#this is completely different than the ones from before

[kurooh]

❤︎ LOVE POTIONS ! — MY HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. VALENTINE’S DAY 2025 — aphrodisiacs are both a curse and a blessing. / midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, todoroki shoto, kirishima eijirou, kaminari denki, & takami keigo.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, aphrodisiacs / sex pollen, dirty talk, edging, brattiness, overstimulation, squirting, threesome, sickness but it’s sexy, breeding kink, unprotected sex.

xoxo, juno. everyone pretend it’s v-day 💘

MIDORIYA IZUKU.

⟡ getting hit by a villain’s quirk right before valentine’s day was not something you’d planned to do. somehow, the effects of the quirk end up being an early gift and also a curse.

fat tears race down izuku’s face, his hands grasping weakly at the sheets with each dizzying bounce of your ass onto his thighs. an hour has passed, spent in different positions around the house with less than five minute breaks in between—but no matter how many times you cum, the glowy pink ring around your irises doesn’t go away.

“too much, ‘s too much,” he slurs, words running into each other and becoming jumbled nonsense. “baby, i can’t, not anymore—shit! ‘m empty now, and it h-hurts so bad.”

“hurts?” you parrot disbelievingly, too deep under the spell to feel the burn in your thighs. “‘zuku, know what hurts?”

“no, i know,” he sobs, balls squeezing painfully as the familiar pressure returns to his cock. it’s familiar, but it’s not the same; there’s no cum involved, he’s been drained too dry to give you anything. “l-last time, please. i need a minute to, ngh, relax.”

it hurts. izuku’s cock is practically purple with overstimulation, but he’s too entranced to pull you off himself. when you’d arrived home, tugging at his belt and babbling about what had happened, izuku took a moment to consider if he had any notes on something like this.

villains with these types of quirks have always been rare, and it’s just his luck that one popped up before valentine’s day.

the couch groans from the combination of movement and weight on it, yawning with wear. izuku has never underestimated your strength or sex drive, but this . . you’re bouncy, and he’s wondering if the villain’s quirk enhanced your stamina too.

in a startling display of affection, you grab at his jaw and kiss away his tears, cooing sweet, sensual nothings into his ear. your voice is smooth when you tell him how good he’s doing, how sexy he looks when he’s whining so sweetly. just when he’s thinking it can’t get any better, you hit him where he’s weakest with a sultry murmur of want you to put a baby in me, izuku.

flustered, he can’t help but let out a squeal when you nip at his neck, kissing over previous bites and smatterings of freckles.

“do what you want with me,” he surrenders, verdant green eyes meeting your own. “hah, if that’s what you want, jus’ use me. fuck me, baby.”

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ you have the misfortune of tracking a villain with japan’s number one hero, the all too explosive dynamight. everything completely unravels during the confrontation, when katsuki’s rushing forward to deliver the final blow. the dastardly villain releases a thick, noxious smoke that fills the air with a sickening sweetness — despite all the coughing and hacking, he manages to subdue the villain until the police arrive, but you never make it back to the agency to regroup.

ridiculous, is all you can think as you’re being folded in half in the back of a company car that’s sneakily wedged in an alleyway. katsuki’s not-so-gentle teeth nip at the tender skin of your thighs, and he doesn’t think twice about the marks that are sure to show up by tomorrow.

“d-deeper, katsuki,” you writhe against the seats, too handsy for his liking. “please, it’s not deep eno—”

“shut it,” he grunts, scowling down at you. his usual expression doesn’t quite have the same effect it usually does, since it’s been mellowed out by the villain’s aphrodisiac like quirk. “don’t you dare tell me how to fuck, got it?”

a bratty huff escapes you, and you make a show of rolling your eyes at him, seemingly unimpressed. “i wouldn’t have to if you’d just do it right. oh, but who am i to judge the number one?”

a vein bulges from his forehead as he listens, crimson eyes seething silently while you continue to lay it on thick. “i guess dynamight can fuck however he wants, even if it’s subpar—”

in an instant, katsuki’s hand is on your throat and applying just enough pressure to force out a gasp from you. that teasing and talking back worked—now he’s really about to come undone, show you just how strong the number one pro can really be.

“can’t take that back now, can you? if you think you can insult me and order me around, oh,” katsuki grinds his teeth, pressing your knees into your chest without taking a moment to appreciate the pretty moan that leaves you. “fuck, you’ve got another thing coming. shut your mouth.”

“make me.”

he can’t seem to recall a time where he’s ever been this turned on—that aphrodisiac quirk’s got nothing on the way you talk to him, challenge him in a way that nobody has before.

katsuki draws his hips back, slow and deliberate in each movement. you were right, he wasn’t giving you his all; but now, he will, and he won’t stop until you eat your words. deeper? harder? faster? if that’s what you’re asking for, he’ll give it to you.

you watch breathlessly, mesmerized by the frustrated scrunch of his face, all because he can’t stop replaying your words in his head. a harsh slap to your clit snaps you out of your daze the moment it lands, stinging terribly.

“let’s work up to that, alright? you’re going to—”

“what if i don’t, katsuki?” you tip your chin up at him, looking down your nose at him. “then what?”

another slap, this time with a little more strength behind it. he disregards everything you just said, getting ready to give you an explosive orgasm you’ll have to work hard for.

“that’s what. now, let’s try that again—you’ll be good and count each slap, unless you want me to spank this slutty pussy raw,” satisfied by the responding clench of your cunt, he arches a brow and smirks. “your choice, brat.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ with a new, unstable virus spreading rapidly through japan, scientists are racing to develop a cure. it seems to act like the standard flu, but it affects quirk users differently—shoto ends up with an unusual kind of fever.

“ah, ‘m cumming, sho,” cum squirts from your pussy like a waterfall, and everything’s so overwhelming that you unintentionally push his cock out. “good, ‘s so fucking good.”

sweat coats his face, clinging to the rough scar on shoto’s left side. panting, he sucks in a breath, grasping around for his swollen cock.

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks once his tip slides through your sticky folds and makes your back jolt off the bed, “it’s just—shit, it’s not enough.”

“a-again? i, hah, don’t know if that’s a good—”

shoto shakes his head, shivering as a thin layer of frost appears on his right cheek; it sparkles brilliantly before melting into droplets of water that drip from his jaw. “i’m still burning up,” it’s completely out of bounds, but the low rasp of his sickly voice scratches an itch in your brain. “see, lovey? can’t even use my quirk to fix it.”

a sigh escapes you, and you spread your trembly thighs one more time. “i might be too tired to drive you to the hospital after this,” you warn.

“i know, but baby,” gratefully, shoto pushes forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. his warm hand settles on your lower belly to add some pressure, gearing you up for another explosive orgasm. “i don’t wanna be like this when we go to the hospital.”

he flushes darkly with embarrassment, and the mental image of a tortured shoto rutting into a hospital bed as waves of the fever’s severe effects overwhelm him is enough to make you soften.

once he starts to thrust, developing a rhythm that would put your own fingers to shame, his mouth drops open and he’s babbling incoherently. “ . . always so fucking hot around you, baby. i-it’s not my fault you’re so—haa, shit—so perfect, making me burn up whenever you’re not looking.”

and because being this deep inside you is as close as he can get to heaven, shoto sees no reason to hold back on the honest praise. he’s always been a little shy to express himself during sex, mouth drying up whenever he tries to say something rather dirty, but not now. since his brain is being fried by the heat at the moment, he won’t feel any embarrassment.

“sho, right there,” a breath is punched out of your lungs, and your nails scratch at his shoulders each time his tip kisses your sweet spot. “oh god, ‘m gonna make a mess again!”

his cock twitches and he moans your name, only egging you on. “can’t wait to taste it, darling.”

you fall off the edge, his words serving as the final push. euphoria curls through you, cresting like a wave until the sensitivity becomes too much, bringing you back to earth. abs clenching, shoto pulls out to cover your stomach in white.

in an instant, shoto’s temperature drops. quietly, he shivers against you, huffing into your neck.

“i want to stay like this before we leave.”

“you’ve got ice forming rapidly on your back, sho.”

“it’ll melt if i’m cuddling with you . . could you also rub my back? maybe i just need to sleep it off.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU.

⟡ eijirou listened to you specifically tell him NOT to eat the wrapped cookies you had in the fridge and when you left, he did exactly that.

“babe, baby, you feel so good,” cum races down his fingers in creamy rivulets, puddling at the base of his cock. caught up in his fantasy, eijirou flicks his wrist faster, hoping with all his heart to imitate the hot squeeze of your cunt. “s-so pretty when you take me, always so fuckin’ beautiful.”

his voice cracks just as the door opens, and your purse falls to the floor. your boyfriend is spread out on the bed, flushed feverishly and gasping out your name like he’s delirious—it would be the perfect scene to come home to if you didn’t spot two torn cookie wrappers near him.

“eijirou,” you speak his name lowly, catching his eyes and raising a brow. he’s not sure if he should feel awkward or turned on because of your scolding tone, so he just swallows dryly and looks toward you with hooded eyes. “already forgot the speech i gave you? why’d you eat the cookies?”

shame creeps up his neck and makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. grasping for a response, eijirou decides to question you right back. “why’d you have sex cookies in the fridge?”

“they were a surprise for valentine’s!”

oh.

now he really feels dumb for spoiling your plans. perhaps if he hadn’t been so hungry, so greedy, he wouldn’t be embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

but the feeling doesn’t last long—your tough face drops into something more sultry: doe eyes and an upturned quirk of your lips that’s sure to finish him.

the mattress sinks under your weight, and you scoot beside him with a self satisfied smile. it’s small and quiet, but a voice in the back of his head tells him maybe you wanted this to happen; you certainly don’t look too upset about it.

“no way, baby,” a hiss escapes him when you slap his cum-stained hand away from his cock, instead choosing to replace them with your own. “am i dreaming? mrs. red riot, are you—”

his narration throws you off, and you choke just kissing his tip. you know eijirou’s surprised and eternally grateful, but damn. “mr. red riot, you’d be quiet if you wanted me to.”

“sorry,” he says earnestly, tensing up to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf when you finally take him in your mouth. “i’ve just—” he inhales sharply as you slowly, torturously take him inch by inch. “i’ve been waiting s-so long for you to come home, babe.”

you swallow, throat squeezing tight around his cock, and eijirou’s clean hand flies to the back of your head, hovering precariously. “i’m crazy about you, all day every day, and the cookies made it worse. ‘m sorry for spoiling the surprise, i didn’t mean to—haa, w-what’re you doing to me? oh, you’re gonna make me—”

it doesn’t take long for obscene slurps and occasional gags to fill the room as you suck eijirou’s cock, spoiling him with each languid bob of your head. it’s too much, and the tension grows thicker in his gut, setting his insides ablaze with anticipation.

he’s hurtling toward his high, jerking his hips up and shamelessly preparing to fill up your throat this quickly—but then, you push yourself off of him. a shudder ripples through his body, and he throws you a pained, wide eyed look.

“why’d you..? baby?”

you motion for him to lay on his back, and he can see the gears in your head turning behind a wicked smile. “might as well draw it out, hm?”

“you’re gonna milk me?”

he’s so cute . .

you want to see him crying.

you hum, “only until you’re begging for me to stop.”

KAMINARI DENKI, ft. SERO HANTA

⟡ an undercover sting at a mysterious village with your work partners doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. the village, out in the far country, has been reported as the one place with the highest levels of quirk activity in japan. little did you know about the fact that this place is home to infectious pollen that makes its way into people via the air, or about its temporary effects on people . .

“what the fuck,” you moan, vision blurry between their faces and intermittent flashes of light. “there’s no way it’s from a plant, it can’t be—”

hanta’s tongue darts out to lick the salt away from his upper lip, and he points a finger toward a passage in the encyclopedia. “the symptoms are, ngh, the same.”

one of your hands works denki’s cock while the other shakily flips through an encyclopedia of germs and the like; hanta’s buried to the hilt inside of you, tan cheeks flushed with exertion.

“can’t you just read after?” denki unhelpfully suggests, blinking back a few tears while sparks of electricity fly off from his blond hair. “let’s just fix—yeah, baby, jus’ like that—fix the problem now and figure it out later.”

“shut it, denks,” hanta rolls his eyes, rocking his hips into you. despite the fact that the three of you are totally naked and in the middle of some kind of threesome, you’re researching what apparently caused this surge of uncontrollable arousal.

things began not long after you arrived in the village, where everything had looked unsuspecting and normal. surely there was a villain lurking around somewhere . . ? why else would there be so much unusual activity, enough to alert the authorities?

“look, they f-found something similar in america,” hanta’s voice wavers uncharacteristically, his own high racing through him with such intensity he doubles over.

“forget about the book,” denki’s begging while pressing dazed kisses to your tits, one hand tossing the book aside and slipping between your trembling thighs. “c’mon, babe. show us what you look like when you cum.”

perhaps this is something to be selfish about — when will an opportunity to fuck your hot coworkers come around again? hanta’s everything you’ve been daydreaming about, with a muscular physique sharp enough to have been cut from stone. denki’s just as attractive, though his features are softer, the result of his constant snacking while on the job or in the agency.

hanta nods in assent, already trailing over the edge. “want you to gush all over me, baby.”

thrashing under denki’s fingers, it momentarily occurs to you that maybe they’re a little too experienced. neither of them were concerned with a threesome when it was suggested, and there’s no mistakes in their almost synchronized movements.

just watching your eyes flutter and roll back is enough to make denki cum with a moan of your name as his cock sprays white. hanta’s pupils probably dilate a hundred times their size at the erotic sight, and his hips begin to stutter as heat races up his spine.

denki, shaking profusely, musters his voice and maintains his hurried pace. “g-good girl, go on ‘n let it out.”

since stepping foot into the village and inhaling that damn pollen, the pro hero’s been getting realistic flashes of thoughts he’s kept locked away for some time. you, on your knees, looking up at him like you’re ready to do more than just please. you, with your pretty eyes full of tears as you lose your mind beneath him.

an orgasm stronger than the lustful effects of any aphrodisiac tears through you, and your cunt bears down so hard it forces out hanta’s own high as well. with all his might, he tries to resist the surge of weakness that hits him and fails—he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely and burying his face in your neck.

loosely, your jaw hangs open and breathy gasps leave your mouth. denki’s sparking with electricity beside you and simultaneously struggling to get it under control. a single yellow spark flies off his body and mildly electrocutes hanta, snapping him back to reality. he jerks against you, sounding exhausted.

“uh. so, um, what’re we supposed to report when we get back?”

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ bless his heart. for valentine’s, he decides to be a silk heart-shaped box of japan’s most expensive chocolate for you. he’d been so focused on finding your favorite flavors along with new ones that he didn’t even realize that he’d purchased sex chocolate.

“it hurts, dovey. it’s s-so painful.”

since sharing the box of chocolates with you, keigo’s been reduced to a pathetic mess who can’t seem to stop shaking when you just barely touch him. vermilion feathers puff up and out at his back, his messy wings conveying the way he’s crumbling inside.

you’re just as hot, skin crawling with a lustful itch only keigo can scratch for you. the frenetic beating of his wings whips up cold gusts of wind stronger than any ceiling fan, and not a single goosebump rises on your skin.

“right there, kei,” you moan, tears gathering in your eyes as he continuously hits your sweet spot. “oh my god, don’t stop.”

as if he’d ever plan to.

he hiccups, face flushed and hair tousled like he’s just returned from some mission out in the wild. softly, with the barest note of urgency, keigo whines out your name and a request.

“dovey, c’mon,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, shattered with unmistakable pleasure. “just tell me what you want, and i’ll, ah, i’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

keigo’s entire body thrums with the need, the purpose, to please you, and his own pleasure hinges on you and your praise. sure enough, you cry out to him, words saccharine and addicting.

“make me cum, kei,” and he doesn’t need any further instruction, not when he knows your body this well. smooth fingers slip between your thighs and work your clit, causing your back to arch when he applies just enough pressure to send electricity through your nerves.

you’re wrapping around keigo’s waist, drawing him in and breaking down his self control easily.

“want me to fill up this pussy, baby? i can do it again and again—” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts that amplify the clap of skin against skin almost as much as a quirk could, “while you take it like you were made to.”

quaking beneath him, you nod frantically, as if those are the words you’ve been waiting to hear. while he was so vividly illustrating the scene, his wings unconsciously began to wrap around your bodies, a sign of how much he wants it too.

you gasp, eyes squeezing shut with the last image being keigo’s face, twisted in ecstasy and scrunched with concentration. “gonna—‘m gonna cum, kei!”

“with me, dovey, please,” sweat pours down the sides of his face as the heated bliss tightens in his gut, applying an unbearable pressure to his cock. “let me feel you cum around me, ughhh.”

sloppily, keigo presses open mouthed kisses to your lips, and a delighted moan escapes him when you kiss back. your lips are soft against his, and your tongue carries the sweet taste of valentine’s chocolates, the expensive ones he’d come home with earlier.

with his orgasm creeping up on him and dulling his surroundings, a brief thought occurs to him about those chocolates. the sales lady had raised a brow when he filled up the customizable box with many pink chocolates that had been sitting in a case separate from the rest.. no, that can’t be right. surely this is the common valentine’s day effect on couples—it can’t be from the chocolate, can it?

[lemonlover1110]

𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀!

Sylus

Pairing: Sylus x f!Reader

Summary: You leave a memento for Sylus before your business trip

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Smut, Oral Sex (m. receiving), FILMING (aka they make a sex tape), Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Cockwarming, Nipple Play, Praising

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Sylus gets pouty when he realizes you’ll be gone for a week. He doesn’t know how he ever survived without you. The thought almost seems impractical now. 

The issue with Sylus is that you notice he’s upset, but nobody else does. Sylus successfully manages to suppress any and all of his feelings. To everyone else he looks normal, but you notice that something is off with him. His lips are slightly pursed together instead of being in their typical straight line. His eyebrows are more together than usual, and you can’t help but notice how he subtly wrinkles his nose when you mention that you’ll be gone for a week.

He’s upset, but every time that you mention it Sylus completely denies it. He typically laughs, as if you’ve told some sort of joke when you’ve simply pointed out your observations. He keeps up the facade that he’s a big and strong man that won’t get upset by his girlfriend leaving him; even if it’s with you. You won’t push the matter though, if he claims that he isn’t upset then he’s not upset.

“Is everything packed?” Sylus asks, staring at the pink bag that contains all of your stuff for the week. Sure, it’s big but not enough for a week’s worth of clothes and necessities. It surprises him when you nod. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t low maintenance…”

“You act like I’ll be gone for a month. It’s just a week, and I’ll mostly be in uniform.” You respond, and you watch as his face contorts. He’s upset. Your eye could twitch at his reaction– It’s not that you’re mad that he’s upset, you’re mad because he denies it. No matter what you say he’ll deny it.

“Right, it’s just a week.” He answers. Comforting yet distressful words. 

“But maybe you’re right, in case I need to stay for longer I should pack–” You begin but before you can even finish the thought, the man cuts you off.

“Why would you need to stay for longer?” His words almost come out jumbled from how fast he speaks. He notices how he acts and corrects his speech, “Doesn’t the association have other hunters? Why would they exclusively force you to stay?”

“I’m important at my job, Sylus.” You point out, getting pouty yourself. However, you should be happy. You can see the distress in his eyes by the mere suggestion that you might have to stay for longer. “And since you won’t miss me around, I might just stay longer.”

“You’re more than welcome to.” He crosses his arms, not willing to let you win in this petty game that you have suddenly created. 

“Fine.” You frown, grabbing your bag from the bedroom and heading toward the door.

“Where are you going?” He questions as you begin to walk away.

“I’m sleeping in the guest room.” You announce, and you watch as he clenches his jaw; yet, he won’t say a thing. He nods. He’ll let you have your way.

You expect Sylus to be in your room within thirty minutes, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You know him enough to know that he’ll show up to your room eventually, you’re just not sure that you’ll be awake for when that happens. Your eyes are getting heavy, before you know it, you’ll be asleep.

Luckily, at thirty-one minutes, you feel a heavy weight settle in beside you. He’ll continue to deny that he’s upset. But he doesn’t have to admit that he’s upset for you to know– What difference will it make if he admits it?

“Are you asleep?” He whispers as his arm goes over your body, bringing you closer to him. You hum in response, quickly followed by a giggle from you. “Does that mean you don’t want to talk?”

“Will you admit that you’ll miss me?” You ask him as you feel his cold hand going under your shirt, looking for warmth. You nearly squeal at the cold hands, but you’re used to them. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, answering your question in the most unusual manner.

“Who’s going to warm me up?” He responds.

“Mephisto.” You joke, but he can’t find any humor in your words. He’s serious, yet you’re laughing.

“And who’ll keep me company?” He continues while your hand caresses his arm. He’s letting himself be soft, a pleasure that only you get to witness. He’d call it his weak side, but you think it’s his finest trait.

“I’m only one call away.” You remind him, but you understand that it’s not the same. You take his hand out of your shirt and turn on your side to look at him. He’s looking down at you with soft eyes, completely filled with worry.

“I want to see your face.” He says, and your hand goes to his cheek, pinching it. 

“Your phone has a camera, silly. You’re always calling me on facetime.” He’s finding issues with anything and everything, all which has a solution. Your lips land on the tip of his nose before you ask, “Is it because you’re going to miss my kisses and undivided attention?”

He stays quiet, and you peck his lips. You kiss him over and over again. You’ll do it until he asks you to stop, but Sylus is never going to stop you. As long as you’re all over him, he’s happy. 

“Kiss your hand whenever you miss me.” Your thumb caresses his cheek, and he looks at you with adoring eyes. You press your forehead against his, while his arm brings you closer to him.

“What if I’m missing more than just your kisses?” He asks, and your brows perk up. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s insinuating, but you choose to act stupid. You want to hear the exact words.

“Hmm… What do you mean?” You sit up, batting your eyelashes at him. A smirk comes to his lips, noting the mischief in your eyes. You get on top of him, knees on either side of him while his hands go to your waist.

“You know exactly what I mean, kitten.” He responds, his hands going under your shirt once again– This time, they aren’t looking for warmth; they’re being naughty and trailing up your skin. “What will I do when I need more than your kisses?”

“You have the internet.” You remind him, reaching into his pocket to pull out his precious phone. You input the password, one that so perfectly matches with your birthday, and open the browser on his phone. Before you can begin typing, he snatches the phone from your hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sylus’ eyes narrow as he stares at the tiny screen. You bite down your lip, suppressing a smirk. His eyes look back and forth between you and his phone.

“I was going to show you where you can go whenever you need a little bit more–” You begin, but he cuts you off. He’s almost offended that you were about to even suggest that.

“Why would I want to watch anyone that isn’t you, kitten?” He raises an eyebrow, and you feel your cheeks get warm at his comment. His hand goes under your chin, tilting your head to look directly down at him. “Do you understand my frustration?”

“It’s only a week.” Your words bring little to no comfort to him. 7 days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 604,800 seconds. It’s not just a week. “What else can I do? It’s my job.”

“I told you that you can always quit– But since you don’t want to do that… Nothing.” He ends up sighing. You’d almost feel bad for Sylus, if he weren’t overreacting. You’ve lost count of the amount of times the amount suddenly disappeared for days on end.

“You’ll survive.” You tell him, as your eyes land on his phone. An idea comes to your mind, but you don’t have the guts to outright suggest it. You peck his lips before you whisper, “If you tell me you’ll miss me then I’ll do you a favor.”

“Which is?” He questions, and he watches your eyes land on his phone. He doesn’t need to be told twice, or in this case, not even once. He moves your hair out of the way and kisses your forehead, lips moving down to the tip of your nose and then your lips. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“Now you can admit it.” You joke, lips landing on his, more intensely than any kiss you’ve shared tonight. His breathing gets heavy, body temperature suddenly rising as he feels your lips on yours. The moment an opening comes to you, your tongue enters his mouth and presses against his own. 

His hands roam through your body, going under your shirt and landing on your tits. Fingers circle and lightly pinch your nipples while his teeth bite down your bottom lip before pulling away. Sylus can’t properly enjoy himself before you push his hands away from your breasts,

You grab his phone, opening the camera and beginning the video, before forcing him to take it. You smile at the camera before your hands lift up your shirt, putting on a show for the screen. Sylus’ free hand can’t help itself, quickly fondling your chest.

“Make sure you get my good angle.” You adjust the camera before your body moves down. You begin to kiss his lower abdomen, moving down until his briefs stop you. Your finger hooks under the waist band, pulling down and freeing his cock from its restraints. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, giving it a couple of strokes before you spit on it. Your head moves down, tongue circling the tip of his dick, earning a groan from him. He tries to keep the phone still, not wanting to look back at the footage and watch blurry footage, but it’s hard to keep still when he’s so sensitive. 

Eyes look up at him as your mouth wraps around his length, taking in as much as you can. You slowly bob your head, each movement earning a sound from the man. You’re putting on a show for him– Making a memorable video for him. It’ll be his most prized possession, yet the most confidential.

“Good job.” He praises, almost out of breath as your mouth gags on his cock. Tears well up in your eyes, his dick too much for you to handle. You’re trying to outdo yourself for the audience, taking all of him while you know that you can’t.

“You’re such a good girl.” He tells you while you take your mouth off his cock, spit coating your chin as you gasp for air. 

“Is it good, baby? Will you be thinking of this while I’m gone?” Your eyes are focused on the camera, not even bothering on looking at your boyfriend. Sylus would complain, if his eyes weren’t rolling to the back of his head. Your lips kiss the tip before your tongue circles around his cock again.

His voice gets louder as your mouth sets just the right pace. His breath gets caught up in his chest, slowly losing control. Your hand massages his balls as you watch Sylus’ face contort with pleasure.

Sylus moans your name as his cum hits the back of your throat. He groans as he empties himself inside your mouth. You take your mouth off his cock, making sure to swallow every last drop of his cum and sticking your tongue out so the camera can see how much of a good girl you are.

“Good girl, making sure to not waste a single drop.” Sylus says, his hand going down to your mouth and wiping the corner of your mouth. Your face goes up, lips landing on his own, which he happily receives. When he pulls away, he reminds you, “You have to complete the show, kitten.”

“Put the phone on the nightstand.” You tell him, and while he tries to find the perfect position, you take off your pants. His hands get shaky, desperate to continue. It’s the last time he’ll see you like this for a week, and he’ll make sure to enjoy every single minute. 

“Fuck– Fuck!” He curses as the phone falls, something that he’ll have to edit out of the video– Is he seriously thinking about editing his sex tape? He can simply fast forward, but that’ll just ruin his mood.

“Will you hurry?” You whine, getting desperate to feel him inside of you. You can’t wait for him to find the perfect position. Just as he settles the phone down perfectly, you push your panties to the side. You align his cock with your entrance, and slowly settle down on his length. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his cock fills you up.

“Fuck…” He mutters, out of breath as he feels your cunt wrap around him. As much as he loves your mouth, it truly can’t compare. Oh, he could cry knowing that he’ll only have his hand for a week. He’ll make do with what you’ve given him.

“Oh, fuck.” You moan, adjusting to his dick before you begin to move. You’re bouncing on his cock, setting a slow pace. His hands grip your ass while he lifts his face to bury it between your tits. He’ll make sure to enjoy his last few moments with you; it’s why you call him overdramatic, he acts as if he’ll never see you again. Though, right now you can’t complain about the way he acts. His tongue licks your cleavage before his mouth successfully latches onto your nipple.

Sylus moves his hips, moving much faster than you. You meet him half way, moans getting louder as his cock hits every right spot. Maybe you’re putting on such a show because you want the video yourself, you’ll definitely need it. You grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back which causes him to bite down before pulling away. The pain adds to the pleasure.

“You’re doing such a good job.” You talk to him as if he were a pathetic little pet. A tone of voice which he hates to admit he enjoys. “Are you my good boy, Sylus?”

“Yes.” He admits, sex brain getting the best of him– No, it’s something that he’d admit at any other time with you… Not with people around, but regardless, he’d admit it. “I’m your good boy, kitten.”

You smile, eyes darting directly at the tiny camera that captures the moment. Surely, he’ll deny that he ever said those words but luckily, you have an audience this time around.

“You feel so good.” He tells you, one hand going down to play with your clit. Your breath hitches, your hands wrapping to the back of his neck as your lips land on his. He’s met with pure carnal desire, a side of you that he rarely comes across with. A side that he thoroughly enjoys. 

“I’m gonna– Fuck–” You begin as you pull away, but you can’t finish your sentence. You begin to tighten around him, your orgasm rapidly approaching and taking over you. 

“Come all over me, sweetheart.” His eyes look down at his cock, watching as your pussy wraps around it. A sight that he’ll be thinking about for 604,800 seconds. His phone will do no justice. 

“Sylus– It’s so fucking good!” You’re practically screaming, surely making a spectacle of yourself. You’d make a great actress, that’s for sure. You throw your head back, mouth falling agape as pleasure consumes you.

“Good job, kitten. Good job.” He praises you as your orgasm consumes you and you make a mess all over him. He can’t help but grab the phone and practically show off to where your two bodies meet. It’s a sight that he never wants to forget about.

“Look at you, you made such a mess.” He clicks his tongue, but it’s a mess that he appreciates, especially with how your pussy feels around him. Your lips meet once again, while his thrusts become unregulated. 

“I’m gonna come inside you, okay?” He tells you, making you frantically nod in response. Before you know it, Sylus’ seed coats your insides. The man is unwilling to pull out until he makes sure that every last drop of his cum is inside of you– Though that’s hard as it drips out of your cunt and coats his cock. 

Sylus makes sure to get one last frame of your pussy, before panning the camera to your face. You smile at the camera, winking before you kiss the lens. That’s when Sylus decides to end the perfect video. 

“Is that enough for you?” You ask as you try to lift yourself up from his cock, but his hands hold you down.

“Let’s stay like this for a bit.” You swear you see a pout on his lips once again. He doesn’t want to let you go just yet.

“Fine.” You agree as his lips peck yours ever-so-lovingly.

“I’ll miss you.” He finally admits, and you smile before kissing him again. You had imagined the revelation to be more romantic… But this will make do.

“I love you, Sylus.”

“I love you too.”

[bunny-jpeg]

john price would trap you with a baby. no questions asked. he knew the years were catching up to him. he knew that wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't pass on the price genes.

he felt bad when he masturbated, felt like he was wasting his boys. spurts of hot cum down his large shaft wishing that it was inside a pretty little things smaller cunt. his hand was too rough even with lubrication. he needed something with supple flesh that he could sink his teeth into and a wet pussy to stuff full. he wanted to feel himself impregnating someone.

that was where you came in.

you felt amazing, sex with you was something else. the way you were like a bunny when you rode his cock. you bounced on him, not slowing down until he wrung at least three orgasms out of you. he found it endearing that you could take him. and while cowgirl was fun and missionary felt classic.

if price wanted to get you pregnant then, he knew that doggy style would be the best course of action. sadly, that position was a little more difficult given your size difference. price the bear and his little cub, those weren't just terms of endearment. he was burly, hairy, but you were so much shorter that he couldn't easily slip into you. but things could always be modified.

he smothered you under him as you laid on the bed with your legs spread and price was on top of you with his cock invading your slick entrance. the feeling was different and the weight on top of you only added to the pleasure.

his mind was focused, as he worked himself into you. he slid in easily, little resistance from you. your pussy was greedy for him, not that price could blame you. you were just so perfect for him. he shaped you into the perfect thing for him. you were his angel, the sweetest fruit, the woman he wanted to carry his child. if you liked it or not.

thoughts of you dark puffy nipples, the waddle in your step, the complaints of back pain. how your body changed because of him, he marked you in a way that no other man could. price boys grew strong and were a handful both in the womb and out. hungry boys too, but price would happily massage your fat tits to make sure there was more than enough milk for his boys. might have a little taste himself, see what all the fuss was. the heavy milk on his tongue as he fucked his pretty wife.

no need to go out and find a job. price's got enough to make sure that your wallet and your womb were packed full. no need to worry your little head, just make sure the babies are taken care of and price will do all the thinking in the relationship. he knew your dream was to see your diploma on the wall, but he thought that a family photo would be much better.

hard to complete your degree when your pregnant belly doesn't fit in the lecture hall seat or it was feeding time for john jr. there was nowhere for you to nurse his hefty son and you'd in the end miss too much class because price would be keeping you at home to start on the next one.

