Stop waffling and just spit out that you like Kinich already! Agh, watching you two is torture! What did the great K’uhul Ajaw do to deserve this fate?!” he yelled, turning red in the face.

Kinich promptly locked Ajaw away, for which the saurian would later chew him out once he was free, but not before interrogating you and the hunter about whether you finally confessed. Once Kinich revealed that yes, you had talked it out and admitted your mutual feelings for each other and were now in a relationship, Ajaw could finally feel some sense of peace regarding the situation.

Feeling proud of his contributions, Ajaw puffed out his chest and told you and Kinich to pucker up and kiss his feet in worship, for only with the help of the Almighty Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw has your relationship progressed instead of stagnating like swamp water.

Though the saurian relic continued to be an annoyance, even Kinich had to admit that Ajaw played a part in getting you together. Though not in the form of worship or foot kissing, Kinich did repay the favor by procuring some quenepa berries and other fruits that Ajaw liked, hosting a small feast as a thank you. Though Ajaw complained about being scammed, the snacks did the trick of improving his mood and keeping him occupied while you and Kinich had some precious time to yourselves.

🦇 Ororon

Ever since you and Ororon were children, Citlali observed that the two of you got along well. So well, in fact, that Ororon had developed a little crush on you. He would pluck flowers from a nearby meadow to give you, follow you around like a loyal puppy, and one time, Ororon told Citlali that he hoped to marry you one day.

Citlali couldn’t help but find Ororon’s crush on you adorable, and a part of her anticipated the day when you both grew up and got married. She had no doubt you would make the sweetest couple among the Masters of the Night-Wind.

Ororon’s attraction to you persisted into adulthood. At that point, Citlali could no longer call it a cute little crush— “Love” was a more apt description for how Ororon felt towards you, even if he tried to hide the depth of his attachment to you. He was content to stay as just your friend and not risk ruining the close bond you had in case you didn’t return his feelings. Citlali was a little frustrated that Ororon continued to pine for you without doing anything about it, but she knew better than to force the stubborn boy to do something he didn’t want to. If you were both happy with the way things were, then why change them?

However, during one of her rare trips to the market for some divination supplies, Citlali overheard a conversation between two tribespeople. The topic of conversation was about love, and one of the men bashfully admitted that he thought you were pretty and that he hoped to ask you out on a date soon. This news washed over Citlali like a bucket of cold water as worry seized her heart.

This wasn’t the first time others had expressed romantic interest in you. After all, you’ve always had a bit of a reputation among the Masters of the Night-Wind for being attractive, so it wasn’t surprising others had an eye on you. However, now that you were an independent adult, it wouldn’t be strange for you to look for a partner to settle down with, right? Knowing Ororon, the dimwit wouldn’t ever think to confess, and what if someone else confessed before he did and stole your heart?

Citlali didn’t want to force you to choose Ororon, but she didn’t want things to end without her beloved grandson at least taking a shot at winning you over. The last thing she wanted was for Ororon to be left heartbroken and disappointed all because he let the chance to be with you slip from his fingers.

With these troubled thoughts, Citlali sought out Ororon and announced that he needed to stop dawdling and actively pursue you unless he wanted to watch your heart get stolen by somebody else. Citlali’s sudden proclamation confused Ororon, so she explained that he’s not the only one who is in love with you and that there’s a risk of you choosing someone else to spend your life with.

As she expected, Ororon stubbornly refused to go along with her urging, saying that who you wanted to end up with was your choice and he would respect it. Though he said that, Citlali could see it on Ororon’s face that the mere thought of you falling for someone else hurt him, and she couldn’t help but feel bad for her grandson.

After much convincing and reassurance, Citlali got Ororon to agree to court you and promised to come up with a plan to help him in this endeavour. There was, however, one major problem: how were two socially awkward outcasts supposed to win someone’s heart? Having never been courted herself, Citlali had no past experiences to draw from when designing her plan, but it shouldn’t be too hard, right? She’d read a lot of romance novels imported from Inazuma, so maybe if she got Ororon to do some of the same things the male leads did, then it would curry your favour? Regardless, it was worth a shot.

The plan was for Ororon to prove his worth as a suitable partner by giving you gifts, compliments, and always being there for you no matter what it was. In Ororon’s opinion, he was already doing all of these things for you as a friend, but Citlali insisted that his actions needed to be infused with romance to distinguish them from gestures of friendship. Her grandson was still reluctant to actively court you, but he had promised to try and try he did. Except, his approach subverted Citlali’s expectations.

When it came to giving gifts, instead of presenting jewellery, woven scrolls, or useful gadgets, the young man gifted you game he had caught in the wild and the best selection of produce from his garden. Citlali could only facepalm when Ororon told her which gifts he planned to give you, but she also knew he put genuine thought into them. Ororon handpicked the nicest veggies he could find in his garden and personally delivered them to your doorstep instead of sending Ifa like he normally would. Citlali told him that giving gifts in person held more meaning, and Ororon appeared to have taken her words to heart.

Ororon also gifted you flowers much like he did when you were little. However, this time he didn’t give you flowers plucked from the wild. Instead, he gifted you potted plants that he had also grown in his garden. “They will live and look pretty for longer,” he told you, then received a flick to the forehead once Citlali found out what he did.

His compliments were no better. Saying things like his vegetables grew better whenever you visited his home and spoke to his plants or your presence being calming for the aphids, was the best Ororon could do. Citlali admonished him for these strange compliments, but to Ororon, that was the highest praise anyone could receive. After all, you were an amazing person, and even his plants and aphids sensed it.

Ororon’s courtship was unconventional to say the least, and granny Itztli worried whether her grandson made a favorable impression on you. To help improve Ororon’s image in your eyes, Citlali sought you out more often to put in a good word for her grandson and get you to see him as a man. She highlighted Ororon’s good points to you, commenting how Ororon is a bit peculiar, but he’s also kind, resourceful, accepting, gentle, and so much more. A truly good kid. He would make an excellent romantic partner, wouldn’t you agree?

Her pushiness flustered you, but it also allowed Citlali to gauge how you felt about Ororon, and she had to contain her excitement when she pieced together that you loved him back. In her giddiness, she urged Ororon to confess.

When the day of the confession came, Citlali hid among some trees while keeping an eye on you and Ororon. She didn’t intent to spy, but the anxiety over how the confession would go made her antsy and she couldn’t sit still at home. She watched as Ororon offered you a basket of his finest produce and finally professed his love. The confession came out awkward because he tried to recite what he practiced with Citlali a few days prior, and he seemed to realize this because Ororon then took your hand and placed it against his chest. Using his own words this time, Ororon explained that he genuinely did love you, and the racing of his heart should be proof enough that you were more than just a friend in his eyes. However, it was alright if you didn’t feel the same way about him.

Citlali had to clamp her hands over her mouth to hold back from squealing in giddiness as she watched you reciprocate Ororon’s feelings. She would later apologize for spying since she knew it was wrong, but it filled her with joy to witness the blossoming of love between you. In some ways, this was better than any romance novel she had read in all her years of living, and it warmed her heart to see you both so happy.

Even if it was a childhood fantasy, perhaps Ororon’s wish of marrying you was not that far off now? Citlali certainly hoped so.

☂️ Wanderer

Nahida was no expert on romance, but she had observed enough couples during her 500-year-long imprisonment to know what romantic attraction looked like. The strange air surrounding you and Wanderer must have been that, she speculated, as she watched Wanderer hand you a box of your favorite foods with the flimsy excuse of having made too much. For your part, you seemed genuinely touched by the gesture despite Wanderer’s grumbling, much to Nahida’s delight. Wanderer’s prickly personality pushed some people away, but not you. You stayed by his side and gave him the companionship he needed, helping Wanderer open up and heal from his trauma.

It was clear you deeply cared for the young man, and a little peek into your mind confirmed to Nahida that yes, you did love him romantically. She couldn’t read Wanderer’s mind since he blocked all her attempts to do so, but she didn’t need mindreading to conclude that he loved you too.

When she next spoke with Wanderer, she carefully asked if he loved you. Wanderer’s response was a gruff “No” and “Stop asking”, however Nahida could tell he wasn’t being honest with his feelings. If he didn’t love you, then why did he treat you differently compared to everyone else? His manner of speech is gentler when with you, and despite all his grumbling he still complies with all your requests no matter how irritating he may find them. Not to mention, he spends most of his free time in your company, goes out of his way to make you little gifts and cook your favorite dishes. Surely all these behaviours were proof that you were someone special to him?

Being effectively cornered, the puppet had no choice except to come clean about his hidden feelings. With scowl and a blush on his cheeks, Wanderer reluctantly admitted that yes, he likes you, but it was none of Nahida’s business and she’d better stay out of it.

Despite Wanderer’s warning, the Dendro Archon wanted to help get you together. She felt confident that if both of you put in a little effort, a beautiful romance could blossom between you. Still, she didn’t want to outright reveal your feelings for each other. She believed that each of you should relay these intimate feelings yourselves. All Nahida would do is give you a gentle nudge in the right direction.

To help her with this task, Nahida sought help from a few Aranara and asked them to keep an eye on you and Wanderer and report any meaningful details that could help her bring you together. Through her little helpers, Nahida learned the full extent of Wanderer’s affections for you, and she couldn’t help but smile at how sweet he was, especially when it came to you.

Using this acquired knowledge, the Dendro Archon frequently brought up Wanderer in your conversations with her to explain the thoughtfulness behind some of his gifts and words. For as frank as he usually was with people, Wanderer was more close-lipped about the true extent of his feelings, so Nahida had some work cut out for her in making you realize how much he truly cared about you.

For example, the next time Wanderer gave you your favorite food with the excuse that he’d made too much, Nahida revealed to you that he actually spent several days perfecting the recipe before finally giving the dish to you.

That hand-made bracelet he gifted you, saying he got it for free during an arts and crafts event he visited? Wanderer actually made it himself during that event and used beads of your favorite colors. The Aranara watched him spend a lot of time crafting that bracelet with the greatest care, but Nahida left that part out.

In addition, she would subtly drop hints for you to invite Wanderer to hang out more often. For example, the Zubayr Theater was hosting a play and Nahida heard there was a discount if you bought two tickets. Why don’t you go and invite Wanderer to come with you?

As for Wanderer, she discreetly told him that you once mentioned wanting to try out a new drink at Puspa Cafe but had nobody to go with, so why not be a good friend and take you there himself? Wanderer initially objected, but ultimately caved in and invited you to the Café while commenting that a certain annoying sprout said you wanted to try a new drink there, though deep down he glad for the opportunity to spend more time with you. Nahida could tell by the way Wanderer went out of his way to spoil you that day, buying you anything you wanted and keeping you company until the sun set.

Little by little, Nahida softened Wanderer towards the possibility of being in a romantic relationship with you, and helped you gather the courage to confess. Wanderer was unlikely to ever confess first, so the responsibility rested on your shoulders. She could tell you were nervous about laying bare your feelings, but she reassured you that things would go well. You only needed to take that leap of faith.

When you finally confessed, Nahida and the Aranara secretly observed the scene from behind a nearby corner, curious to see how things would go while also quietly cheering you on (not that you knew). When a flustered Wanderer accepted your confession, Nahida was overjoyed. She had fun guiding both of you towards this moment, but the satisfaction of knowing you could finally be together the way you always wished was rewarding in its own way. Even when Wanderer later confronted her about spying on you during your confession and scolded her for it, the little Archon’s happiness didn’t wane. She looked forward to seeing what your newfound relationship would blossom into, and had no doubt it would be something beautiful and pure, just like your love for each other.

👁️‍🗨️ Cyno

It was no secret to Tighnari that you and Cyno liked each other. He had known about your mutual crushes as far back as your student days at the Akademiya where you first met. You became fast friends with him and Cyno, but Tighnari couldn’t help but think Cyno was a bit more special to you than you let on. After all, you were one of the few who wasn’t intimidated by Cyno’s perpetual stern facial expressions and actively sought him out, and who actually laughed at his lame jokes.

Tighnari also knew about Cyno’s crush on you since his friend confided about it to him. Not that Cyno needed to say anything because Tighnari could see his attraction to you clear as day. Cyno’s eyes lit up whenever he saw you in the distance, he tried to act “cooler” in your presence in an attempt to impress you, and Tighnari swore that if Cyno had a tail, it would have wagged like a dog’s every time you laughed at his jokes.

Though he knew about your mutual romantic attraction to each other, Tighnari didn’t want to stick his nose into your love lives. He figured you guys would resolve everything yourselves in due time.

However, nothing changed even after you guys graduated. Your group remained close friends and saw each other regularly, but Tighnari was starting to lose his patience with how you and Cyno hopelessly pined for each other. He had already lost count of the number of times each of you came to him for advice on how to win the other over.

Cyno asked Tighnari’s opinion on a lot of things: Would you like his newest joke? Would you be okay with Cyno volunteering to be your bodyguard for your upcoming desert excursion? Which of his limited edition TCG cards best represented you? Cyno wanted to express how much you meant to him by giving you a card that reminded him of you.

You were no better. Tighnari had lost count of the number of times you approached him with questions about Cyno’s work schedule. Your excuse was that you wanted to plan hangouts with him, Collei, and Cyno during their days off, but Tighnari knew there was another reason why you asked about Cyno’s schedule in particular. He had half a mind to tell you to ask Cyno yourself because it was obvious that you just wanted to spend more time with the General Mahamatra. You also pestered Tighnari with questions about Cyno’s TCG deck. Much like his friend, you wanted to express your appreciation for Cyno by giving him cards he didn’t have yet.

Seriously, you two were a match made in heaven…

Tighnari would have found your mutual crushes on each other endearing, if only he wasn’t stuck being the middleman. As it stood, Tighnari wanted nothing more than to throttle both of you for pussyfooting around your feelings and getting him caught up in being your messenger. He was on the brink of snapping and sitting you both down to explain that your feelings were mutual, so just hurry up and get together already.

That’s why the next time Cyno approached him with another question about you, Tighnari took the opportunity to convince his friend to confess. He and Collei assured Cyno that you liked him a lot, and urged him to tell you his feelings. Cyno was hesitant but did seem to want some closure about whether you liked him back or not, so Tighnari gave him an incentive. How about the next time he played TCG with you, you guys set some stakes? Why not have a rule that the loser must tell the winner a secret? If Cyno lost, he would have to confess.

Cyno wasn’t fond of the idea initially, but agreed after some contemplation, acknowledging that this method would be effective in giving him that necessary push. Still, Tighnari could tell Cyno was nervous about confessing, so he volunteered to come along as moral support, much to Cyno’s gratitude.

That was how Tighnari and Collei found themselves at Puspa Cafe, sitting a few tables away from you and Cyno, hidden from your line of sight. Tighnari tutored Collei while Cyno played that fateful round of TCG against you, but the Forest Ranger kept a close eye on his friend. Though he didn’t want to get too invested in Cyno’s love life, even he couldn’t help but grow anxious as he watched the TCG match end with Cyno’s loss.

Although Tighnari was too far away to hear what Cyno was saying, he could tell the moment of confession had come. Now, the ball was in your court.

You looked stunned by whatever Cyno said, but soon smiled and said something that made Cyno mirror the happy expression on your face and reach out to hold your hand. Though he couldn’t hear, Tighnari knew you had reciprocated his feelings. Even Collei quietly fawned over how cute you both looked. It had been a long journey, but he was truly happy for his friend. Out of everyone, Cyno was happiest with you, and Tighnari hoped you would continue to make him happy for many years to come.

With everything ending well, Tighnari beckoned Collei and discreetly left the cafe before you or Cyno noticed. As happy as he was for you guys, he dreaded the possibility of Cyno coercing them into a TCG match. With how elated his friend must be right now, it was only a matter of time until Cyno called him and Collei over for a new game to celebrate you accepting his feelings. In Tighnari’s opinion, you guys deserved to have some proper time to yourselves to explore your feelings and new relationship without him and Collei serving as thirdwheels. That, and he just really didn’t want to sit through another hour of watching Cyno show off for you.

[just-some-little-lads]

A Late Night

Summary: You come back home after a long day only to find Sylus waiting for you, acting a bit differently than normal. Word Count: 1.1k SFW, Second Person POV, GN MC.

Being a Hunter was good work; you knew that. However, heroism or not, long days could still have you cursing under your breath, dreaming of living in isolated peace by some lakeside. Dragging your feet, you contemplated calling in sick tomorrow. The key to your apartment flailed clumsily on it’s ring before finally turning in the slot. Shoes kicked to the shadows, work bag abandoned on the floor, you didn’t even bother turning on your lights before flopping on your couch. With your eyes closed, you were two alluring seconds away from drifting off… Till the hairs on the back of your head prickled. A sixth sense blared warnings of danger throughout your body, urging you to fly up in enough time to grab a figure approaching the back of the couch. Tact and grace were not your close friends tonight. Amidst the self-defense, you threw yourself off the couch to tackle your intruder to the ground. If you could call it a tackle, anyway. More like keeping them pinned with your collapsed body.

Before you could fully enter “interrogation mode”, a low chuckle stopped you in your tracks. Which emotion would your tone land on today? Surprise, confusion, irritation? “Sylus?” All three, apparently.

“Do you know how long I waited for you?” Despite the words, he didn’t sound irritated, just amused. He wasn’t even pushing you off of him.

After a moment of consideration, you graciously removed your knee from the middle of his back. A subtle groan suggested that your frantic maneuver had affected him more than he would ever like to admit. Step, flick, and a mellow light illuminated your living room. Sylus had pushed himself up enough to sit on the floor, his back leaning against the sofa.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not break into my apartment? Not only is it an extreme breach of my privacy, but it is also illegal!” You found yourself hissing quietly as you scolded him, worried that shouting too loud would reach the ears of curious neighbors. Neighbors who also happened to be Hunters. Hunters who would not treat the company of the most infamous N109 Zone boss so casually. “If you’re so determined to treat this place like your own, maybe I could consider making you a spare key but—“ You cut your own lecture off, noticing the distinct lack of attention of this particular criminal. “Are you listening to me? Sylus.”

A humph left his chest as he lifted himself up to his feet, needing to use the furniture for leverage. Not a detail left unnoticed. Suddenly you were worried; after all, this wouldn’t be the first time he had come to you to wounded. “Are you—“

“I can listen to you and ignore you at the same time, sweetie. And as for the moment, I don’t have a key. How else was I supposed to welcome you home after work, hmmm?” His hum dragged out longer than usual.

“—okay.” You finished your question from earlier. “I was going to ask ‘are you okay’.” Without waiting for a proper answer, you approached him, taking his wrist in your hand and observing his body for any clear wounds. He smiled down at you while you did so. Nothing…obvious, but a gut feeling was still telling you that something was off. Wrist in hand, you dragged him to the other side of the couch and shoved him into a seating position.

Another stern line of questioning was about to leave your mouth, but it never came. A soft kiss pressed itself against the back of your hand, Sylus’ head slightly lowered. A move straight out of some knightly romance. Your heart fluttered, your face flushed, yet you wouldn’t let yourself melt so easily. Yes…affection amongst other things had started to blossom between you two; however, Sylus’ demeanor always had you thinking that this was another game of his. But this… He had never been so open like this before.

The man in question raised his head, looking up at you with another grin on his face. Only, this one didn’t have that edge of haughty aloofness that typically painted his expression. He was…genuinely pleased. Should you be worried? Something else to note was the subtle tint of pink in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “No…” you ended up stating aloud. “You? Drunk?”

Sylus’ hand waved in the air, like he had to physically bat away that accusation before it stuck. “I don’t get drunk, sweetie.”

“But you have been drinking?”

Keeping your hand still in his grasp, he idly brushed a finger up and down your wrist. The motion sent a shudder down your spine. “Maybe that…exchange I told you about went very well today.” His words went hush, a deep purr in his throat as his face came close to your hand again. His breath warmed your skin. “And maybe I celebrated another resounding success with a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a lovely rainy day.” The anticipation for him to kiss you again ended with him pressing a cheek to the back of your hand. Sylus’ face was heated. He glanced up at you through the fringe of his grey hair. Apparently, he caught that little glimpse of eagerness in your eyes.

Slowly, he guided you down onto the couch. You swallowed something building up in your throat as he began to lean over you till your back was against the armrest. “So, you came all the way out here while tipsy?” The pounding in your chest now was obvious.

Once more, he raised one of your hands. “I wanted to see you, is that such a crime?” Voice soft and low, he pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, dragging it down to his cheek, and then finally right before his mouth. If you closed your eyes and drowned out the slight condescending hum in your ears, you'd have a hard time believing that this was the leader of Onychinus. The touch was that of an entirely different man. At least one you were not well acquainted with. Maybe Sylus was the evil one in a set of twins and you got sent the benevolent one by mistake. The gestures were gentle, tender, pleading. Pinkies intertwined while his wine-tinted lips pecked different promises on the backs of your knuckles. “Can I stay tonight?”

The word ‘yes’ kept echoing in your mind at a disturbing pace, but you wouldn’t let him win with just sweetened words and some sudden puppy-dog eyes. You weren’t even aware his face could do that. “Say please.”

Sylus practically giggled, propped up by an arm next to your head. His posture lowered till his forehead pressed against yours. The tip of his nose rubbed against your own as his whisper was as quiet and needy as you were wishing it would be. “Please?”

[eskumii]

soft yandere!genin!sasuke uchiha x reader hcs

TITLE: " BAD ROMANCE " — navi. — read part two.

A/N: i'm clearing out my drafts ,, was in a huge naruto phase when i started this blog!

☆ genin sasuke is pretty mean. he doesn't notice you for your looks, personality, or even your prowess as a young kunoichi. you're just... you. in which, you don't cling to him like sakura does, and you aren't delusional like ino is. you're just okay at first, and there's not much he can go off of when he never really interacts with you. it's nothing personal, really.

☆ although sasuke is typically not a stranger to the prospect of romance, the reason why he doesn't indulge is simply because he fails to understand what romance is. if sasuke is anything, he's aware; of his surroundings, the people in it, and the turmoil that churns inside of him. the more he loves, the more he'll eventually hate, so he gathers that there's no room for it in his life. it's his curse to bear.

☆ genin sasuke would eventually notice you after being placed on team seven together, of course. you're pretty hard to ignore from thereon. in between the bouts of sakura clobbering him and naruto screaming in his face, his eyes are on you. both naruto and sakura wear the extent of their capabilities on their sleeves, but you're hard to read and that intrigues sasuke.

☆ it's not until much later that sasuke notices his feelings for you are much different than before. after all the trouble you've been through together (near death experiences & the dreadful antics of naruto), he feels like he's finally got a foothold on what it is that makes you so interesting. he's not a moron—yes, it would appear that he does like you beyond the "like" that he holds for the rest of team seven. however, it's such a foreign feeling that he's not even sure how to handle it, being that he's never had to deal with it before. does he tell you? does he not? would you even feel the same?

☆ in the end, sasuke shows his fondness for you in more subtle ways. it's not really his style to outright confess. sometimes he'll ask you to spar with him (alone, which he stresses), or he'll happen to have a "spare" tomato (or onigiri, if you don't like tomatoes) on him when you complain about being hungry during missions. if you get ambushed by rogue ninja on a mission, he'll instinctively step in front of you, or if you're out of kunai he'll lend you a couple of his—things like that. he's quite thoughtful when he wants to be.

☆ even under sasuke's merciful tolerance of you, you're not off-limits when it comes to his biting insults and sarcastic comments. normally he doesn't speak much but with you he becomes rather talkative, if you can even call it that. when someone else tries to butt in, sasuke's brooding and murderous glares scare them away. they should really know better than to talk to you when he's around.

☆ sakura obviously hates that you've suddenly become the apple of sasuke's eye when she's been vying after him since their early days at the academy. you're not even that pretty, honestly. but any attempt to sabotage you or make you look like a fool in front of sasuke is thwarted... by sasuke. he always thought of sakura like a whining gnat in his ear so it's amusing to see her cry when he blatantly ignores her for messing with you.

☆ when sasuke leaves the village, you're the first person he visits beforehand. you're asleep but that's just fine; actually, it's perfect because you don't see how he gently caresses your hair and how he gives you a kiss on your forehead. you don't hear him when he finally admits that he likes you. loves you, even. you don't hear him when he says he wishes he could take you with him.

☆ but don't worry, he'll be back for you...

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Captain’s Girl [Part II]

John Price x Reader (Call of Duty)

Synopsis: Mixed tension combined with a failed mission leads to a heated kiss between you and the Captain. But what happens when kissing turns into something more? And will a new mission back in Urzikstan be the catalyst to bring you together or tear you and your captain apart?

Tags: Enemies to lovers, SMUT, guys I'm not joking I went crazy with the smut, military romance, secret feelings, pining, idiots in love, fighting, secret relationships, consequences, LONG.

Word count? Do you even need to ask?

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

The helicopter ride back was abysmal, a whole 3 hours spent in absolute silence. You'd spent the majority of the time staring at your fraying shoelace. The subtle rocking of the aircraft kept you awake while everyone else slept off the rough morning (and the hangover). It turns out that drinking the night before being dispatched wasn't the best idea. Shocking.

It didn't help that your mind was still hung up on the kiss between you and Price. Also shocking.

In the past 24 hours, you discovered that there was a widespread rumor that you and your captain had been sleeping together. Everyone on base had started calling you the Captain’s Girl. And that Price didn't apparently hate you and thought that planting one on you was the best way to prove that.

Why he kissed you was an entirely new can of worms you didn't have the stomach to open right now.

Now, did you kiss him back? Yes. Why? You didn't know the fuck why. There were several possible answers to this dilemma, answer one, it was the heat of the moment. Answer two, it just felt right to do so, it's rude to leave a guy hanging. Answer three, you were just too shit-faced to think critically about it. You were leaning toward the last one.

The worst part of the whole situation, (besides the fact that you may have given those rumors a tiny bit of validity) was that Price was a phenomenal kisser. You remembered it in excruciating detail. And unlucky for you it might have been one of the best kisses you'd ever had.

A small part of you wondered if he enjoyed it too, but given his face when you separated. All flushed and surprised, his eyes wide with horror and his breath heavy… yeah maybe it was best not to dwell on your kissing abilities.

It was a small blessing that Gaz had been the one to almost catch you in the act. He loved to tease but he wasn't an asshole, your and Price's secret was most likely in good hands. Heaven forbid it was Ghost or Soap because you would've had half a mind to jump out of the helicopter without a second thought. The thought was still tempting though.

You glanced up at Price, his head tilted back and his eyes shut. He wasn't faring much better than you were. He had heavy bags under his eyes and the line between his brows was far more defined than usual. Somehow he still looked good. In a very professional way, of course. Not in a ‘we made out last night, and thinking about it turns me on,’ kind of way.

Eventually, you would have to interact with him professionally again. When his foot healed it would be back to regularly scheduled training.

Best case scenario, they'd put you all on leave and you could have a week or two surrounding yourself with other men to clear your head. You'd never really been one for an extended vacation, but exceptions could be made. Plus, going back to base meant going back to a whole bunch of people who thought you were bangin’ the boss.

You grimaced, vacationing in hell might have been better. On second thought, you'd take the checkpoint base any day. Home base could go fuck itself, at least it was hot and sunny back in Urzikstan. You heard someone chuckle and looked up to see Ghost looking at you.

“Ya’ look like you swallowed a lemon.” He said enthused. You made a sound that crossed between a sigh and a grunt.

“Just preparing myself for landing,” You breathed as the helicopter wobbled. The aircraft began to descend in a linear motion, making your stomach sink a little.

“Home sweet home.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

One week and three days, you had been back at base for almost two weeks without speaking a single word to Price. Maybe if you kept this up you could spend your last 8 months with 141 in peace.

Your days now had been mostly consisting of training (supervised by Ghost instead of Price), mindless tasks, eating in the commons, watching movies in the break room, and naps. It was kind of perfect, this was probably the most relaxed you'd ever been while at base. And nobody bothered to tease you over Price since he was rarely around. When he did make an appearance he didn't speak a word to you, which was somewhat nice.

A part of you wished for some explanation for the night of the kiss, but maybe ignorance was bliss. Whatever the reason, it was all behind you. You could totally remain professional when he comes back from recovery. Totally.

Gaz tried to talk to you about that night once, to which you immediately shut him down. Though, you knew he saw through you, and Price too, it was probably easier reading Price than you at this point. It was odd for Price to seclude himself away, even odder that he wasn't on speaking terms with you conveniently after the night that you tracked him down and blew up at him for starting a rumor that he most definitely did not create. Ghost had caught onto the odd tension between you two almost as fast as Gaz did.

Jhonny well… he was still in his own world, the man was smart sure, but he was a bit of a dunce when it came to reading other people's emotions. On the bright side that made him the perfect buddy to be around because he wasn't analyzing every interaction you had. You were grateful for him in his own way.

You were walking down one of the hallways after a bit of a loose end. Having nothing to do after training was a pain sometimes, you had an hour or two until dinner, and the base gym was at its busiest. And you didn't feel like you were in the mood to wait twenty minutes in a sweaty gym for a turn on the leg press machine. So, you opted for wandering around like a lost spirit in search of something to do instead.

Just as you turned a corner you collided with what felt like another wall. Your eyes met a 4x4 truck with a skull mask. Ghost.

“Easy, aren't sharpshooters supposed to be vigilant? Or are you the only exception?” His voice reverberated off your eardrums like a low-pitch bass. You rolled your eyes but let out an amused breath of air. To give the big guy some credit his name fits him perfectly, you didn't know how someone who was built like a standard Lego brick could be so stealthy. He could fit into any dark corner and nobody would be the wiser.

“Just you Ghost, you seem to be the only entity that evades me.” That seemed to pull a junction of his lips up because the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled. He held a small file filled with a few articles of paper tucked away into its folds.

Ghost crossed his arms, “What ya’ doin’? Have you taken up wandering hallways as a hobby now?”

You grimaced, “Gym was all full, didn't want to bother.” You said plainly, earning a nod from the bigger man.

“So… suppose that means you're free for time?” There was a slight smugness to his tone as he held the file up to you. Your gaze dropped from him to the file, he didn't phrase it like an order but you knew it was. You sighed and took the file from his hand. “Fine. Who do I have to track down to give this to?”

He shifted on one foot, “Price. You know where his office is.” You tried not to let your mouth fall open, this bastard.

You shook your head and tried to thrust the papers back into his chest, “What? No, I'm not giving these to Price. Can't you find someone else?”

Ghost stepped back and shook his head, raising his hands up in surrender. “Nope, s’outta my hands now. It’s one file, just knock on his door and drop it on his desk, easy.” You shot him a spiteful glare, there was probably an evil grin under that stupid mask.

You squeezed the file in your hands tighter, feeling the paper wrinkle in your vice grip. “Bastard.” You grimaced, turning on your heel towards the direction of Price's office. You heard him chuckle over your shoulder, “Good soldier.” He called after you, the shit-eating grin practically spotlighted through his tone.

Trudging through the familiar hallways toward Price's office was like walking through a dead-end alleyway. The further you got, the more signs you saw telling you to turn back. Sure you saw him after the night of the kiss, but you weren't being forced to talk to him or even acknowledge he was there. This was different, you would be alone with him. Alone in his office. Even if it was for a split second that you were in his presence the knowledge still made your skin pebble with goosebumps.

Before you knew it, you were facing the dreaded door of his office. The sight of the familiar plaque of his name gives you an almost Deja Vu feeling. The last time you were here things didn't go over too well, not that things ever really went great when the two of you came in contact.

You drew in a breath, just get this over with and you could be done. Maybe go take a shower or something, just go anywhere that was a good distance away from here. Your fist met the hardwood of the door, giving it a hearty few knocks. After a beat, his muffled voice reached your ears, “Come in.”

Pushing open the door you were greeted with the sight of Price. Doing pushups in the corner of his office. Okay, I guess. You were a little dumbfounded, usually one uses an office for things like paperwork or meetings. Not a personal gym. “I thought the point of recovering was that you're supposed to be resting.” You deadpanned. The file in your hands long forgotten.

His head immediately snapped up at the sound of your voice, pools of blue staring right into you like you'd walked in naked. Price halted mid-pushup, “[Name].” He breathed, obviously caught a little off guard by your appearance.

“Unfortunately,” You said back, watching as he got up and brushed himself off. The cotton of his shirt stretched over the expanse of his biceps and chest. Your eyes shot back to his face, a little guilty. Price cleared his throat, “They won't let me train in the gym yet. So, I have to improvise.”

You blinked at him, “Base doctor must love you.” You said sarcastically, glancing down at his foot. “How's your foot?” You asked politely, filling the awkward silence.

Price looked down at his wrapped foot, shrugging. “It's better. Don't need the crutch anymore.” He said plainly. You responded with a nod and an ‘ah,’ creating an even longer awkward silence. The two of you stood there for another beat, just looking at each other. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to run to him or run away from him. Just then you remembered the whole reason why you were here.

“Oh- uh, I have this for you-“ You held out the manilla file for him to take, “Ghost told me to bring it up here.” Price's eyes darted from the folder and then back to you, he hesitantly walked closer and took the file. His fingers brushed yours and you swear an electric current shot through your spine. His fingers were warm and rough, transporting you back to when his hands were in your hair, holding your face, cupping the back of your neck.

You swallowed, it felt like your heartbeat was in your head. “Thank you.” He said, pulling back his hand and the papers with it.

It was like someone had knocked the wind out of you, you were frozen. “…Right, I'll go then.” You said, taking a step back from him as he put the file on top of his desk.

“[Name]. Hold on, please.” His voice stopped you in your tracks, making you rotate a little to face him completely. His voice didn't sound angry, but it was firm. “Everything alright?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek, watching as he faced you. Leaning against his desk with his arms crossed.

His adams apple bobbed up and down, lifting a hand to rub his mutton chops. “Yeah…I just wanted to clear up something with you.” His voice was careful, the pauses and hesitance filling you with dread. Shit. He wanted to talk about the kiss, which you most definitely did not want to talk about. A part of you was dying inside but you nodded, “Yeah, what's up?” You said through clenched teeth.

“About what happened the night before the team left Urzikstan, I just wanted to… apologize. It was unprofessional of me especially considering the circumstances.” You stood statue still, well this was a first. He was apologizing to you. Price continued, “It was a moment of weakness and emotions were running high and frankly I didn't know how else to show you I didn't hate you. I give you my word that it will never happen again.”

A moment of weakness? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? It was nice to hear an apology come from him but to be honest, you weren't sure if you were happy about the fact he was sorry. Maybe that meant he didn't enjoy it, but it certainly didn't seem like it when his tongue was down your throat. Well, if you were already on the subject mind as well ask.

“Did you hate it?” You asked, Price looked at you for a moment. His face was puzzled like it was the last thing he had expected to come out of your mouth. “What?” He asked, his voice thick behind his British accent.

You stood your ground, “The kiss-” you clarified. “Did. you. hate. it?” His eyes searched yours for an ounce of reasoning, “I- it was unprofessional and I shouldn't have initiated anything as your Captain-”

“That wasn't my question.” You cut him off, your eyebrows furrowed together as your gaze bore into him. “I asked if you hated kissing me.”

Price shifted, leaning back a little against his desk. It was silent for a while, the sound of the wall clock and your beating heart was the only noise you could hear. “No… I didn't hate it.” He said after another beat.

A small part of you soared, you could sleep at night knowing your kissing abilities weren't the cause of his skittishness. The next question slipped past your lips before you had the mind to stop yourself. “Do you regret it?”

Again his lips pulled into a frown and his eyes darted away, “[Name], I don't know why these questions are necessary.” But you weren't going to let him deflect you that easy, right now all thoughts of professionalism and integrity were out the window. You deserved an explanation, even if the logical side of your mind was telling you to leave. You stepped closer to him, so he couldn't ignore your presence.

“It's necessary because you kissed me out of nowhere and I deserve an explanation.” You said defiantly, “So do you or do you not regret it?”

He gave you an exasperated look before swallowing his pride. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his pointer and thumb, he spoke, “I regret kissing you at that moment, and how I went about it. But I don't regret kissing you, no.”

Price’s cheeks turned a slightly rosy color that reached his ears. He looked like a guilty dog. You didn't know what surprised you more, the fact that he apologized or that he didn't regret kissing you. But his admission sparked a heat that crawled into your bones, burying into your stomach and coloring your cheeks similarly to his.

“Then just kiss me again.”

What came out of your mouth seemed to surprise you just as much as it did Price. He looked at you like you had grown a second head, “I'm sorry?” You felt your limbs lose feeling, fuck it, if you were going in mind as well go all in.

“I said what I said, if you regret how you went about kissing me last time…make it up now.” The silence that stretched over the two of you lasted for far longer than you were comfortable with. Price shook his head, seemingly coming back to reality. “[Name], I'm not kissing you.” He said pushing off the desk to stand at his full height.

You frowned, well shit. “Why not?” You said, trying not to let the surprise and annoyance bleed through your tone.

He looked at you incredulously, “Because we're in my fucking office and you're my subordinate.” Price said, gesturing around his office to further his argument. Jeez, you really hated this guy. He could at least throw you a bone after pulling a kiss on you out of nowhere.

“So? You kissed me out in the open at the checkpoint base- and I was your subordinate then too.” You knew that he knew you had a good point there, “If you don't want to kiss me or something you could've just said so.” You glared.

Price groaned and shook his head, rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck. “No- I- fuck, of course I want to kiss you. But it's not appropriate, there are fraternization rules. Especially when it comes to me as your Captain.”

Aha! So he did want to kiss you, that at least was one more mystery solved. You craned your neck up to meet his eyes, your hands seizing his face. Cupping his scruffy cheeks between your palms. “Rules only apply if you get caught. And you owe me a better apology.” You told him sternly.

Price’s eyes were wide and his body tensed for a moment. Only to relax a moment later, the heat of his face could burn your skin. Your hands tingled as the pads of your fingers slid against the coarse scuff of his beard. His face hid something behind the mask of surprise, something that glinted in the pools of navy and grey. Everything about him looked so odd, so real.

Back at the checkpoint base, you didn't have time to look over his features or memorize them. You weren't able to watch the flicker in his eyes, something akin to a stalking wolf.

“One kiss.” Price breathed.

“One kiss.” You repeated back to him, trying not to let your voice quake.

That was all it took before his lips were slotted against yours, swallowing your breath and your mind with it. The kiss back at Urzikstan was rushed, desperate, quick. This. This was different. It was like a switch in your brain was flipped off, the mind-numbing static and the gentle rhythm of his lips replaced where your rational thought was supposed to be.

Large hands seized your waist, digging into your flesh. Slowly, the gentle probes of his mouth morphed into heavy kisses and heated groans. His mouth tasted the same as it did before, like smoke and whiskey. You doubted you'd ever forget the taste of him.

Your hands slid around his neck, and your dull nails dragged down his nape. Earning a throaty moan on his part, with each lick, groan, and movement of his lips, you only seemed to get sucked in further. Your senses were drowning in him, yet you only ached to go deeper. To let the water fill your lungs and cloud your brain.

Lips, tongue, teeth, you didn't know where it ended nor where it started. Hell, you didn't know what you were even doing. You didn't even realize you had moved until your behind hit the solid edge of his desk, making you retract for a sharp breath.

Price panted against your lips, still slick and kiss swollen. Neither of you did anything, standing still in the aftermath. The kiss said more than either of you could have ever put into words. Hands squeezed your hips, “On the desk.”

You blinked, only somewhat coherent, “What?” Price lightly pushed you further, the back of your body being pressed against the hardwood. “You heard me, sit on the desk.” His voice was rough and thick with his accent. It wasn't more of a request but a demand, and unlucky for you it made your knees weak.

Carefully you lifted yourself onto the flat surface, his body wedged between your open legs. The rough pads of his fingers grasping at your hips, and before you knew it you were kissing him again. It was addictive, he was addictive. This felt more like your fist kiss with him, the kisses became rougher, more rushed, and more desperate. Like trying to fill an endless void with his lips.

“I thought you said one kiss,” You managed to gasp out between open-mouthed kisses. You felt the pull of a smile on the corner of his lips before separating from you only to attach to your neck. Suckling at the skin and leaving trails of blooming redness in his wake.

“You said you wanted a better apology right?” Price said, his voice vibrating against your collar. The texture of his beard against your skin sending full-body shivers down your spine.

You nodded, your hands reaching to his back to fist the material of his shirt. “Yeah.” Your voice was breathy, it sounded almost foreign to you. Like you hadn't even spoken it. Hands dipped under your shirt, running up the soft skin of your ribs, mapping out your body. Price looked at you, something in his eyes was desperate, like a wild animal looking at their next meal.

“Then let me make it up to you. Please.” Fuck.

When had a man ever said that to you? And not any man but John fucking Price. A pulse drummed in your stomach that reached your core, here you were, sitting on your captain's desk with him in between your legs. Asking you to let him make it up to you. Really…who were you to refuse when he asked so nicely? You swallowed and nodded, “Okay.”

With your confirmation, Price lifted your shirt above your head, hastily tossing it somewhere on the floor. His hands making quick work of your bra with it, the offending garment joining your shirt on the floor. He stood there momentarily, taking in the new expanse of revealed skin. Price’s calloused hands glided over your abdomen, cupping your breasts and brushing a thumb over the hardened nipple.

You hissed, your spine curving at his touch. Price’s hands were hard and warm, a stark contrast to the plush mound of your chest. “Fuck, you're a vision you know that? So fucking pretty.” He breathed, his comments adding fuel to the fire between your legs. You couldn't remember the last time a man had called you anything near a ‘vision,’ but damn it felt good. It felt good to be wanted.

Your thighs squeezed together, blocked by his frame standing between them. Every movement he made caused your hips to brush, sending shocks up your spine. And shit could you feel him, he was a large man but the size of the tent brushing against your clothed core was downright ridiculous. No wonder his ego was so big, you absentmindedly thought.

A finger hooked one of the loops of your standard-issue pants. Price was looking at you, “Can I…?” He motioned down asking permission to discard the rest. To which you nodded, trying to hold back your eagerness. “Yeah go ahead.”

Price helped you out from your pants, letting them drop to the floor with a dull thud. He groaned as he caught eye of your underwear—a very embarrassing and very obvious wet spot coating the fabric. Fuck-you didn't realize that was there. You'd been so caught up in his hands you'd barely felt it. He shot you a knowing look, the corner of his lip twitched up.

“All this cause of me?” He asked smugly, circling a digit over the sodden fabric. You twitched, the contact making you bite down on your lip to keep from making a startled noise.

You glared at him, “Don’t fucking tease me.” You said, the embarrassment in your tone disguised as venom. He grinned, prick’ you thought. Price guided a finger over your clothed slit, leaning into the crook of your neck. “Never baby, just want to make things right with you.” He murmured into your skin.

Price tugged the fabric to the side, letting your slick lubricate his fingers. You shuddered, your hands holding onto him for dear life. “Fuck-” You choked out, your hips leaning into his hand. It felt infuriatingly good, the way his digit glided up and down your labia at a leisurely slow pace making you fein for more. He groaned as he watched you moan from the way he brushed his thumb over your clit.

“Atta girl, so good f’me.”

Oh.

You liked that. You'd never really paid attention to the gratification of someone praising you outside of an academic or professional level but at that moment you could tell that did something for you. And Price seemed to notice too.

He gently prodded at your entrance, earning a whine from your lips. “One finger or two?” He muttered, you could barely think let alone answer his question. What you did know was that you need more, “Two.” You said breathlessly.

A light chuckle reverberated off of him, “Greedy girl.” Price didn't wait and plunged two fingers into you slowly. You threw your head back as his thick digits stretched open the gummy walls of your core. “Fuck, look at you. So wet for me, so fucking sexy like this you know that?” You could only manage another choked whine as he mimicked the ‘come here’ motion with his fingers.

It was euphoric, the way he filled out your walls with his fingers alone. Slowly pressing the pads of his middle and ring up against the spongy spot inside you. You dug your nails into his shoulder, a silent scream fell from your lips. Price’s other hand holding the small of your back to support you. “Stay still,” He whispered into the shell of your ear, making you shudder.

You didn't listen, how could you? You could barely focus on what he was saying as it was, let alone when he was knuckle deep inside you.

When Price noticed you weren't listening he retracted his fingers, leaving you hollow. You whined, already craving the stretch of his fingers again. He rested his palm against your cunt, his digits barely tracing over your entrance. “Come on, I know you can listen, stay still for me yeah?” His voice vibrated against your neck and his beard brushed over the exposed skin. Making your body prickle with goosebumps.

“You're an asshole you know that?” You panted, going rigidly still. He smiled against you, his fingers plunging back into your wet heat. “And you're all bark and no bite, fuckin’ vixen. Always looking at me when you know you shouldn't, driving me insane all the time. Stubborn girl.”

You threw your head back, trying hard not to let your hips twitch or jerk. Your mouth fell open to let out a lustful moan that would've made anyone in the near vicinity blush.

Price continued, “You like driving me mad? Never fucking listening to me, arguing with me, riling me up.” He muttered, sliding his fingers in and out at a brutal pace. Making your cunt flutter, producing the most obscene sounds you ever heard from yourself. “Then you come in here all sexy asking me to kiss you. It's like you wanted this, wanted my fingers.”

You felt the burning fire in your core tighten and roar, “Price- slow down. M’gonna cum if you keep going.” You babbled, your nails leaving crescents on his bicep. Everything was happening so fast you couldn't keep track of what was going on.

Price’s fingers were rough, thick, they filled out the lining of your walls with ease. A thick fog started to cloud your mind, making the world almost blur. In. Out. In. Out. It was maddening, he wasn’t slowing and you were only growing more feverish.

He shook his head, his other hand leaving your hip to grab your chin. Forcing you to look into his eyes, an animalistic hunger written over his face. “No, you're going to cum on my fingers. Look at me while you do it, look at me while you soak my hand.” Price’s thumb circled over your clit, making you clench and pulse. A full-body shudder racking through you.

You came suddenly, unexpectedly. It was hard and fast, but in a way, it was like you were floating. Your muscles went rigid, your back curving, and your startled moan bounced off the walls of the office. It came in waves, crashing over you like the tide as he finger-fucked you through the orgasm. All the while staring directly into those familiar pools of blue and navy. Your pussy spasmed around his fingers.

After a minute you fell limp, like you'd just run miles, you panted. Hair falling in your face and wetness coating both his fingers and your inner thighs, the juices pooling onto the dark wood of the table. Price held your waist with one hand, letting you slump against his chest. It was peaceful bliss for a moment.

You caught your breath enough to sit up, meeting his gaze. His hand that held your waist moved to brush a few stray hairs falling over your eyes. The corners of Price’s lips pulled into a smile, and your heart stuttered, only a little though. “Have I made it up to you yet?” He murmured, the thickness of his voice could have melted your ears. Smooth like syrup but rugged enough to be devastatingly masculine.

“Apology accepted.” You breathed, trying not to sound too winded. It was too late to form any semblance of decency so the next best option was pretending he didn't single-handily give you the most toe-curling orgasm of your life. Easier said than done.

Price detached from you, walking over to one of his office drawers and pulling out a box of tissues. “Normally I'd have something better to clean you up with but these will do for now.” He said casually, pulling a few from the box and coaxing your legs back open to wipe down the mess. Somehow, you felt a blush spread across your cheeks.

This was so...domestic, sweet even, it wasn't like him. Then again, fingering you on his desk wasn't like him either but here you were. You both had crossed a line and there wasn't any going back, you swallowed. “Thanks, but uhm…what do we do now?” Frankly, it was a dumb question but you couldn't help asking.

He gave you a look, “What do you mean?” You squirmed under his gaze, trying not to look down at his warm hand brushing up against your inner thigh.

“Well, we can't exactly pretend like this didn't happen.” You clarified, watching as the wheels in his head turned. Price shrugged, “We can leave it at this if that's what you want. I think both of us are just on edge, y’know, the heat of the moment.”

Somehow his words didn't match his face, there was more that seemed to bellow beneath his tone. But rather than bringing it up, you thought about his words. This wasn't ever something you anticipated to happen but to your surprise, you didn't hate it. “What if we just kept it going?”

Price looked at you, his eyes widened a tad, the surprise written across his face doing more for your nerves than you were comfortable with. “Like- in the sense that you and I both have a lot of built-up tension and unresolved issues. But if this works to keep the peace why not give it a try? Discreetly of course.”

It was a beat before he responded, “Alright, but like you said, discreet. If anyone catches on this is done.”

You soared, why? You didn't know, it just felt like the best news you'd gotten in forever. But looking too deeply into that feeling was uncharted territory. Better off leaving it in the corner of your brain with all the other repressed emotions.

“Works for me.” You agreed, Price got up again to grab your poor clothes that had been flung across the room. Handing them back gingerly, he was nice enough to turn around as you reclothed yourself. There was a slight charge to the air, almost like static. It pricked at your skin, making you jumpy and nearly insecure. It was like you had reverted to a teenage girl.

He caught your gaze, and the unspoken tension and lingering awkwardness faded just a little. He gave you a nod, “I'll see you tomorrow for drills.”

You smiled just slightly, “See you.” Walking to the door and turning the handle, you forced yourself not to look back at him.

After shutting the door you breathed a sigh, brushing out your clothes and smoothing your hair of the lingering frizz. Getting cozy with your captain was not on your yearly bingo card, but hey, beggars couldn't be choosers. You absentmindedly thought about the implications of technically giving that stupid rumor some validity. But you were only human, a girl has to do what she has to do to get laid.

Discreetly, of course, you were great about being discreet. Yeah, easy peasy. All you had to do was make sure nobody found out.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

At first, you didn't really know what to expect when you first made the arrangement with Price about “solving the unresolved problems between the two of you.” But after a few weeks of working out frustrations ‘on’ each other, you could say with full confidence that this arrangement exceeded your expectations.

Not only had the genuine fights between you been on an extended hiatus, but it started to be replaced with playful banter. And when you weren't bantering or training or hanging out with the group, you were fucking. And boy was it something.

For one, Price was experienced, to say the least, he knew what to do and when to do it. He had mapped out your body and played it like a fiddle. And with your extent of mediocre lovers, it was like a breath of fresh air. And his body was nothing to sneeze at either, he had muscle allll the way down. Battle scars be dammed, everything just seemed to make him more appealing.

The only troubling part of the arrangement was keeping up the ruse and getting creative when it came to the actual action portion of it. But turns out that unconventional areas to have sex weren't as bad as they seemed. Office? Hell yeah. In the medical wing private rooms? Why not. In the showers and bathrooms? You only live once.

Unintentionally getting laid was also fixing your mood. Who knew an orgasm was a great way to fix an attitude problem? Well, at least most of your attitude problems.

You were outside running the trail that weaved its way around the base, at least once or twice a week Price would make you and the team run until you thought you would pass out. Something about endurance training. Running wasn't the worst thing but the harsh trail and uneven ground that zigzagged and dipped made you want to tear your hair out.

Your breath came out in small puffs, the cold air around you doing little to soothe the hot ache of your muscles. Your baby hairs stuck to your forehead and by the looks of it, you still had a few more miles left.

Jhonny ran beside you, his heavy breaths synchronous with yours. Up ahead was Gaz and Price and a few inches behind you was Ghost acting as caboose. You watched them run in front of you like you were studying a Peloton ad. Seriously, how the hell had they barely broken a sweat yet?? It was downright annoying how athletic they were.

“I swear, neither of them are human. Price just got cleared to run a week ago and he looks like he's having the time of his life.” You said between pants, next to you Soap laughed.

“Can’t say I disagree with ya’ there Bonnie, think he just does it for show at this point.” He said, his voice equally hoarse. From behind you, Ghost chimed in, “Maybe if you two stopped talking you'd actually catch up to them by now.”

You shot Ghost a glance over your shoulder, “People in glass houses.” You quipped, considering he was the caboose it was a little ironic. Not by much but still.

Soap grinned, “She’s right ain't she L.T.? Say, how's the arse of the train treating you? Got a nice view?”

Your laugh hurt, the air felt so thin but the pit of your stomach warmed. Talking while running (especially laughing) wasn't the smartest, but it was a distraction. Ghost swatted at the back of Soap’s head, cutting his laugh short.

From up ahead Price turned his head to look at you and Soap. “Two miles left, I’d suggest you save your stamina. If you fall behind on time you run extra.” He deadpanned. His voice barely sounded tired, the nerve.

You grimaced, “I think I’d prefer one of your medieval torture methods than running any longer.” Despite what you thought was an amusing comment Price didn't look enthused.

“That was a nice way of telling you and Jhonny to shut up, am I clear?” He said sternly, you held in your groan. Hookup buddy or not, Price was still annoying. “Clear.” You and Soap said in unison.

The rest of the path was spent in lingering silence. And by the time you reached base, you felt like you had one foot in the grave. You hunched over, your hands on your knees as you took in as many breaths as you could without it hurting. Had the air always been this thin?

Price was a few feet ahead, hands on his hips as he cooled off. His hair was slightly messy and his body glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He reached for his shirt and pulled it up to wipe his face, exposing the hard muscle and his happy trail. Dear lord. You watched him like a hawk, zeroing in on his abs as they expanded and decompressed with each breath.

He glanced your way, you were incredibly obvious so it was no surprise how his eyebrow twitched up and his lips pulled into a wry smile. “I did tell you to save your energy.” He commented quite smugly, referencing your current state.

You snapped out of the trance his abs had put you in, leaning back up and darting your eyes away. “I’m fine, just catching my breath. And for the record that felt way longer than normal, at this point, you just like to watch the team suffer.”

Price chuckled, crossing his arms. “Well someone’s bitter. But look, you did it and you came out fine. It's a win-win.”

You glared at him, unimpressed. “Sure, you work me like a dog until I inevitably die of overexertion and I get a paycheck in the mail that I'll never be able to spend because I'm dead. Win-win.” You said sarcastically. Price's lips tugged up, his mutton chops creating an almost teddy bear-like effect.

The corners of his eyes slightly crinkled, “Maybe you should've taken up drama instead of Military. Might fit you better.”

Your lips pursed into a line, Price was quick witted, but way too full of himself. It was a good thing you were there to keep his ego in line, you liked to think of yourself almost as the balancing act of the team. After all, there could only be so many cooks in the kitchen before things got rocky. “Good thing they don’t pay you for jokes.” You said, finally gaining back your breath.

Just as Price opened his mouth to give what was most likely a poor rebuttal a large hand patted your shoulder.

“[Name], pub tonight yeah?” It was Gaz. His beaming face almost made you squint. You took a minute to process his words, you were rarely one to inhabit the pubs on the outskirts of the base. But a brief memory of him and Jhonny asking you to go from earlier that morning cleared up your memory fog.

You cleared your throat and nodded, “Yeah- wouldn't miss it.” You said through your teeth. Gaz looked forward to Price, “You tagging along Price?”

You looked back at Price too, curious. He stood there a moment before sighing, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I will. Someone's got to keep the lot of ya’ in check.” Your spirit plummeted, the last time you were drunk in front of Price you started cursing at him like a drunken sailor. And you started kissing him in broad…daylight? Nightlight? Whatever. The point was, that you had zero self-control when you drank.

Heck, you barely had any self-control when it came to Price. You were on him any chance you got, and mixing two of your greatest temptations just sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Gaz smiled, ruffling your sweaty hair. “Great! We’ll leave after dinner, Price you're designated driver.” You forced yourself to smile back, giving a weak excuse for an ‘excited’ laugh.

“Great.” You said through your teeth, giving an enthusiastic thumbs up. Price gave him a nod as he walked off towards Soap and Ghost.

“Can’t wait.” You breathed to yourself.

Game plan: Don't drink and avoid Price at all costs. Simple enough. After all, it was just a pub, how bad could it be?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Spoiler Alert: Bad. It could be bad.

In the first thirty minutes of being at the shabby pub, you'd broken your first rule by getting roped into a drinking game with Jhonny. Not the smartest of decisions by far that you made. But it did take off the edge, now the orange lighting and the peeling paint on the walls seemed quaint instead of creepy.

The warmth in your stomach buzzed with a low frequency that made you giddy. And you hadn't paid for any of your drinks courtesy of Jhonny. Things may have been turning out for the better if you stayed on your A game. But unsurprisingly you failed to do so.

You sat on one of the barstools, a classic marg in hand with the salted rim and fancy lime slice on the glass. Ghost was sitting next to you while you both watched Jhonny trying to sweet-talk some poor girl from across the bar. Price sat a few chairs down next to Gaz, wrapped up in a conversation with the old bartender. Slowly, you felt yourself getting cozy.

And you were drunk enough that you merely hummed along with the maroon 5 reruns that played in the background.

“I got fifteen on the girl slappin’ him by the end of the night.” Ghost said as you watched the scene unfold.

You couldn't help but let an unabashed giggle slip from your lips. “Honestly I can't tell if she wants to take him home or take him to the local station for harassment charges.” Ghost grunted in agreement.

The girl gingerly took another sip of her drink as Soap talked to (at) her. Earning another hearty laugh from both You and Ghost. After another minute of people-watching Ghost patted the bar table, fishing a pack from inside of his cargo pocket. “Alright, I’m taking five’ I'll be outside.” He said as he got up.

You frowned but nodded, your gossip buddy was gone which was annoying. But instead of dwelling on it, you took another sip of your marg. The tequila burned your throat in a sickly sweet way, it wasn't the best drink you'd ever had but it did the job. Mid-drink you felt someone else walk up behind you, without warning someone slid into the empty stool next to you.

“This seat taken?” You didn't recognize the voice, it was masculine but it didn't sound like any of the guys. You looked to your side, it was a guy. He looked to be taller, with pale skin, sandy brown hair, and dark eyes. He wasn't about to be on a magazine cover but he definitely wasn't hard to look at.

You didn't quite know what to say, “uh…yeah, I suppose by you.” It was a lame response but he did kinda already sit himself down.

He smiled, white teeth, a little crooked but nobody's perfect. He had a good jaw, not clean-shaven but it made him look a bit more approachable. “That’s good to hear,” he was holding a drink, a gin-and-coke by the looks of it. “I saw you and your friend playing that drinking game earlier, pretty impressive, didn't think you'd be able to keep up.”

You gave a bit of an awkward laugh, unsure of what to make of the situation. But friendly conversation wasn't off the table, and the mystery man seemed nice enough. “Yeah, I guess I did, thanks. You uh- you done anything like that before?”

