#this qualifies as slow burn right?

[finelinefae]

match one [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's struggling with harry's coaching before the first tournament and harry's feelings control him more than he controls them

word count: 10.2k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals, strict parents, fluff, harry being a boy and not being able control himself around y/n

this is part 2 of the game, read part 1 here

. . .

“Again,” 

Y/N gritted her teeth and bounced the tennis ball on the ground before throwing it into the air with a straight arm and hitting it with the racket, watching as it pierced through the air to the opposite end of the court. 

She heard a sigh come from the bench on the side of the court, “Again,” 

She inhaled sharply through her nose to try and contain her temper as she repeated the same serve. 

“Again,”

Y/N spun around on the heel of her New Balance trainers, her pleated, white skort twirling as she did. She crossed her arms and glared at the boy lying on his back in his school uniform which was now crinkled and unkempt after the school day. “You’re not even watching,” She replied for the first time after having done the same serve more than ten times already. 

“I don’t need to, I know you’re not doing it correctly,” He replied, monotonously. 

She clenched her jaw, “Well as my coach, aren’t you supposed to show me how I’m meant to do it correctly?”

“I can show you but it won’t change anything,” He said. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs and sits up, “You already know how to do a flat serve, I’ve seen you do it. You’re just not hitting it hard enough. I can hear it in the way the ball lands on the other end of the court.” 

“You could have just told me to hit it harder,” She retorts. 

“Am I meant to play the game for you as well?” He quips which makes her blood boil. 

This was their third training session, and Y/N had reached her limit. With her first proper tournament just three weeks away, she had hoped that seeking help from the best tennis player at Crestwood would elevate her gameplay. 

However, Y/N was getting frustrated with each session being a monotonous repetition of drills she had already learnt herself. It grated on her nerves and she felt as though she was back to square one. 

She was beginning to regret having enlisted Harry for his mentoring in the first place. Whenever they’d try to talk mutually to each other, it would just end up in an argument of some kind where they’d end up needing ten minutes to cool off.

Y/N had already qualified for the Academy Slam before she even asked Harry to coach her. There had originally been sixteen academies from the surrounding counties competing in the games and now there were only half and Y/N was one of them. She’d passed the qualifiers all by herself and maybe she could pass the games that way too.

“Again,” He said that one word Y/N was beginning to hate. 

Who knew what she was capable of if she had to hear that word one more time. 

Feeling a surge of anger, Y/N tossed the ball into the air and hit it with all the strength she could possibly summon. She watched as the ball made a fast and straight trajectory towards her target area which just so happened to be right beside Harry’s place on the bench. 

He jumped up, a look of surprise on his face. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, eyes following the ball as it hit the fence.

Y/N's smirk wavered as he approached her, her surprise matching his when he spoke again. "Let's move on, shall we?"

By the end of the session, every inch of Y/N's body throbbed with exhaustion. She drained an entire water bottle in one go, her fitted polo shirt clinging to her damp skin. She had thought she'd engaged every muscle in her body, but the way her calves screamed at her with every step told a different story.

“Same time tomorrow?” Harry asked, standing above her and blocking the sunlight. 

“I want to start training properly,” Y/N stated.

“We are training properly,” He argued. 

“You realize you haven’t shown me a single tactic since you started coaching me right?”

“And?” 

“How am I meant to win the first tournament if all I know how to do is basic drills?” 

“Do you know how many times my coach made me practice flat serves before we could move on?” He asks but she doesn’t answer, “A month. I went home with blisters on my hands because I was doing them non-stop six hours a day.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raise, “You think tennis is just about being tactical then you’re not playing it properly. The only way you’ll ever be a good tennis player is if you master the techniques.” He explains, “I’ve seen you play Y/N. For someone who has never had professional coaching, you are one of the best players I’ve seen but you lack confidence in your technique. That flat serve you just aimed at me? One of the best flat serves I’ve seen in a while. If you can do that in every game, you’ll have no problem winning but if you want tactics? I can draw you a diagram and it’ll save two hours of my day no problem.” 

Y/N tries not to show her surprise at his words. Instead, she takes them all in, “Shouldn’t we at least be analysing my opponent?”

She was playing against Vanya Maddison in her next game. She was tall which was a major advantage in the game but her spatial awareness wasn’t exactly on par. 

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned. 

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.” 

Y/N had no idea whether to take it as a compliment or not. She’d never heard Harry say anything good about her so was taken off guard by his words. “So are we still on for tomorrow because I have to meet Mitch in thirty minutes and if the answer is no at least I can actually plan on getting wasted tonight.” 