"that's it, doll. that's my girl. she suckin' me right in. she know what she wants and she's takin' it. made just for, huh, petal?" he growled as he pressed into you further, his cock didn't slip out. he fucked you feverishly.

he felt you tremble as you came not once, but twice, back to back. price continued to fuck you, ruin your pretty little folds and let him feel as much as he could of your sweet sex. you felt amazing, only pussy price would want. he fucked you roughly with his hands pressed into the covers on either side of your head. you were too blissed out by the time he finished inside of you that you didn't even ask for him to pull out.

a good wife took every drop.

he soon after pulled his cock out, the sight of his cum sticking to your slick pussy lips with most of his seed inside of you. made his cock peek at attention once more. "there she is." he purred, "messy girl." he tipped your hips up and held them in his large hands. he dipped between your legs and played with your pussy. something to distract you while his cum slid into the back of your pussy.

now be good, and get pregnant <3

a/n: i don't know what came over me... i'm sorry

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i would like to add on that there are plenty of scummy and/or poorly written narrative uses for redemption arcs, with or without forgiveness arcs! for example:

trying to retroactively minimize the significance of the harm that they've already done, just because they're trying not to do more of it.

trying to gloss over the significance of other harm that they've done--and might well be continuing to do! often with things included like shitty forgiveness arcs that they know would be bad PR elsewhere!--by using the fact that they're (supposedly) doing better about this thing over here as a distraction.

(this one in particular tends to go hand in hand with bigotry a LOT, because, well. it is about running PR for that character, for writers who do this shit. and some characters are considered more acceptable to walk all over than others lmao)

trying to guilt and emotionally manipulate the viewer with 'wow it's SOOOOOO hard and SOOOOOO brave of them to accept not being forgiven 🥺 SOOOOOO tragic that they just MUST deal with consequences for their actions and respect their victims' agency 🥺 you should feel sooooosososobad for them for crawling over a hundred miles of broken glass every day on their way to and back from the orphanage where they volunteer to make amends for their crimes 🥺🥺🥺🥺'

(if you can't tell i hate passive-aggressive forgiveness arcs poorly disguised as redemption arcs so much. SO much)

they completely devour the story until the author is convinced they've browbeaten the viewer into feeling exactly as much goodwill toward that character as they're supposed to. the entire story and every other character's arc, especially their victim's, now revolve around them totally until further notice. this one can (and often does) definitely fall under both going against themes and taking up too much screentime, but it's worth mentioning because it feels like the author is treating the character's arc as a magic the gathering deck you have to let them beat you with before they'll allow the story to move on.

the other characters Cannot Stop Fucking Singing Their Praises and talking about what a great guy they are, and undermining every single instance of the villain taking responsibility for their actions with 'he's so hard on himself, he's so much better than he thinks he is 🥺🥺🥺🥺'

the redemption arc happens in tandem with a corruption arc for their victim or victims, so that the story can ultimately demonize said victims by comparison to the people who hurt them in the first place. especially given how often that turns into them going after the person who hurt them, being fought off in their defense (after kicking a few puppies on the way there), and maybe even being defeated by the abuser themself. or guy who genocided their family, or oppressed their people. it's 'root for the abuser/racist/etc against the victim' with extra steps and a tragic-at-best strawman.

the redemption arc happens for a character who had much more opportunity to do so than a different villain--especially when that's the case because of privilege--so that the narrative can go 'this guy got his act together, [villain who is almost certainly an abuse victim and/or otherwise marginalized] has got no excuse 🙄'

the character goes right on being an asshole without improvement, just with 'they're trying to do better now!' tacked on in name only.

the character changes their behavior..... to be an asshole in a different way, because the values they've changed are only surface-level and the author doesn't actually understand what's wrong with their behavior.

(see: abuser who goes to therapy after being broken up with over hitting their ex, ~commits to having healthier relationships,~ and proceeds to use what they've learned in therapy to utterly destroy their next partner with emotional abuse instead.)

in general, again, the author just straight up not understanding what the character did wrong, why it was wrong, and the significance of that, before trying to make any kind of statement about the situation. for example, if you try to write a redemption arc for a racist villain without actually understanding or educating yourself on the dynamics involved in their racism.... as we have seen in many many many pieces of SFF media in particular, the results are a catastrophic racist mess lmao

and more! that's just off the top of my head. there are a lot of ways that creators and their narratives can be shitty about this, and they're worth talking about, both in their own right and because if people don't have a way to articulate them it's easy to fall into the kind of reductive thinking the OP is talking about.

but none of the examples i mentioned are something that shouldn't be in the story because they're a redemption arc (except maybe the part about, like, not trying to write redemption arcs for issues you Do Not Understand enough about to not be wildly offensive with your idea of what making amends would look like). the way they're being used is what sucks shit.

it's the author disrespecting the viewer's right or ability to decide how they feel about what they're presented with. it's the author taking potshots at victims and marginalized folks under the guise of celebrating the ability to change. it's the author being careless and ignorant about the statements they're making with the conclusions their story draws. it's the author making those statements and conclusions based on just plain nasty beliefs. it's the author being dishonest about the story they're presenting. and it's the author wrecking the craft and structure of the story itself so they can throw a tantrum at the idea that you don't like their special little boy.

and none of that has anything to do with what the character 'deserves.'

Invalid reasons for why a character should not be redeemed:

They’re too evil! - Redemption has nothing to do with how good or evil you were to begin with.

They don’t deserve it! - Redemption is not something that can be “deserved.”

Their actions are unforgivable! - Redemption has nothing to do with forgiveness.

It’s too late for them to change! - It is only “too late” to choose redemption when a character is dead (unless the scope of the story includes an afterlife in which change is possible).

Valid reasons for why a character should not be redeemed:

It doesn’t fit the themes of the story.

They’re not an important enough character for showing the process of a redemption arc to be worthwhile.

They’re more interesting as a character who isn’t doing the right thing.

It’s more satisfying to let them keep being evil.

It makes it more satisfying when they die.

There’s probably more, but you get the idea.

Remember, redemption is when someone realizes they are wrong, and takes steps to doing the right thing. That is not something that can be “deserved,” it is not something that hinges on forgiveness, and it is not something that it is ever too late for! …Unless the person is dead or something.

[verstappenverse]

can you do a fic based on the Live event? can it be a charles fic?

Five Minutes Off-Schedule

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: At the F175 live event there’s no room for distractions. The collision is unplanned, the attraction immediate, and the interruption entirely unwelcome. Five minutes with Ferrari’s golden boy might just be enough to derail your night.

Author's Note: First Charles request hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

1.9k words / Masterlist

You’ve been on your feet for hours. Between checking stage setups, coordinating media schedules, and making sure nothing spontaneously combusts, the F175 live event is running as smoothly as one can hope. Every moving piece of the event relies on your ability to juggle a dozen different tasks at once, and there’s no room for distractions. Not when a single oversight could send the entire schedule into chaos.

Your phone is practically an extension of your hand, vibrating with new emails, last-minute schedule adjustments, and frantic messages from colleagues trying to keep the event from spiralling into disaster. Every few steps someone stops you with a question, a problem, or an urgent request, and you barely have time to breathe, let alone pause and take in the spectacle around you.

Which is probably why you don’t see the heavy-duty equipment case in your path, at least not until you walk straight into it. And because the universe has a twisted sense of humour, it’s spectacularly unsurprising that the one and only Charles Leclerc appears in front of you at the exact moment you do.

Your clipboard clatters to the ground, papers scattering in disarray.

“Shit—” You exhale sharply, steadying yourself with one hand on the case, the other instinctively reaching for your phone before it slips from your grasp. Your heart pounds in irritation, but the moment you lift your gaze, your breath catches in your throat.

A pair of familiar green eyes meet yours.

Strong hands steady you before you can fully wipe out, and suddenly, you’re looking up at a familiar face. Charles stands before you, brows slightly raised, hands lifted in a half-hearted attempt to prevent the collision. His black suit blazer is unbuttoned over a fitted white shirt, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the sinewy strength in his forearms. His expression wavers between concern and amusement, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh.

"Ah, merde," he mutters, a hint of a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. "That was dramatic. Are you okay?"

Your brain short-circuits for a second. The adrenaline from the near-fall mixes with something undeniably mortifying as you take a quick step back, putting a safe distance between the two of you.

“I—uh, yeah.” You clear your throat, willing the heat creeping up your neck to disappear. “Sorry, I didn’t see—” You gesture vaguely at the offending equipment case, even though it was very much in plain sight, as if that excuses your complete lack of spatial awareness.

“You were walking like you had somewhere to be,” he counters, his tone light, but his eyes assessing.

“Because I do,” you reply, a little too quickly.

He watches you with interest, one hand slipping into his pocket, the other resting casually on his hip. “So serious,” he muses.

You huff out a breath, more focused on straightening the disheveled papers than on the amused man in front of you. “Some of us are working.”

He crouches at the same time as you, and in the process your fingers brush his. The contact is brief but enough to make your stomach do something ridiculous. You snatch the clipboard quickly, standing up before you make more of a fool of yourself.

“Sorry, I don’t have time for whatever this is,” you say firmly.

“'Whatever this is'?” He tilts his head, his smirk deepening. “I think this was just an unfortunate accident.”

You roll your eyes, stepping to the side to move past him. “Great, then let’s not make a habit of it.”

“Tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “So cold. You’re sure you didn’t plan this? Walking straight into me?”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, absolutely. I rearranged the entire event schedule just so I could trip into you.”

But before you get too far, his voice follows you. “Ah, but now I’m intrigued. Maybe I should be the one rearranging my schedule.”

You don’t bother looking back. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

An hour later you spot him again, leaning against the bar in the hospitality suite sipping something dark in a lowball glass. The dim lighting casts a golden glow over the polished wood, the soft murmur of conversation filling the space. You’ve just finished dealing with a minor crisis when your eyes meet across the room.

He smirks.

You turn away, determined to pretend the moment never happened.

It should end there.

But then he’s suddenly beside you, his presence felt before he even speaks. The faint scent of expensive cologne lingers in the air between you, mingling with the sharp tang of whiskey from his glass. He moves like someone who belongs here, at ease in a way you envy.

“Are you avoiding me?” His voice is smooth, threaded with quiet amusement.

You sigh, tilting your head slightly as you glance at him. “Avoiding implies I was thinking about you.”

That earns a low chuckle, rich and genuine. “You wound me.”

“Unlikely.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you with an infuriating sort of patience. “So you’re working here, for the event?”

“Yeah, sort of. More like ‘thrown into the fire and hoping not to get burned.” You shift the clipboard in your grip, forcing yourself to focus. “Making sure everything runs smoothly. Not doing a great job of it apparently.”

“I think you’re doing great,” he says easily, glancing around the room with practiced observation. “Everything looks very…well-organised.”

You let out a dry laugh, rubbing your temple. “You say that because you can’t see the chaos behind the scenes.”

“Ah, but that’s the point, no?” His smile is warm, a little too knowing. “If it looks perfect to the outside world, then you’ve done your job.”

You blink. He’s right, obviously, but you didn’t expect him to say something like that, insightful and understanding.

“Maybe,” you admit. “Or maybe it’s just good PR.”

His lips quirk, like he’s fighting back another smirk. “That bad, really?”

You sigh, shifting the clipboard in your arms. “Let’s just say I’ve spent most of the night convincing your fellow drivers not to wander off five minutes before they’re supposed to be on stage.”

He laughs, the sound low and unrestrained, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sounds about right.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to share a secret. “So who’s been the worst?”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m legally not allowed to disclose that information.”

“Oh come on.” He nudges your elbow lightly with his own. “Give me a hint. Just a small one.”

You narrow your eyes. “Absolutely not.”

His grin deepens, like he enjoys the challenge. “Fine. I’ll just have to guess.” He taps his chin, feigning deep thought. “Lando?”

You press your lips together, refusing to give anything away.

“Aha,” he says triumphantly. “That’s a yes.”

You groan, rolling your shoulders. “I swear, keeping drivers in one place is like herding—”

“Children?”

You snort, unable to help it. “Your words, not mine.”

Charles grins, pleased with himself, and takes a slow sip from his glass. His gaze remains on you, curiosity flickering behind the teasing. You wonder, briefly, if this is how he always is, charming, easygoing, entirely too confident for his own good.

And, annoyingly, it’s working.

“I suppose I should let you get back to preventing disasters,” he muses after a beat, though he makes no actual move to leave.

“You suppose correctly.”

He hums, setting his empty glass down with an exaggerated sigh. “A shame.”

You arch a brow. “Why?”

“Because I think it'd be much more fun if you took a break.” His voice drops just slightly, a thread of something almost challenging woven through it.

You exhale, shaking your head. “I don’t have time for breaks.”

His smile is slow, deliberate. “Maybe you should make time.”

And then, just as easily as he appeared, he turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving you standing there, pulse annoyingly uneven.

You think that’s the last of it. But Charles seems determined to prove you wrong.

You see him again near the backstage producers area, where he absolutely doesn’t need to be. The space is a flurry of activity, you’re mid-discussion with a sound tech, trying to sort out an audio issue that could derail the entire segment, when you feel a familiar presence.

He walks by, clearly in no rush, hands in his pockets, he catches your eye, smiles, and keeps going, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Then again when you’re near the dressing rooms, balancing a stack of equipment, you sense him before you see him. This time he doesn’t just walk by, he stops, standing directly in your path, one hand outstretched.

“Need help?”

You narrow your eyes, shifting the weight of the equipment in your arms slightly. “Are you even supposed to be here?”

He shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Probably not.”

“Charles.”

“What?”

You exhale, shaking your head. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”

He places a hand over his heart mockingly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “So harsh. And here I was, just trying to be helpful.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing Ferrari things?” you ask, arching a brow.

His lips twitch. “Ferrari things?”

“You know. Smiling for cameras, charming sponsors, pretending you’re not dying for the event to be over.”

He tilts his head, smirk deepening. "Who says I’m pretending?"

You scoff. "So you are over it."

"Not everything." His gaze lingers just a beat too long. "Present company excluded."

That gives you pause. He studies you for a moment, then gestures to your clipboard. “Five minutes. I promise not to steal your precious clipboard.”

You arch a brow. “Bold of you to assume I’d let it out of my sight.”

His laughs. “I figured. But if I have to compete for your attention, I’d at least like a fair shot.”

You hesitate, glancing around at the chaos still unfolding around you but then again, Charles Leclerc is standing in front of you, eyes locked onto yours like he has nowhere else he would rather be.

“…Five minutes,” you relent.

His smile is triumphant. “That’s all I need.” He waits until you set your clipboard down, watching with an amused tilt of his head.

“I have a million things to do,” you counter.

“Then what’s five minutes?” He leans against the wall, entirely at ease.

You cross your arms. “And what exactly do you plan to do in these precious five minutes?”

His grin widens. “Well, I was thinking of just standing here and watching you stress, but that feels a little cruel.”

You huff, unimpressed. “Glad to know you’re self-aware.”

“I try,” he muses. “But I was actually going to ask if you wanted to grab a drink. Or at the very least, breathe.”

You glance around, half-expecting someone to swoop in and drag him away to something important. But no one does. He stands there, patiently waiting, like the answer genuinely matters to him.

“You’re persistent, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” His expression softens, just slightly. “Look, I know how these events go. Nonstop. Overwhelming. Sometimes you need someone to remind you to take a second for yourself.”

You hesitate, just a beat too long, and Charles seizes the opportunity.

“I’ll even let you complain about my fellow drivers,” he offers. “No names needed. Just a little vent session.”

You press your lips together, fighting a smile. “Tempting.”

“Isn’t it?” He steps a fraction closer, lowering his voice. “So? What’ll it be?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for your phone to set it aside. “Fine. Five minutes.”

Charles grins and his eyes sparkle like he’s just won a race.

And as he leads you toward a quieter area of the venue, you can’t help but think that maybe five minutes isn’t such a bad idea.

[jenoslutie]

F o r C e r t a i n I k.mg

pairing: fwb!mingyu x fem!reader

warnings: sex in a club bathroom, semi public sex, unprotected sex, reader and mingyu have a teeny bit of alcohol in their systems, creampie, switchy!mingyu, switchy!reader though there isnt much implications of power dynamics theyre just horny. also, a littleeeee bit of reader x seungcheol because yeah.

a/n: forrrr...... the lovely @seokgyuu !!! surprise mitchie!!! i was your secret cupid!! :D i hope you enjoy this little sumsum. sorry this is late, ive been insanely busy BUT im done finally. this is heavily inspired by f o r c e r t a i n by partynextdoor!!!! (you should give it a listen while reading :D !!!!) also, thank you @ddeonghwa-s for hosting this wonderful collab hehe!!! this was so fun and cute.

“Mingyu!” You called out, suddenly catching a glimpse of him in the crowd. The music was far too loud for him to hear you though. Your attempt, though, fell on deaf ears, Mingyu still had his back turned to you, downing a shot alongside Soonyoung. Pushing through the crowd, you finally reached Mingyu.

“Mingyu!” He turned around when he felt you tap him. His smile was big at the sight of you,“You made it!” Engulfing you in a big Mingyu hug, it was one of his best qualities, the huge bear hugs he gives.

Just then, you feel a presence behind you, “Y/N?” You turned around and there was none other than Choi Seungcheol, you watched him give you a once over before meeting your eyes “You look fucking amazing tonight.”

“Cheol!” Seungcheol hugged you before dragging you away from Mingyu and your other friends, not that you were complaining though. Seungcheol was hot, one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen. His big, warm body pressing up against yours while you danced together was not how you expected tonight to go but, here you were and you were having the time of your life.

You were so engrossed in Seungcheol that you didn't notice Mingyu glaring at the both of you from across the room. He hated seeing you with another guy, especially if it was Seungcheol, his best friend.

You were sick. Sick of all the women that you watched all the women flirt back and forth with Mingyu tonight. You knew he looked good tonight, he always does. But something was different in the air today, everyone was all over your man. Well…he just didn't know he was your man yet. It's not like the two of you were dating but everyone can tell that there is something going on between the two of you.

Most people.

You watched each and every girl come up to him, make a move on Mingyu and him happily flirting back. Does no one notice you practically latched to his side? Did no one see you two walk in together? Did no one see the way you danced with him? On the dance floor, Mingyu kept you pressed to his front, the two of you grinding on each other

"Why are you so quiet?" Mingyu raised his eyebrow at you. You shrugged and looked away, ignoring his question. As glad as you were that he noticed your change in attitude, you can't cave in that easily. He tried to get you to tell him what was wrong but no matter how many times he asked, you continued to ignore him.

You almost thought you lost his attention when you watched another girl walk up to him and offer to buy him a shot, to which he happily accepted. You watched as she made small talk with Mingyu while the Bartender got the shot ready. Scowling at the sight of Mingyu entertaining the girl was enough to have you giving up on even trying to care about what was happening in front of you. It was safe to say you were royally pissed off. Until, you felt Mingyu’s soft hand on your cheek.

He turned your head to the side, facing him again. He had the shot infront of him and a wedge of lime in his free hand. You were taken aback when he set the lime in between your lips before downing the shot. You were about to take the lime out, completely uninterested and unfazed by the bitter sour flavour when he leaned down and sucked the lime off your lips.

Oh…

Oh.

The girl, taken aback, left the scene before you even got a proper look at her. Mingyu gave you that stupid smile of his he always does. The sweet, bright smile he always does makes you feel like you're the only girl for him. And in the moment, it felt as if you really were the only girl for him.

“Stop frowning, you know I only want you.” His lips lowered to yours again, engulfing you into a passionate kiss that had you gripping onto him for dear life. “Mingy-” You were cut off by a groan from Mingyu, “I think I need you,”

You pull away, pouting up at him playfully, “You think?”

“Baby, you and I both know how bad I need you.” You made a sound of disapproval, “I’m not too sure about that, why don't you show me instead?”

Without saying much more, Mingyu grabbed your hand, leading you to the bathroom in the far back of the club. “I need to be in you like now.”

And before you knew it, you were pressed against the bathroom door, your lips on Mingyu’s as he rushes to get your little dress off you. Mingyu’s hands trailed over your soft skin; feeling up on every inch of your bare skin. Every kiss of his lips, every drag of his tongue, every touch of his hands had you falling deeper and deeper into a trance. He relished in the moans you let out, becoming more and more eager to please. You press a hand to his chest, pushing him back a little. “I’m gonna suck you off.” As confident as you wanted to sound, your voice betrayed you, coming out as more of a whimper than anything. Mingyu didn’t complain in the slightest, letting you fall to your knees and tug his pants down.

“You’re always so good with your mouth, aren’t you?” Mingyu cooed, watching as you pulled his underwear down to his ankles before placing a big, opened mouthed kiss to his tip. “Yeah? How good?”

“Mingyu~” You groaned out when he pulled the cups of your bra down, latching onto one of your nipples. “Please Gyu, I need you.” Mingyu hummed, pulling away from your nipple with a ‘pop’.

“Fuck, bend over for me baby.” His voice was strained when he asked but you listened still, you slid your panties down, stepping out of them and discarding them somewhere in the little bathroom before bending down onto the counter. Mingyu lined himself up with your cunt, letting out a loud moan from behind you, the feeling of your arousal dripping all over his tip. “You get this wet from just a little teasing?” He chuckled.

“You’re gonna take my cock like a good little slut, yeah?” A swift smack to your ass with one hand gets you moving. You slowly push back onto him, taking more and more of his cock in you with each movement.

Mingyu hummed once he was fully buried inside you. You began to bounce on his cock and you could see all thoughts leave Mingyu’s mind. The both of you knew he loved seeing you like this, desperate and putting in the work to reach your high. The alcohol combined with the pleasure you were giving him made him more sensitive than usual but he was not gonna let you do all the work. “Fuck–stop–stop moving, please.” You tense up immediately, coming to a halt.

“Baby, are you okay?” Your voice was soft yet hoarse from the moans you were letting out. “I-I'm okay! Just let me do it, watching you is so hot I was about to cum already.” He had the audacity to sound sheepish while he said it, but either way, you agreed and let him take control back.

“Aren’t you such a good girl?” He muses, hiking your leg up on the sink so he could reach deeper inside you. Mingyu mumbled a small “good girl” under his breath before pushing into you once again. You moaned loud, feeling his cock filling you up to the brim. He trailed a hand to your front to rub your clit and you moan out when he wraps his other hand around you to grope your breast and tweak your nipple between his fingers.

“You wanna make me yours so bad don't you? Hate seeing all these girls on what’s yours?” Mingyu’s breath was right on your ear, sending shivers down your spine. God, this man was so fucking hot. “Yes,” You nodded, “Hate seeing them near you, you’re only mine.”

“Yeah?” Mingyu’s cock twitch inside you, his thrusts growing erratic a clear indication that he’s right on edge “You’re mine too baby, hate seeing other guys all over you, especially that fucker Seungcheol.” Mingyu sounded beyond fucked out, keeping your hips pressed against him, tight.

“Make me your slut daddy,” You begged, trying to meet Mingyu’s thrusts but he tightened his grip on your waist, holding you in place and fucking you harder. “What a little slut,” Mingyu chided with a broken moan. “Tell me how much you enjoy this, hm? Tell me how much you like how I fuck you.”

“F-fuck Gyu, like it so much, love how you fuck me” You could barely hold yourself up at this point, relying solely on Mingyu to hold you up. “I need to cum, Gyu– I’m so close.”

“Cum for me baby,” He groaned, feeling you get impossibly tighter around him, your walls spasming as you came around him. He helped you ride out your orgasm, fucking you through it while you wailed pathetically, begging for him to cum in you. “Please cum Gyu, please fill me up. I need to feel your cum inside me, I want it so much.” It only takes a few more thrusts for him to tighten his hands around your hips and press you firmly against him, burying himself deep inside your cunt and releasing his hot load inside you. Thick spurts of cum fill you up as he moans your name like he had no shame whatsoever, like you're the only people around. Mingyu fucks his cum deeper inside you. His grip on your hips loosened and you fell forward on the counter, barely keeping yourself up anymore.

“Fuck Gyu, you fuck so hard when youre possessive like that.” You uttered between laboured breaths and he let out a breathy chuckle. “And you get so turned on when I’m like that. So I guess it's a win-win huh?”

“Hm..sure.” You cheekily replied.

Mingyu chose just then to pull out, making you whine at the feeling. Staying in that position while Mingyu fixed his own clothes before your own, pulling your bra back into its position and finding your panties, placed right next to your feet, and pulling them up before doing the same with your dress.

“We look like a mess.” You huffed, attempting to fix yourself up in the mirror but Mingyu scoffed, “I’d say I look like a mess, you still look as beautiful as ever baby.” Pulling you against him and pressing a small kiss to your lips. “You’re acting a little too much like a boyfriend right now.” You mused, smiling up at him coyly.

“Yeah? He smirked, “Guess you’ll have to give me an upgrade to boyfriend status soon.”

“We’ll see…” You pretended to hesitate, giving him a disapproving look before turning on your heel, walking towards the bathroom door.

“You can take me home for a round two, by the way.” You playfully winked at him, unlocking the door and exiting the bathroom. And without hesitating, Mingyu followed right after you, calling an Uber for the both of you back to his place.

Bonus:

Days after the club incident and a while of non stop texting with Mingyu, you finally received the message from him that you’d been waiting for.

mingyu: you know. mingyu: i'm really expecting a boyfriend upgrade

you: yeah? why should you get that?

mingyu: let’s be real i cannot stand going out again without you being mine. mingyu: i think i’ll genuinely crash out if i see another man try to hit on you mingyu: and you know i’ve been dying to make you mine.

you: have you?

mingyu: dont ask me no stupid questions, you know damn well. you: well then, come over and make me yours gyu.

mingyu: bet, be there in 15, get ready for me baby.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕/𝑳.𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏

This isn’t very long, but I suppose it’s better than nothing. Enjoy <3

Post-match interviews were always a nightmare for you. Even the thought of standing in front of a camera, with a microphone shoved in your face, made your stomach churn. You hated it. The pressure, the way your mind blanked, the way you could hear your voice shake in your own ears -it all felt like torture. And today was no different. Arsenal had just pulled off a solid win, and as you trudged back toward the changing room, all you could think about was getting out of your boots, showering, and going home.

But fate had other plans. Renee called your name, motioning for you to stay behind as a team media representative gestured toward the press area. Your heart sank. Leah had already disappeared into the tunnel, probably halfway to her locker by now, leaving you to face this alone.

The interviewer was a familiar face, someone who had been around the club for years. But that didn’t make it any easier. The camera was already rolling, the red light glaring at you like a judgmental eye, and you felt frozen in place. Your palms were damp with sweat, and your chest tightened as the noise of the stadium faded into a dull hum.

The reporter smiled, stepping closer with the microphone. “So, you had a brilliant assist today. Can you walk us through that moment?”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Words refused to form. All you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, and all you could feel was the heavy weight of the camera’s gaze. Your mind raced, scrambling for something -anything- to say, but it was like your brain had been wiped clean.

The silence stretched on, growing more awkward by the second. You could see the confusion flicker across the reporter’s face, and your throat constricted further. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and the urge to bolt was overwhelming. Before you could crumble completely, you felt a familiar presence at your side. Warmth pressed against you as an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. Leah.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said casually yet slightly out of breath, her voice smooth and confident as she flashed a charming smile at the reporter. “Mind if I jump in?”

You didn’t even care how ridiculous it looked as you turned into her, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. Her free hand came up to rest lightly on your back, her thumb rubbing soothing circles just above your hip.

The relief was immediate, your body sagging against hers as if she’d single-handedly lifted the weight of the world off your shoulders. Her steady heartbeat thumped against your hand as it came to rest against her chest, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

The reporter, clearly startled by the interruption, recovered quickly. “Not at all. We were just talking about that brilliant assist. Leah, what did you think of her performance today?”

Leah didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, she was incredible, as always,” she said, her voice carrying that unmistakable tone of pride. “She made it look easy, didn’t she? The vision, the precision -it’s what makes her such an important player for us.”

Her words washed over you, easing the lingering tension in your chest. She kept the conversation flowing effortlessly, answering questions about the match, the team’s strategy, and even a few about her own performance.

Through it all, she never let go of you. Her arm remained firmly around your waist, her fingers occasionally giving you a small, reassuring squeeze. She shifted her stance slightly, angling her body to shield you further from the camera’s view, as if she could sense how much it unnerved you.

At one point, she even threw in a cheeky comment, making the reporter laugh and easing the atmosphere further. “She’s modest, you know,” Leah said, glancing down at you with a teasing glint in her eyes. “She’ll never admit it, but that assist was all her. We just got lucky to be on the receiving end.”

You couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, muffled against her neck. The sound of it made Leah’s arm tighten around you briefly, her thumb brushing along your side in response.

By the time the interview wrapped up, your heart rate had finally returned to something resembling normal. The reporter thanked you both, and Leah gave him one last dazzling smile before leading you away, her arm still securely around you.

She didn’t say anything at first, simply guiding you back toward the tunnel with a calm, steady presence. It wasn’t until you were out of sight of the cameras and the lingering crowd that she finally stopped, turning to face you.

“You okay, baby?” she asked softly, her hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, though your throat was still tight. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leah’s expression softened, and she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said. “You’ve done it for me a million times in other ways.”

You looked up at her, the weight of everything catching up with you. “I hate those interviews,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

“I know,” Leah said, her voice full of understanding. “But you did amazing today, on and off the pitch. I’m so proud of you.”

Her words brought a fresh wave of emotion, and you leaned into her touch with a soft sigh.

“Next time, we’ll make sure you don’t have to do it,” Leah said, her tone firm as if she were already planning to have a word with Renee or the media team. “But if you do, I’ll be right there, okay? Always.”

You nodded again, the knot in your chest finally unraveling completely. Leah pulled you into a hug, holding you close and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Come on,” she said after a moment, her voice lightening as she stepped back and gave you a cheeky grin. “Let’s get back to the team before they start thinking we’ve snuck off for something else.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes at her as she laced her fingers with yours and led you toward the changing room.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[britcision]

So what you’re saying is, you don’t think 700 people going missing in a single park is a problem, because it’s not millions?

I never said it was a hugely high rate or a daily affair, just that it happens a lot more than people think (since, as you yourself noted, people are assuming these are very safe attractions), and it is always a risk on these trails

I’ll admit, I can’t find the specific article I got 3 permanent staff (which gods I still hope they’re rangers because the alternative is worse but yeah, I should have specified)… because there are too many articles from rangers all over the country talking about how dangerous this will be

Have a couple for funsies:

https://www.sfgate.com/news/article/trump-administration-fires-1-000-workers-at-20174248.php

https://www.sfgate.com/national-parks/article/hiring-freeze-national-parks-job-offers-rescinded-20052544.php

https://www.sfgate.com/national-parks/article/senators-warn-national-parks-could-close-20154149.php

Now, these are all from the same source, because I limited the search to where I got the number from

I think our main difference of opinion here is how we look at those numbers; you’re looking at them as a probability, compared to the numbers of people visiting the park, which makes them look very low

I am looking at them as numbers of people who largely survived a dangerous situation (as I noted, which you may not have caught? Since I said most of them resolved well?) that will not have the same tools and resources to survive over the next two years

Even if only 50 people actually die because search and rescue could not operate effectively, that is a very high number of people who died because of budget cuts. 20 people dying for a budget cut is a lot of people dying for a budget cut.