Mystery man shook his head, “No I can't hold my ale. I prefer to let the professionals handle that.” You laughed, finding the comment a little ridiculous.

“I’d hardly call myself a professional.” You replied, taking another sip of your drink. His eyes dipped down to your lips, watching as you raised the glass to your mouth and swallowed. But, they quickly averted back to your eyes.

“I don't know, I would hardly classify you as intermediate. I would buy you a drink but I'm not sure that much to drink in one night is healthy.” He said smoothly, leaning one elbow against the counter.

Buy you a drink? Okay, maybe a bit too friendly. But maybe he was just being nice, people buy strangers drinks all the time. You nodded, “Oh that's nice of you. Yeah, I'd say after this I’ll call it quits.” You said, raising your marg.

He hummed and nodded, licking his lips. “Hopefully you're not too drunk, right?” Something about his tone you didn't like, it was like he was teasing you.

You averted your eyes, “Uh hopefully not. Just buzzed for now, I’ll probably feel the brunt of it later.” You laughed awkwardly.

“Did you drive here yourself?” Okay, what was with all the questions? You weren't sure if that was a courteous thing to ask or just downright nosy.

You shook your head, “No someone drove me.” You said simply, keeping it short and sweet. Maybe then he'd get the vibes you were putting off. He hummed, his eyes drilling into you like one of those toy lasers.

“Are you going home with anyone?” He asked, you almost choked on your drink. What was with this guy? How did you go from drinking the game two seconds ago to this??

He cut you off before you had the chance to say anything, “Because if not, I’d be willing to drive you back. Free of charge, of course.”

Free of charge my ass.

The actual charge probably consisted of a blow job in the back seat of his Toyota Corolla. Or white van, you were still figuring out the vibes on this guy.

You were stunned to speak, absolutely dumbfounded by the lack of social cues. It was like walking into the shallow end of a pool only to step into eight feet of water. To make it worse he reached forward, brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face. “Come on, don't leave me hanging. What do you say?”

Pound!’

Something hard hit the counter, making both your drinks wobble. You swiveled your head towards the noise, and low and behold your second greatest desire now stood between you and the mystery guy. Price.

His fist on the counter cut the conversation short as well as all the noise around him. Creating an oh-so-silent bar. The mystery man retracted his hand like he'd been scorched by an open flame. Looking up at Price with a bewildered expression, “What the fuck man?” He asked with a furrowed brow.

Price looked down at him, his expression unmoving. “Apologies, but I think it's time you go bother another person. Particularly one that isn't a part of my team.”

Whatever thoughts of arguing that the mystery man had immediately died as Price crossed his arms, puffing himself out like a bird when ruffling its feathers. You looked at both of them incredulously, sure you were glad Price came to the rescue but you could've handled it yourself. You didn't need him to come barreling through like a charging rhino to handle something you didn't even ask him to do.

You looked around to see everyone's heads turned in your direction, looking between Price and the other guy. Suddenly the alcohol in your stomach turned sour, and you felt your cheeks grow hot from the unwanted attention.

“Jeez, look I wasn't looking for any trouble. I didn't know she had a man, my bad.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. Price didn't budge, guarding you like a stone wall. “Then off you go.” He said sternly.

The mystery guy nodded, sliding out from the barstool and walking past you and back to the table where he came from. The pub started to go back to normal, people picking up where they left off. Price turned back to you, his posture deflating a little. He looked down at you, and from the way you were looking back at him, he immediately knew something was amiss. “What?” He asked.

Your eyebrows slid lower on your face, your lips pursing into a tight frown. “What do you mean ‘what?’ What the fuck was that?” You whisper shouted at him, your cheeks still burning with embarrassment.

Price looked at you like you were crazy, a frown on his lips. “The bloke was touching you, you think I'm just going to stand by and let him paw at you?” He asked defensively.

Oh please. He barely even touched your face. It wasn’t great, but, it didn’t warrant Price making a whole spectacle. Especially not in front of the team, let alone a group of spectators. You looked back at Gaz, who was staring directly at you, then at Jhonny, who went back to talking to the girl.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” You signed, not wanting to be in earshot of Gaz who was most definitely eavesdropping. Friend or not, he couldn't know any more than he already did, the bastard was perceptive enough as it was.

Price glanced at Gaz and then back to you, his jaw working with tension. “Fine.” He huffed, you were a bit taken aback by the irritability in his tone. Why was he so mad now? He was the one who caused the scene. Nonetheless, you slipped out of the bar and followed Price as he stormed off.

You weaved through tables and people, trying your best to squeeze by without knocking into anything. Price walked into an emptier hallway that led to the restrooms. It was one of those creepy hallways with no overhead lights and weird pictures strung across the walls. You eyed the peeling wallpaper, it was like you'd stepped into a time capsule. Warm light poured from the main area of the bar, casting an orange hue against you and Price that was cut off by shadows.

He turned back to you, the furrow in his brow knitting the skin in between. He looked sexy. The thought popped into your mind before you had the sense to block it out. While very true you had to stand your ground. A hot man and some liquor in your system would not sway your resolve. (Maybe it could sway it a little.) focus!

“What was that? You charging up to that guy and slamming your fist on the counter.” You asked folding your arms over your chest.

Price leaned against the opposite wall, facing you. “I didn't charge up to him, I simply made it clear that he crossed a line.” He said defiantly. You raised a brow, unsure of what to make of the blanket statement.

“What line?” You asked, to which Price scoffed.

“He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, and don't think I didn't hear the way he was interrogating you. Come off it [Name], I know you're not stupid, you could see clear as I could what that fucker wanted.” He spat.

You exhaled, either the liquor was catching up to you or it was starting to get hot. “Well yeah, but he barely did anything, and that hardly warranted you taking matters into your own hands.” You defended, “-I could have just told him to fuck off or something. I didn't need you charging in like a bull and letting the entire bar know.”

You watched Price’s hand bawl into a fist, flexing the strain in his neck as he glared down at you. “What else was I supposed to do? Politely ask him to leave? When he's got his dirty hands on you like that-” He groaned, wiping his face with one hand.

“I'm not defenseless, I don't need you to rescue me.” You retorted, your hands holding your arms tighter to your chest.

Price rolled his eyes, “I know that. Don’t get smart with me.” He said pointing a finger your way, his mouth curling into a small snarl. “You don't get it, watching him practically undressing you with his eyes. It was fucking aggravating to watch- the way he looked at you.”

You were a bit surprised that he caught on to that, but you didn't feel like he was undressing you with his eyes per se. More like just intently staring, you pushed his accusatory finger down. “You're exaggerating, and you don't even know what he was thinking.” You tried to reason.

Price looked at you with a glare that would’ve made anyone else back down. But you didn't, as Jhonny once commented, you had the rather: “Fucking idiotic tendency to never be scared of Price.” What could you say? You liked a challenge.

He took a step forward, making you take one back. Your back hit the wall of the hallway. Like a caged animal, you were trapped. “I know exactly what he's thinking.” Price snarled, he grabbed your face. The rough pads of his fingers pressed into your hollow cheeks, his hand was so big it dwarfed your lower jaw.

“-Because I fucking think of the exact same things when I look at you.” His voice was harsh and low, sending ripples through your spine like shock waves. Price’s hand forced your face up so it was locked dead onto his, making you look into his eyes shadowed by the darkness. Flecks of light caught on his face, against his beard and jaw. If anyone were to walk into the hallway, it may have looked like Price was about to devour you like a starving carnivore.

You shuddered, he was so close it was driving your senses crazy. You could smell him, taste the venom in his voice, and God did it turn you on. You wanted more, you wanted to push his buttons. It felt good to drive him to the point of fury, to watch him slowly lose his composure. Years of hard discipline and mental strength all crumbling within minutes, and you wanted to watch.

“I don’t care if every man on the planet looks at me that way. I'm not yours, you don't get to put a claim on me. And you sure as hell don't get to make a scene in front of the entire bar and the team.” You spat back. Like an open flame, the wildfire between you and Price only seemed to burn brighter, faster, harder.

“-And what happened to being discrete huh? Last time I checked, scaring off any guy who looks in my direction isn't discrete.” You pried.

Price scowled down at you, his breathing starting to grow more labored. His hand clenched your face more forcefully, not enough to hurt but enough that you couldn't move. “You're right. You don't belong to me, but I am still your Captain, and you answer to me. Not to Gaz, or Jhonny, or Ghost. Not to some stupid prick who just wants a quick fuck. Me.”

Price was slowly getting angrier, to be honest, you rarely saw him this pissed. But deep down, it kind of did something to you. Knowing that you were the cause of his anger.

It was an ache that settled deep within your bones, making your blood coarse red hot. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was something more. Either way, you didn't care, you just needed to feel the satisfaction of breaking his ressolve. Stripping him of every facet that made him a man and revealing the primitive monster that lied underneath.

Your eyes narrowed into slits, “Fuck you Price.”

There was a beat of silence that stretched for far too long. It was so quiet you could almost feel the way your heart hammered in your chest. You made hard eye contact with him, watching the way his eyes widened and how his irises scanned over the expanse of your face.

“Fuck me?” He spoke, his voice hard and breathy. His hand forced your face up, straining the muscles in your neck. The back of your head was pressed into the hard wall with firm pressure. And to your surprise, the corner of his lip turned up into an amused smile. “Fuck me huh?” He repeated, and as suddenly as it appeared, his smile dropped.

“Fuck you.” He spat, surging forward into a clash of tongue, teeth, and lips. You quickly grabbed at his head, twisting your fingers through his hair. Your arms wrapped around him like a constricting snake.

The kiss was so rough you didn't even know if it could be classified as a kiss really. His body practically slammed into you, pinning you to the wall like a fly caught in a spider's web. One of his hands still clutched your face while the other was pressed flat into the wall beside your head. You heard one of the pictures that was hung on the wall next to you clatter to the ground. Everything seemed to fade into the background, all that mattered was the man who was currently pinning you to the wall.

Price was kissing you like a man starved. You forgot where you were, what you were doing, and why you felt so angry in the first place.

You distantly felt his hands move down to roughly cup your ass and then the back of your thighs. Price hoisted you up, trapping you between the wall and himself. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, grinding your hips against his. You groaned as you felt his tented pants against your clothed core, he was hard as a rock.

Your hands raked down the expanse of his back, fisting the soft cotton of his shirt between your fingers. Price took a few steps back, holding you to his chest still. His back hit the other wall with a thud, making the other pictures rattle. He kept maneuvering around like a blind man until his back hit the door to one of the bathrooms. It gave way to his weight, swinging backward.

“Price what-” Your words were cut off by another open-mouthed kiss. You returned it just as eagerly, maybe asking what he was doing could wait another minute. Price’s back hit the door again, one of his hands scrambling for the lock. He carried you across the empty bathroom, bouncing off the walls and counters as you went.

He managed to open the door to the last stall tucked away in the corner. Slamming against the stall you kissed him like an animal, clawing at his back and rolling your hips into his.

After another minute you pulled away for a breath, panting like you'd just swam up for air. His breath fanned your lips, thick with his taste and your mixed spit. The dingy bathroom was poorly lit, casting everything inside it in a dark light. You swallowed, “What are we doing in here?” You panted.

Price’s hands squeezed your ass, “Making sure nobody else can see what I'm about to do to you.” His voice was heavy and thick, like molasses sugar. The richness of it clouded your senses, making you loopy. Without warning he pulled you off him, setting you down on your feet with a hand tangled in your hair.

“On the ground.” He spoke, more of a command than anything.

You blinked, either it was the round of drinks or just his effect on you but the words barely processed. “What?” You breathed, your eyebrows knitting together.

Price gave your head a sharp yank, a surprised gasp slipping past your lips. His thick digits curled around your hair tighter, pulling your scalp taunt. “I said on the ground, I know you can listen to me.” He said, his voice was rough now, scratching against your eardrums like sandpaper. You knew you were in far too deep to back out now. (Not that you wanted to). So, you obeyed, much like an animal self domesticating itself to survive.

Your knees pressed into the cool, hard tile. Price still held your hair, craning your neck up to look him in the eyes. You saw it, the small restraint he always held, like a second face he wore around everyone else- it was gone. There was pure, unabashed want in his eyes. You felt your lungs deflate, the breath leaving your body. Hands that held his thighs dug into his jeans, an unspoken message that screamed ‘go.’

The adams apple in his throat bobbed, and Price’s other hand migrated to his belt. Gradually he unclasped the silver belt buckle, “You’re a smart girl [Name]. I know you didn't just say all of that before cause’ you wanted to prove a point to me.” He spoke, sliding the leather band open and pushing the top button of his pants through the slit. “-I know you're not that fucking stupid. So tell me…why did you? Just to get under my skin? To rile me up?”

Your throat ran dry, eyes glued to his fingers as they slid down the zipper. Preening to watch the way his boxers spilled out of the narrow opening. Price yanked your head back again with a sharp yelp on your part.

“Look at me. Not my cock, you'll have plenty of time to look at it later.” He breathed, pools of navy boring in your eyes. His pupils dilated, the soft red that colored his cheeks and ears doing little to soothe the roaring flame that burned between your legs.

You were at a loss for words, to be honest, you weren't completely sure why either. A sense of curiosity? It was hard to put into speech, “I…I wanted to see what you'd do.” You answered, making his eyebrow twitch up.

“Thats all? Not because you have a fascination with me? With fucking with my goddamn head. You don't like driving me insane?” He spat, palming a hand over himself. Your eyes flicked down, watching the fabric of his briefs stretch over the bulge.

You swallowed, looking at him tentatively. “I wanted to see the real you. Not the front, not the put-together Captain. You.”

A silence hung in the air, one that casted a thick layer of tension between you. Price’s lips turned upwards, a darkly amused chuckle echoing through the empty bathroom. “You already had me, baby.” He reached his hand into his briefs, pulling out his thick cock. He groaned, rubbing his hand up and down his appendage, “Fucking temptress that's what you are. You want me to not hold back, is that it? To fuck you stupid?”

You couldn't take your eyes off him even if you'd wanted to. No matter how many times you saw his dick it never got old, all you could do was marvel at it. He was big, and more importantly, he was thick. You watched his hand stroke the peachy skin, watching the heaviness of its girth and the reddened mushroom tip that beaded with milky pre-cum.

Price laughed, eyeing the way you looked at him like a starving animal. “This what you wanted? What all the fuss was about?” You couldn't help but nod, wetting your lips just at the sight. “-Tell me you want it. That you want me to fuck your throat raw.” He spoke, Price held himself just out of reach. Like a cat with a feathery toy, you were completely entranced.

You nodded, “Price fuck my throat.” The words sounded so odd coming from your mouth, so raw and crude it almost surprised you.

Price gave your head a small tug, a satisfactory grin on his face. He looked down at you, nodding his head to you as if to say ‘Go ahead.’ You could barely contain yourself as your hands slid around his cock, feeling the burn of hot skin beneath your palms. He was so thick your one hand almost couldn't wrap around his girth, two hands would have to do the job.

The weight of his length felt good, oh yeah, and not to mention that he was harder than a metal pole. Hastily you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue over the bulbous tip.

Price’s head fell back against the stall door, his hips twitched forward. A hearty groan fell from his parted lips. The hand in your hair gave you an encouraging squeeze. You hummed, letting the vibrations from your voice reverberate off his dick. He tasted like skin, musky and salty, leaving an earthy kind of aftertaste that clung to your tongue like syrup.

You separated with a lewd ‘pop, watching the muscles in Price’s neck strain. Dipping your head you licked a stripe up his cock, coating the length in a thin layer of spit. One hand stroked him up and down while the other dug into his thigh, leaving small crescents into the fabric of his pants. Beads of pre-cum spilled out from the small slit of his tip, you let your thumb swipe over the head generously lubing up his base.

Price’s hands tightened in your hair, “Fuck- that's it. Just like that pretty girl.” He panted, earning a pleased hum from your lips.

Without warning you took his cock back into your mouth, sinking down the furthest you could without gagging. The gummy walls of your throat tightened around the foreign object, accompanied by a wet gulping noise. You inhaled through your nostrils, trying your best to take him further.

Price cursed loudly, the sound of his voice bouncing across the tile walls. His cock twitched in your mouth. You moved your head down then forward, repeating the motion until you found a steady rhythm of bobbing down on his dick. What your mouth couldn't reach your hand made up for, squeezing and stroking faster and faster. He was so wound up you could practically feel the tension under his skin.

You pulled off of him, your mouth agape as you panted. Spit and other fluid gleamed against your lips like a gloss. Price looked down at you, confusion written across his face with a tad of concern.

“Are you okay?” He said through heavy breaths, to which you nodded. However, you shot him a stern look.

“You're holding back.” You panted, staring at him with a knowing glare. Price looked at you, unsure of how to respond to your accusatory tone. “-I said-Fuck. My. Throat.”

His face hardened, and the same animalistic gleam came back. “Fine. You want me to let go? I can let go.”

That was all it took before his hand wrapped around your hair like a rope. Pushing you down his cock inch by fucking inch. He moaned through his teeth, “Fuck- you know what to do if it gets to be too much.” He said breathlessly. It was true, you did know you always had an out, but this was way more fun.

Your jaw went slack to accommodate him, the stretch of him down your throat sending full-body shivers down your spine. Then he started to move. Your hands found his thighs, digging your nails into his pants.

Price made good on his promise, fucking your throat like it was his life’s goal. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat making you almost gag, hot tears stung your eyes. It was rough and desperate, he used your throat like he hated your guts. And you couldn't help but love every second of it, you managed to crack him. The hard shell he kept, and the walls he built up, were slowly crumbling down.

Then, as quickly as he pushed you down he pulled you off of him. You sucked in a desperate breath, making a small noise of confusion. You stared at Price with a quizzical look, one that bordered on ‘wtf??’

Price looked wrecked, his hair tussled and cheeks tinged red. Small beads of sweat trickled down his temples, but he smiled. “I'm sorry baby, did you want me to keep going?” He exhaled, an almost pitying aspect to his tone. The hand in your hair slid down to cup your chin, a rough thumb swiping over your puffy bottom lip.

“Why’d you stop?” You frowned up at him, and try as you might the disappointment in your voice was clear as day.

Price cupped your jaw, forcing your head back further. “Because as much as I love your mouth, I would much rather cum in that beautiful cunt of yours.”

You tried not to choke, refusing to give him the satisfaction that his words sent whole body shivers through you. But, it did sound heavenly, so you nodded and let him help you to your feet again. From there he guided you up against the stall, your palms flat on the cool door.

Price’s chest went flush with your back, his face tucked into where your shoulder met your neck. His hot breath fanned against you and the hairs of his scruff tickled your skin. Thick hands found your hips, sliding to your crotch to unzip your pants. You tried not to let your breath hitch as he palmed a hand over your clothed cunt.

“Jesus- this wet for me already? Haven't even touched you yet, but here you are, soaking your panties like a slag.” Price murmured into your nape, and even though you couldn't see it, you could feel his smirk.

You bit down on your cheek, “Big talk from someone who could barely keep it together while getting a simple blowy.” Your pants slid down and a sharp blow was delivered to your behind. You yelped, caught off guard by the harsh slap.

“Careful.” He murmured, his voice reverberating off the shell of your ear. Your eyes stung with tears as the burning sting of his mark cooled into a low ache. “-We don't have a whole day for you to think of a good comeback before someone comes knocking on that door. So I’d try to cooperate unless you want me to leave you high and dry. Which I'm perfectly fine with doing.”

Liar. He was bluffing, but Price was just as stubborn as you were and would most definitely make you wait an unseemly amount of time just to cum. So, for once in your life, you listened.

Trying to bite back your moans, you stood statue-still as Price tugged the offending garment to the side. Two fingers slid along your folds before plunging inside with a wet squelch. “Fuck, you're tight. You sure you can take me?” He breathed, and you threw your head back into his chest. He fingered you slowly, mapping out every crevice and dip with the pads of his fingers.

It wasn't enough. You needed more, “Price if you don't fuck me right now, I swear to god, I will do it myself.” Okay, so maybe that sounded a little bit more desperate than intimidating, but it got the message across.

You felt his breathy chuckle against your ear, and suddenly, his fingers slipped out of you. “Yes ma'am,” he said. However, the empty void left by his fingers was soon replaced by the burning contact of his cock against your swollen folds. Price groaned as he slid himself back and forth, gathering up your slick to use as lube.

A shudder ran down your spine, your palms pressing against the door harder. You pushed your hips back against him, earning another pleased hum from your Captain. You could barely breathe, there was a burning tension that ate away at your core. Like a rope stretched too tight, all you could do was wait for it to snap apart.

His tip slowly slipped inside your hole, the burning stretch of his girth sending the hairs at the back of your neck up. Inch by inch he seethed himself into you, “Price-holy fuck.” You moaned, even with how wet you were, no amount of lube would ever fully prepare you for the sheer mass of him.

Price drew you in, letting your walls stretch and mold to his dick. His hands grabbed at your hip and lower stomach, holding you in place. His beard brushed against your collar as he placed a few nipping kisses on your neck. “I know baby, I know, taking me so fuckin’ well. Shit, this pussy was made for me.” He murmured into your sweaty skin.

Without warning, his hips drew back only to snap forward again. You couldn't help the unseemly moan that fell from your lips, he pounded into your cunt like it was his last day alive. The sloppy sounds of skin echoed through the room.

“Oh my god- Price.” You choked out, the side of your face pressed against the door. “-feels so good.” You panted between wet slaps as his hips drove into your behind. You could barely think over the sound of your moans, each second that his dick plunged back into your sopping pussy felt like sparks being lit inside of you.

He moaned, his voice resounding across the shell of your ear. A hand snaked its way up your stomach and cupped your neck like a choker necklace. His skin burned, thick fingers curling around your scruff. It didn't hurt but it was firm, making you pliant to his body. “That's it. Take my cock, let me fuck you like the slut you are.” He grid out, “-this pussy knows what she wants, and it's me. Nobody else can fuck you like I do. Nobody else can give you what you need, what you deserve.”

Your cunt fluttered around him, causing his hips to stutter before driving back into you with so much force your hips hit the door.

Knock knock knock’

You're body went rigid, and all the air in your lungs seemed to escape your ribs. Fuck! You had totally forgotten that you were in a public bathroom for Christ's sake. Price had locked the door, but that didn't mean people wouldn't try and come in.

Knock knock knock!’

It was louder this time, more impatient. You tried to look back at Price, but his hand on your neck held your head still. He wasn't stopping.

“Not so fast girly, I’d like to finish what I started.” He chuckled, angling his hips as he slammed back into your cunt. The head of his cock nuzzled against the spongy muscle of your g-spot. You were so caught off guard you didn't have time to cover the absolutely shameless moan that slipped from your lips.

Price groaned, and his cock twitched. “Fuuckk that's it, let them hear you. Let everyone know how good I'm making you feel, how good I'm fucking this pussy.” You could barely process his words, everything was starting to build up to the point you were almost seeing stars. “-Come on baby, cum for me. Cum on my cock.” He panted through firm thrusts.

A sharp cry rang through the empty walls, you saw white. Body pulsing as the waves of euphoria washed over your body like the tide. Each thrust sending new shocks down your spine, prolonging every second of your orgasm. Price’s hips stuttered, a loud curse ringing from his lips as he came inside you.

What followed was an extended silence that was filled with heavy pants. You could barely stand, Price’s chest flush with your back, his head leaning against your shoulder.

“Think they got the message?” Price mused, his voice thick with exhaustion. You couldn't help the laugh that rose from your chest, listening in for another knock. When none came you sighed, “Guess so.” You breathed.

After another minute of rest Price pulled off of you, leaving a trail of cum seeping down your thigh. Not to mention your sweaty back and all-around messy appearance. Price simply grinned at you when you shot him a nasty glare, using some toilet paper to clean up the fluids. “Whoops.” He shrugged.

It was a good thing you were on the pill, you might've slapped him if otherwise. He chuckled and pressed a ‘sorry’ kiss to your temple, “Come on soldier, you look like you've been through a war.” He quipped. You didn't even try to laugh at that one.

“Funny.” You said sarcastically, but once he opened the door after redressing you, you froze. The reflection in front of you looked well…like you had just been fucked in a bathroom stall. Small bites and hickeys littered your neck, poking up to where it was obvious to see. You hit his shoulder, “You dumbass, I look like I've been attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes! What the hell is the team going to think Mr. Designated Driver?”

Price looked at your reflection too, scratching the back of his neck. “We’ll find you a coat.” He settled on.

There was a small beat of silence, you looked back at him. “A coat, and I get to skip running drills for next week. Then you're forgiven.”

He looked back at you, “Deal.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You really shouldn’t have been doing this. It was stupid, completely idiotic. (maybe not as stupid as hooking up with your captain in a pub bathroom.) But alas, John Price could charm you into anything.

The cold night air of autumn nipped at your nose, making your face feel numb. Somehow you still felt the breeze blow through your bones while bundled up in a large coat and scarf. Hands in your pockets, you tried your best to walk inconspicuously through the small town streets next to the base.

It was late, past lights out. Just minutes before you were getting ready for bed. However, when Price called you up out of the blue asking for you to meet him for a night walk, curiosity got the best of you. To say it was odd would be an understatement, but you knew better than to pass up the opportunity. The nightlife in the little town was pretty nice, with Halloween now in full swing and all.

Small pumpkins and candles littered the ground while stores and bars were strung with purple and green lights. For a second you almost forgot you were supposed to be meeting Price. You checked your phone, reading over his message again.

[Captain]: The place is by the park, on 82th Ave. It’s an outdoor pop-up, festive. You can't miss it.

You looked over at one of the street signs, 79th Ave, it said. At least you were getting closer, directions weren't really your strong suit so all you could really do was hope for the best.

If anyone saw you out of base, especially with Price you’d 100% raise a few eyebrows not to mention you'd be in deep trouble. So you dipped your head as low as it could go to conceal your identity. Was this behavior one of a paranoid schizophrenic? It was possible. But after the phesasco at the bar, you were okay with being weary.

You heard a soft crowd of voices coming from a distance away. Walking towards it you saw a playground lit up with small lights, two children with what looked like their parents chasing them across the woodchips. More adults walking around the greener outskirts of the ground, laughing and holding dogs on leashes.

It stirred something good inside you, like a warm feeling that you didn't often get. You stopped walking, just watching the scene play out like a domestic storybook.

“Took you long enough.”

You jumped, whipping around to see the deep voice behind you. Standing there was Price, dressed in a thick coat with worn-out jeans. He held two plastic cups in his hands, steam rising off the mystery substance inside.

“You scared me,” You deadpanned. Your eyes went from the drinks in his hands back to his face. “-What’s with the cups?”

Price rolled his eyes, nodding behind him to the pop-up stand. “It’s cold, so I got you something to warm up.” He handed you one, which you accepted. Raising it to your nose, you sniffed the steam. It was warm, thick with spices, and sweet. You looked back at Price with a quizzical look, to which he smiled. “It’s cider.”

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. “Not the spiked kind I hope.” Holding the cup a bit away from you like it was radioactive. Price's eyes crinkled, chuckling as he shook his head.

“No, not spiked. We've got drills in the morning, I wouldn't do that to you.” With his confirmation, you took a sip, pulling your scarf down so you could drink. The hot liquid burned your tongue, but the flavor was worth it as it slid down into your stomach. Your eyes flickered up from the rim of the cup, looking at Price.

His eyes were on you, looking at you with a rare kind of softness. But after the split second of eye contact, he was the first to look away. You wiped your lips of the remaining sweetness, “Price what are we doing here?” You asked.

He cocked an eyebrow, “I thought I told you we were going on a night walk.” He said nonchalantly, earning a half-grunt on your part.

“I know that, but why am I here? I doubt that you're incapable of walking alone.” You pointed out, but Price just shrugged.

“Good company.” He said serrupticously, a wry smile stretched onto his lips. “-Are you really that averse to spending time with me? I'd hope after all this time spent together I wouldn't need a reason to want to be around you.” Price started walking, and out of instinct, you followed behind him until you were shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

“You're a bad lair.” You said, taking another sip of your cider. You watched the calm nightlife and a thought bubbled into your mind. Maybe to an onlooker you and Price probably looked like a couple just going on a stroll. It wasn't rocket science to see that there was a fraction of tension between you. Your cheeks pinked at the thought, but you pushed it away as soon as it came.

Price was also looking at the surrounding people, an odd look on his face. Something akin to yearning or want. He must've felt your stare because he spoke up. “Inquiring minds?”

You averted your eyes, “Sorry.” To which he shook his head, taking a sip of his drink.

“Don't bother, it’s fine.” He said cooly, his eyes fixed on a family standing a few feet away. You looked back at them then back to Price. A dawning washing over you in an instant. Your eyes furrowed in question.

“You uh… have a family?” Jesus that sounded choppy, you cringed at yourself. He looked at you a little surprised but shook his head.

“I mean sure. Everyone does, at least at one point. But if you're asking if I do currently then no.” You nodded, feeling a little bad for asking. It wasn't too uncommon in your field, but it still put a grim mood in the air. You tried thinking of ways you could rectify it.

“So…no crazy ex-wife or estranged children that I need to be worried about?” You said humorously, when Price smiled, a part of you sighed in relief.

He shook his head again, glancing at you. “No ex-wife or estranged children, no.” You smiled and nodded, but that raised another question.

“How come?” you asked simply.

He shot you a pointed look, “You're asking me that like I'm ancient. I'm not that much older than you are,” He breathed. “-But if you have to know I guess I just never had the time. It's a bit testy trying to form long-term connections with people when you're in this line of work.”

You nodded in understanding, he was right. The long deployments, chances of not coming back, weird hours, it all would put a strain on a relationship. It didn't stop some, however, sometimes after not seeing the good in humanity for so long you lose the ability to connect with anyone. Especially ‘normal’ people.

Your mind flashed to an old ex-boyfriend who used to talk at length about how cool it was that you got to “kill people for a living.” You didn't see it that way. Desensitized or not, it was still a human life you were taking, it took a toll, even if you were getting paid for it.

“I get that. It's hard to commit to someone you don't get to see most of the time.” You shrugged, a part of you wanted to ask about every relationship he'd ever had. More importantly how you fared against them. And for some odd reason, you felt uncomfortable knowing that he had been with other women. Maybe it was just basic biology or primitive instinct.

Price nodded, “If I could I would've.” He glanced back at the family, watching as the dad swept up his toddler into a hug. It was bittersweet, the way Price looked at the display, dangerously pulling at your heartstrings.

You gave him a weary smile, “There’s still time. Like you said, you're not ancient. Why not just retire and settle down with someone?”

Price looked back at you for a split second, not saying anything. He looked back out at the dark trees, the leaves rustling in the cold wind, and the lights that wrapped around the park. “Maybe at one point that was an option, but not now. I'm not cut out for it, my life is here. I'm no good at civilian shit, so I best stick to what I know.”

You didn't know what to say to that, it was a tough pill to swallow. It was silent for a few seconds. But, You nudged your shoulder with his, “Well then, I guess you're stuck with me.” Offering a somewhat awkward smile to go along with it.

Price looked down at you as he walked, his blue eyes were dark like the ocean. You didn't want to look away, you wanted to swim in his thoughts, drown yourself in his pools of navy grey. Eyes that housed so much hostility and venom towards you now bore into your own with a warmth that struck you like a match. His lips turned up, “Guess there are worse places to be.”

Your smile came back, and the mood between you ebbed into a lighter, happier atmosphere. Taking a last swig of your cider you shook your head, “You guess? Need I remind you who asked me to be here?”

Price chuckled, doing the same and tossing his empty cup into a nearby garbage. “Alright, you win. I am grateful you came, like I said, all in good company.”

The conversation faded into a comfortable silence, and you and Price walked around the park. You watched as more and more people slowly started to dwindle, leaving it emptier than when you got there. After doing a sort of loop you both agreed to start walking back to base, and so you did. Shoulder to shoulder you walked with him through the small streets and shops.

Once you started coming up on the familiar large building a strong gust of air hit you. Your eyes shut tightly and your nose scrunched. When you did open your eyes back up Price was looking at you, you stared back at him. “What?”

Price snickered, “Wind got you pretty good. There's a leaf in your hair.” He pointed out, to which you blindly started to try and fish out said leaf. He shook his head at your feeble efforts, stopping your hands.

“I’ll get it. You're just messing it up.” He breathed, carefully his large hands combed through your head. Plucking out a pine leaf and a small fuzz, “There.” He said proudly.

He flicked the unwanted objects off to the side, but one of his hands never left your hair. He was almost holding your face in his palm, you blinked up at him. Wondering why he wasn't letting you go, “Is there something else?” You asked.

Price looked at you, licking his lips before pursing them in a line. Slowly he shook his head, “No.” It was silent for another beat, the soft puffs of your breath visible in the cold. You watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed.

“Tell me you don't want me to kiss you.” He breathed.

Without a second thought, you shook your head no, “Price kiss me.” It was almost alarming to you how naturally it came out. You barely even processed your own words.

And as his lips met yours in a chaste, soft kiss, you let yourself melt into him. You let him in.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You had five months until your time with 141 came to an end. In that time you had managed to befriend the whole team, make enemies with your captain, kiss said Captain, go on to have a very explicit no-strings-attached relationship with him, and now…this.

What was ‘this?’ Well, you didn't really quite know yourself. But after that night when he kissed you outside of base without any intention of hooking up with you, your clear-cut relationship with him became a jumbled mess of suppressed emotion. No longer were intimate gestures limited to sexual encounters, in fact, they were frequently more domestic.

Was this all of Price’s doing? No. It was both, both of you were an intimacy-starved mess. But you couldn't help it, his private quarters were so nice and his king-sized bed seemed to fit both of you nicely on the nights you couldn't sleep. And what of it that you helped him with paperwork into the wee hours of the night? He hated being stuck up in his office alone, it was a kind gesture. Now you didn't even have to make your morning tea and coffee because whenever you made your way into the small break room a fresh cup was always sitting on the counter for you in Price’s signature mug.

And on your weekends off? Oh, you bet your sorry (but not really,) ass he was stuck to your hip like glue.

Without knowing it, you and your captain had almost formed a routine together. One that slowly started filling the lonely silence of your day with his body, his voice, his presence.

You knew every scar on his body, you'd mapped them out like constellations. You learned something new about him every day too, it was exciting yet familiar all at once. Unbenoiced to you, 141 and by extension Price, had become home.

All of this had somehow been accumulating without your knowledge until now. To which this realization that you were a little too fond of your captain hit you like a truck. Bringing you to your current position, hunched over a small table that was tucked away in the corner of the break room. It was wayyy past lights out, but laying in your bed left with your thoughts and anxiety sounded nightmarish. A steaming cup of tea sat on the table a few inches away, (in Price’s signature mug of course.)

Just as you were about to finally take a sip, someone walked in. You sat straight up, your heart running a million miles an hour. On top of that, you almost knocked your tea over. Who the hell was coming in at almost one in the morning???

It was Gaz.

You placed a hand over your racing heart, letting out the breath you didn't know you were holding. “Jesus- you scared the shit out of me Garrick.” You said wearily.

Gaz stood at the door in his beat-up grey sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants. He looked a little rough, well, as rough as someone with his looks could be. He scratched the back of his head, “Sorry, didn't think anyone would be up this late.” Dark eyebags colored his smooth brown skin, making him look like he was two steps from passing out.

Your eyebrows furrowed in a slight amount of worry, “rough night?” He nodded, walking into the room, and making a beeline for the refrigerator.

“Pretty much, figured it was better to be awake than sleeping if sleep wasn't doing me any good.” He yawned, grabbing one of those refrigerated protein bars from the fridge. You nodded a silent understanding. Nightmares were commonplace, nobody talked about them, but everyone had a shared understanding of what went on in and after you woke up. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish where the dream ended and reality began.

He looked back at you as he tore the wrapper off, “What about you? You look like shit…so I want to say you're in the same boat?” Gaz took a large bite of his bar.

You groaned, your head falling back down on the wood table. “Gee, thanks. But not really, just sorting out some other business.” You said bitterly.

Gaz hummed in understanding, but when you looked back up he was pulling the opposite end chair out. He sat himself across from you, folding his arms as he ate. “Okay, what's up then?” He said plainly.

You blinked at him, “What? No, I'm not just going to tell you. It's private.” You said shaking your head and putting your hands up as if to block his question. Gaz looked at you unimpressed, raising a single eyebrow.

“Uh-huh, does it have something to do with Price?” He said, staring at you with the intensity of a laser.

You almost choked on your spit, looking at him like he'd just killed your family cat in front of you. Your mouth agape, “Absolutely not. Why would you think it’d be about Price?” You said quickly.

Gaz simply looked at you, raising both his eyebrows at you. A silent communication of ‘Are you serious?’ was said by his stare. After another moment of the staring contest, you gave up, dropping your head back down with a groan. “I'm so fucked.” You said defeated.

He perked up, “Spill.” Was all he said.

You covered your mouth, almost as if to stop yourself from saying anything. This was so breaking every agreement you and Price had talked about. But frankly, you were going insane keeping it to yourself. And maybe Gaz was the best person to tell, as much as you loved Ghost and Soap, they were useless at keeping secrets.

You glanced back up to Gaz, his brown eyes intently staring at you. Your resolve started to crumble, “I think I’m in love with him.” Whispered, the haunting words magnifying the gravity of the situation you found yourself in.

Gaz’s eyes shot wider like he’d just been injected with 1,000g of caffeine. His mouth fell open, and the half-eaten bar in his hands dropped onto the table. You both sat there staring at each other with similar mortified expressions. He shut his mouth, “I-Well that wasn't really what I expected to hear.” He said agast.

You buried your face into your hands, groaning. “Fuck I know- I don't even know where that came from. But we've been like…messing around with each other for a few months, and I thought it was just that.” You sighed, rubbing your face with your palms. “But now everything is like complicated, I just let my feelings take the reins and got ahead of myself. Now I don't know what to do and nobody knows because obviously, I couldn't tell anyone. After all, either of us could get in trouble.”

Gaz sat silent as you rambled on, “-I’m still not sure exactly what I'm feeling. I've never felt this way about anyone else, I've had boyfriends, but not a weird hookup situation. So, I'm not sure how one really goes about this.” You looked down at the table, taking a breath. “So, does that answer your question?” You breathed.

He stared at you, dumbfounded. “So that rumor you got so mad over was true?” He said lamely, to which you groaned and threw your hands up in the air.

“No!” You whisper shouted, “-I mean no but yes. The rumor came first, that night I stormed off Price kissed me. And after that things just kinda… got carried away.” You said sheepishly, feeling a bit guilty.

Gaz let out a deep sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Jesus [Name], I knew something was going on between you but I didn't think it went that deep.” He ran a hand over his chin, scratching his jaw. “-So…you and Price have been secretly fucking, but just recently you realized that this uh, arrangement, has gone to shit because you now have feelings for him. Am I following?”

You pursed your lips into a tight line, “Pretty much.”

He nodded and hummed in concentration, “Okay, but what changed? What made you realize you had feelings? Because to the rest of the team, it still looks like you’re at each other's throats.” Gaz said, crossing his arms.

You thought about it for a moment, trying to pull maybe a specific event from your memory. “I guess it just kinda built up…I mean he just changed. Sure we still fight but it’s more like banter now. He kisses me, and he holds me, he's funny and sweet…it's almost like I get to see an entirely new version of him that I just didn't see before.”

Gaz blinked at you, seemingly surprised. “Actually?” He said, stunned. To which you nodded aggressively.

“Yes- he's totally done a 180. But in a good way, he's still the same asshole but he's loving and caring too. And I feel like I'm pulling my teeth out just staying in a situation where he makes me feel like I mean so much, but then I have to go and pretend I hate him.” (you still sometimes did.)

Gaz listened to you speak, holding his chin while he thought about your words. After you were done, all he could do was sigh, “Well…shit. Half of me wants to pat you on the back while the other half wants to slap you across the face for being stupid.”

You scrunched your nose, holding your hands up in surrender. “Please don't, I have enough problems as it is. I don't need to add a black eye into the mix.”

Gaz breathed an amused laugh, though, it sounded more weary than you would've liked. Even if it was the worst idea in the world to tell him, you felt better now that it was off your chest. You looked down at the table, “So, what do I do now?”

He opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was silence. He was just as lost as you were.

You looked at him hopelessly, “Come on man, give me something.”

Gaz looked down at the table, pursing his lips in a tight line. Obviously, he had an idea, but he just wasn't saying anything. “What if you tried to make it work with him?” He proposed.

Your eyes widened a fraction, your mouth hanging open in what only could be described as ‘gobsmacked.’ “You're kidding right?” You asked, your tone nearly laughable.

He shook his head, crumbling up the wrapper of his protein bar and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. His shoulders rose with a sigh, “No I'm not. I mean… why not just try? It sounds to me like you've got a fighting chance to make things work.” He said encouragingly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, your eyes squeezing shut. “Two minutes ago you said you wanted to slap me, and now you're telling me that I should go for it?” You said incredulous.

Gaz held his hands up in surrender, “Yes, but that was before I knew everything. I just thought you were fucking the Captain at first, which is still completely idiotic. But it sounds to me like both of you are emotionally invested in each other.” He said putting his hands back down, “-And you're only here for a couple more months right? Just keep it on the down-low then you can do whatever you want. I'm like ninety percent sure that Price likes you too.”

You groaned, your head falling on the table with a clunk. “Only ninety percent?” Peeking up to look at him, his face morphing into one of scrunched wash cloth.

“Maybe like eighty-five. But those are still good odds in my book.” He said guiltily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You're not helping.” You sighed, resuming your dramatic pity party. Gaz rolled his eyes at your antics, placing a comforting hand on your head and giving it an encouraging pat. “Hey, I'm not saying you have to do some big confession. All I'm doing is suggesting that communicating with him may bring some good. Like Soap said that one time, Price acts differently around you, I think you've got some good chances.”

You finally looked up at him again, his face a pitying smile. “Think about it.” He said finally, leaving you with more on your mind than you originally started with.

“Okay, I'll think about it.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Four months to go and nothing had happened. Well, not necessarily, the team had continued to train, your sneaking around with Price was still going, and the world kept spinning. Turns out that realizing one's feelings for another doesn't cause the sun to explode. Fascinating stuff.

However, there was still no confession of feelings of any kind. The two of you danced around your ‘relationship’ like it was a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode. Maybe it was for the greater good, some things were just better off unsaid.

In the meantime, your focus had shifted in light of new events that were fast approaching. You still cringed thinking of your first real mission back in Urzik, and while nothing horrible happened, it still left you with a sour taste on your tongue. There were small things 141 had been doing but now a new mission was right around the corner. There was still little to no word about rouge commander Shepard nor an explanation of the abandoned facility you had raided months back.

You still didn't even know if the two were connected, probably not. But it was still possible, maybe best not to think too hard about it. After all, you weren't the brains behind the operations, you were just the pon they sent to die in their place.

The air around 141 had become tense again, much like before Urzik. Everyone was on edge, especially Price. You were happy to take the edge off most of the time, but there were some things that sex just couldn't fix. And this fell into that category.

You were sitting on an office chair in one of the conference rooms around base. The rest of the team stood close to the large wooden table or sat in the other scattered chairs. The tension in the room was thick, nobody said a word. All focus was on Price, who stood a few feet apart from the group, flipping through a manilla folder. His eyebrows furrowed in tension and his lips pulled into a subtle frown.

He set the folder down, “We’re going back to Urzik.”

You could almost feel the shift in the mood from bad to worse. But before you could voice your complaints Soap beat you to it. “We’re going back to that shite hole? After what happened last time I would have assumed someone figured out that we should stay out of the terrorists and the Russians assholes.”

Price sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. “We don't know if they were terrorists back at the compound. And Urzik hasn't been under Russian occupation since 2019.” He said, earning a half laugh from both Soap and Ghost.

“Come on Cap, you don't even believe that crap they're pushing.” Soap chuckled, his arms crossed over his chest. Leaning against the wall behind you.

While it was true that Urzikstan had been liberated from Russian rule, some of the men under General Markov’s command had disappeared after his death. Leaving some loose ends for the CIA and SAS to clean up. There had been some word of Markov’s men teaming up with local militant groups who despised Urzik’s central government. But it wasn't confirmed, nor viable.

Price shook his head, “It doesn't matter if I believe it or not. The point is that we have a job to do and we’re not going to let past affairs get the better of our judgment.” He ran his hand over the scruff of his beard, “-Laswell wouldn't be sending us in again if she didn't have a good reason to. They have reasonable intel that just outside of Riyzabbi there's an abandoned bazaar where all of the goods from the compound were relocated.”

Ghost chimed in, “So they're sending us on the same wild goose chase they did before? Who's to say they don't pull the same shite as last time?”

You nodded along with his words, he had a point. Price grunted, waving him off. “Like I said before, they have better intel. I'm asking you to trust me, if I see anything I don't like we’re out. Whatever is in there, we have the means to put it to an end.”

Everyone fell silent, taking in the information. It was a while before anyone spoke again, Soap sighed. “If I have to eat that awful food back at checkpoint base I’m quitting on the spot.”

For a second the mood shifted, and you laughed, but the reality of the situation was hovering over you like a looming storm cloud.

For a brief moment, you locked eyes with Price, and his stare told you everything you needed to know. He was just as frustrated, if not more so. His gaze shifted again, staring down at the table with an intensity you couldn't fathom. “Everyone’s dismissed. We leave at 0500 in 72 hours.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

As Price said, 72 hours later, you were back in the air, flying to Urzikstan. An ache gnawed at the back of your head, making the already dreary ride more depressing. You were too uncomfortable to sleep and too tired to stay awake. Creating an odd out-of-body experience that you had the “pleasure” of basking in for the whole 5-hour flight.

After you had landed at the checkpoint base you took a moment to reacquaint yourself with the landscape. Not much had changed aside from a few new tents and other minor additions to the camp. You felt a sense of Deja Vu looking at the old dining hall tent and medical area. Memories from your and Price’s first kiss flooded your mind, under different circumstances, it might have been somewhat pleasant recounting the moment. But now, it only made you feel profoundly sad. It was nostalgic-back when everything was simpler between the two of you.

Whatever was bubbling up inside you, you shoved it down as far as it could go. Hating someone was a lot more straightforward than loving them.

You made your way to the ‘barracks,’ setting what little things you had onto the small cot. Everyone else was just as miserable as you were, obviously, this wasn't their first choice for sleeping quarters. A part of you wished it wasn't daytime, it would be easier to sleep away the anxiety and headache.

You had until dark to do as you pleased, when nightfall came, you were going to be loaded up into the trucks again. From there, you'd go to Riyzabbi, and once it was clear to do so, to the bazaar.

Just like the last time you were here, you felt a deep sense of dread. One that you couldn't pinpoint, nor could you explain away with ‘just nerves’. There was too much that you didn't know, and too little payoff. The only advantage 141 had was the element of surprise, and even that wasn't confirmed. A small part of you felt anger towards Laswell, she probably knew that there was something off about this mission, and yet she was sending you and the team directly into the pit of lions.

To quell the sense of impending doom, you started to wander around the checkpoint base. Not sure where you were going or what your end goal was, you continued walking. That was until you heard someone's voice bleeding out from one of the tent walls. Their tone was accusatory, malicious even, it was laced with so much venom you could feel your skin recoil. It didn't sound familiar, but the voice who came after it did.

“You know just as well as I do it's a suicide mission. I’m not sending my team out there to die. All for some fucking game of territory monopoly and protecting Shepard.”

Price.

The other voice spoke up again, seemingly more agitated than the first time if that was possible. “Shepard is gone, and he sure as hell isn't going to be here in Urzik. And It's not a suicide mission. The CIA hired your team to do a job, not back out when things get real. Your opinion on how the government deals with involvement concerning foreign enemy affairs has no merit, Captain. If it were up to me, your team wouldn't even be here, but Kate Laswell keeps you on a tight leash doesn't she?”

You heard a loud bang, akin to a hard fist being slammed onto flat wood. “Watch your mouth. You and your muppets can both go crawl back under the CIA’s boot. As for Laswell, you know just as well as I do she would be more than happy to bring you and rouge commander Shepard's previous associations to the attention of your government.”

There was silence for a beat. Suddenly you could feel your heart beating, pounding in your chest. Your fingers felt numb, and even time seemed to slow. You could say with 100% certainty that you were not supposed to be listening, you weren't even sure if you wanted to keep listening. You heard footsteps coming from the inside, in your peripheral vision, you caught the slight rustle of the tent door. Without thought you jumped out of sight, pressing yourself to the side of the tent just as a man stormed out.

You watched the back of his head as he muttered something, you held your breath. After a good minute, you exhaled, silently creeping out from where you stood. Something in you was telling you to leave, to pretend you had never heard what you did. But there was a magnetic pull that drew you back into Price.

Carefully, you peeked your head through the tent door. A few feet away was Price, his back was turned with his hand over his face, the other on his hip. Before you could speak he turned around to see you, his eyes growing twice the size. Time seemed to freeze for a second time, you watched his eyes go from surprise to anger, and then to exhaustion. By the look on your face, he most likely already knew what you were hiding.

“How much did you hear?” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his cheek.

You walked into the tent, standing awkwardly in front of the door. “Just the last part.” You confessed, swallowing what little bravery you had left.

Price didn't respond, his hand moving over his eyes to rub and smooth over his temples. His cheeks pulled in as he bit the inside of his mouth. “Right… well, I'm sorry you had to hear that.” He breathed, his voice more weary. A stark contrast to the raw anger you heard from him a few moments prior.

You shook your head, “Don't be sorry. At first, I was mad at you and Laswell for going through with this. But… I guess after that, I know you didn't want to either.” You tried your best to form a semblance of hope, giving him a drained smile. “Like you said, this mission is fucking suicide. But if anyone can lead the team and somehow come out alive, it's you.”

There was a flash of something in Price’s eyes, it was the same thing that you saw back on your walk with him months prior. You glanced down at his hands, watching the way they flexed. Like he was aching to hold, to touch something. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, “I’m sorry.” He breathed, “-I’m sorry that I'm putting you and the guys in this situation.”

Price’s hand came back up, dragging it across the side of his face. His eyes shut tight, eyebrows knit together. “It's just…the longer I stay here, doing this, the more it's clear to me none of it was for a greater good. And I don't want that for you.” He sighed, “-I…I want you to know there is a way out [Name]. You don't have to continue to do this.”

This made you draw back, Price had never sounded like this before. He sounded like he was already admitting defeat, and like he was giving you a chance to escape what you chose to do. Your eyebrows furrowed, marching straight up to him with your lips twisted in a frown. You reached up to pull his hand away from his face, your other hand reaching up to cup his cheek with your hand. Your palm pressed against his jaw, feeling the rough bristle of his beard under the pads of your fingers. Forcing him to look at you.

“Don’t do that.” You said sternly, making his eyes snap back. Looking at you with a mixture of surprise and confusion. “-Don’t act like everything is already set in stone, we don't know what's going to happen. It could go bad but it could also be fine. And you're also acting like I didn't choose to be here, I'm willing to do this job Price. Just because I don't like what shady shit someone is doing behind the scenes doesn't mean I'm going to back out.”

Price stared at you, and you stared back. Willing him to understand that you had hope for him, you had hope for the team. Maybe it was stupid to try and be strong, but if you didn't try, you'd be giving up too.

You couldn't leave, not now. Not when you had a reason to stay. As much as you hated the idea of someone sending you into a death trap, the only thing you hated even more would be leaving Price to go into said death trap. You couldn't pry yourself away from him even if you tried. Your hand squeezed his, I love you, the gesture said.

Price squeezed your hand back, “[Name], I-” I love you, his eyes said. You shook your head, staring back at him with the same intensity.

“I know.” You breathed back. You couldn't stand it, you wanted to hear the words from his mouth. You wanted it with everything in you, but this was probably the worst time you could think of to confess. So, you settled for a mutual understanding. A silent promise, that when you came back maybe things could be different.

There was another beat before he leaned in, and like an idiot, you let it happen. Your hand tightened slightly against his cheek, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed you. His lips were warm, and you sighed into his mouth as you got a taste of him. His mouth that tasted like smoke and whiskey, and you yearned for more. His body was charged with an electricity that sent shivers down your spine. Every brush, touch, and groan had you on edge.

Before you knew it, he was pushing you up against the table that sat in the middle of the room. Your hand slid down from his face to fist into his shirt as you were slowly backed against the wood. You should've pushed him off, it was too risky to be doing this now. It was mid-day for fucks sake, not only that but anyone could walk into the tent.

Yet something about the tension, exposed and raw like an open cable wire, held you back from protesting. Hell, if this was the last time you were going to see him outside of the field, mind as well go out with a bang (literally).

Price must've come to the same conclusion by the way he sat you down on the table, standing in between your parted thighs. His breath was heavy and his lips slick, taking you in with his eyes. “Fuckin’ Christ love, you're a vision. I don't say it enough, but you're gorgeous.” He murmured, breathless.

You felt your cheeks go hot, the warmth seeping up into your ears. Taking compliments was never your strong suit. Price pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead, his hands moving from your waist to the belt and zipper of your pants. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, “Baby lay back for me.”

Well with that voice, you couldn't bear to not comply. You hesitantly lowered your back onto the flat wood of the table. Propping yourself on your elbows, watching as Price slowly pulled your pants down to reveal your undergarments. His eyes flickered to you then back to your covered pussy, an insatiable hunger in those pools of navy blue. He lowered to his knees, hooking your thighs under his biceps. Price pressed a few soft nips and kisses to the burning skin of your inner thighs, earning a few soft gasps on your part.

Your nails scraped against the wood, biting down on your lip to keep your voice down. With one hand, Price hooked his finger against the fabric of your panties, parting it to the side to show your soaked cunt. A small groan left him at the sight of you, he glanced back at you. “You’re gonna be quiet now right?”

Without a thought behind it, you nodded. Desperate to have his mouth on you, he leaned in, flattening his tongue to lick a long stripe up your folds. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering for a moment. When he started to swirl his tongue over your clit, you almost broke. “Price-” You gasped out, your voice a whisper.

He hummed against your cunt, suctioning his mouth against your clit. “No Price here, we’re far past that love. Use my name baby, use my name and I'll listen.” He murmured, the vibrations of his voice making your mind dizzy. One of your hands threaded into his short hair, guiding his face against your pussy.

“Fuck- John, feels good. Feels so good.” You whispered, your voice almost a mewl. His dull nails dug into the meat of your thigh, groaning softly as he lapped at your weeping cunt. Your eyes squeezed shut, all of your concentration honing in on trying not to moan out loud.

His tongue switched between fast flicks of your clit and drawn-out open-mouthed kisses to your mound. When you got more desperate you guided him to where you wanted, and John was happy to oblige.

Your back was now flat on the table, thighs locked around Price’s head like a boa constrictor. Your voice was now silent moans and labored breaths, and with every passing moment, it was harder to stay quiet. Your nails tugged at his hair, gripping onto him like a lifeline. John suddenly pushed his tongue into your hole without warning, pushing the tip of the muscle in and out with vigor. You nearly screamed, slapping a hand over your mouth to bite on your knuckle.

Price was devouring you like a man starving.

Your back arched off the wood of the table, methodically moving your hips in tandem with his tongues movements. The slurry of noises coming from John’s mouth and your cunt was obscene. Wet smacks of his lips mixed with small groans and deep gasps.

It felt like you were floating, your senses muddied beneath the feeling of his mouth. Your body was burning, a coil in your stomach just begging to snap. You bucked your hips into his face, begging him to quell the fires raging in your body. Price seemed to catch on, he held one of your thighs tight while the other slid between your legs. His mouth hovering over your pussy, he slipped a digit into your aching cunt.

You silently cried out, your core tightly gripping his finger as he curled it inside you. Then, he slowly worked in a second, mimicking the ‘come here’ motion with his fingers buried deep in your pussy. “Atta’ girl, little longer for me.” John breathed against you, his breath fanning against your cunt.

Suddenly he was on you again, swirling his tongue over your swollen bud while curling his digits in you. You could have died happy then and there, everything felt so good you couldn't think. Your nails dug into the table, marking it with long stripes.

Between his fingers and his tongue, you were a goner. Your vision went white, trying your hardest not to scream out to the heavens. “John- shit I can’t I'm gonna cum.” You whined through heavy pants, tears pooling in the corner of your iris from the stimulation.

“Come on then, cum for me. Let go love, cum on my mouth.” He murmured against your sopping pussy, flicking his tongue over your clit and speeding the movement of his fingers.

That was all it took before you came, hard. Your back arched and your head fell back, biting down on your hand so hard that it hurt. Your thighs shook as the wave of your orgasm crashed over you, white-hot and mind-blowing. And John fucked you through it, never letting up on his page until you fell limp like a bag of flour. After those precious few moments, he gently slid his fingers from your cunt. Pressing a soft kiss to your thigh before setting it down slowly.

You were gone. Your brain turned to mush, a daze of post-orgasm exhaustion and giddiness. Slowly you blinked your eyes back open, letting John slowly guide you back to a sitting position. He held the small of your back while his other hand held your face.

“You alright?” John murmured, his mouth shiny with your slick. You couldn't help but laugh, your forehead hitting his lightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm alright.” You breathed. The after-glow hit you hard, but there was still the looming anxiety of the mission. You knew the moment wouldn't last forever, you just hoped you could bask in it a little longer.

John sensed the shift, knowing it was his turn to be brave, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. His eyes soft, “Hey, like you said, we’re gonna be okay. Nothing is set in stone yet.” He whispered, making you nod.

“Right. We’re going to come out of this.” You said, more for yourself. He nodded, the both of you knew deep down it was wishful thinking. But maybe having something to hope for, something to come back to, would push you to fight even harder to keep it.

And in the end, you were willing to do anything to keep this.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Everything around you was dark, with an air pungent with dust and grime. The walls only grew bigger and shadowed as you passed, ducking behind doors and boxes to remain out of sight. Just like last time everyone was paired in either a group of two or three, you were with Ghost. You had to give him credit where credit was due, as large and burly as he was, he was silent as he moved.

The bazaar was large, with huge openings in the ceilings covered by hanging fabric. Open doors that connected rooms and massive lamps draped from the walls. It might've even been nice had it not been for its years of inactivity, and under the cover of night, it was simply eerie. Wires covered the walls and ceiling, some even hanging down low enough to snag someone if you weren't careful.