Y/N took a moment to think. She had never expected him to say something positive about her, especially about her anger. It was a side of herself she often struggled to control, but hearing Harry acknowledge it as a strength left her feeling conflicted.

As much as she considered training on her own which would give her some peace and quiet, she wanted to see where her training with Harry would go. If he was right, maybe she’d actually have more of a chance of winning than she did on her own. 

She stood up and put her gym bag over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow,” She walked past him, wanting to avoid the satisfied grin on his face. 

“Y/N!” Harry called, she could hear him jogging towards her before she stepped out of the courts, “I wanted to give this to you.”

He placed in her hands a cassette tape with white masking tape on it with the words ‘Y/N’s theme songs’ scribbled onto it in black ink. “What is this?” She asked, looking up at him.

“When I was in Australia, I used music to help me get in the zone before a match. My coach told me to use a cassette tape because phones were too distracting,” He explained. 

“You made this for me?” She frowned.

“What? You’ve never been given a gift before?” He chuckles. 

Y/N looks down at the plastic in her hands. It’s not that she’d never been given a gift by anyone before- she and Sarah always exchanged gifts over Christmas and for each other’s birthdays- but it was rare for her to ever receive anything from anyone else. Her parents would often give her practical things at Christmas or transfer money into her bank account on birthdays. 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at her lack of reply but she cleared her throat, “I don’t have a cassette player,” She said but Harry quickly removed his backpack and pulled out a walkman. 

“You can borrow mine,” He handed it over to her, “I won’t be needing it anytime soon since I’m not playing,” She noticed the downcast look in his eyes as he mentioned the fact he wasn’t currently able to play with his injury. 

“Um, t-thanks?” She said, unsure of how to respond to his sudden kindness. It felt unusual. 

“I picked a few songs that reminded me of you,” He smirks, “Don’t worry, they’re not all about a girl with an attitude problem.” With that he turned back around and walked towards the other exit to head to the car park. 

She felt ease on her chest as the usual teasing remarks returned, “Asshole,” She called out to him to which he just put his middle finger up in reply. 

. . . 

After taking a long shower in the girl’s shower rooms in her dorm block, Y/N headed back to her dorm after changing into a white shirt and sweatpants. She could feel the strain in her arms and legs as she flopped down onto her bed. 

Luckily Sarah wasn’t back from spending time with Mitch, so she took in the peace and quiet which came rare to her these days as all her mind had been on recently was the Academy Slam. 

Her mind wandered off to Harry and his words from earlier. Y/N knew she was a good tennis player but it was the first time she had heard someone else tell her that. She wasn’t expecting it, especially not from her tennis rival of the past ten years. 

Her eyes glanced at the cassette tape and the walkman she had placed on her desk before she headed off to the shower. Sitting up, she grabbed it and stared down at it for a moment before putting the cassette into the player and putting the headphones on. 

She laid back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling of her room. Her fingers hit the play button and the first song began to flood her ears. The first few beats of Nelly Furtado’s ‘Maneater’ began to play and she immediately rolled her eyes. Then afterwards, ‘Fergalicious’ by Fergie. 

She wondered how many songs Harry had managed to put on the cassette and how many were female anthems of empowerment. 

The next song seemed to catch her attention even further when Gorillaz ‘She’s my collar’ began to play. The beat now permanently injected into her bloodstream along with the rest of the album from the number of times she had listened to it. 

She wondered if Harry had known he had included a song by one of her favourite bands and whether he knew the meaning behind the song too. Maybe it had been a coincidence which was a thought Y/N had decided to settle on as she listened to the rest of the song. 

‘Nothing to be justified yet

She the first I'm running with

She the one that get my collar

She the one I'm running with (she's my collar)’

. . . 

The next day at school, Y/N sat in the library during her study period to study for her biology exam at the end of the week. Even though she was set on the scholarship, she still needed something to fall back on if she lost out in the next few games so she made sure she was still getting the best grades she could. It had also been ingrained in her to be the best in every class and she didn’t think that trait of hers would ever leave her. 

“Y/N!” Sarah called, her voice echoing within the silence of the library.

Ignoring the irritated glances she received, she paced towards Y/N and sat in the empty seat beside her. Y/N smiled at her friend’s excitement. They were foils to each other and that’s what made them get on so well. Whilst Y/N had a black cat personality, Sarah was sunshine in a person which was probably why she was so perfect for Mitch who was equally as bright. “What’s up?”