One bus full of people falling through a hole in a bridge per year should not be an acceptable sacrifice, no matter how many other buses cross that bridge without hitting the hole.

The size of the number relative to other numbers is not why I call it significant. It’s the value of each unit being counted.

The number of people who do end up needing help is also likely to significantly increase because the maintenance on these trails is not going to happen this spring or potentially at all unless something very important changes

Now, some trails won’t have drastic changes in terrain from winter storms, or hurricane season; they still need maintenance at least to ensure that trail markers remain present and legible

The fact that some seasonal workers will still be hired - less than usual - will not make up for the fact that there will not be adequate staff to train them, as potentially noted in one of those articles I linked (I think, unless it’s one of the other 13 I checked trying to find the right one, but these were the three I picked rather than adding all of ‘em)

It’s also completely true that the number of rangers and resources before didn’t make everything perfectly safe, and that there’s no realistic way to make everything perfectly safe, because people are still going to be dipshits

This is why I noted they were previously still overwhelmingly underfunded and under staffed, because while it will never be perfectly safe, more money and more resources would make things safer

You can’t station a ranger every square km to keep people away from the bison, but you could put up motion sensitive cameras along the roads and trails to note when people are potentially exhibiting dipshit behaviour, and maintain those along with maintaining roads and trails

I’ll happily admit, I kept my previous post simple, and probably shoulda pasted my references in in the first place… but the point was not to provide perfect academic study that people would definitely read through and analyze, but to get their attention, and hopefully make them reconsider vacation plans to areas that are very unlikely to be able to maintain even their existing campsites this summer

And, hopefully, to make them take the dangers more seriously by putting a human number on how many people require a service that just got a massive budget and personnel cut

I could have limited it to the average deaths, but the actual reason I didn’t is that my point is about not having the resources to effectively run search and rescue, so which is more relevant?

(But yeah, 900 confirmed deaths in the Grand Canyon coulda been its own paragraph - along with the fact that there are almost certainly more, because again, these are the recovered dead, not total numbers of missing assumed dead, and no one’s dredging on an annual basis checking for bodies)

I could include that yeah, you’re probably still relatively safe on a green route, so long as you’re taking regular hiking precautions… but people who regularly hike know that

They’re not the target audience - people who won’t remember to wear sensible shoes, bring water and a first aid kit, check the weather, etc. are, because they’re the ones who need to be reminded that hiking is always dangerous in general

Because even when the trails are being well maintained, maps are supplied at the trail heads, visitors centres are open to give bathroom access and offer any supplies you forgot, and there are rangers stationed to provide aid, hiking is never a guaranteed safe activity

Even ONE of those things not being accessible increases that danger, and almost none of them are going to be accesibile this year

Hiking in or near a national park, within the radius that park rangers would usually be able to assist with search and rescue efforts, is going to be significantly more dangerous this year, and every single year after that until funding once more allows things like basic trail maintenance - which will cost more the longer it’s neglected, and become increasingly dangerous

So sure, I could provide a well rounded, well cited post detailing all the individual risks that will be higher, and included all kinds of statistics that reflect the situation before even a single one of these changes go into effect - because people as a whole are excellent at interpreting statistics accurately

But, since you also didn’t include your sources, I think we can all agree that that’s not necessarily what Tumblr is for.

If you will be dissuaded from a hiking vacation by one post telling you the worst case scenario, you’re probably already not doing research or experienced enough, or particularly committed to doing it in the first place

If you see a scary post and decide “well I’ll look into this more”, you’re already unlikely to pet a bison (note: do not pet the fucking bison. Fluffy does not mean friend.)

I’m not your mom, I’m not your teacher or being paid to explain all the risks in perfect detail, and I can’t make you do anything - and you also shouldn’t be fully taking as read anything you read in a tumblr post anyway, in general

But trying to dismiss the whole post as misinformation or “making it harder to talk about what’s really going on” because… you would have liked full statistical run downs? Because it’s not a news report? Because hiking is dangerous anyway?

I’m not sure what precisely you think is so bad about this post, since you seem to agree that hiking is dangerous even with the current safety measures in effect, and that those measures will be impacted by budget and personnel cuts, which will lead to increased dangers, and likely casualties

You claim you’re not looking to diminish the impact of the cuts… but if it’s still “perfectly safe” to hike the trails you would if they hadn’t happened, what impact do you think the cuts had?

National parks being defunded and losing full time staff means that everything you do in those parks now carries additional risks, even the most simple little day trip where you go to the visitor’s centre, take some photos, and leave - because the roads aren’t being cleared, the centre is closed, and if something does go wrong, instead of trained staff being present to help you, you might have some seasonal workers who cannot have received the same preparation and training they were offered in 2024

Hiking trails are already risky, and tackling a trail you don’t understand and are not prepared for is always dangerous

It is more dangerous when the safety measures used to mitigate those dangers are missing

You are much more likely to get hurt on a poorly or unmaintained trail, and any incident that occurs is more likely to be serious when there are less emergency personnel, and personnel are less trained

The Grand Canyon averages 12 deaths a year - in the previous conditions. Those conditions will not be applied this year. The average death rate is not likely to decrease, or remain stable, given the new conditions

But humans are bad at nebulous concepts of danger, so yeah, I’m going to point out the entirely possible worst case scenario that people very rarely consider: you could die

People already die in national parks. More people are more likely to die when safety precautions and emergency services are cut.

People in need of search and rescue are more likely to die when search and rescue cannot be performed, or cannot be performed as well.

None of that is misinformation or fear mongering, and it does need to be considered when discussing these cuts, especially because it makes people uncomfortable.

Even if only 10 more people die total, those are 10 people with lives and families, whose deaths were preventable. And that is in one park.

Any number of dead people who might otherwise not have died should be unacceptably high - even if it’s already a dangerous activity. That’s why we have laws about seatbelts.

(Bad things that are not death could also happen, but people do not tend to stop and think twice at reminders like “you could break an ankle”)

Frankly, if more people remembered that going into any wild area, we would see a significant reduction in the number of dipshit incidents and accidents already, so I’m not going to not talk about it because you think that mentioning the significantly increased possibility is fear-mongering

By the way guys, in all seriousness? Do not hike in the US this year

Unless you are completely, 10000% sure there are no possible circumstances under which you’d need a ranger’s help to get you out, do not go on a trail

(If you are this sure there are no circumstances under which you’ll need help you either do not understand hiking well enough to go, or you’re comfortable with the idea of crawling out on two broken legs. Gravity sucks, anyone can fall)

3 rangers for the entirety of Yellowstone means that if something goes wrong you are literally on your own

People already go missing in national parks every year, because the park rangers were already wickedly under staffed and under funded

Between 2018 and 2020, there were 371 search and rescue incidents in Yellowstone. In the same period, Yosemite reported 732. The Grand Canyon had 785, in the same 2 years, and over 900 confirmed deaths overall - and that’s the bodies that were found

Most of these search and rescue incidents end well… because of the tireless expert work of park rangers who will not be there this year

People are going to die on family vacations, provided they can get into the parks at all - cuz they’re not going to have the staff to handle parking

Let alone trail maintenance after every storm, trash removal, camp and fence repairs…

Nature is beautiful and wild and free and fucking dangerous and it is exactly as easy to die of exposure now as it always has been

Fuck, people are going to die running at the bison to take a selfie with them, because no one will be around to tell them not to

And if you’re in an area that counted on tourism to a national park for revenue… I genuinely have no idea what’s going to happen, but it’s not going to be good

May “liberal tears” be a great comfort to every family that loses a loved one because they wanted one cool vacation pic

[finelinevogue]

my universe

summary - university can be tough and lonely sometimes, but luckily for you your boyfriend lives nearby

pairing - spencer reid x shy-university!reader

word count - 900

[this is just a little taster... should i continue this? if so feel free to send any ideas/prompts for this pairing you would like to see]

University wasn’t all it was cut out to be.

It was different to what you had been expecting.

You had expected constant house parties. You had expected 9-5 studying and 5-9 partying. You had expected to finally come out of your shell and live life like every extroverted person did. 

But that wasn’t the case.

Instead, university was lonely, isolating and really tough. 

The work was okay but the social life was really hard. 

You remember the first conversation you heard between your roommates like it was yesterday.

“Should we invite them?” 

“We don’t even know their name, so what’s the point?” 

“Yeah you’re right. Going out doesn’t seem like their vibe anyways.”

“So are we going or what?”

You hadn’t even put faces to names before your flatmates had ruled you out as one of them. You had managed to become friendless without even trying. Sometimes a flatmate would come to you if they had a problem with the wifi or they wanted to know whether they could use your milk in the fridge, but other than that you were left alone.

Like tonight.

You were trying your best to study for an upcoming test in a few weeks, seeing as you had nothing else to do, but your flatmates were pre-drinking and it was so loud.

The music was thumping away in the kitchen and they must have invited more people over as there were lots of voices. Too many voices for comfort. 

Your room was small but it was yours.

It was cosy with fairy lights strung up on your walls and crossing the ceilings. There was a huge pinboard of memorabilia that you had brought from home. Some were photos of you and your mum. Some were photos you had taken of your few friends back home. Most were of your boyfriend, Spencer.

In fact a lot of the other tat on your board was shared property between you and Spencer. There were cinema tickets from dates and tiny handmade cards from him to you. 

It was your safety wall, because every time you looked at it you reminded yourself that you weren’t completely alone. 

<.><.><.>

Your phone rang 15 minutes later.

“Hey, you.” You smiled, putting your pen down in a hurry to speak to your boyfriend.

“Hey you, back.”

It was always so good to hear his voice. No matter how far or near he was, his voice was the one comfort in the world that you would crawl home to. 

“You okay? I thought your text said you were going out for drinks with the team?” 

“Plans fell through.” He didn’t sound too bothered.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” 

“Don’t know, really.” You shrugged even though he couldn’t see. “So where are you now?”

“Funny story…” 

“Okay?”

“I’m like five minutes away from you.” 

You sat up straight in your chair. 

Your attention turned from Spencer to the raving music from the kitchen. It was loud and thumping and it was a wonder that Spencer hadn’t commented on it yet. 

It had taken a while for you to come clean to Spencer about how rubbish your flatmates were, but luckily for you Spencer was the best boyfriend in the world and he only lived half an hour away. Whenever he could he would always come and spend time with you.

There was even that one occasion that he stayed in the library all night with you to practice for a test. No one was better than him.

“Is that okay?” Spencer asked, having noted your silence.

“You’ve saved my night.”

“Well they don’t call me a ‘hero’ for nothing.”

You laughed, “Nice try. I’m not feeding your ego any more than that.” You heard him laugh too.

“Shall I come up or do you want to go somewhere?” Spencer asked.

“Depends.”

“On��?”

“Whether Alicia is going to flirt with you again. I do not need my evil flatmate accidentally tricking you into falling in love with her. It’s probably her master plan.”

Alicia had taken it upon herself to try and smooth talk Spencer when he had first visited. Apparently she couldn’t believe that ‘someone like him’ was dating ‘someone like you.’ That had been a real kick in the teeth. Spencer had pretended to be oblivious and shut your bedroom door in her face though, so that had been a small victory.

Since then you had teased Spencer about the interaction. He had obviously talked about how teasing was your way of deflecting talking about your jealousy, but whatever.

“Alicia is going to be your villain origin story. I can feel it.”

“You’re damn right.”

“I know.”

“Right. You need to tone that ego down before I see you.” You joked, causing him to laugh back.

“Okay but seriously, do you want me to come up? I look like a serial killer waiting to pounce down here.”

You stood up from your chair and moved over to the window. It only opened a smidge, but it was enough to see Spencer standing four floors below. You gave him a big smile and a small wave, which he returned.

“You kind of do look like a serial killer. Why are you dressed all in black?” You asked whilst still looking at him from the window.

“Y/N!” He whisper-shouted your name. 

“Okay I’m coming.” You shut your window and picked up your flat keys, “Just don’t murder anyone whilst I come and get you.” 

“I swear to…”

Before he could finish you hung up on him.

[ilovedinodino]

Wanna bet?

synopsis: You and Haechan weren’t acquainted, but both of you were widely popular across the university—though for different reasons. Haechan was known as a fuckboy and a partygoer, changing girls every two weeks and being rude to everyone except his friends. You, on the other hand, were his complete opposite. Kind-hearted and distant, you had no relationships at all, turning down every confession and remaining unattainable. And so, it happened that you and Haechan unknowingly made a bet on each other. Where will your bets lead? Will you discover the truth? And, finally, who will win the bet?

pairing: haechan x f!reader

genre: slightly enemies to lovers, fluff, comedy, angst, suggestive

warnings: mentions of trowing up, haechan is insecure sometimes, idk what else..

playlist: conan grey - the cut that always bleeds

wc: 15,931

na: my first fic ever and I’m so scared ngl. any feedback in anon or here is appreciated😌

“Haechan, why didn’t you accept my gift?” a loud female voice echoes through the hallway. You, Ningning, and Karina watch as a girl runs after Haechan, clutching a box in her hands. The three of you roll your eyes and sigh, witnessing yet another dramatic scene.

It wasn’t the first time you had watched university girls chasing after Haechan. And it wasn’t the first time he had been seen with a new girl. Every two weeks— a new girl, a new fan, a new romance. And it annoyed you.

It’s not that you paid attention to him on purpose, but he always seemed to appear in front of you, making it impossible to ignore.

And what annoyed you the most was his rudeness to everyone at this university. More than once, you had heard him arguing with other students and irritating people. Jisung, your best friend, told you that he was actually kind and normal with his friends, but you didn’t believe it—you thought Jisung was just covering for him.

As Haechan walks past, the girl rushes between you, trying to catch up, but suddenly stumbles and falls to her knees. You quickly leaning down to help her up.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask.

She lifts her head and reaches for the contents that spilled from the box— a letter, an assortment of candies, and a bracelet. Karina and Ningning kneel beside her, helping gather everything. Once you all stand, you steady her so she doesn’t lose her balance.

“Thank you so much!” she says with a grateful smile.

You gently pat her back.

“Be more careful…,” you say, glancing at the now-crumpled box in her hands before looking back at her. “And honestly? Forget about that jerk. He doesn’t deserve sweet and beautiful girls like you.”

She stares at you for a moment before letting out an awkward laugh, nodding slightly.

“Maybe you’re right… I stayed up all night writing this letter…”

You reassuringly squeeze her hand, but your eyes catch a movement behind her. A little farther away, a guy stands watching her intently, concern clear in his expression.

“More than that,” you continue, “I’m sure there’s someone far more deserving—someone who’s truly in love with you.”

The girl looks at you, startled.

“Who?”

“He should be the one to tell you that himself,” you say with a soft smile. “We’ll get going now. Toss the letter and keep the sweets for yourself, okay?”

She nods quickly, smiling at you. You and the girls walk away, leaving her alone—but not really alone. Someone is already waiting for the right moment to step forward.

“That idiot didn’t even bother to turn around. What do people even see in him?” you say irritably, crossing your arms.

“He’s handsome, comes from a wealthy family, part of the popular boys, a partygoer. I think that’s enough”, Ningning replies.

You sigh heavily.

“And he’s also rude, changes girls like clothes, does poorly in studies, drinks too much, and, honestly, he’s an idiot.”

“Does he really do badly in studies? I thought he had good grades?” Karina joins the conversation.

“He used to, but this semester he’s been terrible. I don’t know what happened, but he dropped in the rankings and basically gave up on studying”, Ningning explains.

You stop in your tracks and look at her in confusion.

“How do you know all this?”

Ningning blinks, momentarily stunned, then quickly starts rambling:

“Uh… Aren’t these just the rumors going around campus? I just heard about it! I mean, he is popular, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously but eventually nod and keep walking.

“Whatever. Let’s forget about him and all of them. Today, we’re finally going to that café we’ve been wanting to go.”

“Oh, right!” you and Ningning say at the same time.

Laughing, the three of you hug each other as you leave the university.

“Ah!” Haechan bursts into the room and flops onto the couch with a loud sigh. Chenle and Mark look at him in confusion.

“What’s wrong?..”

“Some girl has been chasing me all day with this box! I already told her this morning that I’m not interested and asked her to leave me alone, but she didn’t care! Because of her, another girl rejected me, thinking she was my ex!” Haechan flails in frustration, aggressively hitting the pillows.

Chenle and Mark sigh heavily and stop paying attention to him. They are already used to Haechan constantly complaining about the people around him, even though he doesn’t realize how annoying he can be himself.

“Why are you silent?” Haechan looks at his friends in surprise.

They don’t respond and simply take out two controllers.

“Hey!”

“What?” Chenle glances at him irritably. “We’re not interested in your stories.”

Haechan watches as his friends sit down next to him, shoving him aside, and turn on the TV.

“I am your best friend?”

“Unfortunately. Now, can you leave? We want to play.”

Haechan blinks, gets up from the couch, and heads to his room.

“Alright.”

But in reality, he wasn’t mad. He knew he often talked too much about himself and his experiences in excessive detail, so he understood his friends.

He also understood how irritating he was to everyone. But that was his choice—after a bad experience, he was afraid to open up to anyone and decided to create a completely different image when he entered university.

At first, his friends noticed his changed behavior and tried to talk to him, to bring him back to his senses, but it was all in vain. Haechan convinced them that everything would be fine.

Nothing was fine.

His friends didn’t even realize how much he was changing, how often he was going out partying. Back in school, Haechan had been the most level-headed among them and never did anything reckless—but that had all changed. What shocked everyone the most was that he started dating people left and right and sleeping with different girls.

“Haechan, why are you doing this?” Renjun asked one day while they were playing together.

“What? You just said you’d beat me here, and now—”

“I’m not talking about the game. Why do you drink so much and change girls so often?” Renjun turned to him, but Haechan just blinked dumbly.

“Isn’t it fun? I mean, I’m a guy and a student—it’d be weird if I didn’t do it.”

“But none of us do that.”

“Jeno does,” Haechan replied, and Renjun rolled his eyes.

“He just goes on dates—he doesn’t dump them after a few days like you do.”

Haechan just laughed.

“Let’s get back to the game.”

“Haechan, if—”

“Let’s just play, Renjun.»

After that, Renjun never brought it up again. But everyone knew Haechan had problems expressing himself—he was just scared that no one would like him for who he really was. And proving him wrong was difficult… and pointless.

The entire next day, Haechan walked around like a ghost, trying not to draw attention to himself, hiding under his hood. And he was doing a good job at it.

Lately, he hadn’t even noticed how exhausted he had become—both physically and mentally. He blamed it all on uni and partying, but in reality, the problem was within himself. He was draining himself with thoughts and stress. Mark, his closest friend, told him that it was all because he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t, but Haechan thought that was nonsense.

Nonsense, right?

There was only one last economics lecture left, and unfortunately, he was running very late. He rushed through the hallway, searching for the right classroom. Lately, he didn’t care much about studying, but economics was an exception—he didn’t even have any grades for it. That meant he had to be there today and ask for extra assignments to save his own ass.

He was almost at the classroom when he crashed into someone, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Looking at the floor, he saw spilled coffee—clearly from the person he had bumped into.

His hood was up, and his bangs covered his eyes, making it hard to see anything in front of him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Slowly, still dazed, he looked up, ready to thank the stranger.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Haechan hears a sweet, melodic voice and blinks, lifting his head—only to see you staring back at him.

“You?! Oh my God, you idiot! Watch where you’re going! You almost killed me and spilled my coffee!” you shout, shoving him hard.

Haechan stumbles back in shock, eyes widening at your reaction.

“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t see—” he tries to explain, but you cut him off immediately.

“Maybe if you took off your hood and actually cut your damn bangs, you’d be able to see! Now my favorite sweater is ruined!”

What?

“Well, maybe if you weren’t standing in the middle of the hallway glued to your phone, this wouldn’t have happened!

You blink in surprise, staring at Haechan as he suddenly raises his voice right back at you.

“I have every right to stand here! But can you even run through the hallways like that in a university?”

“I was late! And now, thanks to you, I’m even later! So just move and let me—”

“What’s going on here?”

Both you and Haechan freeze and turn toward the voice. Walking toward you from the right is Professor Kwon, the economics lecturer, his expression stern and unamused.

“Classes are in session. It is completely inappropriate to be yelling and causing a scene in the hallways right now.

“Sorry,” you both mumble at the same time, bowing slightly.

Professor Kwon’s gaze shifts to Haechan, narrowing in suspicion. “Lee Donghyuck? Why are you not in my lecture right now?”

Haechan straightens up, quickly trying to save himself. “I was on my way, but I—uh—bumped into her! Sorry, but she’s the reason I’m late!”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief before you smack his arm. “Are you kidding me?! You ran into me, you liar!”

“Enough,” the professor sighs, rubbing his temple. “Lee Donghyuck, get inside before I decide not to let you in at all. And you, miss, stop walking near the classrooms. If you have no more business here, go home.”

Neither of you dares to argue, quickly doing as you’re told. But before leaving, you and Haechan exchange one last heated glare.

“Idiot,” you both mutter under your breaths at the same time before finally going your separate ways.

“She was the one standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at her phone with her coffee, and then she blamed me for it. Is she insane?”

Haechan walks into friends dorm with Jisung, Mark, and Chenle. After kicking off their shoes, they head straight to their shared room.

“You spilled coffee on her. I’d be pissed too,” Chenle replies, making Haechan click his tongue in annoyance.

“It wasn’t my fault! I was in a rush. And she snapped at me the second she saw my face. She even has a weird name—Y/N? What kind of name is that?”

“Y/N?! She was rude to you? No way, she’s the nicest person in the entire university,” Mark says, making Haechan scoff in disbelief.

“Her? The nicest? Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”

He tosses his backpack next to the couch and flops onto it. Chenle climbs on top of him, and Haechan instinctively wraps his arms around him.

“Wait… Y/N? Hold on, that’s my best friend from my group.”

All three of them turn to Jisung in unison. Haechan immediately shoves Chenle off and sits up.

“She’s your best friend? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious!”

“Why do we never know about your other best friends?” Chenle exclaims, while Mark nods in agreement.

Jisung rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… I just never had a reason to bring her up, so I guess I forgot.”

“And by the way, Haechan, I highly doubt she was rude to you. She’s an angel—she wouldn’t snap at anyone for no reason.”

“But she—”

“Isn’t she literally known for rejecting everyone. Mind you, she even turned down Sungchan! SUNGCHAN, HAECHAN!!!” Chenle practically shrieks, grabbing Haechan by the shoulders and shaking him violently.

“Alright, alright, I got it! Let go!”

Haechan shoves him off, and Chenle flops dramatically onto the pillows.

“You know, now that I think about it, I’ve never actually seen her with a guy. Maybe she’s just into girls?” Mark asks as he walks over and sits beside the others.

“No, she’s into guys,” Jisung replies casually, while Haechan furrows his brows.

“If she’s so popular, why don’t I know her? I literally know everyone in this university.”

The other guys burst into laughter.

“What?”

“You two live in completely different worlds, Haechan. You only know people from your own crowd, and as you’ve probably noticed, she’s nothing like you,” Mark explains.

“So what? She’s probably just another typical nerd who stays home and is nice to everyone. Boring.”

“Hell no, she’s fun, and she loves parties. She’s just careful and doesn’t do the stupid shit you do,” Jisung corrects him, giving Haechan a pointed look.

“Then why is she still single? Was Sunghchan not good enough?”

Jisung simply shrugs as he reaches for the bathroom door.

“Maybe she has high standards. Or maybe she’s just waiting for the one. She’s never told me,” he says before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

The sound of running water fills the room, and Haechan chuckles at his words.

“So picky? Ridiculous. I bet if it weren’t for the coffee incident, she’d be chasing after me like all the others. She’s nothing special—just putting on an act.”

Chenle suddenly freezes, and Haechan immediately notices, giving him a questioning look.

“You sure about that?”

Haechan remains confused.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna prove it?”

“What?”

“You really think you could get her if you tried?”

“All girls are the same—of course I could!”

“Wanna bet?” Chenle smirks, and Mark immediately frowns.

“Chenle…”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t be able to make her fall for me and actually date me?” Haechan raises a brow.

“Haechan, she’s never dated anyone in this university—”

“Alright, I’m in.”

Mark stares at him in shock, while Chenle’s grin stretches even wider.

“You’re going to lose, Haechan. I’m serious. She hates you, especially after—”

“My tactics have never failed me before, Mark. Don’t worry. I’ll even buy you your favorite meal with my winnings,” Haechan pats Mark on the shoulder before heading to his room.

—

“Then he called me an idiot! I heard it!”

You sit in the apartment you share with Ningning and Karina, recounting yesterday’s situation to them and Jaemin. A whole day had passed, yet you were still fuming. It had taken forever to get the stain out of your sweater, and even then, a faint mark remained.

“That’s insane,” Ningning says—before bursting into laughter.

“It’s not funny,” you pout, leaning onto Jaemin’s shoulder.

“How do you even friends with him, Jaemin? He’s awful,” you complain, taking a sip from your mug.

“He’s actually nice to us. The sweetest, even,” Jaemin shrugs.

“Then why can’t he be like that with everyone?”

“He’s got his issues,” he says, grabbing your drink and taking a sip himself.

A couple of hours later.

“No, but seriously, Y/N, he’s the worst player I’ve ever seen. No one lasts more than two weeks with him. It’s impossible—”

“Ningning, he’s just a dumb boy! I’m sure it’s easy to keep him around for longer than two weeks. Besides, it’s me. Don’t you believe in me?”

For the past hour, the four of you had been discussing Haechan. What started as casual gossip had quickly turned into a playful challenge—could you really date him for longer than two weeks? They all doubted you. But you insisted it would be too easy. And no matter how hard they tried to talk you out of it, you weren’t budging.

“Are you guys scared you’re going to lose?” you smirk, leaning back against the couch.

“Scared?” Ningning scoffs, glancing at Karina and Jaemin.

“You two should be talking her out of this. Why aren’t you?”

“She does whatever she wants,” Jaemin sighs, smiling. “There’s no stopping her once she sets her mind on something.”

Ningning clicks her tongue before shaking her head.

“Alright, Y/N. Let’s bet on it. But just so you know—we’re playing for big money. This is Lee Donghyuck we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s do this.” You stretch out your hand toward Ningning, who looks at the two beside her in disbelief.

“Am I seriously the only one betting against her?”

“I believe in her,” Jaemin says with a shrug.

“I just don’t want to waste my money,” Karina adds, making Ningning roll her eyes.

“Fine.” She finally shakes your hand, and a triumphant smile spreads across your face.

The bet was on.

After searching the entire university, you finally spot Haechan. This whole plan of apologizing just to get closer to him annoyed you, but it was necessary. So here you were, wandering through the campus, determined to find this idiot.

You step into an empty classroom, only to see a familiar figure sitting with his back to the door. The sound of your footsteps makes him turn around, his brows slightly raised when he sees you.

Without hesitation, you walk up to him and sit down.

“Hey.”

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize for what happened on Tuesday. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you. Sorry” you say, putting on your best attempt at sincerity. In reality, you’d much rather punch him in the face.

Haechan looks genuinely surprised before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize. It was my fault—I spilled your coffee and ruined your sweater.”

You force a smile, though just thinking about your favorite sweater and that damn stain makes your eye twitch.

“Oh, it’s fine. I was planning to replace it anyway.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

«…What?» You blink in confusion.

«I ruined yours, so I’ll get you another one. Just send me the one you want.”

You freeze for a moment, processing what just happened. Why was he suddenly being so… nice? Was this really the same Haechan?

Then it hits you—this is actually perfect. You were going to need his number eventually, but now you had the perfect excuse to get it without waiting another week.

«Ah… okay… Can you give me your number? I’ll send it to you.»

Haechan nods, and you take out your phone to save his contact. You’re about to leave when he suddenly adds:

«No need to rush. Pick something you like and don’t worry about the price.»

He smiles at you, and you feel like something is definitely off. But you quickly brush off the thought, nodding at him before walking away.

xxxxx: link

idiot: good taste😉

xxxxx: thanks ☺️

idiot: are you sure you really like it? You didn’t check the price?

xxxxx: yeah, I love it

xxxxx: why? What about the price?

idiot: I just expected it to be more expensive. I could’ve bought you something pricier if needed

xxxxx: no, it’s fine, I really like this one. Thank you

idiot: don’t thank me, I had to

idiot: by the way, you looked really beautiful today

xxxxx: huh? Thanks…

idiot: sorry, I just couldn’t hold back from saying it

xxxxx: haha, you’re cute

idiot: me? I’m cute?

xxxxx: honestly, yeah

idiot: I’m glad you think so :)

«Is she really that dumb?» Haechan scoffs, tossing his phone onto the bed.

«Who?» Chenle, lying on the bed across the room, glances at him.

«Y/N. She’s so naive. How did she reject every guy? It’s so easy to gain her trust.» Haechan turns onto his side, watching Chenle play on his phone.

«I don’t know, maybe she rejected them after some time. I’m sure you’ll be one of them.»

«No. She’s already falling for it, and I haven’t even done anything yet.»

Haechan turns onto his back, closing his eyes.

—

«Your beautiful sweater, miss.»

Haechan hands you a bag, and you take it from him. Only two days had passed, and he was already handing you your new sweater.

Did he get close to all his flings before dropping them like this? You wondered.

«Wow, you actually bought it.» You peek inside and smile at him.

«How could I not?» He grins, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You both tried hard to pretend to be sweet to each other. But because of the rumors about one another, you couldn’t help but wonder—what was wrong with the two of you right now?

«By the way… to be honest, Y/N, I’d really like to get to know you better.»

You flinch slightly. Why is everything happening so fast and so easily? You know he probably just wants to sleep with you and then disappear, but without this turn of events, your plan wouldn’t work. So you have no choice but to take the risk and let him do what he wants.

«Me? Really?»

Haechan nods. «Yeah, and if you don’t mind… would you like to go on a date with me? This Sunday?»

You smirk. This is going to be way too easy.

«Oh, um… if you’re sure about it, then yeah, I don’t mind!» You pretend to be flustered, lowering your gaze to the floor.

«Then I’ll text you what time to be ready, okay?»

You nod, and he waves at you before walking away.

«So dumb.» You roll your eyes and head in the opposite direction.

—

Sunday.

After that day, Haechan texted you the time and let you know he’d come to pick you up. You told the girls everything, and…

«You do realize he just wants to use you like he did with all the others, right?» Ningning trails behind you while you get ready.

«I know, but it’s only temporary.»

«Y/N.» She grabs your hand and pulls you closer. «Let’s call off the bet? I’m worried about you.»

You smile at your friend and hug her.

«Ning, this isn’t about the bet. I want to teach that rude guy a lesson myself. It’s fine, I’ll be fine, don’t worry. He’s just dumb, that’s all.»

«Are you sure?»

You nod, and she hugs you again.

«Just be careful.»

«You look really beautiful,» Haechan says as you approach him and his car.

You’re, to say the least, surprised to see that he actually owns a car, though it makes sense considering the family he comes from and what he can afford. Ningning even managed to tell you that he used to live with Mark, but after his parents gifted him an apartment for his 21st birthday, he moved out and has lived alone ever since, but he often stays over at Mark’s place.