You weren't quite sure what exactly you were looking for, after all, you didn't know what this aforementioned ‘bio-chemical lab’ looked like. And if it was easily portable, it wouldn't exactly look like your standard chemistry lab.

“[Name].”

Ghost spoke into your headpiece, standing several feet away. You snapped out of your train of thought, looking back at him.

“Let’s get a move on, the others are on the top floor. I'm guessing it’s near the bottom, or even underground, be on high alert. There's bound to be people this time around.” He said, earning a nod from your end.

With that, you made your way further into the bazaar. Gun at the ready, you weaved through rooms and piles of storage and other junk. When you got to a large room on the north side of the building, tucked away between rubble and containers your body tensed. There wasn't anything unordinary about it, it looked exactly like every other room, but something felt off. A few steps into the space and you had your explanation for the uneasiness you felt.

With an odd thunk’ of your boot on the ground, you looked back at Ghost. He looked back at you, the same expression on his face, it was hollow.

You came off it, brushing your foot over the area again to remove the grime and dust. It was a different color and texture than the ground. “Well I’ll be damned, you were right.” You breathed, “-Think this opens up from the outside?” Ghost kneeled on the ground next to whatever you found. Pushing his hand over it and sending small clouds of dust into the air.

“Doesn't matter if it does.” He said, fishing out a knife from his bullet vest. Finding a dibet with his finger in the ground he wedged the blade in between the surface, pulling up until the ground lifted.

With a grunt, he wrapped his fingers around the edge of the trap door. Pulling until the structure revealed a human-sized rectangular hole in the ground. A latter peeking out from inside the ground pressed into the side of the dirt. You stared down at it, knowing this was it. Clicking your headpiece, you spoke, “Cap, we got something. Northside, ground floor, it’s a trap door in the last room.”

After a moment you got a response, “Copy. See what you can find, we’re coming. If you see anything don't think, just shoot. I want you and Ghost alive.” Price’s voice rang loud and clear in your ear.

With a nod, you looked back down at the hole, even with night vision, it was hard to make out the bottom. Ghost was the first to go down, with you following suit the minute he gave the all-clear to come down. Inside was dark and smelled like mildew, a tunnel leading further into the unknown. The same wires that hung down from up on the surface were strung about the dirt walls. It wasn't spacious in the tunnel, but it didn't make you feel claustrophobic.

Ghost raised his gun, nodding to you to follow as you made your way deeper. It wasn't long until you reached a door, it wasn't impenetrable by any means, but it was going to be a pain to get through. But the thing that caught your attention most was the faint light that peeked from the cracks of the hinges. Ghost looked at you, “Get back, and I’ll break the door, you follow in straight after and shoot at anything you see.”

As said, with a firm kick, Ghost kicked the door down. The metal swung open with a crackle, and with your gun at the ready, you quickly followed him inside. The first thing you heard was voices, panicked and deep. Your eyes met a man in the corner of the room, quickly scrambling up to his feet and reaching the rifle that lay in front of him. Just like you were told, you didn't think, you acted on instinct.

Your gun went off, and his body was forced back by the blow. Blood spattered the wall behind him, his head rolling limp on his shoulders. You heard another shot fired, looking over to Ghost who was in firing position, and then to the direction of his rifle. Another body, this one standing, keeled over onto the floor, pooling red onto the ground. A deafening silence followed after, you waited for more voices but they never came.

“Just two?” You said, looking between the two. “-and they don't look local.” You muttered, focusing on the pale skin and European features. You looked back to Ghost who was standing a few feet away. “-Think they might be Russian like Soap said?”

Ghost shrugged, “It's possible.” He gruffed, looking around the room. It was emptier than you expected, with a table, lamps, flasks, and a few weapons. Another voice rang out from somewhere in the cavern before you could look any further. Coming from another hallway that you had missed when you first saw the room.

You quickly ran against the wall near the hallway entrance, pressing yourself into the hard surface so you wouldn't be seen. Ghost followed suit, and not a second later another man ran out, rifle in hand. And just like before you fired, watching the body hit the ground like a sac of potatoes.

This one looked like he could be from Urzik. You looked back at Ghost, who pushed off the wall, ducking into the hallway. It wasn't long before you entered a much bigger cavern, full of boxes and equipment. Open containers of guns with ammunition, tables covered with cylinder-shaped lab equipment. You could hardly classify this as a lab, more like a glorified basement with makeshift tools. Large computers also lined what little space they could occupy. Florescent overhead lights cast the room in a putrid dimish glow.

Before you had time to react a bullet brushed past your arm. Sending a burning shock through your system. You ducked, trying to avoid what you couldn't see.

“They're shooting!” You yelled out to Ghost, finding refuge in a large container that you hid behind.

You looked around, desperate to see where the firing was coming from. Your eyes caught three at first glance, one person across the room, hiding behind another container. Another fired from a doorway, and the last one hid behind a table. All three aiming for either your box of Ghost. Your hands held your gun with an iron grip, turning your knuckles white.

You peeked out from behind the container, aiming for the second guy in the doorway. Your first shot missed, but your second shot straight through his forehead. Ghost, from wherever he was, took out the third guy from behind the table. Leaving the one behind the other container, peaking back out you felt another bullet fly past you. You scrambled back, your heartbeat hammering in your chest.

You called out to Ghost, “I can't get him! You're gonna have to take the last one!” After another shot to your hiding place, chipping the wood of the contained, Ghost called back.

“Copy! I've got him!” He yelled, a final shot echoing through the cavern before everything fell into an eerie silence. You tentatively rounded the corner of the container, looking back at the first guy's hiding spot. When all you saw was his body flat on the ground, you breathed a sigh of relief.

You heard Ghost call to you again, “[Name], you hurt?” You stood up, looking over in the direction of his voice. He was behind one of the walls of the hallway, pressed against the dirt wall.

“No, I'm all good. You?” You said back, scanning him for any sign of injury. He shook his head, letting his gun fall to his side.

“I'm clear.” He said, walking out from the hallway. You looked back at the three bodies adorning the floor, which made six in total so far. These three also looked like they were locals, you walked over to one. Moving your foot to hover over their hand, you kicked the gun away, staring at the blackened tattoo on his palm. Before, Soap had mentioned that rebel groups in Urzik shared a tattoo on their palms. Much like a gang tattoo, it united them under a common collective.

You looked back at Ghost, “What do Urzik terrorists have to do with us? If this really is a problem with uprisings against their government, why would the SAS and the CIA get involved?”

Your mind flashed to the conversation between Price and the commander back at the checkpoint base. He had said that if it had been up to him, 141 would never have been involved. Laswell had been the one to push for the team's involvement, even with its potholes. Then came Shepard, whose disappearance had led to your involvement with the team in the beginning. The only link to this you had to Shepard was his name being mentioned back at base.

Jesus, your head hurt just trying to think about it.

Ghost walked over to you, “My advice wouldn't be to think too hard about it [Name]. We’re doing a job, thinking about shite like this leads into a bigger rabbit hole than you think.”

You nodded, a frown settling onto your lips. Nothing about this sat right with you, but that was the cost you paid for being here in the first place.

“The important thing is, we located the lab. Now we just make sure there's nobody else so someone else can pick up the mess over here.” He said, making you nod along with him. Price and the other guys would probably be down any minute, that would make clearing everything out a hell of a lot easier.

You looked back at the man on the ground, staring into the fleshy eyes that held no light. You were reminded of the compound, staring into the eyes of the man who had shot Price’s foot. You didn't feel sorry, more hollow.

Ghost turned his back, looking over to the entranceway hall. And the split second for him to turn around was all it took for something to go wrong all over again. With no warning, you felt something burn your side, sharp and hot like lava. A hand yanked you back, snaked around your neck, and held you back to something firm. You could barely choke out a gasp, the thorn in your side sending shocks of pain through your body you didn't even know was possible.

Something cold pressed against your temple, you could barely process what was happening before you heard a click. Ghost whipped around at the noise, immediately holding up his rifle to whatever was behind you.

For a brief moment, time stopped. You were all too familiar with what was happening, you were being held at gunpoint. Nobody moved, Ghost's voice suddenly echoing through the silent room. “Shepard. Let her go.” He said.

You blinked, Shepard? Fuck, you didn't see that coming. You thought maybe he had a small part in the involvement, but you didn't expect him to actually be here. You tried to look at him, but his arm around your throat only tightened, making you squirm. The thing in your side, most likely a knife, only seemed to hurt more the longer it was left sticking out of you.

“Drop your gun, and I will.” His voice was cold, it sounded like sandpaper. His breath made your nostrils recoil in disgust.

Ghost shook his head, his eyes darting between yours and the man holding you. “You and I both know that's not happening.” The barrel of the gun pressed into your skin harder, making you wince. Your hands clawing at his arm to pry him off your neck.

“If you don't drop that gun, I will kill this one. And that's a promise.” He said, your body felt numb, and the lack of oxygen only seemed to make you all the weaker. You heard voices from beyond the hallway, your mind screaming for John. You needed him, you needed him to come and fix the mess you had gotten yourself into. Being a hostage was by far your least favorite activity.

Ghost swallowed, still pointing his gun at Shepard. “Shepherd, it's in your best interest that you let her go. You're not getting out of this, you know that. You shoot her and it’s just another kill added to your list of crimes, let’s not lengthen that sentence.”

Shepard snarled, “I'll be damned if I'm sent to prison, we can do this all-day lieutenant. You pull that trigger, and I fire. If you put the gun down, maybe we can negotiate something.”

You tried gasping for air, your airways closing up. Nails clawing at his shirt, like a caged animal trying to get out of its enclosure. From your squinted eyes you could make out the form of Price, Gaz, and Soap entering the room, guns at the ready. The pain in your side fired back up again as the blade twisted, making you yelp.

“Shepherd put the fucking gun down!” You absentmindedly recognized John's voice, your vision growing fuzzier by the second.

You tried your best to fight, thinking of anything you could to stay conscious. You thought of your friends, family, and John. Between the knife in your side, the gun against your head, and his arms around your throat it was a miracle you could even think. You blinked again, gasping for more air. You saw Ghost and Price, Soap a few feet away, Gaz must've been somewhere in the room as well.

“Get back or she's dead!” Shepard barked, his voice ringing in your ear. You saw blotches of black in your vision, your body slowly losing its feeling.

As you blacked out, you heard a gunshot fire.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A white light flooded your vision, making your face scrunch up in discomfort. It was harsh and almost painful, you tried shutting your eyes as tight as they could go, but it was burned into your retinas.

Your limbs felt sluggish, you couldn't lift your arms. It seemed like you could only move your face, after another minute of trying to shut out the light, you gave up. Blinking your eyes open, you saw said white light hanging down from an even whiter ceiling.

“Holy shit, you're awake.” A female voice said, making you halt. You knew that voice, your eyes darted to the sound. Turing your head from its apparent, laying position to follow your gaze. Your eyes met an older woman, she had bangs and blondish hair.

“Laswell?” You croaked, your voice was shot. It sounded like a frog, making you internally cringe.

Kate Laswell stood at the foot of your bed, her hands grabbed at your arm. “Don’t talk [Name], the nurse said you shouldn't be using your voice for the next couple of days.” She scolded. You grunted, your throat felt as dry as the Sahara.

The pain slowly started to come back, a deep-seated ache that made you wince. “What happened?” You breathed. Your mind was fuzzy, the last thing you remembered was being in the bazaar and being held at gunpoint by Shepherd.

Laswell pursed her lips in a line, obviously not too thrilled about the events that transpired. “Well, John told me after you passed out they managed to disarm Shepard. But by that point, you were already gone, so they got you out. After that, you were transported to the checkpoint base and now you're in the hospital.”

You were following up until the hospital part, last time you checked, the checkpoint base didn't have a full-fledged hospital. “Hospital where?” You croaked, looking at Laswell for an answer.

“D.C,” She said plainly, almost like it was obvious. “It was the easiest place I would be able to keep an eye on you until you woke up.”

You barely had the energy to be surprised, “Oh.” Was what you settled on. “Where is the rest of the team?” You asked.

She sighed, “John is here. Garrick and Ghost are still in Urzik for another day, they have other matters they need to sort out first. Soap also came here with you, though he's not in the hospital.”

You nodded along, a small part of you relaxed when you heard John's name. He was here, which meant he was most likely safe. Your eyes closed, “oh, good then.” You sighed, your voice a whisper. Any louder and it would sound like your vocal cords were being torn to ribbons.

Laswell looked down at you, a sadness in her eyes. Almost guilt, “[Name].” She said, grabbing your attention again, “-I’m pulling you off the team early.”

You froze, your eyes doubling in size. Maybe you misheard her, 141 was your family, she couldn't just pull you off. You still had a few more months with them! “What? Why?” You asked throatily.

She looked at you incredulously, “Because you almost died. Honestly, it was my fault in the beginning, I shouldn't have put you in the situation.” Your eyes narrowed, you tried to sit up but she placed a firm hand on your chest to keep you from doing so.

“Laswell, I’m fine. I don't need to be taken off 141, everyone in the world has probably had a near-death experience.” You protested, “-I want to keep being on the team, I know at first I was only doing this as a favor but I'm not anymore.”

Laswell looked at you, a bit stunned. Her eyes stared into yours, deciphering if you were really telling the truth. “Are you sure? I was only going to do it because I believed that is what’s in your best interest. But are you positive this is what you want? Even after what happened?”

You stared back at her, determined as ever. “I'm positive.”

There was a beat of silence before Laswell sighed, rubbing her face. “Okay,” she breathed. “But you're still not allowed to participate in anything until you're fully healed.” Your demeanor relaxed again, almost sinking into the mattress. It was a win, a small one, but a win nonetheless.

You looked back at her, “You said Price was here right?” You asked, trying your best to hide the eagerness in your tone.

She nodded, “Yes, he's outside. He's been coming with me to check on you.”

You could've run out of bed at that exact moment, from the first minute you'd woken up he was occupying half of your thoughts. “Could I talk to him…?” You asked, trying to disguise your desperation.

Laswell gave you a pointed look, obviously, she knew more than what she was letting on. “You have ten minutes, then I'm pulling him out so you can get more rest.”

You thanked her profusely, waiting in anticipation for John to walk through the door. You shimmied up into a sitting position, trying not to irritate the stitches in your side. After a minute, your captain walked through the door. His hair was a bit tousled, and his beard had been trimmed, but there were large bags under his blue eyes. Clad in an army-green cotton shirt with jeans. He was a sight for sore eyes that was for sure.

After a minute of staring he bolted across the room, enveloping you in a tight embrace. His hand holding the back of your head to his chest and his other arm wrapped around your back. You weakly tried to hug him back, inhaling his scent.

“You have no idea how worried I was.” He breathed, pulling away to get a good look at your face. His hands cupped your jaw like a precious jewel. You smiled, laughing to the best of your ability.

“Well, I'm alive. That's saying something.” You breathed, taking him in. You’d barely spent any time away from him, yet you missed him, you needed his presence like you needed air. “Nobody can kill me that easy, not even Shepard.”

He looked at you, unimpressed by your attitude, “I wouldn't boast your level of confidence for someone in a hospital bed.” He deadpanned. You simply waved him off, but a question popped into your mind before you could say anything.

“Hey, what was Shepherd doing there anyway? I know you mentioned him earlier but I still don't understand why he was involved.” You asked, making him sigh.

John rubbed his neck, leaning back a little from his position. “If I'm being honest? I don't know either, I had a feeling he would be there but I wasn't positive. My best guess would be that he probably got involved with Markov's goons after he went rogue. After they must've teamed with underground gangs to keep tabs on what the CIA was up to.” He looked back at you, “A few people from the inside still had communication with him, that was most likely how we got the tip-off that he was in Urzik.”

You hummed, mostly glad you could put Urzik behind you. It was over and that was all that mattered, “So what happens now?” You asked.

Price raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“What happens now that you caught him?” You clarified. Staring at him curious.

John shrugged, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Well Shepherd is dead, he died during the altercation back in Riyzabbi. As for the team, we go back to normal. A few people who had relations with Shepherd are being tried in international court for unauthorized communication with enemies. But that's it, as far as I know.”

You hummed, letting your eyes flutter shut. Basking in the feel of his thumb against your skin, “Mm, and us…?” You asked, feeling a bit brave.

You felt him halt, “Well, you obviously know we can't exactly be public about this.” You opened your eyes back up to him, “-But, I don't think I can really deny what I feel for you.”

Your lips curled into a warm smile, one that seemed to say ‘I love you.’ John traced the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, ‘I love you’ the gesture said.

“I love you.” You said, unable to hold yourself back from uttering the words any longer.

John smiled, “I love you too.”

Pulling you in for a chaste kiss, you smiled against his lips. Your nose brushed his, his eyelashes tickling your skin.

You were going to be just fine.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Hey, don't go!

Okay first things first, I want to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reposted, or send me kind messages on my last post. I never thought I would reach 1,000 likes but you guys work miracles! It literally means the world to me.

Second, so sorry for the long wait. I know it was awhile but I’m balancing my classes, social life, and my writing so it gets hectic sometimes. But I appreciate you for having patience in me, I want to ask if you would be so kind as to like, repost, or leave a comment! It really helps, more than you know.

Lastly, you definitely haven’t seen the last of me yet. There is more content coming! It might take a bit but I am working hard to please you ;) and with that I hope you enjoyed Captains Girl Part II, I love you all! Toodles ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ 💕

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Taglist

@rafaelacallinybbay @nellabear @z03ch4n @evashi @freshlemontea @fanfin-glutton @achbbys000 @glitteryarcadefart @lveegsoi @hippopotamusdreamer @matixity @eternallyvenus @simplyymee98 @pinkfqiry @fraserbraw @gibbsgirl7 @blackhawkfanatic @thecursebreaker @scaryplanetdestroyer @spicyspicyliving @locker-130 @moranguito0 @whos-fran @whisperwispxx @slut-lmao @thriving-n-jiving @nexthyperfix @juliat398 @ninaak @sleepyghxul @ravenmoore14 @angelicccdesire

So sorry if you weren’t tagged and you wanted to be, some of the usernames weren’t showing up!

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Part I of… Captains Girl: ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Thank you

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

[unboundprompts]

Can you give tips for slow burn/developing romance? I’m good at writing couples once they’re already in love, but when they have a crush on each other or them slowly developing feelings I don’t really know how to do

How to Write a Slow Burn Romance

-> writersdigest.com

-> reddit.com

The Growing Relationship

Make sure the reasons your characters don't get together right away makes sense. It doesn't need to be realistic, but it needs to be believable.

Focus on how their relationship grows. Spend time on the meeting, the getting to know each other, the subtle moments and big moments that draw them to each other. There will be obstacles, arguments, and conflicts to solve.

Make the development of the relationship natural for the characters.

Start as far back in their relationship as you can. This will allow the longest amount of time for their relationship to be exploired in the story. If it fits, you can start when they first meet. Of course, if it doesn't fit your story, you can start later in their relationship.

Build the Tension

You want your readers to be on the edge of their seats when it comes to your character's relationship. They should be screaming "just kiss already!"

Add near-miss moments. An almost kiss interrupted by a phone call. A hug that lasts just a moment too long.

Add little indications of feelings. Soft Smiles. Winking. The brush of a finger. Lingering glances.

Pining. Give insights into your character's thoughts. Constant thoughts about the other person. Butterflies when they think about them. The anticipation.

Slow Burn, Not Slow Pace

There needs to be other plot points happening while the romantic tension is building. Your characters should be dealing with other situations while they are also pining after each other.

Outside Forces

Slowburns are not always endless pining and dancing around one another. Sometimes, there are outside forces that are keeping characters apart when they already realize that the feelings are mutual.

Examples: Distance between the characters, health/mental health reasons, job/work complications, family dynamics, character goals, characters are on two different sides of a conflict, etc.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

I also have a Patreon! Become a member to gain access to a Member's Only Community where you can chat and message other members and myself. Also gain access to my personal writing, which includes completed short stories, chapters from novels in progress, as well as completed scenes.

[rafesapologist]

strangers ─ drew starkey; ch. 2

summary: getting casted on outer banks threw you into overnight stardom, and an unforeseeable off-screen romance with one of hollywood's newest and biggest heartthrobs.

warnings: unedited, tension (kind of)

author's note: the info in this story about drew is mostly made up!! some of these scenarios and 'facts' are not things that have happened in real life, this is all merely part of the plot of the story.

As if the expectations of being cast onto one of the biggest shows wasn't enough, you were in for the surprise of your life when your manager called and told you that the directors wanted you to start spending time off-screen with your soon-to-be co-star.

"They think it'll make the chemistry on the show more believable if you guys get to know each other more in real life," Kendra sighed and you could practically hear her shrug over the phone.

"Okay?" You responded with a subtle temperament in your tone that went ignored by your manager, "I auditioned for the show, not to become some PR stunt for ratings." You rebutted firmly, crossing your arms as if it made your testament any more earnest.

"Not PR, just friends. If you're gonna work with somebody for who knows how long, you need to at least be acquainted with them," she reaffirmed blithely and you could hear her light up another cigarette over the line, as if her raucous smoker's voice wasn't prominent enough already.

"Then what are we supposed to do that doesn't make it look like we're dating? Cause anything we do is gonna draw attention," you asked, pointing out the burning question in your mind. Drew was a rising star in Hollywood, and it didn’t take much for the media to latch onto any spark of gossip, let alone the proximity between two co-stars. You could already imagine the headlines—"New Romance on Set?" or "Chemistry Beyond the Screen?"—flashing across tabloids, fueling rumors neither of you had any control over. The mere thought made your stomach twist, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the pull of curiosity.

"I don’t know, just grab lunch, go over lines, anything normal," Kendra responded with a casualness that felt at odds with the gravity of the situation. "The point is to make you two comfortable around each other, not to stage some fake romance. But hey, if the chemistry works out in your favor, it's not a bad thing, right?" Her tone was light, but you could sense the subtle hint of persuasion.

You bit your lip, considering the reality of it. Drew—charming, talented, and devastatingly handsome—had already made an impression during the audition, and though his professional demeanor had been disarming, you couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of tension that had crackled between you both. But off-screen was a different game altogether, one where your vulnerability wasn’t masked by a script or camera angles. The idea of spending more time with him outside the confines of rehearsals left you feeling exposed in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

"Fine, I’ll do it. But if this turns into some media circus, you owe me a long vacation after this project is over," you finally agreed, letting out a deep breath that didn’t quite ease the knot in your chest.

Kendra laughed, the sound raspy yet full of amusement. "Deal. Besides, you never know what might happen. Worst-case scenario, you make a new friend, right?"

But even as you nodded, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this arrangement than just bonding over scripts and coffee. Drew's name carried weight, and being linked to him—professionally or otherwise—was bound to stir something bigger than either of you could control. And for a brief moment, you wondered if it was the career boost you’d always needed, or a risk you weren’t prepared to take.

"Alright," Kendra continued, breaking the silence. "I’ll set something up. Keep your schedule open for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" You almost choked on the word, your pulse quickening at how soon this was all happening.

"Yep. No time like the present." Kendra’s voice was cheerful, almost too cheerful. "You’ve got this, kid. Trust me."

The call ended before you could protest, leaving you standing alone in your apartment, staring at your phone. You sighed, running a hand through your hair as the reality of tomorrow loomed over you. There was no backing out now, no escaping what was already set into motion.

You treaded over to your fridge, the soft hum of it the only sound in your quiet apartment. Pulling out the bottle of sangria you’d been saving for a special occasion—though right now felt more like an emergency—you unscrewed the cap with a small sigh of relief. The deep, ruby liquid swirled into the stemware glass, filling it halfway as you watched the dark red hues glisten under the dim kitchen light.

It wasn’t a celebration, not yet, but it was something—a moment to collect yourself before you plunged headfirst into whatever tomorrow would bring. You took a slow sip, letting the sweet, tangy taste linger on your tongue, savoring the small comfort it provided. The cool glass felt grounding in your hand, a quiet contrast to the chaos spinning in your mind.

With your hands pressed firmly against the cool countertop, your head hung low as you silently questioned how you ended up in this whirlwind of events. The soft buzz of your phone broke the stillness, pulling you back to reality. You glanced at the screen, and there it was—a text from Kendra.

"I talked to Drew’s managers, they said he suggested having lunch tomorrow at 2. I'll have a driver booked for you around 1:30."

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest, the words sinking in as you scanned the message over and over. Tomorrow. Lunch. With Drew. And with little to no time to prepare, your anxiety came to life, flooding your mind with a thousand what-ifs.

You stood there, staring at your phone, trying to piece together how you were supposed to handle this. Drew seemed perfectly polite at the chemistry read—cordial even—but one-on-one? Would he be the same, or was that all just an act for the directors?

Your mind raced through every worst-case scenario like a rapid-fire slideshow: what if your mind went blank, and you sat there fumbling for words like an awkward mess? What if you somehow got food stuck in your teeth, making a fool of yourself in front of him? Or worse yet, what if he wasn’t the nice guy he seemed to be? What if Drew, the rising star with all that charisma on-screen, turned out to be an arrogant asshole in real life?

The swirling thoughts made your stomach churn as you stood in the quiet of your kitchen, your fingers gripping the counter tighter. It felt like the universe was pulling you into something far beyond your control, leaving you standing on the edge of tomorrow, unprepared and vulnerable.

You gulped down the remainder of your wine, feeling its chill cascade down your throat, sending a fleeting shiver through your chest. The slight buzz gave you a brief surge of energy, enough to momentarily push aside the weight of tomorrow’s uncertainty. In that brief spark of clarity, an idea—unusual but oddly practical—struck you.

Without hesitation, you darted over to the couch, grabbed your laptop, and flipped it open with renewed purpose. The glow of the screen illuminated your face as you typed in the familiar search bar. But your focus wavered for a moment as the homepage tempted you with random recommendations—cooking tutorials, music videos, travel vlogs—each one a distraction you almost fell for.

You shook your head, quickly typing in the search: Drew Starkey.

As soon as you hit enter, the screen flooded with clips of interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, and fan-made compilations of your soon-to-be co-star.. You clicked on the first interview, your heart picking up pace as his face appeared on screen. There he was—laughing, smiling, completely at ease in front of the camera. His presence was magnetic, the same kind of charm you witnessed during the chemistry read, but now you were analyzing him in a different light. You weren’t watching an actor—no, you were trying to get to know the man behind the character.

Each video you watched painted a picture of Drew’s personality, his mannerisms, the way he laughed mid-sentence, his casual but thoughtful way of answering questions. It was easy to see why he’d become such a rising star. He had that effortless charisma that made him seem approachable yet untouchable all at once.

As you watched one of his MTV interviews, something about a particular one shifted your perspective. Drew was talking about his methods for diving into a character—how he found little pieces of himself in each role and let that guide his performance. But it wasn’t just the professional insight that caught your attention; it was the casual, almost vulnerable tone of his voice as he spoke about his life beyond acting.

He talked about college, how he had balanced classes and part-time jobs, how uncertain he’d felt back then—just like anyone else trying to figure out their future. He laughed about the odd jobs he worked before landing his first big role, like waiting tables and doing temp work. It was such a stark contrast to the larger-than-life persona the media often painted around actors. In that moment, Drew wasn’t just the rising star you'd auditioned with; he was a regular guy who had worked hard to get where he was.

Suddenly, the looming anxiety of tomorrow’s lunch didn’t seem as unbearable. If anything, the idea of talking to him felt almost comforting. You realized he was probably more grounded than you gave him credit for—despite the fame, despite the rising spotlight. It was refreshing, and it put a part of your mind at ease. You’d been so caught up in the idea of him as a powerful actor, you hadn’t considered that, like you, he might just be navigating this career with a sense of uncertainty, too.

You closed the laptop and leaned back, exhaling a long breath. Maybe tomorrow would be more casual than you imagined—just two people talking, finding their rhythm, building that off-screen chemistry in the same way you had in front of the directors. For the first time, the thought of sitting across from Drew didn’t feel like a storm waiting to hit. Instead, it felt manageable. And maybe, just maybe, it would even be enjoyable.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“Seriously, Kendra, what should I wear?” you huffed, your phone perched precariously on the edge of your bed as you sifted through the chaos of your closet. Fabrics of every texture spilled over your arms as you frantically flipped through hangers, eyeing each piece with increasing frustration. Nothing felt right. You didn’t want to come off like you’d tried too hard, but showing up looking too casual to lunch with Drew Starkey didn’t feel right either.

“It’s just lunch, Y/N,” Kendra's voice came through the phone, nonchalant and steady as usual. “Just dress like you normally would. No need to overthink it.”

You paused, clutching an emerald green blouse in one hand, a simple beige sundress in the other. “But what if I show up looking like a total slob, or worse, like I’m trying too hard? I don’t want him to think I’m one of those actors.”

Kendra sighed on the other end, and you could practically see her lighting another cigarette in her usual blasé way. “Look, you already met him. He’s seen you act. It’s not a pageant, it’s lunch. Just wear something you feel comfortable in and go be yourself. You’ve already impressed him—trust me, your wardrobe is the least of anyone’s concerns.”

She made it sound so simple, but the weight of it all still sat heavy on your chest. You weren’t just meeting up with Drew Starkey; you were being thrown into this situation with someone whose presence alone had enough gravity to throw you off balance. Even though he’d been polite, kind, even reassuring at the chemistry read, today felt different. More personal, more exposed. What if you said the wrong thing? Or worse, what if there was nothing to say at all?

Your eyes landed on the black sundress, a light fabric that flowed in all the right ways—comfortable, but still enough to make you feel put-together. You plucked it off the hanger and held it up in front of the mirror, examining its soft, understated elegance.

“Okay, okay, I think I found something,” you said, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “A sundress. It’s casual, right?”

“Perfect,” Kendra replied, almost as if she wasn’t really paying attention. “Remember, Y/N, this is supposed to be easy. You’re overthinking it. Just go, have lunch, talk. You’ve got nothing to prove to him—you’re already Maisy.”

You nodded at her words, trying to absorb her confidence. “Yeah, I know… You’re right. I’ll text you after, okay?”

“Good luck, kid. Don’t sweat it.”

The call ended, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The room suddenly felt too quiet, and you found yourself staring at the sundress again, smoothing out the wrinkles. Kendra was right—this wasn’t an audition, not anymore. It was just lunch. But the thought of being alone with Drew Starkey for more than five minutes made your stomach flutter with anticipation.

It was already 1:30 before you knew it, and the driver was waiting outside your apartment complex just as Kendra had promised. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection, the black sundress clinging to your figure in a way that made you feel both presentable and oddly exposed. The sun streamed in through the windows, casting golden streaks across the floor, but all you could feel was the thrum of nervous energy buzzing through your veins.

You took a deep breath, throwing your bag over your shoulder as you prepared to step out the door. But just as your hand touched the doorknob, an impulse hit you, a wild flicker of hesitation. One more thing, you thought, as if something—anything—could make the looming lunch with Drew feel more manageable.

Without a second thought, you turned back and hurried over to the fridge. The cold hum of the appliance felt almost calming as you pulled out a bottle of liquor, the glass cool beneath your fingers. You reached for the shot glass on the counter, the one you hadn’t touched in weeks, and quickly poured yourself a small measure of liquid courage.

With a swift motion you knocked back the shot. The bitter burn hit your throat like fire, and you winced as it traveled down your chest, leaving a searing heat in its wake. The burn did nothing to dull the nervous energy that coiled in your stomach, but it brought with it a flash of warmth—maybe just enough to get you out the door.

You set the glass down with a clink, exhaling sharply. Okay. Just get this over with.

The city noise hummed in the background as you locked the door behind you, your heels clicking softly against the floor as you descended the stairs. By the time you stepped outside, the black SUV was already waiting, sleek and ominous, like a portal to the unknown. The driver glanced up at you from his phone, offering a quick nod as you approached.

This was it. You were about to spend the next hour or so sitting across from Drew Starkey, face to face, with no script to guide you. Just conversation—easy, simple conversation. You repeated the words like a mantra in your mind as the driver opened the door for you, and you slid into the backseat.

The drive to the coffee shop felt like a blur, as though time had folded in on itself. Twenty minutes passed in what felt like mere moments, your mind a carousel of spiraling thoughts. Each new scenario played out in flashes—awkward silences, fumbling over your words, or worse, making a terrible first impression. You barely noticed the city streets, the buildings slipping by as your pulse quickened.

Before you knew it, the car slowed to a stop. You glanced out the window and felt a jolt in your chest—the café stood before you, quaint and modern with wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that seemed to strip away all your defenses. You could already imagine Drew inside, perhaps sipping on his coffee, glancing up to see you through the glass. The thought made your stomach flip.

Your driver stepped out and came around to open the door for you, his gentle nod barely registering as you mumbled a quiet "thank you" and handed him a tip. As your feet touched the ground, the sunlight was warmer than you'd anticipated, but it did nothing to chase away the cold wave of anxiety coursing through your veins.

You stood there for a moment, frozen in place as you stared at the entrance of the shop. The cheerful chatter and soft clinking of cups inside only heightened your nerves. You could feel your heart beating harder, faster, each step toward the door a battle against your own hesitation.

He’s just a person, you reminded yourself, trying to quell the panic rising in your throat. But it didn’t feel that simple. Drew Starkey, with his effortless charm and natural presence, was far from just a person in your eyes. This wasn’t a screen test or a scripted scene; this was real, and the vulnerability of it all felt like stepping into a spotlight with no lines to recite.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed down the front of your dress, squaring your shoulders as you approached the door. The reflection in the glass showed a version of yourself that seemed far more composed than you felt inside.

The moment you stepped through the door, it hit you—a wave of vulnerability like never before. The cozy warmth of the café felt stifling, too intimate, too exposing. Every eye seemed like it could be on you, but none more so than the one pair you hadn’t yet found. Your heart thudded in your chest, your breath quickened as your gaze darted around the room, desperate for a familiar face.

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you prayed Drew hadn’t noticed your awkward search. You fidgeted with your purse, shifting it from one shoulder to the other in a vain attempt to appear more casual, less like a deer caught in headlights. Your arms instinctively crossed in front of you, a small shield against the sudden discomfort that surged through your veins.

Your eyes swept over the café, landing on tables filled with groups of friends, couples huddled in cozy corners, and lone patrons with their noses in books or laptops. And then—thank God—there he was. A tall figure with broad shoulders, his back to the door, sitting by the window.

Drew.

Relief rushed through you, as if finding him tethered you back to reality. He was alone, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as if this was just another day for him. You took a slow breath, allowing yourself a second to gather what remained of your composure. The butterflies in your stomach still fluttered, but at least now you had a destination, a focus that made the swirling anxieties just a little more bearable.

With as much confidence as you could muster, you made your way toward him, every step feeling like it stretched on forever.

"Hi," you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you approached the table. You pulled out the chair opposite him, your nerves fluttering beneath your skin. "Thanks for taking the time to do this. I know you're probably super busy." The words left your lips with a quiet, breathy chuckle, an attempt to mask the awkwardness that clung to you like a shadow.

Drew looked up from his coffee, his eyes warm and inviting, as if to assure you that there was no need for nerves. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he shook his head. "Actually, I have this week off before we start filming season 4," he explained with an easy laugh, his thumbs tracing the rim of his cup absentmindedly. "I needed to get out of the house anyway."

You laughed softly at his comment, reaching for one of the menus to give yourself a brief moment of reprieve from his gaze. Drew straightened in his chair, the subtle movement drawing your attention just before he cleared his throat.

“So, how did you get into acting?” His question was direct, almost startlingly so, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made you feel suddenly seen—too seen. You weren’t used to such earnestness from someone you'd only just met, but in a way, it was a relief. At least he wasn’t skirting around small talk.

You shifted in your seat, caught off guard by his boldness, but grateful all the same. "Uh, well..." You started, your fingers tightening around the menu. "I was in college for a while, studying psychology, but..." You hesitated, glancing down as if the table could offer some solace. Opening up so quickly wasn’t something you were accustomed to, especially with someone like him. Still, there was something disarming in the way he listened, waiting for you to continue.

"It didn’t feel right," you confessed quietly, your voice softening. "I always had this dream of becoming an actress, ever since I was a kid. So, eventually, I just... dropped out and moved to L.A." You let the words hang there, reluctant but honest. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to lay your cards on the table like this, but it seemed to happen naturally with him in that moment.

Drew’s gaze never wavered from you, his attention unwavering in a way that both flattered and unnerved you. You weren’t used to being the center of someone’s focus like this, especially not someone with his kind of presence. But his expression was kind, reassuring even, and you found some comfort in that.

“There’s no shame in that,” he said with a gentle shrug, his voice warm and understanding. “I took acting in college, but if I had done anything else, I probably would’ve left, too.”

His words brought a flicker of relief to your chest, causing you to sit up a bit straighter. You tilted your head slightly, your eyes tracing over his face, searching for any trace of insincerity but finding none.

“Really?” you asked, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “I don’t think my school even offered that.” You tugged at your bottom lip for a moment, a nervous habit you hadn’t realized you were doing until now. “Besides, I couldn’t have done that anyway. I only went to school because my parents wanted me to. I was basically just trying to make them proud.”

Your confession came out more candidly than you intended, but in the quiet of the café and under Drew’s steady gaze, it felt natural to share. For a moment, you expected him to change the subject, to keep things surface-level, but instead, he continued to pry.

"How did they feel when you came to L.A. to act?"

Your eyes widened slightly at his question, taken aback by his curiosity. It was such a personal, almost mundane topic, yet he was genuinely interested. "They were… wary about it," you replied, your gaze drifting down to the table as you absently picked at your nails. "But they told me they’d support whatever I wanted to do. Though, I’m pretty sure they thought I wouldn’t make it very far, deep down."

You laughed softly, the sound half-hearted, as if trying to ease the seriousness of your own words. You didn’t want to come off as too open or vulnerable so soon, but there was something about his attention that made it difficult to hold back.

Drew didn’t look away. His focus on you never wavered, the intensity of his gaze somehow soft yet unrelenting, making you feel both exposed and heard.

"That’s tough," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "It’s hard enough chasing something you love, but doing it without knowing if the people who matter most really believe in you… that’s even harder."

His words surprised you. Most people would brush off a confession like that or try to lighten the mood, but Drew leaned in, showing a depth of understanding that made you pause. You glanced back up at him, searching his expression. He wasn’t offering empty sympathy. It was like he genuinely got it.

“Yeah,” you responded quietly, nodding in agreement, “I guess I’ve always had that in the back of my mind, like this little voice telling me I need to prove something.” You hesitated, wondering if you should go deeper, but there was something safe in the atmosphere between you two. “I think that’s why landing this role means so much. It’s not just for me—it’s to show them I wasn’t wrong for following my gut.”

A silence settled between you both after that, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt purposeful, like both of you were letting the weight of your words sink in.

Drew gave a small smile, one that seemed to reach his eyes, softening the intensity of his stare. "Well, I think you’ve already proven that. You nailed the audition, and now here we are. You’re here for a reason."

For a moment, the two of you sat there, enduring a silence that wasn’t awkward, but the tension felt almost suffocating. Drew's gaze lingered on you, so intense that it felt like it was burning through you. Heat rose to your cheeks as his blue eyes seemed to analyze every inch of your face. You wondered if he was searching for flaws, or maybe even finding them. You felt small under his stare, like you wanted to say something to break the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. You were simply speechless under his trance.

"Have you ever taken a role like this?" Drew suddenly asked, breaking the silence as he took a sip of his coffee.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "What do you mean?"

"Like playing a love interest," he clarified, his voice calm, almost too casual for the depth of his question. "Have you done that before?"

Your brows furrowed slightly as you processed his words, feeling the weight of them sink in. "No, not really," you replied slowly, your voice quiet but steady. "I’ve done smaller roles, but nothing like this. It’s… new for me."

Drew’s eyes softened, his expression shifting from curiosity to understanding. He nodded as if he expected that answer, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn’t just asking about acting. There was something deeper to the question, a vulnerability you couldn’t quite place.

"That’s interesting," he said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving you. "Because it doesn’t seem like it. You handle it like a natural."

His words caught you off guard, the compliment landing heavier than you anticipated. For a second, you weren’t sure if he was still talking about the role or about something else entirely. The air between you thickened again, the tension suffocating, though not entirely uncomfortable. It was the kind of tension that made your heart race, the kind that left you wondering where the line between professional and personal blurred.

"Thanks," you murmured, trying to shake off the growing heat in your chest. You didn’t trust yourself to say more. You could still feel his eyes on you, studying your reaction, and it made your pulse quicken.

“It can be intimidating at first,” he admitted, his tone reassuring as he leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table. There was a sincerity in his voice that made you feel at ease, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “But I’ll make sure you’re always comfortable. They can write some pretty crazy plot lines in there, so just let me know if you ever feel uncomfortable doing a scene. I’ll talk to Jonah if I have to.”

His words hit you suddenly, unexpected in their warmth and assertiveness. You paused, lips pursed in contemplation, trying to grasp the significance of his commitment to protect you from any overwhelming scenes. The air between you seemed to thicken with unspoken understanding as you wondered if this was the kind of guy he was towards everyone—protective and kind—or if this consideration was reserved solely for you, his co-star.

Regardless of the reason, you felt flattered, a soft blush creeping to your cheeks as a sense of security enveloped you, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. His presence across the table offered a calming reassurance that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Oh, well thank you,” you finally replied, sincerity coloring your voice. “Nobody has ever done that for me.”

There was a moment of silence, and in it, you could see a flicker of understanding pass between you—a shared acknowledgment of what was ahead. His blue eyes held yours with an intensity that made your heart race, as if he was searching for something deeper within you.

“It’s important,” he said softly, his tone earnest. “Acting can be raw and vulnerable. It’s easy to get lost in it all, especially when the emotions run high. I just want to make sure you feel safe.”

You nodded, a swirl of emotions churning within you as you searched for the right words. The moment felt fragile, hanging delicately in the air between you, and you didn’t want to shatter it with any misstep. Yet, the intensity of his demeanor made you feel small and nervous, as if the weight of his gaze was both exhilarating and suffocating.

Breathless, you sat across from him, the man who was still practically a stranger, yet in this moment, it felt as if you had known him for years. There was a strange familiarity in the way he looked at you, a connection that ran deeper than surface-level pleasantries.

“Thank you, Drew,” you finally managed to say, your voice softer than you intended, tinged with sincerity.

His smile widened, a warm and genuine expression that sent a flutter through your chest. “Of course. I’d be happy to do that for you,” he admitted, softly biting down on his bottom lip as his eyes flickered between yours and your lips, as if caught in a moment of contemplation. It was a fleeting look, but it made your heart race, igniting a mix of anticipation and curiosity within you.

“And I’m sure the rest of the cast will do the same. They’re great to work with,” he added, taking it upon himself to shift the mood, straightening his posture as if shedding the weight of the moment. You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment at the change in direction, yet a part of you understood the necessity of pacing yourself. Maybe diving too deep too soon was better left for later.

“Yeah, I’ve heard great things about them. I’m excited to meet them next,” you replied, attempting to mask your intrigue with enthusiasm.

Drew nodded, his expression brightening as he spoke about the cast. “You’ll love them. We all hang out outside of filming too. It’s like a little family, you know? Makes the long hours much more bearable.”

You giggled slightly at his comment, a lightness in your chest blooming as you absorbed the warmth of his enthusiasm. “Well, I’m honored to now be a part of it,” you joked back, a playful lilt in your voice.

Drew’s eyes sparkled at your smile, the corners of his lips curving upward in a genuine grin that seemed to radiate joy. It was as if your lightheartedness sparked something within him, and for a brief moment, the café around you faded into a backdrop.

“I think you’ll fit right in,” he replied, his tone sincere and warm, and you could sense the unspoken camaraderie beginning to take root between you. It felt refreshing, as if he was offering a piece of reassurance that made going ahead seem a little less daunting.

You felt a surge of confidence at the playfulness in his tone, fueling the conversation further. “And what makes you so sure of that?” you teased, a hint of mischief in your voice, as if daring him to justify his statement.

Drew’s tongue grazed across his teeth as he pondered your question, his blue eyes narrowing slightly in thought. The pause between you was brief, yet charged with a subtle tension, the kind that comes when two people are testing the boundaries of familiarity. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, you felt as though he could see right through you.

“You just seem like a likable person,” he replied, his voice soft yet confident, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sly smile. His tone was earnest, but there was something about the way he said it that made your pulse quicken—like he knew more than he was letting on, like he could already sense there was more to you than what lay on the surface.

You couldn’t help but smirk, leaning slightly forward as if to match his energy. “Is that your professional actor assessment?” you quipped, raising a brow, trying to mask the flutter in your chest with humor.

His grin widened as if your playful retort amused him. “Maybe,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed yet fully engaged. “Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.” His eyes glimmered with something more—an invitation, perhaps, to challenge him further.

Your heart raced slightly as you matched his stare, the game between you intensifying without either of you needing to acknowledge it. You felt emboldened by the easy rapport, as though you could push the conversation anywhere, and it would still feel natural, still flow effortlessly. There was something refreshing about it, and it left you wanting to keep the banter going just a little longer.

“Well, you could be wrong, you know,” you shot back, your voice lilting with amusement. “I could be the least likable person you’ve ever met, and you wouldn’t even know it yet.”

Drew chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that,” he said, his tone low and smooth, leaving just enough mystery in his words to keep you guessing.

“I guess we’ll have to see,” you shrugged nonchalantly, playing into the lighthearted banter. Drew’s eyes sparkled with amusement, as if your coy responses were entertaining him in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Despite the casual nature of the conversation, there was something in the air between you that made it feel deeper, more charged.

He leaned in slightly over the table, his body angled toward you, his presence suddenly filling the small space between you. “You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something a little more serious, yet still playful, “if we’re going to be working so closely together, why don’t we start hanging out more? It’ll make everything on-screen more believable.”

His suggestion hung in the air, sending your mind reeling. Your initial instinct was to question it—was this about the job or something more? His words seemed casual, but the way he looked at you now, with a sincerity that felt more personal than professional, told you there might be another layer to his offer.

You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him, your lips curling into a small smile. “You think so?” you asked, your voice soft but teasing, leaning just enough into the moment to keep things light, while still acknowledging the subtle tension between you.

Drew’s gaze didn’t falter. “Yeah,” he nodded, his smile widening. “The better we know each other, the easier it’ll be to build that connection on-screen.” He paused for a second, watching your reaction, and then added with a smirk, “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know you a little better off-screen too.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile back, trying to keep your cool. You glanced down at your hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I guess that makes sense,” you replied, your voice light and playful, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

The suggestion seemed innocent enough on the surface, but the underlying implications—the chance to spend more time together, to see if this chemistry extended beyond the lines you’d be reading—made your pulse race just a little faster.

“Alright,” you said, leaning back in your chair with a shrug, pretending to be more nonchalant than you felt. “Let’s give it a try. See if we can make this whole thing more believable.”

Drew smiled in agreement, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that seemed to settle the tension between you. He opened his mouth, about to say something more, but was interrupted by the soft buzz of his phone lighting up with a text. He glanced down at it briefly before shifting his attention back to you, his smile still faint but genuine.

“It’s been nice getting to know you a little more. I really enjoyed this,” he admitted, his voice sincere. You noticed his gaze flicker toward the window, as though he was checking for something or someone, before returning to you. “Why don’t I give you my number so we can plan something soon?”

Your heart skipped at the casual offer, but you maintained your composure, feeling the air between you both shift into something more comfortable, yet still charged with potential. “Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied with a small smile, trying to keep things light despite the slight flutter in your chest.

Drew pulled out his phone, tapping on the screen before handing it over to you. You quickly typed in your number, handing it back to him, your fingers brushing briefly as you exchanged devices.

“Great,” he said, locking the phone and slipping it back into his pocket, his smile widening. “I’ll text you later, and we can figure something out. Maybe something less... formal,” he added with a playful wink, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Sounds like a plan.”

"I'll see you later, Y/N." Drew’s voice was soft, still carrying that same warmth and kindness that had made you feel so at ease throughout the afternoon. He offered you one last smile before gathering his belongings and heading toward the door.

You watched him as he stepped outside, the sunlight casting a soft glow on him as he made his way to the black SUV parked out front. There was something effortlessly graceful about the way he moved, the casualness of it, yet it left you with a feeling of weightlessness. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you saw him disappear into the car, the sound of the engine starting up almost muted by the rush of your thoughts.

The café around you sounded with the usual hum of life, but your mind was far from the present moment. Instead, it replayed every detail of the past hour—the way he had smiled at you, the easy flow of conversation, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between the two of you. You could still feel the warmth of his gaze, the way it made you feel seen in a way that felt both exhilarating and unsettling.

As you sat there, a small smile crept onto your lips. The butterflies in your chest wouldn’t settle, and you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted them to. Something about today had changed things, and as you grabbed your bag and stood up to leave, you realized the anticipation for whatever came next was already beginning to build.

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taglist: @romantic-punch, @cl4uus, @clearpoetryobservation-blog, @willowpains, @simp4f1, @kaiparkerwifes, @cali-888, @allthoughtsmindfull, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Do you have any tips on how characters react after a heat in the moment first kiss?

Hey there! I'm so glad you reached out about depicting characters' reactions after an unexpected first kiss. This is such an important and tricky moment to get right in any romance story.

I don't talk enough about romance, so I've very excited to write a blog post about this, especially since in almost all my writing projects I utilize a romantic subplot.

Understanding the Emotional Impact

First things first, it's important to recognize just how powerful and transformative that first kiss can be for your characters, even if it's spur-of-the-moment or unplanned. A kiss like that has the power to shift the entire dynamic between two people, unlocking a whole new level of vulnerability, intimacy, and emotional intensity.

Think about it - your characters have probably been building up tension, attraction, and unspoken feelings for each other over time. And then, in one electric moment, all of that comes bubbling to the surface. Suddenly, everything changes. The world seems to slow down, and all that matters is the connection between them.

Whether your characters have been pining for this moment or it takes them completely by surprise, that first touch of their lips is guaranteed to trigger a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement, nervousness, relief, uncertainty - it's a veritable emotional rollercoaster.

And of course, the way each character responds will depend on their individual personality, past experiences, and overall mindset. A shy, cautious character might be utterly flustered and overwhelmed. A bold, adventurous one might be thrilled and eager for more. And someone with trust issues or a painful romantic history might panic and pull away.

The key is to really get inside your characters' heads and hearts, understanding how this monumental moment resonates with them on a deep level. That's what's going to make their reactions feel raw, authentic, and achingly real for your readers.

Crafting Nuanced Reactions

(The examples I use are very cliche, and personally not my writing style, but they're simply for your reference to get a rough idea of what I'm trying to indicate)

Okay, now that we've established the emotional gravity of that first kiss, let's dive into some specific techniques for portraying your characters' reactions. Here are a few ideas:

Focus on the sensations. When a character experiences something as intense as an unexpected first kiss, their physical responses are going to be heightened. Capture the racing heartbeat, the trembling hands, the tingling skin - all those little visceral details that make the moment palpable.

For example (Very cliche but, just for reference): "Her lips were soft and warm against his, sending a shiver down his spine. His heart pounded in his ears, fingers trembling as he cupped her cheek, hardly daring to breathe."

Showcase their inner turmoil. Don't just describe what's happening externally - give us a window into your character's jumbled thoughts and feelings. Are they overjoyed? Confused? Terrified? Let us see the full emotional spectrum unfolding.

Like this: "Panic rose in her chest as his lips met hers, every nerve ending firing at once. What was happening? This couldn't be real - it had to be some kind of dream. But the way her skin tingled, the way her stomach fluttered, told her this was very much reality."

Use body language and subtle reactions. Characters don't always have to respond with grand, over-the-top gestures. Sometimes the most meaningful reactions come through in the little, unconscious movements - a shy glance, a gentle touch, a subtle smile.

For instance: "For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, frozen. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, eyes sparkling with a mix of wonder and delight."

Lean into the awkwardness. First kisses, even magical ones, can also be a little clumsy and uncertain. Embrace that sense of fumbling vulnerability - it makes the moment all the more endearing and relatable.

Something like: "Their noses bumped as they leaned in, hearts racing. He hesitated, suddenly unsure, but then her hand slid around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Their lips met in a tentative, exploratory kiss that sent tingles down his spine."

Contrast reactions between characters. If you have two characters with very different personalities or perspectives, lean into that contrast to create compelling dramatic tension. How might a guarded, cynical character react compared to an optimistic romantic?

For example: "She froze, eyes wide with shock. This was the last thing she'd expected - to be kissed by her best friend, of all people. Panic fluttered in her chest, desperate to pull away. But then she saw the vulnerability in his gaze, the slight tremble in his hands, and her heart melted. Slowly, hesitantly, she kissed him back."

The key is to get creative, have fun, and be able to let your characters' unique voices and perspectives shine through.

Additional Resources

And of course, don't hesitate to reach out if you have any other questions! I'm always happy to chat more about anything writing related.

--Rin T.

[nadvs]

out of bounds (part five)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+ for smut (zach is subby and packing) (and you can’t convince me otherwise)

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» part one | two | three | four

» masterlist

The setting sun is an orange sliver behind the clouds over the lake, promising a colder night as you sit by the campfire.

It’s been another tiring day and lights out can’t come soon enough. You check the time on your phone to see you have twenty minutes left of free time before campers retire to their cabins.

Zach sits across the fire pit with Malcolm, surrounded by chattering kids.

“It’d be nice if our campers actually wanted to spend time with us,” Ami says to you quietly, sitting next to you.

You laugh, noticing that a lot of your girls are sitting around Zach and Malcolm, talking and staring at them in awe. They’re not subtle at all.

“I have so much to tell you, by the way,” she adds.

“About…?” you ask, your eyes inconspicuously drifting towards Malcolm.

“Yeah,” she says. “He came over when you and Zach went on your little date.”

You laugh again to cover your nerves. Ami was already asleep when you made it to your cabin last night. This morning, you briefly chatted with her about how you ran an errand in town with Zach, making it sound as boring as possible.

You’re still putting up the front that you have no romance between you. You’re not sure you’re doing such a convincing job and it’s been feeding your anxiety.

“We went shopping for work,” you reiterate. “We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” she replies, unconvinced. “He’s totally looking at you like you’re a friend right now.”

You glance up to meet Zach’s gaze, the corner of his lips quirked up, his eyes on you. You smile at him and look at Ami again. You haven’t told her a thing. Not even that you and Zach confessed your feelings for each other.

Admittedly, it’d be nice to be able to gush with Ami about your flings. She’s become a good friend over the two weeks you’ve been working at the camp and she tells you everything about Malcolm. But you respect Zach too much to give in.

“Okay, maybe there’s a tiny possibility we like each other, but we’re not doing anything about it,” you offer quietly. “So, what happened?”

“I’ll tell you tonight,” she says.

You nod. You already decided that when you get to your cabin, you’ll tell her that you’re going to the dining hall to have a video call with friends. If she insists you stay, you’ll say you’ll be loud and you don’t want to bother her in case it goes late.

In reality, you’re planning to go to Zach’s cabin tonight. He’ll have the place to himself. And you can hardly wait.

It’s complicated and a bit guilt-inducing to be lying so much, but when you glance across the fire again and see Zach’s bright smile, you know he and his comfort are worth it.

Ami falls into conversation with another counselor and you text Zach to tease him: what’s with the staring? you’re making it a little obvious maclaren.

It’s not until after lights out when Malcolm leaves their shared cabin for his shift that Zach showers, tidies up, sits on his bed and pulls his phone out to text you that he realizes you texted him a while ago.

He’s been riddled with anticipation all day. It’s been hard to focus. You didn’t exactly directly confirm you’d be coming over tonight, but it seemed to be an unspoken plan between you two.

And the fact that you bought condoms last night has been turning over and over in his head. He won’t rush you, he wouldn’t dream of it, but he hopes tonight is the night.

He replies to you: I can’t stare at you? Come on. You’re asking for the impossible here.

And because he can’t wait, he texts again: You want to come over tonight?

Five minutes pass. Then, ten. All he has left to do is reread his texts to you. Maybe he came across too strong.

Come to think of it, your first text calling him out for staring could have been serious. What if you’re not teasing, but actually upset with him?

He’s drafting a text to apologize if he said anything wrong, but you reply: be there soon.

When you knock on Zach’s door, he opens it within seconds and you rush inside.

“Sorry,” you tell him, pulling him in for a hug. “Ami was filling me in on some stuff.”

“All good,” Zach says, although in reality, he was kind of freaking out. He leans to kiss your forehead and his body warms when you tighten your arms around his torso. “Where’d you say you’re going?”

“Taking a call.” You squeeze him once more, his body firm against you, before leaning back to cup his face and pull him down towards you.

Your kiss is gentle, its tenderness proof of just how much you’ve missed him. All the tension in his body fades like you’re pulling him out of a bad dream. He’s relieved that things between you are okay. Your touch shows that you’re still in this like he is.

“Hi,” you whisper in relief.

“Hey, baby.” His deep voice is like velvet, the word spilling out of his mouth as if he’s called you that a million times before.

“How was your day?” you ask.

“This is the best part of it,” he replies. You smile and kiss him again.

When you settle on Zach’s bed, sitting across from each other, you look around his small cabin, laid out like yours, items neatly tucked away.

“Thought you said you were messy,” you say, playfully pushing his shoulder.

Zach takes the opportunity to hold your hand, cupping it, stroking his thumb over your fingers in his lap.

He gazes at you, at how effortlessly pretty you look in your comfy clothes, at how quickly you make his blood go hot and his body go tense just from a hug and a few kisses.

“I cleaned up,” he says. “Think I’ll have to mess it up again so Malcolm doesn’t get suspicious, though.”

“I wonder if he and Ami talk about us,” you say. “She’s been teasing me about liking you ever since our first night here.”

“Did you? Like me then?” Zach flirts.

You look down, smiling shyly, thinking back to the night you kicked the ball around under the starry sky, getting to know each other, bodies lightly brushing together.

“Yeah,” you confess. “Did you?”

“I liked you since you told me there was only one fork left.”

“So, the first thing I said to you?” you laugh, rolling your eyes.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Zach brings your hand up against his chest as he feigns offense. You laugh together and he dips his head to kiss the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours.

He’s acting like he couldn’t wait to get you alone again. You feel the same way. It’s ridiculously hard being in the same vicinity all day and having to act like you haven’t kissed or touched each other.