“I need to ask you something and you’re probably going to hate me but Harry’s already said yes and-”

“Sarah,” Y/N placed her hands on her shoulders, “Breathe.”

Sarah did exactly that before continuing, “Would you do a feature with Harry for the school newspaper?” 

Y/N frowned, “What?”

“The school newspaper? You know the club I’ve been part of for the past two years? They want to do a feature on your training for the sports section and I told them I would ask you.” Sarah explained. 

“Oh I don’t know about that-”

“Pleeeassseee,” Sarah gripped her arm that was resting on the desk and batted her eyelashes.

“You know I’d do anything for you Sarah but I don’t know if I have the time and my focus is on my next game,” Y/N replied. 

“Harry’s already said yes to it,” Sarah interjected.

“You asked him before me?” 

“Well actually,” Sarah hesitated, “Luke, the boy who’s writing the article, asked him this morning,”

“Why didn’t he ask me?” 

Sarah gave her a pointed look, “You’re not exactly the most approachable,” Y/N’s frown deepened at her words, “So will you do it?” 

Y/N sighed, considering it before giving Sarah an answer. The last thing she wanted was for someone to be asking unnecessary questions in time that could be used to train for the first round of the competition but Sarah was her best friend and she knew how much the school newspaper meant to her and her university applications too. 

“Alright,” She relented, “I’ll do it.”

Sarah squealed, receiving another round of vicious glares from other students in the library. Her arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, “Thank you,” She pulled away, “They’ll come by tomorrow afternoon during practice, is that okay?” Y/N nodded a response.

. . . 

It was raining outside. 

Y/N’s eyes stared out the window as she bounced a tennis ball on the hard floor of the gymnasium and wondered if the weather foreshadowed the next hour. 

“Will you sit down?” Harry muttered, “You’re giving me a headache,” 

“He’s late,” Y/N says, “We could have been practising,”

“Do you ever just do anything else?” Y/N shot him a glare at his sarcasm, “I get this is important to you but don’t you just want to, I don’t know, have fun?”

Y/N walked over to her seat right next to his and straightened herself for the interview the school newspaper had organised for them. Sarah had told both her and Harry to dress smartly for the occasion which, according to Harry meant a designer sweatshirt and trousers whilst Y/N had gone for a dress and pumps. It wasn’t overly smart for either of them but enough to make it seem like they had made an effort. 

“The fact that you’re even suggesting that tells me you have no idea how important this is to me,” Y/N responds, monotonously. 

She hears a scoff from beside her, “What?” 

He turns to face her, his face rather too close, she notices three moles on his right cheek that she hadn’t ever seen before, “I think I know better than anyone how important this is to you but I also know from experience how important being in high school is with people your own age.” She forgets sometimes that even though he was whisked away to fulfil his place in the Australian Open, that his time of being a kid was cut short, “I don’t go out of my way to coach just anybody,”

“What do you mean?” She frowns but before Harry could reply, the doors to the gym open and in scrambles a sixth year with a messenger bag and a tripod with a camera dangling from his neck. 

“It means,” he leans forward, murmuring, “if you had half the belief in yourself as I have in you then you wouldn’t need me at all.” 

“Sorry I’m late,” Luke’s voice echoes as he steps towards them and places all three legs of the tripod on the ground and scrambles to screw his camera to it. 

“What’s with the camera?” Y/N asked. 

“O-oh, we’re recording the interview so I can write everything up later and we’re going to need your pictures together afterwards,” Luke explained. 

“You want us to take a photo together?” Y/N frowned.

“Did Sarah not tell you?” Luke replied. 

“Calm down, love. It’s just a photo,” Harry murmured and she tried not to react to the nickname he had used for her. 

Once everything was set up, Luke sat across from them with his laptop on his thighs, questions already typed out, “So, you two have known each other for a while now?” Luke asked as he sat across from them. 

As Y/N was about to tell him how they didn’t exactly know each other on a personal level but knew each other through tennis, Harry spoke up, “Since we were both in third year. I was eight and Y/N was seven but we’ve been in the same class since we were infants.” 

Luke nodded, “That must help a lot in your partnership,” 

Harry chuckled lowly, “Something like that,”

Luke types a few things down in his computer before turning his attention to Y/N, “Um, Y/N what made you turn to Harry for his coaching other than the fact he won the Australian Open?”