You feel a little flustered and quietly thank him.

«You look good too.» And it’s true. In all your years as a student, you’ve never seen Haechan dressed like this—even at events. Actually, have you even seen him at any uni events? Since he’s a partygoer, he never really cares about how he dresses, but this time, he actually put in effort. He’s wearing a cardigan over a button-up with black jeans, and you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. As much as you hate him, you can’t deny that he’s really attractive.

Haechan opens the door for you, and you get in, already anticipating a night at some basic café where you’ll sit through the embarrassment of his conversation.

Haechan was surprisingly a great conversationalist. He wasn’t acting silly and talked calmly—you didn’t even know he was capable of that. To be honest, you always thought he was a complete idiot who didn’t know how to handle relationships, which is why he had so many almost-relationships with different girls. But it turned out that wasn’t the case.

He told you about his family, his friends, and just his life in general. How he once dreamed of becoming a musician but later decided it was a bad idea and chose to study IT instead. How, despite being good with computers, he was terrible at video games and so on.

The whole evening was filled with a good atmosphere, to the point that you almost forgot why you were really here. Haechan seemed like a genuinely kind and good person, making you momentarily forget about his real personality.

Now, the two of you were walking through a park, breathing in the fresh air, and continuing your conversation.

Haechan walks beside you and says, “I’m still surprised that Jisung never mentioned you. You’re not someone people should keep quiet about.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“You’re pretty. You’re kind, beautiful, and sweet. A good person. If you were my friend, I’d be telling everyone about you.”

You blush, but this time, it’s real. A part of you hopes he’s being honest, but this is Lee Haechan—he couldn’t be.

“Thank you. You’re a good person too, but I don’t get why you have such a bad reputation. Everyone calls you rude.”

Haechan flinches slightly. “I just… I just don’t trust people.”

“You don’t trust people?” You tilt your head, confused.

“Yeah. I only trust my friends and family. I had bad experiences with others, so I decided to be this way.” Haechan didn’t even know why he was telling you this right now, especially since it was so personal.

“But have you ever thought that if you gave others a chance, you might be able to trust them too?”

Haechan stays silent for a moment, and you decide to drop the topic. You continue walking in silence until you reach your apartment.

“Thanks for tonight. I hope we can do this again if you don’t mind,” he says.

“I’d love that,” you say with a bright smile. He smiles back, just as warmly.

You say goodbye, and he watches you until you disappear inside the building.

“Such a weirdo,” Haechan mutters under his breath before turning back to his car.

—

idiot: are you in the cafeteria?

xxxxx: yeah, why?

You stare at your phone, waiting for a reply, but instead, a hand on your shoulder startles you. You look up and see Haechan.

“This is for you.” He places a cheesecake and your favorite juice on the table. Your friends watch the scene unfold with wide eyes.

“What? Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I just want to keep you in a good mood during class. So, enjoy.” He pats your shoulder and walks away.

“What did you do to him?!” Karina hisses at you while you stare at the cheesecake, just as confused.

“I… have no idea? Maybe my charms are working.”

Ningning bursts out laughing.

“No, but seriously, this is weird. He never does stuff like this. Look around—the whole cafeteria is staring at you now!”

You glance up and, sure enough, every table seems to be drilling holes into you with their eyes.

You quickly look away and stab your fork into your salad.

“Damn, I didn’t want this kind of attention.”

“You’re already popular.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be famous just for being Haechan’s next girl!”

“Oh, baby, believe me, this is a completely different case,” you ignore Ningning and continue eating, letting everything else fade into the background.

“You’re trying so hard, it’s hilarious,” Chenle says, settling into a seat at the kitchen table, eyes locked on Haechan.

The guys had gathered at Jeno and Jaemin’s place after university. Jaemin was still at the gym and Jisung still at uni, but the rest of them were here.

“What’s going on?” Jeno asks, while Renjun also looks over with curiosity.

“He made a bet with Chenle that he could date Y/N.”

Renjun laughs hard, nearly falling over onto Mark.

“Y/N?” He laughs again, and Chenle joins in. “She rejects the most popular guys, and you think she won’t reject you?”

“We went on a date!” Haechan shouts.

“So what? She goes on dates with guys, then it’s over. No one ever makes it to the final stage, Haechan. And you, of all people, definitely won’t.”

“Wanna bet on that too?” Haechan challenges, smirking.

Renjun scoffs but is still grinning. “I don’t waste my time on childish things like this.”

“We bet $800.”

“What?” Renjun exclaims, eyes widening. “Well, damn, I’m in!”

Laughter erupts around the room, and Mark sighs before adding, “If Jaemin finds out you guys are betting on Y/N, he’s gonna kill us. And for the record, I’m totally against this.”

“Everything will be fine, Mark. Just… please, no one tell Jaemin or Jisung.”

Everyone nods in agreement.

—

Your second date takes place at an amusement park. You mentioned that you love them a lot, and Haechan couldn’t miss this chance.

“It’s so beautiful and fun here,” you say as you walk through the park. It’s Sunday, and there are a lot of people around. Haechan stays close to you, making sure not to lose sight of you and to keep you from tripping. He frequently places a hand on your back and gently guides you forward. You feel a bit flustered by it but don’t show it. The same goes for Haechan.

“Do you want to go on that one?” you ask, pointing at a ride that spins people around.

Haechan gulps. In reality, he’s a bit afraid of extreme rides and often gets nauseous from them. He does like amusement parks, but he tries not to go on too many rides—one or two at most. He thought you’d be the same and that he wouldn’t have to endure too much.

But how wrong he was.

“Haechan, let’s go there!” You grab his hand and pull him toward yet another ride.

Haechan wants to cry. He can’t handle another one—his stomach is churning, and he’s holding on for dear life, all for yo- for the bet. And you’re too happy, too excited, too adorable today for him to say no. Besides, he doesn’t want to disappoint you when he’s the one who invited you here.

And yet, he’s at his limit. If he gets on one more ride…

“Y/N, wait.” He stops you, pulling you toward him, breathing heavily from running. You look at him, starting to worry.

“Are you okay?” You place a hand on his cheek, and he flinches at your touch.

“Yeah, I just… I’m tired. Can we just eat now?”

You pout—you really wanted to go on that ride.

“Just once? I’ve always wanted to try it, but I never got the chance. Just one time?” You smile sweetly, holding up a finger. He sighs in defeat and nods.

One time. He prays he won’t throw up.

“Haechan, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” You rub his back as he hunches over the toilet, trowing up. The moment you got off the ride, he suddenly clutched his stomach and muttered that he was going to be sick. Acting quickly, you rushed him to the public restroom.

“I didn’t want to say no to you,” he finally says, wiping his mouth and sinking down to sit on the floor.

“Huh? I’m not a kid; you could’ve just refused.”

“You looked too cute, and I wanted to make you happy.” He chuckles, but you glare at him.

“Happy? Are you happy now?”

Haechan sighs and lowers his head.

“I’m thirsty…”

“Thirsty? Wait, I’ll go get you something.” You stand up, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

“Stay here. We’ll go together later.”

“You sure? You look awful.”

He looks up at you and smiles.

“You make me feel better.”

You freeze.

This is all for the bet… right?

It was a dark evening, and you were sitting on a bench near the park. Haechan felt better after drinking some water and getting fresh air. Naturally, you didn’t go on any more rides or walk anywhere else. You just sat there quietly, watching the bright lights shining from the amusement park.

“Why didn’t you tell me that rides make you sick?” you break the silence.

“I… You were having fun, and I was the one who invited you, knowing I’d feel bad. I just didn’t know you liked riding them so much.” Haechan chuckles, but you stay silent. He notices and wipes the smile off his face before continuing.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it either. The last time I threw up at an amusement park was when I was eighteen.”

You turn to him.

“Because after that, you stopped going on rides?”

Haechan is surprised by your tone and slowly nods.

“Yeah.” He smiles again, trying to make it seem like a joke.

“You really are an idiot. Don’t lie to me again.”

He nods and turns back to the view.

“To be honest, I do go on rides, but only once or twice. I didn’t expect you to love them this much.”

“I’m scared of them.”

“What?”

“I’m really scared of them, but sometimes I push through my fear and force myself to ride, reminding myself that I only live once. And I thought you enjoyed them too, so I kept going, even though I wanted to stop after the third one.”

Haechan suddenly laughs—loudly, throwing his head back.

“What’s so funny?” you frown.

“We both forced ourselves to do something we couldn’t handle… for each other. It’s funny and kind of stupid.”

You scoff, and he grins.

“Want some ice cream?”

You nod, and he stands up, holding out his hand.

“Let’s go.”

And you take it.

—

You quickly step into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind you and leaning your back against it. You stand there for a few minutes, staring blankly ahead, until Ningning comes out of her room and looks at you with questioning eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Nings, is Haechan always this open with his partners?”

“Open? What do you mean?” Ningning sits on the couch and gestures for you to join her. You give in and flop down beside her with a heavy sigh.

“He told me about his fears… and some personal things.”

“Haechan?”

“Yeah.”

“I—”

“He never shares personal stuff with anyone.”

A sudden male voice interrupts, making you turn toward the sound. Jaemin walks in with a grin and sits down next to you.

“Jaemin? What are you doing here?”

“Came to play with Ningning,” he says casually as she nods and turns on the PlayStation.

“So… my plan is working, and he’s starting to like me,” you lean back, smiling widely before bursting into laughter.

Ningning looks at you in horror, then shifts her gaze to Jaemin, but he only shrugs and smirks before turning back to the game.

—

“Why is he doing this? Jaemin could easily see them,” Mark clicks his tongue as he, Chenle, and Renjun watch from the corner of the cafeteria. You were standing there with Haechan, who had just walked up to you like usual and handed you your juice. You had told him to stop because it was awkward, but he didn’t care.

“Especially now—rumors will spread, and everything will definitely go downhill.”

“Mark, stop stressing so much already,” Chenle laughs, nudging his shoulder. Mark had always been the voice of reason, constantly stopping his friends from getting into trouble. So it wasn’t surprising that he was desperately trying to put an end to this, especially knowing that you were Jisung and Jaemin’s best friend.

“What is he doing?”

The boys jump as Jaemin suddenly approaches them. He doesn’t react to their startled faces, just keeps his eyes fixed on you and Haechan.

“Why is he talking to Y/N?” Jaemin’s intense gaze burns into the two of you, and the boys start panicking. Chenle scrambles to come up with an excuse and is about to say something when Haechan starts heading back toward them.

Halfway there, he spots Jaemin and stops in his tracks. They stare at each other for a moment before Haechan decides to keep walking, approaching the group.

“What were you doing with her?” Jaemin asks directly, and the air around them tenses.

Classes had already started, and they should have all left by now, but no one moved.

“I was just talking to her.”

“About what?”

“Am I not allowed to talk to her?”

“I don’t see any situation where you would need to talk to Yoon, Haechan.”

Haechan freezes at the coldness in his friend’s tone, swallowing hard as Jaemin continues.

“If you’re planning to make her just another one of your girls for a few days, you better stop now.”

“I’m not planning that, Jaemin. She’s different for me.”

Silence hangs in the air as Jaemin completely ignores Haechan’s words.

“Don’t do anything stupid, and if you dare hurt her, I don’t care that you’ve been my best friend since childhood, Donghyuck.”

With that, Jaemin brushes past him, bumping his shoulder slightly before walking away, leaving Haechan standing there, staring at the floor, unsure of what to feel.

—

Idiot: hey, wanna go for a walk?

angry princess: rn? I don’t mind :)

You were strolling through the park, talking about everything and nothing. You still secretly annoyed each other, but your relationship had shifted slightly. Haechan used to think you were just a nerd and a weirdo, but over time, he realized you were completely different—just as Jisung had said. He didn’t have feelings for you, or so he told himself, but for some reason, he wanted to do everything for you. He convinced himself that he was only putting in so much effort to win the bet and rub it in that annoying Chenle’s face.

The weather was nice at first, but without you noticing, it started to change—dark clouds rolled in, and soon, it began to rain. Haechan took off his jacket and draped it over you.

“Sorry, I didn’t know the weather would be like this today.”

You had planned to spend the whole day outside, even wearing a skirt and a top, but luck was not on your side. As you made your way toward Haechan’s car, the rain turned into a downpour, and you both started running. Completely drenched, you jumped into the car, laughing at the situation you found yourselves in.

As Haechan settled into the driver’s seat and shut the door, you watched him closely. Feeling your gaze, he turned to face you. You stared for a long moment before reaching out, brushing his wet bangs from his eyes. He froze under your touch, his gaze locking onto yours.

Slowly, you started leaning toward each other. Haechan’s eyes flickered from yours to your lips and back again, as if silently asking for permission. You gave a slow nod.

Without wasting a second, he leaned in, pressing a soft, testing kiss against your lips before pulling away to gauge your reaction. Without hesitation, you grabbed him by the neck and kissed him properly.

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, both of you moving in sync as you melted into each other. Haechan wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. In this kiss, it felt as if he was finally doing something he had wanted to do for a long time, and you didn’t hold back either. After a few minutes, you both pull away, breathing heavily. You look at each other, and in his eyes, you see either the reflection of the streetlights outside or his own shimmering gaze.

“Wow…” That’s all Haechan manages to say, clearly at a loss for words. You laugh and lean back against the seat. A brief silence follows before he speaks again.

“I guess I should be grateful for not checking the weather. If I had, I wouldn’t have gotten a kiss from you.”

“Yeah, but we’re probably going to get sick—especially me.” You gesture to your skirt, and Haechan lowers his gaze.

“Oh, wait a second.” He reaches into the backseat and pulls out a black hoodie. Without hesitation, he drapes it over you and turns on the heater, making the car warmer. You look at him, surprised.

“Isn’t this the hoodie you always wear?”

He nods. “Yeah, it is.”

Silence fills the car again until Haechan breaks it.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You smile and nod, and just like that, you spend the rest of the rain-soaked night kissing in his car until the storm finally passes.

Haechan walks into his apartment, where his friends are already lounging on the couch, watching a movie. Mark had a spare key, and they had texted earlier about coming over in the evening, so it wasn’t surprising to see them there.

As soon as Chenle notices him, he practically yells, “Haechan! How was the date?”

Haechan stiffens at the question, his steps slowing as he heads toward his room.

“Nothing special, just the usual,” he mutters, trying to sound nonchalant. He quickly disappears into his room, leaving his friends staring after him in confusion.

The moment he shuts the door, he leans against it, pressing his hands to his cheeks. A huge grin spreads across his face, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I kissed her.”

Realizing how loud he was, he slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyes darting toward the door as if making sure no one heard him. He could’ve gone out there and told them everything, declared his victory in the bet right away—but for some reason, it didn’t feel right. This moment wasn’t about the bet anymore. It was something just between the two of you, and he wanted to keep it that way.

After changing into something more comfortable, he falls onto his bed and grabs his phone. He types out a quick message before drifting off to sleep.

idiot: goodnight 💖

idiot: let’s meet somewhere private tomorrow, I need to tell you something

idiot: sleep well :)

Haechan offered to be your boyfriend.

At the start of the day, you both agreed to meet in an empty room, and there, he asked you to be a couple. Of course, you said yes, silently praying that your relationship would last more than two weeks.

The first few days were quiet—you didn’t hide, but you didn’t flaunt it either. But then, one particular day turned into chaos. Rumors about your relationship spread like wildfire. Whenever you or Haechan walked through the hallways, people stared and whispered. You didn’t like the attention, but you had expected it, so you quickly accepted it.

What shocked everyone wasn’t just the fact that someone was dating—it was who was dating. Two complete opposites. Most of all, people couldn’t believe that you, the infamous untouchable, had given a chance to the university’s biggest player. That’s why the gossip was louder than ever.

Then, on the university’s website, someone made an anonymous post about you two. It gained tons of likes and comments. You didn’t care much about people’s opinions, but one comment managed to get under your skin.

catJlover: maybe they just made a bet on each other, and now they’re forced to “be together”? ;)

“What?” You frowned and clicked on the comment. It already had three dislikes, making you scoff. “Right, of course.”

catJlover: maybe they just made a bet on each other, and now they’re forced to “be together”? ;) (0 likes, 4 dislikes)

“Haechan! Why didn’t you tell us you two were dating?!” Chenle burst into the empty classroom where Haechan and Mark were sitting.

Haechan smirked and lazily lifted his gaze, noticing that Jisung and Renjun were following closely behind.

“Isn’t it more fun to find out this way instead of hearing it directly from me?” he grinned.

Chenle scoffed and sat on the desk in front of him.

“I can’t believe you actually won the bet,” Renjun said, making Haechan freeze. His eyes darted to Jisung, who stood silently next to them—his best friend, the one person he didn’t want to find out.

Renjun noticed Haechan’s panic and quickly reassured him.

“He knows. Chenle told him.”

“Why?” Haechan shot a glare at the younger boy, who only shrugged.

“He asked. He already had suspicions.”

Haechan hesitated before looking at Jisung carefully, his voice cautious.

“Are you mad?”

Jisung chuckled.

“Of course I’m mad, Haechan.”

Haechan lowered his gaze, but Jisung continued before he could spiral.

“I just hope you either end this without suspicion… or do what I actually want you to do.”

Before Haechan could ask what that meant, Chenle suddenly spoke up.

“Hey, you need to prove that you two are actually dating.”

Everyone turned to him with questioning looks.

“What? Everyone already knows we’re dating,” Haechan said, frowning.

“Only by words, right?” Chenle glanced around before hopping off the desk.

“You could’ve just convinced her to play along and split the winnings with her.”

“What kind of nonsense—”

“I don’t buy that she rejected Sungchan but agreed to date you.” Chenle crossed his arms. “I need pictures or at least to see a kiss myself.”

“Hey! You pervert!” Renjun smacked him, making Chenle hiss in protest.

“I’m not! Just think about it—it’s really weird that we haven’t seen them up close! I still don’t believe it, and I need photos,” Chenle grinned, making Haechan roll his eyes.

“Fine, you’ll get your pictures. But after that, you give me my money immediately.”

Chenle nodded but then added, “Actually, you know what? I need a video of you two doing it, because you could just do a quick peck, and that doesn’t co—”

Renjun smacked him again, this time harder.

Haechan laughed, grabbing his bag as he got up to leave.

“I’ll send them tonight.” And with that, he walked out.

“Tonight? That fast?” Chenle raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe they actually are dating… Well, at least for Y/N, it’s real.”

Jisung watched Haechan leave, biting his lip in frustration.

—

idiot: babe

idiot: wanna come over tonight?

idiot: I’ll order pizza, and we can watch a movie.

angry princess: come over? to your place?

idiot: yeah

angry princess: oh um

angry princess: I guess yeah, sure. Will you pick me up?

idiot: of course, when does your last class end?

angry princess: 5:45 PM

idiot: I’ll be waiting at the gate.

You sat on Haechan’s couch, waiting for him to return from the kitchen. The fact that he had invited you over to his place still caught you off guard. You had even texted your friends to ask if he did this with all his girlfriends, but Jaemin had quickly replied, saying no—he only let in the closest people. That made you uneasy.

You couldn’t figure out whether Haechan actually had feelings for you or not. But you quickly pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the most important thing—keeping this relationship going for as long as possible. You weren’t even sure what you felt about him. In fact, you had forbidden yourself from feeling anything more than hate.

Speaking of which—you don’t really hate him now. And it pissed you off.

He was too kind to you. Too attentive. He even remembered little details about you, which was surprising, to say the least. You felt lost in this whole situation but reassured yourself that it would all be worth it soon, and you’d spend your winnings on new clothes.

“Hey, sorry I took so long.”

Haechan walked in, placing two glasses and a plate of snacks on the table.

“I’ll order us some food now. What do you want?”

He sat down next to you—so close that your heart skipped a beat.

“I’d like a double-cheese pizza and a large fries.”

He smiled, nodding, and for a second, you caught yourself thinking that his smile was really cute.

—

Some time later, you were both sitting there, eating, watching a horror movie. Neither of you liked romance movies, though your reasons were different and understandable. So horror was a fair compromise.

The truth was, you loved horror movies. But you were also terrified of them. You expected to flinch and scream during the jumpscares like you always did.

The movie you picked was creepy and unsettling. You were doing your best to keep quiet, but—

“AHHH!”

You jumped as Haechan suddenly grabbed onto you, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Haechan?…”

You hesitantly touched the top of his head. He slowly peeked up at the screen, clearly embarrassed.

“God, sorry, I wasn’t expecting that jumpscare.”

“That wasn’t a jumpscare?”

Haechan awkwardly leaned back, pulling the blanket over himself. You both continued watching in silence until a real jumpscare popped up. This time, he didn’t just grab your hand—he completely wrapped his arms around you.

You froze. The TV blared with horrifying sounds, but he didn’t let go. In fact, he only held on tighter.

“You know, if you wanna cuddle, you can just say so.”

Haechan pulled away slightly, looking at you. But before he could respond, another loud scream came from the TV, and he flinched right back into your shoulder.

You laughed, patting his arm.

“Okay, so you’re actually scared.”

“Aren’t you scared too?” he mumbled into your neck.

“I am jumpy, and yeah, I’m scared. But you’re freaking out so much that I don’t even get a chance to be scared first.”

You laughed even harder. Haechan pouted.

“I just didn’t expect it to be this scary… Let’s turn it off, please?”

He looked up at you with those puppy-dog eyes, and you widened yours in disbelief.

“What? Then what are we gonna do? I actually like the movie.”

“Kiss?” Haechan replied instantly, leaning in closer. “I missed you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. And he took advantage of your hesitation, pressing his lips to yours.

Right then, another horrifying scream erupted from the TV, scaring both of you. Haechan groaned, pulled away, and angrily turned the TV off. Then, he immediately returned to you, shifting positions—pulling you onto him.

That’s when you realized—he wanted you to sit on his lap.

“Come on, sit on my lap, please.”

You hesitated but eventually nodded, adjusting yourself onto him. His hands found your waist, fingers tracing soft patterns on your sides. He kissed you again, this time deeper, more insistent, more intoxicating.

Your hands moved up to his neck, pulling him even closer—though there was barely any space left between you two.

When you finally pulled away, you both just stared at each other, soaking in the moment.

“I wanna capture you on camera right now.”

You said it without much thought—Haechan just looked so good, lips swollen, cheeks slightly flushed. But the second those words left your mouth, something clicked in his mind.

A perfect opportunity.

“Then do it. My phone’s on the table behind you.”

You stared at him, shocked.

“Seriously?”

“Why not? We barely have any pictures together, and right now, you look really beautiful—especially after our kisses. I want to remember you like this.”

You blush but still reach for his phone, turning on the camera.

“Should I stay like this?” you ask, and Haechan nods.

You lift the phone, adjusting the angle to find the perfect shot. Both of you pose, and you snap a few pictures.

“Let’s take a kissing photo,” Haechan suddenly suggests, tilting your face toward him with a smirk before leaning in.

You freeze for a second but quickly press the shutter button as he kisses you. Afterward, he grabs the phone, scrolling through the pictures. They looked straight out of Pinterest—effortless, natural, and breathtakingly intimate.

Haechan grins victoriously, but more than anything, he’s ecstatic that he now has proof for Chenle—and even better, the photos turned out genuinely stunning.

“Wow, these are really pretty,” Haechan says, showing them to you.

You don’t react immediately, just staring at him with a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, confused.

You snap out of it, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just send them to me too.”

The rest of the evening is spent taking more photos and sharing kisses.

“Here, damn it.”

Haechan tosses his phone onto the table in front of Chenle, who instantly snatches it up, scrolling through the pictures. Mark and Renjun lean in from both sides, trying to get a look as well.

“So, does this mean I won the bet?” Haechan asks nonchalantly, grabbing a fork and digging into a salad that was already on the table.

“Hey! That’s my salad!” Renjun yells, shoving him off the chair.

Chenle, still scrolling, raises a brow. “Why did you take so many pictures?”

Haechan just shrugs, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“So you’d be absolutely sure. Besides, she loves taking pictures—I couldn’t say no.”

Haechan takes his phone back, scrolling through the gallery again with a satisfied smile.

“Did you send her the pictures?” Jisung suddenly asks.

Haechan hums in response, nodding. “Every single one.”

Jisung chuckles quietly, shaking his head.

“WHAT?! He never allowed anyone to take pictures with him! At least I’ve never seen any posts with his girlfriends!” Ningning practically yells, staring at your pictures along with Karina.

“Right!” You announce proudly, snatching your phone back. “And seriously, what do you mean he didn’t let people take pictures with him? Is he some kind of idol or something?” You scoff.

“Hey, I wasn’t done looking!”

“Wait, seriously?” Karina asks, narrowing her eyes.

You nod enthusiastically. “Yep, weird, right?”

“Super weird.”

“Yeah, but honestly, I don’t care. I already won the bet, so Ningning?” You tilt your head at her with a smirk. She huffs in frustration.

“It hasn’t been three weeks yet.”

“Well, it’s almost three weeks, so get your money ready.”

“Wait—he followed you?”

She clicks on his profile, checks his following list, and sure enough—your username is right there.

Ningning looks up at you with a shocked expression, and Karina covers her mouth in disbelief.

Meanwhile, you just stand there, confused. ”…Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

—

“Are you going to Johnny’s party?” You walk beside Haechan through the cafeteria, talking about your weekend plans. Johnny threw two huge parties every year, and this time, the date happened to fall at the end of the semester.

“Not sure. I don’t really feel like going this time. What about you?”

You and Haechan had been holding hands the entire time, and people still stared at you both. Of course, the rumors had died down a little, but they still lingered. Not that either of you cared anymore—probably.

“I can’t miss it, and I wanted to go with you this time,” he says with a smirk. “We’d be like the ultimate power couple there.”

You laugh, and he smiles, squeezing your hand. “I’ll think about it.”

And in the end, you agreed.

Haechan offered to pick you up so you could go together, but you wanted to go with the girls. He then suggested driving all three of you, which made them ecstatic—especially Ningning, who was already planning how she would interrogate Haechan the whole way.

“No, Ningning, stay quiet, or I’ll tell him not to drive us.” You point a finger at her while getting ready.

“Ugh, so boring! I need to make sure everything’s real!”

“I literally showed you our pictures!”

Karina laughs as you two argue.

“What if it’s AI? You know, technology is getting crazy nowadays.”

You click your tongue and shove her lightly. “Just be quiet the whole ride, okay?”

“Fiiine.”

Still, you had a feeling she wouldn’t last even five minutes in the car.

“What do you like about her?”

Fine.

“Everything? I can’t choose just one thing.” Haechan answers uncertainly as he drives you all to Johnny’s house.

You, Ningning, and Karina are crammed into the backseat because you refused to sit away from the girls—mainly because you wanted to keep an eye on Ningning. Unfortunately, she’s sitting on the other side of Karina, making it difficult for you to reach her. Not that it stops her from breaking her promise—she started interrogating Haechan the moment you got in the car.

“Not even one thing? That’s kind of suspicious…”

“Ningning!” You hiss at her, ready to smack her, but then Haechan suddenly says—

“Her voice.”

All three of you turn to him.

“My voice?” You echo quietly.

He nods, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “You have a really beautiful voice. I’m in love with it.”

Karina and Ningning share a look, and you feel your face heating up. But before you can say anything, Ningning strikes again.

“Okay! The real question. Do you see a future with Y/N? Like, marriage? Kids? Dogs? Cats? A house on an island?”

“Ningning, shut up!” You practically yell at her, smacking her while Karina gets squished in the middle.

Haechan laughs loudly as he stops at a red light. You expect him to brush it off or joke around—after all, things between you two weren’t that serious.

But then he surprises you.

“Yeah, I do.” His voice is calm, like he’s just stating a fact. “I don’t know about kids or pets, but living with her and getting married? I’d like that. But we need to finish university and get jobs first.”

You stare at him in disbelief. The girls exchange shocked glances, but Haechan just keeps driving like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you.

The rest of the ride is completely silent.

“Be careful, and call me if you need anything, okay?” Haechan adjusts your bomber jacket on your shoulder, smiling at you.

You’re still stuck in your thoughts, processing what he said in the car. You just stare at him, too stunned to react.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh—yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you if anything happens, yeah. Go to your friends.” You mumble quickly before hugging him and practically running off to find the girls.

Haechan watches you go, completely confused.

—

“I’ll transfer you the money tomorrow,” Chenle says, taking a sip of his cocktail.

“Money?” Haechan turns to him, confused.

“The bet. The money you won from the bet.”

“Oh… that money…”

“Did you seriously forget?” Chenle raises a brow.

“Looks like he’s actually in love,” Jeno comments, smirking.

Haechan flinches like he’s been doused in boiling water. “What? No. I don’t need her, and I’m not in love.”

“Then why have you been staring at her all night?” Jeno teases.

“I’m not staring.”

“Sure.”

Haechan frowns, sinking into his drink.

“You even let Y/N post the pictures?” Chenle suddenly asks, making all the guys grab their phones.

Confused, Haechan takes his out too and opens Instagram.

There it is—your post from that night, tagged with his name.

“With Donghyuckie💕”

His breath catches.

No one called him Donghyuck. He never let anyone do that.

He scrolls to the comments, and people are freaking out.

“Haechan finally let his girlfriend take pictures with him?”

“I was starting to think he was a virgin pretending to be a player.”

“Y/N is so brave for doing this.”

Oh yeah. You were very brave.

Haechan suddenly stands up and storms off to find you.

“Haechan!” Renjun calls after him.

Chenle watches him leave, sipping his drink. “Guess he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t like sharing his personal life.”

Jisung hides a small smile from the corner of the room.

You wanted to go home. You didn’t know what happened, but you had drifted apart from all your friends, and everyone went in different directions. It had been exactly three weeks since you were with Haechan, and Ningning had given you the money after car incident. So, you finally decided to get back at Haechan for your hoodie and post your photos. He was known for not taking pictures with girls, and that bothered you more than anything. Besides, he had allowed you to take pictures and even sent you. He shouldn’t be against it, right? And honestly, you didn’t care anymore. You just wanted to end it once and for all, so you hit the “post” button.

“Someone liked your post!”

You smiled and leaned back on the couch. Then, a guy sat next to you. You opened your eyes and sighed. It was the guy who had been bothering you for a while. He kept trying to flirt with you, and you just stayed silent, praying he’d leave you alone.

“Leave Haechan. I don’t even get why you’re with him. Did he give you money? I can give you more! I have more than he does!” he says, moving closer and placing his hand on your shoulder.

“Move away from her,” you hear a rough voice from above, and you see it’s Haechan. The guy, seeing him, slowly pulls his hand away and turns fully to face him.

“Who are you?” the guy squints, then recognizes him. “Ah, it’s Lee Haechan!” The guy stands up and extends his hand, but Haechan ignores him and pulls you by the hand towards him. He places his arm around your shoulder, clearly protecting you, and glares at the guy across from him.

“You know, I’ll just wait until you break up with her like you always do, and then I’ll have my chance,” the guy winks at you and walks away. Haechan wanted to follow him after hearing that, but you stopped him.

“Forget it. That idiot has been chasing me for a year, and he won’t stop.”

“If he bothers you again, tell me immediately, okay?” You nod, and Haechan suddenly grabs your hand and leads you out of the house.

“What are you doing?” you scream, frightened, but Haechan’s strength is greater, and you can’t break free from him. As you walk, someone from the crowd shouts:

“Oh, it’s that girl of Haechan, Y/N, who posted their revealing photos!” The crowd turns toward you, and everyone starts screaming and whistling. Haechan stops and stares into space. You look around and see a crowd of drunken students. Then you turn to Haechan and hear him swear before finally pulling you out of the house.