Now, he’s merely inches away, his heartbeat pounding against your palm, the tension between you thickening by the second.

Zach lowers your hand on his bed. His blanket is soft. His stare is tender. You look down at the way his big hand covers yours and you quickly notice the thick ridge of his erection beneath his sweatpants.

It makes the coil in you tighten, knowing he’s already as turned on as you are. You discreetly feel for the condom in your pocket to make sure it’s still there.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Zach offers, tilting his head towards his desk. You see his laptop propped open.

You smile, endeared over how considerate he is not to rush anything, especially when he’d so clearly do something else.

The other night in your bed has been on your mind. He was so hard and so big in your hand that your heart is already hammering at the thought of seeing him naked, of feeling him inside you.

“Sure,” you simply say.

He asks you what you’d like to watch and you pick one of the first movies you see, figuring you won’t be watching much of it anyway.

You lie on your side in his bed as he queues up the movie and tilts the laptop screen towards you. The smell of his strong, calming body wash wafts over you as he settles behind you.

Zach plants a kiss on your shoulder once he props himself onto the pillow, curling behind you. He knows you can feel how hard he is, but before he can worry about you feeling uneasy, he reminds himself of how much you’ve reassured him that you want him, too.

“You’re the big spoon type?” you ask with a soft chuckle as he shuffles into position.

“You sound surprised,” Zach mumbles behind you.

“So, you don’t want to be the little spoon? Ever?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no,” he replies, earning another giggle from you.

The movie’s opening credits roll over the screen, but all you can focus on is the sensation of Zach’s large hand against your thigh, dragging to cup the crook of your hip as he pulls your body against him.

You arch your back to press against his hard length. His hold on your hip tightens, a shudder leaving his lips.

Zach tries to concentrate on the movie, but he’s so hard that it aches. His eyes refuse to look at the screen; they want to trail over the peaks and valleys of your body, to take in your pretty face.

He shifts to nuzzle against your hair, relaxing simply from the smell of your shampoo. His palm glides up past your hip, over your tummy, resting right under your breasts, where he can feel the wire of your bra beneath the thin fabric of your shirt.

Your stomach rises and falls, his hand moving with every one of your breaths. Having to keep a distance from you all day is hard. Being this close and not touching you how he wants to be touching you is somehow even harder.

All Zach can do is shut his eyes as he nuzzles in and expels warm breaths against the back of your ear. He tells himself to just cuddle you for now, to go slow.

“I feel like I can’t get the smell of campfire out of my hair,” you admit with a laugh. “Sorry if it-”

“No, no, you smell good,” he mumbles. He glides his hand back and forth across your waist and slowly presses his lips against the side of your neck.

You bite your lip, lowering your palm over your stomach. Zach quickly raises his hand, clearly concerned he did something wrong, serving as a reminder to you of how much he appreciates your direction and praise.

“It’s okay,” you say. He realizes you’re lifting up your shirt. “You can touch me if you want to.”

You guide his hand under your top, feeling his palm on your breast. Warmth pools in your stomach when he almost inaudibly groans.

“If I want to?” he whispers with a nervous chuckle. “Of course I want to.”

He gently squeezes, swallowing the lump in his throat as the soft cup of your bra bunches between his fingers.

His touch is soothing, his breath ragged. He spends so much time slowly massaging you that it begins to feel like torture to not have him making direct contact.

You’re sure that he can feel how hard your nipples are under your bra, but you let him decide the pace this time, let him decide when you can move to the next step.

“Can I take this off?” Zach finally asks, his hand skimming over your bra strap.

You wriggle to pull your top off then lean forward, your back still to him.

“Yes,” you say with a note of relief.

Zach plants wet kisses on your bare shoulder as his hands wander to the back of your bra, unhooking and guiding the straps down your arms. You press your back up to him again once your bra hits the floor.

He feels your bare breast against his hand and he’s thrown back into how nice the swells of your flesh felt in his mouth, how hard and perfect your nipples were against his tongue.

He stimulates you with gentle pinches, kneading softly, making you buck your hips back against him.

“God, I love these,” Zach rasps, fondling you. “I just…” He trails into silence.

“What?” you breathe.

He only kisses your shoulder again as he continues to touch you, his cock twitching against you.

You turn to face him and Zach doesn’t waste a second. His lips are soft and wet when they press against yours as he drags his thumb back and forth over your nipple.

You pull back, nose nudging against his.

“You just what? You can tell me,” you reassure him softly.

His heart is racing, wishing a part of him wasn’t still scared that he’s too much for you, that how deeply he feels for you will freak you out. He’s never thought of himself as an insecure person, but right now, one negative word from you could shatter him.

Goosebumps bloom over his skin when you caress his jaw, your hand against his cheek. He’ll say what he’s thinking, even though he’s afraid.

“I just want to make you feel good,” Zach says.

You smile, tilting your head to kiss him again.

“You are,” you say when your mouths part. “All I ever feel with you is good.”

Your words make him dizzy, pushing him to capture your lips again, rougher this time. When his tongue dips into your mouth, you let out a moan that makes him feel like he might go crazy.

Zach sucks your bottom lip as you tug at his shirt, willing him to pull back and take the clothing off. His shirt falls onto the floor behind you with a soft thud and he pulls you tight against him, the sensation of his bare, hard chest against yours utterly perfect as he kisses you.

You’re lost in the moment, making out slowly and heavily. The sounds of your hungry kisses and the movie playing and the wind rustling through the trees just outside his window fill your ears.

You eventually shift to straddle him, coming up for air as you sit up, thighs locked around his hips. Zach gazes up at you in awe, eyes drifting up and down, taking in your every feature.

You can feel how soaked your panties are now that you’re settled on him. You drink in the planes of his muscles and the ridges of his abs and the line of hair below his bellybutton that trails down past the elastic of his sweatpants.

You knew he was muscular, but it’s surprising how much he’s hiding under his shirt. As you look down at his half-naked form, you take in how every plane and edge of his is hard and sharp, except for his eyes. They’re always kind, looking at you softly like you can do no wrong.

“Hi,” he says, voice low and smile lazy. He cups your hips gently, biting his lip as he gazes at your breasts.

“Hi,” you breathe.

“You’re so pretty,” Zach whispers, his half-lidded eyes and messy hair and swollen lips the picture of drunken bliss. You thank him through a soft laugh.

You can feel it in the air that he wants to go all the way, too. But to be sure, you dip into your pocket to pull out the condom.

“Do you want to?” you ask, holding it between your fingers.

“Yes,” he says, paired with fast nods. “Do you?”

“Yes,” you say with a small smile.

“I never go this fast,” he admits impulsively. He typically dates a girl for at least a month before he takes this big a step. But things just feel so right with you. He can’t resist you. He doesn’t want to.

“If at any point, you want to stop-”

“Trust me, I won’t want to stop,” he interrupts.

You giggle at his enthusiasm, leaning over to kiss him again, your hands splayed on his hard chest, the wrapper of the condom crinkling.

“Same for you, okay?” Zach says. “We’ll stop if you want to stop. I won’t be mad.”

You laugh again against his lips.

“What?” he says, amused.

“I kind of can’t imagine you being mad at me.”

Zach smirks, his hands gliding up the curve of your spine. He’s completely weak for you. He’s okay that you can tell.

“Me, neither.”

Your lips meet again and a gentle whine escapes his mouth when you thread your fingers through his hair, grinding against him.

His hands drag down to your ass, squeezing. Another groan sounds from the back of his throat as you roll your hips over him, his cock hard against your middle.

He can’t even control his own body, his hips involuntarily bucking up towards you. His pants feel tight against his erection, the sweet friction of you grinding making his muscles weak.

His throat tightens when he feels you shuffling to take your pants off.

“Let me help,” Zach whispers. “Please.”

“So sweet,” you praise as his thumbs hook under the band, pushing your pants down your thighs. Your words make him move even faster.

Your pants are soon bunched at the end his bed and you straddle him again, left only in your underwear. Zach inhales sharply when he feels the bare curve of your ass without much fabric left in the way.

He sighs in satisfaction, groping you, pushing against you so that you’ll grind at the pace he wants you to, offering him a little more relief.

You lean back down to kiss him and eventually perch up on your knees to tug down his sweats, leaving him in his boxers. You palm him, feeling the wet drop of precome he left on the soft cotton.

You meet his eyes, his desperation for you clear. He’s completely at your beck and call, hanging on what you’ll do next. You’ve never had this much power over anyone before.

You want to please him just as much as he wants to please you. You tilt closer to him again, your cheek pressed against his, knowing how much he loves to be complimented.

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me,” you murmur in his ear.

“Shit,” Zach says with a disbelieving chuckle. He’s in heaven. “Repeat that for me.”

“You like hearing how bad I want you?” you say, dipping a hand in his boxers. He nods wordlessly, too in awe to speak, and when you feel his cock in your hand, the desire deep in you pricks every inch of your skin, your stomach twisting.

You start to stroke him gently and heat rushes through his body. He’s never had someone know how to talk to him. He’s always been a bit embarrassed of how much praise he wants.

Other than offering gentle encouragement, he typically stays quiet during sex, never asking for compliments even though he desperately wants them. But you give him what he needs so effortlessly, understanding him in his entirety.

“So big,” you whisper. “I’m going to have to take some time to adjust to you.”

He feels like he’s going to wake up soon, because this can’t possibly be real.

“As long as you need,” he says through a strained voice.

You smirk against his skin, kissing his cheek as you skim your fingers over him.

“Take these off,” you encourage him, pulling against the band of his boxers.

“Yes,” Zach obeys in a hush. He shuffles to take off his last piece of clothing as you prop up on your knees again.

You nearly gasp when his cock springs out, craving him with everything in you. You start to gently pump his length, eyes flitting between how big he is in your hand and how captivated he looks, watching you palm him.

“That feels so good,” he breathes in a whimper. His breaths are shallow and soft and slow as you touch him.

He’s in disbelief over how incredible his feels, how perfect you look, how hungry his body is for you.

Beneath the hot, overwhelming lust you’re feeling, you can’t help but be endeared at the way his hand is trembling when he picks up the condom lying beside him, having it at the ready, nervous and excited.

“Here,” you say softly, holding out your hand to take it.

Watching you doing this part for him, rolling the condom down his shaft, puts him in an even deeper fog of bliss, making him feel reassured and so incredibly wanted.

You lean over him, perfectly lined up, his tip pressing against your panties as you kiss his lips.

“I can be slow?” you ask.

“As slow as you want,” he mumbles against your mouth, the air thick with anticipation.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“Mhm,” he mumbles dreamily. The control you have over him, the way he’s hanging on your every word is addictive.

“You’re going to be patient with me?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

Now that you know just how much praise turns him on, you feel more comfortable to speak to him in a way you’ve never spoken to a man before. To tell him what he wants to hear, but is too shy to ask for.

“You’re going to be a good boy?” you whisper.

“Oh, my God,” he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. He could come just from listening to you talk like that. “Yes. I promise. Yes.”

You kiss him deeply as you push your panties down over your hips. He helps you strip, hands clumsily cupping yours, painfully desperate for you at this point.

With a shaky breath, you sit up to look down at him and grip him at his base, lining his cock up against you.

When you slowly start to sink onto him, Zach’s breath hitches, a strained moan spilling from his lips when he feels how hot and wet and tight you are. You exhale in pleasure, keeping your eyes locked on his as you get used to the pressure.

You swallow hard when you get to a point where you need to stop, holding yourself up on your knees, your hands splayed on his toned stomach. He’s stretching you out so much, nearly putting you on the cusp of pain.

“Take your time, baby,” he whispers, his hand resting over yours. “I don’t want it to hurt you.”

You nod gratefully. No matter how bad he wants to feel all of you, he’s so relieved you’re doing what you need to do to feel good. He wants to give you nothing but pleasure.

As you take the time to get used to his size, he takes the opportunity to savor every sensation, to appreciate how incredible you look naked, perched up on him.

You slowly put the rest of your weight on him, burying him inside of you all the way, feeling him hit you deep. You almost can’t believe how big he is and how a man this well-endowed isn’t arrogant or egocentric at all.

You meet his gaze again, seeing the sweet way his face pinches with pleasure, looking like he’s so damn grateful that you want him like this.

When you start to gently roll your hips, his length pressed hard and tight inside you, he pulls your hand towards his mouth to kiss your palm.

“Feels good?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you reply through a lustful moan. “So good.”

You start to rock on him a bit faster. Zach can’t hold himself back. It’s like his voice isn’t his, spilling out of his mouth in low, feeble groans from the pleasure of your soft heat wrapped around him.

“Oh, fuck.” His voice weakens. “You’re so tight. Fuck.”

It’s the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard. You thought he whimpered before, but compared to the way he’s whining now, that was nothing.

“Keep making those sounds for me,” you tell him. He’s flattered and so relieved. He’s not confident that he could stop whimpering, no matter how hard he tried.

“Anything you want,” he says shakily.

Your moans tangle in the air together as you start to roll your hips faster, finding a perfect rhythm and filling the room with the sounds of your body meeting his. Zach has to look up at the ceiling, urging himself not to come, not yet, not until you have.

You lean over, chest pressed against his as your lips meet hungrily. Now that you’ve adjusted to his size, he starts to slowly thrust up into you.

The friction against your clit sends sparks through your body, pulling a breathy moan out of you. Between quick kisses, he calls you beautiful over and over, praising you even more than you’ve been praising him.

His breath is hoarse and uneven, hands cupping your hips to help support you with every bounce. You melt into each other with perfect ease, past the initial nerves, moving like you’ve done this together before.

“Just like that,” he whispers as his fingers dig into your skin. He’s lost in the pleasure, revelling in the feeling of you wanting him as bad as he wants you.

One hand stays on your hip while the other drags up your back, caressing your jaw, tilting your head so he can leave kisses on your cheek. When he starts to thrust into you harder, ecstasy rushes through you.

“That’s perfect,” you moan, writhing. “You’re perfect.”

He tilts his head back, eyes squeezing shut, fighting every urge to come. Perfect? He’s never been called perfect in his life.

Within moments, heavy gasps tumble out of your mouth, your body going stiff. You both feel sweet release, unravelling together, hot pleasure flooding your bodies. His hips stutter against yours as he groans through his orgasm, feeling you quiver around him at the same time.

He’s in a haze when you collapse on top of him, your head buried into the crook of his neck. You’re both sweaty and breathless, reeling, shockwaves making you shudder.

“You okay?” he whispers, twitching inside you. “Was it good for you?”

“Yes,” you breathe. You didn’t expect anything less from Zach, already having seen his sweet and affectionate nature so many times, but the care he’s showing you is making your heart feel like it’s weightless.

It’s too soon, way too soon, but you can’t stop your mind from racing to the thought that you can see yourself eventually falling in love with him.

After he cleans up, Zach comes back to lie next to you. He pulls you in so tight that getting any closer to each other would be impossible. His kisses are featherlight over your collarbones, knowing he can’t leave marks any higher, the sounds of his lips puckering on your skin sweet.

You spend countless minutes like this, still naked together under his covers, your breaths slowly starting to even out, both thankful and recovering.

“It feels like I’ve known you for so long,” he admits. He pulls back a little, meeting your eyes as you both rest on his pillow. “Is that crazy?”

“Not crazy,” you say with a wistful smile. “I feel it, too.”

Zach runs his hand up and down your side, drifting over your back with every other stroke. You’re exactly what he always imagined the perfect girl would be like.

His laptop is still playing the film, a dramatic track softly spilling through the speakers.

“You like the movie?” he jokes quietly.

“The first ten minutes were great,” you laugh. “I picked well.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hip.

“What time is it?” you ask.

He lifts his head slightly, draping his arm up over you to check the time on his computer.

“10:37,” he says.

“I should go,” you sigh. His arm tightens around you, shuffling closer to you.

“I want to hold you a little longer,” he replies.

“We’ll get found out,” you giggle. “I’ve already been out of my cabin for so long.”

You secretly hope he’ll say it’s fine, you can just tell your cabin-mate where you really were, and that if a few other counselors know, it’s okay.

But he shifts back, kissing your forehead, leaving a bittersweet feeling sitting on your chest. Blue eyes meet yours and he seems to notice the sadness in your gaze.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Stay the night?”

You smile, knowing he’s putting your comfort above his right now. He’s already shown you how important it is to him to not get caught breaking the rules.

“I shouldn’t,” you say.

“You don’t want morning cuddles? For real?” he teases. You laugh.

“Maybe next time,” you say. He breathes a sweet chuckle, adorably burying his head into his pillow.

“So, you want to do this again?” he asks, voice muffled.

“Yeah,” you say. “Do you?”

“I do,” Zach says quickly, moving to press his lips onto yours. “Again and again.”

You smile under the kiss. It’s nearly impossible to tear yourself away from him, but you do.

When you stand, you bend to collect your clothes and he helps, quickly finding your panties bunched up on his bed.

“Sit down,” he says softly.

“What?”

“Sit.”

“Don’t order me around,” you tease, but you sit at the edge of his bed, your clothes balled in your hands.

Zach smirks. It’s never been easy for him to make decisions, to be assertive, but when it comes to you, it’s not as big of a challenge as he’s used to.

You watch as he leans down, lowering close to the floor, his hair still a mess. He unbunches your underwear. It’s wrong to let you leave so soon, his heart wringing at the possibility that you’ll feel cheap, like all he wants from you is physical. The least he can do is help you get dressed.

He drags the fabric up over your ankles, your calves, your knees, fingertips ghosting over your skin.

You lift your hips off the bed as he pulls your panties up and you notice his jaw tighten when he sees you up close.

“What?” you say playfully.

Zach scoffs. He already knows that next time you’re alone together, he’ll ask to put his head between your legs and feel you reach your peak on his tongue.

“You know what,” he says.

Once your panties are on, you rake your hand over his hair, touching him lovingly. He gazes up at you, a soft smile on his face.

“I don’t want you to go,” he says, tone hushed, brows turned down in sorrow.

You agree. Leaving simply because there’s a slight chance it could lead to you losing your jobs feels ridiculous right now. But you’d never forgive yourself if you played a role in Zach being forced to leave a place he loves so much.

You’d rather crack a joke than remind him of the fact that you’re risking something every time you’re together in secret like this.

“You’ll have the chance to be the little spoon next time,” you promise. His smile widens as he laughs. “Does Malcolm usually come back here in the morning after an overnight or does he just go straight to breakfast?”

“Straight to breakfast,” he says. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” you shrug. Then, you start to put your bra on, giggling when he quickly stands to help you with that, too.

He kisses you long and deep before you leave, watching you to make sure you make it to your cabin.

Thankfully, Ami’s asleep when you enter. You’re not sure how you look right now, but you’re almost certain you’re not the picture of someone who just got off of an innocent video call with friends.

The next morning, Zach’s brushing his teeth when his phone buzzes with a text from you. you awake?

He replies: Yes, good morning!

You text: you alone?

He texts: Yes… :)

The knocks on his door are rapid, but quiet. When he opens it to see you standing in your uniform, arms crossed as you glance around the campground blanketed in sunlight and morning dew, his heart flutters.

“You said something about wanting morning cuddles?” you say.

Zach beams, pulling you in, shutting the door and kissing you gently. Falling asleep last night without you next to him hurt his heart even more than he expected.

“I think we have a good five minutes before people start leaving their cabins,” you say. “Then I’ll sneak out.”

“Can we take our clothes off?” His fingers dip beneath the hem of your t-shirt. Your cheeks warm at how desperate he is to touch you, even for innocent hugs.

Your clothes are soon a pile on the floor, and you’re snuggling in his bed in your underwear, facing each other like you did last night.

“There,” you say softly, nuzzling into him. “It’s like I never left last night.”

Zach’s body is buzzing, overjoyed that you miss him just as much as he misses you, that you’re so sweet that you come to spend a few minutes with him before the day begins.

“You need to turn around,” you tell him. He catches on and complies immediately, making you laugh at his speed.

You wrap an arm around his broad frame, pressing your cheek against his back, not feeling like much of a big spoon with someone so tall.

Zach lets himself shut his eyes for a little, breathing calm, sleepy breaths as you hug him. He’s never met anyone like you. He’s never felt so seen. So cared for.

He can’t stop thinking about last night, a little nervous you felt slighted having to leave after doing something so intimate.

“How do you feel?” he asks. “About last night?”

“Sore,” you say with a laugh. Admittedly, you can feel tenderness where his body met yours.

“What?” he mumbles sadly. “I hurt you?”

“No, baby. I’m not sore in a bad way,” you reply. “I had a good time.”

He sighs like a weight has been lifted off of him.

“Me, too,” Zach says. “And you can call me baby whenever you want. Just for the record.”

“Got it,” you whisper with a smile.

You continue to talk together. Five minutes go by way too fast. You rush to get dressed when you hear people talking outside, worried you won’t be able to leave without being seen. Thankfully, the coast is clear when you sneak out.

The crowds in the dining hall are loud and rambunctious, a hard contrast to the slow, peaceful way Zach started his day. As he stands in line to make his breakfast plate, he spots you a few people in front of him.

You’re everything he could ever want in a girl and every second not right next to you, not holding your hand, not talking to you, feels like a waste.

He’s completely infatuated. His heart is already yours. He steps forward a little, hoping he can somehow fall into conversation with you.

But seconds later, Ruby approaches him, holding her clipboard, to ask about a shift change. Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t closer to you. It’s better to avoid any chance of being seen wearing the obviously enamored look he’s sure he always has around you.

Zach is glancing at the chart when he hears one of his campers say your name in confusion. When he looks down at Oliver, he notices the boy’s eyes aren’t on you, though. They’re on Zach’s name-tag.

“Why do you have her name-tag?” he asks loudly.

Cold flushes through Zach’s body as he glances down and sees the shiny plastic rectangle hanging off the lanyard. In the scramble to put your clothes back on this morning, he realizes he must have gotten your name-tags mixed up.

When you heard your name exclaimed, you immediately turned around. Now, you can see that Zach’s eyes are wide, looking lost as Ruby and a few kids look up at him, waiting for an answer.

Your mind is jumbled. You feel for your lanyard. You’re not wearing one. You forgot to grab it from Zach’s floor this morning. And then, he took yours without making sure that it was his. His must still be in his room.

You run with an idea that pops into your head, thinking back to the first time you talked with Zach in this very building, listening to his teasing about how impressive it is that he never lost his name-tag in all his years of working here.

“Okay, I get it,” you say loudly, stepping towards him and holding your hand out. “You’re hilarious.”

Zach meets your eyes, confused. You look down at Oliver, shrugging.

“He’s wearing it because he’s trying to make a point. He was telling me how easy it is to lose your name-tag and I was bragging that I’d never lose it.” You look at Zach. “Where’d you find it?”

Relief settles into Zach’s tense muscles. You and your quick thinking just saved you both.

“Outside, by the staff cabins,” he plays along. “Don’t be so sure of yourself next time.”

You laugh as he pulls the lanyard off over his head, handing it to you.

“Funny,” you say sarcastically, hoping nobody asks where his name-tag is. “Thanks, Oliver.”

“Yeah, good eye,” Ruby says with a laugh. Your gut tells you she’s not suspecting anything, but your anxiety refuses to let you fully relax.

For the rest of the day, you can’t get how freaked out Zach looked when he thought he’d been found out right in front of his aunt out of your head.

You don’t have any drills scheduled with him so after dinner, during free time, you stand by the lake with a few other counselors and text him: can you come by the dock to talk?

“Good thinking this morning,” Zach says to you when he approaches you, quiet enough so that other staff don’t hear him. You notice he has his name-tag now.

“Thanks,” you say with a nervous smile. “Think we got away with it?”

“Yeah,” he says confidently. You nod, looking out at the fire, your brows pinched in worry. “You don’t?”

“That was like, our third time almost getting caught,” you say. “What if we’re not so lucky next time?”

Zach’s stomach drops. Maybe if he was more rational, he could agree that it’s harder to hide than he thought. But right now, his heart doesn’t care about being rational. It’s too busy cracking.

But, because he’s never been good at telling people that they said something he doesn’t want to hear, he nods.

“Guess we’re not that good at keeping the secret,” he agrees, forcing himself to joke away the discomfort.

“It’s so much harder than I expected,” you say. “Do we just… cool things down, maybe?”

Zach looks down at you, his throat tightening. How’d things go wrong this fast? You were naked together last night, whispering sweet things to each other, and now, well… this kind of feels like a break-up.

“You think that’s best?” he asks.

“I hated seeing you so worried this morning,” you confess. “I know how important this job is to you.”

Zach scratches the back of his neck. You don’t miss the way his face drops. You couldn’t miss it from a mile away. You want to reassure him that you still want him. That you’re suggesting this because you care about him so much.

“I think it’s best we do what we originally said we were going to do,” you offer. “We wait until the season’s over and pick up where we left off and go on that date we talked about. Is that okay?”

Zach sighs. No. It’s not okay. He wants to touch you every possible chance he can get, even if it is in a stolen moment he knows he’s not allowed to have.

But he’s never been good at being upset with people. It seems that while you bring out so many sides of him, that piece of him remains unchanged. He’s hurt. But in his usual way, he buries it, not letting it see any light.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he says. “Hope you’re ready for the best date ever.”

You smirk, finding relief in his words.

“Can’t wait,” you say honestly. Zach gives you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and heads back towards the campfire. You already miss him.

That night, you step out of the bathroom in your pajamas to see Ami sitting on her bed, scrolling through her phone.

“Did you see that it’s gonna rain this weekend?” she says to you, eyes glued to her phone. “What do we even do with the kids then?”

“How bad is it supposed to be?” you ask. You settle on your bed on the other side of the cabin.

She looks up, about to answer, but her mouth stays open, no words coming out.

“That bad?” you laugh.

“Um, what’s on your chest?” Ami asks with a scandalized smile.

You look down to see that your pajama top slid down when you sat, revealing the marks that Zach left on you last night.

“What do you mean?” you play dumb. But she’s not falling for it. She laughs and stares at you with a knowing look.

“I mean, the hickeys.”

(part six)

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[americanwh0rerstory]

hi!! I hope u r doing well💗

Could u maybe write a Tate smut with virgin!reader?

Love your work.

Just a lil’ bit [tate langdon]

Tate x virgin!reader

SUMMARY: reader loses her virginity to tate, the ghost who’s been ‘stalking’ her ever since she moved in

CONTENT WARNING: stalking (sorta), tate watching reader without her knowledge, masturbation mentioned, unprotected p in v, fingering, slow sex.

A/N: thx for the request, i hope you enjoy it! pt 2 of drunk!peter is also being made, anyone waiting for that it will be here soon

NSFW BELOW. CONSUMPTION IS DONE AT OWN FAULT

ever since you moved into the murder house, you had been feeling like you’re being watched. it was a strange feeling, one you couldn’t shake off no matter how many curtains you closed, doors you shut, and no matter how much you curled under the blanket.

eventually you met tate, the sweetest boy you had ever known. you didn’t know he had been watching you, you didn’t know how he’d palm himself through his jeans whilst watching you shower, you didn’t know how he’d jack off watching you sleep, you didn’t know he was dead.

he was your first for a lot of things: first boyfriend, first kiss, first hug, first… well that was about it. that’s all you had done.

he lay beside you in bed, rolled onto his side so he could look at you. he idly traced circles on the exposed skin of your hip whilst he softly spoke to you.

“y’know, it must be hard watching all those romance movies you like” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath ticking your skin. “seeing those couples getting it on yet you’ve never gotten it on” tate continues, looking at you through his lashes.

he gave you enough time to respond but when you didn’t, he decided to press his lips against yours. his tongue dominated your own in a passionate kiss, causing you to let out an involuntary moan in response. he took that as a sign to keep going, that you were enjoying it.

with blind expertise, he pulled your trousers down and began rubbing small but fast circles over your clit through your panties; the foreign sensation causing you to mewl softly.

“you like that?” he mumbled into your ear, the pressure increasing.. “so so wet. that all for me?” his voice sent shivers down your spine, heading straight to your pulsating clit.

the new and strange feelings flooded your senses with pleasure, so much so that you was already drunk from the euphoria and you hadn’t even came yet

“might hurt a little, you can take it right? good girl” tate said in his usual hushed tone before sliding two fingers into your wetness and making scissor motions to loosen you up slightly.

his fingertips rubbed against your g-spot, eliciting sweet and guttural moans from within you; those noises brought a smirk to tate’s face and urged him to continue

your cunt clenched around his fingers, oozing your wetness all over him which only prompted him to pull out and lick his fingers clean

“ain’t done yet” he states in between licks. his words brought an air of dominance to him which only made your pussy weep even more. but before you could protest to the how empty feeling, he began to slowly push his cock into you inch by inch.

he was girthy and around 6.5 inches, a size you thought would’ve been impossible to take, but he made it happen. using your wetness and his precum as lube, he pushed in until he was balls deep and then paused to give you a moment to adjust

“this good?” he asks, adjusting you so your legs were on his shoulders “gonna start moving now, but just tell me if it’s too much”

he laced his fingers with your own before beginning to make slow but deep thrusts, his hips making the most subtle movements to get you used to the feeling.

it felt like a perfect blend of pain and pleasure tearing you apart and splitting you inside out. but the way every stroke hit that internal sweet spot numbed the pain and turned it into sinful bliss

his thrusts continued and slowly got faster the more you got used to the feel of sex, slowly getting faster and slightly sloppy with how he was teetering on the edge. he held back as long as he could, but ultimately spilled and released steaming ropes of cum into your cunt, pornographicly moaning your name at a shamelessly loud volume.

“fuck, you did so good f’ me” he pants breathlessly, pulling out she carefully scooping you up into his arms. “c’mon, i’ll run you a bath”

[thatlotuscookie]

ok ok, hear me out, hear me out I swear-

a Haikyuu character who's a teacher(you pick which one bc I am indecisive lol) who students don't like because they assign too much HW, x Art-Teacher y/n who's super eccentric and all the students have started calling "Auntie" bc they like her so much... and somehow the students realize they're dating

✧･ﾟ: a/n: hiii thank you for the req anon! i choseTsukishima Kei x art teacher!fem reader cause why not :) sorry for the wait, it got a little busy. please enjoy and thank you for requestinng <3

✧ Title: ✧ Paintbrushes and Equations ✧ ✧ Characters: Math!TeacherTsukishima Kei x Art Teacher!Reader, Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Fluff, Romance, Slice of Life ✧ Rating: G ✧ Summary: Mr. Tsukishima Kei, the strict math teacher known for his tough assignments, and Ms. Y/N, the quirky art teacher adored by students, try to keep their budding relationship under wraps. But between secret coffee runs and after-school visits, it doesn’t take long for their students to catch on. ✧ Content/Tags: Secret Relationship, Soft Tsukishima, Teacher AU, Slow-burn Romance, Fluff and Humor ✧ WC: 1126 words // 6.8k chars

Mr. Tsukishima Kei was known as the strict, no-nonsense math teacher, infamous for assigning challenging homework and expecting punctuality from his students. Across the hall, however, was Ms. Y/N, the quirky art teacher who taught in a classroom full of painted murals, plants, and knick-knacks. Her students affectionately called her “Auntie,” loving her warm personality and encouraging nature.

Despite their differences, the two had quietly been dating for some time now, keeping things subtle so as not to spark gossip in the school hallways. But as careful as they tried to be, some moments were just too sweet to hide from their observant students.

Every morning, Tsukishima would stop by Y/N’s room before classes started. Though their relationship was mostly kept under wraps, there was one routine they couldn’t help but share—he’d bring her coffee, just the way she liked it, and stay for a few moments before his first class.

One particular morning, a student passing by happened to catch sight of them. Y/N was sitting at her desk, fiddling with paintbrushes while Tsukishima leaned against the edge of her desk, coffee cup in hand. She looked up at him with a bright smile as he handed her the coffee.

“Thank you, Kei! You know, I think your coffee runs are the best part of my day.”

“Maybe if you went to bed at a reasonable hour, you wouldn’t need this much caffeine,” he replied, rolling his eyes, though there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Bedtime? Reasonable? You’re talking to an artist, Kei!” She chuckled, raising her coffee cup in mock cheers.

The student who’d witnessed it ran back to their friends, spilling the details in hushed, excited whispers. “Guys, Auntie totally has Mr. Tsukishima wrapped around her finger. He’s bringing her coffee like it’s a daily thing!”

During lunch breaks, Tsukishima would sometimes slip away from the teachers’ lounge and make his way to Y/N’s art room, which was usually open to students who wanted to work on projects or just hang out with their favorite teacher. Though he’d never admit it out loud, Tsukishima was growing fond of this habit too.

One afternoon, Y/N was holding a brush in each hand, struggling to finish a mural one of her classes had started. Tsukishima approached, watching her for a moment as she fumbled with paint colors.

“Need a hand?” he asked, taking one of the brushes out of her grasp without waiting for an answer. He began painting in neat, deliberate strokes, adding to the vibrant, playful mural.

“Mr. Tsukishima,” Y/N grinned, “are you sure you can handle all this color?”

He just shrugged, pretending to be annoyed, but there was a glint in his eye. “It’s not my fault you’re terrible at ladders.”

The students present watched with wide eyes as their usually stern math teacher helped their beloved art teacher, even taking her playful teasing without so much as a sigh. “Is he… actually smiling?” one student whispered, amazed. “And helping her paint? They’re definitely dating.”

On Fridays, Y/N would stay late to finish up art projects, often leaving well after most of the other teachers had already gone home. But one evening, as she was cleaning up her brushes, she was startled by a familiar voice at the door.

“Didn’t I tell you not to stay this late alone?” Tsukishima’s tone was gentle, though there was a hint of concern.

“Oh, but I had just one more layer of glaze to apply! I didn’t want to leave it unfinished,” she replied, smiling sheepishly.

Tsukishima sighed and moved to take some of the supplies from her hands, setting them aside. “That can wait. You shouldn’t be here by yourself. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

They left together, but not before another student, leaving basketball practice, caught sight of them walking side by side down the hallway, Tsukishima’s hand brushing hers in a quiet, comforting gesture.

“Did you see that?” the student whispered to a friend the next day. “Mr. Tsukishima totally waited for Auntie after school. He’s such a softie for her.”

When Field Day rolled around, Y/N was the designated supervisor for the art activities station. Her students flocked to her booth, excited to paint, tie-dye, and get a break from competitive games. Tsukishima, though not usually one for field activities, had somehow found himself “volunteered” to help out at her station by none other than Y/N herself.

At first, he’d tried to stay in the background, sorting supplies and ensuring everything was organized. But as more students lined up, Y/N pulled him over to assist with face painting. “Come on, Kei, it’s fun! Don’t be so serious,” she teased, handing him a paintbrush.

He gave her a long-suffering look but, after a few convincing nudges, gave in. Soon, students were giggling at the sight of Mr. Tsukishima painting bright flowers and animals on their cheeks.

“Mr. Tsukishima, can you paint a dragon?” one student asked, grinning. And to everyone’s surprise, Tsukishima nodded, actually putting in the effort to paint a rather impressive dragon.

Meanwhile, Y/N leaned in close, watching him with a proud smile. “See? I knew you had a colorful side.”

The students at the booth exchanged knowing looks, watching the way Tsukishima’s gaze softened every time he looked at Y/N. One bold student whispered, “They’re definitely together. I think Auntie’s the only person who could get him to paint a dragon.”

The biggest reveal came on Y/N’s birthday. Her classroom was decorated with student-made banners, handmade cards, and small, thoughtful gifts from her students. But the real surprise came when Tsukishima walked in with a bouquet of wildflowers, which he set on her desk, much to the shock of her students.

“Kei…” Y/N murmured, her eyes shining with surprise. “You didn’t have to—”

“Happy Birthday, Auntie,” he said simply, giving her a small, genuine smile before glancing pointedly at the students, who were watching, open-mouthed. He gave them his usual glare but, seeing the excitement in their eyes, eventually gave up on hiding it.

And with that, the students finally had their confirmation. They all whispered to each other excitedly, some even daring to give Tsukishima approving thumbs-up. From that day on, Tsukishima’s “monster math teacher” title softened in their eyes. He was still strict and demanding, but he was also the teacher who went out of his way to make their “Auntie” happy.

As the weeks went by, more little moments started to unfold between them—moments the students watched eagerly, as if they were witnessing a real-life romance. And while Tsukishima might not have been the most affectionate in public, he showed his care in small, steady ways, making sure Y/N was looked after and supported in the little things.

[terry-perry]

to help you practice your alastor writing, how about reader is one of carmila’s daughters and she introduces mom to her new boyfriend: alastor!

Headcanons or imagine, your choice!

Ooh, I like this concept!

You have known Alastor for some time now due to the Overlord meetings that happen now and again.

You found him to be quite handsome as well as funny.

You knew he was probably a little crazy, but it was all right if he was. What demon wasn't?

You would glance at him often during these meetings and cover up the giggles you'd have over his remarks.

It wasn't until one day he did a particular job putting Vox in his place, having you release an audible snort, and finally got Alastor to notice you.

He invited you to lunch, and you two had been going steady since then

You wished to keep it under wraps for as long as you could

Your mother was a protective woman, and although she was always neutral towards Alastor, seeing him as nothing more than a fellow Overlord, you weren't sure how she'd feel if he was your boyfriend.

So, you met in secret and went on dates that were more on the subtle side so it looked more like a casual outing between two work associates

Those who knew, for the time being, were your sisters and the residents of the Hazbin Hotel

Clara and Odette knew all about Carmilla's protective nature and were fine with covering for you. They were sure to tease you about the relationship, in the meantime.

As for everyone at the hotel, they were on board with helping to keep the relationship a secret as you two spent time alone there

Alastor may or may not have threatened a few of them just to ensure things

Charlie, in particular, was happy to help out in any way with this budding romance

All Husk could say was that he prayed that you knew what you were doing, getting with a demon like his boss

When you two weren't spending time together at the hotel, you were "bumping into" each other in the city where you'd then go on walks or have lunch together

Anyone who'd dare question these interactions would have to answer to Alastor

You were right in thinking that Alastor was no prince, seeing the way he threatened those who defied him or how he took delight in heinous things like blood and violence, but you didn't mind

In a way, he was still an old-fashioned gentleman who treated you well

Alastor himself found it beneficial to be courting the daughter of a powerful arms dealer

His genuinely liking you was just gravy!

Things were going well for the last several months until one night at dinner Odette let it slip that you had plans, the following day, with your boyfriend

"Boyfriend?" Carmilla questioned as she walked back to the table with her refilled drink. "How long has this been going on?"

You stammered, for a bit, slightly intimidated by your mother's stoic stare. "A few months now,"

"I see," she took a sip of her drink before speaking again. "Bring him over next week. I wish to meet him."

Cut to you and Alastor outside your home preparing to have tea with your mother

You fixed yourself and even him for what seemed to be a million times until Alastor placed his hands over yours to get you to stop fixing his bowtie once more

You grew more flustered than before as he pierced you with a teasing grin that carried a hint of reassurance

"This is nothing I can't handle. Not to worry, my dear!"

And yet you couldn't help but notice the small flinch he did when the door suddenly opened to welcome you in

You took each other's hand as you went in, your mother greeting you both right away

Turned out she knew already!

"You've been seen out with him for months, and his broadcasts have been full of more voices than normal. It's not rocket science."

"Told you she enjoyed my show!"

You were expecting her to have several questions for him, but that wasn't the case

Carmilla knew Alastor was respectful and had trusted associates such as Zestial who would vouch for him

She, too, believed the relationship could come with some benefits. He could be of some use to the family.

Plus she raised you well enough so that you could judge others for yourself and take care of yourself if need be

Alastor would be stupid to take advantage of a family who holds a large assortment of weapons that can kill both demons and exorcists

Like with many things, Carmilla approves, but within reason

[sanguinesky-if]

Small Update About the Romance System

Hello! As promised, here's a post to inform you about some new clarifications and changes that I added to the original post about the romance system.

List of changes:

▸ The "Romance Progression" section has been revised. ▸ A new section "The ROs' Scenes" has been added. ▸ The "Jealousy" section has been expanded. ▸ A minor clarification has been made regarding the "Established Rivalries" dynamic.

All changes are detailed below, so you don't have to read the original post again.

▸ Romance Progression:

In Chapters 1 and 2 [before you meet all the ROs], you can flirt with everyone, as these chapters serve as introductions to all the ROs and will impact jealousy moments later on. Starting from Chapter 2 [after all the ROs have been introduced]: ▸ You will encounter moments of jealousy from the ROs [depending on the romance points you've gained and your dynamic with the interacting RO], and [optionally] from the MC. ▸ The game will require you to make a choice between the ROs, with each choice triggering a unique scene with the selected RO. The final choice [locking the RO's route] will likely occur at the end of Chapter 5. [If this changes, I'll update this post and let you know.] This decision will depend on the choices made between and during the ROs' scenes.

▸ The ROs' Scenes:

When you encounter a choice between the ROs' scenes: ▸ Choosing a particular RO's scene automatically implies that the MC is interested in what is happening or could happen between them and the selected RO. ▸ It is recommended to focus on just one RO to avoid missing important content that will affect future scenes with them. Important note: Scenes with the ROs are only available if they match your MC's preferences and are not blocked by a special choice labeled [block]. Important aspects that can alter the ROs' scenes: ▸ Previous choices [main story elements; previously chosen RO's scenes]. ▸ Romance points with the chosen RO [to enhance attraction in the narrative]. ▸ Romance points with the other ROs [for jealousy moments]. ▸ Bold / Shy / Other Dynamics [for the MC's and ROs' initiative and jealousy moments]. Important note: All the ROs' scenes imply romantic interest and serve to advance the relationship based on mutual attraction or tension between the MC and the chosen RO. This means: ▸ The narrative will reflect subtle attraction even if you don't select flirt options. ▸ It's impossible to play as an oblivious MC [except for L's 'Oblivious' dynamic, which must either develop or be canceled before locking the route]. [To learn more about L's 'Oblivious' dynamic, please check the original post.]

▸ Jealousy:

Jealousy is a secondary mechanic that unlocks additional changes in the narrative on top of those already established in the standard dynamics. All the ROs are capable of experiencing jealousy, but each shows it in their own way, even if it's challenging for them or not portrayed obviously. In the game, jealousy can be triggered in two specific ways: optional and conditional. Optional Jealousy: ▸ When only one option among the suggested choices is marked [♥], this choice will trigger a jealousy moment [from the RO or the MC, depending on the context]. ▸ Optional jealousy depends on the Bold / Shy stat [the narrative will change based on which stat is higher]. Conditional Jealousy: Certain jealousy moments and special scenes require specific conditions to be activated, such as: ▸ The amount of romance points gained with the other ROs. ▸ Previous choices [established relationships with secondary rivals; scenes with previously chosen ROs]. Important note: All ROs will display jealousy mostly when interacting with the MC [before and after choosing their route], and only occasionally with other ROs after choosing their route [unless you've activated 'Established Rivalries' dynamic]. [To learn more about 'Established Rivalries' and 'Secondary Rivals' dynamics, please check the original post.]

▸ Established Rivalries [a minor clarification]:

Before: This is not a love triangle but an open conflict of interest involving the MC. After: This is not a love triangle route but rather an open conflict of interest involving the MC. Reason: This revision provides slight clarification, as I believe the dynamic fits the description of a love triangle only until the route with one of the involved ROs is locked.

I realize that some clarifications may be disappointing, particularly regarding the "oblivious MC" aspect.

Still, this approach will allow readers to see the ROs' interest in the MC and the moments of attraction between them without the need to select flirt options.

And, if I'm being honest, I want to write the MC who knows what they are doing, because, in my opinion, relationship progression is the work of both characters, not just one.

Thank you for reading to the end! ♥

[chocosvt]

HER | part three (m).

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 24.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

THE MIDWAY POINT 🎉 now i've just gotta prepare the last 3 parts! this is a chunkier chapter. it contains one of the longest scenes i've ever written (not even the full thing lol, it had to be split). but you'll see why, a lot had to "occur" :p

happy reading!! 💕

⇢ part one | part two | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

“Holy fuck—you really did lose your shoe.”

He hadn’t actually noticed until you were both inside his dim apartment, puddles of water now forming on the floorboards.

“I told you!”

Looking down, you had on just a black, sodden sock. With a suctioning and uncomfortably wet squelch, you managed to toe off your remaining sneaker, flinging it carefully onto the shoe mat.

Wonwoo did the same.

Thunder continued rumbling outside, with lightning hitting no more than a few seconds after. The strikes were like white knives in the sky, ripping and shearing apart the storm clouds of summer humidity.

“Jesus,” you huffed, hands moulding down your face to wipe away all the droplets, “I can’t believe you got me to run, first of all. Second of all, I can’t tell if I absolutely hated or thoroughly enjoyed that.”

“I liked it,” Wonwoo said.

“Of course you did.”

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to begin cleaning off his glasses and phone, not caring about all the water he was dragging so liberally everywhere. Once Wonwoo fit the frames back to his face, he was able to clearly see you still standing by the door, and he appreciated that you didn’t want to make a mess of his living room even though it wouldn’t matter to him one teensy tiny bit.

Your fingers picked in a distracted manner at the clusters of your dripping hair, meanwhile soft, watery mascara dappled down your arched cheeks, framing you akin to a detailed and evocative painting. That hemmed, white t-shirt was clinging in soaked wrinkles to your heaving torso and chest, revealing subtle imprints of all the bare skin underneath. And Wonwoo found himself looking. Not in a lecherous, tainted way, but in the simple fact that you were…

He suddenly bit down on his inner cheek, curled his hand into a fist where he could easily dig at the scars on his thumb.

To Wonwoo, you were so indescribably beautiful, standing near his doorway, soaked to the bone in the rebirth of rainfall.

He had always thought you were pretty, but in that moment, he knew it was more than just that—it was a realization that stopped the breath in his lungs and the heavy beats his heart was just barely making. At least, that was how it felt. Wonwoo sensed his panic flare up for a split second, and then it simmered away into casual nervousness. Before his eyes could linger long enough to get caught, he remembered to take a deep inhale and reground his thoughts. You stopped fiddling with your hair and sniffled.

“Um, is it okay if I jump in your shower? I mean—well, it’s your place, so if you want to get yourself sorted first, that’s fine.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all.”

You smiled back at him, adjusting the small leather bag strewn over your shoulder. He hoped your journal wasn’t soaked.

“Are you sure?”

“Well—okay, let me just run into my room and grab some clothes. I’ll dry off real quick in the washroom and change. I promise it’ll take me less than like, five minutes.”

“That’s probably best. I’ll just keep standing here.”

Hopping his way across the apartment, Wonwoo made it into his bedroom where he began ripping open the dresser drawers, pulling out some basic clothes like sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, he slipped into the washroom, peeling all the sopping, disgustingly sticky articles from his body and throwing them into the sink. Once he rubbed off with a towel, Wonwoo quickly got dressed—probably the fastest he’d ever put on clothes in his entire life. You were still standing patiently by the door when Wonwoo returned to the living room, having dumped his wet outfit into the laundry hamper.

“I’m making a colossal sized puddle right now.” You laughed.

“Ha—that’s okay,” Wonwoo answered, handing you a clean towel he’d pulled from his toiletries closet. “I’ll take care of it.”

You started walking toward the corridor, and then stopped.

“Do you think you have any clothes that might fit me? It’s just—I obviously don’t want to wear this again," you said, gesturing to the t-shirt and long skirt damply flush to your figure.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll look through my dresser and closet and pick out some stuff—you can see which fits best. I’ll throw your clothes and mine into the laundry as well—get it all clean and warmed up.”

“I’d love that, thank you.”

While you started undressing in his washroom, Wonwoo began sorting through all the clothes he had, pulling out older t-shirts and even some shorts, though he knew they most likely wouldn’t fit you. He heard you turn on the shower and wait for it to start heating.

Once Wonwoo was satisfied with all the options he’d picked, he knocked a few times on the washroom door. It was pulled open rather quickly, and he saw you standing in the threshold of thickening, hot steam, holding the spare towel closed at your chest.

“For you. There’s a whole bunch of sizes.”

“Okay, thank you so much. Do you want my clothes?”

“Yeah—that’s all of it?”

“Mmhm.”

“Okay. Take your time. I’m gonna run to the basement and get these in the laundry. I’ll probably be back up in like, five minutes. If you need anything else, just shout. I’ll be able to hear it.”

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how long it took you to shower, mostly because he was too occupied with looking out the windowpanes from his seat at the couch, watching the downpour continue, the evening dimness that flooded the room, and the liquified twinkling of city lights flickering behind all the rain. However, once you emerged from his bedroom and padded into the living area, dressed in a dark blue, logoed shirt from the neatly folded pile he’d handed you, Wonwoo had snapped back to the present. You smiled at him, and he saw that your face was now cleaned of the runny mascara and makeup.

“Oh—uh, our clothes are still in the laundry.”

“That’s okay,” you answered while walking around the coffee table. “I knew they wouldn’t be done right away. I’m fine to wait.”

Wonwoo proceeded to sit up straighter against the couch, rather than his slouched, wide spread position that he’d unconsciously sunk into before when staring vacantly into the rain.

“And, uh—just so you know, I’m wearing an embarrassing lack of clothes right now,” you admitted through your teeth, taking a ginger seat beside him. “So, like, not that I’m saying you’re going to be weird about it ‘cause I know you won’t be, but, do you have a blanket or something that I can toss over my lap?”

Immediately, Wonwoo got up from the couch.

“Yeah, there’s one in my room. I’ll grab it.”

He saw that your bag was also left in his bedroom, so he took it out with him, a few remaining droplets still bulbed on the surface.

“It’s probably not as soft as the one at your place.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You flapped the blanket out and settled it primly over your legs. “And thanks for grabbing my bag, too.”

Wonwoo collapsed back onto the sofa.

“I hope your journal’s not ruined.”

After fishing around inside the pouch, you pulled out your phone, and then the leather notebook, which was completely dry.

“Oh, thank God. I’d actually be so pissed if it was wet, probably more so than my phone.” You flipped through the pages, feeling for any splotches or tears. “I prevail, after all.”

Wonwoo smiled, and fluffed a hand through his hair.

“If you decide to stay longer because the rain won’t let up, I can always try to make you supper, or something. I can’t promise that it will be the best meal of your life, but I’m not that incompetent.”

“Oh—but what if I want something extravagant?” You smirked while flitting through your text messages. “Like buttery lobster with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables?”

He scratched under the pad of his glasses.

“Is that what you usually eat?”

“No. Only when I’m feeling super fancy. I force Mingyu to cook it for me because he’s good at that stuff. Really, I shouldn’t have to ask him—” you glanced at Wonwoo, smiling, “—he should just do it.”

“Well, if you decide to stay, I can make the next best thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Looking into his kitchen, Wonwoo laughed at himself.

“Ramen.”

“Oh! I actually love ramen,” you exclaimed, shuffling up your legs under the blanket. “And I would totally stay, but I promised Princess that I’d come to her new place at six o’clock-ish to help do some unpacking. Once my clothes are all done, I’ll probably get her to come pick me up. I don't know when the rain's gonna stop."

“That’s fine,” Wonwoo replied with an accepting, warm expression, even though on the inside, he was rotting in disappointment because he would have given anything for you to stay and eat supper, maybe watch a movie afterward, order ice cream.

He hated when you would leave. It left him to swim alone with his own thoughts—mostly consumed by you—and dreadfully wait until he could see or hear from you again. As Wonwoo stared off into space, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz.

It was a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]: hey sir-dork-a-lot

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]:  you asked her about the party yet?!

Fuck. The stupid party. The Solar Pop incident with Mingyu.

Wonwoo had completely forgot that was somehow supposed to wedge his way into receiving an invite, when he didn’t even want to go in the first place. Parties genuinely weren’t his scene.

Especially the kind that Mingyu and his friend, Seungcheol, would throw. But, at the same time, there was this very small seed of curiosity planted in his stomach—that, maybe, Wonwoo should just shoulder off his hatred of loud, cramped spaces and obnoxious university students chugging all their drinks straight from the bottle. If he just tried his best to stay calm, stay level-headed, breathe, then perhaps Wonwoo could survive a night partying with Vernon, as fucking ridiculous and deluded as it sounded.

He glanced over at you, who was texting someone.

God. Did he really want to ruin this calm, comfortable moment right now to ask about your boyfriend’s big slosh-fest?

“So, I noticed in your schedule, like, two weeks into June, you’re gonna be off the call for three days, I think.”

You scratched your cheek, continuing to text.

“Oh, yeah. I thought I already brought that up, but maybe I’m thinking of a conversation with someone else.” Shutting off your phone, you started sliding it around the blanket while talking. “It’s this big party that Mingyu’s helping to host with his friend from basketball, Seungcheol. I don't know if you're familiar with him. They do it every summer. It’s always so much fun, but I get so fucked up that I need at least two days recovery.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling how dry his throat was.

“Yeah. I know Mingyu’s trying to get coke from Vernon.”

You stopped playing with the phone, instead looking immediately to Wonwoo through the rays of gradual light that began easing past the gentler rain. He held his breath.

“Right, Vernon.” You almost shuddered.

“Yeah…”

“If he can get his hands on it, then, fuck, I’m fine with that. Whatever. Mingyu invited him, of course. As long as he doesn’t slink up to me and try to convince me the ten different ways he can give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I guess I shouldn’t whine.”

Wonwoo was embarrassed for his friend—it was a pretty rough situation, he would imagine. Not his most shining moment.

“I know he’s your bestie,” you said, stretching your legs out onto the coffee table, “and I’m not going to judge you to your face, but I will be judging you, silently, in the recesses of my own mind.”

Snickering, Wonwoo rubbed a hand down his neck.

“The transparency’s nice, I suppose. But, yeah. I understand why you’d have a gripe with him. To be fair, he’s not that bad. He’s a good guy that’s wrapped up in some shitty habits. I’m sure you taught him a lesson that night. It gave him a serious degree of humbling.”

“Pfft. Did it, now?”

Wonwoo opened his mouth, but he didn’t speak, and it was then you doubled over in laughter at him, patting a hand on his knee.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just deal.”

“I know you will… and, like, be safe and stuff.”

You grinned, shaking your head.

“Oh, yeah. No need to worry. I know my limits… okay—well, actually, I shouldn’t say that—I have a vaguely good idea of where my limits are, and sometimes I happen to surpass them. Not by ignorance, though. My mind is just too mushy at that point to care.”

“How incredibly rambunctious,” Wonwoo replied. “You’re probably blacklisted everywhere; a walking threat, actually.

“Oh, shut up,” you chuckled, folding your arms. “If you were trying to wiggle your way into being invited, I’m revoking it now.”

“Well, that soils my next question.”

You raised your eyebrows, “… which is?”

For a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t process that he was about to ask such a pathetic question. He tried thinking about it more as an out-of-body experience, where it wasn’t really his true conscience taking the sails. You kept watching him, waiting for his response.

Thankfully, you didn’t grant him the breadth to speak, and he was certain a lively hue of colour had just flushed back to his face.

“Oh, you’re being serious. You want to go?”

“Not really,” Wonwoo admitted, pushing up his glasses. “But, uh, I don’t know. It helps that Vernon will be there. I’m sure you can tell, I’m not a party person—not at all. Just, it could be a good opportunity for… um… well, I really can’t explain why, actually.”

“Hm.” Your eyes narrowed. “I assume it’s Vernon pushing you into it for some stupid reason… I mean, I have no issues with you going, of course!” He watched you adjust your legs under the blanket, tucking them back beneath you. “But just so you know, these parties are kinda intense and can be a major sensory overload—even for me! And I know that you don’t like talking about it but I’m not sure how well it bodes to put you in a position where you might have… uh, never mind, actually. I shouldn’t speak on stuff that doesn’t concern me. I just care about your wellbeing.”

Wonwoo pushed his lips together. A slight rush of something warm and tingly flowered at his core and he couldn’t tell if he absolutely loved it or wanted the feeling to wither up and die. More light streamed through his windows as the rain weaned off and the sky morphed from grey back to a softer, evening powder blue.

“I appreciate your concern,” he answered after an almost questionable silence, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Oh, sorry—I just wanted to be sure.”

“It’s okay.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Wonwoo twiddled his thumbs while you stared down at the blanket, presumably thinking.

“I would love for you to come, then.”

He caught you smiling at him after extending the offer in a quiet voice. The outside light filled up your eyes like a glass of swirling gold and Wonwoo believed your earnesty. And while he knew Vernon would be elated that he was able to come, Wonwoo was fighting to understand if he felt more relieved or terrified.

—JUNE 15TH.

Coming home from his long shift at the pharmacy, it was some time past eleven at night. The day hadn’t been extremely busy, but Wonwoo found it always slowed down the most dramatically when he was absolutely itching to leave. He tried his best to get relaxed, jumping into a warm but short shower, making himself a cup of chamomile tea, looking back on some favourite excerpts from the journal he kept buried away in the first drawer on his nightstand.

Wonwoo willed himself not to look at any screens. And, yet, as he sat in his bed, drinking the last few sips of tea from his hot, porcelain cup, Wonwoo’s eyes flickered across the room to his desk where his laptop was placed, and he felt this ticking urge to write.

At first, he wasn’t sure what to do.

After all, he’d been putting in a significant effort to fix that godawful, nightmarish sleep schedule of his, and while his ventures weren’t always the most successful, Wonwoo was making notable strides. To throw that all away—just to pick open his laptop and most likely end up staring straight into a lurid, white screen, while nothing of actual substance came to his fingertips—it was fruitless, and perhaps a bit stupid. He knew he needed to let that story die.

The longer it sat, collecting pixelated dust on his desktop, the more it made sense to simply delete it. Move on. Acknowledge the fact that this relationship he once perceived as so perfect and glimmering had ended, and trying to find some wisps of closure in forcing himself to complete a fizzled romance was pointless. It made so much sense. Besides, Wonwoo was happier now than he had been back in March, April, May. And, he could attribute much of that to someone he once feared and poorly understood—you.

It was hard to describe, but you had been this flare—a comet more like—that kind of blazed with an uncontrolled fire into his very bleak life. And while he’d definitely felt your scorching, uncomfortable sting more than once, he was able to realize there was something so unique and enriching about you. Because you weren’t just an uncontrollable fire, you were a full body laugh that made it hard to breath, but in the best, most treasured way. You were the quiet stillness of a pond, deep in the woods, listening to all the sounds that thrived around you, even though it didn’t always seem like it.