Y/N frowned, what more reason did she need to give? “Well, the fact he won is a big reason as to why I approached him,”

“But isn’t he injured?” Harry stiffened beside her. The way he asked made it sound like he was defective, unusable.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, “Yes but I’ve seen Harry play games with a dislocated shoulder. He’d just pop it right back in and start playing again. His current injury doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s one of the best tennis players I’ve seen at Crestwood.” Y/N ignored the looks from the two boys. She knew she’d have to compliment Harry at some point during this interview, especially if they needed to show a united front for the games.

“And do think the same about Y/N?” Luke asked Harry who now seemed irritated by him.

“I think,” Y/N was prepared for a backhanded compliment but what she got was something entirely different, “Y/N has all the potential in the world to go for what she dreams of and I hope to watch her do it all even if that means I’m watching from the sidelines.” This time it was Y/N’s turn to glance at Harry, taken aback by his words. 

Luke spoke again, “You know some people are calling you the underdog in this tournament?” Y/N froze, it was the first time she had heard of it, “all the other women competing have had professional coaching and the school invests heavily in their tennis players.”

Y/N cleared her throat, “I didn’t know that but I have every intention of proving them wrong,” Harry bumped his knee with hers but she ignored it. 

“And What do your parents think about you doing this before leaving exams?” Luke asked. 

Y/N ignored the sting she felt at the thought of telling her parents what she was doing and the looks of disappointment she envisioned, which had been gnawing at the back of her head since she qualified. She answered confidently, "They're happy for me and excited to see me in the final."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as Luke leaned in, his expression curious. "You think you'll get to the final?"

Harry scoffed, “Are you insinuating she won’t?” 

Luke backpedalled slightly, sensing he’d struck a nerve. "I didn't mean to suggest that at all. It's just that some people doubt the capabilities of those who haven't had professional coaching."

"Hey Luke, do me a favour and invite those people to the first game in three weeks' time. Let them witness firsthand what it's like watching a player as skilled as Y/N, without any professional coaching," Harry's frustration was palpable, catching Y/N off guard with his assertiveness. Typically, she would be the first to break in such situations but it seemed Harry already had.

Luke’s face warmed as he realised he overstepped, “R-right, let’s move on.” He scanned through his list of questions to find something more light-hearted to break up the mood, whilst Y/N straightened her shoulders, thankful they’d gotten to the final round of questions. “What do you both like to do outside of training?” 

“Together?” Y/N cringed, trying to picture spending time with Harry in a normal setting. 

“Not necessarily,” Luke shrugged. 

“My best friend is dating her best friend so we’ve been spending a lot more time together recently. Normally, I play guitar or recite poetry whenever I’m not coaching Y/N to volley properly,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the lies that left his mouth.  

“I study,” Y/N stated. 

“That’s it?” Luke’s eyebrows creased.

Her cheeks turned slightly pink, “I’m top of the class in all of my classes, that doesn’t just happen without hard work.”

She could feel Harry’s eyes on her and for the first time, she turned her head to catch his eyes. She noticed the frown on his lips and something in his eye that looked a lot more like concern or sympathy than the desire to tease her about her lack of social life. 

“Well, I think that will be enough,” Luke stood up and grabbed his camera, “Do you mind if we take a few photos now?”

Y/N and Harry stood from their seats, side by side and looked into the lens of the camera. Y/N’s cheeks hurt from forcing a smile as Harry did the same, “You’re standing too close to me,” Y/N spoke through her teeth as the camera flashed.

"Look who's talking with their giant foot squashing my shoe," Harry retorts, a playful glint in his eyes. Y/N inhales sharply, her gaze dropping to her foot to see what he's referring to. But before she can react, Harry smoothly slides his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side with practised ease. Their eyes meet, and just as the camera flashes, capturing the moment, Y/N side steps out of his grip with an annoyed huff.

“Okay, that will be all,” Luke smiled. 

As Luke packed his things away, Y/N and Harry stood awkwardly side by side without saying a word. Y/N glanced out the window and saw the sky had cleared up and the sun was setting. She needed to get back to her dorm to study for her French exam tomorrow as well as binge-watch tennis matches on YouTube which she’d been doing a lot recently. 

“Did you really mean that?” Harry asked, catching her attention, “All you do is study outside of school?”

Y/N looked at him, “I hang out with Sarah some days but yeah, I mostly study. I don’t really have a lot of choice and I’m not naturally smart.” Harry’s head tilted to the side like he was secretly questioning her in his head, “What? Aren’t you meant to crack a joke about me being stupid or something?”

Harry's eyes softened, his voice gentle. "I could never think you're stupid, love," he said, the nickname slipping from his lips with a tenderness that caught Y/N off guard. She found herself speechless, unable to figure out what had gotten into him recently. 