Outside, he lets go of your hand and stands with his back to you.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s your deal?” he finally looks at you, and you get scared. He was serious, and his tone was harsh. “Why did you post the photos?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m your girlfriend. I wanted to do it.”

“You should have asked me for permission.”

You laugh. “You sent them to me. That’s permission.”

“Y/N…” He sighs and messes up his hair with his hand.

“Just delete them, okay?” He didn’t want to get angry at you, but the situation threw him off balance, and he didn’t know how to react. He felt exposed right now, like he was completely vulnerable.

“I don’t want to, Haechan.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to. It’s my profile.”

He stays silent, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. Are you a star, a K-pop idol or something?”

“It just makes me uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable when your girlfriend posts pictures with you?”

“It makes me uncomfortable when everyone sees me.”

“What? You’re literally popular in…”

“I know, and it pisses me off, Y/N!” You flinch as he snaps.

You flinch at his shout, not expecting such a sharp outburst of emotion. Haechan breathes heavily, looking at you, and you see his jaw clenched tightly.

“You don’t understand,” he continues, but now in a quieter tone, almost exhaling his words. “I hate it when people invade my life. My relationships. Me.” Haechan felt like everything he had built was falling apart and everyone had seen the real him. He created the bad boy image to keep everyone away, but then you came into his life and ruined everything.

You roll your eyes. “You’re acting like a child. It’s just a photo, Haechan, stop dramatizing.”

He clicks his tongue in irritation and looks away. “It’s not just a photo. It’s… I don’t want everyone talking about me and you.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Too late. They’re already talking. So what now? I’m not going to delete them just because you suddenly decided you’ve got star syndrome.”

Haechan looks at you again, but now his gaze isn’t just angry — there’s something in it that’s almost disappointment.

“Do you want to piss me off on purpose?”

“No, I just want to do what I want. Like you always do.”

You both fall silent, and the tension between you seems almost tangible. He doesn’t move, but you see his fingers clenching into fists.

“Fine,” he finally says. “Do what you want.”

He looks at you for a couple of seconds before suddenly turning and walking away, leaving you standing alone.

You watch him walk to his car, but you didn’t want to leave things like this. You told yourself you would finally let him go, but something held you back. You believed he was truly in love with you, and you had treated him this way. You ran after him. You grabbed his hand and turned him toward you.

“Haechan,” you see his glassy eyes, and your heart breaks.

“Sorry, I’ll delete the photos,” you say, and he suddenly hugs you tightly. You feel his tears on your shoulder, and you hug him back.

“I love you,” he whispers. You flinch, pulling away slightly to look into his eyes. He looks at you, and then you both kiss.

Can I come to your place?” you unexpectedly asked, and Haechan, already forgetting everything, looked at you in surprise.

“To mine…?”

“Yes, I don’t want to be alone today, especially since Karina and Ningning might not come either.”

“Yeah, of course.

You don’t know how it happened, but as soon as you entered the apartment, you and Haechan immediately started kissing and he pressed you against the wall in the hallway. Everything was calm and quiet until the door closed and you attacked each other. It’s surprising that you were thinking about the same thing all the way and now you were devouring each other.

You screamed when Haechan abruptly picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. There he laid you down and hung over you without tearing off the kiss. You stroked his whole body with your hands and pulled him towards you. Then he pulls away from you and, breathing heavily, looks you straight in the eye.

"You.. Haechan seemed scared and very embarrassed, which surprised you because it seemed to you that he was always confident in such situations.

"Yes, very much." you answer and pull him towards you, but he moves away again.

"Are you sure? If something is wrong, will you tell me?" You're taken back by his behavior

"Yes, I will," he nods and kisses you again.

Haechan’s Room. You open your eyes and see the ceiling of Haechan’s room in front of you. You slowly sit up and try to remember what happened last night. Without realizing it, you start kicking your legs and smiling, then lie back down on the bed, burying your face in the pillow.

“Oh my God, we did it. We were really together all night. Oh my God!” You shake with happiness on the bed but then suddenly sit up again.

“Wait, where’s Haechan?” You look around the room and listen carefully, wondering if the water in the bathroom is running or if he might be in the kitchen, preparing something. But there’s complete silence. You sigh, and suddenly a notification pops up on the phone—not yours, but Haechan’s. You look at it, then turn away, lying back down and wrapping yourself in the blanket. The notification comes again, then again, and again, and again.

“Oh my God!” You throw off the blanket and grab Haechan’s phone to turn off the sound, but then you see a message from some chat, and you notice Mark’s photo profile.

big (small) chenle: hey, are you both done fucking? It’s morning already.

big (small) chenle: we saw you two kissing by the car ;)

my boy: I’m pretty sure they’ve done, chenle…

big (small) chenle: so why isn’t he answering??

renjunnie: If they did, I would be so shocked that he went this far with the bet.

The bet?

Your heart drops, and you hear another notification.

big (small) chenle: Me too, dude. I didn’t want to lose money on him.

The bet.

The fucking Lee Donghyuck did the bet on you.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your head and start shaking. You drop the blanket and grab your clothes off the floor as quickly as possible, trying to escape this place.

Haechan enters the apartment, places a bag on the floor, takes off his shoes, and walks into the bedroom with a smile.

“Y/N, you’re awake…” but you’re not there. He looks around for your things, but they’re gone. Did you leave? That fast? He approaches the bed and looks for at least a note from you, but there’s nothing. Haechan grabs his phone, and there isn’t a single message from you. Instead, there are tons of messages from his friends’ group chat. He sits on the bed and scrolls through the messages on the lock screen.

He reads what his friends wrote with some irritation because he didn’t want to call your relationship a bet, especially not after last night. Once he’s read everything, he puts the phone back on the nightstand and lies down on the bed. He lies there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, wondering why you left so quickly without warning him. Did he do something wrong? Was everything bad? Did he annoy you? Did you realize you needed to break up with him? Or…

Fuck no.

Haechan suddenly sits up and grabs his phone. He rereads the messages and it hits him.

You saw their chat. You found out it was a bet. You fucking found out that he made a bet on you.

Haechan quickly dials your number and calls, but your phone is off.

“Shit…” He rushes to the coat rack, grabs his jacket, and heads for the door. When he opens it, he sees his friends Mark, Chenle, and Renjun standing there.

“I’m sorry, I tried to convince them not to go to you,” Mark says.

“Y/N at home?” asks Chenle, and then Haechan explodes.

“No, she fucking left because of you idiots!” The guys look shocked, and Haechan continues.

“She saw what you were writing about. She now knows we made a bet on her.” Haechan starts shaking, and tears fill his eyes. The guys quickly react, pushing him back into the apartment while closing the door. Haechan can’t hold it in anymore and starts crying, falling to his knees on the floor, covering his face with his hands. The shocked guys sit beside him, and Renjun hugs him to comfort him while Chenle runs to the kitchen to get water.

“Haechan, calm down…”

The guys don’t understand why he’s reacting this way to your departure, considering he did it all for money. They were sure he felt nothing for you and that he was doing all these strange things just to make sure you’d stay with him. But now, seeing him like this, they start to rethink everything.

Chenle brings the water and hands it to Haechan. He takes it with trembling hands and drinks it quickly. Renjun gently strokes his back, and Mark sits opposite, watching him closely, waiting for him to speak.

“We… we slept together yesterday…” No one answers, and Haechan continues.

“I didn’t think she’d agree to it… I didn’t understand why she even agreed to be with me… I never understood it, and it hurts that I used her, even though I actually have feelings for her.” Everyone freezes. Haechan never loved anyone since school, and he never admitted it. That’s why he changed so many partners. He wanted to love and finally find the one, but every time he felt like a failure. He was convinced he would stay alone for the rest of his life, that he would never meet anyone, so he gave up on himself and everyone, becoming someone he wasn’t. Only his friends knew how soft and kind he really was, but the fear of being himself ate him up, so he created a completely foreign image for himself.

This bet was supposed to be just another distraction and source of entertainment for him. But somewhere along the way, something changed, and from the very first date, he began to genuinely like you. He started doing things for you sincerely, not for the win, even though he denied it to himself and refused to acknowledge it. After the first kiss, he didn’t even want to tell his friends about it, because for him, that moment wasn’t a bet—it was something much more important and personal. He finally felt love.

The guys listened to him in silence, and they hugged him for a long time, comforting him.

“He used me.”

You sit down on the couch in the empty apartment. The girls weren’t home yet, so you sat there alone, letting your emotions take over as you talked to yourself.

“Fuck,” you groan, leaning back and covering your face with your hands.

“I shouldn’t be reacting like this. I used him too. I made a bet on him too. I’m no better than he is.”

You stand up and head to the kitchen to get some water to calm yourself down. As you pour the water, you mumble under your breath again.

“I knew what kind of person he was. I should’ve guessed he would do something like this.”

You bring the glass to your lips, but as soon as you feel the warm tears rolling down your cheeks, you quickly wipe one away with your hand.

“Damn it… he used me this whole time!”

You slam the glass down on the counter and rub your face with your hands, trying to pull yourself together, but you can’t.

This whole time, you wondered why he treated you differently. Why he acted like you were special. You believed he was truly in love with you, but in the end, he only treated you that way because you were a challenge.

You grab your phone, ready to text Ningning and Karina, but you hesitate.

“If they find out he had a bet on me… I’ll lose my own.”

No. You can’t tell them.

Your tears fall again as you sit back down on the couch, curling into yourself. Just then, you hear the soft click of the door opening.

You flinch and quickly wipe your tears away.

It’s Jaemin.

“Y/N? What happened?”

You hide your face, but Jaemin moves quickly, sitting beside you and pulling you into his arms.

“Hey, I’m right here. It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer, just bury your face in his neck as he gently strokes your back.

“He used me.”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. At the very least, you needed to tell Jaemin, knowing he would keep it a secret.

Jaemin freezes, his movements stopping as he hears your words.

“What do you mean…?”

You pull away slightly, looking at him with tear-filled eyes, and Jaemin feels his heart almost shatter.

“Haechan made a bet on me. I found out this morning when I was at his place.”

You wipe your tears while Jaemin stays silent, his hands gently rubbing your arms.

“But you know… I shouldn’t even be mad because I did the same thing. I used him too. It’s just… he acted so different. I actually believed it…”

“Do you have feelings for him?” Jaemin asks quietly.

You hesitate before finally speaking.

“We slept together last night.”

Now Jaemin’s heart completely breaks. He knew how hard physical touch was for you, even with friends. And now… an entire night with Haechan, who had only used you.

“That asshole,” Jaemin mutters, but you cut him off.

“Please don’t tell the girls. I at least want to get the money out of this.”

Jaemin nods, and for the rest of the day, he stays by your side, doing everything he can to distract you from the situation.

Two weeks had passed since that day.

You and Haechan hadn’t seen each other or texted even once. It was strange—there had been no real fight, no dramatic confrontation, yet you both silently agreed to ignore each other.

For you, it was a choice. You didn’t want to see him. For him, it was shame.

Before dating you, he had been in a dark place. During your relationship, he had felt healed, lighter, like a better version of himself. But now? Now he had fallen even lower than before.

He stopped talking to everyone. Stopped going to university. Stopped responding to his parents. Stopped gaming. Stopped leaving his room.

Stopped living at all.

His friends tried to pull him out of it, to get him to go outside, to do something, but he wouldn’t budge.

And you? You had tried to forget. Or at least to pretend you had. You went on with your normal life, spending time with the girls, keeping yourself busy. The money was still untouched, and they still didn’t know the truth. You had told them you and Haechan had a huge fight—because of you—and that’s why you broke up.

They believed you and left you alone.

Jaemin told you he wasn’t talking to Haechan either.

You were both suffering.

One Saturday evening, Haechan sat in the living room watching a drama. A romance, of course. Lately, that was all he could watch, imagining the two of you in place of the actors.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he buried himself deeper into his blanket. Then he remembered how you had once lain here beside him, wrapped in the same blanket.

His tears fell even harder.

Then, a knock at the door.

At first, he ignored it, assuming it was Mark or Chenle again. But the knocking grew louder.

“If that’s you, Mark or Chenle, just leave me alone. I’m not opening the door,” he called out, already turning away.

But then, a voice.

“It’s Jaemin.”

Haechan froze for a few seconds before slowly turning back. His hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitant, before he finally opened it.

Jaemin stood there, smiling.

Haechan blinked, confused. “Jaemin? What are you doing here…?”

“Can I come in?”

Haechan nodded, stepping aside and shutting the door as Jaemin walked in.

“I—”

“I know about the bet,” Jaemin interrupted.

Haechan stiffened, his head dropping as Jaemin stood with his back to him.

“She must’ve told you everything…”

“No. I knew from the start.”

Haechan’s eyes widened as Jaemin finally turned to face him.

“From the start…?”

“Yeah. Jisung told me.”

“But… he was in the shower when we talked about it,” Haechan mumbled.

Jaemin just shrugged and sat down on the couch.

“Are you mad?” Haechan asked, still standing near the door.

“At first, yeah. But then I found out Y/N had made a bet on you, too. So I wasn’t too worried—you weren’t the only one playing games.”

…What?

“She what? What are you talking about?” Haechan finally steps closer, standing directly in front of Jaemin, his face filled with confusion.

Jaemin smiles widely and lets out a small laugh.

“Haechan, did you really think you were the that only one?”

Silence falls between them, the tension in the air growing thick.

“What? Jaemin, what’s going on? Did you make a bet with her?”

“No, but I was the one who suggested it to her.” Jaemin sits down on the couch. “She didn’t know about your bet, and when Jisung told me, I was so pissed off that I wanted to go straight to you that day. But then I thought—why not make you taste your own medicine? She actually won, but she doesn’t even know it. You really fell for her, didn’t you?”

Jaemin stands up, looking directly at Haechan. Haechan doesn’t know how to respond. He just stands there, frozen in shock. Did you really do this? Did you go that far for a money?

“Do you think she would have posted your pictures if she didn’t mean it? She barely even posts herself.”

Tears start to stream down Haechan’s face again. He lowers his head, finally realizing that he deserved all of this. But at the same time… he feels relieved. Relieved that you didn’t suffer as much as he did.

“This all started because of you, Haechan. Because of your ego.”

“I’m sorry… I know I was an idiot.”

Jaemin steps forward and pulls him into a hug.

“You’re an idiot, but you’re a good idiot. We all know you can be better than this. And Y/N is suffering too, so instead of locking yourself in this room all night, maybe it’s time you go fix this mess.”

Haechan pulls away, looking at him in disbelief.

“Y/N is suffering? Why?”

Jaemin sighs. “You really are dense. I’m telling you—go to her and figure it out yourselves.”

—

Haechan came to the university.

That was all you heard throughout the morning, from every corner of the campus. Everyone was talking about it as if a god himself had descended upon this place. It wouldn’t have bothered you so much—if only people didn’t keep coming up to you with endless questions about your relationship.

“Where is Haechan?”

“Did you two really break up?”

“Do you actually love him?”

You clenched your jaw, your patience wearing thin with every passing second.

“Oh my god, can you all just back off? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The entire hallway turned to look at you after your outburst, eyes filled with curiosity and shock. You froze for a moment, embarrassment creeping up your spine—until frustration took over again.

“Stop meddling in other people’s lives!” you shouted, voice firm and unwavering. “Whatever happens between us is none of your business, even if we are insanely popular. Mind your own damn lives, and don’t ever bring this up to me or Haechan again!”

Your sharp gaze swept over the stunned crowd. No one dared to speak. The silence was deafening.

Feeling the weight of their stares suffocating you, you turned on your heel and rushed into the nearest restroom.

Even after you left, no one moved. The air was thick with the shock of your words.

At the end of the hallway, Haechan stood still, watching everything unfold. His heart clenched. He wanted to run after you—to hold you, to tell you that you weren’t alone in this. But he stopped himself. You needed space. And he refused to make things worse when he was the reason you had to spill your emotions like that in the first place.

Haechan entered the cafeteria, and as soon as he did, Chenle jumped on him.

“Haechan, I missed you!” He hugged him tightly, and Haechan laughed, hugging him back.

“I missed you too, Chenle.”

Still, Haechan couldn’t bring himself to approach you the whole day. He spent the day walking around alone, sitting with his friends during lunch. He told them every detail Jaemin had shared with him.

“So, I actually won the bet?” Chenle exclaimed, and Renjun smacked him on the arm.

“No, you lost. The bet was about dating her, and Haechan went further,” Renjun replied, and Chenle raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you supposed to agree? You lost too.”

“Yeah, but for me, my friend’s happiness and mental health matter more,” Renjun responded.

Chenle frowned and turned away.

“You’re making me look like the bad guy.”

“And besides, Y/N wouldn’t have slept with him just over a regular bet,” everyone turned to look at Jisung, who had been quiet throughout the conversation. After Haechan explained everything, no one judged him for telling Jaemin about this. They understood that you were their best friend, and what he did wasn’t that bad. He could have just told you directly. Jisung was always honest and couldn’t lie, especially to who was close to him, which his friends really appreciated.

“Really?” Haechan asked quietly, and Jisung nodded.

“Moreover, she wouldn’t even have kissed you. She’s too uncomfortable with physical contact from guys.”

Everyone sat in silence, and Haechan smirked, simply nodding.

It was evening, and the whole university was heading home. You said goodbye to your classmates and walked to the exit. As soon as you stepped outside, a heavy downpour began, and all the students were running in different directions, making noise. You stood under the porch, sheltered from the rain, unsure of what to do. You didn’t even have a jacket with you. You looked around to see what others were doing. Some people, being smart, walked out with umbrellas, others draped their jackets over themselves, while some lifted their backpacks over their heads. You sighed — it seemed like you’d have to walk out and just pray you wouldn’t catch a cold the next day. But deep down, you kind of liked it. You loved the rain and being in it, especially during your sad periods.

You took a step forward, preparing to get completely soaked, but suddenly, you noticed that nothing was dripping on you, even though you were already outside. You looked up and saw a transparent umbrella, then noticed a hand and…

Haechan.

You both stood there for a few minutes, looking into each other’s eyes. You couldn’t believe you were finally seeing him again after such a long time. He looked so handsome. His eyes were sparkling — you couldn’t tell if it was because of the rain or if they were naturally that way. He wore a hoodie, and his bangs didn’t fully cover his eyes, so you could see his face clearly. You even noticed the raindrops on his cheeks.

Wait, raindrops!

“Hey, you’re going to get soaked!”

You grabbed the handle of the umbrella and rushed to him, bumping into his chest. Now, you were both standing under the umbrella, and neither of you would get wet anymore.

“Do you want to get sick?” you looked up and met his sweet smile.

“Why are you… why are you silent?” you stuttered, not knowing how to react to your closeness, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want him to get wet, and you didn’t want to get wet either.

“I missed you and your sarcastic tone.” Your heart skipped a beat when you heard his voice. It was a little hoarse and quiet because of the rain, but you could still hear it. Around you, there was no one else left; everyone had run off, leaving just the two of you.

“Let’s talk, please,” he said again, and you hesitated, nodding.

“Hey!” you heard a male voice from afar and turned around.

“Is it you two again? Why are you standing in the rain? Go home faster! Lee Donghyuck, if you get sick, I’ll still wait for you in class, even if you’re will be dying! So don’t even think about asking for a sick note!” It was Professor Kwon. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud, covering your mouth, while Haechan just stood still and didn’t move.

He shouted back, “I promise, Professor Kwon, I won’t miss another one of your lectures!” Then, he grabbed your hand, and you both ran to his car.

When Haechan gets in the car and closes the door, an awkward silence falls. You don’t dare to look at him and focus on what’s going on outside. He, on the other hand, sits still for a moment and then breaks the silence.

“Sorry.”

“Hm?” You turn to him, and he remains still, continuing:

“Sorry for betting on you. And sorry that you found out in the worst way.”

You remember that day and can’t help but smirk. You weren’t mad at him; you were mad at yourself, because you fell for someone you shouldn’t have. You were the one who got involved in the bet, you agreed to everything. You let him take you.

“You don’t need to apologize, I was the one who used you.”

You decide to tell him the truth, but he shakes his head, interrupting you.

“No, this bet started because of me. If it weren’t for me, and my idiot friends, especially Chenle, none of this would have happened. Jaemin wouldn’t have made you do all of this.” He finally looks at you, and you see his eyes glistening, but what concerned you more was this: does he know?

“You know about me?… How?”

He nods. “Jaemin told me everything. He made you the bet after hearing from Jisung that Chenle bet with me on you. So, it’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”

You turn your gaze to the windshield, trying to process everything he just said. You zone out for a moment, and Haechan patiently waits, trying to control his own feelings.

“I guess it’s also my fault,” you say quietly.

Haechan looks at you. “I could’ve kept my distance from you and not gotten too attached, but… I got too involved. I even kissed you, and what’s worse, slept with you. I made that choice because I fell for you, but honestly, I hoped you felt the same, so I freaked out.”

“You fell for me?” Heechan’s eyes widen, and you do the same, both of you staring at each other in shock.

“I-I… damn, isn’t it obvious?!” You curse and suddenly yell at him.

“I don’t know! Don’t yell at me, I’m just shocked!�� he shouts back.

“Wasn’t your plan to make me fall for you? So don’t be shocked and accept your win.”

“Actually, it was your plan to make me fall for you, and it worked, so just accept the consequences.”

You both fall silent for a moment, then burst into laughter.

“My god, we’re idiots,” you cover your face with your hands, and Haechan leans back against the seat.

“At least I know you like me, that’s all I need.”

You stop laughing, and he feels your gaze on him.

Haechan sits up straight, his eyes falling on your lips. You do the same, slowly leaning forward. He takes the initiative and kisses you. You grab his neck, pulling him closer. He hesitantly places his hands on your waist and back before you break away.

“Why are you so shy now?”

“I don’t know… It’s my first time kissing a girl I like after confessing to her.”

You’re surprised.

“But you’ve had so many girlfriends.”

“They didn’t mean anything to me.” He kisses you again, and you respond.

“Y/N. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Haechan deleted all his posts!”

“What?! Where?”

“What’s going on?” you asked Karina, and she showed you Haechan’s Instagram. Instead of his 23 posts, there was only one group photo with his friends. And he added one of your photos from your walk together.

You took Karina’s phone and blinked.

“Why did he do that?”

“I think the only answer is you,” Ningning answered with a sigh.

“Nonsense. Why would he do that for me?”

“I want only Y/N to watch me,” Chenle appeared and threw his arm over Ningning’s shoulder. She pinched him in the side, and he yelped.

“He said that, and you know, he had such lovesick eyes, it was even annoying.”

“Does it annoy you when your friend is happy?” Ningning asks.

“What? Of course not! Why are you all making me out to be a terrible person? I was just joking…” Chenle pouts, and you all laugh.

“You know, Nings, I knew from the beginning that something was off when you were telling information about Haechan’s friends and him.” You glance at her, and she blushes.

“I knew too! Who would’ve guessed that you’re Chenle’s girlfriend?” Karina supports you, but then Ningning exclaims.

“In my defense, I wasn’t his girlfriend yet! I even ignored him! He was just running after me around the university and telling me everything. But about the bet, he didn’t say a word!” She gives an accusing look to her boyfriend.

“Sorry, I couldn’t say anything! Especially to a near stranger.”

“A near stranger?!”

They stop, and Ningning hits him. You and Karina laugh, but then you hear someone’s voice.

“Y/N!” A person suddenly jumps on your back, and you realize it’s Haechan.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” he hugs you, and you sigh. Since you started dating, he hasn’t left your side. He literally follows you everywhere and always texts you. No one had ever seen this side of Haechan. He even started doing really well in studies and rose in the rankings, which amazed not only you and his friends but the entire university. He also became much closer with Jaemin again, even more than before. It made you happy to see the two your favourite people being together. He was still one of the most popular guys and in the spotlight, and after everyone found out that you two were back together, the rumors only grew. You became almost the most popular couple. But sometimes this brought problems. His fan girls would approach you and almost threaten you, but Haechan quickly found them and made sure they wouldn’t bother you again. And indeed, they stopped bothering you.

“Why did you delete all your posts?” Haechan tilts his head.

“Posts? Ah, why do I need them?”

“Um, I don’t know? You posted them before, so I thought they were important to you.”

“I posted them for attention, but now I don’t need that. Well, except from you, but I can just send you my photos privately. And it’s way better than Insta posts,” he winks at you, and you roll your eyes. You take his hand, and you both walk down the corridor. By now, you’re alone, since your friends went to their classes, and you two have a shared one.

“You know, I can’t believe I didn’t notice you before. It actually makes me angry,” Haechan says, and you smirk.

“You were obsessed with yourself.”

“No, I just hated that subject so much that I kept sleeping through it.”

“Yeah, and now you’re not sleeping, but staring at me.”

“How can I not look at the best and most beautiful girl in the world?”

“Okay, enough, this is getting too corny.”

“I don’t really care, you know.”

You sigh but laugh quietly. You reach the door, and he opens it for you, letting you pass.

“After you, milady.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” you walk into the classroom, and Haechan smiles and follows you in.

You both won something better than the bet.

[helvegen-s]

do I wanna know?

Hozier's version

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: Oscar Piastri wasn't looking for love when he met Amélie in a Monaco nightclub. But their undeniable chemistry sparks a passionate connection that quickly becomes something more. As their secret relationship deepens, her surname, Vasseur, becomes the real problem.

Word count: 12k (stoppp, so long but so worth it)

TW: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, sexually suggestive content, alcohol, strong language...

A/N: I DID IT. Another day, another one-shot. I love Oscar with all my heart. I swear I’ve done everything to make this as little angsty and as least sad as possible. I hope you enjoy it <3

My previous one-shot, Step by step, has received so much love. I adore you all, and thank you for the reblogs, for the comments and the likes!

have in mind that English is not my first nor my second language, excuse any mistakes that you might find

Monaco at night had a different glow. It wasn’t just the shimmer of lights reflecting on the sea or the lingering echo of engines that still seemed to vibrate in the air. It was the luxury, the exclusivity—the feeling that anything could happen in a city that never truly slept.

Oscar Piastri wasn’t the kind of guy who frequented nightclubs. Not because he didn’t like having fun, but because the idea of being surrounded by strangers, with deafening music and alcohol flowing freely, wasn’t exactly his scene. But a couple of friends had come to visit him at his new apartment in Monaco, and after a few beers and plenty of teasing about how boring he was, they had managed to drag him there.

The club was a chaos of strobe lights and moving bodies. The music, a heavy, immersive beat, pulsed through the floor and into his chest. Oscar stayed in a corner, a drink in his hand, pretending to enjoy himself while his friends disappeared into the crowd.

That was when he saw her.

She moved with an almost insolent confidence, the kind of presence that made people turn their heads without even realizing it. She was dressed in black, her loose hair falling in soft waves, her smirk suggesting she already knew something the rest didn’t. Oscar wasn’t the type to stare at just anyone, but there was something about her that kept his gaze locked.

When their eyes met, she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled, amused, as if she could read exactly what was going through his mind.

And then she walked over.

"You don’t look like someone who enjoys places like this," she said, leaning in just enough for her voice to be heard over the music.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"And what kind of person do I look like?"

"Someone who’s already calculating how much longer they need to stay before they can leave without looking like a buzzkill."

Oscar let out a laugh.

"And what about you? Are you the life of the party?"

She shrugged, her expression shameless.

"Could be."

Oscar couldn’t help but smile. There was something about her attitude, the way she didn’t give him a break, that had him completely hooked.

"Are you always this quick with words?"

"Are you always this easy to throw off?" she shot back.

He laughed again, more at ease than he expected to be. He wasn’t usually like this with strangers. He didn’t usually let himself go this fast. But with her, it felt inevitable.

They stayed like that, challenging each other with words and smiles, until conversation was no longer enough. He wasn’t sure who made the first move—if it was her or him. Maybe, in the end, it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the exact moment their lips met in the middle of the dance floor, with the music pounding around them and the world shrinking to that single instant.

Oscar didn’t know her name. He didn’t know who she was or where she was from. All he knew was that the night had just become a lot more interesting.

The kiss tasted like gin and danger. The kind that arrived without warning, set skin on fire, and became impossible to ignore.

Oscar wasn’t thinking too much when he had her this close. He wasn’t thinking about the loud club, his friends, or anything other than the way she smiled against his lips, as if this were a game she already knew she was going to win.

His hand instinctively slid to her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the way her body fit against his like they’d done this before, like it was meant to happen. She didn’t pull away—on the contrary, her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, just to tease him.

"Do you always kiss strangers like this?" she whispered when they pulled apart just a fraction.

Oscar smiled, still holding her.

"No. Do you?"

"Neither do I." She leaned in again, barely grazing his lips with hers, tempting him. "But today seems like a good day to start."

Oscar chuckled lowly, unable to resist the effect she had on him. This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t what he usually did. But something about her made him want to play along, to fall helplessly into the pull of her presence.

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. She took advantage of it, letting her hands trace the edges of his shirt while looking at him with that wicked amusement.

"Do you dance, driver?"

Oscar frowned, half amused, half confused.

"How do you know I’m a driver?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think.

"The way you move. Besides, this is Monaco. Everyone’s a driver here."

"That sounds like a very well-crafted lie."

"Could be." She leaned in again, her lips brushing against the curve of his jaw. "Does that bother you?"

No. It didn’t. Not when he had her this close, the dance floor spinning around them, and the feeling that this was all a mistake—but the kind worth making.

Oscar took her hand and spun her effortlessly, making her laugh. They danced without a plan, without thinking too much about the rest of the world. Her body felt light against his, her laughter vibrating against his skin every time they pushed the limits a little further.

Until, in a moment of clarity, Oscar leaned in and whispered in her ear,

"You haven’t told me your name."

She stopped, looking at him with a spark in her eyes.

"Do you really need it?"

Yes. Probably. But the way she said it, the way she smiled afterward, made him hesitate.

Because maybe, just for tonight, he didn’t need it at all.

Oscar watched her, waiting for an answer. She only smiled, stretching the silence just enough to keep him on edge.

"Amélie," she finally said, savoring each syllable of her own name.

Oscar nodded, repeating it in his mind, making sure not to forget it. Amélie. It suited her.

"Nice name."

"I know."

Oscar laughed. God, she was unbearable. Unbearable and utterly fascinating in equal measure.

They kept dancing, though the music no longer mattered. What mattered were their hands gliding over each other’s skin, the whispers in their ears, the way their lips brushed together, turning into something more. The attraction between them was like an electric current, a dangerous game neither of them seemed willing to lose.

Amélie leaned in, her lips just a breath away.

"Let’s get out of here."

Oscar didn’t think twice.

The Mediterranean breeze was warm as they walked through the streets of Monaco, away from the noise of the club, adrenaline still coursing through their veins.

"Your place or mine?" Amélie asked, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket.

Oscar hesitated for a second. His friends would be crashing at his apartment, and the idea of going back with her only to find a couple of drunk idiots passed out on the couch wasn’t exactly appealing. His mind also flashed to the countless unopened boxes, unpacked suitcases, and unassembled furniture piled up in his new place.

"Yours."

"Good choice." She smiled but didn’t say anything else. She simply started walking, knowing he would follow.

Her apartment was in an elegant building near the port, with massive windows and a breathtaking view of the illuminated city.

"Nice place."

"It’s not bad." She shrugged off her jacket with a swift motion, letting it fall onto a chair. Then she turned to face him, that same defiant look in her eyes. "Do you want something to drink or…?"

Oscar didn’t let her finish.

The tension that had been simmering between them all night exploded the moment their lips met again. It was different from the kiss at the club—more urgent, more desperate. Like every second they had spent holding back had only been a prelude to the real moment of the night.