And you were this very soft, caressing breeze that always found Wonwoo, even when he was at his lowest valleys, giving him that sensation of a shiver to let him know that he was still alive and breathing and not so horribly numb as he thought himself to be.

That was something he’d never experienced before.

It scared him somewhat, but there was comfort in the thought, nonetheless. True, warm, and pure comfort.

Wonwoo sighed, blinking away from his laptop.

He should probably just go to bed.

Once he washed his teacup out in the kitchen, Wonwoo started brushing his teeth. That big summer party he was supposed to attend with Vernon was tomorrow night, and to call him nervous was a complete understatement. Wonwoo wouldn’t be surprised if he threw up. He would probably have to smoke a bit before leaving, just to mellow out. Of course, Vernon was overflowing with excitation, and maybe that was a good thing—he could be Wonwoo’s buffer.

Since your day together at the museum, Wonwoo had revisited your apartment twice to help with further proofreading and editing. He would be downright lying if he claimed that having to read through a memoire of your fulgurant love for Mingyu wasn’t disheartening or turning him occasionally bitter. Wonwoo wanted to be happy that you were so devoted to him, you could write an entire book detailing all your sweetest moments and fondest memories and the overall history of your love. But he wasn’t happy in the slightest.

You made him happy—not you, plus Mingyu

Continuing to brush his teeth, Wonwoo heard his phone ding once, and then again from his bedroom. And while he hadn’t wanted to look at any screens tonight, he figured that responding to a couple texts wouldn’t thwart all his progress. With the toothbrush still hanging from the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo flopped backward onto the bed and yanked his phone off the charger. While he was expecting the messages to be from Vernon due to their late sending, he was quite surprised to see they were actually from you.

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: IMG.2102

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: do I look pretty?

Immediately, Wonwoo shuffled up onto his elbows, tapping at the picture you had sent him. When he nearly choked on the excess of minty foam stuck in his mouth, Wonwoo quickly ran into the washroom to spit it all out. He recognized the outfit you were wearing in the photo—it was that white two-piece from the boutique in the mall that you had tried on, with the high-waisted, short, tight skirt and the strapped top that wrapped around the back of your neck and criss-crossed over your chest. Coming back to his bed to sit down, Wonwoo leaned over with an elbow digging into his knee.

Did you mean to send that to him?

For a moment, his thumbs just hovered above the keyboard, attempting to concoct a coherent thought in his mind. He recognized the large, silver-bordered mirror from your bedroom. And while the phone was slightly covering your face, you had this leg crooked up in a sweet, almost delicate pose despite the open and revealing nature of the outfit. Wonwoo rubbed under his glasses, huffing out deeply.

[ Wonwoo | 11:55 pm ]: Did you mean to send this?

He prayed you didn’t take his text the wrong way.

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: um yes

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: ur wonwoo, aren’t u?

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: I just wanted to know what u thought of the outfit I’m gonna wear. I know u have already seen it. but just in case u forgot I wanted to send another pic lol

[ Her | 11:56 pm ]: u think it’s bad? :(

Sitting back against his pillows, Wonwoo completely forgot all about his ‘no screens’ rule, texting you as quickly as possible.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: No, it doesn’t look bad at all.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: You look gorgeous.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: and ur not just saying that?

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: No, of course not.

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: You’ll be the prettiest there.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: omgg thxx <3 okay I feel better now

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: Why? What happened?

At that moment, Wonwoo actually received a text from Seokmin, but he rapidly flicked it away. Another text followed, and Wonwoo swore he flicked it away even faster, as though Seokmin was actually talking into his ear despite the quietness of his bedroom.

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: Mingyu told me he doesn’t really like it bc the skirt part is too short and he doesn’t like the top. he says it’s too revealing and that everyone will just be looking at my boobs lol. but I don’t want to change it :/ I like how it fits and it’s not like i’m going to be doing cartwheels or gymnastics

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: idk he just made me feel bad about it

Wonwoo proceeded to rub a hand through his locks of clean, black hair, pulling them messily all over his head as he thought.

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: Hm. Well I do agree that it’s revealing and you probably will have people staring at you. I mean, if you’re not uncomfortable by that it’s fine. You’ll just have to be careful if you bend over or dance around, that’s all :) But I’m sure you already know that. You look beautiful. Don’t worry too much.

[ Her | 12:00 am ]: okayy thank you so much! :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: No problem.

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: I’m so glad that ur coming

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: it makes me feel better

[ Wonwoo | 12:01 am ]: Hopefully I can find you.

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: I’ll text you, no worries

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: mkay well I should go to bed now!

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: goodnight <3

[ Wonwoo | 12:02 am ]: Goodnight.

At last, Wonwoo clicked off the bright glare from his phone, setting it down against his chest. For at least five minutes, he did nothing but lay remarkably still in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, thinking—as he usually did—about why he was feeling that way.

That very certain, specific way that was so demanding in his heartbeat to be acknowledged, except for the fact Wonwoo wouldn’t acknowledge it because then he’d throw up and probably lose himself entirely as he panicked.

Eventually, his thoughts were becoming too loud for his liking, and Wonwoo promptly tossed his phone aside and crawled underneath the covers before turning off the bedside lamp.

Even then, Wonwoo was restless. When he tried rolling onto his side, the uncomfortable poking against his nose reminded him he hadn’t even removed his glasses. At first it was too hot, and Wonwoo pointed his leg out from beneath the blankets, pushing all the sheets down to rumple at his waist. But then it was notably cold after a few more minutes, and Wonwoo angrily stirred all his blankets back up to mask over his face. No matter what he did or how he positioned himself or what limb he decided to sacrifice to the hot-cold air, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. Wonwoo’s eyes popped open again.

Patting around the surface of the bed, his fingers eventually brushing the phone and glasses he’d discarded, Wonwoo decided he didn’t care about going to sleep anymore if that was how his body was going to so painfully treat him. He shuffled up more against the pillows splayed at his back and checked the messages sent by Seokmin about half an hour ago—the two boys hadn’t spoken in a while, almost since their exams ended in May, and while Wonwoo would have ideally liked to keep in touch with his friend, he was laughably horrible at it. At least Seokmin seemed chipper.

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: Hey Wonwoo!

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: I heard you were going to Mingyu and Seungcheol’s party! I didn’t think that would be something you’re into but I’ll also be there, probably for a couple hours

Wonwoo swiped out from the texts, not really feeling anything or thinking much about their content, and opened some messages from Vernon that he’d received at work but forgot to read.

[ Vernon |  9:55 pm ]: need a drive 4 the party?

[ Vernon | 9:55 pm ]: let me know beautiful xo

He couldn’t help but muster a chuckle at the teasing nature of his friend’s texts, though Wonwoo didn’t respond, making a mental note to answer the next day, instead. For another moment or two, he continued sitting in the dark shadows of his room, staring down at the only light which caught the reflection in his glasses. Wonwoo’s thumb at first hesitated, but then he was reopening his earlier conversation with you, and with a few upward flicks, he was back on that cute photo you’d sent him. It hadn’t left his mind at all.

This huge lump of guilt had come to sit in his gut like an anchor for a reason that Wonwoo didn’t begin recognizing, that is until he finally felt the pull from somewhere deep inside him—the thought had entered his mind and he knew if he just ignored it for even a second it would dissipate. But then, Wonwoo didn’t ignore it, because he didn’t truly want that. He was going to be selfish in that instance and sink into the pull, the heat—not dismissing the thought but the guilt he would later drown in—the shame of it all.

Wonwoo kicked off his mask of bedsheets, letting them settle in a slow puff around his ankles.

In the beginning, all of it felt so bizarre. The hand that twisted underneath his sweatpants, and then his boxers, coming to softly graze fingertips along his hardening shaft—he hadn’t done this in weeks. Wonwoo rarely experienced sexual frustration. It just wasn’t something that bothered him. But the absent tendency would always build up and inevitably break at some point and he hated that you were the cool, breathtaking breeze to push him over that cliff.

With the edges of his fingers, Wonwoo continued to stroke along himself, up and down, just barely touching. It would make his knee jolt or his thigh twitch, but the longer he teased, the more each touch transformed. The pleasure was soaking through and leading him in deeper until Wonwoo tilted up his hips in order to shove down the elastic waist of his sweatpants and underwear. The air was so cold but dually welcomed against his erection that he began pumping to full length in his hand, feeling it throb and grow and stiffen.

Wonwoo let his eyes flutter toward the phone he was holding at his stomach, examining your figure from head to toe. It was wrong and he fucking knew it, but as he rubbed a palm at his most sensitive head and felt the cum start to leak down his cock, Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to scale the acceptableness of his actions.

In that moment, Wonwoo looked at you in all the ways he shouldn’t. He pressed his head back into the pillow, eyes falling shut while he lubricated himself in squeezing, slow strokes with his own arousal. His fingers gripped the phone tighter, refusing to drop it.

You were bright and flashing in his mind and Wonwoo wanted to know all of it—he wanted to know the feeling of your silk, swollen lips leaving warm kisses up his shaft. He wanted to know the sensation of your tongue laving messy circles around his tip, teasing him, purring at him, staring up at him with those intimidating, sharp eyes that had always seemed beyond frightening. He wanted to know the sounds you would make if you ever so kindly allowed him to settle between your thighs. He knew how fucking beautiful your cunt would be and he could only imagine your taste would utterly melt him.

His fist wrapped tighter, pumped faster, and despite his usual quiet temperament in bed, a throaty, deep whine caught in Wonwoo’s throat. He took another look at your picture, and somewhere amongst the smog of pleasure that thickly hazed his logic, Wonwoo felt this transient, selfish anger, because in that moment, he wanted you. He needed you. He would do fucking anything you asked him and more because there was so much weight you held in his life. Wonwoo just wanted to make you happy and he couldn’t help but burn with the desperation to treat you better than anyone else ever had.

Knowing he was going to shatter soon, Wonwoo braced himself through the torture that was removing his hand and letting the intense, throbbing accumulation of pleasure ebb from his cock.

He gritted his teeth at the frustrating feeling.

But there was a reason for his decision. Looking back to the phone still aglow, Wonwoo swiped out from your picture and began scrolling higher up in the conversation, seeking out something particular that had jumped into his memory. And once he found it, there was an even denser feeling of guilt he had to ignore.

Last week, you ended up sending him a voice note because you were too exhausted to even bother typing. It wasn’t that the audio contained anything even relatively lascivious, since you were mostly just rambling about your day and never quite finishing a thought.

However, Wonwoo loved your voice. He loved hearing it in person and through his phone’s crappy speakers, especially when you sounded so sleepy, and your tone would soften, the occasional sigh or gentle breath hitting his ear just perfectly. Placing his hand back around his erection, Wonwoo hit play on your voice note and laid the phone beside his head on the pillow. He managed to smile through the pleasure that was rebuilding inside him as he intently listened.

“Um, hi, so—ah! Sorry, my phone just fucking slid under the covers, oh my God. But, yeah, I’m sending a voice note ‘cause I’m drop dead exhausted from today. It was the worst. My legs hurt so bad that I could hardly carry myself to bed. Ugh. Anyway… okay, sorry, I forgot what I was gonna say… oh yeah! So—”

It all felt too euphoric—too warm and overwhelming and the more Wonwoo listened to your sweet voice the more he felt himself pulsate with how badly he needed you. He planted one foot to his mattress, using it for stability and leverage as his hips thrust upward and he began unbridled fucking into his own hand. More than anything in the universe he wanted it to be your cunt—your pretty, wet, soft cunt cushioning him in and gushing all over him. He was going to drive himself fucking crazy at the thought, so much that Wonwoo began begging for you in his husky, deep, quivering voice.

Most was complete incoherency, dipping into confusing, jumbled whimpers of his English and native Korean tongue. Your voice was right there by his ear, though he was hardly processing a word. His orgasm was going to collapse over him like a tidal wave and all Wonwoo could do was succumb as he continued pumping his strained cock. His breathing was laboured, heavy. He kept stuttering and pleading for you into the sheer darkness of his bedroom.

Lots of “pl-please” and “f-ffuck, fuck, fuck!” and “m’gonna cc-cum for you, I want t’cum for you, I need it all inside of you, put it all so deep in your p-perfect cunt”—and plenty more tainted things he would take to his grave before he would ever confess to uttering.

As the voice note came to its end, Wonwoo had slammed his fist down for the last time. He immediately turned his cheek to the pillow, ignoring how the rounded glasses dug into his face, simply because his moan was too broken and shamefully loud. His cock started throbbing with the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt against his palm. The cum dribbled down his ghost-white knuckles. Wonwoo refused to even glance at the mess he was making. With a few more shaky pumps of his fist, he’d milked out all he possibly could, some spurts landing on his rumpled t-shirt. At last, he could exhale.

Lifting himself up with his clean hand, Wonwoo took a few moments to simply breathe. His entire body was still racing with adrenaline and hormones and the pure rush of his self-orchestrated ecstasy. But, pushing between all the energy was his guilt—the fact of what he’d just done and how he’d so blatantly used you to make himself feel good. Wonwoo glanced back at his phone and the voice note in the conversation. Immediately, he clicked the device off, and there was strictly still, shapeless blackness that surrounded him.

What the fuck had he just done?

How was he supposed to text you, look at you, talk to you, knowing he’d officially jerked off to your picture and your voice. Even worse—it was probably the best his masturbation had ever felt. It was all so fucking heavenly in the moment that he thought he might die.

Wonwoo had no idea what to make of his actions.

His feelings for you.

But he thought he should at least tidy himself up.

—JUNE 16TH

Before Vernon had come by in his car, Wonwoo was caught in an exhausting and sickening guessing game of whether or not he needed to throw up. His lower stomach was in complete knots, prompting him to pace back and forth outside the washroom door, because sitting down was going to make him ruminate even more over how terribly nervous he was. Thankfully, however, Wonwoo never threw up, and he was able to calm himself a bit by rolling a blunt, sparking it while sat at the open windowsill in his bedroom.

There was also help from the nighttime breeze that touched against his warm face, a sensation he had always found so soothing.

Just before ten at night, Wonwoo received the critical text from Vernon—he was parked outside on the street. He’d fully smoked his blunt at the time of the message, and he pathetically prayed to himself that his nerves wouldn’t sizzle back up at the worst possible time as he locked his apartment door. Once Wonwoo had stepped outside, he spotted Vernon’s old vanilla Camry stalled beside the postal box across the street. He was kind enough to reach over and push the door open for Wonwoo, who quickly shuffled into his seat.

Immediately, Wonwoo received his usual greeting.

“Hey, Glasses.”

He gave a nod back in response, buckling on the seatbelt.

“So, you smell like confusin’ mix of straight cannabis and a fuckin’ breezy Caribbean Ocean tide. How the fuck does that work?”

“Uh, I put on cologne. And then I smoked?”

“You nervous, then?” Vernon asked through his trademark conniving smirk, meanwhile he began steering out onto the street.

“Of course I’m fucking nervous,” Wonwoo almost laughed back at the obvious nature of the question and habitually checked his friend’s blind spot. “I don’t even go to like, dinner parties.”

“Pfft, I’m sure you’ll be fine. The good thing about parties like these—everyone gets so fucked it’s unlikely they’ll remember some nervous dweeb like yourself. Amongst all that chaos, you’ll blend straight in. There’s nothin’ to be shaked up about. I promise ‘ya.”

Wonwoo merely huffed in response, opting to let Vernon focus on driving and working the car’s outdated stereo while he checked his phone. Actually, Wonwoo had wanted to text you before he left the apartment, but he was still stomaching all the rigid guilt that came with jerking himself off to your pretty picture and voice note the night before. It was a stupid, stupid choice.

All those thoughts that had been stampeding through his head—wanting you and needing you and craving to belong with you in a way that could never reach true fruition—Wonwoo had to convince himself it was all meaningless. His mind had conjured those ridiculous sentiments when his logic was razor thin and overcome by the deception of his lust, and, therefore, he refused to accept those urges were even close to his actual feelings for you. He clicked his phone back off, not meaning to sigh aloud but doing so anyway.

Vernon then shot him a speculative glance through the rear-view mirror, though Wonwoo barely caught it. He looked out the window instead, at all the passing lights and people who were eager to spend their Friday night doing something stimulating.

“So, I know you’re probably just thinkin’ to yourself over there, as you usually do,” his friend said, fiddling with the radio until the static noise died back into music, “but I think it’s all too funny.”

Wonwoo scrunched his nose, continuing to watch the nightlife slip by his tracing eyes outside the window.

“Hm? What’s funny?”

Vernon chuckled. “All that shit you said to me, like, over a month ago. We’re not friends. And now, you n’Her hang out all the time. I think she’s pumpin’ some actual life back into you. You’re not like you were before, y’know? Which is good to see. So, what I wanna know now is—would you say the same? Or is she your friend?”

Right, Wonwoo remembered the conversation Vernon was referring to—the night his friend drove him home after a tiresome shift at the pharmacy. With his entire chest, Wonwoo had claimed you two weren’t friends. There had been a lot of truth to it, at least from his perspective. Or, maybe, he’d crushed down the prospect of it so vehemently because Wonwoo had just assumed someone like you would have no interest in honestly befriending him.

He could offer you something, and that was it.

But, now…

“You’d have to ask her,” Wonwoo answered, shrugging.

Instantly, Vernon groaned.

“God, that’s such a fuckin’ cop-out answer, Glasses.”

“Well, what the fuck should I say? Yes, we’re friends, but then you might go and ask her, and she’ll say otherwise.”

“So what?” Vernon engaged, raising his hand partially off the steering wheel in a half-gesture. “So fuckin’ what if she says that? If you think of her as a friend then commit to that. There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” His voice became firmer, more convictional.

Wonwoo tilted his head back against the seat. It’s not that he didn’t think you were friends—it was more so that he might to admit it, and then the relationship could all fall apart, crash like a burning, charred asteroid at his feet. And then Wonwoo would be back in the same self-inflicted crater he was before, thinking he had a genuine connection in his life only to have the rug pulled out from under him.

“… I don’t know.”

“No, you do know. But I see you wanna be all secretive about it and keep your cards close to the chest. So, whatever.”

Rubbing at the edge of his nose, Wonwoo took a quiet moment for himself to muse. He wanted another blunt.

“I don’t think she’ll be that excited to see me.” Vernon said.

Turning his head, Wonwoo looked to his friend and laughed.

“Yeah, can’t imagine why.”

“Think she’ll rip my head off?” Vernon joked with a big, gummy grin, relaxing back into his seat. “That might be kinda hot.”

“No—it would be traumatizing, actually.”

“She better not,” his friend answered, slapping his glove compartment and smirking pridefully. “I’ve got her goddamn coke.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… I’ve never seen a street this packed…”

Vernon couldn’t help his awe from spilling out as he navigated at a snail’s pace down the road, each and every available spot that lined the curb being occupied by a vehicle. Wonwoo spotted a few groups making their way up the sidewalks, toward the colossal sized house to the distant right of the street. Seungcheol lived in Hill Crest, just like your parents, but he seemed poised at the neighbourhood’s opposite end—probably ideal for throwing an outrageous party that would otherwise magnetize the entire police task force to the door.

Wonwoo glanced down at his phone.

Seokmin had sent him a text a few minutes ago, inquiring if him and Vernon were close by or at the house. He sent a message back about the worrying lack of parking spaces, and then continued to help Vernon search through the overcrowd for a hopeful pocket.

“Fuck… this isn’t lookin’ good…” Vernon lamented.

“I doubt there will be anything close to the house,” Wonwoo sighed, folding his arms in doubt. “It could be best to make a turn or go around the block? We might just have to take a hike.”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe doesn’t take fuckin’ hikes,” his friend jabbed, antsy fingers sculpting into his bitten lip while the other hand catered to steering the wheel. “I have this dude’s blow. Doesn’t that earn me a VIP-guest-list-skip-the-line type plot?”

Wonwoo scoffed. “Should’ve sorted that out earlier, man.”

“Shut your dorky ass up. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

At that moment, the phone slid between his thighs vibrated with another text from Seokmin. His eyes widened at the invite.

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Oh dw about street parking!

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Use the gate at the house

“I think you’re right. I might have to turn,” Vernon announced in a defeated breath, brushing a hand through his dust black hair. “Get ready to see the best three-point turn that’s ever been turnt.”

“Just wait one minute,” Wonwoo then answered, leaning forward in his seat as he began to text Seokmin for more details.

[ Wonwoo | 10:41 pm ]: Gate?

[ Seokmin | 10:41 pm ]: Seungcheol’s got a gate that leads to this little underground parking thing. Some of his and Mingyu’s close friends are using it. Her’s friends, too

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: Uh… I don’t know haha.

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: I asked Seungcheol, it’s fine!

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: You sure?

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Yup

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Gate code is #1142!

“Don’t turn around, go up to the driveway and look for a gate,” Wonwoo instructed. “Apparently, this dude’s got an underground parking space. Seokmin gave me the code for it.”

“Jesus Christ,” disbelieving laughter swelled up from Vernon’s chest as he proceeded along the street. “This guy’s like, rich-rich. I wanna see all that fuckin’ cash up front. Bills in every colour.”

Wonwoo was just relieved that Seokmin was telling the truth, though he was nonetheless extremely anxious about using the parking space, and something sharp in his abdomen tightened upon reaching that bronze gate. Vernon had to roll down his window and partially lean outside to press in the code read from Wonwoo’s phone.

They both cast each other a bewildered glance when the gate separated automatically, allowing them access down the slant.

“Rich people can just do whatever they fuck they want, can’t they?” Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me not to steal anything while we’re wanderin’ around in there.”

But Wonwoo couldn’t say anything even half-conscious in response to his friend’s lazy joke. He was too busy focusing his breathing.

“Jeez, it's about time, huh?” Vernon’s words sounded rife with electricity as they approached the main entryway to the house, the brisk, nighttime air blowing back against their heated faces.

They had already witnessed several people slipping inside and out, to which the shuddering, clear blurt of the music would escape the doorway—not that they couldn’t hear it already. The deep and rhythmic bass was emanating from within Seungcheol’s house like a growl caught in a beast’s belly, and Wonwoo could only fathom what kind of damage his eardrums might sustain after the night was over.

Right before Vernon could touch the handle, the doors abruptly burst open with an aggressive swing, revealing two girls who were latched hand in hand, giggling to each other. The distinct stench of marijuana clouded after them down the steps.

Vernon opted to catch the left door before it could close.

“After you, Glasses,” he invited with an almost glimmering smirk, then gesturing inward at the practical void that awaited him—auroras of flashing light, loud conversation, and pounding music.

It seemed like stepping into another universe.

“Thanks for the chivalry,” Wonwoo answered.

He then forced himself into the mansion, not allowing the empty space in his mind to concoct ample regret or doubt. Vernon followed suit, the large door slamming shut in a forbidding manner behind the two boys, akin to a shoving a cork on a glass bottle and capturing all the sand grains inside. Wonwoo knew he could leave, though it didn’t feel like it. However, he didn’t want to act defeated before even starting the night. Maybe some of Seokmin’s miraculous optimism gloss would rub off on him before it was too late.

The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea what to think or do nor could he develop one sensible, sound thought that he might express to Vernon—the house was alive with what seemed to be a mighty sea of people. Some were mingling with their drinks loosely held in an attempt to feign casualness, pitching conversation despite the unrelenting music. Others were clashed together, dirty dancing, hands carnally wandering, probably thinking nothing other than how good it felt to be a part of the moment. Everything was so dim and dark. Lights blotched around the room in deep purples and blues.

Wonwoo had suddenly forgotten how to even move.

Until Vernon’s hand slapped his shoulder.

“Hey, what should we start with?!” His friend had practically shouted over the music and its hypnotizing synths. “Do you wanna get a drink? Smoke one out? Or should we find Seokmin?”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stared at him, trying hard through the murkiness and heat to match the words he was hearing with Vernon’s lips. The environment would take a bit getting used to.

“Also—,” he then grabbed Wonwoo’s shoulder, “—let’s move away from the door before we get fuckin’ trampled, yeah?”

Vernon helped guide Wonwoo further into the main living area, down a few stairs and toward the large square of couches. There was hardly any room to sit without being uncomfortably close to someone else—they were either in another person’s lap, swapping a disgusting amount of liquored spit, or completely faded and about as coherent as a rock. Wonwoo didn’t want to sit, anyway. He looked down at his phone, noticing that Seokmin had texted him again.

“Um, what do you want to do?” He decided to flip the question on Vernon, not wanting to be tasked with the decision.

Besides, he assumed his friend would know better.

“Me? I want a fuckin’ drink!” Vernon began to look around, though the air was notably veiled with a thin smoke and all the bodies were obstructing much view of anything. “Oh—I told you already, didn’t I?! That I’m definitely intendin’ to get shitfaced?! Did you figure out a ride in case you wanted t’go home later on?”

As Vernon began his quest to find a drink, Wonwoo was right behind him, remembering that Vernon had mentioned it already.

“I know!” He called out while reading Seokmin’s text.

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: There’s like two big living spaces

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: We’re not in the main one tho, easiest way is to go through the kitchen and out the other side!

Wonwoo had thought you would text him, and he couldn’t evade his disappointment at the expectation. He decided to assume that maybe you just didn’t know he was there yet. At most, he hoped you weren’t too blasted and at least cognizant enough to hold a conversation with him. Though, Wonwoo had not one inkling as to what you were like at parties. He could only imagine from the scattered bits and pieces he’d heard from yourself and Vernon. 

As Wonwoo followed Vernon down a foggy corridor, he suddenly bumped into the boy’s hard back with a bothered grunt. A girl had stepped out from a threshold that led into the kitchen and he realized that Vernon was only letting her leave before they entered.

She leaned in rather close to Vernon’s face, stroking a quick, flirtatious hand along the divots in his defined chest as she lilted aloud, “thanks, gorgeous.”

Her gaze switched to linger on Wonwoo for what felt like a long, excruciating eternity before proceeding past them in a confident stride down the dark and narrow hallway. Vernon kissed his teeth, staring back at Wonwoo with that hedonistic twinkle in his eyes.

“Okay—she was fine, not gonna lie.”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, adjusting his glasses, “can we at least get a drink first before you decide to start fucking people?”

“Why do you think we’re at the kitchen, smart ass?”

Shaking his head in dismissal at Vernon’s snarky comment, he urged the boy impatiently into the kitchen area (which was admittedly larger than Wonwoo’s entire living space).

One side of the room was lined with arrays of salty snacks, while the opposite contained big, rounded punch bowls of pre-mixed alcohol that people were dipping into with ladles. Vernon had noticed the option to mix your own drink, and thus Wonwoo was dragged toward the kitchen island where the boys waited to pick from the various bottles of alcohol and soft drinks left scattered about.

Wonwoo peeped down at his phone again while Vernon got easily caught up in conversation with a girl preparing a lemon shot.

He finally answered Seokmin’s texts.

“Hey, Glasses!” Vernon’s hand latched onto his shoulder, giving it a shake. “This is Sierra! She’s gonna make us our drinks!”

It took him a moment to properly decipher the girl Vernon had been speaking to, though, the longer he squinted through the shifty kitchen lighting, the more he could separate her silhouette and features from the dimness. She had a comfortable smile, full and warm, trustworthy, and so Wonwoo merely shrugged his agreement.

“Don’t worry,” the girl shouted, pulling aside two solo cups and then twizzling off the bottlecap to the rum, “I’m a bartender, actually. I used to work Room 319. Now I’m at Honeymoon.”

Vernon leaned his elbows on the granite, watching with intrigue as she sloshed a decent amount of alcohol into each cup.

“Room 319? You’ve definitely seen some shit,” he cackled.

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred percent.”

“Y’know, I tried getting this cunt to go—” Vernon jabbed an accusing thumb back at Wonwoo, “—but he’s such a flake!”

Sierra proceeded to grin quite demurely, flashing a quick, barely detectable glance toward Wonwoo, who had just managed to catch it while shoving the phone back into his pocket. She then grabbed a sweetener from amongst the clutter, tucking a short tuft of hair behind her ear before adding a small drizzle to each solo cup.

“Hey, it’s not for everybody!” Her cheeks flushed in the galactic, purplish light that flickered around the kitchen. “And, uh, this may sound weird, actually. But I recognize you, I think.”

“Oh, me?” Wonwoo was finally forced to speak.

“Yeah, uh—” she stumbled over her words a bit as she swirled the sweetener around inside the cups, “—from Bradbrook’s calculus. I think you sat a few rows ahead of me, or something. I just know because I, um—I was really close to failing the class. When I went to her for help, she gave me a ton of resources, even said I could try asking you about tutoring. She said you’re like, her best student.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, cracking his neck, “I’ve never tutored anyone—don’t know why she’d think to recommend me.”

“It’s okay! I never asked because you seemed like the type who didn’t want to be bothered,” Sierra responded, beginning to top off the drinks with some bubbling soda. “I figured it out, anyway.”

“Good for you,” Wonwoo commended.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was you, ‘cause your hair would always be down over your forehead in class. But you’ve got it all brushed and styled and stuff. It looks super nice!”

He smiled at her and mumbled, “thanks.”

“Well, I’m gonna get running! No matter where I end up, I always seem to be everyone’s mixologist at some point.”

Vernon dragged the alcohol over, maintaining his slouched position onto the island granite. Upon taking an experimental sip to taste the flavours and potency, his face momentarily soured, and then all his features relaxed. He was glowing like an ember, almost.

“No, that’s good. Tastes a bit like a… gummy bear?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s so delicious,” she agreed, shoving hands into her back pockets. “Tastes even better kissing it off someone.”

As Wonwoo stared down at his fizzling drink, debating his first sip, he again felt the transient flittering of her eyes ghost him.

“Go figure,” Vernon rasped, smiling, “appreciate it, player.”

“M’kay,” Sierra chirped and waved, ”bye!”

Not even a few seconds after she left, and someone else swooped in like an eagle to clasp the bottle of rum she’d once been handling, Vernon turned his head to Wonwoo with a raised brow.

“She was DTF for you, holy shit.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo sounded muffled with the solo cup now perched at his lips, allowing the drink to seep into his mouth, tasting the smoothness of the rum, and then the sweet. “What’s that mean?”

“DTF?” Vernon echoed. “Down to fuck!” He smacked his arm.

“That’s stupid and absurd.”

“Well, Glasses, you’re fuckin’ stupid and absurd if you didn’t see it. I mean, if you’re not gonna get a chance with Her, mine as well start seekin’ out what you can. Might make you less uptight.”

“No—that’s what makes you less uptight, not me.”

“I’m just sayin’, man—you’re hot and you don’t even take advantage of it. In no shapes or figures… forms? Whatever the stupid sayin’ is. You’ve got to live a little. But, whatever. Where’s Seokmin?”

“Through there, I think?” Wonwoo nodded toward a high-arched exit opposite to the side they entered the kitchen from. “That’s what he texted me. But I’ll double check anyway, to be sure.”

Flashing on his phone, Wonwoo finally saw your messages.

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: wonwooooooo

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: LIVING ROOM! I'm waiting!!!!

And just like that—like a splitting snap of the fingers—he felt everything all over again, and those nerves steamrolled him in the most pathetic way possible.

He stared down at his phone, moonfaced.

Wonwoo was happy you had remembered to message him, embarrassingly giddy at the thought, even. But he was also downright nauseous to reunite with your inquisitive friends, to meet Seungcheol, to again push through the intangible, brooding weight of seeing Mingyu. He took a gulp from the red cup, swishing the tart but sugared concoction between his cheeks before swallowing, hoping the rum burned down all his nerves in the throaty sting it left behind.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo rediscovered his voice, “through there.”

At first, he couldn’t identify you anywhere. The room was even bigger than the kitchen, just as poorly lit, with a high, pointed ceiling that somehow reminded him of the church he attended when he was too little to even properly grasp religion. But Wonwoo continued squinting through the jumbled crowd, making slow steps and surveiling the room each time alongside Vernon.

“I don’t see ‘em!” He shouted overtop the music, grabbing Wonwoo’s elbow to stop him from moulding into all the warm bodies.

“He said they’re in here!” Wonwoo raised his voice, checking his phone for another text, but seeing nothing. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Sensing that fluttering, unsteady wind in his chest, Wonwoo was eager to indulge in another sip from his cup, desperately yearning for the alcohol to fucking hurry up and take its floating effect. Yet, as the taste subdued on his tongue, Wonwoo was able to notice a slight fissure that formed in between the congregation of people—a rather perfect alignment that revealed a home bar across the room, with familiar faces seated at the stools and more laughing behind the counter. That was when Wonwoo saw you, captured in a brush stroke of sweeping, amethyst light that dappled down your body.

You were leaned leisurely against Mingyu’s chest, holding onto his arm that draped like a protective sling over your shoulder, and Wonwoo supposed it was laid there with a not-so-subtle purpose.

Mingyu was speaking to his friend and co-host, Seungcheol, who was on the other side of the home bar, his lower back digging against the counter while he had quirked his head to still see Mingyu.

One face that Wonwoo had yet to discern was Seokmin, though, in all his honestly, Wonwoo wasn’t that fixated on further searching the low dusk and marijuana plumes hanging tacky in the air. He’d found you. All those nerves dissolved into comfort.

Maybe it was shallow, but that’s what he cared about most.

“Oh!’ Vernon piped up. “Damn. They’re right down there.”

And, before the crowd could readjust themselves to drown the slivered space between yourself and Wonwoo, your head turned.

In the nick of time, you seemed to recognize him, because that hazy, unfocused nature about your countenance shifted in a mere second, and he saw a smile pick its way along your mouth, like a springtime garden at last twirling abloom. You proceeded to nudge Mingyu’s arm aside, whispering something into his ear that he didn’t quite seem to hear correctly as he maintained his lengthy talk with Seungcheol.

Wonwoo knew he was smiling, too, bigger and bigger.

You wove your way through the crowd, to which Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from the short chuckle he spat out as you impatiently shoved aside the guy that had stepped into your way.

“Move! Oh my fucking God—”

But your flash of contempt didn’t last long.

A second later, you were buckling into Wonwoo.

Your arms reached up to curl tightly around his neck, and he felt the grooves of your warm, soft body press firm against him for the first time. Wonwoo was scared at the proximity, though his pounding heart ever so gradually calmed as he took in a deep breath and smelled that faint, fresh scent—strawberries. While it was undoubtedly integrated with some sort of spicy liquor, Wonwoo didn’t care. He pulled himself into the moment—realized how fucking badly he wanted to drop the solo cup and splay his hands at the open, revealing back of your outfit and feel your bare, supple skin.

But he couldn’t. Because Wonwoo wasn’t your boyfriend.

And you weren’t his to so unabashedly touch.

“I’m so fucking happy you made it!” He heard you squeal into his ear, his smile somehow widening at your animated voice.

“Yeah? Bit of a hassle, not gonna lie," Wonwoo answered.

“Parking? I’m sorry! I should have texted you about the gate!”

“No, no,” he laughed, trying his best and gentlest way to somehow ease some space in between you, “it’s okay. Everything worked out perfectly fine in the end. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

“You sure?”

Wonwoo looked into your eyes, so enchantingly bright and glistering as you blinked at him sympathetically, wearing a tiny pout.

Fuck—he wanted to kiss you.

It was such a blatant, jarring thought that Wonwoo couldn’t respond to your worry straight away, instead pushing down his urges.

“… I’m sure.”

“Well,” you then hummed, at last relaxing your hold around his neck and making some very unwanted but necessary space between your bodies, “is it still true?” You bit your lip afterward.

“Hm? Is what still true?”

Upon Wonwoo furrowing his brow, you pressed into him again, reaching up to his ear where you could comfortably talk and not worry about whether the music would muffle every syllable.

He felt the warmth of your breath tickle at his skin. And then—shivers, everywhere. Trickling down his spine. His nape. Not the kind from chilly, cold weather, or a scary movie, but a different kind that prompted his sense to disintegrate in a simple second.

“Do you still think I’m the prettiest here?”

Wonwoo sensed the grin paint his face, as easy as melting butter, though he hid it well in your sweet-scented hair.

“Mmhm, ‘course you are,” he answered, purposefully deepening his already deep voice. “You’re always the prettiest.”

One of your charming, seraphic giggles feathered at his ear and Wonwoo had never been so convinced that he would exchange just about anything in his life to call you his for the entire night.

“Um, hey, so… I don’t want to fuckin’ ruin your guys’ little reunion or nothin’, but I am still here, unfortunately!”

Damn—Wonwoo had kind of forgotten that Vernon was even there, and hearing his gruff voice break through the room’s drumming bass had quickly removed him from his fantasy. In a way, he was relieved, because Wonwoo knew he’d been thinking with unprecedented delusion and he needed something to draw a ripple through his thoughts before he became too meek to ignore them.

You then slotted yourself against Wonwoo’s side, adjusting the white strap grooving around the back of your neck. One arm remained around his wideset shoulders, latching him into place.

“Well, that’s an immaculate face I haven’t seen in a while,” you deadpanned at poor Vernon, sculpting him up and down with shameless judgement. “And what have you been up to? Selling MDMA from behind porta-potties to dumb, gullible first years?”

But Vernon took it well, as he was most likely expecting it.

“So, I won’t say no or yes to that.”

“Hm. Figures.”

Vernon shook his head, mustering up a husky laugh. “Should I assume you haven’t gotten over our incident, yet?”

Wonwoo felt your ovaled, sharp fingernails dig into his shoulder, and he settled his hand on your upper back to relax you.

“I’ll get over it when I want to get over it.”

“Okay, okay." A smile bled across Vernon’s face. “And I respect that, yeah? How ‘bout we both agree to keep it lax? That work at all?”

Despite your narrowed, seething eyes, you agreed.

“It works, for now.” You were in the midst of turning around, as though to begin pulling Wonwoo toward the bar, but you suddenly stopped on a dime, returning your glared focus back toward an unsuspecting, more lenient Vernon. “By the way, Princess is in a relationship with Seungcheol, so paws off. And don’t even think about trying to fuck Clara or Bells again or else you’ll need to take every single pill you fucking own in order to feel even a fraction of anything after I’m done beating your breaks off. Understand?”

“Uh, yes. I do. I understand.”

And then you grinned, though it was colder than outer space, and Wonwoo was more than pleased he wasn’t on the receiving end.

“Perfect! Now, let’s get everyone all introduced. I promise, though, there’s not many strangers. I guess just Seungcheol? Some of his friends are around here somewhere, I don’t know where.”

You curled an arm around Wonwoo’s elbow and began tugging him into the barricade of people, most stepping aside for you without request, like you were a princess or some other type of respected royalty. Wonwoo glanced back at Vernon who was already giving him a wide-eyed, skeptical expression, and so he made sure to dip his head close to Vernon’s ear to murmur some encouragement.

“At least your head isn’t ripped off.”

However, it might have not been the most thoughtful.

“Yeah, meta-fuckin’-phorically it is,” Vernon laughed back. “I forgot how scary the chick is. How have you not pissed your pants yet?”

“You get used to it after a while. N’hey—when the hell did you have sex with Clara and Bells?" Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from asking over his shoulder as he was further pulled along by your persistent guide.

“It was before you got to know Her, alright? But—” Vernon had suddenly leaned closer, his breath at Wonwoo’s ear, “—Bells is a fuckin’ homie hopper. Guaranteed she’ll try to get into your pants. I know she’s tried it with Seungcheol, Seokmin, probably you, tonight.”

“Well, you two sound like a match made in heaven.”

“Ha! Funny, man,” Vernon cackled, shoving his friend’s back in a teasing way. “No—she’s actually crazy. Gives good head, though.”

Wonwoo opted to ignore the last comment. He was soon at the bar alongside you, Vernon, and all the others, to which he noted your arm was still clasped around his elbow, a gesture that Wonwoo found himself greatly appreciating as everyone began pausing their own conversations to acknowledge the two newcomers. He didn’t know who to look at or greet first as his heartbeat thundered, though he recognized Clara and Bells seated together on two leather stools, a few emptied shot glasses aligned before them like dominos.

Princess, the friend Wonwoo always thought you were closest to, was behind the counter with Seungcheol, staring Wonwoo down through her hooded and smooth brown eyes. He felt Mingyu watching him too, though it discomforted him much more than Princess.

“Hey, nice to meet you guys, finally.” Seungcheol was leaning over the luminated countertop, bumping his fist against Wonwoo’s, and then Vernon’s. “Hope you’re finding it alright.”

Wonwoo had never met Seungcheol despite hearing his name frequently throughout campus, especially during the prime months for partying. The consensus was that everyone seemed to like and respect him for his cordial, easygoing attitude and sportsmanship, since he played a lot of basketball for the university’s principal varsity team. Wonwoo had never once heard anything concerning or relatively malicious about the guy. He was almost akin to a celebrity.

“We got in not too long ago,” Vernon explained, and Wonwoo was grateful he took the conversating initiative, “seems crazy. And thanks for lettin’ us use your garage! Street parkin’ was ass.”

“Shit, yeah. I get it.” Seungcheol shrugged in agreement, meanwhile drawing a shallow glass over to himself. “It’s no problem, man. You did us a favour with the blow. I’ll pay upstairs, yeah?”

“Hey, it’s all good. What’re you pourin’ up?’

Princess suddenly reached around Seungcheol’s shoulder, removing the large, maple bottle he was about to twist open.

“He’s not pouring up anything,” she smiled, placing the alcohol on a shelf behind her, “because whiskey gets him beyond hammered, and I need him coherent for at least another hour.”

Seungcheol turned around, his mouth hung open.

“Okay—I was gonna pour out a splash.”

The girl grabbed his sharp jaw, giving Seungcheol’s face a tender shake before pushing her lips against his. His previous objection suddenly disappeared like morning dew. For a couple that had recently started dating according to your allegory, they seemed remarkably comfortable with each other.

“Okay—shot, shot!” Bells yelped excitedly, slapping her hand against the polished countertop as Clara grabbed a tequila bottle.

“Oh, god.” Your eyes rolled, and Wonwoo heard the exhaustion in your tone. “Have fun getting alcohol poisoning.”

Mingyu scoffed, crossing his broad, buff arms. “They’ll be blackout in less than an hour.”

“What for?” Vernon asked.

You finally let go of Wonwoo, grabbing your own solo cup off the countertop and taking a fast swig before answering.

“Whenever Seungcheol and Princess kiss, they take a shot.”

“And they kiss a lot—" Clara hiccupped, a very inebriated fog cast across her gaze, “— even more than Her n’ Mingyu!”

“Oh, don’t bring us into this,” you snapped from behind your drink, leaning an elbow onto the bar, “take your shot and can it.”

“I’m starting to not even taste it!”

The giggling spilled from Bells’ mouth like a waterspout, to which both her and Clara leaned in close to each other’s faces, their expressions warping with breathless, dry gulps of laughter.

“Excuse them,” Princess then muttered, resting an arm along Seungcheol’s firm back, waves of moonlit blue dancing across her dark skin while she eyed her cackling friends with bits of judgement and concern. “I’m starting to believe they have an alcohol problem.”

“So, if I lose you later, should I assume you’re in the washroom holding back their hair?” Seungcheol then huffed into his clasped hands, flicking soft eyes up toward his sighing girlfriend.

She pulled at a long braid of her hair, nodding.

“If I’m not, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Fuck, I like those odds, baby," he rasped, leaning back.

Princess smiled, squeezing his shoulder.

“No, you absolutely don’t, sweetheart.”

Wonwoo smiled at them, exercising his best effort to follow all the conversation even though his brain was whirring on overdrive. He was in the midst of sipping from the sweetened rum when Clara’s eyes snapped akin to a locket with his own, and she immediately squealed.

“Oh! You! From Spring Street! Mr. Deep Voice!”

Lowering the cup from his face, Wonwoo’s heart dropped.

He was more than perfectly okay with sitting on the sidelines and contributing nothing to the flow of conversation other than trivial nods and agreeable half-smiles. But Clara had singled him out, and now Bells was at last squirming around in her seat, her eyes patted with a popping, brilliant lime green as opposed to shimmery blue.

You tilted your head in questioning at Clara. “Yes, yes, we’ve been over this, girl. He’s been standing here the past five minutes.”

“Wonwoo!” Bells shrieked. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“He doesn’t need to say anything.” Wonwoo heard the irritable grit rub through your voice as you straightened your posture and propped a hand to your hip, glaring at your friends. “Why don’t you let him enjoy his drink instead of shouting at him?”

From behind, Mingyu’s large hand slid around your waist and stopped at your lower stomach, pulling you a step back into his chest.

“Relax. She’s drunk as fuck, alright?” He murmured by your temple, planting a reassuring kiss.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Princess was quick to diffuse any degree of tension before it could morph into a terrifying flame. “He’s just quiet, that’s all. Nothing wrong with it. I like your hair, Wonwoo.”

He clenched his fist tight, nodding at her.

“Thanks.”

It was only one goddamn word, but he’d choked it out with all the strength harboured in his chest and lungs. Princess smiled at him.

“Glasses is cool. All his jokes will come out later.” Vernon teased despite the instant, needling stare Wonwoo shot his way.

“Hey, no pressure,” Seungcheol laughed, swiping his phone off the bar countertop. “Should we all head upstairs? I’ve got a nice little room set up for us—can smoke and mellow out a bit, play some cards, finally get to that blow—whatever you guys think is best.”

“Fuck, I’m down.” Sliding off the leather stool, Mingyu came to his feet and agreed, his hand still settled at your stomach.

His utterance was met with a chorus of likewise answers.

Wonwoo suddenly felt your fingertips graze his hand.

“Are you okay with that?” You asked him personally, smiling in a reassuring, nonchalant manner that helped ease his stiltedness.

“Yeah,” he answered, delighted to see the sparks that jumped into your eyes through the shadows and nebulas of lavender light.

The room Seungcheol had referred to was quite separated from the party booming onward downstairs, though he claimed not to be worried about it much since his other friends were keeping tabs on all the action. Wonwoo appreciated the quieter, more laidback atmosphere that allowed him to actually think and analyze his situation, which he unfortunately could not help himself from doing.

It was a cozy and personally developed space—probably the room Seungcheol spent most of his time in. Large, pristine movie posters were perfectly tapered to covering an entire wall, with stringed, dull-glowing lights swooped around the wooden infrastructure of the ceiling. A billiard ball table was toward the left, and then a circular table to the right, stacked with miscellaneous things such as playing cards, textbooks, and poker chips.

There were some shelves by the windows, mostly to hold decorative items, though Wonwoo saw a number of trophies from what he assumed to be Seungcheol’s past sports competitions. 

Everyone began to settle.

As Vernon waltzed over to the couch by the cluttered table, he’d suddenly looked down at the cushions with a gruff shout.

“Fuck! Jesus Christ, Seokmin! What the fuck are you doin’?”

“Oh, yeah—the poor baby got a headache,” you crooned, walking toward the couch with a teasing smirk. “He thought he’d try and avoid all of us by coming up here and taking a nap.”

“I wasn’t napping,” Seokmin grumbled while pushing himself to sit up, swatting back your hand that rifled through his dark brown tresses disarrayed in every direction, “I was relaxing, that’s all.”

“Dude, you looked like you were dead,” Vernon laughed, stepping around from behind the couch to sit on the arm.

Leaning against a desk with two large speakers on it, Mingyu folded his arms, smiling at Seokmin whose face was beginning to tint red from all the attention. “That’s just how he looks when he sleeps.”

“Thanks…” Seokmin answered, standing up and dusting himself off. “Guess I’m never staying the night at your place again.”

“Well, if you’re not going to take the couch, I think these two should simmer down for a hot minute,” Princess said, shuffling the stumbling, giggling duo, Bells and Clara, to take a much needed seat.

“Okay, yeah. Mingyu, throw on some music. Give everyone a chance to get nice n’ comfy.” Seungcheol then beckoned toward Vernon. “Over here, man. Let’s get this shit sorted out.”

“Ah, right, right.”

His friend was quick to rise from the couch and meet Seungcheol in the corner of the room, by the billiard table as well as a small black safe. Mingyu pulled out his phone, linking up his Bluetooth with Seungcheol’s expensive sound system, and music soon replaced the empty air in the room. He then joined Seungcheol and Vernon in the corner. Wonwoo opted not to sleuth and glanced elsewhere.

He saw that you were already talking to Princess, the two of you pulling out some beers and other drinks from a fridge he hadn’t noticed before, and while he positively wanted to make time for a conversation with you, Wonwoo thought he should bother Seokmin first. The boy was shoving open a windowpane across the room.

“Hey, liar,” he announced in a dragging but not overly serious tone. “Not downstairs like you said you were, huh?”

Seokmin turned around, rubbing his face.

“I know, I know. I got a headache at the last minute. But I knew everyone would come upstairs. Glad you could make it!”

“Well then, how much of a headache should I be expecting?”

“Eh, depends,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Depends on what?”

“I can’t imagine you jumping around on a countertop with your shirt off and a whippet in your hand.”

He snorted. “Is that what you were doing?”

“No—I was the one trying to get them off the counter.”

“Fair.”

 “I think you’ll be fine. At most, you’ll step outside for some air and get a nice breeze in your hair. No biggie… what’s that?”

“Uh, just a drink this girl whipped up. Sierra.”

“Oh.” Seokmin’s eyes brightened. “You mean Sierra Gomez?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Did she have like, chin length, sort of coarse and frizzy brown hair? Freckles all over her cheeks? ‘Cause that’s Sierra Gomez. She works at the… the, um… Honeymoon! Yeah. The Honeymoon. She’s nice—used to stare at the back of your head all the time in calculus.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway—whatever—random thought.”

“Who used to stare at the back of your head in calculus?”

Turning around, Wonwoo noticed that you had approached their conversation at the open window, an abrupt flourish of wind sweeping back unto your inquisitive yet slightly firm expression. A bottle was in your hand, and you took a quick, easy sip from it.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Seokmin dismissed.

“No, tell me.”

Your eyes then flitted between himself and Seokmin. There was an innocent smile on your face that nursed the beer bottle.

“A girl who used to look at Wonwoo all the time during calculus with Bradbrook. She made him his drink, that’s all.”

“Really? Is that so?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Who?” You asked, still maintaining that polished smile.

Seokmin chuckled, “nah, you wouldn’t know her.”

“Maybe I do.”

“No,” he was persistent on convincing you, pulling at the flushed cusp of his ear, “I know you don’t. It’s not a big deal.”

Your focused gaze then lasered into Seokmin, and much of the airy politeness to your voice had gradually sharpened out.

“If it’s not a big deal then tell me.”

Music from the speaker system atop the nearby desk drowned the momentary silence that lasted between the three. Wonwoo concentrated on the lyrics and the depth of the sensual beat, trying his hardest to mentally escape the odd tension smouldering up.

Seokmin was biting his lip, hard.

“Tell me.” You now were demanding rather than asking.

“It’s not—”

“Seokmin!”

“Okay, okay! Sierra Gomez. That’s the girl.”

Wonwoo shifted his eyes to you, observing the manner in which you quirked your head, pursed your bottom lip, and began staring around the room in an honest attempt to place the name that Seokmin had so frighteningly blurted, almost like a suspect under interrogation. And then you were shrugging, sipping from your cold drink.

“Hm, don’t know her.”

“Like I said...” his friend sighed, leaning backward into the cool breeze and settling his hands against the windowsill.

“She’s here? And she made you that?” You asked.

Wonwoo looked down at his cup, almost completely emptied.

“… Um, yeah.”

There was a nearly imperceptible falter that spilt across your face, though it travelled so quickly, like a blink of light, and Wonwoo was starting to think that maybe he hadn’t even seen it at all.

“Well, that was really nice of her.” A strange breathiness lingered in your tone. “I mean, I don’t know her but she sounds really… nice. I’ll have to chat with her someday. I don’t know what we’ll talk about… something nice, probably. Yeah. We’ll do that.”

Upon sensing your very unusual discomfort, Wonwoo thought he might try to quell whatever series of emotions must be taking shape behind those glassy eyes. But almost from thin air, Mingyu was at your side, sliding an arm around your waist and his head poking down to kiss your cheek. Wonwoo ate his words right back up.

“Sorry to bite the conversation,” Mingyu excused himself, removing the arm from your waist to hang off your shoulder instead, where it covered the same revealing patch of your cleavage. “But I like keeping an eye on this one—” he pecked your temple, “—one sip she’s normal, the next she’s on top of the damn table giving everyone a fuckin’ show they don’t deserve. Hard to tell what she’s gonna do.”

Your uptight posture melted habitually against Mingyu’s chest, meanwhile a slight snarl forged across your lips.

Wonwoo knew that his drink was getting empty, and he didn’t want to waste the remainder on trying to survive the unfortunate conversation he’d been whisked into. He realized how much he hated talking to Mingyu, especially now that Wonwoo was closer to you.

“Alright, you don’t need to overembellish.”

“Ha! Overembellish?” A heavy laugh flew off Mingyu’s tongue as he gave your shoulder a soft shake, staring down at you with his curious, twinkling eyes. “What am I overembellishing, pretty girl? Huh? You don’t remember that dance with Clara? Kicking that dude’s drink off the table? High out of your fuckin’ mind, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I remember. My problem is that you’re painting me out to be a mindless slut just waiting to show off. It’s not like I go into these situations, intending to get on a table and kick people’s drinks and shit. I’m just going with what I feel in the moment. I mean, I’m sure it gets a bit slutty. But that’s part of the fun. At least, I think.”

Okay—Wonwoo didn’t give a fuck about preserving his drink any more. He immediately dove in to take a generous sip, staring down the cup like there was something profoundly captivating scribbled on the bottom. Now that he was thinking about it, Wonwoo realized this is his first time witnessing your dynamic with Mingyu.

Mingyu sighed, tongue prodding against his inner cheek.

“Can’t make it easy, can you?”

At that, you cackled, tipping your head against his neck.

“Never. You should know that by now.”

“The important thing is, everyone has a good time.” Seokmin decided to add his two cents, not seeming as stiffened by the conversation as Wonwoo, probably since he was accustomed to it.

Nonetheless, it prompted your signature eye roll.

“Hey everyone! Seokmin thinks the most important part of a party is that everyone has a good time!” You mockingly chided, proceeding to raise the bottle to your mouth for another sip while Mingyu rubbed his nose, laughing. “Did that really need to be said?”

Partially closing the window, Seokmin chuckled. “I’m just saying it ‘cause you guys always bicker and bring the mood down.”

Your grip around the beer bottle visibly tightened.

“Bicker?! We don’t bicker!”

“Are you serious?” Seokmin folded his arms, a disbelieving smile mixed with puzzlement carving his mouth. “You just did!”

“No, that wasn’t bickering," you stated. “That was Mingyu saying something stupid and me correcting it. Purely factual.”

Shaking his head, Mingyu merely smirked. “Mmhm. Let’s go with that.” Though, it was quite obvious he was holding back what he actually wanted to say, but didn’t want to prove Seokmin’s point.

“Anyways, I’m not trying to make you look bad,” Seokmin mumbled, brushing a hand along an itch on his arm. “So, whatever you see here, Wonwoo, take it with a grain of salt, I guess.”

God, no.

He’d wanted so desperately to remain invisible—to not be summoned into the conversation in any way, shape, or form.

“Please,” you sounded exasperated, messing about with your hair, “I’m sure Wonwoo’d be the last person to care, anyway.”

At the worst possible time, he’d completely exhausted his soda and rum, and there was not even a single drop for him to make a lame show of sipping up. Wonwoo didn’t know whether or not to say anything. Maybe, if he just smiled genuinely, nodded his head, then everything would keep moving and he could somehow escape the burdensome pressure. However, what he failed to realize was that his overthinking gave him a very dazed expression that made it seem as though he wasn’t listening at all. Seokmin suddenly slapped his arm.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Dude’s not even paying attention. Mentally checked out ‘cause of your arguing.”

“No. I’m listening,” Wonwoo answered, knowing the longer he stayed quiet the more guilty and strange he’d appear. “I just figure it’s better to let you guys hash it out. I’d rather not get involved.”

“Smart,” Mingyu huffed, to which Wonwoo found himself in the crosshairs of his intimidating gaze. “Best not to pick sides, right?”

“Oh my gosh, there are no sides.” Elbowing the tall, dark-haired boy gently in his rib, you shook your head. “And even if there were, I’m forcing him to take my side. You obviously have Seokmin.”

“When you are going to stop saying that?” Mingyu sounded notably annoyed at your comment, though you merely shrugged it off, instead wrapping a small hand with his in a successful attempt to pull him away from the conversation at the breezy window.

“Don’t whine, Gyu. Let’s go talk to Princess.”

Once you were gone, Wonwoo looked to Seokmin with some vague hope that he would share his astonishment at the situation. He couldn’t tell if you and Mingyu just clashed so naturally because your relationship was the long lasting, weathered kind where there were lots of little quips due to your shared comfortability. Or, maybe there was something else he was missing. But Seokmin didn’t seem even relatively phased, which lead Wonwoo into thinking that it was his overanalyzing brain picking things apart unnecessarily.

“Oh, I’ve gotta talk with Vernon for a sec.” His friend remembered, pointing out the tattooed boy who was closely admiring all the expensively framed film posters. “Nice to see you, though!”

The second Seokmin had slipped away, Wonwoo occupied his old position against the windowsill, letting his head tilt back until it bumped with the glass. A timidly building sickness ached in his stomach at the worry of all his conversations feeling like that—so agonizing, uncomfortable, with his mind racing a mile a minute.

He sighed aloud, attempting to steady his breathing.

Things would get better. They had to.

“Hey, Wonwoo! You wanna sit?”

Following the abrupt voice over to the now organized, tidied table, Wonwoo saw that it was Seungcheol who called his name. He tilted his head at an empty seat and Wonwoo decided to take the boy up on the offer rather than stumble into the undertow of his self-inflicted panic. Besides, Seungcheol was fairly relaxed and seemed easy to converse with—a much needed repose from Mingyu. As he sat down, setting his empty cup aside, Seungcheol leaned forward with his chin pressing down between his thumb and index finger.

“You okay?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Wonwoo nodded. “I’m good.”

Relaxing back into his seat, Seungcheol smiled.

“Just making sure. I know it’s not always the easiest trying to make it through a Her-Mingyu-Seokmin three-way—pause—ignore how weirdly I phrased that,” he laughed, rubbing along his jaw.

The air around Wonwoo tinged with an immediate sense of relief, and he found himself relaxing, too, stretching out his legs.