He pulled out his car keys from his back pocket and motioned his head towards the gymnasium exit, “C’mon,” He urged, “I wanna try something out and before you ask, it’s nothing to do with tennis or studying.”

Y/N’s feet stayed glued to the ground as he walked away and expected her to follow. She furrowed her brows and crossed her arms, wanting to refuse his invitation so she could get back to her dorm. But curiosity got the better of her and she followed a few paces behind him as he led her to the empty car park. 

Harry pressed the button on the car keys and the lights flashed on a black Audi hiding in the corner, “What are we doing?” She asked. 

“Have you ever driven a car before?” He wondered, looking at her with a hint of mischief. 

“Never,” She replied and was bewildered to see him open the door to the passenger seat instead of the driver’s seat. 

“Looks like it’s your lucky day, love,” He smirked.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “N-no! Harry, I'm not driving your stupidly expensive car.”

“C’mon,” Harry chuckled, “Don’t be chicken.”

She scoffed, “I’m not being chicken, I’m being sensible. If I crash that car, I don’t even think my parents will have enough money to fix it.”

“My parent’s will,” He grinned, cockily, “Get in,” 

“No, I’m not driving that car.” She insisted. 

Five minutes later, Y/N sat in the driver’s seat of Harry’s Audi with her fingers over her eyes as he instructed her on how to start. “Are you crazy?” She whimpers as he switches the engine on. 

“Stop worrying, I’ve got my hand on the break.” She looks down to see his hand already wrapped around the hand break, “Just stay calm and do what I told you to do. Clutch down, first gear and then ease your foot gently off the clutch.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me tennis, not driving laps around the school parking lot,” Y/N argued.

“Think of this as a team bonding exercise,” He shrugged, “Okay now foot down on the clutch,”

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” She strangled out, placing her shaky hands on the wheel.

“Relax,” Harry chuckled, “You’re being dramatic.”

“It won’t be so dramatic when we end up in a tree,” Y/N retorted as she carefully felt the pedals and pressed down slowly on the clutch. Feeling the car rise, Y/N gasped and removed her foot. 

“Calm down, it’s just because you put your foot on the clutch,” Harry was trying his best not to laugh at her, “Okay, now do it again.”

Y/N squeezed her hands on the wheel and repeated her actions, moving the gear stick “Okay, now carefully raise the clutch,” Harry instructed and as she did, he lowered the handbrake and the car slowly began to move forward. 

“Holy shit,” Y/N wailed, “We’re moving,”

This time, Harry did laugh unable to stop himself after seeing her reaction, “Make sure you turn the wheel or we really will end up in a tree,” 

Y/N did as she was told and turned the wheel slowly, “Okay, I’ll move into second,”

“Harry no!” She gasped but put the clutch down so he could move gears. 

“Atta girl,” He beamed.

Y/N’s worried expression soon turned into shock and then excitement as she moved slowly around the car park, “I’m driving Harry!” Y/N grinned and Harry swore it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“You are,” He praised, “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

After switching between first and second gear and Y/N complaining that her feet were aching from how tense she was using the pedals, Harry offered to swap places and show her what it was really like to go out on an evening drive. 

“Harry!” Y/N choked on a laugh as he went all the way up to sixth gear down the empty streets in the middle of nowhere, “Slow down,” She squealed. 

Harry glanced at her, grinning when he saw how wide the smile was on her face. He pressed his finger on the button to wind down all the windows, “Oh shit I love this song,” He turned the volume up on the stereo as Beyonce’s ‘Love on Top’ started playing, blaring loudly through the speakers of his car. 

“Baby it’s you! You’re the one I love! You’re the one I need!” Harry screamed the lyrics of the song and Y/N’s laughter sounded through the entire car as her hair blew behind her. “Sing it, baby!” He cheered, neither of them realising what he had called her. 

“I’m not gonna sing it,” She shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut as the engine revved. 

“It’s the only way I’m gonna slow down,” He teased as the build-up to the chorus played. 

Y/N giggled as Harry began to sing solo to the chorus again, giving her a look that had her rolling her eyes before she screamed out the lyrics alongside him, “When I need you, make everything stop! Finally, you put my love on top!”

Their laughter merged together as the song played out. Harry slowed down the closer they got back to town and cast a sideways glance at Y/N who was brushing her wind-swept hair with her fingers. “You okay?” He asked, seeing the glow on her face. 

“Yeah,” She bit her lip, “I’m okay. I just don’t get to do stuff like this… ever really.”