Amélie smiled against his mouth and, in one swift move, pushed him back until his spine hit the wall.

"Are you always this easy?" she murmured, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Oscar let out a low chuckle.

"Are you always this bossy?"

"When necessary."

"I like it."

This time, he took control.

They stumbled through the apartment, kissing and laughing, too caught up in each other to care about bumping into furniture. Clothes disappeared along the way, leaving a trail neither of them bothered to follow.

The way Amélie moved was hypnotic, as if she was in charge without even trying. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her breath warm against his lips.

"If at any point you want to stop—"

Oscar cut her off before she could finish, kissing her again, deeper, more desperate. Amélie grinned against his lips before pulling him further into the apartment.

There was no rush, yet no hesitation either. They moved with an absurd level of synchronicity for two strangers, as if every touch had been rehearsed a hundred times before.

When the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, he took the opportunity to flip their dynamic, pinning her beneath him with ease.

"So, you like competing off-track too?" she teased, fingers tracing down his back.

Oscar lowered his head to her neck, pressing slow kisses against her skin.

"Always."

Amélie exhaled softly, letting the heat of the moment consume everything.

That night was one to remember.

Because, even though neither of them knew it yet, it was a night that would change everything.

Oscar woke up to sunlight filtering through the curtains.

He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. It took him a second to remember where he was—the spacious bedroom, the messy sheets, the lingering scent of perfume and warm skin in the air.

And then, the body beside him.

Amélie was lying on her stomach, her hair a tangled mess on the pillow, the sheet barely covering her back. Her breathing was soft, completely oblivious to his wakefulness.

Oscar rested his head on the pillow and watched her for a moment. He remembered every detail of the night before—the taste of gin on her lips, the way she laughed against his skin, how they had lost themselves in each other without holding back. It had been wild and sweet at the same time, like they were on the edge of devouring each other yet somehow knew exactly how to touch.

Definitely, one of those nights you don’t forget.

But now came the tricky part—the mornings.

It was never exactly awkward, but it was never simple either. There was something about waking up in an unfamiliar bed, with the faint haze of a night too good to regret, that always brought the inevitable question: Now what?

As if sensing his gaze, Amélie shifted slightly and murmured something unintelligible before cracking her eyes open.

"Mmm… you’re still here," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"Did you expect me to sneak out in the middle of the night?"

"I didn’t take you for a coward," she said, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

Oscar chuckled. He propped himself up on his elbow, taking her in properly for the first time without the dim club lights or the haze of lust clouding his perception. He noticed new details—the way her skin caught the morning light, the faint scar on her collarbone, the relaxed yet mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Do you always analyze people this much when you wake up next to them?" Amélie asked, meeting his gaze.

"Do you always have a comeback ready?"

"I warned you last night."

Oscar smirked, shaking his head. He couldn’t help it. There was something about her that intrigued him. It wasn’t just that she was stunning or that the sex had been incredible. It was the way she carried herself, the confidence, the effortless way she set the pace without him even noticing.

She stretched lazily before sitting up, letting the sheet slide down to her waist.

"I’m making coffee," she announced, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Does that mean you're inviting me to stay?"

Amélie turned around, giving him a defiant look.

"It means that if you touch the coffee machine before it's done, I'll throw you out of my apartment shirtless."

Oscar let out a laugh and fell back onto the bed, arms resting behind his head.

"You're trouble."

"And you walked right into it with your eyes wide open, driver."

With a satisfied smile, Amélie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Oscar with the certainty that this night wouldn’t be something he could forget so easily.

He lay there for a few more minutes, staring at the ceiling with a small smile. He couldn’t remember the last time a night had been like this. Not just incredible in the physical sense—because it had been, no question—but fun.

There was something about Am��lie that kept him hooked, and that worried him a little. She wasn’t like him. She wasn’t like any other girl he’d been with before.

He sighed, running a hand down his face before getting up.

Gathering his clothes scattered around the room, he pulled his pants halfway up as he walked out toward the kitchen.

The apartment was modern and spacious, with a spectacular view of Monaco from the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the distance, Amélie’s silhouette moved effortlessly between the coffee machine and the shelves, wearing his shirt—barely buttoned.

Oscar leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms.

"Nice shirt."

Amélie didn’t even turn around.

"Nice coffee machine," she shot back. "Which you still can’t touch."

He chuckled, stepping closer until his hip brushed against hers at the counter.

"And what if I need caffeine to function?"

She turned her head just enough to give him a look filled with teasing amusement.

"You're an F1 driver, not an office worker with a coffee addiction."

"We all have our weaknesses."

Amélie smirked, as if considering his words for a moment, before focusing back on her coffee.

The coffee machine bubbled softly as the rich aroma filled the kitchen. Amélie, arms crossed and feigning exasperation, watched Oscar stir the scrambled eggs he had insisted on cooking—with infuriating ease.

"Seriously, you don’t have to cook," she repeated for the third time.

"And yet, here I am."

"This isn’t your house."

"No, but it’s not a restaurant either, so if I want a decent meal, I’d rather make it myself."

Amélie huffed, leaning against the counter with her coffee cup in hand.

"Are you implying that I can’t cook?"

Oscar shot her an amused look.

"I haven’t seen any evidence that you can."

"You're incredibly arrogant for someone cooking with my pan in my kitchen."

"I call it survival," he said with a shrug.

Their dynamic was captivating. Amélie fired off comebacks at lightning speed, but Oscar kept up, responding with dry, precise remarks. There was no tension, no awkward pauses. It felt as if they had known each other for years, as if this was a routine between them.

As the eggs finished cooking, Oscar glanced toward the living room. From the kitchen, he had the perfect angle to see the main wall, and that’s when he noticed it.

Above the TV, hung proudly, was a massive painting.

It wasn’t a photograph, but a stunningly detailed painting of Monza’s circuit, featuring the faces of Michael Schumacher and Rubens Barrichello, dressed in their iconic Ferrari red suits, holding their trophies with beaming smiles.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"Is that Monza?"

Amélie, mid-sip of coffee, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Mhm."

Oscar set down the spatula and turned fully toward the painting.

"It’s incredible."

"It is."

"Did you buy it?"

"No."

Oscar narrowed his eyes, noting how she didn’t elaborate.

"Are you a Formula 1 fan?"

"Mmm… not actively."

"You have a giant painting of Schumacher and Barrichello in your living room, Amélie. I find that hard to believe."

She sighed, as if she had been expecting this conversation.

"It was my father’s. He gave it to me when I bought this apartment."

Oscar tilted his head.

"Is your father a fan?"

"Let’s just say he’s very involved in motorsport."

A small alarm went off in Oscar’s head. Something wasn’t quite adding up, but before he could ask more, Amélie set her cup down and crossed her arms.

"And yes, I know who you are."

He tensed slightly.

"Oh."

"I didn’t sleep with you because you’re famous."

Oscar let out a quiet laugh, surprised by her bluntness.

"I didn’t think you did."

"Good. Because I didn’t."

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Amélie’s expression was calm, but with that ever-present challenge in her eyes that made her impossible to ignore. Oscar felt there was more to this, something she wasn’t saying.

But for now, he let it go.

"The eggs are ready," he said, serving them onto two plates.

Amélie gave him a small smile and took hers.

"You’re a decent driver. Let’s see if you’re a decent cook too."

Oscar shook his head, chuckling as they sat down to eat.

Breakfast carried the same strangely effortless energy as the rest of the morning. Oscar couldn’t recall the last time he’d shared a moment like this with someone he’d just met. Maybe never.

They talked about everything and nothing. Amélie teased him about how meticulous he was with the scrambled eggs. Oscar told her the coffee was so strong it could wake the dead. She told him that if he couldn’t handle it, he probably wasn’t man enough to be in her kitchen.

Oscar could only laugh.

And then, it was time to leave.

"I’d stay longer," he said, leaning against the counter, "but I left my friends at a club, and I still don’t know if they’re alive or if one of them ended up in a ditch."

Amélie chuckled.

"I’d say there’s an 80% chance they’re sleeping on your couch and a 20% chance they’re in jail."

"That’s exactly why I need to check."

She set her cup in the sink and nodded.

"Alright."

But neither of them moved.

Oscar pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up.

"Want to exchange numbers?"

Amélie raised an eyebrow, as if she hadn’t expected that, but didn’t hesitate for long before taking her own phone and typing her contact into his.

"Call me if your friends are dead. I can help you hide the bodies."

"I’ll keep that in mind," Oscar joked, saving her number.

And then, the real problem arose: how to say goodbye?

A simple “bye”? Too cold.

A hug? He wasn’t sure if that was right.

A kiss? Maybe too intimate for what they really were—two strangers who had just spent the night together.

But when their eyes met, the decision made itself.

Oscar leaned in slightly, and Amélie didn’t step back. Their lips barely brushed—a short kiss, nothing like the intensity of the night before, but charged with something else. Something harder to define.

When they pulled away, Amélie smiled, that mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Don’t let it get to your head, Piastri."

Oscar laughed, shaking his head as he stepped toward the door.

"See you around, Amélie."

"See you."

And with that, he left.

Though, as he walked out of the building, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before he saw her again.

Oscar entered his apartment in Monaco, his body exhausted and his mind scattered. The weekend's race was still buzzing in his head, memories of the paddock and strategy meetings blending with the roar of the engines. He knew he should take a shower, eat something decent, and, most of all, sleep.

But the moment he crossed the threshold, he thought of her.

It had been weeks since he last saw her. Neither of them had written, not even a casual message, as if the night they spent together had been nothing more than a fleeting moment, not something strong enough to leave a mark.

Oscar dropped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes. He had no reason to text her. No excuse. But before he could think too much about it, his fingers were already moving over the screen.

🟠 Oscar: "If you want to see me, come over. I'm exhausted."

The possibility that she wouldn’t reply crossed his mind. It was late. And if he hadn’t bothered to reach out before, why would she now?

But against all odds, his phone vibrated instantly.

🔴 Amélie: "What kind of invitation is that? Doesn't sound very tempting."

Oscar let out a quiet laugh.

🟠 Oscar: "It's the best I can offer in this state."

This time, Amélie took longer to reply. He pictured her with her phone in hand, debating whether to accept or keep playing along a little longer.

🔴 Amélie: "Alright. But I’m bringing dinner."

🟠 Oscar: "No objections here."

🔴 Amélie: "You should have some. I might bring something terrible just to see your face when you try it."

🟠 Oscar: "If you poison me, you’ll pay for it."

🔴 Amélie: "I love a man who takes risks."

Oscar shook his head, and as he wrote his address in the chat, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

Whatever this was, he liked it.

The doorbell rang about forty minutes later.

Dressed in sweatpants and an old T-shirt, Oscar made his way to the door unhurriedly. When he opened it, Amélie stood there, a paper bag in hand and a half-smile on her lips.

“Don’t ask what’s for dinner,” she said before he could say a word.

Oscar arched an eyebrow as he stepped aside to let her in.

“That sounds concerning.”

“Come on, trust me.”

She took off her jacket and tossed it over the couch with a familiarity they probably shouldn’t have yet. Oscar didn’t comment on it, but his gaze flickered to the jacket for a second before he shut the door behind her.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything gourmet,” she warned, pulling containers from the bag.

Oscar leaned against the counter, watching her.

“Honestly, as long as I don’t have to cook, I’ll take anything.”

Amélie pulled out two boxes of pasta from an Italian restaurant.

“Not much effort, huh?”

She shot him a sharp look.

“You wound me. This is from one of the best places in Monaco.”

Oscar opened one of the boxes, and the second the aroma hit him, he had to admit—it looked amazing.

“Alright, point for you.”

They sat on the couch, legs crossed casually, no rush. They ate in a comfortable atmosphere, filled with sarcastic remarks and glances that lingered just a little too long.

“So,” Amélie said at some point, twirling her fork in her pasta, “how does it feel to be home after the races?”

Oscar shrugged.

“Quiet. Maybe too quiet.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Does that mean you missed the chaos?”

Oscar watched her for a second before replying, amusement in his voice.

“I think it means I missed the person who brings it.”

Amélie smiled but didn’t reply right away. Still, in her eyes, Oscar saw something—a flicker of recognition, of acceptance.

This game between them was far from over.

Amélie held Oscar’s gaze for a few seconds before flashing a lazy smile.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an accusation,” she said, taking another bite of pasta.

“A bit of both.”

She let out a low chuckle.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

They kept eating, their conversation flowing as easily as their playful jabs. There were no awkward silences, no need to fill the gaps with unnecessary words. It was strange. Strange because Oscar wasn’t usually this comfortable with someone he barely knew.

But Amélie wasn’t just anyone.

And that’s what kept him hooked.

When they finished eating, she set her takeout container on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch with the ease of someone who had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to text me,” she said suddenly.

Oscar glanced at her while finishing his last bite.

“Oh yeah?”

“No. You seemed like the type of driver who disappears after one night.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what you think of me?”

Amélie tilted her head slightly.

“I don’t know. I’m still deciding.”

Oscar licked his lips, amused.

“And how’s my evaluation going so far?”

She pretended to think about it for a moment before answering.

“A solid seven out of ten.”

Oscar let out a laugh.

“Just a seven?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What would get me a ten?”

Amélie turned her head to look at him, and Oscar caught the subtle glint of challenge in her eyes.

“You’ll have to figure that out.”

The air between them shifted, almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t a rejection either. Amélie kept him right on the edge of what was safe and what wasn’t, and Oscar wasn’t sure which one tempted him more.

He studied her in silence for a moment.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked finally.

Amélie smiled.

“Only if you have decent wine.”

Oscar stood up, shaking his head.

“Picky.”

“Always.”

He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of red wine he had stashed away. He wasn’t exactly a wine connoisseur, but he hoped it was good enough for his guest. When he returned to the living room with two glasses, Amélie had already changed positions on the couch, sitting with her legs tucked beneath her.

“I’ll give you an extra point if it’s good,” she remarked as Oscar poured her a glass.

“Then you’d better lie if it’s not.”

She laughed softly before taking a sip.

Oscar watched her as she did, surprised by how much he enjoyed having her in his space.

“Approved,” she finally said, handing him back the glass with an amused look.

“Great. So am I at an eight now?”

Amélie tilted her head.

“That depends on how the night ends.”

Oscar leaned back against the couch, smirking.

“Interesting.”

And somehow, they both knew the night was far from over.

Eventually, the wine was forgotten on the table.

He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened. One joke led to another, a smile turned into a fleeting touch, and now Amélie was straddling him, her legs tangled with his, her lips caught in a kiss that had no intention of ending anytime soon.

Oscar’s hand slid down her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric of her shirt. Amélie let out a laugh against his mouth before pulling back slightly, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

“For someone who was so tired, you have an impressive amount of energy,” she teased, not bothering to hide the playful lilt in her voice.

Oscar chuckled, his fingers still tracing lazy circles on her waist.

“Must be the high-quality dinner you brought,” he shot back with equal sarcasm.

Amélie arched an eyebrow.

“Then I should feed you more often.”

“Good idea. But, to be fair, it’s not just the food.”

“Oh, no?”

Oscar tilted his head, his lips grazing the skin of her neck.

“Let’s just say the company helps, too.”

Amélie smiled, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

“You’re more charming than you let on, Piastri.”

“And you’re more dangerous than you look.”

She let out a soft laugh before kissing him again, her fingers tangling in his hair. And for the second time in his life, Oscar let himself be swept away by Amélie without a second thought.

Somehow, between laughter, sharp comebacks, and hands growing bolder by the second, they ended up in Oscar’s bedroom. It was a whirlwind of discarded clothes, breathless whispers, and a crackling electricity that filled every inch of space. Amélie was a storm—unpredictable, defiant, impossible to ignore. And Oscar surrendered to her without hesitation, without caring that they barely knew each other, without worrying about what it meant.

Because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was her.

The first thing Oscar noticed upon waking was the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. The second was the warmth beside him—the shape of Amélie beneath the sheets.

For a moment, he simply lay there, watching her in the dim light. Her breathing was slow and steady, her hair a tangled mess against the pillow. She looked peaceful, nothing like the woman who challenged him with every word when she was awake.

Oscar smiled to himself before stretching slightly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in his muscles.

"Do you always stare at people when they’re sleeping?" Amélie’s voice, husky from sleep, pulled him from his thoughts.

Oscar blinked, a little surprised to find her awake.

"Only when they try to kill me with their sense of humor," he replied, smirking.

Amélie cracked one eye open, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Don't blame me if you can’t handle it."

Oscar let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

"I might need some intensive training."

"I doubt it. You handled yourself pretty well last night."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Pretty well?"

Amélie shrugged, feigning indifference, but the smirk tugging at her lips gave her away.

"I don’t know... I might need a second evaluation to be sure."

Oscar studied her for a second before rolling over, pinning her beneath him once again.

"That can be arranged."

And before she could say anything else, he kissed her, swallowing the breathless laugh that slipped from her lips.

They weren’t exactly sure how they made it work, but every time Oscar returned to Monaco, somehow, they ended up together.

It wasn’t planned. They didn’t text ahead of time or make promises to see each other again. It just happened—Oscar would come home after a race weekend, drop his bag, sink into the couch, and before he could think too much about it, he was already typing out a message to Amélie.

And she always answered.

Some nights, she was the one who showed up at his door with takeout, her hair tied up, a playful smirk on her lips, as if the last thing she wanted to do was admit she’d been waiting for that message too. Other times, he was the one crossing the city, ringing her doorbell with some vague excuse about ordering too much food and not wanting to eat alone.

Either way, the outcome was always the same.

An accidental touch on the couch that turned into something more. Oscar’s hands finding their way to her waist, tangling in her hair as he kissed her with the same intensity as the first time. Amélie murmuring something teasing against his lips before pushing him onto the mattress, or him pulling her into his arms, refusing to let her get too far. The feeling that every night with her was an inevitable spiral, a pull neither of them could resist.

It was easy. Natural. As if it couldn’t be any other way.

But there was something—something Oscar couldn’t quite figure out.

Every time he mentioned the idea of going out, Amélie’s answer was always the same.

"Go out? For what?"

Sometimes, she said it with a smirk. Other times, just a simple shrug, as if the thought of walking through Monaco together or going to a restaurant was unnecessary. And in the end, they always stayed in, watching a movie neither of them really paid attention to.

Oscar swore it didn’t bother him. It really didn’t. They didn’t need to go out to enjoy each other’s company. They didn’t need formal dates or candlelit dinners to keep doing whatever this was.

And yet, there was something about the way Amélie avoided it that didn’t quite sit right with him.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask.

At least, not yet.

Until one day, in a surge of something he couldn’t quite name, he decided to push back.

"Why don’t you ever want to go out with me?"

It was blunt, direct. They were in her living room, a movie playing in the background, a half-eaten pizza between them. Amélie, her legs draped over his lap, looked up, caught off guard by the question.

"Where’s that coming from?"

Oscar held her gaze.

"From the fact that every time I suggest it, you dodge it."

She picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite, far too calm.

"Because I don’t like going out."

"That’s not it." He shook his head. "It’s going out with me that you don’t want."

Amélie chewed in silence, eyes locked on his. For a second, Oscar thought she’d throw back a sarcastic remark, a joke to deflect the conversation. But instead, she just sighed and set the pizza down.

"I don’t want you to take this the wrong way," she finally said. "I like what we have. I like you. But I’d rather keep it… like this."

"Like this?"

"Private."

Oscar frowned.

"Private or secret?"

She didn’t answer immediately.

And that was enough for Oscar to understand the difference.

"I’m not saying we have to make our… whatever this is, public—nothing like that," he said, trying to keep his tone steady. "I just want to understand why the idea of going to a damn restaurant with me bothers you so much."

Amélie crossed her arms, her expression hardening.

"It doesn’t bother me. I just don’t see the need. We’re fine like this, aren’t we?"

"Are we?" Oscar let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Because, honestly, it doesn’t feel like it."

She clicked her tongue, as if the conversation was testing her patience.

"Oscar—"

"No, seriously. I like being with you. I don’t know what this is, and I don’t care about putting a label on it, but… I feel like I only exist within these walls. Like I’m a secret you’d rather keep hidden."

The atmosphere in the room shifted in an instant.

Amélie parted her lips, as if to respond, but said nothing.

Oscar let out a slow breath, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Look, I don’t want to be the guy who makes a big deal out of this. We’re not together, I have no right to demand anything from you, but—"

"Exactly." Her voice was sharper than usual. "You have no right to demand anything from me."

Oscar blinked, taken aback.

"It’s not a demand, Amélie. It’s a conversation."

She shook her head, exasperated.

"There always has to be a problem, doesn’t there? We can’t just enjoy what we have without overanalyzing it."

Oscar felt something inside him tighten even more.

"I’m not questioning what we have. I’m questioning why we have to keep it hidden."

"Because it’s easier that way."

The answer came instantly. But the way she said it… Oscar saw something in her eyes. Something she was trying to hide.

"Easier for who?" he asked quietly.

Amélie clenched her jaw, looking away.

And there it was. The confirmation he didn’t want.

Oscar felt a weight in his chest, an uncomfortable knot in his throat.

He stood up from the couch.

"Okay," he said, his tone colder than he expected.

Amélie frowned.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, if that’s what you want, I won’t push."

She got to her feet too, watching him closely.

"I’m not saying you matter less to me just because I don’t want to be seen with you in public."

"No, but it sure feels like it."

Anger flickered in her eyes for a split second, but she said nothing.

Oscar grabbed his keys from the table.

"I’m gonna go."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Amélie looked at him, a mix of confusion and wounded pride in her expression.

"I thought you weren’t the kind of guy who walks away in the middle of an argument."

Oscar turned to the door.

"I also didn’t think you were the kind of person who was afraid to be seen with me."

He didn’t wait for a response.

He walked out, closing the door behind him.

And even though he tried to shake it off, tried to convince himself he had no right to feel this way, the truth was that the idea of being just a secret to her burned more than he was willing to admit.

The days turned into weeks.

Oscar fell back into his routine, throwing himself into the world of F1 with an almost obsessive intensity. More hours in the simulator, more technical meetings, more training until exhaustion. Anything to keep his mind off her. But no matter how hard he tried, Amélie always found a way to creep back in.

He saw her in the most absurd moments. In the reflection of a window when he least expected it. In a woman’s laughter at a restaurant that sounded too much like hers. In the damn jasmine scent that had once lingered on his pillow. And he hated it. Hated it because she was the one who walked away. Because she was the one who put up walls between them. And yet, he was the one paying the price.

He swore he wouldn’t reach out. Told himself he had his pride. But every time he landed in Monaco after a race, the battle started all over again. He turned off his phone before temptation could win. Repeated to himself that she wasn’t worth it, that if she wanted him out of her life, he wasn’t going to beg to be let back in.

But, fuck, it was getting harder.

Amélie, for her part, stood by her decision. But with every passing day, it became more difficult.

Meetings with investors and networking events became her escape. She made sure her schedule was packed, leaving no room for solitude—no chance for her mind to wander where it shouldn’t. But the problem was that even in a crowded room, her thoughts always found their way back to Oscar.

Every time she saw a headline about him, every time his name came up in a passing conversation with her father, her chest tightened. She wasn’t searching for him, but the world insisted on reminding her.

And the worst part? At night, when she closed her eyes, guilt consumed her.

She had fallen for him more than she ever wanted to admit. More than she should have. And by the time she realized it, it was too late. Because she knew that if she had stayed with him, she would have dragged him into a scandal, into a shadow he’d never escape.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

She let him go to protect him.

So why did it feel like she was doing the wrong thing?

And then, the invitation came.

Monza. Ferrari’s home turf. The race that electrified the entire country.

Her father’s voice had been calm, expectant, as if he already knew what her answer would be before she even said it. "It’s been years since you’ve been to a race," he had remarked casually. "Come. Enjoy yourself for once."

She knew exactly what it meant. It wasn’t just an invitation; it was a reminder of where she came from, of the legacy she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried.

And more than anything, she knew Oscar would be there.

He would see her. He would learn the truth—who she really was, who she had been all along. And maybe, just maybe, he would hate her for it.

But what did it matter anymore?

They weren’t together. They never had been.

She told herself that as she accepted the invitation, as she packed her bags, as she prepared to step into a world she had spent so long keeping separate from him.

For once, she wouldn’t think about consequences. She would let herself breathe. Even if it meant standing face to face with the one person she had tried so hard to forget.

The roar of the engines filled the air, vibrating through her chest as Amélie stepped into the paddock. Monza was alive, electric with anticipation, and the sea of red surrounding her was almost suffocating.

She had been here as a kid, too many times to count, but this time was different. This time, she wasn’t just the daughter of a powerful man in motorsport. She wasn’t just another face in the Ferrari hospitality suite.

This time, Oscar was here.

And at some point, he would see her.

She exhaled slowly, adjusting the sunglasses perched on her nose, letting her expression settle into something unreadable. She had no reason to be nervous. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for her father, for Ferrari, for the world that had shaped her long before Oscar Piastri had stumbled into her life.

And yet, as she moved through the paddock, as she exchanged polite greetings and forced smiles, she felt the weight of it pressing against her chest.

Would he be angry? Confused? Would he even care?

She told herself it didn’t matter.

But then, she saw him.

Oscar was walking towards the McLaren garage, deep in conversation with an engineer, his expression serious—focused. But as if he could sense her presence, as if something in the air had shifted, he suddenly glanced up.

Their eyes met.

For a second, everything around them faded. The noise, the people, the flashing cameras—it all disappeared.

Oscar’s face didn’t betray much. There was no immediate reaction, no flash of surprise or recognition. But there was something in the way he held her gaze, something unreadable and sharp, that sent a shiver down her spine.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, he looked away.

And continued walking.

Amélie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

So that was it.

Oscar didn’t understand why seeing her there had shaken him so much.

It wasn’t like she had no right to be in Monza. After all, she had once mentioned that her father was a big F1 fan. Maybe she had simply come to enjoy the weekend, like any other fan with the right connections to wander through the paddock without restrictions.

That had to be all.

And yet, something inside him twisted with discomfort.

He had spent weeks suppressing any impulse to look for her, forcing himself to bury her deep in his mind. But now, with just a single glance, she was back—settled in his head as if she had never left.

He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she affected him.

So he did the only thing he could. He forced himself to look away, to keep walking as if nothing had happened.

But while his body moved forward, his mind stayed behind.

Because seeing her there, in a place so intimately tied to his world, made everything he had tried to forget resurface with even greater force.

The last time they had been together, she had looked at him with sadness before pulling away. Now, however, she seemed calm, indifferent, as if nothing between them had meant enough to leave a mark.

And for some reason, that infuriated him more than anything else.

The day of qualifying unfolded like any other. Oscar was focused on his team, on preparations, on lap times, on making sure his weekend in Monza was solid.

Or at least, that was what he was trying to do.

But every time he moved through the paddock, his eyes searched for her.

Not on purpose. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

And then, he saw her.

She was in the Ferrari garage, surrounded by mechanics in red overalls, laughing with them as if she were part of the family. One of the engineers handed her a water bottle with the same casualness as if he were passing it to a driver. Another whispered something in her ear, and Amélie rolled her eyes with a smile, giving him a light shove on the arm.

That wasn’t the attitude of a mere spectator.

But what truly made something tighten inside Oscar was when he saw Charles Leclerc approaching her.

The Monegasque driver greeted her with the familiarity of someone who had known her for a long time—an embrace that lasted too long, a kiss on each cheek. He spoke to her calmly, comfortably, with that ease that wasn’t shared with just anyone. Amélie responded just as naturally, with that half-smile Oscar knew all too well.

The same one she had once given him.

And suddenly, something twisted in his stomach with rage.

He didn’t know what hit him first.

How did she know Leclerc? Why had she never talked about him? She knew about Formula 1, she knew who Oscar was—why had she never mentioned she knew Charles? Especially when, in front of the Ferrari garage, they spoke like lifelong friends.

Or maybe it was something more.

Oscar’s mind began to spiral, to descend into the worst possible explanations.

Had Amélie done to Charles what she had done to him? Seduced him, lured him into her bed, had her fun, and then tossed him aside like nothing?

Maybe to Amélie, it had all been just a game.

Maybe he had never been more than a fleeting adventure, just another amusement in her world of luxury, connections, and opportunities he hadn’t even realized she had.

Maybe, while he burned inside trying to understand what had happened between them, she had already forgotten him completely.

Oscar could feel the anger building in his chest like a bomb about to explode. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists, and no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, his gaze kept drifting back to the Ferrari garage.

Back to her.

He didn’t know what infuriated him more.

The thought gnawed at him. Was there something between her and Charles? Had there ever been? Had he just been a passing distraction?

"Alright, mate, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Lando appeared beside him, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between concern and exasperation.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Lando scoffed. "Come on, Oscar. You’re standing there looking like you’re about to murder someone. I’ve seen that face before, and honestly, I’d rather you not make a scene right before qualifying."

Oscar let out a sharp breath, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"It’s just…" He pressed his lips together, struggling to find the right words. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to say it out loud because that would make it real. But Lando was watching him with that look—the one that said I’m not leaving until you tell me—and Oscar knew there was no way out.

"It’s complicated."

Lando snorted.

"When is it not with you?"

Oscar shot him a murderous glare but continued anyway.

"I met someone. In Monaco. We… saw each other a few times. Okay, not a few, a lot. But we ended it. Or she did. Doesn’t matter. The point is, she’s here. In the Ferrari garage."

Lando blinked, processing the information.

"Okay… Wait. Are you telling me all this rage is over a girl?"

"She’s not just ‘a girl,’" Oscar growled before realizing he had just given himself away.

Lando raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes gleamed with the excitement of someone who had just stumbled upon something juicy and wasn’t about to let it go.

"Alright, alright. She’s not just a girl. She’s her. And what’s the problem with her?"

Oscar shook his head.

"It doesn’t make sense for her to be here. I mean, she told me her dad was an F1 fan, but this… This is something else. She moves around that garage like she lives there. Like she knows everyone."

Lando tilted his head, studying him. His gaze flickered toward the Ferrari garage, and suddenly, something in his expression shifted.

"Hold on a second… Are you telling me that the girl you were seeing is Amélie Vasseur?"

The surname hit Oscar like a sledgehammer.

Vasseur.

Ferrari’s team principal.

A hollow feeling settled in his stomach, quickly followed by a wave of fury that made his teeth clench so hard his jaw ached.

Everything clicked into place.

That’s why she was so comfortable in the garage. That’s why everyone treated her like family. That’s why Charles Leclerc knew her as if they had grown up together.

She had played him.

She had never told him the truth. Never even given him a hint of who she really was. And while he had spent weeks agonizing over what had happened between them, wondering if it had meant anything, she had simply moved on with her life like it was nothing.

His blood boiled.

If he had been angry before, now he saw nothing but red.

Lando was silent for a second before bursting into laughter.

"Wait, wait…" He leaned slightly toward Oscar, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. "Are you telling me you didn’t know who she was? Seriously?"

Oscar shot him a murderous glare, but that only made Lando laugh harder.

"Mate!" Lando exclaimed, still chuckling. "How the hell did you not recognize Vasseur’s daughter?"

"Because I’ve never seen her before. And she never told me" Oscar growled, feeling the anger rise in his throat like fire.

"But it was right in front of you! The French accent, the ‘I’m going to destroy you but with elegance’ sense of humor, the way she never shuts up—" Lando shook his head, grinning. "Damn, now that I think about it, it’s so obvious."

Oscar, however, wasn’t amused.

He was furious.