“Yeah,” he then breathed out deeply, the tension in his chest loosening up. “I assume it’s best to just shut the fuck up.”

“Mmhm.” Seungcheol was eager to nod in agreement. “Yeah, exactly. Shut the fuck up, and give the most neutral answers if needed. It’s honestly a skill. You’ve gotta be a world class fence sitter.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I’m curious—what’re you studying?”

“Nothing exciting. Mathematics, specifically calculus. I like a bit of data and statistics, too. I don’t know. Just, analyzing stuff.”

“Hm,” Seungcheol crossed his arms, grinning, “can’t say I’d be very good at all that. You want to be a data analyst or something?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve thought about teaching, too.”

“University?”

“Yeah… I heard you’re in biomedical now.”

“Mmhm—switched my whole degree—can thank Junhui for that. He’s around here, somewhere. I like it, though. No regrets about it or anything. Besides—” Seungcheol turned his head toward the billiard ball table where Princess was chatting with you and Mingyu, a fond, amorous expression softening his face, “—that’s how I met Princess. I mean, she’s so intelligent, level-headed, thoughtful. Finally worked up the courage to ask her out, like… two months ago, now? Things have been smooth sailing since.”

“I can see that. You guys mesh together well,” Wonwoo answered, at first staring at Princess, but sensing his eyes naturally drift toward you and that tight hold Mingyu had at your bare waist.

“Thanks, man. Hey—I should say congrats, by the way.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled, spreading his legs. “What for?”

“Frontiers. You got a super good score.”

“Oh, that… uh, thanks. I mean, it was last year.”

Seungcheol’s face immediately scrunched with laughter.

“What?”

“Shit. It’s nothing.” Seungcheol was still chuckling a bit between his breathy words. “I love how you shrug it off. Like, whenever your name comes up, it’s always next to how smart you are, man. I love that you don’t even fucking care. If that were me, I’d be the most pretentious piece of shit—it’s actually insane.”

Wonwoo paused for a second to think, looking at his sneakers, and then back at Seungcheol, the cogs in his mind beginning to whirr.

“I didn’t think my name would come up much. If at all.”

“No, no, it does,” he answered, bouncing his fist off the table with another chuckle. “Hey—you get around more than you think.”

Maybe Seungcheol’s words were supposed to be uplifting, or rewarding to hear, but Wonwoo felt his stomach drop and a horrible, papery dryness spread throughout his mouth. He absolutely hated the thought of people talking about him, discussing him, perceiving him.

“Oh, yeah! Shit, I’ve been meaning to ask—” Seungcheol brightened and shuffled further up in his seat, “—Mingyu says you speak Korean? Were you born there, or from your parents, maybe?”

Wonwoo picked at his thumb slightly.

“Uh, yeah, I do. I was born there.”

“Same. Daegu.”

“Changwon.”

Seungcheol smiled, and when he switched so fluidly from his English to Korean, Wonwoo needed a moment to comprehend the different syllables and speech patterns hitting his ear. It was almost like a glitch, but it was infinitesimal, and Wonwoo processed it quick.

“Mingyu didn’t know where you were born. He just said he’d spoken Korean with you. It’s nice to hear, right?”

“It is. My parents still live in Changwon. Though their English is limited so I hardly ever use it with them.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Seungcheol then propped a leg onto his knee and began to grin. “It’s the same for me. I don’t know if Mingyu’s told you—he wasn’t born there but his parents spoke it around him growing up.”

“I’ve heard…”

“So Seokmin says you like to write?”

“Yes. Reading and writing.”

“I’m not much of a writer. I used to love reading. I still do, actually. But it’s difficult to make time for it.”

Wonwoo agreed. He would have never pegged Seungcheol as someone who enjoyed reading, mostly due to his reputation and his plethora of outlandish, jock friends, though he was pleasantly surprised to hear it.

“I haven’t been reading much myself. Or writing. I’m in a burnout, I suppose.” A sigh fell defeatedly from Wonwoo’s mouth. “It’s frustrating. What kind of books did you read?”

“Nothing unique. Lord of the Rings. I went through a period of really liking Goosebumps, too.” He  then bit his inner cheek in contemplation as he thought harder about his catalogue. “The weirdest book I remember reading was Walking Practice by Dolki Min. It gave me nightmares.”

“I’ve heard lots of mixed opinions about it.”

“It’s a book you read once, somehow manage to enjoy, but know you’ll never revisit… hm, it’s got me thinking…” Seungcheol was suddenly leaning forward, an arm dangling off the table as his forehead wrinkled with effort at placing a certain memory. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you used to date that girl who worked at the university library? I think her name was… shit—” he snapped his fingers a few times, bit down hard on his rosy lip while his dark brow furrowed, “—Jeanie? I believe that’s it. She always wore a little pin on her pullovers. Didn’t really talk much. At least not to me. She was shy but seemed sweet.”

For a second, Wonwoo thought he misheard Seungcheol—that the music from the speaker system was blaring much too loud and he somehow misinterpreted a word or sentence. He even dug into his ear for a second, sat up in his chair instead of casually leaning backward.

“What?”

Wonwoo hadn’t even realized he’d dropped his Korean.

“Oh, I was asking about that girl you used to date. It was Jeanie, right? She worked at the university library.” When Wonwoo kept staring at him without so much as a sound, blink, or even a tiny twitch, Seungcheol waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Fuck, my bad. I’m probably confusing you with someone else.”

“No... you’re not.”

It had felt like a gunshot—realizing the specific pronunciation and shaping of Seungcheol’s lips hadn’t been misinterpreted at all. He was in fact saying what Wonwoo dreaded, feared, like the ghost stories from his childhood that his brother would utter through a white, dying flashlight until Wonwoo uncontrollably wept. Like the last step at his parents’ house he used to constantly miss, his heart practically jamming into his throat each and every time. It was that slow, nauseating accumulation of anxiety in his stomach, coming to buzz and rumble akin to a beehive. It was all those stupid mistakes.

Jeanie. To hear her name in another person’s mouth was almost sickening. To think about her again was pure heartache.

“That’s what I figured,” Seungcheol said. “She was nice, but I don’t think she came back in the fall… I don’t want to assume anything. Just a memory.” He reeled back on the topic as Wonwoo sat adjacent to him, paler than an alabaster pearl.

“Yeah…” he managed to croak out, feeling a rasp develop somewhere deep in his throat, “we’re not together anymore.”

“Hey, it is what it is,” Seungcheol affirmed, putting on a sincere smile that Wonwoo found a pinch of solace in. “We don’t have to fuckin’ mull over it or anything. All that shit’s in the past, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. You’re here now, amongst friends, I hope.”

Wonwoo swallowed, thinking about what Seungcheol said.

He then shifted his head toward the billiard ball table. Vernon was now involved in a very passionate conversation with Mingyu that Wonwoo was unable to hear from his distance. The two boys were bouncing back and forth, animated in their hand motions and expressions, meanwhile you and Princess were passing the most subtly judgmental looks between each other. For a moment, Wonwoo’s gaze caught your own, to which you shot him an innocuous eye roll paired with a small but tenderly growing smile. That thick uneasiness in his chest pulled back like a receding ocean tide and Wonwoo knew he was okay again.

Seungcheol took note of the glance, and he grinned.

“It seems you’re pretty close with Her.”

Turning his attention back to Seungcheol, Wonwoo nodded.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. She’s… um…”

“Hard to describe, isn’t she?” Seungcheol answered for him, now observing the scene at the billiard ball table as well.

Wonwoo almost hesitated asking his next question, but before his brain could make much sense of it, he was already speaking.

“Does Mingyu always do that?”

Seungcheol chuckled, “do what?”

“He’s on her like a fucking sticker.”

Undoubtedly, his heart sank in at the predictable answer.

“Yeah, Gyu’s always got his eye on her. I understand where he’s coming from. She attracts a lot of attention. He straight up socked this dude in the face last year for hitting on her. I mean, to be fair, he was drunk and Her can tend to be a little… well, she likes to push his buttons. It was high tension all night. Bound to explode.”

Remembering his meal at Solar Pop with Vernon a few weeks ago, Wonwoo knew how anxious his friend had been at the thought of getting ungracefully decked in the face by Mingyu’s knuckles. While it never happened—and Wonwoo was certain then that it wouldn’t—he would hate to be on the receiving end of whatever power Mingyu did pack behind a serious punch. Wonwoo despised fighting and conflict. There was often a cutting, wolfish nature wading about Mingyu’s dark gold eyes that quite frankly petrified him enough.

Considering how fearful Vernon had seemed, Wonwoo was surprised the boy was even talking with Mingyu so freely. But that forgiving, never-take-anything-too-seriously gene was just embedded straight into Vernon’s core. He could get along with anybody.

“Hm,” was all Wonwoo hummed in response.

Since he had been laser-focused analyzing the cordial, humorous conversation between Vernon and Mingyu, he failed to note that Princess had joined her boyfriend at the table. Upon turning his head out of worry he might be caught staring, Wonwoo finally saw the beautiful girl leaning against Seungcheol’s back from behind; her arms draped comfortably around his neck and her cheek pressed to his midnight black hair. Wonwoo flashed an awkward half-smile.

“You guys getting to know each other?” She asked.

Seungcheol exchanged an agreeing glance with Wonwoo.

“Mmhm. We’re basically two peas in a pod now,” the boy proceeded to joke while Princess grinned down at him, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool. One smart cookie, y’know?”

“Wow. Smarter than you, yeah?” She laughed, now straightening up and resting just a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, can’t be a winner in everything.”

“Oh. Maybe you can’t.”

“Shit—watch yourself, missy.”

Seungcheol quickly twisted around in his chair, managing to catch Princess by the waist and playfully wrestle her onto his lap. She hardly fought in retaliation against him, a huge, warm smile glowing from her face as she let herself get wrapped in his squeezing arms.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw up. It’s not that he was some spiteful, self-loathing recluse who couldn’t stand seeing others in healthy relationships—it wasn’t that at all. What he despised was the loneliness it reflected unto himself, and the deeply unsettling thought that he was just too damaged, insecure, and unlovable to ever truly warrant the pure trust of another. He feared he could never bring his inner self to fruitfully open in such vulnerable ways.

“Hey, Wonwoo. I just noticed your cup’s empty.”

When he connected with the earnest gaze of Princess, he realized she was pointing at the red cup left untouched by his elbow.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Do you want a beer? Or a chaser?” She offered in a polite tone as Seungcheol gently moved her long braids aside to drape over her far shoulder. “We have lots of stuff in the fridge over there.”

He bit into his lip, thinking.

“Doesn’t have to be a drink,” Seungcheol said, shrugging. “If you smoke, I’ve got some stuff already crushed up. Uh, I’ve got a bong around here somewhere. I think it’s on the shelf. Rolling papers, too. Don’t know how you prefer to smoke it.”

“Papers, usually,” Wonwoo answered.

“Cool. I’ve got that.”

With two soft, careful hands gliding up her waist, Seungcheol sweetly urged Princess to her feet and then pitched an announcement that anyone interested in smoking could come to the table.

Princess swiped the blue bong from Seungcheol’s shelf.

“I’m going for a bowl,” she said, clicking her tongue.

“Ou, me too!” Clara chirped, using Bells’ arm to help shove herself off the sofa, ignoring the way her friend whined.

“I’ll come sit with you guys,” Princess added, “just make a little room. And try not to throw up on me if you can help it.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of being accompanied at the table, with Vernon dragging out the chair to his left while Mingyu occupied the seat across from him. He watched the boy’s arm stretch out to accommodate you onto his lap, and Wonwoo assumed the hand he couldn’t see was groping your thigh underneath the table. In the pit of his stomach, Wonwoo knew what that slimy, bitter feeling was, though he refused to acknowledge it—he wouldn’t even look at you.

Seungcheol tossed a ziplock bag filled with weed onto the table and spread out an array of thin, dull, white rectangular papers.

Immediately, Vernon was tugging on Wonwoo’s sleeve.

“Can you roll mine, dude?”

“Hm?” Mingyu grunted, seeming amused. “You’re asking Wonwoo to roll your joint? You're a fucking drug dealer.”

“I’ve never met anyone who can roll as good as him,” his friend complimented, leaning back in the wooden chair and firmly shaking Wonwoo’s shoulder. “If he’s in the room, I’m gettin’ him to roll. He’s got nice, talented, dexterous fingers. Isn’t that right?”

Reaching for a translucent paper and smoothing out the crinkles, a suspect arch made its way to Wonwoo’s brow, meanwhile the tips of his ears burned with all the eyeballs examining his every fucking move. Wonwoo opened the baggie, beginning to shake out the pre-grinded bud as he held the paper in a curled shape.

“Please don’t talk about my fingers like that,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses. “Check that. You want a little more or less?”

“Nah, leave it at that,” Vernon answered.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Seungcheol then crossed his arms, smirking. “I wanna see it when you’re done rolling.”

“Me too,” Mingyu agreed, staring Wonwoo down like a hawk.

“Great. Why don’t we pass the joint around the table when he’s done with it, and we can all grade it. How fun,” you mumbled sarcastically, slumping forward and resting your chin against a palm.

“You gonna smoke or not, sweetheart?” Mingyu asked.

“I don’t know yet…”

Wonwoo knew you were staring at him while he fiddled with removing a crease in the partially rolled paper, because there was an itch crawling along him, like a sunburn, but not quite. Though, he opted to continue focusing on the joint, even with your eyes breathing him in from across the table, craving his acknowledgement.

“Lick there,” he instructed, holding the paper for Vernon.

From the couch, Wonwoo heard a bubbly laugh. It was Bells, her legs kicked up onto Princess’ lap without a care in the world while Princess sparked a lighter to help Clara ignite the sapphire bowl.

“Wonwoo, if you make one for me, can you lick it?”

He simply ignored her while carefully tucking at the joint.

Wonwoo turned to Vernon again. “Lick.”

After some finely tuned adjustments that required his utmost focus, Wonwoo was at last satisfied with the roll, then handing the joint off to Vernon for him to further pack and twist up. Once his friend finished the job, he passed the joint back to Wonwoo, who further gave it down to Seungcheol. The boy glanced over it closely.

“Damn… that’s pretty fuckin’ good, can’t lie.”

“Let me see," Mingyu practically demanded, granting Seungcheol the slimmest opportunity to even pass the joint along.

He’d snatched it up and settled back in his seat—nearly sliding you straight off his lap in the process—squinting to find some stupid imperfection or mistake he could point out, though, there was nothing. Without a word, he passed the smoke to Vernon.

“See? Told ‘ya. Glasses never fails me.”

“If you don’t mind—” Seungcheol rubbed at his bottom lip, staring at Wonwoo with a quirked eyebrow, “—could I get one?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Mingyu won’t say it but you should roll one for him, too.”

As Wonwoo pulled another paper toward him, he managed to look at you, and the little spark that jumped into your pretty eye. He smiled because you were smiling, and that always made him feel so inexplicably warm inside, like the soft melting of browned caramel.

“I can do that,” he said, to which Mingyu nodded his head.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll roll one for you, too, Her. I mean, if you want it.”

“Okay. That’s sweet. Maybe later.”

You smiled at him again.

He smiled back.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how it happened or who initially decided the idea, but someone had suggested poker, and now the entire table was cleared off with the exception of Seungcheol’s playing cards and the multi-coloured chip stacks. They decided on classic Texas Hold’em because everyone who’d decided to join was most familiar with the style, though Wonwoo cared to dabble more in Blackjack as there was a mathematical basis to it that scratched a satisfying itch in his brain. Nonetheless, he was fairly good at Texas Hold’em, too.

Vernon hated playing with him, and he made that extremely apparent through his moaning while Princess shuffled the card deck. There was a decent number of people playing—only you, Clara, and Bells chose to sit on the sidelines and observe. Wonwoo had wanted you to play, but you kept declining, even without a concrete reason.

“Okay, everyone’s familiar with the rules, right?” Princess asked for clarification, at first burning the top card off the deck. “I’ll play dealer first round. That makes Seungcheol the small blind and Wonwoo the big blind. N'remember, you guys signed up for this, so if you can't afford to blow some money then you better be good.”

Everyone collectively agreed, and Princess began dealing the cards to all contenders until there was two before each person. Wonwoo wasn't exactly in the best position to be owing people cash, but he was a pretty solid player in his experience, though he was most comfortable going against Vernon and Seokmin. They had done a few poker nights at the random houses Vernon always claimed he was looking after for a friend. He had no idea what Seungcheol or Mingyu would be like as players. It did scare him a little.

Seungcheol made his move first—just a dollar, the equivalent of a single white-coloured chip. Wonwoo had to double the bet, so he moved out two white chips instead. Vernon decided to raise the amount to four chips, and Seokmin called the bet, matching it. Mingyu went next, his figure appearing foggy from across the table as the air became increasingly tinged with ruffles of smoke.

He called.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo both called at their turns, and thus, the first round of betting had ended. Everyone pushed forward their chips for Princess to collect, creating their small, measly looking pot.

Wonwoo kept the joint poised between his pointer and middle finger as he slyly gleaned the suit and ranks of his hand, keeping both cards flush against the table, just lifting their corners.

It didn’t seem like much and would probably result in little reward—an eight of clovers and a three of spades—but Wonwoo wasn’t looking to show out in the very first game, anyway.

He glanced toward the couch, where you were squished almost shoulder to shoulder against Clara and Bells. The bong was sat in your lap as you leaned down over the mouthpiece and sparked at the cannabis packed into the bowl. Bells curled at her long, black hair, heels dug into the edge of the coffee table, eyes glazed as pastries.

“I didn’t get anything from that,” she mumbled.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t know how to play,” Princess chuckled, again burning another card off the deck before setting down three more at the centre of the table, creating the flop.

Nine of diamonds, seven of hearts, and six of clovers.

Everyone took a minute to examine the flop, comparing it with the cards they had stowed close to their chests. Wonwoo, however, didn’t even bother comparing, as he already knew his move.

“Hm…” Seungcheol paused, rubbing at his chin and sucking in his bottom lip. “I think I’ll check.” He then leaned back, placing forth no bet at all, and instead looked to Wonwoo for his decision.

“Fold.”

“Ha!” Vernon practically choked beside him, the joint almost spat from his mouth, and Wonwoo felt the boy’s hand push in a teasing pressure at his shoulder. “You’re such a piece of shit, man.”

“Why is he a piece of shit?” Bells wondered.

“Just, uh—ah, never mind,” Vernon capitulated, still somewhat chuckling under his breath as Wonwoo smiled at him. “I’m gonna bet. I’ll put out some of these.” He slid out the required chips, forest-green in colour, each valued at twenty-five dollars.

Nibbling on his fingertip, Seokmin shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m folding.”

Princess smiled. “No, it’s okay! Mingyu next.”

“Hm, call,” he responded, matching Vernon's dare.

The attention returned to Seungcheol, who was rooted in his indecisiveness, pressed fingers masking half his face as he stared down at the three community cards, brow furrowed with thought.

Eventually, he shrugged. “Fuck it. I’m folding too.”

“Not feeling lucky, babe?” Princess grinned, collecting the bets placed by Vernon and Mingyu to the growing pot.

“I’m treading cautiously, let’s just say that.” He smirked.

After revealing the fourth community card, another round ensued between Vernon and Mingyu. Wonwoo relaxed back into his seat, an analyzing eye shifting from his tattooed, face-pierced friend to the stoic and collected Mingyu who was awaiting Vernon’s turn.

Wonwoo held his bottom lip between sharp teeth, then staring down at his lap in an attempt to smother that prying, wide smile, knowing the exact move his friend would make. It was Vernon, after all. And he always played big, even when he shouldn’t.

“Bet. Here you go.”

More of those green chips were moved out.

Mingyu huffed, tongue curling against his pronounced canine. “I don’t believe you, dude.”

Vernon cackled, propping up his knee and setting the heel of his sneaker onto the chair. He exhaled a smooth hit from his joint.

“Okay. Raise, then.”

Seungcheol chuckled, sharing a laugh with Seokmin who was sipping at a beer bottle from across the table.

“Fine—have it your way.”

"I’ll call.”

“Not feeling so confident, yeah?” Mingyu proceeded to laugh, eyeing Vernon closely with a testing, intrigued expression.

“I’ll let the showdown speak for itself,” Vernon pitted back.

Again, Princess collected their chips and rid the deck of its top card, and then placed down the fifth and final community card, establishing the river and the arrangement from which Vernon and Mingyu would need to create the most powerful hand. Each boy at last turned over their deck, and it was clear cut who was the winner.

“Mingyu’s got a full house,” Princess explained, standing up and leaning forward to swivel the card combination into place. “Take these three from the river, plus his nine of hearts and seven of clovers—that’s a three of a kind and a pair. Vernon can at most make a straight.” She then sat back down, pushing the entire pot to Mingyu.

“Did you win, baby?” After remaining silent for the entire game, you had finally perked up from the couch, admittedly buzzed.

Brushing back his hair, he smirked. “I won. Mr. Drug Dealer owes me about three-hundred dollars. But I guess you've just got that laying around somewhere? Stuffed up your pillow case?”

Vernon laughed, then took a deep, long drag from his joint. "If you're not sleepin' against a pillow case full of cash, I'm happy to officially give you the opportunity. Takes away all your stress."

“Congratulations,” you flashed a hazy smile at your boyfriend, courtesy of the smoke wafting through the air, like you were caught in a reverie, “I'm glad all those Sundays were well spent.”

“Okay, we’ll move down now,” Princess announced, reorganizing the cards into a deck. “Seungcheol’s the dealer, Wonwoo is the small blind, and Vernon’s the big blind this time.”

They continued to play until everyone at the table had a chance at being the blinds and the dealer. Wonwoo folded every round. He knew it might've been ignorant and distrustful, but to him, it was the perfect opportunity to see inside everyone's bag of tricks.

He’d developed a fairly foolproof inkling toward their tactics and gives. Seokmin was by far the easiest player to make fold, though Wonwoo was already well aware—he would only hold his ground if there was confidence in his hand, but even then, anyone else calling Seokmin’s bet always engendered him to squirm. And while Vernon was still a more seasoned player by comparison, his brashness and tentative nature toward folding was often his downfall.

Seungcheol and Princess were a bit harder to read.

They were alike in their more cautious, calculating style of play, and Princess clearly had experience with orchestrating poker matches. Seungcheol, however, would routinely make the same mistake that Wonwoo had noticed straight away—touching or covering his face. When he was most confident, his fingers would sit more around his chin, or jaw, and when he was dealt a shitty hand with little to no promise of creating something notable from the community cards, those fingers etched further toward his lips.

You had still refused to join the match when offered by Princess, though you were paying greater attention to the game—even stopping by to hover with interest at Mingyu’s shoulder.

Princess was back to being the dealer.

Seungcheol was again the small blind. “I’ll put up twenty.”

Wonwoo grabbed two stacks of his chips and slid them outward to double the boy’s forced bet. “Forty.”

Everyone called.

Since the pot had gone unraised, Wonwoo decided to push forth more of his chips, adding on another twenty in small stacks. “Raise.”

The eagerness to increase the bet had drained. Again, all parties at the table simply called, and Wonwoo was feeling quite confident.

“Flop time,” Princess said with a smile, neatly setting out three cards at the table’s centre for everyone to glean.

Seungcheol checked. So did Wonwoo.

“Raise.” Vernon was persistent in his choice.

Everyone matched the increased bet, now sitting at eighty chips, until it fell upon Wonwoo’s turn. Expectant eyes were drilling holes into him like he was plywood at a construction site. Under normal circumstances, Wonwoo would abhor it more than anything else, but he was otherwise relaxed and in tune with his decisions as the joint smoke warmly fluttered around him. Coughing out a tickle from his throat, he grabbed another stack of his chips.

“It’s at eighty, so I’ll push to a hundred.”

“Cunt,” Vernon coughed, though he matched the raise without so much as a leg shake or a bite at his glinting lip ring.

“Fold,” Seokmin sighed, forfeiting his hand to Princess.

Wonwoo looked across the table, watching your fingertips squeeze into Mingyu’s thick shoulders as he pondered his choice.

“Call.” He eventually decided with a shrug.

Seungcheol agreed.

By the fifth community card, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Vernon were still engaged in the match. From his analysis, Wonwoo was sure he would take the pot. Seungcheol was rubbing just below his lip using a slow thumb—there was uncertainty and doubt in the gesture. Vernon’s willingness to raise was merely intended to pressure out the others, but it hadn’t worked, and his quietness suggested there might be regret, and still, confidence, that he could somehow get away with it. Finally, Wonwoo saw Mingyu.

He'd played a handful of poker—specifically Texas Hold’em—with Mingyu when they had taken that probability elective last year.

The thing was, Mingyu had this gold-plated guise of believing his casual, unbothered demeanour couldn’t be disrupted under any circumstance—that no one would catch that transient slip of credence in those molten brown eyes or note the way he cracked the wood in the chair from fidgeting when the silence was too heavy and all-encompassing. But Wonwoo would notice. He could see it clearer than glass. The more Mingyu disguised it, the easier it poured out.

“Alright, showdown. Let’s see your hands.”

Everyone flipped their cards.

A moment of silence ensued, and then—

“Fuck you, Wonwoo,” Vernon grunted, jabbing his side.

Both him and Seungcheol could make a straight flush, but since the rank of Wonwoo’s cards were higher, he took the win.

Not to mention the rather large, admirable pot. He was pretty pleased to see those colourful bills being forked out from the losers' wallets. It truly did pay off to play with rich people, and Mingyu and Seungcheol's pockets seemed endless.

By Wonwoo's third joint of the night, he’d won more rounds than anyone sitting at the table. Vernon had cursed at him a fair amount, Seokmin hardly wanted to play anymore amongst the serious tycoons that surrounded him, and wallets were running drier than any desert. The effects of all that smoke wafting through the air and meddling with his senses was starting to take effect.

He could potentially last another round before his most concrete thinking would get whittled down to thoughtless guesses.

Before the final round had started, Wonwoo glanced down at his phone to check the time. Holy shit—one in the morning. He’d been at the party for almost three fucking hours and he was miraculously still functioning and somehow not crawling with the desperation to leave. You were seated back at the couch, head leaning on Clara’s shoulder as you waited, misty-eyed, for the final game to start. Wonwoo decided to text you even though you were sitting no less than five feet away.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Play the final round.

He watched as you picked up the phone from your lap to read the text message, and then, you were squinting at him in judgement.

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: um no

His thumbs fired back a response.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Why?

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: bc I don’t want to

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: You don’t know how to play?

[ Her | 1:03 am ]: ik how to play

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: So play.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Take Seokmin’s place.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Please? Should I beg for it?

Your scoff could be heard from the couch, and Wonwoo had to remind himself to steam out the smile twitching on his lips.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: is it really that important to u?

[ Wonwoo | 1:04 am ]: Yes.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: fine

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: just don’t come crying to me when u lose

Feeling especially triumphant that he was able to convince you, Wonwoo observed with a pleased smirk your quest to Seokmin’s place at the table, where you tapped his shoulder and told him to take five. The boy didn’t need to be told twice, allowing you his seat almost gratefully.

“Awe, you’re not gonna stay for the finale?” Princess asked in a crooning voice while shuffling the card deck between her hands.

Seokmin grabbed his skinny bottle of beer off the table and shook his head, his face glowing and his eyes beginning to hood.

“I’ve learned my lesson about this game: I’m not good at it, I don’t have the money, and that I should never play with Wonwoo.”

“Or me?” Vernon gestured, turning out a palm expectantly.

“Uh, right. And Vernon.”

Picking a fluff from Seokmin’s shirt and flicking it into the air, you merely shrugged, flashing him a comforting smile.

“Y’know, it’s a good thing you suck,” you said, then leaning back in the chair and folding your arms. “It means you’re a bad liar.”

“Nice to play with you, alright?” Seungcheol added, grabbing onto the boy’s hand and giving it a firm clasp as he walked by.

“Thanks. I think I’ll go back downstairs and see if I can find more people I know. Enjoy the game, guys! Tell me who wins!”

“Probably me,” you answered, waving him goodbye.

“Hm, I didn’t think you’d play at all,” Mingyu remarked while Princess began sorting out cards to everyone, and Wonwoo noted the boy's leg jostling underneath the table. “Feeling confident, are you?”

Poking out your tongue playfully at Mingyu, you smiled. “Yes. Don’t even think about trying to riddle me. I’ll see right through it.”

The game started out as usual. Seungcheol and Wonwoo offered the blind bets, and everyone at the table called. No one seemed keen to fold, even when Princess revealed the flop and his heart smacked in another resounding thump. An eight of spades, a king of spades, and an eight of clovers. Wonwoo then slipped his gaze around the table, particularly studying you, who hadn’t stopped grinning since the game started. Of course you would be grinning. There was nothing very coy or subtle about you upon any first glance.

Wonwoo discreetly lifted the corners to his playing cards. He caught the wind in his chest. There was an ace of spades, his very first all night, paired with a nine of spades. It took all his self-control to remain muted on the outside and let his joint continue burning.

At the fourth community card, the pressure was starting to seep through, and the intimidating, stacked size of the pot collected before Princess was only making the fold especially tempting.

Every time it seemed like a call was in order, someone would raise, and the bets kept climbing until the glass ceiling was at last hit.

Seungcheol brushed antsy hands down the back of his head, scattering his hair and puffing out his chest in a large, accepting sigh.

“I’ve gotta fold. There’s no way.”

Balancing a joint at the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo grabbed another stack from his chips and slid it outward, knowing there was little to no chance he would lose the round.

“Raise,” he announced, exhaling a deep breath.

“Oh my God,” Vernon mumbled into his palm, taking a moment to tap his fingers against the wood, “… I have to fold. Yeah, I’ve gotta. A smart man like myself knows when to quit. You got me. Fucker.”

Unphased by the hopeless, daunting feeling that swelled around the table, you merely crossed a leg and dared to not only match, but raise the amount of chips that Wonwoo had audaciously put forth. Mingyu was slumped in his chair with a musing expression, eyes stung red and the thick fronds of his hair messily strewn about from how often his fingers dug through them. He eventually cleared his throat from the hot prickle and shook his head in conviction.

“No, you’re lying. I don’t believe it.”

But you just smirked and fluttered your lashes.

“What’s your move then, babe?”

“I’ll check.” Mingyu shrugged, agitated by his own response.

And to that, Wonwoo poured more gasoline on the fire.

“Raise.”

“There is no fuckin’ way your cards are that good,” Vernon grumbled between half-sealed lips, attempting to hold the joint still with his mouth while he sparked the end using his lighter.

“I’m raising your raise,” you challenged, “one-hundred.”

As his hand fell onto the table with a loud rattle, Vernon started to cackle. “There’s no way your cards are that good, either.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lilted.

“Mingyu?” Seungcheol hummed to get the boy’s attention. “It’s your move, man. What’re you gonna do?”

Wonwoo could see it scribbled all over Mingyu’s face. He didn’t want to get caught in the intense bidding flare between you, because he obviously knew his cards weren’t high enough rank to claim the pot at showdown. Wonwoo wasn’t planning to fold because the community cards were aligned in his favour. That steely, brash façade of the golden boy across from him was wearing increasingly thinner and Mingyu had seemed to realize it himself. After an almost agonizing silence, he pushed his cards away from him, forfeiting.

“Yeah, I can’t do it. Fuck you guys.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, sweetheart. That’s too bad, ” you giggled, leaning over to sling an arm around his shoulders and stipple his cheek in small kisses that Mingyu wriggled from.

“Alright, just fuckin’ get to the showdown already,” he tutted.

Wonwoo couldn’t have been happier that Mingyu removed himself from the game. It was solely between him and you, now.

“You raised to one-hundred?” He asked for clarification.

Nodding your head, you agreed. “Yes. One-hundred.”

The thing was, Wonwoo knew he was going to win. Even without Princess revealing the final community card, there was an opportunity for him to make a straight flush. Unless an unprecedented stroke of luck had fallen into your own hand and you could somehow make a royal flush, the game was already decided.

Unless Wonwoo folded.

“I’ll raise,” he answered, wanting to test your limits.

“Jesus, this is gonna take all fuckin’ night, isn’t it?” Vernon proceeded to groan while exercising his stiff shoulder.

You smiled, and a glint illuminated in your eyes like a fallen star the size of a perfect sand grain.

 “Should I make it more interesting?”

Uncrossing your leg, you sat up straight, pressing tight against the table as you braced an arm behind your remaining chips and shoved them forward slowly, right into the table’s centre. Everyone began to mumble excitedly at the brazen act, though Wonwoo could only focus on you and that mischievous but beautiful curve to your lips, ignoring everything else in the room.

“All in.”

He felt a fist lightly strike his chest.

“Glasses! You’ve gotta match that!”

Seungcheol was rubbing along his chin, grinning.

“That’s gonna make a huge pot… lotta money…”

“He’s been making moves all game,” Princess laughed. “Not that I’m pressuring you, Wonwoo. I mean, it’s your call.”

Mingyu shook his head. “She’s so bluffing.”

“Hush up so he can think!” Vernon cackled.

There was so much sound and noise and voices. But, through the cacophony and haze of all those distractions, Wonwoo could see into you so clearly it was like you had become magically transparent. In turn, you were staring at him, awaiting his response, and he felt those sharp eyes shearing at his fabricated thoughts, picking them all apart into little corners and strips and threads. It was impossibly subtle, and only Wonwoo caught it—your head just beginning to shake in disagreement.

However, Wonwoo had already made his decision.

“I’m folding.”

Vernon’s fists struck down on the table like a thunderous clap, and the tension nailed into the atmosphere suddenly burst.

Before Wonwoo could even make sense of the exploding conversation, his cards were pulled away from him by Princess. She flipped over both yours and his hand.

“Wonwoo, you stupid fuck!” Vernon practically leapt from his chair, wriggling at the boy’s shoulder. “That’s a straight fl—oh my god! I’m actually so—you could have easily won that!”

“Okay, okay. She’s got a straight flush, too!” Princess called, pointing down at your cards. “But Wonwoo’s rank is higher.”

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Mingyu said, pushing back in his chair and stretching out his muscular arms. “He folded. Her wins.”

Seungcheol sifted through the colourful chips.

“Looks like he owes you about five-hundred bucks.”

Continuing to smile at you, Wonwoo picked the joint back between his lips, borrowing Vernon’s lighter to fizzle the end and keep the paper burning. Your arms were crossed, hardly pleased.

“Looks like I do.” Wonwoo accepted through a wispy exhale of smoke, rolling out his shoulders and further quirking his lips.

After the final poker match, everyone decided to disseminate and take about half an hour to excuse themselves. Mingyu went back downstairs with Seungcheol so they could keep an eye on the general rowdiness, making sure people hadn’t started rioting or smashing vases, swinging from chandeliers and drinking questionable concoctions out of high-heeled boots.

Vernon wandered off in search for a washroom since Princess had occupied the nearest one down the staircase, at first helping nurse Clara through her incoming bout of alcohol sickness, with Bells joining them a few minutes afterward when that last sip decided to lurch back up her throat.

Only you and Wonwoo remained in the attic.

He was sat widespread at the sofa, slumped down, eyes closed, attempting to appreciate the high that could be attributed to the third joint he was now halfway through smoking. But then he felt the cushion beside him dip, and there was a pinch sinking rather harshly into the flesh on his hand that made his eyes fling back open.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wonwoo moaned, rubbing over the small, crescent shaped branding dug by your fingernail.

Settling down notably close to Wonwoo, your knee prodded into his thigh while your one leg folded over the other. That scowl had yet to be ironed out from your countenance, and he could only suspect you were about to come down hard in regards to his stunt.

“Boo hoo. You’re such a lying liar who lies.”

Wonwoo stretched out a hand to his face, massaging slow against his temples while he sighed, “lying’s part of the game...”

“No—” the retort shot out with an electrifying quickness, “—not your type of lying. Your double-crossed lying. You’re a fraud.”

“A fraud?” He echoed, letting the hand fall into his lap. “Okay, that’s a bit accusatory. I wouldn’t call what I did fraudulent.”

Shifting his elbow off the arm of the couch, the joint was poised back at his lips, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but chuckle at your glaring, stiff face. He swiftly blew out his hit, smirking hard.

“I hate you for what you did. I mean, you should have gone all in and matched me. But, no! You took the wuss route and made me look stupid! It taints everything. And you better wipe away that jovial curl in your lip before I sock it off your face and steal your cig.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you, perking an eyebrow.

“How’d you know my cards were better?”

At first, the question visibly stumped you. There was a lag in your response—an open mouth but not a single word to follow.

Then, it seemed as though you breathed out all your rage.

“Don’t ask such a dumb question,” sounded your calm sigh, with a leg bobbing up and down, “you made it so obvious.”

“I did? Hm.”

“Yeah…I know your tactic. You make everyone feel and nice and comfortable playing with you. Then, you totally flip the script and pull out the rug.” Your shoulder was digging into his and you two were now squished together so closely that he could feel your radiating warmth and smell the fragrance in your hair. “For someone who’s so damn quiet, your eyes are like a book. They just swim and trash with everything you’re thinking. So, don’t think you’re all that.”

Wonwoo switched the joint to his other hand, instead leaning against his fist and peering aside at you who seemed so certain of everything. Admittedly, he’d never heard that before, and if he weren’t beyond drowned in the watery red glowing behind his hooded gaze, your spiel would have downright terrified him.

It wasn’t that you just knew Wonwoo, it was that you were beginning to understand him and the way his mind operated.

No—if he were sober, that thought would obliterate him.

He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m all that.”

“Blah, blah. Y’know, the one thing about you that bothers me—you’re actually not a loser. People like you Wonwoo. People are impressed by you. They want to know you. And you just keep them at bay with your stinging hot fireplace poker, jabbing at them in case they get too close. I see it. And—I don’t know, maybe you’re right to keep all those people out. Maybe it gives you more control.”

Wonwoo dragged a hand along his face, laughing. “I think I’m a little too high to be having that conversation with you.”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to talk about it as usual. I don't suppose you've got five-hundred big ones in your wallet, do you?”

He shot you an obvious glance while chuckling, "absolutely fucking not. But sit tight, though. I can get it to you somehow."

Your head shook. "I don't care about the money."

He stared down at the joint aglow in his hand.

And then he was holding it out in front of you.

“Hit?”

You hesitated, but ultimately grabbed it, positioning the joint between your index and middle finger akin to a cigarette. Wonwoo watched intently at the soft inhale you breathed in, and the gradual relaxing of your chest as the smoke was gently puffed outward.

“Not so tough, is it?” He hummed in his deep, velvet-smooth voice, to which you squinted at him and scrunched your nose.

“I just studied how you did it, that’s all.”

Your knee was now pressed atop his lap. Wonwoo felt that momentary, passionate itch to settle his palm flat against your warm skin—ignore all boundaries that existed between you as well as their scalding consequences just for the sake of sweetly touching you, the one visible hope in his life. Still, Wonwoo was too afraid. As much as he wanted all your light and love to himself, it could never be true.

“We’re doing lines next,” you said, “… are you gonna do it?”

“Oh, no.” Wonwoo shook his head. “I tried it once and it went fucking terribly. I’m not gonna bother messing with it again.”

You looked relieved.

“That’s good. It’s so weird for me. Like, when it first enters my system, everything feels strange and I get this spinning, nauseating sensation. But it always passes. And then I let everything go.”

Wonwoo quirked at you a barely-there smile.

“I know it’s obvious—just be careful, alright?”

You puffed out another hit.

“I will.”

It was a bit strange—to just stand there, off to the side, as an observer of someone who was lining up a perfect streak of white powder using their credit card. And yet, that’s what Wonwoo had found himself doing, staring without much shame as you, Mingyu, Vernon, and Seungcheol began pressing shut one nostril and inhaling the cocaine through the other. Wonwoo never bothered to ask Vernon how he acquired the coke, or what he paid for it, or how he even knew someone that could baggie it up for him so nicely—Wonwoo didn’t ask anything of the sort because he’d rather avoid prison.

Though, that might be inevitable in the bigger picture. His closest friend was a drug dealer. By nature, he was already associated.

Princess had walked over to him, dropping off some bottled water from the fridge that he immediately uncapped and gulped down. It seemed his efforts to mend that broken circadian rhythm of his had done some actual good, because Wonwoo was feeling the tire spread over his eyes and the energy deplete from his body like an inflatable with an air leak. You had snorted the coke almost a little too naturally. He remembered an old conversation with Vernon—she takes that shit like it’s pixie dust—and he supposed it made sense.

He helped Princess shove the window open again to let some freshness back into the warm attic space. She spent a moment or so staring down at the driveway, watching the people come and go.

“How are Bells and Clara?” Wonwoo asked.

She glanced at him, though her brown eyes eventually wandered back to the ongoing buzz outside and below.

“Clara is totalled,” Princess sighed. “She’s lying down in one of the spare bedrooms. A friend is looking after her. Bells on the other hand...” she glimpsed over her shoulder, scanning the room, “I’m not sure where she went. I thought she came back upstairs, but it’s likely she wandered down to the living room. That girl is all gas, no breaks. Throws up one second, back to sloshing the next.”

Wonwoo swallowed more of his cold water.

“I take it Seungcheol owes you a dinner?”

“Ha—yeah, he owes it to me big time,” she muttered, at last turning her back to the breeze. “Good thing I didn’t let him drink that fucking whiskey. Holy shit. It would be worse than Clara.”

“Hm…” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly wondering aloud as he watched you cough into your fist at the table while Mingyu rubbed his nose and patted your cheek. “He doesn’t do it all the time, though?”

Princess folded her arms and smiled.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She?”

“Her.”

“Oh. I was asking—”

“I know what you were asking. You don’t have to hide it.”

Wonwoo thought about further countering Princess’ assumption, but the way she was watching him—head knowingly tilted with that smitten crook so rightfully framed on her glossed, shiny lips—he knew it would be futile to even try. He felt relief at the confirmation, too. As long as you were careful. Really fucking careful.

“Sorry,” he answered, shrugging.

“Nah, apology not needed.” Princess shook her head.

The girl proceeded to look down at her feet, remaining silent and pensive—toying with the idea of saying something important but ultimately weighing its consequence before involving Wonwoo.

He was sipping from his water again when Princess at last cleared her throat, then holding the swig between his cheeks.

“Um, I don’t know, exactly, what it is you and Her talk about, or what you write about, or what you two do, ever. Just, uh, whatever it is—and maybe it’s best I don’t know—she’s really… happy. Not that she wasn’t happy before. But… it’s different, y’know? The energy is different. And I see this really, really beautiful light in her that I’ve never seen before. So, yeah. I’m glad you two are friends. And that you listen to her and stick by her and help her with this new craft even when she’s not the most cooperative, or… well… y’know… it’s Her after all. You don’t really know which version you’ll get.”

Wonwoo still hadn’t swallowed. The water was becoming uncomfortably lukewarm in his mouth but he held it there.

Princess dusted off her shirt, smiling again. “Anyway, I’ll go check on Seungcheol. Probably try to find Bells. Ah, later.”

Only when the girl had left him alone at the windowsill did he finally choke down that large sip, bracing through it as though he’d just downed some especially bitter cough syrup. His mind was replaying pieces of Princess’ speech in addition to that appreciative, even admirable look she had been giving him. He didn’t know what to take from it. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. All his emotions were cooking in one big heap at the pit of his gut like a disproportioned stew. Wonwoo rubbed a hand along his face in partial confusion and agony, hearing a giggle from you somewhere across the room, as he attempted to sort everything out.

Wanting to move somewhere a bit quieter, Wonwoo thought he might try his luck with the rooms down the staircase, and hopefully not waltz into anything he so clearly shouldn’t have. Yet, just as his hand ghosted along the wood railing, Wonwoo was suddenly colliding with someone and the rapidly permeating, muddled scent of daisies, cannabis, and fireball was filling his nose.

His water bottle dropped to the floor and rolled to the base of the stairs. Fingers scraped deep into his shirt. He grabbed onto the person’s waist with instinct, helping to steady them.

“Fuck—holy shit. Thanks, Wonwoo.”

But then the realization had metaphorically slapped him.

“My bad. Sorry.”

It was Bells who’d been stumbling up the stairs and plowed straight into his chest. She didn’t seem the most present, either.

“No, no, no. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The last thing he wanted on planet Earth was to get sucked into a conversation with her—not that he had any sort of grudge or concrete reason to dislike the girl—but his head was starting to ache and he craved peace and quiet for just five fucking minutes.

Her fingers were still wound into his shirt, almost holding him there, against the banister of the stairs, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but stare straight into her intensely dilated eyes that studied him like a shark.

“Uh, all good...”

Wonwoo honestly wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and physically set her aside. At the same time, he didn’t think it was the best protocol to act so uncouth with one of your close friends.

“Oh, sorry!” It seemed to dawn on her that she was pinning him against the handrailing. “I just didn’t want to fall.”

She at last loosened her fingers, though Wonwoo noted how she somewhat dragged her hands along his chest in the process of doing so, like that girl had done earlier to Vernon. It was unnecessary, but she was drunk, and Wonwoo thought he could end the conversation quicker if he remained pleasant. Stood at the top of the stairs, Wonwoo smiled at her, knowing how exhausted he was inside.

“I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Bells smiled, swaying her shoulders, “I’ve never felt better.”

“… Are you… sure about that?”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you need water or anything?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Uh, alright, cool. Well, I’m gonna go—”

“Wonwoo, wait.” She latched onto his arm, fast and sharp.

He paused, not so much because of her grip but mostly from shock, as she had suddenly moved in closer and he could now feel her strength squeezing against his bicep. She batted her eyelashes up at him demurely, and there was nothing he stomached but discomfort.

“What are you doing after this?” The girl hummed, lowering her voice and intentionally smoothing it to add a sultry effect.

Dry swallowing, he debated whether or not he should even respond and instead simply peel her unwanted hand off his arm.

“… Going to bed?” He croaked, shifting in his place.

“Would you want to do something with me?” She bit her lip. “My apartment’s in South Elm. Have you ever been there?”

“It’s not a good idea.” Wonwoo was losing his patience.

“Awe, not a good idea? Why’s that?” She giggled, slowly massaging her hand down the length of his bicep and nibbling on her inner cheek. “We can do anything you want at my place… I live alone… so, I’m up for it. Anything at all.”

“Okay, uh, look. I don’t want to be—”

All of a sudden, Bells was ripped from Wonwoo like a sticky bandage, and while he was more than confused at the situation, he was nonetheless relieved. He assumed it was Princess who’d done the deed, and thus Wonwoo was very surprised to learn that it had been you—you, who did not appear happy in the slightest, and his relief was starting to transform into thick concern because it seemed as though you were going to ricochet Bells head off the banister.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You shouted, shoving a belittling hand against Bells' shoulder and tugging her away. “Why are you fucking cornering him like that?!”

“Uh—what? Cornering him? Her, I’m so confused.”

“Confused? About what, Bells? You’re fucking harassing him! Like, why are you in his face and putting your hands on him?!”

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s your fucking problem? I wasn’t in his face; I’m talking to him. Just talking. You’re jumped up again.”

“Jumped up?! You're one to talk!”

Wonwoo at first tried to intervene, mostly out of serious worry for Bells safety, because you were steaming. However, every time he attempted to speak up, his words would drown out in the echo of your squabbling. It didn’t help that you two were both mentally degraded in your own right—all that anger was shooting straight from your chest to your mouth with no thought involved.

“Just leave him alone!” You jabbed a finger at her chest.

Bells slapped your hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, why? Does it make you uncomfortable, having someone in your fucking face, touching you without permission? Does that make you upset, Bells? Hm, wow. So funny you would say that.”

Wonwoo settled a hand at your shoulder, tugging at you once, then twice, wanting to pull you back without being too forceful.

“It’s okay,” he assured, though his heart was pounding and he wished someone else would help or even take note of what was happening, “it’s not a big deal, alright? Nothing worth all this.”

Again, he was completely ignored.

“So, that’s it?” Bells laughed, throwing up her arms. “Only you can talk to him, and look at him, and breathe around him? That’s all you? No one else is allowed to like, have a conversation with him?!”

“You don’t want to have a conversation with him!” Your fists balled up tight as you screamed at her. “You want him to fuck you!”

“Okay, okay—!” Wonwoo jolted with panic when you pushed the drunken girl, immediately coiling his arms around your waist and lurching you backward before a flailing hand could strike Bells’ face.

Bells stumbled for no less than second until she regained her balance and looked to you with the most seething, nettled eyes.

The situation seemed on the precipice of exploding beyond control, with you wriggling and thrashing against his arms, employing a strength he couldn’t have expected amidst your sluggish state. You were shouting at him to stop intervening, though, he knew letting go meant you would most likely beat the girl’s breaks off.

Thankfully, at the nick of time, Mingyu had sprinted across the room, catching Bells' arm just before it lashed out in a strike.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Mingyu grunted while wrestling the smaller, feisty girl away despite all her manic squirming.

Wonwoo almost got nipped by the unbridled swinging of your elbow as he gritted through his teeth, “I wish I knew.”

He did know. However, it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

“Fuck! Just take Her downstairs!” The boy shouted.

Jesus Christ—that was easier said than done. Trying to haul you backward down a staircase as you twisted, kicked, and screamed a very colourful litany of profanities at your friend was the exact nightmare it sounded like. Vernon’s head had suddenly popped over the banister, staring down at you and Wonwoo, his eyes blown wide with pure befuddlement, as though he wasn’t sure if it was real life or a narcotic delusion. Princess had gone to help Mingyu calm down Bells. Seungcheol had joined the commotion, too, though he didn’t come across the most intelligible. His mind was all fog.  

And yet, somehow, Wonwoo managed to ply you away from the stairs and into the corridor with hardly a breath to spare.

—END OF PART III.

[ox-imagines]

Tokyo Debunker as Romance Tropes

Feel free to ask me to write a longer imagine/oneshot for any of these!

Pt. 6 | Mortkranken

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 7

Yuri - Academic Rivals

No one makes your blood boil like Isami Yuri does. He’s your only peer who can match and outdo you, your only peer as dedicated to his work as you are to yours, and he always looks gorgeous doing it. He absolutely infuriates you. He knows he infuriates you, and he enjoys it. That cold, insidious glint in his eyes and his victorious, slightly manic smirk every time he gets under your skin just makes it worse; you hate feeling like you’re losing control of your temper in front of him, giving him more ammo, but you can’t help it when he stares you down like that. The tension between the two of you every time you interact is almost palpable. Then, the end of the semester rolls around and come to find out the two of you have no classes together. Your life and studies can return to normal and you can exist in peace. Except… it’s actually boring. There’s no one to catch any flaws in your work and call you out on it, no one to challenge you to do your best, you’re simply at the top of your classes with no one to threaten that position. It makes it seem a whole lot less worthwhile. You find yourself subconsciously seeking him out, searching for the scheming glitter of his sea-colored eyes, the gleam of his aqua hair, in the hallways and the dining hall and the parking lot. Without him, there’s no motivation to be at the top of your game, without him there’s no point. You don’t end up seeing him around, but one day, he finds you instead. You feel someone grab you from behind, dragging you around a corner, and you turn to find Yuri with his hair a bit tousled and his eyes crazed, but in a different way than usual. Like he’s the bothered one now rather than how you’re used to him enjoying your suffering. He’s agitated in a way you’ve never seen him, backing you against the wall, and while you still felt the usual tension between the two of you, this time it felt different somehow. As if the tension was actually a good thing.

“Everyone here is pitiful. Everyone but you. I can’t even begin to say how much I hate admitting this, but I need you.”

Jiro - Lab Partners

You don’t know Jiro well when you’re partnered in lab. It happens simply by coincidence. Neither of you knew anyone in the class, and you each took a seat at opposite sides of an empty table. No one else sat there, therefore, the two of you got partnered. Jiro isn’t exactly the easiest person to get to know either, letting you know quite bluntly that he feels your questions are too personal (even if it’s just small talk about his interests or hobbies). He’s also a bit off-putting: he’s very tall, and very quiet, and just a bit awkward. Despite that, despite knowing nothing about what he enjoys or is like outside of class, you only grow more curious, and each lab assignment has you feeling a bit closer to him. Then again, you have to be quite physically close to him to dissect a pig fetus together, for example. His arm pressed against yours is surprisingly a bit warmer than you’d expected, and over the scent of formaldehyde you can make out tones of a crisp, subtle cologne on him. He really looks quite nice up close like this, the slope of his nose giving him a pretty profile and his usually tired eyes focused intently on his incisions; his eyelashes were enviously long and dark, too. You swear you feel him staring at you the same way sometimes when you aren’t looking, but you suppose you can’t be sure. One afternoon, the two of you meet in the lab outside of class hours to collect time-sensitive data on some bacteria cultures you were working with. You realize it’s the first time the two of you have been truly alone together, let alone with the only light in the room coming through the windows as the sun begins to sink and from the opened sample fridge throwing an incandescent glow. As he retrieves your samples, the obnoxious fridge lighting seems to cast a pallor over his generally wearied expression, but as he pulls back and closes the door the sun hits the side of his face, dappled through the leaves outside but making him seem to glow, lighting up his crimson eye that it touched and making it gleam as if it were on fire. From the sunlight in your eye and the way he was looking at you, you could guess he was experiencing a similar phenomenon to yours.

“The sun’s in my eye. I’m gonna collect the data and then we should get out of here before it’s dark out. I haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

[vitalverstappen]

Flash Forward - M. Verstappen (part three)

summary: The world of F1 is never easy. Throw in your childhood enemy, a new coworker you can't quite get a read on and a new situationship? You're in for a wild season.

pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader (Ferrari photographer, graffiti artist, childhood enemies), Charles Leclerc x platonic fem!reader, Logan Sargeant x situationship fem!reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, allusions to sex (no smut), brief mentions of Max's childhood, angst, use of y/n

a/n: i cannot believe i'm finally done with this series. taking max and y/n through three F1 seasons was a whirlwind but i'm so happy the entire story is yours. knowing me, i may do small little blurbs with them in the future, as i don't think i'll be able to part with them for very long. also this was written before Logan's ELMS announcement.

word count: 28.1k

masterlist

part one // part two

Monte Carlo, Monaco 

You woke up to the soft weight of blankets wrapped around you, the familiar warmth of Logan’s body pressed against yours. The subtle rise and fall of his chest against your back was grounding, comforting even. His arm was lazily draped across your waist, fingers just grazing the edge of your ribs under the shirt you had stolen from him. 

Both of you had been taking it slow. Real slow. Your connection caught in the limbo between friends and something more - something you weren’t ready to name, even if the moments almost felt like it. The dinners that went on a little longer than they should have, Logan insisting on covering the bill, the excuse to stay over just one more night, because it was better than going home alone. The stolen kisses, the way his lips pressed against yours unexpectedly, tentatively, like he was testing the waters. It was all there - the signs, the quiet gestures, the closeness that seemed to build every time you were together. 

But you hadn’t defined it, not really, not in the way it felt like it needed to be. No titles. No labels. Just two people slowly getting to know each other on a more intimate level, waiting for the other to make the first move. 

And that was fine by you. In fact, you preferred it. 

While your artwork was a different story, you had never been one to rush into romance. The last two years with Max had been an exception. Max had been a whirlwind. A rush of emotions that left you dizzy, breathless, and swept up in decisions that came too fast. You hadn’t been ready for all of that, but you didn’t know any better at the time. 

But Logan? There was no urgency, no rush. Everything happened exactly as it should - slow, stress free, like a puzzle you pieced together, one small moment at a time. It felt easy. It felt right. 

After you placed a small peck on his skin, you wriggled out of Logan’s grasp. His arm shifted a little, but he didn’t wake. 

You made your way to the kitchen to make breakfast. Logan was obsessed with Carlos’ pancake recipe, and it had quickly become a Sunday morning tradition between you two. Whenever he stayed over, it was pancakes, coffee, and conversations about anything and everything. So, you grabbed the flour, the eggs, the vanilla, and of course, the honey. 

The scent of pancakes always made you feel cozy, even before the first bite. You also adored mornings like this, quiet and slow, where the world outside was just waking up, and inside, there was only the soft hum of your Spotify playlist and the sizzle of batter on the hot griddle. 

During the season, it was rare for you to enjoy these moments. It was always running to the track, trying to remember where in the world you even were. The chaos of the season was fun, the challenge of meeting deadlines exciting, but it was welcoming to have this kind of peace.

As the pancakes began to cook, you set the table, making sure to leave a spot for Logan. You heard him stir in the other room, the soft shuffle of footsteps on the hardwood mixed with the music that was playing. You didn’t have to rush him. He would be out there when he was ready, just like he always was every Sunday. 

You flipped the pancakes, the golden edges crisping up perfectly, and when you turned around, you saw Logan standing in the doorway. His hair was messy, his eyes still full of sleep, and his bare chest a welcoming sight. For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the sight of you wearing his Williams Racing shirt, the fabric loose on your frame. A lazy, content smile crept across his face that made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain. 

“Morning” he said, his voice thick with sleep but warm, as if nothing in the world was more important than the moment in front of him. 

“Morning” you replied, glancing over at him before turning back to the griddle. 

The sound of his bare feet shuffling on the hardwood filled the room again as Logan made his way over to you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in from behind. You could feel the heat of his body as he lazily tucked his head into the crook of your neck, watching you finish cooking breakfast. 

“You look good in my shirt” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, but there was no mistaking the smile in his tone

You chuckled softly, planting a soft kiss on his head “I think I wear it better than you do” you teased 

“Maybe” he said, but his smile only grew “but I’m gonna steal it back after breakfast”

“Sure you are” you rolled your eyes, a smile still plastered on your lips 

Your focus turned back to the pancakes, feeling his arms tighten around just a little around you as he nuzzled against your neck. It felt effortless. Comfortable. For the first time in a while, it felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. 

======

Across the hall, the atmosphere was completely different. There was no music playing, no playful banter, just quiet that felt heavier than it should’ve. It had been like that for a while now - tension that settled in, unspoken and unresolved, no matter how hard Max tried. Ever since his vacation in Barcelona, your face had been at the forefront of his mind. 

He had told himself it was just a passing thing, that he was back home and everything would go back to normal. But when he’d returned, it was impossible to ignore the shift. The connection he had with Isabella, while once comfortable and familiar, now seemed foreign. It felt like something was missing. And in the quiet of his apartment, in those rare moments when he allowed himself to stop and think, the only thing that kept creeping into his thoughts was you. 