He nodded in understanding. Harry had met Y/N’s parents a few times before. His parents were frequent visitors to their country club so he knew what they were like but he had no idea of the extent of the pressures they had put on Y/N to do well. It reminded him of his own parents and the last thing he wanted to do was allow someone to feel the same way he did whenever his parents were too hard on him. 

“Wanna pull in somewhere to get something to eat?” Harry asked. It was getting late and they both had school tomorrow but he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let her go- not when she was having so much fun. 

“Okay,” Y/N nodded. 

He pulled into a dessert shop that was still open. Y/N followed him inside and to a booth in the corner. Harry ordered both of them bowls of soft-serve ice cream and Y/N even asked if she could have a strawberry milkshake to go with it. “I shouldn’t really be eating,” She told him.

“Hmm I heard drinking strawberry milkshakes improves your footwork. They served them all the time in Australia,” Y/N shot him a look that told him she knew he was bullshitting her but it made him smile. 

“Are you nervous about the game coming up?” They’d been training non-stop every evening and Y/N was quickly improving everything she had already learnt on her own. After considering Harry’s words a few days ago, she knew Harry was right. He had been good for her technique and she felt even more sure of herself than she did at the beginning. 

“No,” She said coolly, “I don’t have time to be nervous.”

Harry scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a second.” 

The waitress came over and placed their desserts in front of them, along with a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. “Mitch says he’s going to throw a party at my place if you make it through to the semi-finals.”

“A party at your place?” Y/N quirked a brow.

Harry sighs, “He came up with the idea of throwing a party and then just kind of decided it would be at mine.” He explained. 

Y/N nodded and took a sip of her milkshake. It had been so long since she had had something so sugary and sweet. She hummed before realizing she was being watched by the boy opposite her, “Just so you know, even though you bought these desserts and taught me how to drive, doesn’t mean I like you.”

Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling and dimples carving into his cheeks. Y/N’s heart stuttered but she pushed the feeling down, “Okay, tomorrow you can go back to hating me again and we’ll pretend today didn’t happen.”

“And you can do the same,” She says. 

Harry gives her a look, his eyes flashing with something she couldn’t put a label on, “I don’t hate you Y/N.” 

She frowns, “You’ve always hated me,” 

“No,” He shook his head, “Never.”

“But you’re always making fun of me,” And she always did the same. 

“Because it’s the only way I get to speak to you.” He admits. 

Y/N’s lips parted in surprise, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had always assumed Harry had hated her since their rivalry had gone on for so long. She didn’t know what to say, confused by the sudden revelation.

“Ew,” It came out before she even had time to think, “Don’t be nice to me, it’s making me uncomfortable.” 

Harry seemed to deflate but quickly placed a smile on his face, “You make me uncomfortable and you’re singing, by the way, is awful.” 

Y/N scoffed, "At least I don't sound like a dying goat." Despite the return of their familiar banter, her heart seemed to continue to flutter under Harry's earnest gaze, stirring a mix of emotions within her that she’d never felt before. 

She didn’t know what was going on with her but the last thing she needed to think about was her emotions when her biggest goal to date was right before her. 

. . .

Three weeks had gone by far too quickly for Y/N’s liking.

“Again,” Harry drawled.

Y/N gritted her teeth and repeated the backswing technique Harry had shown her but the angle was all wrong and the ball ended up going completely off court.

“Fuck,” Y/N spat, throwing her tennis racket on the floor and squatting, balling her hands into fists on her head.

Harry sighed, walking over. “You’re nervous about tomorrow,” He stated like he didn’t need her to confirm despite the fact she had constantly told everyone she wasn’t nervous about anything. 

“I just need to win,” She mumbled.

“Get up,” Harry ordered. 

Y/N did as she was told and stood up. He grabbed the racket from the floor that she’d thrown across the court like a toddler throwing their toys out a pushchair and flipped the racket between both of his hands. He handed it back to her and grabbed his own.

“I want you to mirror my actions,” He says and stands a few steps away from her. 

He steps forward, tossing the tennis ball into the air before swinging his racket with both hands, expertly landing it in the left corner of the opposing court. Y/N tracks his every move, mimicking his actions as if she were his shadow.

Y/N’s ball lands slightly off target and Harry bites his lip to stop himself from smiling at the scowl on her face. He walks towards her and comes up behind her. Y/N’s breathing hitches when she feels his fingertips press gently on her arm. 

“You need to straighten this arm more,” He advises, his fingertips sliding down her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps as he straightens her arm out. “Calm down,” he murmurs, his mouth near her ear, “I can feel your heart beating.”