Not because she was Vasseur’s daughter. Not because she had been surrounded by the world of F1 her entire life.

But because she had never told him. Because she had kept everything from him. Because she had walked away without even giving him a damn chance to understand.

Because he, like an idiot, had thought that what they had mattered.

And now he realized that, to her, it had probably just been a game.

Qualifying had been one of the best of his career.

Second place, right behind Lando. An incredible result for McLaren, a statement in Monza—Ferrari’s territory. But while the mechanics celebrated in the garage, while his team congratulated him, while the cameras captured his serious expression during the post-qualifying press conference, Oscar could only think about her.

About the last name she had never told him. About the laughter she had shared with Ferrari’s mechanics. About the way Charles Leclerc looked at her with the kind of familiarity that only came from having someone in your life for a very long time.

The anger still boiled inside him, pulsing with every breath, with every damn image his mind replayed.

He went straight to the hotel after the interviews, not lingering with the team, not responding to the congratulations with the enthusiasm expected of him. Locked in his room, he paced back and forth, replaying every moment, every conversation, every fucking lie disguised as omission.

Why?

Why had she never told him? Why had she let him make a fool of himself, thinking she was just another girl, when in reality, she belonged to this world even more than he did? Was it a game to her? Had she laughed at him once he was gone?

Every time he tried to sleep, his mind dragged him back into the same spiral. He tossed and turned, shifting positions over and over until finally, when the clock hit 3:00 AM, he made a decision.

He had had enough.

If he couldn’t sleep, she wouldn’t either.

Throwing on whatever clothes he could find, he grabbed his jacket and left the hotel without a second thought. Anger, frustration, and the need to confront her pushed him forward, stronger than reason. He walked through the rain, not caring that the water seeped into his clothes, not caring that his breathing was uneven from the fury coursing through him.

He knew where the Ferrari team was staying.

And when he arrived, soaked to the bone, he asked for Amélie Vasseur’s room at reception and went up without hesitation.

He didn’t even think before raising his fist and knocking.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

There was movement on the other side.

Then, the door opened, and there she was.

Amélie blinked, still groggy, her hair a mess, wrapped in a sweatshirt far too big for her. It took a second for her to process what she was seeing—Oscar Piastri, drenched, his chest rising and falling with restrained fury, his eyes burning with something far more than just anger.

“Oscar?” Her voice was hoarse from sleep, but mostly, from sheer surprise.

He stared at her, silent for a moment, as if he needed to remind himself why he was there.

Then, with his jaw clenched, with the storm still raging inside his chest, he said,

“Tell me the truth.”

Amélie felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She knew exactly what he meant.

She sighed, casting a quick glance down the hallway before stepping aside to let him in. Oscar crossed the threshold without hesitation, dripping onto the floor with every step, shoulders tense, eyes locked onto her as if she were an enemy, not someone he had once spent entire nights with.

“Let me explain,” she started, closing the door behind her.

“Explain what?” Oscar let out a dry, humorless laugh. “How you played me this whole time? How you laughed at me while I thought—” He stopped abruptly, like saying it out loud would hurt even more.

Amélie felt the pang in her chest, but she kept her composure.

“I never laughed at you.”

“Oh, come on.” Oscar scoffed, running a hand through his wet hair. “Do you have any idea how fucking stupid I feel right now? The entire goddamn paddock knew except me. Lando knew, the engineers knew—Jesus, Amélie.”

Amélie clenched her jaw.

“Oscar—”

“And meanwhile, I was here wondering why you never wanted to be seen with me in public, why you always seemed like you were hiding something.” His words were sharp, cutting, like he wanted to hurt her just as much as he felt she had hurt him. “Was it fun? Did you enjoy watching me, completely clueless about who I was actually sleeping with?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Amélie snapped, her voice louder than she had intended.

Oscar fell silent for a second, taken aback by her reaction.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“I didn’t do it to laugh at you. I didn’t do it to play with you. I did it for you, Oscar.”

He let out a bitter laugh.

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Explain to me how lying to my face for months was for me, because, honestly, I’d love to understand.”

Amélie felt her own anger rise.

“Because if people found out about us, if it got out that we were together, the first thing they would do is question you.” She pointed at him, her voice firm. “They’d say you were with your rival’s daughter, that Ferrari was favoring you, that your seat at McLaren was in jeopardy. You don’t need that kind of shit on your shoulders.”

Oscar clenched his jaw.

“And who decided that was your problem?”

“It became my problem the moment this turned into something more. The moment it stopped being just a fling,” she shot back, her gaze burning into his. “Do you think it was easy? Do you think I wanted to walk away from you?”

“I don’t know what you wanted, Amélie. You never said anything, you never explained anything.”

Silence fell between them like a heavy wall.

For a moment, Amélie saw something in Oscar’s eyes beyond the anger.

Something that hurt even more than his words.

Disappointment.

The silence between them was thick, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Oscar was breathing heavily, water still dripping from his hair, his clothes clinging to his skin. He didn’t care. Not when anger burned in his chest, when confusion suffocated him.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice rougher than he intended. “Did you have something with Charles?”

Amélie blinked, surprised by the question, but her expression remained unchanged. There was no trace of guilt or nervousness. Only exhaustion.

“No,” she said firmly. “Never. Ew”

Oscar let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. She took a step toward him, but Oscar remained rigid. “Charles and I have known each other since we were kids. He’s like a brother to me. Nothing more.”

Oscar stared at her, searching her face for any sign of a lie, anything that would reveal she was hiding the truth. But all he found was sincerity.

And yet, it wasn’t enough to ease the knot in his stomach.

“Then explain it to me,” he murmured, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly. “Explain why you did what you did. Why you never told me who you were. Why it felt like you were trying to hide me.”

Amélie pressed her lips together, looking away for a moment. When she met his gaze again, there was something vulnerable in her expression.

“Because I never thought this would go this far,” she confessed. “I never thought I’d fall in love with you.”

Oscar felt the air ripped from his lungs.

Amélie swallowed hard and continued. “At first… I thought it was something fleeting. Something fun. But then I realized that every time I saw you, I wanted to see you more. That when you left, I missed you more than I should have. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment, trying to process her words.

“I was scared,” she whispered.

He watched her, his chest rising and falling with every restrained breath. “Scared of what?”

Amélie exhaled in frustration, running a hand through her hair. “That if people found out, they would use it against you. That my last name would harm you. That this would stop being ours and turn into a scandal.”

Oscar let out a bitter laugh. “So you chose to push me away? You made me feel like I meant nothing to you?”

Amélie clenched her fists, her gaze burning. “Oscar, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before! I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do—you can’t expect me to have all the answers to my life.”

“You could’ve told me. We could’ve figured it out. We could’ve found a way to make this work. Together.”

The pain in his voice hit her harder than any shout could.

For a moment, she said nothing. She just looked at him, eyes glistening, chest rising and falling as if her words weighed too much.

Finally, in a voice so soft it sounded like admitting it would break her, she whispered:

“I think I love you.”

Oscar felt his world shift beneath his feet.

Amélie swallowed. “And that terrified me.”

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t the same.

It was broken. Uncertain.

One that only Oscar could decide if he wanted to fill with something else.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, as if trying to release all the anger, frustration, and pain built up inside him. But something still remained stuck in his chest.

“Amélie…” His voice was no longer sharp, but it wasn’t soft either. It was caught somewhere in between—that thin line between anger and understanding.

She didn’t look away. She faced him, vulnerable but steady, as if ready to take whatever response, whatever emotional blow he had to give.

Oscar ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “Do you know what hurted me the most?”

Amélie didn’t answer, but the tension in her shoulders was telling.

“It’s not that you’re Vasseur’s daughter.” He shook his head. “It’s not that you were in the paddock, in Ferrari, with Charles, with all those people who always knew who you were and I didn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, as if confessing something he never wanted to say out loud.

“It’s that you made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

Amélie’s eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t hide.

“Oscar…”

“You made me doubt everything,” he went on, his voice rough. “Whether what we had meant anything or if I was just a distraction. Whether everything I felt was real or if I was the only one feeling it.”

Amélie closed her eyes for a second, as if his words cut through her. When she opened them again, her expression was softer, more open.

“It wasn’t just a distraction.”

Oscar let out a dry laugh.

“It wasn’t,” she insisted, stepping closer. This time, Oscar didn’t move away. “It never was.”

He looked at her, searching for something in her eyes. Something that told him he could believe her. Something that said all the anger in his chest could finally start to fade.

Amélie let out a nervous laugh, but there was no mockery in it. Only uncertainty.

“I’m not good at this,” she murmured, running a hand through her tangled hair. “At… feeling things so quickly. At not being in control.”

Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching her more intently.

She sighed. “I always thought it was better to keep my distance. Not get too attached. But then you came along.”

Oscar felt his heart pound harder.

“I didn’t expect to feel this,” she continued, a small, resigned smile forming on her lips. “And when I realized I was already too deep, I got scared.”

Oscar’s anger didn’t disappear all at once, but something inside him started to loosen.

Because he understood.

God, he understood her more than he wanted to admit.

Amélie looked at him with a silent plea, as if waiting for him to tell her that it wasn’t too late.

Oscar lowered his head for a second, exhaling slowly. Then, without a word, he reached out and took her wrist, his touch barely there.

Amélie trembled at the contact, but she didn’t pull away.

Their eyes met again, and this time, the anger between them had softened.

“And now?” Oscar asked quietly.

Amélie swallowed. “Now…”

She took another step closer, until only inches separated them.

“Now I don’t want to keep running.”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat.

She wetted her lips, and with almost fearful softness, slid her hand over his.

Oscar looked at the gesture—the warmth of her skin against his, the way their fingers fit together like they had done this a million times before.

And without thinking too much, he intertwined his fingers with hers.

Amélie let out a breath, as if she hadn’t realized how much she needed that touch until now.

Oscar lifted his gaze and met hers.

There was no fear anymore.

Only them.

And with the slightest movement, Amélie leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a kiss so slow, so sincere, it seemed to erase everything else.

Because in the end, love always won.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, as if they both needed to make sure it was real. There was no urgency, no desperation—only a mutual need to find each other again, beyond the anger, beyond the doubts.

Neither of them moved. Amélie still had her fingers intertwined with Oscar’s, her forehead nearly touching his, breathing the same air.

It was Oscar who broke the silence first, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Well… that was intense.”

Amélie let out a breathy laugh. “The kiss or the fight?”

Oscar tilted his head, thoughtful. “Both. Though if I had to choose, I think I’d rather keep the kiss.”

She smiled, playing with his fingers. “Good, because the other thing was exhausting.”

Oscar let out a low chuckle. “Tell me about it. I literally walked through the rain like some dramatic movie idiot.”

Amélie burst into laughter. “You did.”

Oscar sighed dramatically. “If this were a romantic cliché, someone was definitely watching us from a window with sad music playing in the background.”

“Let me guess,” Amélie said with a teasing smile. “In the movie of your life, who would play you?”

Oscar pretended to think. “Mmm… obviously someone handsome. Ryan Gosling, maybe.”

Amélie raised an amused eyebrow. “Gosling? That’s ambitious of you.”

“Excuse me?” Oscar looked at her, feigning offense. “Are you saying I don’t have Gosling-level attractiveness?”

Amélie shrugged. “I’m not saying you’re not handsome, but…” She rested a hand on her chin, analyzing him. “I see you more as… a Tom Holland with a boyish face.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “I feel both flattered and offended at the same time.”

She smiled and, in a spontaneous gesture, ran her fingers through his damp hair. “But seriously, you didn’t have to come all the way here soaking wet. You could’ve just texted me and avoided looking like a stray puppy outside my hotel door.”

Oscar looked at her in mock indignation. “How disrespectful. This was a romantic gesture, obviously, not a tantrum.”

Amélie laughed, but soon her smile softened. “Do you really want to try?”

Oscar sighed, looking at her directly, all traces of humor gone. “Of course I do. But I don’t want you to disappear again. I don’t want to be a secret. I don’t want you looking at me like you’re about to run.”

Amélie lowered her gaze for a second, biting her lip, before meeting his eyes again.

“Okay,” she finally said, with a small smile.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “‘Okay’? That’s it?”

Amélie huffed in amusement. “Okay, let’s try. I won’t run, I won’t hide, I won’t play mysterious—well, maybe a little, because it suits me—but I promise not to run from you.”

Oscar studied her with a half-smile, as if making sure she was serious.

“So that means I can take you to dinner in public without you throwing a smoke bomb in the middle of the restaurant?”

Amélie rolled her eyes. “If you insist.”

Oscar grinned. “Perfect. But I warn you, if this gets too romantic, I’m going to assume we’re in a cheesy rom-com and start calling you ‘my love’ out loud just to annoy you.”

Amélie playfully shoved his chest. “If you do that, I’ll be forced to pretend I don’t know you.”

Oscar leaned in slightly, his smile turning mischievous. “And if I kiss you in public? Will you pretend not to know me then too?”

Amélie looked at him, her eyes shining with that same ever-present challenge. “Depends on how good the kiss is.”

Oscar let out a laugh, and without wasting another second, kissed her again.

Because if there was one thing they knew for sure, this game between them was far from over.

Amélie pulled away, a peculiar light shining in her gaze, a foolish smile stretching across her lips. “This is going to cost us a fortune. McLaren and Ferrari are going to have to spend a ridiculous amount on PR to manage this scandal and the press.”

The Monza sun filtered timidly through the curtains, but neither of them had any intention of moving.

Oscar had no idea what time it was, and honestly, he didn’t care. The only thing he knew for sure was that Amélie’s bed was much more comfortable than his and that the warmth of her body against his made any other thought irrelevant.

Amélie stirred slightly beside him, her breathing still steady. She half-opened her eyes just enough to look at him and smile—that lazy, satisfied smile that made Oscar feel a small tug in his chest.

“What time is it?” she murmured.

Oscar, still with his face buried in the pillow, huffed.

“No idea. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so don’t worry.”

Amélie let out a soft laugh and stretched before snuggling against his chest again.

“We can stay like this a little longer.”

Oscar slid a hand down her back, pulling her even closer.

“Sounds like a perfect plan.”

And so they stayed. Letting laziness wrap around them, the distant sounds of the hotel waking up nothing more than a faint murmur. For the first time in months, they weren’t in a hurry.

Until someone knocked on the door.

Both of them froze.

“Were you expecting someone?” Oscar whispered.

Amélie frowned. “No…”

Another knock, this time more insistent.

And then, a voice unmistakably cut through the silence.

“Amélie, open the door.”

Oscar felt his soul leave his body.

Amélie went completely still. Then, without moving a single muscle, she slowly turned her head toward Oscar.

They looked at each other as if they had just seen a ghost.

Frederic. Freaking. Vasseur.

Still in bed, all Oscar could murmur was:

“Oh, shit.”

Amélie covered her face with her hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Oscar darted into the bathroom with the reflexes of a driver avoiding a crash. He shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it, taking a deep breath as if that would make him invisible.

From the other side, he heard the hotel room door open, followed by the unmistakable voice of Frederic Vasseur.

“Amélie,” her father greeted, his tone casual—the same tone he used right before ruining someone’s day. “Bon matin.”

“Dad,” Amélie replied, trying to sound natural, but with a slight hint of panic. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I was passing by and thought, ‘I’ll check in on my daughter, have breakfast with her, make sure she’s not getting into trouble…’”

Amélie watched him cautiously. If she was lucky, this would be a short visit.

But then, her father stilled.

His gaze drifted toward the window.

More specifically, to Oscar’s clothes—a pair of pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt with the McLaren logo—strategically draped over a chair to dry.

Amélie followed his gaze.

Shit.

Very slowly, Vasseur turned his attention back to his daughter.

She tried to think fast. “It’s—”

“Don’t.” Vasseur raised a hand to stop her, his face the very picture of paternal disappointment. “Please, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He turned, crossing his arms. “Amélie,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Who’s hiding in the bathroom?”

Silence.

Amélie looked at the bathroom door.

Then at her father.

She tried to smile.

“…No one.”

Vasseur closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose, and then, without hesitation, walked straight toward the bathroom door.

Oscar’s eyes widened in horror.

Amélie sighed dramatically. “Dad, please. Don’t assume things.”

“Oh, I’m not assuming anything,” Vasseur said, clearly amused. “I’m just analyzing the evidence. Let’s see: wet McLaren clothes. A nervous daughter. A locked bathroom door. Where there’s smoke, there’s a fire.”

Oscar felt the doorknob move.

He held his breath.

Then, three firm knocks.

“Knock, knock,” Vasseur said, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

Oscar closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“Oh! He speaks.” Vasseur’s voice sounded even more entertained. “What a surprise! I wonder who it could be.”

Oscar felt like he was living a nightmare.

He sighed and rested his forehead against the door. “I’m in my underwear, and I’m coming out, okay?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Vasseur replied, in the tone of someone having the time of his life. “Whenever you’re ready, champ.”

Oscar slowly turned the doorknob and stepped out like a prisoner about to receive his sentence.

Vasseur looked him up and down with a lazy smirk, crossing his arms.

“Piastri,” he greeted, as if they were old friends.

Oscar tried to maintain his dignity. “Mr. Vasseur.”

“Tell me, son,” the Ferrari team principal said, tilting his head. “How desperate does one have to be to show up here in the middle of the night, soaking wet?”

Oscar felt Amélie stifling her laughter beside him.

"I…"

"I mean, your hotel must not serve a good breakfast. Did you come here just for croissants, or did my daughter offer a more interesting menu?"

Amélie burst out laughing and immediately regretted it when Oscar shot her a glare.

"Sorry."

"What was your plan if I caught you?"

Oscar blinked. "Hide in the bathroom?"

Vasseur looked at him with absolute disappointment. "Terrible strategy. Verstappen, at least, would have jumped out the window."

Amélie let out another laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

Oscar sighed. "Sir, with all due respect, is this going to last much longer?"

Vasseur grinned. "Oh, absolutely. I'm enjoying this way too much."

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment. "Great."

Vasseur patted him on the shoulder. "Relax, Piastri. This could have been worse."

Oscar looked at him skeptically.

"Oh yeah? How?"

Vasseur’s grin widened.

"My daughter could be fucking Lando Norris. At least you're the good half of McLaren."

Amélie burst into loud laughter.

Oscar just dropped his head into his hands, accepting his fate.

The sun was slowly setting over Monza, painting the sky in golden hues as the tifosi roared, celebrating the victory they had longed for. Charles Leclerc stood at the top of the podium, drenched in champagne, carrying the love of Ferrari on his shoulders while the Italian anthem echoed with an almost sacred intensity. Beside him, Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri completed the scene, their smiles shaped by the effort of the race, by the adrenaline still pulsing through their veins.

But Amélie wasn’t looking at Charles. She wasn’t even truly paying attention to the podium as a whole. Her eyes were fixed on Oscar.

From where she stood, surrounded by mechanics, engineers, and Ferrari executives, wrapped in her father’s embrace, she felt something strange in her chest. It wasn’t just happiness, nor was it simply pride. It was something deeper. Something far more terrifying.

Because she had never thought she would care so much about someone outside of this world of engines and strategy, beyond her surname, beyond the pressure of Formula 1.

And yet, here she was.

Oscar was searching for her in the crowd.

She swallowed hard as their eyes finally met.

Words weren’t necessary.

They understood each other in an instant, as if they had already had this conversation a thousand times before.

And in that gaze—laden with everything they had been through, the arguments, the fears, the secrets, the doubts—they made a silent promise.

They wouldn’t run anymore.

Amélie felt her heart pounding too fast, as if she were running her own race.

Without realizing it, she clung a little tighter to her father’s arm.

Vasseur, who had been watching in silence, let out an amused huff.

"Looks like someone has extra reasons to celebrate today."

Amélie turned sharply, frowning.

“Dad, please…”

“No, no. Don’t look at me like that,” he replied, raising his hands in feigned innocence. “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you this focused on a podium before.”

She rolled her eyes, but the small smile that slipped through betrayed her.

“Whatever.”

Vasseur chuckled, giving her a pat on the back.

"You know, if Piastri has already survived breakfast with me, maybe he’s not entirely useless after all."

She shot him a glare, but he only shrugged, clearly entertained.

"I say this for his own good, you know? I wouldn’t want him to get run over by everything that comes with being with you."

Amélie narrowed her eyes.

"And what exactly does that mean?"

Vasseur smirked.

"It means I come with the package."

She scoffed, but a laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Her gaze returned to the podium.

Oscar was still there, trophy in one hand, champagne glass in the other, but his eyes were searching for her again.

The noise, the crowd, the madness of Formula 1—it all faded into the background.

They had found each other.

And for the first time, Amélie had no desire to run.

@smoooothoperator

if you want to be part of my permanent taglist, just let me know! <3

[shadow-wasser]

Well, I agree with the points against rewilding insomuch as I agree that hasty and sloppy rewilding is a terrible idea. And the further, taxonomically and behaviorally, an introduced species is from its pleistocene counterpart, the more caution I'd have.

However, I find *most* of the concept rather ridiculous from a practical standpoint. Let's focus on reintroducing historically extant species first, see how that goes? Some people forget that half the US continent doesn't even have cougars anymore, and like 90% lacks wolves. That's no top predators at all.

Yet, there are complications. Wapiti/Elk are missing from over half of their original range, and two of the original six subspecies are extinct. People are already "reintroducing" elk from other subspecies into the ranges of exterminated elk, in hopes they can replace them ecologically. So I suppose this is already happening.

I often take the somewhat paradoxical environmental stance that: A) we humans need to fully understand the system we are changing before making changes to it, since this is the system that literally gives all life. This is because we are limited. B) we humans need to be intentional and active in how we steward the ecosystems we inhabit (that is, all of them), rather than making a variety of changes for other various reasons and then reaping the repercussions. This is because we are powerful. Acknowledging that our knowledge is limited but our ability to create change is great, I thusly take an overall conservative stance (definitionally, not politically) on questions of conservation. Meaning, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Don't make changes if you don't know what will happen.

The issue with THAT of course, is "what does 'broke' mean?" And how can we possibly know enough to predict an ecosystem like we would a machine? How long do we have to wait to see the fallout of changes made to an ecosystem? Well, we are not completely blind. Examining a forest, you see the future by looking at the young trees growing, because in a few hundred years those will be the canopy. Examining the past, we see how vastly different methods of land management/stewardship have resulted. We ideally should change as little as possible, according to stance A. Yet, we can't move backwards in time, much as Pleistocene rewilding might argue the fact. So in stance B, we need to set stewardship goals with solid reasons behind them, not just romanticize the past.

I don't really have an answer to these questions. We've gone too far in terms of changes to ever see the Earth as it was in the Pleistocene. But considering insect population collapse, climate change, ocean acidification, microplastics in our blood, POPs in our rain water, continuous declines in every clade of wild organisms we've looked at.... business as usual doesn't cut it.

Remember, by definition, what isn't sustainable will inevitably end. One way or another.

The idea of Pleistocene rewilding, even though it annoys the hell out of me, is so interesting in what it implies about ecosystems.

If we accept that North America's ecosystems are "incomplete" or "impoverished" because of the extinction of Pleistocene megafauna, that implies there is a "complete" state of ecosystems. In the absolute sense, of course ecosystems don't ever have a "complete" state, but is it possible for an ecosystem to be relatively incomplete? What does that even mean?

Could an "incomplete" state of an ecosystem be recognizable without knowing what used to exist in that ecosystem, for comparison? Could a researcher tell that they were in an environment where an animal had gone extinct, without any direct evidence of that animal or knowledge of what it was? Who is to say how many taxa of a kind of creatures "should" be in the ecosystem?

Say we accept, then, that North America's ecosystems after the Pleistocene (but before European colonization, which involved intentional destruction) were "complete," in the sense that researchers couldn't detect any obvious "dysfunction," whatever that means.

But 10,000 years, compared with life's history on the earth, are nothing--- the blink of an eye. There hasn't been very much time for entirely new types of animals to evolve.

So it would imply that ecosystems have a LOT of plasticity and ability to re-arrange to absorb shock, and that animals can quickly expand their ranges and change their niches to adapt to the new state of existence.

...this, in turn, implies something strange about the introduction of new animal species to a continental mainland: that "native" and "non-native" animal species probably won't be distinguishably different in their impacts in the long term, because the ecosystem is chaotic and constantly changing to begin with.

Introducing new animals to islands is a disaster, because it's introducing an animal with a niche that didn't exist before at all, such as terrestrial predators or large herbivores. Introducing plants is a disaster in a small and unpredictable sample of cases.

But in the example of horses in North America, the impact could range from positive (horses used to be here, and their extinction "damaged the ecosystem," therefore horses being introduced "fixes" that damage) to neutral (the ecosystem adapted to not having horses very fast, therefore the ecosystem can likely adapt to having horses again very fast). Saying that horses are invasive seems to require us to believe contradictory things: that the ecosystem has changed so much since the Pleistocene that horses no longer belong, and that ecosystems can't adjust to change quickly.

Then, why indeed should we not introduce camels, or cheetahs, or lions?

Well, this is where "Pleistocene rewilding" gets on my nerves: it sees North America as fundamentally impoverished of animals, and at the same time, somehow treats different species of animal as weirdly interchangeable. We don't know if the American lion was closer to a lion or a tiger, and we don't know some important things like its hunting behavior. The "American cheetah" was not any more closely related to the African cheetah than to the cougar, and might not have been a specialized fast runner like the cheetah.

So this might apply to the horse just as well: the species of horse in Pleistocene times might have been so different from today's horse that they don't have the same role in the ecosystem. Well, is it better to be horseless or horsed?

I don't think that introduced species are inherently bad. This isn't a extreme position. Among plants, very few introduced species actually become invasive, and even some of those considered "invasive" are not actually harming the ecosystem in a way that can be demonstrated. I don't think I would recommend the introduction of a plant purposefully, though...or would I? With climate change occurring rapidly, I am in favor of moving species to areas where they can survive.

One philosophy of biodiversity is that the more biodiverse the ecosystem, the more ability the ecosystem has to absorb shock and adapt to change. Introduced species could have a range of potential to adapt different from native species, and could raise the shock absorption potential of an ecosystem. But they would also disrupt existing relationships and cause a shock to the native species that already exist.

Range expansions are an alternative to extinction for some species. We will probably HAVE to consider introducing species to new areas in the future. Well, imagine in the future we put Zebras in Arkansas, and the Zebras outcompeted the white-tailed deer in that area. Is that good or bad? Both species get to keep existing, but the deer's range is a bit smaller. Is the measure of biodiversity more important in a local area or in the world?

Makes my head hurt...

[thatinwardhell]

winner’s spoils | s. crosby

rating: explicit, mdni

wordcount: 3.8k quickie lol. had to get this out after Certain Videos surfaced

warnings: fem!reader, smut, age gap, oral sex (m receiving) (its facefucking!! be advised!!), no reader orgasm, slight?? gender roles just in case. more in a symbiotic sexy way than “go make me a sandwich”

notes: sigh .... after a 3 YR LONG hiatus from any fic writing !!!!!!! it was the four nations that brought me back. pls send in requests !!!!! i'd love to keep writing more lol. vvvv happy 2 be back !!!!

He’s standing above you, legs spread wide, Colossus of Rhodes, but twice as tall and thrice as golden from where you kneel in front of him.

His hand, still wet, still sticky, from the champagne that slid down it, crystalline, only minutes before, is running through your hair, moving it, manipulating it any which way he pleases. He can, of course he can; he’s Sidney Crosby, Sidney Crosby who’s just added yet another trophy to his gratuitous spoils of war, who, even after all these years, still proves his dominance. Aging though he may be, it never fails to knock your knees, to put warm honey between your legs at the sight of him so easily evincing his overwhelming ownership of the young men whose pointed hits and on-ice jeers seem to roll off his back, reminding the world of his complete and total domination. Not that you needed a reminder. 

Your hands fiddle with the drawstring at the waist of Sidney’s hockey pants, pawing relentlessly at them, desperate to unearth the reward you know awaits you beneath them, and the jock you so frequently call disgusting (something about it puts that old, familiar ache in your tummy though: the thing is nearly as old as you are, and you throw a pathetic, watery-eyed glance up at Sidney at the thought that he has been this good at what he does longer than you’ve even been alive. He’s already looking when you do.) 

Sidney seems to take pity on you; precious girl, he usually says in moments like these, but tonight – no, he seems to crave your tongue, your mouth, in more ways than one. You pant, watching with a sense of wonder as he makes a show of pulling the string apart with the sort of practiced effortlessness that only comes with his age. He takes both of your wrists in each of his hands, gently, his calluses scratching the supple skin of your inner wrists, perfumed just for him, only for him, leading them to the waistband of his jock, leaving them there. He wants you to do it, and this is a capitulation that does not go unnoticed. Traitorous pride blooms in your chest; that Sid needs you so badly, so wantonly, that his infamous and over-practiced stoicism seems to slip after his big wins flatters you to no end, and it stokes a different, softer emotion in you at the thought that he needs you at all. You nuzzle the newly-exposed skin of his thighs in appreciation of this small surrender as you draw down his jock, inch by torturous inch, either ignorant or tactless to the party which still rages outside. 

It’s a wonder Sid even found the broom closet at all, a private corner in the midst of a monsoon of alcohol, and spit, and sweat. It’s a wonder they’re not missing him yet, but a man has needs, and though he seems to walk on water like a god, Sidney is just that: a man. You know this better than most, you think, but your one-track mind is thrown off-kilter instantaneously: you have finally found your prize. His cock springs free, and it is just as good as you have imagined. 

Sid blushes from the tips of his elven ears to his long, sloping nose to the thick, muscled cord of his neck at your unabashed appreciation of him, of all of him. You are too enthralled to notice he thinks, but, though you are thrown into a sea of awe at the sight of Sid’s cock no matter how many times you’ve seen it, you know he needs it: he’ll never say it out loud, no, never, but in moments like this, he needs you to tell him he’s good, without the need for words, without touch, by sight alone, in regards to more than his performance. 

You run your nose along the column of it, and your giving to him gives into an act of selfish self-gratification at the heady, virile scent of him. Sid’s all man, and he makes you dizzy with it, mouth dropping open and little pink tongue peeking out to whet both your appetite and your lips, preparing for the Herculean task of taking all of Sid into your mouth. But not now – not just yet. No, now, he is all yours, all yours to stake claim over, completely yours in the tiny broom closet he had dragged you into, the need boiling over in those hazel eyes you love so much. Usually, Sidney insists on showering before he takes you all for himself, but you love this, perhaps more than the musky bergamot soap he always uses postgame. 

Your vinous desire finally blots out your stalwart want to simply appreciate him like this, though – you have never been good at resisting Sid, though he might say the same of you (your pride simmers even higher, at this thought.) You give him as his grip tightens in your hair, reeling briefly in the doglike panting that reverberates through the room, permeated with the desperation only you can bring out in him. 

Your tongue peeks out once again, pressing tiny kitten licks to the very base of his shaft, to the very beginning of the impressive length that you swear inspires the pure and uninhibited supremacy he seems to exert over others. You often tease Sid about his big dick energy, drunk off the blush that rises to his stubbled cheeks at your flattery, but it couldn’t be farther from a mere act of adulation. You’re bad with measurements, and he’s never given you a number, but you know it takes half an hour of prep with his fingers, his sinewy tongue to fit it in, that, after your months, years together, the stretch of him still punches a half-gasp, half-grunt from your lungs that no other man has ever inspired. 