He couldn’t deny it anymore. After Barcelona, he had spent far too many nights scrolling through your social media accounts - stalking, in the most harmless way possible, or at least that’s what he told himself. It started with your personal account. It wasn’t like he was trying to find something to make himself feel better about the distance that had grown between him and Isabella, but somehow, you’d become a constant in his thoughts. 

Each photo, each post, every little detail felt like a breadcrumb trail he couldn’t resist following. There were shots of you, your eyes half closed in the sunlight, a soft smile on your lips, standing on the edge of the world in England. Then there was Logan, appearing more and more in your stories and posts, at first casually, but then with a certain ease, like you beginning to slip into something… more. There were no signs of it being explicitly named, not in the way that would make everything real, but there was no mistaking the quiet chemistry that danced through your posts, through the subtle way your fingers brushed his in a candid shot, or how you started tagging each other in pictures that felt intimate, even if you didn’t mean them to be. 

But then there was your photography page. 

It was no secret that Max had admired your work - he sang praises about it to whoever would listen, even if you weren’t around. Ferrari still dominated the feed, all those breathtaking shots from last season, the smooth curves of the cars, and the sleek lines of the racetracks. But littered throughout the bright red, were sprinkles of dark blue. Hints of his own car were still found in the whirlwind of red. 

But there was another shade of blue creeping into your feed. It was lighter, and gave a much more welcoming feeling. That shade of blue wasn’t going to destroy anything and everything in its path. The shade of blue that only belonged to a Williams car. 

Mixed into the racing photos were photos of your travels, places you visited between races and seasons. These were more intimate. A series of pictures that felt real. Not the polished shots he was used to seeing of events and on the track. These felt raw, unfiltered. And in those images, hints of Logan could be seen - an arm, or the back of his head. His shadow in your life became undeniable. 

Max always found himself staring at those photos longer than he should. Trying to piece together a story he wasn’t a part of. A narrative he didn’t want to be a part of, but couldn’t help but feel drawn to. He wasn’t a fool. He could see what was happening, even if you hadn’t fully realized it yet. You had slipped away, or maybe you were just beginning to let go of the illusion that you and Logan were just friends. Max didn’t know how to feel about it.

He should’ve been happy for you, right? You were finding someone. You were finding something. But there was a bitter edge to his thoughts. Because no matter how many times he tried to bury the idea, the feeling grew stronger. What did this mean for him and Isabella? What did this mean for his own feelings, things he hadn’t even processed yet?

Max pulled up your personal profile again, the small colorful circle around your profile photo showed that you had posted a new story. Against his better judgment, he tapped on it. A photo of your kitchen table popped up, two plates filled with pancakes - Carlos’ recipe most likely, he knew how much you raved about it. Across from you was a hand. A man’s hand. Logan’s hand. Logan was across the hall. 

Max’s chest tightened, his breath came up in short, sharp bursts as he stared at the image on his phone. The photo of you and Logan. It was innocent, nothing overly affectionate - just pancakes, a lazy Sunday morning. But that hand. The way it rested on the table, the fingers just shy of brushing against your own, spoke volumes.

He had spent weeks trying to push down the feeling that something wasn’t right with him and Isabella. He had told himself it was just the pressures of the season, just a phase. But now, it felt like everything was crashing down on him at once. The quiet distance between him and Isabella had only grown, and you had become a constant thought, even though he knew it wasn’t right. 

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia 

The paddock always felt like a circus - an ever changing, high stakes performance where the pressure was as loud as the noise. Even the most experienced drivers occasionally crumpled under the pressure. Throw in the nineteen year old reserve driver? It’s gonna be interesting. 

“So Carlos needs to get his appendix removed?” you asked as Annalese entered the hospitality suite.

Annalese sighed, “Apparently” she replied, slipping into the chair opposite of you. “It’s not ideal, but the surgeon apparently said he’ll be fine after a few weeks. But you know what that means…” 

“Ollie?” you asked 

“Ollie.” she answered, “which also means…” 

“Finding him and doing quick media content” you finished her sentence, a smirk playing on your lips. 

As if you two were being controlled, you stood up in sync, already knowing what you had to do. Your attention was on the tablet in your hands, swiping through the team schedule, looking for any hint as to where Ollie could be. 

“According to this, he should be in the garage going over data.” you said, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you looked at the spreadsheet. 

“So we should be able to snatch him for a moment to make the announcement video.” Annalese replied 

“That, or his team is going to chase us out of there, armed with wrenches and screwdrivers” 

You continued to scroll down the spreadsheet, curious as to what the day brought for the rest of the team. Your diverted focus however, meant that you didn’t notice the person standing in the middle of the walkway until you had collided with their chest. 

“I’m sorry -,” you began as you took a step back and looked up from your tablet, “Max?” 

Max’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and mild annoyance, but his expression softened when he realized who it was. The faintest of smirks tugged at his lips, and to no surprise, his usual air of confidence was there. 

“Didn’t see you there” you muttered, adjusting the tablet in your hands, a little flustered at the collision.

Max’s smirk deepened, and he took a small step back, glancing down at the tablet in your hands before meeting your eyes again. “Clearly” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “How’ve you been?” 

You blinked at the unexpected question, taken aback for a moment. Max wasn’t one to check in on people, especially outside of race-related matters. Especially if he blew up in your face mere months ago. You shrugged nonetheless, attempting to shake off the sudden feeling of vulnerability. 

“Busy” you replied, offering a half smile. “You know how it is, constant chaos.” 

Max nodded, fiddling with the can in his hand. “Right, of course.” he said before taking a breath. “How was your break?” 

You felt the question hang in the air, and for a brief moment, you hesitated. Max asking about how you were was odd in itself. Him asking about your break was even more strange, especially after everything that happened between you two. The memory of that argument, the tension from months ago, still lingered in the back of your mind. But then, it was Max. He had a way of keeping things casual, pretending like the cracks never formed in the first place. 

“Break?” You raised an eyebrow, hoping you sounded nonchalant. “It was… alright. Quiet. Logan and I did a bit of traveling.” 

Max’s expression softened at the mention of Logan’s name, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something you couldn’t describe. He nodded, as if processing the information, but his smirk remained in place. “That sounds nice. Traveling is always good, even if it’s just to get away from it all.” 

You shrugged, trying to keep things light “Yeah, exactly. A little peace and quiet never hurt anyone.” 

There was a beat of silence, the sound of the paddock humming in the background, the usual chaos always just a heartbeat away. Max fiddled with his Red Bull can again, clearly thinking. The brief lull felt oddly comfortable, despite the tension that you both seemed to be dancing around. 

“So, how about you?” you asked, trying to shift the focus back to him. “Did you get a proper break?” 

Max’s lips twitched into something that could’ve been passed as a smile, though it was far from reaching his eyes. “You could say I had a break, though it wasn’t exactly restful.”

You wanted to ask what he meant, if something happened behind the scenes, but that would mean he was important. And Max Verstappen was not an important part of your life anymore.

And so, you didn’t. Instead, you offered a nod, letting the silence last just a little bit longer. 

“Hey!” Annalese called, cutting the silence between you “Love that you guys are chit chatting, but we have a driver to find” 

“Right” you said, any traces of awkwardness left slowly evaporated as you were brought back to reality. “We need to go find Ollie. But thanks for the chat, Max. It’s uh… been a while.” 

Max gave a brief, almost undetectable smile, his eyes softening for a moment. “Anytime” he replied, words quieter than usual. Then, without another word, he turned and walked off, his footsteps steady and sure as always. 

Just as you expected, you found Ollie in his garage. The number 55 was nowhere to be found, but instead replaced by 38. You were honestly amazed how quickly the team was able to swap everything out, as if Carlos was never even there. 

The stark change in the number alone reminded you that the Spaniard wouldn’t be with Ferrari come next season. Lewis had signed with the team, and while you were excited to see what he could add, you were going to miss Carlos. 

Ollie was to the side of the garage, staring intently at the wall of monitors, clearly deep in thought. His focus was unwavering as he looked at the data, the world around him easily faded away. 

You wanted to leave him be, let him get as adjusted as possible without media distractions. But the life he lived didn’t let that happen. 

So, you sighed as you walked up to the reserve driver. “Hey, Ollie” you said, hoping not to scare him “Got a minute?” 

Ollie turned his head to look at you. You were expecting him to be annoyed that you pulled him away from his data, but the Brit had the biggest smile on his face. 

“Yeah, of course, I’ve got a minute,” Ollie said, putting his headset down. “What’s up?”

Annalese hesitated, surprised by his easy going approach to the weekend. The switch from Carlos to him - however temporary - was a huge turn of events. 

“Need you for a quick video” Annalese said, motioning to the camera slung around your shoulder. “Just the usual - announcement for Carlos’, uh, situation.” 

You didn’t feel the need to elaborate, only offering a nod. He knew exactly what Annalese meant. 

The three of you made your way out to the pit lane for filming, as there were no cars on track. You walked Ollie through what to highlight in the video, offering him suggestions on what to say. 

“Ready?” you asked, holding your camera in the perfect angle. 

“Ready” he answered. You pressed record, motioning for him to start talking. “Hey guys, Ollie here, bit of an unexpected night to be standing here. Firstly my condolences to Carlos…”

You and Annalese exchanged glances, the two of you thinking the exact same thing. Carlos isn’t dead. But Ollie was so busy rambling about his day and how excited he was to be with Ferrari, that both of you kept your mouth shut until he was done. 

“That was good, but you know, Carlos is still alive, he’s just getting surgery” you couldn’t help but chuckle

Ollie froze for a moment, his eyes widening as he processed what you said. “Oh no.” His face flushed with embarrassment as he quickly glanced at Annalese who was holding back a laugh. “I-uh, I didn’t mean it like that. I swear, I didn’t-” 

You couldn’t help but laugh as Ollie scrambled to explain himself, his face now matching the color of his Ferrari shirt. polo. “It’s okay, we know you didn’t mean it like that” 

Annalese couldn’t hold it in as she let out a snort of laughter. “Carlos would definitely appreciate not being mourned while he’s still very much alive, recovering in a hospital bed.” 

“But it would be really fucking funny if we left that in the video.” you added, a smirk still dancing on your lips 

“Would you leave it in the video?” Ollie asked, curiosity lacing his words 

You shrugged “Honestly, probably. It was a solid one-take, you hit everything on the head, and the hiccup will surely add a bit of humor for the fans.” 

Ollie didn’t need any more convincing to agree to use the already filmed clip. As quickly as you pulled him away from his work, you sent him right back to it, hoping to get him prepped and ready for the weekend. 

======

Fortunately, Ollie did great for his first F1 race. He finished P7, getting six points for the team. Charles made the podium for the first time for the season, placing P3 behind Checo in P2, and to no one’s surprise, Max in P1. 

You waved to Ollie as you made your way to parc ferme, making a note to congratulate him when you had a moment. When you got to parc ferme, you found yourself a spot for photographing the top three. As you snapped photos, you chatted with some of the team, congratulating each other on the podium. One of the people you expected to be there though, was nowhere to be found. 

Your eyes scanned the crowd of Ferrari crew members once more. Surely you had just glossed over her in the sea of red. There were so many people, all wearing the same uniform. Nope. No sign. 

She wouldn’t miss his podium. Not in a million years. You knew she’d do anything and everything it took to be there. She did it all last season, even if Ferrari wasn’t on a step. But there you were, and she was noticeably absent. 

“Hey, have you seen Isabella?” you asked, walking up to one of the mechanics, trying to sound casual as you snapped a few more photos of Charles yapping with Max.

The mechanic looked at you with a slight hesitation, as if he was debating whether or not to tell you. “She’s with Ollie. Getting a headstart on the post race work with him.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you could feel a flicker of doubt in your chest. Getting a headstart on post-race work? Sure, that made sense for someone new on the team. But Isabella? That didn’t quite add up, especially if going to celebrate Max was an option to put it off. 

“Right” you said, trying to mask the intrigue in your voice. You turned your attention back to the three drivers, snapping one last picture as they disappeared into the cooldown room. 

You went through the podium routine, being sure to avoid getting doused in champagne. Once the celebrations subsided, you made your way back to the Ferrari garages. Isabella was seated on one of the stools, camera in hand, most likely looking at the photos she took. It was hard to tell whether she was deep in thought about the photos or just lost in her own head, but something about her demeanor didn’t seem entirely normal. 

“Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light as you approached her, “Good shots?” 

Isabella didn’t immediately look up. Instead, she absently adjusted the camera in her hands, before giving a soft, almost absent minded nod. “Yeah I think so,” she muttered, her voice quieter than usual. “Pretty standard, nothing too exciting.” 

You couldn’t help but feel a flicker of concern. Pretty standard? You would be the first to admit she was an incredibly talented photographer. Isabella saying her photos were pretty standard was unheard of. 

You took a slow breath and decided to press a little further, knowing her decently enough to read between the lines when something didn’t feel right. 

“Why weren’t you at the podium?” you asked, trying to sound casual but noticing how your voice came out slightly softer than you intended. “I thought you’d wanna see Max-.” 

At the mention of the Red Bull driver, Isabella’s posture stiffened for a fraction of a second. She quickly forced her expression back to neutrality, but you caught it. She met your gaze for the first time since you’d walked up to her, her lips curving into a small, almost dismissive smile. 

“I just wanted to make sure Ollie was set for the post-race media scrums. He’s still adjusting to everything, you know?” Her words felt rehearsed, like a practiced response, and though her voice sounded calm, there was a tension there - an underlying current that made your gut twist with suspicion. 

You nodded, but the unease in your chest only grew. It was definitely true that Ollie may need the extra help going through his first F1 weekend, But Isabella wasn’t the type to stay away from the celebrations for that. 

Before you could ask any more questions, Isabella stood up, her body language shifting in a way that made you feel like the conversation was over. “Anyway, I’ve got work to do.” she said quickly, her tone almost now businesslike, as if to close the door on any further discussion. “I’ll catch you later.” 

With that, she packed up her belongings, and made her way through the garage, leaving out of the back.

You stood there for a second, processing the interaction you just had. But before you knew it, chatter quickly filled the pit lane, as Red Bull was making their way to their garage. Leading the pack was Max. His gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat too long, his usual cool demeanor slightly shifting as if something had crossed his mind. 

Your mouth opened, as if you were to speak, but no sound came out. You didn’t know what to say to him. Congrats on the win! What’s wrong with your girlfriend? 

So, you quickly broke eye contact, not wanting to draw anymore attention to him. But his look was sharp, calculating, like he was reading you. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

Melbourne, Australia

One of your favorite races on the calendar was Melbourne. Ever since you started traveling down under, the city held a special place for you - part of it being the thrill of being so far away from everything you've ever known in Europe, but also because there was something electric about the energy there. Whether it was the bustling streets, the laid-back vibe, or the fact that the Australian Grand Prix was always a spectacle, Melbourne had a way of drawing you in every time. 

One you’d dropped off your bags and gotten settled, the first stop was always the same: Graffiti Alley. You could call it a bit of a tradition at this point, and even though you’d wandered through the maze of artwork countless times before, it was never the same. It was a living, breathing space, filled with history, culture, and the spontaneous creativity that you longed to return to from when you were a teenager. 

This time, you brought Logan. You were bouncing off the walls with excitement as you finally got to show him arguably your favorite street in the world. 

“You ready for this?” you asked, glancing over at Logan, your fingers intertwined with his. 

Logan, gave you a grin and shrugged, his curiosity piqued. “Let’s see if it lives up to the hype.” You could read him like a book, so you could tell he was trying to play it cool, acting as if he hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes scrolling through his phone looking up pictures of the alley. 

A laugh left your mouth, feeling a wave of fondness for him as you turned the corner. Off the bat, you noticed some of the artwork had been painted over with new pieces. 

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked at Logan, still trying to play it cool, his phone now tucked away in his pocket as he took in the surroundings. You could tell he was impressed, his eyes darting from one striking piece of art to the next, the occasional flicker of recognition crossing his face as if trying to place the meaning behind the murals. 

“See?” you said, exchanging Logan’s hand for your camera. “I told you it would be worth it.” 

Logan’s grin widened as he looked around, eyes scanning the art. “Okay, okay. I get it now,” he said, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “This place is unreal. It’s like the walls are talking to you.” 

“Told you” you teased, as you brought the camera up to your face, snapping a few shots of the art around you. You were sure to get a few of Logan’s amazement.

Logan rolled his eyes as you took the photos of him, but his smile never waivered. “Fine, fine, maybe a bit.” he conceded.

The two of you navigated through the network of backstreets, snapping photos as you did so. Logan followed your lead, taking out his phone and channeling his inner photographer. You couldn’t help but laugh as he mimicked your poses, hoping to get the same angles you were. 

“You look ridiculous” you chuckled as you watched Logan squat in the middle of the alley. 

“Hey, I’m just copying you.” he said, throwing his hands up in defense. Once he finally got himself up, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you in. “Have you ever thought of buying a few cans and graffiting a piece here?” 

Your weight shifted a tad, leaning more into him as you pondered the question. “I mean I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it” you said, looking around the walls that surrounded you. “But I don’t know” 

“Why not?” he asked, “I’ve seen your work, it’s definitely worthy of being up here.” 

You paused for a moment, looking at the vibrant artwork around you. The last time anyone had talked about you adding to it was with Max years ago. It was an idea that had taken up a lot of space in your head, but one that never came to fruition. 

“It’s a little intimidating, you know?” you said, glancing up at a mural of a heart restled in the branches of a tree. It was one of the few murals that had been there every single year you’ve visited. The colors faded in the sun, but no one had dared to touch it. “I also don’t want to cover up someone’s work.” 

Logan placed a kiss on your head, before speaking “If you do, just know I’ll be the first one wanting to see it.” 

======

You didn’t see much of Logan the rest of the weekend. Between his media duties, him getting his car taken away for Alex to use, and your camera getting hit by a cricket ball that Charles had smacked, you both had your hands full. You did, however, see a lot more of Max than you were expecting. 

It started on media day. Both him and Charles had been running around talking to different sponsors, doing promotional videos, and simply hanging around the paddock. Whenever you were on the move with Charles, it seemed Max was always walking past in the opposite direction. It wasn’t unusual for him to be involved in everything - everyone wanted to meet him after all - but this time, there was an undeniable shift in the air. 

It was subtle at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. Max’s glances were no longer just passing, neutral acknowledgements - he was actively seeking them out. It wasn’t the typical “I’m just here to do my thing” look that you were used to from him. This was different. His eyes lingered for just a beat longer than usual, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips whenever they met yours. 

It was during the post-qualifying press conferences that it really hit you. You were sitting near the back of the media room, scanning through some of the shots you had taken earlier when you caught Max’s eyes across the room. He was in the middle of answering a question, but for some reason, his gaze flickered to yours again - longer this time. When your eyes met, there was something unspoken there. It wasn’t a stare, exactly, but more of a quiet acknowledgement that only the two of you seemed to understand. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued by the shift. His desire to hold your attention oddly coincided with Isabella’s shift in demeanor. Curiosity got the best of you as you opened Instagram, typing in her handle name into the search bar. As you thumbed through her profile, there were a few things you took note of. 

The first thing that stood out was the change in Isabella’s posts. There weren’t as many shared moments with Max, no sweet captions or photos of the two of them at events. In fact, it had been a few weeks since she had even mentioned him in her stories. 

You could already feel the pieces falling into place, as you noticed posts from the past few months had a new cover photo. Posts that had Max at the forefront of them now were replaced by landscapes or solo shots of Isabella. 

As you lurked, you found yourself staring at one of the last remaining traces of Max on her profile. It was a photo of one of the beaches in the French Riviera, with Max’s silhouette in the distance, his outline tagged with his username. 

So, you did what you thought any other person would do, and followed the tag to his profile. While it was common knowledge that someone else mostly ran his account, you couldn’t help but look. His posts were more frequent, more personal. There were the standard race weekend photos, but sprinkled in were photos of his day to day life, of Jimmy and Sassy. Photos that the public wouldn’t normally get. 

They had definitely called it quits. 

 ======

The run ins with Max continued as he was forced to retire on lap 4. You were on the complete opposite side of the circuit as he pulled into the pit lane, but as he did so, you received a text 

from Isabella. 

Can we swap assignments for the rest of the race? 

No questions asked, you agreed, letting her know where you were currently stationed if she wanted track shooting ideas. You rode the golf cart shuttle back to the pit lane, where Isabella was already long gone. 

One of the many monitors on the wall was the TV coverage showing the Red Bull garage next door, with Max sitting in his car, frustrated. It was understandable, having to give up winning the race because of a car failure. 

You made your way to the pit wall, finding yourself a spot in between the grating of the metal fence that separated you and the track. The rest of the race you were stationed there, alternating taking shots of the cars on track and turning to shoot the boys as they pulled in for a pitstop. 

Carlos and Charles had finished first and second, respectively. From your spot, you were able to capture both cars crossing the finish line, as well as the team celebrating along the wall as they did so. 

As the mechanics and engineers turned to race down to the podium, you turned to follow suit, only stopping when Max’s gaze caught your attention yet again. He was standing outside his garage, clearly showered and changed into his team kit. 

You didn’t expect the sudden jolt in your chest. His gaze held for just a moment too long before both of you broke it simultaneously, you looking down toward the podium, and him to his engineer. Mere seconds later, you met each other's eyes again, GP was gone, and you had a minute or so to spare before the ceremony began. 

“Hey” you said, giving him a soft smile as you approached the rival garage. “Sorry about the race” 

He shrugged, “It’s all good. I can’t win every race, no matter how much I try” he joked, a small chuckle leaving his mouth. 

“Can’t stay on top forever, huh?” you replied, your voice light even though you could sense Max’s frustration lingering beneath the surface. You paused for a moment, debating on whether or not to bring her up. Against your better judgment, you did. “How’s Isabella taking the DNF?” 

Max’s expression shifted for a brief second, and you could immediately tell you hit a touchy subject. His eyes narrowed, a mix of frustration and contentment formed on his face. He let out a small, controlled exhale, before responding in a calm voice. “She gets it. It’s all part of racing.”

Knowing Max, and how much he hated someone pushing his buttons, that’s exactly what you did. And thankfully, you were pretty good at playing dumb.

“Did something happen between you two?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “She’s usually the one comforting you over here when you have a bad race.” 

“We broke up.” he informed you, his jaw tightened slightly before being released. “Things weren’t working out.” 

Your expression softened for real this time as he confirmed your speculations, noting the slight disappointment in his voice. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything-”

“No, you’re fine.” Max interrupted, running his hand through his damp hair. His tone changed, as if he got a second wind, as if he was okay with the split. “I was the one who ended it all.”

You don’t know why your heart pounded a little extra when you heard his explanation. People go through breakups all the time, it’s just a part of life. But the way he said it, so matter-of-factly, yet with an undertone of something unspoken - struck a chord in you. It was almost like there was another factor that contributed to him breaking things off with Isabella. 

You also weren’t sure what to say after that. You couldn’t apologize, that would lead to a never ending cycle you didn’t want to be a part of. 

“I’m sorry.” Max blurted out before you got a chance to find what to say. 

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden apology. Max Verstappen, of all people, apologizing? It almost felt out of place. He was more than capable of doing so, but it was something you never expected. 

“Sorry?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, swallowing before he spoke again. “For Singapore. I spoke without thinking.”

You didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. The argument had been burned in your mind. The words thrown at each other, the accusations. It was a tattoo that you couldn’t remove. 

“Yeah, you did” you let out a small chuckle, catching the driver by surprise. The chuckle was quickly followed by a sigh, your voice lowering. “But I think I did too.” 

Max’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, and he looked at you with an unreadable expression, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. For a moment, it seemed like he was trying to process what you meant by that. 

“You did?” he asked, a hint of curiosity creeping into his voice. “I didn’t think… I mean, I wasn’t expecting an apology from you.” 

You shrugged, a little sheepishly, but your gaze held steady. “Yeah, well, I guess I wasn’t exactly calm either. I got caught up in the heat of it too. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.” 

There was a pause as you both stood there, in this strange in-between space where everything felt more real than it had in a long time. You hadn’t expected to be standing here, having a conversation like this with Max. The silence of car engines being turned off snapped both of you out of your bubble. 

Max glanced down towards the podium, before landing back on you. “You probably should-”

“Yeah, I should go.” you said, turning to walk away. You stopped for a moment, turning back to get his attention one more time. “Hey Max?” 

“Huh?” he asked, looking at you again

“Do you wanna grab a coffee next time we’re both back home?” you asked

Max stared at you for a beat, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. For a moment, you weren’t sure if you caught him off guard or if he was considering the offer. But then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, something genuine - almost relieved. 

“Sure.” he said, his voice quieter than it had been “I’d like that.” 

You were surprised by how easy and natural it felt to say those words to him. You hadn’t expected the conversation to take the turn that it did, but something about it felt right. 

“Cool. I’ll see you around, Max.” you replied, finally turning to walk toward post race celebrations that were already underway. 

Monte Carlo, Monaco

Arranging a date to meet took longer than either of you had hoped. Between race weekends, Max buried in sim work and meetings in Milton Keynes, and you flying in and out of Maranello for shoots and content, the calendar seemed to mock you both. When you were both home, it felt like you couldn’t catch a break. You’d pass each other in the halls of your building, both too busy to do more than wave as you hurried to your respective commitments. 

But somehow, after a month of missed opportunities, the stars finally aligned. It was a quiet weekend in between races, and you had a rare break from the chaos.

Max was sitting at his sim, wrapping up the sim racing stream he was doing with some of his friends. As he was logging off, his phone buzzed with a text from you. 

Free tomorrow? Coffee at my place?

His heart gave a little skip. He hadn’t seen you properly in ages, and even though you passed by each other in the halls and paddock, it had somehow felt like months since you’d last had an actual conversation. 

He quickly typed out a reply.

Max: I think I can squeeze it in. Time?

You: 10 AM? I’ll keep the coffee hot

The next morning, he stood in front of your apartment door, adjusting his shirt and trying to ignore the slight flutter in his chest. It wasn’t a big deal, right? Just coffee. 

It took a minute to build up the courage to knock on your door, but when he did, he could feel his stomach flip. He could hear the shuffling of your footsteps - at least he hoped it was just your footsteps from the other side of the door. You didn’t explicitly say Logan would be there, but you also didn’t say he wouldn’t. 

The door swung open, and there you were. You looked relaxed in a gray Miami Dolphins hoodie and leggings, the familiar warmth in your eyes as you greeted him. 

“Hey” you said, your voice soft, with the same warmth that Max loved. “Come in.”

Max stepped inside, letting the door fall gently behind him. The apartment was cozy, and definitely yours. As he passed the kitchen, he noticed photographs and artwork donning the walls, in a tasteful manner, each piece hung with intent. Once you led him to the living room, he instantly took notice of two skateboards mounted on the wall above the couch. The top one painted with the Ferrari lettering, while the bottom one had three skeleton hands flipping him off. 

He couldn’t help but smile when he saw the boards. He should’ve known you would’ve added a touch of your skater past in the apartment, but it was a welcomed touch. It was you. 

“Nice place.” he said, glancing around. The apartment felt a lot like your childhood bedroom, warm, inviting, and very much like it reflected you - comfortable, and lived-in, but matured enough to not seem childish. Maybe it was the slight familiarity of the decorations, or the fact that Logan wasn’t there, but Max felt an odd sense of ease as you guided him further into the living room. 

“Thanks,” you said softly, as you motioned toward the small kitchen counter where the coffee was already set up. “Take a seat. I’ll grab you a cup.”

Max settled onto the couch, glancing at the books and knick-knacks scattered about - a mix of travel souvenirs, racing memorabilia, and more personal items that seemed to tell a story. It was like a puzzle of your life, scattered in front of him, each item a clue.  

When you returned with two steaming mugs of coffee, he snapped out of his thoughts, looking up at you with a small smile. “You know,” he said, taking the cup you handed him and breathing in the rich aroma, “I didn’t think we’d get to do this with our schedules. It’s nice.” 

You returned the smile, your eyes soft with a quiet, easy warmth. “It’s been a while since we’ve actually had time to talk, huh?” you said, making yourself comfy on the couch as well. “We’re both always running around, never getting a chance to actually stop for a minute.” 

Max nodded, cradling the coffee between his hands. The heat was comforting, much different to the coldness you two had been giving each other the entirety of last season. He took a sip of the drink, letting the flavors infiltrate his taste buds. 

“This is really good, y/n. What is it?” he asked, his mind far from the small talk you were having moments earlier. 

You pondered the question for a moment, as if you were trying to find the answer to your question. “This one is the Italian roast. I’ve been alternating between this and a Spanish roast Carlos gave me.” 

Max let out a chuckle at the mention of his former teammate. “Really? He must really know his coffee if he’s giving you tips.” 

A sigh escaped your lips as you leaned back into the couch cushions, your body language casual and comfortable. Max couldn’t help but notice how much easier it felt to be here now. No racing. No rush. 

“You have no idea. We’ve started having to follow him to the espresso machine in the motorhome so we can get his coffee content. But honestly, it’s hard to fight back when he always gives free samples.” 

Max shrugged, “Maybe I need to start bribing him with something to get my hands on some of this next time.” 

“I think a race win would be a perfect trade off” you offered, a smirk playing on your lips

The driver rolled his eyes, but the smile still persisted on his lips. “Hey, some of us are fighting for a World Championship.”

“Yeah, your fourth” you replied 

“You can never have too many” he defended before taking another sip of the coffee, the liquid warming his throat. 

As you two caught up, Max couldn’t help but feel a small shift inside, like the walls that both of you had built up between you over the last year were slowly starting to crumble. The act of sitting there, of just talking, seemed to be more than enough. And from your shift in body language, you seemed to be realizing the same. 

“I think we both needed this,” you said quietly, a small, genuine smile forming on your face. It was a different kind of smile than you usually wore - one that was more open, less guarded. “Just time to breathe.” 

Max nodded, returning the smile back to you. “Yeah, we really did. It was nice to catch up without any distractions for once.” After a long silence, Max sighed, standing up. “But I should probably get going. Thanks again for this.”

You stood up too, walking him to the door. “Anytime,” you said, the soft smile on your lips making his chest tighten a little. “We should do it more often. We’ll both be in town next weekend.” you said. He instantly registered that you meant that you’d both be in town for work. It was about to be the Monaco Grand Prix, afterall.

Max smiled, a genuine curve on his lips. “Definitely” 

And as he stepped out the door, he didn’t want to leave. But the connection had been made. And that was enough, for now. Something had shifted between you. It was subtle, but it was real. 

====== 

The week had flown by, and before you knew it, you found yourself back in the paddock. Just like last year, Logan was staying with you, but Oscar chose to bunk in the team hotel. He claimed that it was “team orders” and they were “nervous that he’d leak important information to the rivals” but you knew he just didn’t want to be the third wheel. You didn’t have a super license, and Logan was driving a dumpster on wheels. 

Regardless of the tractor that Logan was driving, or McLaren’s sudden paranoia, one thing was for certain: when the hometown boy wins, everyone celebrates. The streets of Monte Carlo were always packed with parties during the weekend, but this was another level. 

“Is that Vasseur?” Logan asked as you walked into Jimmy’z, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the crowd. 

You turned in the direction Logan was looking, following his gaze upwards. Sure enough, Fred was high above the crowd, on top of someone’s shoulders. You chuckled, as you shook your head. 

“Well, at least it was easy finding where the team is” you pointed out, your eyes still on the scene.

You both laughed, and as the two of you continued weaving your way through the crowd toward the bar, you couldn’t help but notice how Logan’s body was pressed up against yours, close enough that it was hard to ignore the warmth radiating between you two. The chaos of the club didn’t seem to matter much in that little bubble you’d formed as you stood waiting for the bartender to notice you. 

One of Logan’s arms was lazily draped over your shoulder as the other was resting on the bar, his card in hand. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You are not paying” you said as you took notice of his card 

Logan just grinned, not missing a beat. “It’s the least I can do for the winner.” His voice was playful, almost teasing. 

You rolled your eyes, not sure whether to laugh or groan. “I didn’t win anything,” you reminded him. “I simply stood there and took photos of it all.” 

“Eh, minor details.” he said as the bartender finally approached. He ordered for the two of you, listing off your favorite drink as he did so. 

“You know my drink order?” you asked as the bartender went on his way to make the drinks. 

“Of course I do.” he replied, his grin widening as he leaned a little closer “I’ve been paying attention.” 

As the evening wore on, the drinks continued to flow. You and Logan took turns buying each other rounds, with additional drinks being added by other drivers, engineers, and mechanics. 

With the additional amount of alcohol in your system, your inhibitions faded away. You dragged Logan out to the dancefloor, where the music pulsed through the speakers, and the bright lights made everything a little hazy. The crowd was wild, moving in sync to the beat, and you and Logan quickly found yourselves caught up in it all. 

Logan didn’t hesitate for a second, grabbing your hand and pulling you closer as the rhythm took over. You both laughed as you moved together, the chaos of the weekend forgotten in that bubble of energy.

The drinks had hit, and the world around you seemed to blur more. You could feel Logan’s hands exploring your body as you danced, the heat of his touch sending sparks through your skin. The music thumped, almost louder than the racing of your heart, as his body pressed closer to yours, moving in rhythm with yours. The space between you was nonexistent as he held you, the closeness magnetic, impossible to ignore. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer, this breath warm against your ear as he leaned in. 

“Having fun?” he murmured, his voice low and husky

You nodded, your breath quickening, but it wasn’t the music that had you like this - it was the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. 

A giggle escaped your lips, more carefree than before. “I didn’t think you liked to dance.” you teased before kissing his lips, half expecting him to break the moment and crack a joke. 

Logan’s grin turned more into a smirk, eyeing the door before turning to look back at you. “I mean, I’d rather be moving a different way with you.” 

Normally, you would have dismissed the idea, brushed it off as a joke, and continued the banter. But with your inhibitions long gone, you eyed the exit, the thought of taking Logan home much more alluring than it had been moments earlier. 

You pulled Logan closer to you, crashing your lips against his once again, unable to resist the pull between you two. The kiss was instant, raw, and full of intensity. His lips were warm and urgent against yours, deeping the connection with every movement. 

Logan’s hands found your waist, pulling you tighter against him. The feel of his body against yours was electrifying, and the feeling of the rhythm of his heartbeat matching yours was addicting. His fingers gently traced the line of your back, sending shivers through you, and you couldn’t help but to lean into him more. 

When you finally pulled away, both of you panted, dying for air. Your hand rested on his cheek, his bright blue eyes stared into yours. 

“You wanna get out of here?” you asked, the air returning to your lungs. 

“Please.” he said before taking your hand, leading you out of the club and back home to continue the night. 

The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the head you’d left behind in Jimmy’z. The walk back felt too long, though neither of you said anything. Every now and then, Logan would glance at you with that playful grin, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin. There was no need for words; everything you both wanted seemed to hand in the air, unspoken but understood. 

When you reached your apartment, Logan was quick to open the door, pulling you inside with a quiet urgency. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he was on you again, his lips crashing against yours. His hands moved to your back, guiding you backwards until the back of your legs hit the couch. 

Logan’s hands pressed into the small of your back, guiding you down as he followed you, never breaking the kiss. The world around you seemed to fade as everything narrowed to just the two of you - his lips on yours, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. His body was warm against yours, and the heat was intoxicating. 

You pulled him closer, your hands threading through his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss. The urgency in his movements matched your own, his touch leaving a trail of fire along your skin. The rhythm of your hearts synchronized again as you moved in perfect harmony, the tension in the air building with every passing second. 

He pulled away for just a moment, his breath coming in quick bursts as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. The heat of the moment hung thick between you, both of you caught in the electricity of the connection. 

“You sure?” His voice was low, gravelly, as if he was trying to make sure you were on the same page, but his hands never stopped exploring, his lips never straying far from yours. 

“Yeah” was all that came out of your mouth, before pulling him in once more. 

======

You woke up to the soft weight of blankets wrapped around you, the familiar warmth of Logan’s body pressed against yours. For a split second, it felt like a regular morning - quiet, peaceful. The kind of mornings you’d have after binge watching another season of the Outer Banks. But the details slowly sunk in as your mind came alive. The way his arm was slung over your bare waist. The fact that your legs were tangled beneath the sheets, pressed together in a way they definitely shouldn’t have been. 

You froze. 

The events from the night before began to replay in flashes - the plethora of drinks, the touch of his hand brushing against yours. You hadn’t planned for the night to end like it did, but you let yourself get lost in everything. The kisses he placed on your neck, his low voice in your ear. You both had always danced around this kind of tension, but last night, it was like you couldn’t stop it. It had been inevitable. 

Your chest tightened, and you gently pulled away from him, careful not to wake him. Fortunately, he slept like a rock, and you were able to wiggle out of his grasp and stood without him moving a muscle. 

You stood there for a moment, the quiet of the room wrapping around you as your heart raced. The weight of the situation began to sink in - what had happened between you and Logan was real, and you needed to figure out what you wanted to do about it going forward. 

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to make sense of it all. It was complicated. There was a pull between you - there was no denying that. But what happened last night may have been too much for you. 

Taking a deep breath, you tossed on the Ferrari sweatshirt and sweatpants that were resting on your desk chair and made your way through your apartment to the kitchen. The soft creak of the floorboards under your feet barely made a sound as you moved. You needed space to think, to process. You weren’t sure how things were going to change between you and Logan, but you knew one thing: you had to get out of the in-between thing you had going on with him. 

The steady hum of the coffee maker was oddly comforting as you poured yourself a cup, though your thoughts were anything but still. The warmth of the mug in your hands was a stark contrast to the cold wave of uncertainty that stirred in your mind. You stared into the dark liquid, the aroma doing little to clear the fog in your mind. The night had shifted something between you and Logan, but whether that shift was permanent, or a temporary lapse in judgment, you weren't sure. 

And then there was Max. You thought you had pushed all of your feelings away for that man. Shoved them, along with all of the memories, in a small little closet, never to open. But ever since he sat in your apartment, that door was going to break at any moment. 

You set the mug down, leaning against the counter as your thoughts continued to spiral. Last night had been intoxicating, yes, but in a way that felt more dangerous than thrilling. Logan was your best friend, you couldn’t afford to lose him. As much as you loved the months leading up to the night before, you couldn’t let him break your heart.

And now, there was a chance you would. 

Suddenly, you heard the sound of footsteps from down the hall, slow and tentative. Your heart skipped, and you turned to see Logan standing in the doorway, his hair messy, his expression still sleepy but alert. His eyes found yours immediately, and there was an unease in them that mirrored your own. 

“Hey” he said, his voice rough, trying to gauge your mood. “You okay?” 

You nodded slowly, though the uncertainty still lingered in your chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.” 

Logan hesitated, and then, as if taking a deep breath, he walked toward you. “Look, about last night…” he trailed off, his eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out how to approach the situation. You could tell he was trying to tread carefully, not wanting to make things more awkward than they already were. 

You picked up your mug again, as if hoping the warmth of the liquid would help with what you had to say, and met his gaze. “Yeah, about that…” your voice faltered for a moment before you steadied yourself. “Logan, I don’t know what to do.”

His eyes softened, his gaze lingering on you for a second. “I don’t know either.” He stepped closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I care about you, and I don’t want things to be weird between us.” 

Somehow, a soft chuckle was the thing that came out of your mouth at his words. “Little too late for that” you said, “I don’t know if we can just pretend everything is fine”

Logan looked at you, his expression shifting to confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice quiet but heavy with concern

You exhaled, feeling the air fall out of your lungs. You didn’t want to hurt him. The last thing you wanted was to make things worse. But last night - it had been a mistake. Everything had felt so right in the moment, in the months leading up to it, but now, in the light of day, it was clear that it was too much. 

“I think… I think we can’t just go back to how things were.” you admitted, your words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’ve had fun the past few months, and loved last night. It’s just… I just don’t think we should continue with it.” 

Logan’s face fell, and for a split second, you saw something in his eyes - hurt, maybe, or disappointment. But it quickly masked itself with an understanding that both stung and comforted you.

“Are you saying you regret it?” he asked, his voice barely audible

You shook your head, “I don’t regret it one bit” you said, hoping that would give some comfort to the American. “I just don’t think all of this was supposed to happen. We’re friends, Logan. I don’t want to lose that, and I don’t want to lose you.” 

His gaze softened, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he gave a small, resigned nod. “I get it” he said, the words barely there, like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. “I don’t want to lose you either.” 

The silence between you both grew thick, heavy with unspoken feelings, and neither of you seemed to know how to bridge the gap that had opened up.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightened. “I think we just need to go back to being friends. Like we were before.” 

Logan sighed, a mix of frustration and sadness in the sound, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded again, the flicker of pain still there, but there was something else in his eyes now - a flicker of understanding that wasn’t there before. 

“Okay.” he finally said, his voice low. “I can do that.”

The words hung between you two, and for a moment, neither of you moved. It felt like there was a distance between you now that hadn’t been there before. You didn’t know how things would be from here, or if they’d ever go back to the way they were. But deep down, you knew you had to try. 

“I’m sorry” you whispered, your voice barely audible

Logan glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting a weak smile. “It’s okay” he said, though you both knew it wasn’t. But that was the problem with mistakes. They couldn’t be erased. 

The rest of the morning passed in a muted silence, and though you both pretended that everything was fine, the air between you felt different. Changed. But at least, for now, you were still friends. And that’s all you could hold onto. 

Spielberg, Austria 

For the first time since you started working with the team, Ferrari wasn’t number one on the Bulls hit list, it was McLaren. So, you, along with the rest of the team, were able to enter the Red Bull Ring with ease. 

You found Isabella and Annalese in the hospitality suite, chatting excitedly over pastries and coffee, one of their phones on the table. Isabella looked up first, her eyes lighting up when she spotted you. “There you are!” she called, waving you over. “We were just talking about you.” 

Ever since you swapped assignments in Melbourne, you and Isabella had started talking more. It had been a rough season between you the year prior, but as you two talked more, you found you two had more in common than you thought. Aside from your shared love of photography, you found out she also paints, just with a paintbrush and canvas. 

“Talking about me, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you sat on the couch next to her. You had come in to look for Carlos and Charles, but the conversation seemed much more interesting than the drivers. 

“Yeah, your episode of Drive to Survive finally came out” Annalease said, glancing down at the phone on the table 

You felt a brief flash of embarrassment, suddenly aware of the attention that your name had drawn. The interview you had done in Austin last season had completely left your mind, until now. Agreeing to do the show had always been a tricky subject, especially when it came to the fact it documented not only the highs and lows of what’s been happening on track, but also painted your personal life and struggles in front of the world. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me” you laughed, trying to brush it off. “It was a… weird experience.” 

Isabella gave you a teasing look, clearly amused. “Weird? You came across great. It was all professional and calm, even when they clearly tried to invade your privacy. I think you looked like a pro.” 

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress a smile with the compliment. “It’s just weird seeing yourself on something like that.” 

Annalese, who had been watching you closely, chimed in. “At least there aren’t any memes being made about you.”

“Yeah, Toto is still living with the aftermath of ‘I have it printed out.’” Isabella chuckled before taking a sip of her drink. 

“True” you said as one of the doors swung open.

The three of you turned to the sound to see Charles leaving one of the meeting rooms. He spotted the three of you almost immediately, a smile on his face as he approached. 

“Or you could be this guy, who doesn’t even need the show to be made fun of” Annalese teased 

The driver’s face dropped as he registered what she had said. “What was that for?” he asked, looking genuinely confused. 

Annalese grinned as she looked at the driver, “Just comforting y/n, she’s worried about her reality TV debut” she said, glancing at you.

“I’m not worried,” you interjected. “I’m just not used to my personal life being aired out for the world to see”

Charles’ face lit up in recognition as he looked at you. “Oh yeah! The episode was really good. We’ve all seen it. You honestly didn’t reveal too much” he said “You handled everything with Max really well.” 

You shot a look at Isabella, checking on her at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. Max had been a topic of plenty of conversations before, but each time you felt the need to make sure it was okay to talk about. The photographer gave you a soft smile, nodding to let you know you were in the clear. 

“Yeah, I mean, everything I said in it is true. I still admire the hell out of him, even after everything we’ve been through our entire lives.” you said 

Charles nodded, clearly understanding the complexity of your feelings. “Max has a way of making things… complicated. It’s good that you’ve handled it with so much grace.”

Yeah. Max was the one that made it all complicated. But Max wasn’t the one to run from whatever you two had going on a few years ago. Max wasn’t the first one to slam the door on you two. Max wasn’t the one to hide.

Before you could say anything else, another door flew open, revealing Carlos walking out. You silently thanked the timing of it all, relieved for the interruption. 

“Perfect, I need both of you.” you said, slinging your camera bag over your shoulder as you looked at the two drivers. 

======

Getting in and out of the Red Bull Ring was always chaotic. Crowds swarmed around the track, a sea of orange wherever you looked, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the three time world champion. 

When it wasn’t the fans though, it was the cameras. You could sympathize with them a little bit more, being a photographer and social media creator yourself, but you also couldn’t stand the ones just dying to get into a driver’s business. They’d shove their lenses where they shouldn’t, getting uncomfortably close to personal spaces, all for a shot that would most likely get lost in the sea of other images flooding the internet within minutes. 

It was quali day, and you had just parked at the track. In the distance, you could hear the chatter of people mixed together with the occasional burst of laughter or shouting. Taking a deep breath, you got out of your car, mentally preparing yourself for the day ahead. 

You opted to try to enter through the back gate, figuring it wouldn’t be as crowded as the main one. It was a little more out of the way, but you would take the exercise over being mobbed. But as you got to the back gate, you could tell it was going to be a battle. 

Fans, photographers, influencers, and reporters alike swarmed the gate, all in hopes of seeing their idol. You kept your head down as you grabbed your paddock pass out of your pocket, hoping you’d go by unnoticed. 

You approached the gate cautiously, following a few of the Red Bull engineers, as you weaved through the swarm as best you could. As you made your way through the last few people, you accidentally bumped into someone. 

“I’m so sorry” you said, turning to apologize. As you met the gaze of the person, you cursed yourself for doing so. 

The person you had bumped into was a photographer, one infamously known for prying himself into the drivers’ business and spreading it all over the internet. His photos were some of the ones that spread around the rumor about you and Max a few years ago. 

Both of you froze, recognition flashing on the photographer's face as well. His camera was in his hands already, most likely prepped to stick its nose in someone’s drama. 

For a second, the world seemed to slow. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. His finger twitched around the camera, and you could already feel the weight of it - the unmistakable tension of being the subject of his lens. 

Whether you wanted it or not, your sudden stoppage, along with the sound of your voice, drew more attention than just the photographer. Fans had taken notice of your presence, and the buzz around you started to grow. With the Drive to Survive episode just being released, people had you fresh in their minds. 

Cameras flashed and people tried shoving things in your hands - flags, tshirts, pens, their phones - the whole lot. It was overwhelming. You were unaccustomed to the attention - your job always having you in the shadows, being the one creating. 

It felt invasive, and for a moment, you felt completely exposed. The weight of the cameras pressing in on you, the overwhelming noise from the crowd, and the sudden sensation of hands reaching for you felt like an avalanche. 

“Hey!” a familiar voice rang out, causing your head to snap up, but you couldn’t find the source. “Give her room, give her room” 

Through the crowd of people, you could see someone coming toward you, pushing through the crowd. The sea of people parted slightly, and through the shifting mass, you saw Max’s familiar face emerging. He was like a force of nature, moving through the crowd with confidence. 

With one last “move” leaving his mouth, he grabbed your hand, leading you through the crowd. As you passed through the gate, the air on the other side felt calmer. The rush of adrenaline that had coursed through your veins when the crowd had surrounded you started to ebb, and you found yourself taking a deep breath. 

“Are you okay?” Max asked, his voice a little softer than you expected, his eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort. 

You nodded, still trying to shake off the last remnants of that suffocating feeling. “Yeah, I’m fine.” you answered, looking down to see your hand still holding Max’s. Slowly, you pulled away. “You didn’t need to do that. I would’ve been fine.” 

“No you wouldn’t have, it was just you against how many people?” he said, shooting you a look but a small smile still on his face. “I’m surprised you didn’t walk in with Logan.”

At the sound of his name, your face fell. He was still a tough subject, one you had only told Isabella and Annalese about. 

Max immediately noticed the shift in your expression, the lightness in his voice fading as he took in your sudden change in demeanor. “Did something happen?” he asked, his tone more cautious now.

You hesitated, the weight of Max’s question making your chest tighten. You hadn’t expected him to press, but his concern was genuine, and his eyes softened as he waited for your response. The air felt thick between you, and for a moment, you considered brushing it off. But Max had a way of getting under your defenses, of making you feel like he really wanted to understand. 

“It’s… complicated,” you said, glancing down at the asphalt beneath you for a second. “It ran its course.” 

Max didn’t push any further. Instead, he nodded in understanding, his hand briefly giving your arm a tight squeeze in a way that was somehow more comforting than his words. “I get it,” he said quietly, his voice low. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready. Just know that I’m here, alright?” 

You managed a small, appreciative smile, feeling the tension in your body begin to ease. Max never made you feel like you had to explain, didn’t make you feel weak for not having everything figured out. It was nice. 

He continued to walk beside you, his pace slow and steady as if he was giving you the space you needed. “It was the same way with Isabella and I… the relationship just wasn’t what we both thought it would be,” Max continued, his voice still calm, his words measured. “You can only go so long pretending things are fine, when deep down, you know they’re not.” 

You looked over at him, surprised. When Isabella had talked about the ending of the relationship, she said similar things - that it ran its course, there was nothing either of them could really do anymore - but hearing the world champion talk about it was different. It was almost hard to imagine him going through anything similar. But the way he spoke, so matter-of-factly, with no shame or anger, made you feel like it wasn’t as unique as it felt. 

Max continued to yap about his relationship, both trying to fill the silence between you but also give you some sort of comfort without you having to go into details, which you were appreciative of. You had missed how much Max talked, how much he could fill the space with his words, without ever putting any pressure on you. 

The two of you stopped as you reached the facade of the Ferrari motorhome, a comforting silence between you for the first time since you saw him. 

“Thanks, Max” you said, your voice more relaxed than before. “For… not pushing, but also sharing everything with me. It helps more than you realize.” 

He glanced at you and gave a half-smile, the usual cheeky glint back in his eyes. “I told you, I’m here for you.” 

You knew Max wasn’t a fan of physical touch. Ever since you were kids, you knew he loathed when someone would try to hug him, or pat his back when he did a good job. But there, in that moment, all you could do was force your arms around him, your body acting on its own before your mind could catch up. 

For a second, he tensed up, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. But then, just as quickly, he relaxed. He didn’t pull away, didn’t seem uncomfortable, and before you knew it, you could feel his hands on your body as well. 

The warmth of his body against yours, the unexpected comfort in the hug, made something shift in your chest. It wasn’t like you needed saving. But being with Max always made you feel less alone, and that was something you knew you couldn’t take advantage of anymore. 

“I don’t know what to say” you whispered, your face pressed against his shoulder, your voice muffled by his polo. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” Max replied softly, his hand rubbing your back. His voice was quieter, much more sincere. “You don’t ever have to explain anything to me. Just know I’m here, always.” 

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your hands still resting on his shoulders as you searched his eyes. There was something in the way he looked at you - no judgment, no pressure - just understanding. 

“Thank you” you said, your voice quieter now as well. “I mean it.” 

Max simply nodded, his gaze softening as he glanced down at you. Suddenly, you remembered his distaste for physical touch, so you moved your hands away from him. 

Your cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. “Sorry about that, I don’t know what came over-” you started 

“You’re fine. I know you needed it” Max interrupted, his voice calm and reassuring. He didn’t seem too bothered by the hug. In fact, there was a certain warmth in his demeanor that made you feel even more at ease. 

The shadow of the Ferrari building rested on the concrete in front of you, a reminder of why you were even in the paddock. The chaos of the weekend all seemed so distant being with Max, that seeing the Ferrari logo sent a jolt of reality back into you. 

You took a step back, glancing back at the building behind you before looking at Max again. “I should probably get back to work.” 

The same realization must’ve hit Max as well, as he cleared his throat and looked up at the red and black facade. 

“Yeah,” Max agreed, his voice almost wistful. He took a half-step back, his hands dropping to his sides though his expression remained soft, like he was holding onto the moment. “Good job, by the way, on the interview for the show.”

The mention of the show caught you off guard. Max was never one to pay attention to the media, especially one that painted him out to be the villain. 

“You watched it?” you asked, curiosity piquing in your voice

He shook his head. “No, but I’ve seen clips floating around.” he admitted, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a hint of genuine interest. “You handled yourself well, honestly you made everything that went down last year… not so important.” 

While the exact questions that you had been asked in that interview were now far from your memory, you do remember being asked about your relationship with Max, how different it was compared to the other drivers since you knew him so long. It had been a touchy subject, but you spoke with complete honesty, knowing how much of your connection with him was private - something you didn’t want to overshare, but realized you couldn’t completely hide. 

Max’s acknowledgement of it now, though, surprised you. 

“I appreciate that,” you said, a smile playing on your lips. “I wasn’t sure how it would come across, honestly. It’s… complicated, you know?” 

Max gave a knowing nod, his eyes soft but focused. “Trust me, I know. But you didn’t give them more than they needed.” his voice had that same reassuring tone as earlier before he chuckled. “I’m just glad you didn’t make me seem like a complete ass too.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension easing a little more with the humor. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that to you,” you teased lightly, rolling your eyes. “I care about you too much for that.” 

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Really?”

“Really” you replied with a grin, “You might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but you’re still one of my closest friends.” 

Max let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I'm not offended by that.” 

“Oh I know” you said playfully before letting out a long sigh. “But I should actually get back to work now.” 

Max chuckled softly. “Go on, I’m sure there’s plenty more to do. But don’t stress too much, yeah?”

“I’ll try not to,” you said, “Thanks again Max. Good luck out there.” 

You watched him walk off for a moment, just like you had for the past two years, before you turned back to the Ferrari motorhome, ready to tackle the rest of the day.

======

The paddock had quieted down as the teams slowly filtered out, the buzz of activity from qualifying hours behind you. Without any additional content to film for the day, you found yourself back in your hotel room earlier than expected, a rare bit of downtime. 

You emerged from the bathroom, steam still hanging in the air, wrapped in your favorite comfy pajama set. Despite the heat outside, your room was chilled to the perfect temperature, giving you an excuse to snuggle up in comfort. 

Normally, after a long day at the track, you’d settle under the covers with a hot cup of tea, diving into editing your photos. But with the last remnants of daylight still spilling through the window, you decided to sit at the desk instead. The view of the town spread out before you, the golden hues of sunset casting a peaceful glow across the streets below. It was the calm you craved, though it didn’t quite settle the restlessness in your mind. 

While Max had done his best to get you out of the crowd and calm you down earlier in the day, the overwhelmingness of it all still haunted your thoughts. The flash of the cameras, the pressure of being surrounded by people, the suffocating feeling of being so exposed. It was an invisible weight you couldn’t shake off. 

You distracted yourself in the best way possible - throwing yourself into your work. Along with the photos from qualifying, you had files of photos from past Grand Prix’s that you never got to edit. The disregarded, B-roll snaps. The ones of the team goofing off, being actually human. The ones that would end up on your photography Instagram and not Ferrari’s.

You scrolled through the gallery, flipping past the perfectly composed shots of drivers in their element and instead landing on the more candid moments. There was one of Carlos and Charles trying to sneak past the media, both of them cracking up, trying to hide behind their oversized sunglasses and floppy hats. Another was of Lando sitting on the edge of the pit wall, yawning and stretching in between stretching in between practice sessions, looking utterly exhausted but still managing a cheeky grin. You smiled softly as you clicked through each of these moments, knowing that while the fans might only see the polished, perfect images, you had the privilege of seeing them as people, not just athletes. 

You began to edit, the familiar routine soothed your fraying nerves. The gentle tapping of your fingers on the keys, the soft click of the mouse, it was grounding in a way nothing else had been all day. A series of photos - Ferrari mechanics huddled together laughing as they shared a joke - was your focus now. You always enjoyed capturing these moments. They were unguarded, full of life and personality. 

As the editing process pulled you further into the flow of work, your thoughts began to settle, the weight of the crowd and the chaos from earlier starting to fade into the background. Time slipped away without you realizing it, until your phone buzzed on the deck in front of you, pulling you out of your concentration. The screen lit up with a message from Charles: Have you seen this?

You furrowed your eyebrows as you picked up your phone, a small flutter of unease forming in your chest. It wasn’t unusual for Charles to send you things, often funny memes - he was chronically online afterall. But there was something about the tone of the message that made you pause. You clicked on the message, half-expecting something lighthearted, but when the link opened, your heart sank. 

It was a post from the photographer. The same one that frequently invaded the drivers’ privacy and shared snippets of the paddock that the general public wasn’t allowed to see. The caption read: CAUGHT IN THE ACT: Max and Ferrari photographer/F1 content creator y/n shared a surprising moment at the Red Bull Ring as Max helped her away from the crowds. Is the Dutchman off the market again?

The image accompanying it was one of you and Max from earlier in the day, when he had pulled you through the crowd. His hand had been around yours, and though you were hardly aware of it at the time, the photo had been perfectly timed, capturing the moment with the two of you caught in the middle of a small laugh. It was innocent enough when you looked at it, but the context added a layer of gossip that neither of you needed. 

Curiosity got the best of you as you scrolled down to the comments, reading everything that everyone had to say. Some fans had already started speculating about a possible relationship, while others were questioning whether there was any truth to the rumors about you and Max from a few years ago. 

You sat back in the chair, massaging your temples, trying to push away the gnawing anxiety that threatened to rise. It was frustrating. You had worked so hard to carve out your own space in the F1 world, to be known for your skills and your work, not for your relationships. And here you were, once again caught in the glare of a spotlight you never asked for. 

The devil on your shoulder whispered in your ear to run. Cut Max off again so you’d never have to deal with shit like this again. 

You shook your head, as though trying to physically dislodge the thought. Cutting Max off had seemed like a viable solution once before, back when the rumors had first started circling a few years ago. The weight of constant attention, the unwanted speculations - it had been too much then. But Max hadn’t been the one who had caused that strain. It was the situation, the pressure, and the way everything had spiraled out of control. You hadn’t wanted to lose that connection with him, but it had been a protective instinct, one you couldn’t quite ignore in that moment of panic. 