Y/N seems to lose every ounce of oxygen when he places his hand flat against her back where he can feel her heart beating, “Breathe,” He says, “You will win tomorrow, I will make sure of it.” 

The warmth that flooded Y/N’s body quickly left as Harry took a step back, “Try it again,” He nodded towards her racket.

Y/N sighed, tensing her muscles again after Harry had practically managed to turn them into liquid. She tried to ignore the flutter in all of the pulse points in her body that were screaming to make contact with that new presence and swung her racket, landing the ball exactly where she wanted. 

“There y’ go,” He murmurs, almost as if he was saying it to himself. “I think we should call that it for today,”

“What?” Y/N frowned, “The game is tomorrow, I need to practice.”

“Y/N, we’ve been practising for half the day already. You’re going to wear yourself out if you carry on,” Harry tells her.

“Fine,” She huffed but Harry gave her a knowing look.

“Come to my place,” He offers.

“Why would I do that?” She goes to grab her sweatshirt on the bench and pulls it over her head. It was getting colder now that the sun was going down. 

“Because I know you’re just going to come back here once I leave and trust me, you don’t want to do that.” She opened her mouth to refuse but he continued, “We can watch Wimbledon on TV and order pizza.”

She wondered how he knew that Wimbledon was one of her favourite movies and pizza was her favourite food. “Is it the DVD exclusive?” Y/N asked.

Harry’s lips tilted upwards, “Of course,” Y/N nodded, following him to his car so he could drive them to his apartment. 

Y/N remembered the last time she was in Harry's car three weeks ago. It was the first time Y/N truly enjoyed being in his company and the first time she had allowed herself to have fun and relax. 

The day after,  they resumed their usual arguing as if the previous night hadn't occurred. However, Y/N found herself overwhelmed by a surge of unfamiliar emotions swirling within her.

Despite the bickering, she kept noticing things about Harry—like the way he smiled and talked. It made her feel weird like there was something more between them that she hadn't noticed before.

The air was silent between them as the radio played lowly in the background. Harry turned into a block of apartments that looked far too expensive for a student to afford all by themself. “This is where you live?” Y/N asked, her eyes widening as he pulled into a spot. 

“For now,” He says. 

Y/N trailed behind Harry as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made their way to his apartment. When he swung open the door, flooding the space with light, Y/N couldn't help but notice the spaciousness of the apartment, as well as its emptiness.

“I haven’t had time to unpack,” Harry said, walking to the kitchen after kicking his shoes off, “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll just take a glass of water,” Y/N’s eyes darted to all of the boxes that covered the floor. 

She walked to the kitchen area and leaned against the counter, “Are those your trophies?” She asked, seeing the metal cups in an open box.

Harry smiled, “Yeah, I’ve kept all of mine even the ones that didn’t count.” 

“They all count,” Y/N grins, walking over and pulling one out, “The battle of the sexes trophy.” 

Harry smirked, walking round to stand beside her, “I still remember the look on your face when they handed me that trophy. If looks could kill, love, I don’t think I would be here.” 

“It was a big deal to me okay?” Y/N replies, “I seemed to blame you for all my losses when I was a kid.” 

Harry’s expression softens and his head turns to look at her, “Will you blame me if you don’t win tomorrow?” 

Y/N’s smile falters, “No, I’d blame myself. I think if I lost this, I don’t know who I would be anymore. Tennis is my life.”

Harry’s eyes glint underneath the soft lighting of the kitchen, “God,” He whispers, “You drive me crazy y’ know that?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Do you think you could love anything more?” He asks, ignoring her question. 

“I can’t think of anything, if I did I’d have to love it an awful lot.”

“Okay,” He nods like he’s accepting a challenge. 

Y/N narrows her eyes, “What are you thinking?” 

“Nothing,” He shrugs, “But I want you to know-”

Before Harry could finish his sentence, the door swings open and the shrill sound of his mother’s voice fills the air. Y/N stands straight and she notices Harry tense up, taking a step in front of her, he pushes her behind him.

“Harry,” His mother sighs, “How are you darling?” 

“Mum,” He replies, curtly, “What are you doing here?”

“Your father’s running late home so I thought I would come by to see how you were,” She says and then looks behind him.

Y/N doesn’t need Harry to introduce her as she steps forward and holds out a hand, “Hi Mrs Styles, it’s nice to see you again.” 

"Y/N?" Anne gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. "You've grown so much, you're beautiful." She reached out, taking both of Y/N's hands in hers and giving her an appraising look.