“C’mon,” Sid half-pleads. His accent seems to get stronger like this, though he’d object to you calling his tone a whine. This tugs another sigh from you, your eyes caressing the bright red maple leaf that adorns Sid’s chest. He seems to be Odysseus now, returning home from battle, to you, Penelope, his one and only, or you his Cleopatra and he a bloodied Mark Antony. He fights for his country, his pride, and, drenched in sweat, returns to you for the womanly comfort he can only find in you, for his spoils of war. More fluid drips from the hot, damp seam of you, but you ignore it easily. Sid will take care of you – he always does. Later, he will see the red silk, the cherry lace that covers his prize, but for now, the only thing that interests you is pleasing him. 

You oblige him easily – this is what you can give to Sidney, after so long and so much of him giving to you. All at once, he’s in your mouth, and his head is back against the racks of cleaning supplies that will inevitably be completely vacant, if the sounds of Team Canada’s celebrations outside give any clues. 

You run your tongue experimentally along the thick vein which runs all along his shaft, up to the swollen head of him, now bright pink with anticipation in the back of your throat. Slowly, surely though, you draw back, dragging your slick lips along Sid’s length until you reach the very tip. Just as quickly, you sink down to the base, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at this familiar intrusion, but you only look up at him the way he loves so much. Both of Sid’s hands drop, now, to your cheeks, caressing them, his callused fingertips tracing the shapely, gentle slopes of your face. 

“Beautiful girl.” Sidney sounds wrecked, in the way only you can make him, gentle and tender just for you, even as he dominates you so thoroughly, so completely. He gives you a pointed look, wordless, but so intimate, so intense that you know what it means. Though you try to nod as best you can, he would know, even in the darkness of the cramped broom closet, even from miles and miles away, that you have said yes to him, that you’re enthusiastically giving your mouth to him, the last in a long line of tributes from those the conquered tonight. 

Sidney thrusts those fucking hips with a miniscule fraction of the power you know he’s capable of, the pure, raw energy contained within the corded muscle of his thighs, his hips, and now it’s not just the slight lack of air that’s making you dizzy. He draws back, allowing you a momentary reprieve before his cock once more breaches the damp cavern of you, this time harder, more powerful. 

Eyes half-lidded, you will him to do more – to take from you as much as he pleases. Sid could take from you everything you have, and you’d still offer more on hands and knees, ass in the air, and, though nausea bubbles in his stomach at the thought of taking anything from you, the offer sits implicitly in his hands, a reminder of your complete and utter devotion. To drive this home, you apply the most suction you can manage in your present position to Sidney’s cock, still sitting heavy, impish on your tongue, and this draws a wrecked moan from him – a moan! Your revelry is brief, cut by a slight cough as he buries himself even deeper, the thickets of hair at his base enveloping your nose. 

Sidney doesn’t flinch at the sound – neither do you. He knows your body better than you do, and, even in the throes of his pleasure, he knows you can take more, wills you to do so, already so tender, so brutal. 

He pulls out once more, and you ache for the loss of him, mouth clinging to the scant bit of him that remains in the relentless warmth, the unforgiving smoothness of your mouth. Sidney looks down at you once more, asking for the last time, with the last scraps of his self-control, for what he knows you will give him. 

You offer up your love easily, as easily as breathing comes in sleep, knowing that, even despite his age, his money, his undeniable success, he still needs this, your reassurance, from you – you drag your nails down his thigh, he groans, and begins to thrust the way you know he can. 

The hot, wet drag of Sidney’s cock against your lips, the pleasure-pain of him hitting your gag is intoxicating. He’s outside himself – you’re grateful, foggily, for the volume of the music outside, of they’d hear the desperate grunts, the sound of skin on skin on skin, Sidney’s panting, as the thighs that not thirty minutes ago propelled him across the ice at speeds and velocities unimaginable to you now propel his cock to where he needs it most. 

Time seems to slow, or speed up, drifting into the amorphous, pleasurable fog you float in. You revel, hedonist, in the feeling of his heavy balls against your chin, the force of his thrusting pushing your head back and forth, relentlessly, a tiny buoy bobbing in the unforgiving and complete story that is Sidney Crosby. He holds you fast, though, as he always does, large hands that once rested solely on the plushness of your ruddy cheeks now banded across your face, thick, brawny fingers now digging into the base of your skull, so gentle, so terrible all at once. 

The veins on the underside of him pulse, and you feel them against your lax tongue – you drag it, softly, across the quickened river of blood that sits just underneath the tan skin of him, worshipful. He grunts, appreciative, at this, urges you with the caresses of his calluses against the soft expanse of your skin, your hair, to do it again, and again, and again. You oblige.

Sidney permeates every atom in the tightly-cramped broom closet, too small even for the cleaning supplies contained within it, smaller yet for the heat of two bodies, hardly even flesh, a mess of spit and sweat and sticky, sweet-smelling filth, dripping down your face and landing on the floor with a wet sound. His body is so hot, burning so brightly with the adrenaline typical of wins like these, wins he hasn’t touched with the ruggedness of his fingers in so many months, now within his clutches, now brought under a banner of blood red and snow white, his victory so absolute no one, not in the farthest stretches of obscurity, could deny it. 

The power of him overwhelms you, the scent of him, the feeling of his thighs, spattered with a layer of brown hair and now soaking with saliva, under your palms, a psalm for your taking. The musk of sex is overwhelming – you pity the poor worker who walks in here to clean up after your debauchery (you, briefly, remember the absurdity of your situation: it reads like cheap pulp fiction, at times, you think, that only so many months, years now, he had descended on you, delivered you from the dregs of your monotonous, menial, laborious job and into his arms. You would happily open your mouth, your legs, your arms to him as thanks for this epiphany, but he refuses every time; he says the look in your eyes is enough, the brush of hair and skin and the very thought of your shared bed far too much for him already.) 

But you can smell him, feel him all over, a woman possessed – Sid gives as much as he takes, like this, though he doesn’t know it. You hope he doesn’t notice the way you grind yourself against your heel, the red silk already so soaked through with arousal now completely ruined, only a memory of your decadence in the broom closet. Surely, he would insist that you climb on top of him, to let him run his tongue over the folds of you until you scream and pound at his chest, screaming mercy, mercy, mercy, as he’s so fond of doing, but you’re happy, perfectly happy, like this, serving him. He hates to hear it, makes him feel his age, the power imbalance that infrequently, but profoundly, informs small bouts of jealousy or solitude. But you like to serve him, yes, especially when he’s like this. 

Sid’s so utterly debauched, so lost in himself that even if one of his teammates were to enter, they would hardly recognize their usually so measured captain, completely drowned in the throes of his own pleasure. Sidney’s cheeks, already prone to the kind of ruddiness that inspires poetry or paintings, are flushed a bright cherry red, dotted with sweat and the remnants of champagne, dripping down the long, curved line of his nose (you’d like to lick it off, to suck the liquid from his skin and revel in the salt and the musk of his sweat, the bitterness, then the sweetness of the champagne. But alas, your mouth is occupied.) His salt-and-pepper hair is mussed up in a manner only Caravaggio could imagine, every curl so perfectly askew, which seems to be a habit of your boyfriend’s and one that, admittedly, inspires bouts of desire similar to Sidney’s in you, all over him in the dusk when he comes home, or in the early morning before he leaves. The plush pinkness of his bottom lip is worried to pleasantly between his bottom teeth and the top ones and, had you been more lucid, you would have been able to identify the ones he pointed out to you as implants, replacements for the ones that had been knocked out by one Flyer or another while you were still learning your alphabet. 

Sidney’s thrusts are ragged now, are getting deeper, faster, more desperate, his grip on your head that much more intentional, maneuvering your face the way he wants you. He makes you wonderfully lightheaded like this – so completely and thoroughly possessed. You love being his toy, like this, to sit on your knees and please him, almost as much as you like for him to do the same, to press a worshipful mouth to your ankles, your calves, your thighs, then the part of you he loves very most, apart from your eyes, maybe your laugh or the shape of your teeth, the feeling of your smile; if not what he loves the very most, the one he serves – the one thing that puts ‘Captain Canada’ himself on his knees. This is a secret pride of yours, one that you tell no one, one that is kept safe in the depths of you until Sidney is away on a roadie and his side of the bed, still smelling of that bergamot and musk, is getting cold. 

But he’s close – you know, you know, and you resist smiling around the heady, intoxicating weight of him. You know him so intimately, you think, you could know his orgasm even if blindfolded with your hands behind your back. You like to think you could coax one from Sidney the same way, but you’ll have to wait, to bide your time. Your ears ring with it, watching the way Sid’s crows’ feet bloom across his cheeks, disturbing the stubble there, the way that, when he grimaces like this, teetering on the edge, his dimples pop out, digging graves in his cheeks. 

Sidney’s fingers are doubly hot against your scalp now, dangerously lecherous as they clutch the base of your skull tighter still, pulling you even deeper into him, your nose buried in the wiry brown hair at the base of him. On the precipice of ecstasy, he misses the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth vibrates at the smell of him, all sweat and manhood, the way you like him, completely in control, yet so entirely under your thumb. You hear a familiar hymn on Sid’s tongue, vaguely, and wonder if he’s been talking this entire time, if you’ve just been so enthralled in the scent of him, the wires of his thighs under your hands, that you missed the oh fuck baby oh fuck yes yes take it fuck yeses. He’s teetering, desperate, flailing for it, grasping at straws as he thrusts deeper still. 

You want him to come, want him to give the reward of his spend so badly that you’re suffocating on it. You’re grinding on your own foot so hard it’s almost painful, desire controlling every movement, every gyration of your hips against your heel, pushing into the floor rolling your swollen clit with the daftness you’ve realized is inherent with orgasms not provided to you by Sidney. You won’t cum like this, certainly, but you don’t need it, no, not when you have him like this. 

You slide the viscous hot pleasure of your tongue along the vein on his underside and he breaks. 

Sidney tenses, your hair now taut between his fingers, pulled to its limits, your face pushed as far into his pelvis as it can go, now suffocated in the truest sense of the word in the man who stands above you, so powerful and so destroyed all at once. His pink mouth is dropped open, completely lax, and you can see the edges of his teeth, where they meet the softnesses of his own mouth, the pink tongue, the reddish gums, the pale pink roof of it, and his eyes have screwed shut, now only two tiny, puckered hints of eyelash and supple, thin skin, barely covering the dark bags which have accumulated under his eyes. Stress, you think, maybe sleep, but, then again, no, he’s always good about that. No worry. You have your ways of keeping him in bed when you need to, of keeping him exhausted in all the ways he wants the very most. He gives smaller, tiny thrusts as the heat of him spills down your throat, and you hum at the taste. Sidney eats well, so virile, so fecund, that he tastes good, strong, heady, and a base, animal part of you revels in the smaller thrusts, the taste of him, pines the loss of his cum; he could be thrusting like that in you, keeping his spend inside of you, where it belonged, where it’d carry on his progeny better than TNT or ESPN could. 

Sidney eases, taut muscles now weak, so spent you swear you can see his legs shake. It’s an illusion, you know, knowing that his legs, so well accomplished, can hold his weight under much more pressure than any orgasm. But you stroke your pride this way, like to think that you can make him weak, can make him strong whenever you please. His hands slips from your hair, returning to your cheeks, where he turns your head back up from where you hadn’t realized it had slumped. The amber of his eyes is so soft, looks so brown in this light, rather than the greenish they look in the bright lights of the media room or the fluorescence of the rink, so much like pools of dark water, undiscovered, unthinkable to anyone but you.

“Swallow for me.” Sidney is so soft like this, so disparate from the man who can level men twice his size without a second thought on the ice. He could crush you between his thumb and his finger, so easy, like this, but he doesn’t. 

You listen, swallow him the way he likes you to, so you keep some of him in you until the next time he can have you. 

“Good girl. My best girl.” Sidney says, so quiet anyone else wouldn't have been able to hear it, said for your ears only. He brushes his hands once more over your cheeks, wiping away sweat, stray tears that may have fallen with the tenderness only he’s capable of. “C’mere, give me a kiss.” 

You oblige him easily, but act as if it’s a chore – you shrug, roll your eyes as you rise uneasily from your feet, steadied into Sidney’s arms at the first sign of unsteadiness, huff a little for dramatic effect. 

He laughs, a soft, easy sound, wraps his hands once more about your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours. Sid’s yours, like this, all yours, away from the cameras, from his teammates, from the rink, and you revel in the softnesses of his mouth, the plush of his lips and the slight scratch of his five-o’clock shadow, and everything else falls away, quickly, easily, just like this. The party persists outside – they’ll have to miss him for a minute more.

[edamameimei]

crawling back

"do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?"

pairing: daniela avanzini x reader

synopsis: daniela knows you and her live completely different lives, and maybe that's why she couldn't admit to herself what she has truly felt for you all along.

mostly angst, i apologize. read to find out what type of ending it'll be!

a/n: this is a part two of do i wanna know? if you haven't read that fic yet, i highly suggest you do! also, as always, i just want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only.

wc: 3143 words

now playing: do i wanna know? (live at the bbc) - hozier

The reason why you joined Dream Academy in the first place was to escape. 

After one too many mental breakdowns, you took a chance at the skeptical email that was sent to you. The rest after that was a blur. The auditions, the training period, all of it was not what you expected. When you first started training and development, you knew you weren’t on the same level as the other girls. You didn’t even come close. You were a random girl from a very small town. Your current TikTok following doesn’t even compare to the others whom consider themselves “influencers.” Deep down, you knew you didn’t have the personality to be a “Global Pop Star.” What was supposed to take a year ended up taking two years of your life and still, to this day, you aren’t sure if it was worth it. 

Especially when you ended up losing more than a chance to debut. 

The first day of training was hell for you. So much so, you found yourself during the 15 minute break crying in the bathroom. You hunch over the toilet, sobbing. You feel pathetic. Quite inadequate. The dance teacher had to repeat herself so many times to you and you still couldn’t get it right. You knew you were way over your head and this exact moment proved it. You continue to cry, debating if you should just give up and go back home. 

But at some point, you hear the door to the bathroom open. You cover your mouth, trying to stifle your cries but you know you’ve been caught. The person begins to approach the stall you were currently occupying and for a moment, they don’t say anything. They stand there, silently. You try to think of an excuse if the person were to ask you what was wrong but before you could say anything, the person finally speaks up. 

“I can help you with the dance… one-on-one…” Daniela’s voice echoes throughout the bathroom and it makes your cheeks flush slightly. You don’t say anything. You just sit there quietly, biting your lip. Daniela speaks up again, her voice soft. “Let me help you… Honestly…” You can hear the sincerity in her voice and it makes your chest flutter. You sigh, knowing you won’t be able to back away from the proposal Daniela gave you. You stand up, smoothing out your shirt before unlocking the stall door. You look at Daniela, a pout evident on your face. The Latina frowns when she notices how red your eyes are and your tear streaked face. She places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. 

“Come on… Let me show you… She’s kind of a bad teacher, anyway…” The comment makes you giggle softly. You look into Daniela’s eyes, searching for any pity in them. But the only thing you can really focus on is how pretty her eyes were. You used to think Daniela was so intimidating. Her eyes always held an intense look in them, somewhat fiery. But the way she looks at you right now makes you second guess your judgements. 

Daniela takes your hand and basically pulls you out of the bathroom. 

And after that moment, Daniela knew you would turn her whole world upside down. 

She knew how particular you are about certain things. You were put together, collected, always one step ahead. Your bed was made every morning no matter how tired you were and you always had to stick to your routine. Your view on the world was perfectionistic, orderly. There wasn’t a single wrinkle in your clothes and you kept everything tidy– just how you like your life. 

Daniela, on the otherhand, was none of those things. 

She lived her life freely, with no cares in the world. Life is too short to worry about the little things. Life is too short to make your bed every morning. She proudly embraced the chaos and wanted to live in it for as long as she could. She was young, she had every right to. 

But when Daniela meets you, it’s almost magnetic. She never met someone like you. Someone so gentle, so kind. She couldn’t believe someone like you existed, especially at the same time as her. You could be ripped to bits and pieces, chewed down to the bone, and spat out like nothing but you’d still find the strength to go back to the practice room. You could sit in the studio and pretend it was another Thursday. The other girls on Dream Academy always found this trait of yours intimidating. Even under the pressure of the whole world and so much more, you still fought your way until the very end of Mission 3. 

Daniela wonders if that’s why she was so enthralled by you. She had to know what was underneath that calm exterior. Day after day, she made it her own mission to understand who you really were. Maybe, she would have an excuse to love you less. Maybe you’d be so flawed, there would be a reason to give up on whatever feelings she found herself developing for you. 

But after that night you two shared, Daniela got up extra early that morning. She quietly slipped out of bed, kissing the top of your head. She left the hotel room with a weight lifted off her shoulders and a wide smile on her face. She returns with two cups of coffee in her hands. However, her smile falters slightly when she sees that the bed was made. She hears you humming in the shower and when she thought the weight she felt before has finally gone away, it comes back tenfold. 

When you finish showering, you walk out of the bathroom, expecting to see Daniela. However, you return to see the sweater she always borrowed from you messily thrown onto the floor. 

You pick it up, folding it nicely. You place it back on the bed, intending to put it in Daniela’s suitcase so she won’t forget it. 

She has a tendency to do that, forgetting things, no matter how important. 

When Daniela is told there would be a Dream Academy reunion for their one year anniversary, her mind instantly becomes filled with thoughts of you. 

No matter how hard she tried, she can’t seem to rid herself of the memories that contain you. Every picture she took, every thing she ever did, you were right there next to her. It never dawned on her how much of you consumed her life until after her debut. When asked questions about Dream Academy, it almost pains the Latina. 

(What’s her favorite memory? Late night walks outside the dorm because you two couldn’t sleep. 

What did she do in her down time? Read a book, curled up next to you in either her bed or yours. 

Who was she closest to? You.) 

So a whole event dedicated to that era of her life makes her sick. Especially when she hears not only did you say you’d return for the reunion, but Ezrela accepted the invite as well. Not only that, but made it clear you two would show up together. That ugly feeling that always gnawed away at her chest, the one that would only show up when she saw you and Ezrela together, comes back with a vengeance that she didn’t even think it had. She clenches her phone tightly in her hand, her knuckles turning ghostly white as she rereads the attendance list over and over again. 

This time around, she doesn’t have the right to pull you away. 

She won’t be able to insert herself into your conversations. 

It would be as if you two were two world’s apart, yet only five feet away. 

“You know, if you stare even harder, I’m scared she would end up blowing up…” Daniela whips her head towards Manon, glaring. She scoffs, taking a sip from her cup. “I’m not… Staring.” The Latina’s response causes Manon to raise an eyebrow, sneaking a quick, knowing glance at Lara and Emily whom are standing right next to them. They all follow Daniela’s gaze, their eyes settling on you. You’re engaged in a conversation with Ezrela, Adela, and Megan. They watch as Adela says something that causes you to throw your head back, laughing loudly. When Ezrela places a hand on your shoulder, the girls turn their heads back to look at Daniela. They watch the evident frown beginning to form on her lips and Lara decides she has had enough. 

“Dani, I love you, but this isn’t fair.” Daniela’s glare hardens even more at her member’s words. She looks at her, rolling her eyes. She responds, her tone a bit harsh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lara crosses her arms and lets out a loud sigh. “Look. During Dream Academy… We all thought the obsession you had with Y/n was funny…” Daniela is about to counter her statement but Lara holds her hand up, not wanting to be interrupted. She continues, her tone serious, “but then shit happened in Korea– which we still have no idea about by the way– and suddenly, it wasn’t even funny anymore. It was just… Sad.” The mention of their trip to Korea causes Daniela’s mouth to go dry. She looks away, silently confirming everyone’s suspicions that something did happen in Korea that caused you and Daniela’s relationship to go awry. 

Manon places a hand on the Latina’s shoulder and squeezes it gently. She looks at her, concern written in her eyes. “Dani… Just talk to her. It might help with… Whatever ‘this’ is.” Daniela looks up at the girl, pouting slightly. She knows she’s right but Daniela has always been so stubborn. But as she looks at you, sees you smiling with that crinkle in your eyes that she has missed so much, she almost considers it. 

Instead, she finishes whatever is left in her cup and walks away from the group, getting farther away from you. 

But as fate would have it, with its genuine sense of humor, Daniela walks into the bathroom and sees Ezrela fixing her makeup in the mirror. 

Daniela freezes. She wants to turn around and walk away. She wants to pretend that she didn’t feel her heart drop seeing the small girl and wants to act as if she has not held a dislike towards her for years. But, Daniela stays, not wanting to make the situation even more awkward than it already feels. Ezrela looks away from the mirror and smiles widely, immediately putting down her lipstick to greet the Latina. She runs up to Daniela, wrapping her arms around her tightly. The action makes Daniela feel even worse than before because there really isn’t any other reason for the Latina to dislike Ezrela. The Aussie always showed Daniela kindness to which she was only repaid with the cold shoulder.

When Ezrela pulls away, she beams at Daniela, walking back to the bathroom counter to continue fixing her lipstick. She takes a glance at Daniela, her eyes twinkling with excitement. She says, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you! How is everything?” Daniela stands there awkwardly. She isn’t really in the mood to talk to Ezrela. If she were being honest, she isn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Since she got to the reunion, she has wanted to go back home and continue pretending Dream Academy never happened. But of course, she would find herself having a conversation with the last person she would ever engage with. She puts on a brave face, knowing she will have to get through this conversation for it to be over. 

She smiles small, responding softly, “everything is great. It still feels unreal…” The Latina’s words causes Ezrela to giggle. She nods, putting the cap back onto her lipstick. She looks at Daniela with a sincere smile. “I bet. I’m really proud of you guys, you know?” Daniela smiles in response, a genuine smile. They continue talking, catching each other up on their lives after Dream Academy. At some point, Daniela finds herself so comfortable in the conversation that she isn’t able to stop the words that come out of her mouth next. “You and Y/n look happy together.” 

The statement causes Ezrela to freeze. Daniela’s eyes widen when she realizes what she just said. 

Ezrela looks at Daniela with a confused look in her eyes. She tilts her head, chuckling. “What are you talking about?” Daniela stammers out a response, a bit embarrassed, “well… You know… You and Y/n have always been close so I just thought…You guys finally got together…” But the thing is, Ezrela has no Earthly idea what the Latina is talking about. Sure, you and her had a very close friendship but to the Australian girl, that’s all it ever was. She knew like everyone else who you belonged to at the end of the day. Ezrela shakes her head at Daniela’s words, surprised that the Latina would even consider that a possibility… That you were ever not Daniela’s. 

She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the words that were coming out of her mouth were common knowledge. “Are you… Kidding?” She can’t help the giggle that escapes her lips when she continues, “Y/n was always in love with you… If anything… Everyone else is surprised that you two aren’t together.” The Latina feels her breath catch in her throat at Ezrela’s words. She looks at her, her eyes wide with disbelief. Ezrela looks down at her hands and shakes her head, smiling. “She always came to my dorm and talked about you… You were all she could ever talk about, actually.” She looks up from her hands, looking at Daniela with an incredulous look. 

“All the girls were making bets on how long it would take for you two to start dating…” Ezrela clicks her tongue. She walks up to Daniela, jabbing her pointer finger into the girl’s shoulder playfully. “I lost $20 because of you two! I really thought you guys would have at least got together at the end of Dream Academy…” The playful look on the Aussie’s face is suddenly replaced with a more serious expression. She places a hand on Daniela’s shoulder and speaks softly, “Do… What you will with that information…” Ezrela takes a step back from the Latina, walking past her and out of the bathroom. Daniela stands there, her bottom lip trembling. 

Daniela had always been so curious about you and Ezrela’s relationship. But now that she was given an answer, she isn’t really sure how to feel. 

Right now, she just feels so stupid. 

She remembers going to Ezrela’s dorm one morning, wanting to grab a charger to borrow from the girl. 

Daniela remembers how when the door opens, she is met with Ezrela already put together at 8 AM. Her hair perfectly curled, her makeup done, and her smile wide as if they didn’t have a late practice last night. 

When Ezrela walks away to grab said charger, Daniela peers into the dorm and sees Ezrela’s bed made neatly. Her things were in order. Daniela could even describe it as being perfect. 

And as Ezrela hands Daniela her charger, the Latina realizes something. 

She realizes, you will never belong to her. Not when her life is so chaotic. Not when she can’t even make her bed Every. Single. Morning. 

Daniela finds you alone, standing outside, looking up at the sky. 

When she looks at you, the memories you two share comes at her with a force that takes her breath away. She thinks about your late night drives, watching you from the passenger seat and seeing you sing along to a song at the top of your lungs. She thinks about cozy nights spent in the dorm, you two cuddling and talking about everything while a show plays in the background. Daniela remembers the way your hand felt in hers, the way your arms felt around her waist. She remembers your daily routine like the back of her hand, she remembers your quirks, all of the little things that makes you you.

And it suddenly clicks in Daniela’s head. 

Daniela Avanzini is in love with you. She always had been. 

Daniela walks up to you with determination in every step she takes. She speaks up, her voice firm, “every time you were around Ezrela, it drove me fucking crazy and I didn’t know why,” you turn immediately, looking at the Latina with wide eyes. You were sure the girl would avoid you all night. Not only does it surprise you to see her right in front of you, but it shocks you even more that this is the way she would greet you. You try to respond, your voice shaking, “Dani-?”

“I wanted– no, I needed your attention to be on me 24/7. If it wasn’t, I’d literally crash out because what if–” she stops for a moment, taking a deep breath. She knows the ball is in her court, she knows she can’t runaway this time. Daniela takes a step closer towards you, her tears falling freely down her cheeks. She whispers, “What if… When you aren’t with me, you’ll realize how much of a mess I am?” She shakes her head, gesturing to herself wildly as she continues, “What if you realize that I’m not what you need?” 

You look at Daniela, shock evident on your face. Her words stir something inside you. It’s a feeling you have pushed away for so long. Ever since you left Dream Academy, you told yourself you’d leave it all there. You told yourself for a whole year that you would never find yourself back here again, especially with Daniela. 

But who were you kidding? This was Daniela. Your Daniela. 

You reach out to her and for a second, you hesitate. The last time you reached out to Daniela, she wanted nothing to do with it. The Latina senses your hesitation and immediately wraps her arms around your neck, buying her head into your chest. You wrap your own arms around her and you can’t help but feel as though you are finally home. The emptiness that settled in your chest after Dream Academy is finally full and it’s all because of her. It will always be her. 

“I always needed you, Daniela.” She pulls away slightly to look at you, a sad look in her eyes when she realizes your statement was in past tense. 

She whispers, “needed me?” 

You chuckle and whisper back, “still need you.” You look at her, your eyes challenging her to make the next move. 

She holds you tighter, her face inches from yours. Daniela smiles softly, placing a hand on your cheek. 

“Still need you.”

a/n: hopefully for those who wanted a part two are satisfied with the ending i came up with <3 giving these two either a happy ending or a sad ending was a mixed poll so i honestly flipped a coin LMAO fate said: a happy ending! let me know what you guys think and just know i am open for any requests or any random messages/thoughts!

[taako-irl]

okay to respond to OP’s tags, to rephrase this in a way that draws a clearer parallel-

during their journey, IPRE witnessed the destruction of 99 planes. it wasn’t always complete destruction, when they managed to find the light, but the shimmering black opal tendrils of the hunger left each of the 99 worlds scarred at the least, and destroyed at worst as the crew fled again and again.

they didn’t know they knew each other, they didn’t know that they had witnessed such things, but as Magnus, Taako, and Merle tumbled down that well in Phandalin (unceremoniously knocking Killian out as they landed on her in a heap), they watched flames burst across the circle of daylight far above them, and there was something familiar about the watching. knowing that, above them, the lives of hundreds were extinguished as the phoenix fire gauntlet detonated, a lone man at its center.

maybe they chalked that feeling up to adrenaline, there were much more important things to discuss than their feelings afterwards. but it was familiar, how they watched flames explode across the opening of the well, consuming everything in their path, just as they watched the hunger’s tendrils descend into 99 worlds. they had seen this before: destruction, arguably at their hands, or at the very least their presence, their arrival heralding death, their failure or inaction meant the end of the world.

phadalin was destroyed by an explosion of flame, at its center, a lone man consumed by hunger for the fragment of light contained within the gauntlet. they emerged from the well, alive, and looked around at the shining circle of black glass that used to be a town, thinking about what could have been different, if they could have saved more. but they had to flee, too, didn’t they? a flat, sparkling black plane, with one man swallowed by the thrall, hollowed-out but somehow still standing in the middle, and Magnus, Taako, and Merle felt something unidentifiable, distant, but as familiar as an old friend’s hand on their shoulders.

honestly never not thinking about how the ipre destroyed ninety nine worlds on their journey and the first thing taako, magnus, and merle did when they reunited was level phandalin to the ground

[rindreamery]

one call away.

after three years of being in love with you, itoshi rin realizes he might never have the chance to confess his feelings. itoshi rin x reader ─ bittersweet/angst, w.c. 500+ ─ content: childhood best friend!au, rin is implied to be younger than reader, reader is one to two years older

note. almost all of my upcoming drafts are angst, free me 😞 i swear i'll get back to writing happier fics when i'm not deep in the trenches of hell and suffering (uni)

nineteen years of being next-door neighbors, three years of being in love with you, and only two days before he has to bid his feelings goodbye. 

rin can’t help but feel bitter and resentful at the thought. only two days before you’re uprooting your life, flying across the ocean and to a completely different continent, and leaving him behind. to be stuck, in this old and unchanging town, to live out his repetitive routines. though, this time, he’ll have to do it all without you. 

no more rocks being thrown at his window, no more random visits throughout the day, and no more two-in-the-morning snack runs when you’re both supposed to be asleep. in a few days, silence. 

something he'd always asked for. but now? he's not so sure.

a part of him wonders, if he asked— perhaps, if he confessed his feelings, and poured out his heart to you right now— would you want to stay? he wonders if his words would be enough to change your mind, and if you would wait until he could do the same. until he could move away with you, to some other country, and figure life out together. 

but, these thoughts are nothing short of selfish, and rin’s all too aware. he knows it's best if keeps his lips tightly sealed, choosing to sit in silence with you as you stare at the water in front of you. letting the sound of the waves, crashing into the rocks over and over, drown out the confessions on his tongue. 

“honestly, i never thought we’d be separated by the ocean one day,” you break the silence first.

he looks at you, but your eyes remain on the scenery ahead. knees pressed close to your chest, arms tucked behind your knees, fingers clutching tightly onto the fabric of your jacket. watching as the ocean stretches, seemingly endlessly into the horizon. taking it all in, one last time. “it’s going to feel weird not living next to you."

rin's mouth opens as if to speak, but he finds himself lost. unable to think of anything he wants to say. so he looks away, hiding the frown on his lips under his scarf, trying to ignore the heavy sinking feeling in his heart. shifting uncomfortably in his spot as if it would miraculously shake the feeling away.

it doesn't.

“i’ll—” miss you, he almost says. but he catches his tongue, biting into it to stop the words from slipping past his lips. “— finally have some peace and quiet around here.”

he hears you laugh softly at that, but it's emptier than usual. “that excited to get rid of me?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes away from the waves to look at him.

it’s hard to ignore your gaze on the side of his face. he tries to look anywhere but you, at the waves, and the sand and shells beneath his feet. but his eyes betray him, like they always do— and you lock eyes.

"i'll be able to sleep without worrying about being woken up at two a.m.," rin indirectly answers, swallowing the lump in his throat, and coming to terms with his cowardice. ignoring the way his heart thumps rapidly against his ribs, as if begging for him to listen. to say, ‘please stay.’

he doesn't.

you smile at him, at his typical and expected answer. you're smiling, and he wonders if he's imagining the look in your eyes and how they mirror his.

© rindreamery, 2025