But now… now things were different. You weren’t that person anymore, and neither was Max. 

You exhaled sharply, staring at the screen in front of you, the comments still scrolling endlessly below the post. It was hard to ignore the pull of curiosity, but each new comment made the knot in your stomach tighten. There were even a few insults mixed in, questioning your motives, accusing you of using Max for attention. 

This wasn’t what you wanted. You weren’t in this for the drama. You didn’t care about the headlines, about being in the center of the gossip. You cared about the work, about capturing the moments that mattered, about the people behind the helmets and the brands. 

But the reality of the world you had stepped into meant that everything could be turned into a story. Even the smallest moments, like a laugh shared with a friend, could be twisted and misinterpreted. 

Your phone buzzed again, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. Another message from Charles: Are you okay? Let me know if you want to talk. 

You blinked, the words settling in a bit more. Charles had always been kind, always trying to help you navigate the chaos of life in the paddock. But the last thing you wanted was for him to feel like he had to protect you, or worse, get caught up in the drama. He had enough on his plate already. 

I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed, you know? You typed back, staring at the screen before pressing send. It’s just the way this stuff gets out of hand so quickly. I appreciate you checking in though.

The message sent, but your phone felt heavier in your hand than it had moments before. You stared at the screen, the buzzing of notifications a constant reminder that you weren’t in control here. 

The temptation to shut everything out, to disconnect, was powerful. But running away from the noise didn’t stop it from following you. You needed to keep moving forward. This wasn’t the first time you’d faced something like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Still, the thought of dealing with the backlash - online and possibly in person - was enough to make you want to crawl under the covers and forget about everything for the rest of the night. 

Instead, you clicked on the next photo to edit, your fingers moving methodically as you lost yourself in the familiar task again. This was your element. Behind the lens. In the background. Not the subject, not the story. Just the creator. 

Monza, Italy

Monza was one of your favorite tracks. Regardless of your contractual obligations to like it because your employer was Ferrari, you loved the history, the speed, and the fact it was a beautiful track to photograph. 

You, Isabella, Charles and Carlos were on track walks as the morning sun cast long shadows on the tarmac. The boys were in deep conversation with their engineers about the differences in the track from last year, while you and Isabella walked several feet behind them, capturing them in the action. 

You raised your camera to snap a picture of Charles, his figure framed perfectly against the towering grandstands in the distance. He was talking intently to his engineer, gesturing to one of the corners, and his face was etched with concentration. Carlos, not too far ahead, was listening attentively, his posture relaxed but his attention unwavering. They looked so in sync with the track, every move purposeful and deliberate, just like the machines they commanded. 

A few of the other drivers were doing their walk as well. Valtteri had already lapped you guys once or twice pedaling around on his bike, looking far more relaxed than you’d expect before a race weekend. Pierre and his engineer were also far ahead of the Ferraris, their pace much quicker than your group. It always amazed you how every driver had their own approach to each track. 

It wasn’t long into your walk that you heard the sound of a familiar lisp behind you. You turned your head, your gaze falling on none other than Max himself. To your side, you could see Isabella’s camera clicking away at the boys in front of you, completely oblivious to the sight behind. 

Max was talking GP’s ears off, the topics most likely ranging from everything to nothing. Out of habit, you raised your camera once more, getting shots of the duo in their natural habitat. Max must’ve heard you, because his gaze flicked over, a playful grin on his face. 

“Trying to avoid me?” he asked, his voice teasing

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not at all,” you replied, though you couldn’t help but laugh as you raised your camera slightly. “Just doing my job.” 

The two of you returned your attention to what you had been focused on prior to the interaction. You were about to chime in on Charles’ conversation, but before you could, Isabella whispered. 

“What is going on between you and Max?” she asked 

Your eyes widened for a moment, her question catching you off guard. There was something going on between the two of you, you just didn’t think Isabella was the right person to tell, after her history with him. 

“I-” you started, trying to find the right words. “There’s nothing going on. Max and I go way back. It’s complicated.” 

The look that Isabella gave you showed that she could see right through you. “Oh come on. I’m not stupid. He dragged you out of the crowd in Austria, and I see the way you two look at each other.” she said. “If you’re worried I’m gonna be mad because Max and I dated, I’m not.” 

You blinked, caught off guard by her directness. The tightness that had been slowly building in your chest instantly disappeared, and you couldn’t help but to feel a bit more exposed. 

“Yeah, I mean um…” you began, not sure if you were ready to come to terms with the ideas floating in your head. You glanced over your shoulder one last time to ensure that Max was way out of earshot. “I may still have feelings for Max again.” 

Isabella raised an eyebrow, her expression slightly softening as she took in your words. She didn’t look shocked or judgmental - just curious, like she’d expected this at some level. It was hard to tell if it was because she knew you well enough or if it was her own history with Max that made the situation feel less complicated for her. 

“I had a feeling.” she began, her voice calm. “And I can tell that he still has feelings for you too.” 

Your head cocked slightly, curiosity flooding through. “How do you know?” 

Isabella took a deep breath, and just like you had moments earlier, turned to make sure Max was out of range. “Before we broke up, I saw him lurking on your socials - nothing crazy, just looking to see what you were up to, like he missed you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at Isabella’s words. The idea of Max keeping an eye on your socials, even after everything that had happened between you two, hit you harder than you’d expected. It made sense in a way - Max had always been a little hard to read, but that subtle action… it felt personal. It felt like something more than just idle curiosity. 

“He was?” you asked, your voice quieter than you had intended. Hearing it come from Isabella of all people made your head spin. 

Isabella nodded slowly, her eyes softening even more as she gave you a sympathetic look. “Yeah. Again, not in a creepy way or anything - more like he was just checking in. He’d always been interested in what you were up to. He’d ask us how you were even when things between you and I were … rocky.” 

You swallowed, unsure whether you were relieved or confused by the information. Did this mean Max had been silently holding onto something? Had he always felt this way, or was it a recent development? The thought of him lingering in the background of your life like that - no matter how subtle - stirred something within you.

“I-I’m sorry” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them

Isabella gave you a small, reassuring smile, as if she understood the confusion in your voice. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said gently, her tone still calm. “I’m not upset, really. I just think Max has been… uncertain about a lot of things. You know he doesn’t do well with vulnerability.” 

The sound of Max’s voice reached you then, breaking the moment between you and Isabella. He was still talking with GP, but you could see the playful glint in his eyes as he gestured animatedly about something. Even from this distance, it was clear that the pull between you two was still there, unspoken but undeniable. 

======

What also was undeniable was a missing presence in the paddock. While you and Logan hadn’t explicitly talked since he was in your apartment in Monaco, you two would usually wave to each other when passing by in the paddock. 

Your mind began to race with all sorts of thoughts, questioning if he had been around and you had just missed him. But something in you knew you didn’t, the blue Williams shirt he always wore on media day stood out like a sore thumb. 

You tried to brush it off, telling yourself maybe he was busy with his team or caught up in a meeting, but something kept tugging at your gut, urging you to look closer. It wasn’t like Logan to completely disappear. You could see drivers, engineers, mechanics, and other staff members move about the paddock, focused on their tasks, yet Logan’s absence was still obvious in its silence. 

“Have you guys seen Logan?” you asked Annalese and Charles as you walked into Ferrari hospitality. 

Annalese and Charles exchanged knowing glances as you stopped in front of them. Their facial expressions ranged, as if they were silently arguing. 

“You haven’t heard?” Charles asked 

You shook your head, brows furrowed in confusion. “Heard what?” 

Annalese shifted uncomfortably, her hands gripping the edge of her cup as she glanced between you and Charles, the silence hanging heavily between you all. Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair, and finally spoke up. 

“Logan isn’t on the grid anymore.” Charles finally said, “He got dropped on Tuesday.” 

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. “Dropped?” you repeated, the word feeling foreign in your mouth as the shock began to settle in. “Why?” 

Annalese exchanged another glance with Charles, her face grim. “Obviously we don’t know everything that’s going on over there.” she said softly, as though she didn’t want to be the one giving you the news. “But Williams decided to part ways with him after everything that’s been happening. It just… wasn’t working out.”

Your heart raced, your mind trying to process what they were saying. While you and Logan hadn’t been on speaking terms for a few months, you knew he had always been so focused, so dedicated to the team. He’d been through a lot over the past year and a half, but you never imagined it would come to this. You thought he was pushing through. You thought he would find his way. 

You thanked the duo for the information before you made your way up the stairs to one of the lounges. The lounge was empty, which you were silently thankful for. You don’t know what you would’ve done if you had to talk to anyone. 

As you laid down on the couch, thoughts of Logan filled your head. He was probably back in his apartment in the UK, cleaning it out, prepping to move. Or he had already done all that and was on a flight back to the States. Regardless, your heart grew heavy thinking of having to face everything on his own. 

You thought about reaching out, offering a shoulder to cry on if needed. But he wasn’t the one who broke the news to you - Charles and Annalese had. And they probably found out about it from an Instagram post with the word breaking in all caps and bold at the top. 

It wasn’t your place to invade. 

Even if you did reach out, you didn’t know what you would say. Sorry you got dropped? That felt hollow, insufficient. How could you convey the regret you were feeling for not being there when he needed someone the most? How could you fix the distance between you two, which had been growing for months? 

You opted for a way that only you knew how. 

You spent way too much time digging through your camera roll to find a collection of photos of Logan. Professional snapshots of him driving on track, walking around the paddock, but also personal ones, like the trip you had taken to the White Cliffs of Dover, or the goofy photos of him trying to paint like you. The photos were arranged into a collage before you uploaded it as an Instagram story, adding the caption Missing you in the paddock. 

It was small, but a way to acknowledge the void left by his absence, a silent message that you still cared, that you hadn’t forgotten him despite everything. 

As you uploaded the story, your thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to tag him. You hesitated, thinking that maybe it would seem too much, too soon. But then, in an almost impulsive decision, you tagged his handle, before quickly pulling your finger away from the screen.

The olive branch had been extended. It was up to him whether or not he wanted to accept it. 

======

Most of the weekend was spent trying to forget about the Logan news. You tried not to check your phone obsessively, to avoid waiting for a response that may never come. But each time you thought about it, a part of you felt like you were holding your breath. 

For better or for worse, you were by yourself during the race, out along the barriers trying to capture photos of the team. Each time the blue Williams car drove by, you’d find yourself slightly smiling, only for it to drop when you saw the number forty-three attached to it. 

Fortunately, with each lap that passed, your pity party turned into a rush of adrenaline. You knew Charles, as well as the entire Ferrari team, wanted to win at their home race. And you knew they were all crazy enough to do whatever it took to get there. 

The race seemed to go on forever, as Charles dominated the field. He was well ahead of either McLaren, and showed absolutely no signs of slowing down. 

It was then that you caught a glimpse of Max’s car speeding by - your thoughts immediately drifting to him. Despite everything going on in front of you, you couldn’t escape the pull of the memories you had with him and the fact he had been stalking you on social media. Your stomach fluttered for a brief second before you shook your head and snapped another photo, trying to focus on the race once more. 

As the laps left moved down to the single digits, you hopped in the golf cart to get to the pit wall before the chequered flag was waved. 

You pressed up against the wire fencing, hoping to capture each car as they passed through the final laps. You could feel the tension rising not just from the team, but from the grandstands, hoping for that long awaited home victory. 

And when that chequered flag waved, Charles was the first one over the finish line. 

Your camera captured Charles, the team, and the grandstands at lightning speed. Every angle you could take, you did. This is what the fans had waited five years for. 

The podium and the celebrations that followed late into the night were a blur. Just like in Monaco, the entire town came alive from the victory. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. 

But as you finally got into bed that night, your head doing cartwheels from the amount you had to drink, your mind wandered to Logan and Max. You hoped that the American was okay, and that the Dutchman would finally man up and make a move. 

Monte Carlo, Monaco

The coffee dates you had started with Max earlier in the season slowly turned into meeting up with each other whenever you could, no matter the time of day. Whether it was you playing with his cats as he exercised out on his balcony, or him watering your plants in the background of your Zoom meetings, you guys would always make time for each other. 

It felt easy, comfortable - like the two of you had fallen into a rhythm that neither of you anticipated but both of you were secretly grateful for. The spontaneity of it all was both exciting and calming. One moment, you’d be in a rush, prepping for a shoot or editing photos late into the night, and next, you’d get a message from Max, asking if you had time to talk. 

The racing calendar had prompted for a three week break, allowing you and Max some well needed rest at home. Max had brought the cats over to your apartment, and he was playing with them in the living room as you were preparing dinner for the two of you. The sound of Jimmy’s meows mixed with Max’s occasional laugh as he jumped on his lap, swatting at the toy you had set up earlier. Sassy was perched on your cabinet, watching you as you made pasta. 

“I swear she loves you more than she does me” Max called from the living room as he watched Sassy perched on the cabinet, her eyes fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world. 

You chuckled softly, stirring the pasta boiling in the pot. “It’s probably the pasta” you teased, glancing over your shoulder to find Max grinning. “She knows good food when she sees it.” 

Max shook his head dramatically. “She’s such a traitor.” he muttered, though his voice was light with amusement. “Have you thought about getting a pet?”  

You pondered the question for a moment, “Maybe…” you trailed off back into thought. “I just don’t know if I’d have time for one, with all the traveling, you know?” 

Max nodded, “I get that. It’s tough leaving these two all the time.” he said as Jimmy snuggled up in his arms. “But if you were to get one, what would you name it?” 

“I wouldn’t name them after clubs in Monaco, that’s for sure” you teased before tilting your head slightly, letting the question hang in the air for a moment. “Knowing me, I’d name it after an artist, like Donatello or something.” 

“An artist or a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?” Max chuckled 

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, your phone ringer dinged, signalling you got a text. Your eyes darted around the kitchen, looking for any sign of your phone, only for it to be resting on the coffee table in the living room. 

“Can you check and see who it is? I don’t wanna miss it if it’s work related.” You asked

Max nodded, reaching for your phone. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed at the screen in his hands. Max’s fingers paused for a moment as he read the message, his expression shifting from casual curiosity to something more unreadable. You noticed his lips pressed into a thin line, his relaxed demeanor now clouded with a hint of concern. He didn’t say anything for a beat, just kept staring at the screen. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked, the sudden silence between you two unsettling. 

Max didn’t immediately respond. He looked up at you, then back down at the phone, as if weighing something in his mind. “It’s… Logan,” he said finally, his voice careful.

Your stomach dropped at the mention of Logan’s name. You hadn’t heard from him since that morning in your apartment, and the thought of him now, unexpectedly, made your pulse race a little faster. 

Max’s reaction made sense now. During one of your late night chats, you had filled him in on what happened with you and Logan. You could tell he was mad how Logan handled you while both of you were intoxicated, despite how the American treated you when sober. 

Max’s eyes stayed on you as you absorbed the news, clearly trying to gauge your reaction. ‘Do you want me to read it?” he asked, his voice gentle. 

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before walking over to where Max was in the living room. “No, I’ll look at it,” you said quietly, trying to sound steady. You needed to be in control of this, no matter how much it made your stomach churn.

“Hey, I saw your post a few weeks ago. Just wanted to let you know I have an IndyCar test with MSR in November.” 

The message on your phone seemed innocuous at first, just a simple update, but something about it made your stomach tighten.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the words, not sure how to process the sudden shift. It was strange - Logan had always been a mix of casual and serious when it came to racing, but this felt different. The way he was reaching out now, after so long, felt distant in a way. 

You took a slow breath and glanced over at Max, who was watching you closely. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything, but his expression spoke volumes - caution, concern, and perhaps even a hint of frustration. The silence between you felt heavy, like a quiet storm waiting to pass. 

Max spoke first, breaking the tension. “So… is he just checking in?” His voice was guard, but you could hear the underlying hint of something deeper - protectiveness, maybe?

You shook your head, trying to shake off the swirling in your head. “I don’t know what it is, honestly. He’s been quiet for so long…” you began, running a hand through your hair. “I know I left the door open for him to reach out, but it’s just odd that he popped up the second he had another test lined up. Like he wants me to see how much better I am without him.” 

Max remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving you, as if trying to decipher what you were feeling. “Do you think he’s trying to make you feel guilty?” he asked, considering the scenario from all angles. 

Immediately, you shook your head, dismissing the idea. “No, he’s not the kind of guy to do that.”

Max nodded slowly, though his expression didn’t shift. “Got that. Maybe he’s testing the waters to see if you’re still willing to have him in your life?” 

“Maybe?” you questioned. “I made it clear that I only wanted to be friends with him that morning.”

“I know you did,” he said, shifting up straighter, careful not to wake the cat that had fallen asleep in his lap. “You don’t have to respond. And if you do, let it be on your terms. Don’t let him pull you back into that uncertainty.” 

The sincerity in his voice lifted a weight off your shoulders. Just like he did in Spielberg, he managed to pull you out of your thoughts and back down to earth. 

“You’re right.” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “I guess I just needed to hear it from someone else.”

“Of course,” he said, a smile on his face as he got up from his spot on the floor. He set Jimmy, who was still sound asleep, on your couch before moving towards the kitchen. “But if you do decide to reach out or talk to him again, I’m here, okay? No judgments. Just… you.” 

“Thanks, Max. Seriously.”

He gave you a teasing grin as he grabbed a plate from the cupboard. “Now, about dinner - if you’re done having your crisis, I’m ready to eat. I was promised pasta, not a therapy session.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you moved to grab the bottle of wine on the counter. “Right.” 

======

As the night went on, so did the glasses of wine. Dinner had long been eaten, and the dishes were cleaned up. You and Max stood out on your balcony, watching over the Monaco harbor, glasses of wine in your hands. The city lights twinkled below, reflecting off the water, creating a peaceful hum that matched the evening. The cats were inside, both entertained by the new scratching post you had set up for them. 

Max leaned up against the railing next to you, the breeze moving in a way that let you get a whiff of his cologne. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, but you could tell his mind wasn’t entirely on the view. He had a thoughtful look on his face, the one that always made you curious about what he was thinking. 

“What’s on your mind?” you asked softly, unable to stop yourself

Max didn’t immediately respond. He gave a small shrug, still looking over the harbor. “I don’t know.” he said eventually, his voice low, like he was still thinking through whatever had been on his mind. “Just… everything.” 

You took a sip of your wine, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat, giving you a moment to think. It was clear that his thoughts weren’t about everything, or everyone. 

“Are you still thinking about Logan?” you finally asked 

Max’s head turned slightly at your question, his gaze shifting from the harbor to you, but again, he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he followed in your footsteps and took a long sip of his wine, his eyes lingering on the glass for a second before meeting yours. 

“It’s hard not to, right?” He asked, “You’ve got a lot of history with him.” 

You could feel the weight of his words, the implication that what happened between you and Logan still lingered in the air, unspoken but present. Your stomach tightened a little, and you didn’t know it was because of Max’s casual mention of Logan, or the fact you had asked a question you weren’t sure you were ready to answer yourself.

“I know” you said after a beat, your voice quieter now. “I know you’re looking out for me, but like I said, Logan was a mistake. If I were to reply to him, it would be as friends.” 

You don’t know what came over you next. Maybe it was the liquid courage in your veins, or maybe it was the fact that the confession was going to kill you unless you told him, but you continued to talk. 

“I also made another mistake, Max” you admitted, looking down at the liquid swirling in your glass before you met his gaze once again, coming to terms that you were going to confess. “I should have never ran away from you years ago.” 

Max was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the soft rustling of the breeze and the distant hum of the city below. You couldn’t help but watch his reaction, trying to gauge if your words had landed in the way you intended. The confession felt raw, more than you had intended, but it was out now, hanging between the two of you like a fragile thing that could shatter at the slightest touch. 

Max’s lips pressed together for a second, and he turned his gaze back to the water. You couldn’t tell if he was processing your words, or just avoiding looking at you. The silence stretched on, and you began to regret everything you’d just said. Maybe it was too much. Maybe he didn’t need to hear it. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that.” Max finally spoke, his voice much softer now. “I know you had your reasons for what you did back then, and I have my reasons for how I reacted. But I think we’re both adult enough to move past it.” 

You felt a weight lift off your chest, though it was still tinged with uncertainty. His words weren’t an immediate fix, but they offered a glimmer of reassurance. You had expected judgment, maybe even a withdrawal from him, but instead, he was speaking with a level of understanding you hadn’t anticipated. 

“I didn’t want to run away from us” you added, your voice barely a whisper, the truth of the moment still biting at you. The post from Spielberg flashed in your mind. “I think I was just… scared. I didn’t know how to handle everything that was happening, with you and with me. It wasn’t just about us. It was everything.” 

Max glanced at you then, his eyes softening, the earlier tension in his posture easing. “You don’t have to explain. We were both young and dealing with things we didn’t know how to handle,” he said, his voice calm, almost like a quiet comfort. “I saw the posts too.” 

“You did?” you asked, your head tilting slightly. It was unlike him to pay attention to the gossip and the rumors. 

“I’m on social media a lot more than you think.” he chuckled, his tone lighter than it had been before.

“Oh I know, I heard you kept tabs on me when we weren’t talking.” you teased, nudging your elbow into his side.

Max let out a laugh, shaking his head as he glanced over at you. “Guilty as charged,” he said with a smirk. “But I never commented or liked anything. Just… well, you know, checking in now and then.” His expression softened again as he added, “I wasn’t stalking, just… curious.” 

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the mood light, but part of you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed by the thought. “Curious about what, exactly?” you asked, teasing but with an edge of vulnerability in your voice. 

Max took another sip of his wine before responding, his tone thoughtful. “Curious if you’d figured things out. Curious if you’d be okay. And, if I’m honest, curious if we’d ever talk again.” He turned to face you more fully, his eyes serious but still warm. “I didn’t want to push. I didn’t know what you needed, or if you needed anything from me at all.” 

He took a step closer to you as he kept talking. “And when you left, I thought I needed to get over you, to move on. I didn’t specifically pick Isabella because she was close to you. I did it just because she was there that night. And then for a good while, it seemed you had everything figured out. You had Logan, and I felt like I messed up my chances with you.”

You felt a pang in your chest as Max spoke, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you. You hadn’t expected him to open up like this, to share what had been on his mind all these years. 

You swallowed, your grip on your wine glass tightening slightly. “I didn’t think you needed to get over me,” you said quietly, your eyes searching his. “I thought you moved on.” 

Max shook his head, his gaze steady on you. “It wasn’t that simple. I told myself I needed to, but I couldn’t. I tried to convince myself I was fine, but… I wasn’t. I just didn’t know how to reach out to you again after everything that happened.” 

His words struck a chord deep inside you. It was strange to hear that he’s been in pain too, that the distance between you hadn’t been something you’d imposed on yourself. 

“Max, I’m sorry… I never meant to -” you began

“Schat, you don’t need to apologize. We’re both past it.” he interrupted, though his voice was still soft. “I think it’s now a matter of where do we go from here?” 

“That depends,” you said, turning to him, “What do you want?” 

Max paused, his expression softening as he processed your question. His eyes locked onto yours, his lips parting slightly as though he were carefully weighing his words. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to say, and you were perfectly set on the offer. 

“I want to make things right.” he said. “I don’t want to keep wondering what could have been.” 

You felt your heart race, the intensity of the moment sweeping over you like a tidal wave. It felt like everything you’d both been holding back, all the years of uncertainty and unspoken words, were finally coming to a head. 

“I don’t want to wonder either,” you admitted, your voice quieter, yet much more certain. You reached out and gently placed your hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

“Then let’s see where this goes,” he said as he stepped closer to you, his body language open and vulnerable. “Together.” 

The words settled in the space between you, hanging there, like an invitation that was too simple, too perfect to refuse. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, the kind that made everything feel right again, like you were exactly where you were meant to be. 

You stepped closer to him, closing the distance until you could feel the faint beat of his heart, both of you drawn together. 

Without another word, Max cupped your face with his free hand, and kissed you. It was soft at first, tentative, like both of you were finally allowing yourselves to feel what had been buried for so long. But then, as if the years past melted away, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more real. The taste of wine lingered between you, but the meaning of the kiss was much more intoxicating than the drinks prior. 

When you pulled back, breathless but smiling, you both lingered in the moment, eyes locked, hearts still racing. Max’s forehead rested against yours, as you spoke. 

“So how about we celebrate with a batch of cookies?” you asked knowing you had refilled your cookie jar for him. 

“It’s like you read my mind” he chuckled as he took your hand, leading you back into the familiarity of your apartment. 

São Paulo, Brazil

Brazil was wet. 

The amount of rain that had fallen from the sky was borderline monsoon level. Every step you took was filled with the squelch of water in your socks and shoes. The normally buzzing paddock was now silent as team members huddled in their motorhomes and garages waiting for the go ahead to start qualifying. 

You and Isabella had tried to keep busy, as well as the fans engaged, by snapping photos and forcing some of the engineers into videos. But no matter how many artistic snapshots of raindrops you took or insane mini mic questions you asked, the two of you repeatedly ended up taskless.

The two of you found yourselves in the hospitality suite that overlooked the pitlane, sitting at the window as you watched the rain fall. In the ten or fifteen minutes you had been there, you’d already seen Kimi Antonelli be pushed out into the pouring rain and a few Williams engineers race rubber duckies. 

You leaned your head against the glass, watching the chaos below, feeling a strange mix of boredom and amusement. The unpredictability of it all - cars that should have been speeding down the straights now parked and idle - felt like a strange world.

“Have you heard from Logan at all?” Isabella asked as she stared at the Williams engineers down below, dragging you out of your thoughts.

The phone in your pocket grew heavier as you straightened up slightly, hesitating to answer the question. While you had filled her in about everything with Max, you failed to give her one minor detail.

“Uh yeah, I actually did. A few weeks ago.” You admitted, “He’s doing some testing with an IndyCar team sometime this month. Not really sure. I didn’t reply.” 

Isabella raised an eyebrow at your words, her gaze shifting from the engineers below to you, a knowing look forming. “You didn’t reply?” she repeated slowly, her words laced with curiosity.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of her gaze. “I didn’t know what to say” you admitted, trying to defend your decision. “And plus, I was a little occupied with Max.”

“You made things official with Max the same day Logan texted you?” she asked, shock now coming into her words. 

A sigh escaped your lips as the weight of the conversation pressed down on you. “I didn’t plan it that way.” you explained, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “It just… kind of happened. It wasn’t like I was purposefully avoiding Logan or anything, I just didn’t know how to respond.”

Isabella remained silent for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in your words. The silence hung between you for a moment, the rain outside intensifying, the sound of it hammering against the windows in the otherwise quiet room. 

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked after a beat, her tone softer but still inquisitive. “Because if I recall correctly, you gave him the opportunity to reach out, and he did.” 

“You’re right” you said, running a hand through your wet hair. “But I don’t even know how to bring it up. I can’t just text him and act like nothing’s changed. I don’t wanna string him along.” 

“You owe it to him,” Isabella said, her tone gentle but firm. “And to yourself, to be honest. He deserves to know where you stand, even if it’s awkward.” 

Her eyes lingered on you, hinting that she wanted you to reply now. Slowly, you took your phone out of your pocket and unlocked the device. 

You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You could feel Isabella’s gaze on you, her silent encouragement urging you on to take the plunge. The weight of the conversation, of everything left unsaid, pressed down on you. Logan deserved more than this silence. 

With one last deep breath, you typed out the message that had been swirling in your head for the last few weeks. 

Hey, congrats on the test, hoping it goes well. Sorry it took so long to get back to you, I’ve been busy with work. 

You read it over once, then twice. It felt right - congratulating him on his accomplishment while not seeming too overboard. You figured it wouldn’t be great to bring up Max quite yet, but you knew you couldn’t avoid it forever. So, you added: 

I’ve been meaning to let you know where I am, and things have changed a bit on my end. I’ve started seeing someone else, but like I’ve said multiple times, I’m always open to being friends. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit send. 

Isabella watched as you set the phone down, the tension still in the air between you. “It’s done.” she said quietly, her voice reassuring. 

“I hope I didn’t make things worse” you replied, your gaze flicking nervously to the phone on the table, waiting for a response. 

Minutes passed, and just as you were starting to second-guess yourself, the phone buzzed.

Yeah I get it, I appreciate the honesty. I’m happy for you, but you should know I don’t wanna throw away that friendship. 

You read the message out loud, prompting a smile on Isabella’s face. “See? Not so bad, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah. It was fine.” you said, rolling your eyes, but still forming a small smile on your face. 

======

For the first time since you started working in Formula 1, a super Sunday was on the table. The incredulous amounts of rain pushed qualifying to Sunday morning, prompting an early wake up for everyone. Texting with Logan had made things a bit better, the two of you had been chatting back and forth nonstop since you finally replied. 

You could already hear the sounds of drill guns and dremels in the distance as the teams prepped for the rescheduled qualifying session. The rain had been relentless, but now, under the early morning light, the drizzle had calmed just enough to let everyone get back to business. The Celcius in your hand was enough to get you started in the morning, but you knew you needed a second wind later in the day. 

As you passed by Ferrari’s hospitality to get to the garage, the familiar Red Bull logo loomed over you. The temptation was strong, and for a brief moment, you thought about slipping into the blue building. You could grab a can without anyone noticing. But then you remembered you did have a commitment to Ferrari, and you couldn’t be caught repping another team. 

Instead, you took another sip of your Celsius, and with a deep breath, you walked straight to the bright red garage. 

Both Ferrari cars did as well as they could in the crappy conditions. No one in the paddock was having a good time, especially Max. While he had qualified twelfth, he was pushed back to seventeenth due to his combustion engine being changed. 

As the race went underway, it was as chaotic as you could have imagined it. Water had pooled into places no one ever expected, and seemed to throw everyone off of their game except Max.

Growing up, you knew Max was going to succeed in the most challenging conditions. In grade school you would overhear him telling stories about how he was out karting all day in the rain and snow, going until he felt more than comfortable. You thought it was absurd, risking frostbite and illness for a career he wasn’t even sure he would get. But watching him now, claw back from seventeenth, in these miserable conditions, it all made sense. 

Max was the first one to cross the finish line, leading to a roaring celebration from your garage neighbors. You felt a strange, bittersweet joy wash over you as you snapped the photos of Charles finishing in fifth. You couldn’t help but to be proud of your boyfriend, it was his race from start to finish. A flawless performance that left the rest of the grid in his wake. 

As Carlos had crashed earlier in the race, once Charles crossed the finish line, you made your way back to the garage, planning to prepare for the interviews. You were fiddling with the mini mic when Isabella approached you. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, causing you to look up. 

You blinked for a moment, processing her question. “Uh, prepping for Charles’ post race stuff.” you said as if it was obvious. 

“Don’t you wanna go see the podium?” she asked, the roar from the crowd in the distance signalled that the top three had parked in parc ferme. 

“It’s okay, I don’t have to. There’s work that needs to be done.” you replied, scanning the area to see if Charles had returned yet. 

Isabella furrowed her eyebrows “You don’t want to see Max? Especially after that drive?” 

You shrugged in response. “I’ll see him on the flight back” you answered. The two of you had already arranged plans for you to join him on his jet. 

Isabella looked at you like you were the hardest math problem she’s ever had to solve. “Go to the podium,” she ordered. “You always covered for me when I ran off. I got Charles’ stuff.” 

She walked over to where you were, taking the mini mic and all of its wiring from you. Before you could open your mouth to protest, she glared at you again. “Go!” 

Without another word spoken between you two, you darted out of the garage and down the pitlane to where the celebrations were. The adrenaline from the race still lingered in the air as the teams waited for their drivers to come out. Alpine was on one side, and Red Bull on the other. 

All three drivers had gone to the cooldown room when you arrived. You opted to stay towards the back of the crowds, hoping and praying that no one would question what you were doing there. While you both had told family and a few friends about your relationship, it hadn’t been made completely public yet. You wanted to enjoy the beginnings of it out of the public eye and the scrutiny. 

Pierre and Esteban looked thrilled as they took their places on the podium, flashing wide smiles and quite literally jumping for joy. Rightfully deserved, of course. You could hear their names being chanted, their team and fans rallying behind them. But the atmosphere shifted slightly as Max stepped out. 

The crowd’s roar somehow grew even louder, and you could see his trademark smile lighting up his face as he made his way to the top step. The drive would surely go down in history, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride swell inside as you watch his raw emotion to finally getting another win.  

A smile broke onto your face as you heard the Dutch national anthem for the first time in months. It was hard to believe that a short year ago you were wishing to never hear it again, even if it was for your own country. But there you stood in the crowd, quietly singing along. 

During the anthem, Max’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something. When his gaze met yours, hidden in the shadows of the celebrations, he relaxed. The smile that was already plastered on his face grew a tad wider as you waved. Nothing flashy, nothing too overt, just a brief shared moment that only the two of you would truly understand. 

While Red Bull wasn’t your team, Max sure as hell was your driver. 

======

You were thankful that Max’s plane had taken off in the late morning the next day. As much as you loved getting back home sooner rather than later, the rest was well deserved after a late night of celebrations. 

The two of you sat next to each other, the hum of the engines filling the quiet space between you. You were both exhausted, but the thought of Max now within a race reach of winning the championship planted in your minds, neither of you could rest.

A piece of paper that had every angle of a blank helmet printed on it sat in front of Max while you had your laptop out on a 3D editing software. Both of you were running through ideas for his champion helmet. Max had a gold colored pencil in his hand coloring away on the paper while the occasional click of your keyboard brought his visions to life. 

“I think it’s missing something,” he said, glancing at the rendering on your screen. “Like it looks good as is, but I think it could be better.” 

You glanced at Max, seeing the way he was biting his lip as he stared at the paper in front of him, deep in thought. The gold pencil in his hand was worn down from the hours he’d spent perfecting every detail, but it was clear he wasn’t satisfied. 

“I agree” you said, zooming in on the 3D model. The white and the gold looked good together, but they lacked that extra spark that would tie it all together. 

“What if we added some sparkles to the gold?” He suggested, his eyes wide with curiosity to see what that would look like. 

With a few clicks of your keyboard and taps on the screen, you added a glitter effect to the gold in the helmet. 

Max’s eyes lit up. “Whoa. That’s sick.” 

You stared at the screen, happy with the improvement that was made, but you felt like you could do even better. “What if we added something to the white?” you suggested as you clicked away a bit more. “I can completely undo this if you decide you don’t like it.” 

You watched Max’s reaction closely as you filled some of the white areas with gold marble on the 3D rendering. The effect was subtle but impactful, adding a depth and shine that made the design feel even more dynamic. 

Max’s eyebrows raised slightly, clearly impressed. “That… that’s actually perfect,” he said, almost in disbelief. 

“I’m glad you like it.” you said, brushing your fingers over the touchpad, making small adjustments to the way the gold marbling flowed. “It needed something to balance out the glitter, and I think it brings everything together.” 

“It definitely does.” he said before going quiet again, his head tilted slightly as if he was deep in thought. “Would you wanna design my champion logo?” 

You looked up from the laptop, surprised by his question. “The championship logo?” you repeated, unsure you heard him correctly. 

Max nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the paper, his eyes distant as he thought it over. “Yeah, you know how I’ve had a logo for every championship I’ve won. I want you to design this years. Something that symbolizes the achievement.” 

You blinked a few times, processing his request. The idea of designing something so symbolic for Max was exciting, but also incredibly intimidating. The pressure was higher than with the helmet design - it wasn’t just a visual statement for the race; it was a symbol of part of his career, his hard work, his journey through the season. 

Max could see the hesitation in our face. He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk creeping onto his lips as he gently nudged you. “What? You’re not up for the challenge?” 

You shook your head quickly, the excitement already bubbling up inside of you. “No, no. I’m up for it. It’s just a big task. Haven’t done something like that since the Monza livery my first year.” 

“And that livery is why I think you’ll be perfect for it.” he said, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you into him as best as he could in the plane seat.  

You felt your heart race at his words. The Monza livery was a piece you had poured your heart and soul into when you first started with Ferrari, and Max was with you through every step of designing it and bringing it to life. For him to reference it years later made you feel both proud and incredibly humbled. Creating something big for him felt like a huge honor. 

“I mean… if you insist…” you began, a smile growing rapidly on your face before planting a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll start as soon as we get home.” 

Las Vegas, USA

Going into Vegas, you didn’t know what to expect. The flashing lights, magic tricks, and way too many celebrities for you to keep track of were guarantees, but other than that, you were clueless. 

It was the newest track on the calendar, only being the second time in recent history that the World Championship made a stop in Sin City. The entire team was excited as they arrived, but with the Driver’s Championship on the line, you may have been the most. 

Thankfully, to help keep with the facade of nothing going on between you and Max, both of you had to report to the paddock at different times. As much as the two of you had gotten used to the secrecy, it didn’t make it any less frustrating. You were constantly aware of the eyes on you, knowing that anything that you did - any small gesture - could be taken as evidence of a relationship. The last thing either of you wanted was the added pressure of public speculation. 

You were in one of the Ferrari media rooms by yourself, getting your gear together in between the free practices. The hum of conversation from the paddock filtered in through the door, but inside, it was quiet. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the fact that your laptop wasn’t recognizing your SD card for some reason. 

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you tapped the sides of your laptop as if willing it to work. The noise from the paddock was growing louder as other team members filtered in and out, but here you were, stuck trying to troubleshoot a technical issue that you really didn’t have time for. 

You plugged the SD card into another slot, hoping it might just be a bad connection, but nothing happened. You were about to try one more thing when you heard a knock on the door frame. 

“I’ll be right out. I’m dealing with some tech stuff.” you said not even bothering to see who it was. You assumed that it was Annalese needing you for a media meeting. 

You heard the soft chuckle before the voice responded, and it wasn’t Annalese. 

“Tech issues, huh?” The voice was familiar, low, and warm. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced up, immediately meeting Max’s eyes, the playful glint in his gaze sending a mix of emotions through you. 

“Max!” you said, a little too loudly for your own liking. You rushed him into the room before closing the door behind him, hoping no one saw him in the doorway. Your lips met his briefly, and as you pulled away you asked “What are you doing here?” 

Max shrugged “Thought I’d pay you a visit in between meetings. It’s always nice to see you” he said nonchalantly which confused you even more. 

“Great seeing you too, but how did you even get in here?” you asked knowing the only way into the media areas was with a proper credential. 

Your boyfriend motioned back to the door that had just closed behind him. “Annalese let me in. She’s pretty easy to convince.” 

“You know what? I’m not even surprised” you said, throwing your hands up in defeat. “I have bigger problems to worry about right now.” 

Max gave you a teasing smile, clearly enjoying your flustered state, but there was a tenderness behind his eyes that made you feel a little more at ease. He stepped further into the room, glancing over at your laptop with a raised eyebrow. “Need help?” he asked, his voice warm and easy, as if you weren’t in the middle of a stressful race weekend. 

You huffed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I mean if you can get my SD card to register, be my guest. I might just text Isabella and see if she has a second one I can borrow until I can go get a new one.” 

Max took a seat in front of your laptop, and got to work. You watched him for a moment as he tapped a few of the keys, along with unplugged and replugged the SD card in. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the screen, before unplugging the SD card and plugging it into a different port. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his confusion. “You’re doing literally everything I’ve done.”

“I’m sorry, schat.” he said, frowning as he looked at you. 

You shrugged, clearly over the entire situation. “It’s fine. I’ll just text Isabella and ask her.” 

Fortunately, she did have one and quickly agreed to bring you a spare SD card. Within minutes, you heard her voice on the other side of the door, followed by one belonging to a man. 

You and Max exchanged looks as you guys heard the voice. It was familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where. As the door knob turned, all you could hope was that it was someone who wouldn’t get Max in trouble for being where he shouldn’t. 

Isabella walked in first, a fresh SD card in her hand, and a slight smile on her face. “Hey, I come bearing gifts” she said, but as she took in the fact you weren’t alone in the room, she stiffened. “Uh hey, Max.” 

While the history between Max and Isabella was no secret to anyone, you knew that Isabella had gotten past it. Her sudden change in demeanor was surprising. Isabella glanced at something in the hallway before landing back on you and Max. 

She walked further into the room, to give you the SD card, but the door behind her didn’t close. You glanced over Isabella’s shoulder, heart skipping a beat as you saw who was now standing in the doorway. 

Logan Sargeant. 

His lips formed an awkward smile as he took in the sight of both you and Max. “Hey, guys.”

“Logan, hi.” you began, your voice filled with confusion. “What are you doing here?” 

Logan’s eyes darted to Isabella, who was still standing between you and him. “She invited me, just as a friend. I missed the paddock and figured I’d come say hi.” 

You couldn’t quite hide the tension that crept into the room, as Logan’s casual tone didn’t quite match the undercurrent of unease you could feel simmering. Max knew the two of you had been catching up, that it was all just friendly, but neither of you were expecting him to show up to another Grand Prix. 

“It’s good to see you.” You said before gesturing to Max. “And you know my boyfriend, Max,” 

Logan’s eyebrows raised at you calling Max yours, but he didn’t say anything on the matter. Instead, he offered a wave and a polite “Hey” 

Max straightened up, his posture tightening, but he quickly masked it with a calm smile. “Nice to see you, Logan,” he said, his voice steady, but you could tell he was more aware of the situation than ever. 

Logan gave a small, awkward nod, his eyes flicking between you and Max. There was a brief pause in the room as the three of you gauged what to do next. 

“Yeah, it’s good to see you both,” Logan said again, his words almost too quick, as if he was trying to fill the silence that had lingered for a little too long.

“Well, I still have some stuff to do.” Isabella said, turning towards Logan, “Shall we?” 

With a quiet goodbye, the duo walked out of the room, leaving you and Max alone. As the door closed, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“I was not expecting that.” you said, turning toward your boyfriend.

Max let out a low chuckle, though there was a hint of tension behind it. “Yeah, me neither.” He said, leaning back against the table before his voice softened. “But you introduced me as your boyfriend.” 

You froze for a moment, realizing the weight of the words you’d just said. It hadn’t even occurred to you until now how significant that simple introduction was. It was the first time you’d referred to Max that was in front of someone outside of your tight circle. 

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I guess I did.” 

Max’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the tension from Logan’s unexpected visit seemed to vanish. He got up from the chair and walked over to you. “You know, that felt pretty good.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his eyes. “It did.” you agreed quietly.

Max pressed his lips against yours, soft and sweet. When you both pulled away, he glanced towards the door. “Now I think it’s time we both get back to work.” 

“Yeah, I have a guest to entertain, I guess” you laughed as you packed up your stuff before sneaking Max out of the Ferrari building. 

As soon as Max was out of your sight, you darted towards the Ferrari garage. Not only did you have a load of content to get that you were missing due to the technical error, but you needed to apologize to a certain American.

You’d spent enough time in the paddock to know that the drivers, especially Max, could be drama queens. The awkwardness you’d felt when Logan had walked into the room was fresh, and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. You didn’t want him to think that something he’d done had crossed a line - it was Max being protective. You and Logan had finally gotten back on the right page, and even though things had been a bit complicated in the past, you didn’t want him feeling uncomfortable during his visit.

You made your way down the long hallway, eventually being surrounded by the hum of activity. Mechanics and engineers were busy attending to both cars, but your focus was on finding Logan. You caught sight of him in the corner, talking with one of the engineers, but as soon as he saw you approaching, he turned his attention to you.

“Hey,” you greeted him, a little hesitant. “Can we talk?” 

Logan nodded immediately, noticing the sincerity in your voice. “Yeah, sure.” 

You motioned for him to follow you back down the hall that you just came from, away from the main hustle and bustle. When you were far enough away to have some privacy, you finally let out a breath. 

“Look, I just wanted to apologize for earlier” you said, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t know you’d be here this weekend, and seeing you and Max in the same room really caught me off guard. I didn’t mean to make things weird.” 

Logan blinked a few times, clearly surprised by your directness. After a beat, he gave a small nod. “It’s alright, I mean it was unexpected, sure, but it’s no big deal.” he offered a reassuring smile. 

While you wanted to let out a sigh of relief, you could feel the weight of your apology still hanging in the air, and you wanted to make sure he understood how much you valued your friendship. 

“I didn’t want you to think that something you did or said made me uncomfortable.” you continued, your voice softer now. “It’s really just Max being protective. He’s not exactly the most laid-back guy when it comes to things like this.”

Logan gave a small chuckle, his expression easing. “Yeah, I know. He’s got that look about him. But I’m glad you two found each other again, you seem genuinely happy.” 

You smiled softly, feeling a warm sense of gratitude for Logan’s words. It was clear he wasn’t holding onto any hard feelings, and it meant a lot that he understood the situation.

“Thanks, Logan,” you said, appreciating his kindness, “I will admit though, I have been missing you around the paddock, so this was a nice surprise.”

It was Logan’s turn for his expression to soften as a genuine smile creeped on his face. “I’ve missed it too.” he said, his tone warm. “The paddock, the people… it’s always been a part of who I am, you know?” He paused for a moment before the smile turned into a smirk. “But I will say you guys get spoiled over here in Ferrari. I need to visit more often.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle as the last bit of tension slipped away. The journey hadn’t been easy for either of you, but hearing him speak so honestly put your mind at ease. 

“You’re welcome to come anytime.” you said “I always get a spare pass that I don’t end up giving away half the time.” 

Logan grinned, his eyes lighting up at the offer. “I might just take you up on that.” he said, his voice playful. “It’s nice that everything’s good between us again. I didn’t want to make anything weird.”

“No, me neither,” you agreed, giving him a reassuring smile. “We’ve got enough drama around here already”

He chuckled “Yeah, no kidding. Especially when it comes to Max.” 

At that point, you both laughed, the mood finally officially lightened. The tension that had been there earlier had dissipated entirely, replaced by the familiarity and ease you’d shared with Logan before things got complicated. It felt like you were back to where you had been. 

“Alright, let’s get you back to the garage before everyone starts speculating that you ran to Williams to get your job back.” you said, glancing back down the hall towards the noise of the machines. 

“Oh please, like I’d ever go back there” 

======

When you weren’t busy cracking jokes with the Ferrari guests or convincing Max that Logan really isn’t as bad of a guy as he thought, you were actually doing your job. Between capturing behind-the-scenes moments, interviewing engineers, and snapping shots of the cars during their time on the track, your weekend was filled with a constant stream of action. 

Since you were in Vegas, both you and Isabella opted to take a gamble and switch drivers for the weekend, meaning you were predominantly covering Carlos. 

As much as you loved following Charles around, the change of not having to hear him whine about how much he missed his dog was refreshing. You adored Charles, as well as the endless stories about Leo, but a change of pace was always nice. It was also nice to work with Carlos one last time, leaving for Williams at the end of the season. 

But what didn’t change was the nerves that surged through you as you took your spot in one of the media pens along the track. You had positioned yourself perfectly between the fences, the practice photos that you took during the formation lap had looked perfect. All that was left was for the lights to go out. 

The roar of engines echoed in the air, vibrating through your body as the lights slowly began to fill red. One by one, they blinked on, and the air around you thickened with anticipation. The final light flickered, and then, - off. 

You were already snapping photos as the cars shot off the line. Each frame clicked into place as you captured the story unfolding right in front of you. 

Even though you had done this week in and week out, your nerves couldn’t help but spike this time around. It wasn’t your first time working with Max behind the wheel since you made it official, but it was the first time this season he could clinch the championship. 

You caught sight of his Red Bull, its blue and red livery standing out against the glint of Las Vegas lights, weaving through the pack. Though you were focused on Carlos’ red Ferrari, you couldn’t help but to snap a few photos of Max as he whizzed by. 

The tension that had settled in your chest slowly started to ease as the race progressed, the rhythm of your work taking over. It was almost as if your camera became an extension of you - each snap, each click pulling you deeper into the action. It also helped that Max was ahead of Lando. 

As the laps ticked down to the single digits, you found yourself once again pressed along the fence that separated the track and pit lane. Carlos was about to cross the line in third, securing another solid finish for Ferrari, but your focus was split between that and Max, who was positioned perfectly in fifth. 

The weight of the moment settled in, along with the pride that came rushing to your chest. You clicked a few photos of Carlos as he crossed the finish line, gathering the energy of the team that squished into the fence beside you. 

But just one garage over, the air was thick with excitement, anticipation, and pride. Max had done it again. 

The Ferrari team members, along with those in Red Bull and Mercedes, sprinted down the pit lane to parc ferme. You weasled your way to the front of it all, snapping photos as Carlos got out of the car and celebrated with the team. 

Your attention quickly turned to Max as he parked next to the red Ferrari. You could feel the adrenaline of the moment vibrate through your body as the crowd roared in celebration, your fingers still hovering over the shutter button, ready to capture every second of what would undoubtedly be another iconic moment in Max’s career. 

As Max stepped onto the car, the energy from his team surged forward. You snapped a few quick photos of him, the expression of triumph evident in his eyes as he raised four fingers in celebration. 

You had to force yourself to tear your attention away from him and back to Carlos. After he celebrated with the team, you snapped a few photos of him as he stuck a fist in the air. You followed Carlos as he congratulated George and Lewis on the Mercedes 1-2, before he found Max amidst the chaos. 

Between the photos that you had taken of him on the car and now, Max had taken off his helmet and balaclava, and for the first time since the end of the race, you could see the smile that beamed on his face. The shutter of your camera was barely heard as you captured the moment between the two drivers. 

You were going to follow Carlos as he was ushered to the cooldown car, but before you could, you felt an arm wrap around your waist. You froze for a second, heart pounding in your chest as the familiar scent of Max’s cologne mixed with the stench of sweat washed over you. The arm around your waist was tight enough to give a protective presence, but loose enough to not hurt you. 

You turned, meeting his eyes - those deep blue-green, focused eyes that always seemed to hold a world of thoughts in them. But tonight, they were something else, something lighter. A look that said he was ready to celebrate. 

“Congrats champ” you said as you looked up at him. 

Max’s lips curved into a smile as he looked down at you, his hand still resting around your waist. There was a certain softness to his gaze now, a quiet joy that radiated through him, despite the whirlwind of celebration around him. 

“Thanks” he said, his voice a mix of pride and something softer, almost vulnerable. “It feels good, you know?” His thumb lightly brushed against your side as you spoke, an unconscious gesture that felt intimate amidst the chaos. 

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the heat of the moment settle between the two of you. “You earned it.” you said. The sound of a car horn filled the air, tearing your attention away from him. In the middle of the track were a handful of Rolls Royce’s. 

“I think that’s our cue. I have some interviews to catch” you said as your attention settled back on your boyfriend. “Go celebrate with the team.” 

“Meet me in my driver’s room once we’re both done.” Max said 

You nodded, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You got it, champ.”

Before you could slip away towards the chaos, Max pulled you in closer. You could feel the heat from his body as he leaned down to press his lips softly against yours, the world around you fading into nothing but a blur for a moment. It was quick, but it carried so much more weight than any words could ever have. 

As you both pulled away, you could feel the warmth spread to your cheeks. “So much for keeping it hidden.” you teased 

Max shrugged, a playful smile on his lips now. “You’re just too good to hide.” 

======

The interviews and the podium ceremony went as slow as molasses in January. As proud of Carlos as you were, you wanted to get the formal celebrations all wrapped up so you could pack up and make your way to the garage next door. 

The spray of champagne and confetti filled the air, and the podium continued to sparkle under the floodlights. Carlos waved to the crowd, his focus on the fans, but you couldn’t help but to feel the pull towards the Red Bull garage. You quickly snapped a few more photos of the celebration, but your heart wasn’t in it. 

The second the ceremony ended and the crowd began to disperse, you bolted from your spot, making your way quickly towards the Ferrari garage. Through the walls you could hear the celebrations already going on next door, but you had one last task to complete before you could join in the celebrations yourself. 

You found a relatively quiet corner of the garage to open your laptop and load a handful of photos into Lightroom. Not everything needed to be looked over and edited tonight - that was a flight home problem - but you knew you needed something to send some of the social media interns to post for race results and podium content. 

After slapping on the presets you’ve used all season, you emailed the photos to the interns and slammed your laptop shut. The Ferrari garage was still alive with a sense of pride, but your heart was no longer tethered to it for the day. You needed to be next door, with Max. 

With a quick stop in the motorhome, you changed into something a bit more comfortable - jeans and a crop top before you pushed through the corridor to the main garage. You weaved between team members and engineers who were still making their rounds, tying up loose ends after a race. 

Cold was never a word you thought you’d describe a city in the desert, but as soon as you left the red garage, a shiver was sent down your spine. Fortunately, before you could even think about how to bundle up, you heard your name.

“Y/n!” a voice called.

You turned towards the direction of the Red Bull garage, and sure enough, Meg and Jess - Red Bull’s photographers - were waving you over. You ran over, letting the both of them engulf you in a hug. 

“Congrats guys!” you said as you pulled away 

They both echoed back a “thank you” before matching smirks formed on their faces. 

“So you and Max?” Jess asked 

“Why didn’t you tell us it finally happened?” Meg added 

You could feel your cheeks grow warm as you shrugged. “Just didn’t think it was the right time” 

Meg rolled her eyes at your comment “Oh, and kissing in front of three hundred thousand people was?”

“Whatever” you mumbled 

“If you’re looking for Max though, he’s in his driver’s room. Guessing he needed a moment to breathe” Jess said before giving you directions to said room. 

You made your way through the corridors of the navy blue Red Bull garage, your steps quickening as you neared Max’s driver’s room. The noise of the celebrations felt distant, the hum of excitement muted behind the thick walls. As you approached the door Jess had pointed you to, you paused for a moment, steadying yourself. It was crazy how much had changed in just a few months, but here you were, walking toward the man who not only had been your childhood enemy, but also had become a significant part of your life in ways you hadn’t imagined. 

With a quick breath, you knocked lightly on the door. Max’s voice quickly followed, “come in!” 

Inside, the room was dimly lit with just a few lights scattered around. The clutter of post-race items - the helmet and gloves - were discarded in the corner, his race suit still hanging loosely from his waist. A navy blue shirt covered the white fireproofs he still had on, the word “M4X” written in graffiti plastered on the front. You couldn’t help but smile as you took in the design - your design - that was now a symbol of an iconic season. 

“I’m looking for a four time world champion. Have you seen one around?” you asked playfully as you leaned up against the doorframe.

Max looked up from where he was sorting through his things, his lips curling into the same grin he always got when he caught sight of you. His eyes brightened, and for a moment, it was as if the chaos of the day melted away. 

“Four-time world champion, huh?” he teased, his voice light and filled with pride. “I think I’ve seen one around here, but I’m not sure they’re as impressive as their shirt.” He gestured to the M4X logo on his shirt, the design standing out proudly against the dim lighting of the room. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in. “Maybe it’s the shirt that makes the champion.” you quipped, pushing off from the doorframe and stepping into the room.

Max chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sure it’s all your doing.” His voice softened slightly, his gaze lingering on you, almost as if taking a moment to let everything sink in. 

“You’ve earned it Max.” you said, your words sincere, no teasing this time. The pride you felt for him, and all he’d accomplished, was clear in your voice. “Every single one of them. And I’ve been so fortunate to watch you win at least three.” 

Max stepped closer, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to gently pull you into a hug. His arms wrapped around you, and everything outside of that room vanished. He rested his chin on your shoulder, a relaxed sigh escaping him. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmured, his voice hushed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected. 

You felt your heart race, his words hitting you deeper than you had anticipated. “It’s been a hell of a ride,” you replied softly, your fingers lightly tracing his shirt where the M4X logo was. 

“I did get you a shirt, don’t you worry” he teased as he registered your actions.

A laugh escaped your mouth as you shook your head, “I sure hope you would.”

Without saying another word, Max leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was filled with both the joy of the moment and the promise of everything to come. It was slow, deliberate, and full of emotion. When he pulled back, you both lingered there for a moment, letting the world outside stay on hold for just a little bit longer. 

“You’ve been a huge part of this, you know?” Max said, his voice low and steady, his breath warm against your skin

“I know” you replied with a small smile, looking up at him. “But so have you. I’m so incredibly proud of you, Max. More than you know. Though I haven’t seen it all over the past four years, I know you’ve sacrificed a lot.”

Max gave a soft chuckle, his grip tightening around you. “You make it sound like I’ve done something extraordinary.” 

“You have” you said, admiration and affection filling your gaze. “And don’t you dare sell yourself short.” 

His gaze softened again, and he pressed his lips to your forehead, a brief but tender kiss. The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with a quiet understanding between the two of you. The weight of the day still hung in the air, but there was a sense of calm that made everything feel right. 

“So…” you said after a beat, breaking the silence with a playful tone. “How about we go and celebrate? We’re in Las Vegas afterall.” 

Max pulled back slightly, a teasing grin on his face. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

The Dutchman quickly showered and changed into more casual clothes - his iconic black shirt and jeans. You couldn’t help but smile as you took him in, feeling your heart flutter in the process. 

As he collected his things to head out, he turned to you, his head tilted slightly in curiosity. “Do you think Logan and Isabella would want to join?” 

At first you were caught off guard by the question, the two people he named you thought surely wouldn’t be invited to the celebrations. But it was Max afterall, and no matter how many years you’d known him, he’d keep you on your toes. 

You shrugged, glancing at his phone on the table. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask them yourself?” 

Max raised an eyebrow at your suggestion, but didn’t hesitate as he grabbed his phone from the resting spot. “Fair enough.” 

His head was down as he reached for his wallet and began to walk out of his room, so he didn’t notice something fall from one of the pockets. You, on the other hand, noticed the small, folded up piece of paper hit the ground. As Max was halfway out the door, you grabbed it, unfolding it. 

As you unfolded the paper, you could see a photo of a young boy, throwing his arms up in celebration. He was standing in front of a kart - his kart. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes traced the photo. The edges were faded, but you knew the kid standing in the middle. You knew that photo was only taken on your little red point and shoot camera.

“Y/n? You coming?” Max called from down the hallway, his tone casual, but you could hear the faint urgency in his voice. 

You hesitated, the photo still in your hand, and glanced at Max. His attention was now back to being focused on you, his eyes soft. 

“You put the photo back in your wallet?” you asked, turning the image of the boy so Max could see his younger self. 

Max’s eyes widened for a second as he realized what you were holding. His calm expression faltered just slightly, replaced by a hint of surprise, before breaking into a soft smile.

“Who said I ever took it out?” 

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