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Styles," she stammered, feeling a mixture of nerves and warmth.

Anne smiled warmly. "Oh, call me Anne," she insisted before turning her attention to Harry. "I didn't know you two were such good friends."

Y/N and Harry exchanged a quick glance, both unsure of how to respond.

"I'm her coach," they both blurted out simultaneously, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Anne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" she exclaimed, her gaze flitting between them. "You're coaching?"

Harry nodded, his expression serious. "Yes," he confirmed quietly.

"But Harry, your injury," Anne interjected, concern evident in her voice as she glanced down at his leg. "You're not meant to be—"

"I'm fine, Mum," Harry interrupted sharply, his tone making no room for argument.

"Harry, you know you can’t be playing-"

"I said I'm fine," Harry's voice rose, his frustration evident as he cut her off, causing Y/N to jump at the sudden outburst.

Anne's concern softened into a resigned sigh, her eyes reflecting a mixture of worry and understanding. "Alright, Harry," she relented, her tone gentler now. "Just promise me you're taking care of yourself."

Harry's features softened, a hint of remorse flickering in his eyes. "I promise, Mum," he said, his voice softer now, more subdued.

Anne nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good. That's all I ask."

As the atmosphere relaxed, Anne turned her attention back to Y/N, her smile warm and welcoming. "Well, it's lovely to see you again, Y/N," she said kindly. “Tell your parents we’ll be stopping by in the spring.”

Y/N returned the smile, her earlier nervousness dissipating in the warmth of Anne's acceptance. "It was nice to see you too, " she replied sincerely.

Harry glanced at Y/N, a softness in his gaze that made her heart skip a beat. After seeing his mother out following her very brief visit, Y/N finally mustered the courage to ask, "What was she talking about?"

Harry's expression turned grave, his features shadowed by a sense of burden. "It was nothing," he replied.

"Why can't you play?" Y/N pushed, her concern evident in her voice.

"Y/N, I'm telling you to leave it alone," Harry warned, his tone firm.

But Y/N couldn't let it go. "If it's nothing, then why can't you tell me?" she insisted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Because it's none of your business, that's why," Harry snapped, his words cutting like a knife. 

"Nothing I do or say has anything to do with you, so go back to hating me because it's a hell of a lot easier than what I have to deal with."

Y/N's heart sank at his harsh words. With a deep breath, she crossed her arms, her resolve hardening. "You know, now I remember why we never got along in the first place," she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness. With a sharp turn on her heel, she made her way to the front door. "You're such an asshole, Harry."

"Y/N," Harry called out, his voice tinged with regret as she stormed out of his apartment towards the elevator. "Y/N, come on, don't be like that."

"Go suck a dick," she shot back, stepping into the elevator before Harry could stop her.

As the doors closed, Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Let me drive you back, at least," he pleaded, his voice barely audible over the sound of the closing doors.

"Fine," Y/N huffed, her tone clipped with annoyance.

The car ride back to her dorm was tense and silent. When Harry pulled into the front of her dormitory, Y/N moved to open the door finding the silence far too uncomfortable. Then, out of nowhere, Harry's voice broke the silence. "I can't play tennis anymore," he confessed, his words heavy.

Y/N's heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat. "What do you mean you can't play anymore? That's ridiculous," she exclaimed, her disbelief evident in her voice.

Harry's hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I mean I can't ever play tennis again," he admitted, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Are you serious?" Y/N asked, her voice trembling with shock.

"I tore my ACL during practice for the French Open. I—" Harry's voice trailed off, unable to continue, “It was so bad Y/N and I was in so much fucking pain and no one would listen to me. I went through multiple surgeries and rehab but the doctors sat me down and said I couldn’t play unless I wanted to fuck up my leg for the rest of my life.” 

“Harry…” Y/N’s eyes glistened with tears. 

Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of Harry's words sank in. She glanced over at him, seeing the pain etched in his features, and felt a surge of empathy wash over her. It was a devastating blow for someone who had dedicated their life to the sport they loved.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Y/N whispered, her voice filled with genuine sadness for the boy beside her.

Harry managed a small nod, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, “That’s why I had to come back here. My father can barely look at me and my mother won’t leave me alone. At least here I can be around people my own age but when I’m at home, it’s fucking suffocating Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine losing the one thing she loved above anything else in the world and have to re-construct everything she had ever known to find something else to love just as much. 

“I don’t expect you to say anything but I’d appreciate it if you showed me a little mercy,” He spoke. 

“Why would you offer to coach me then? Would that not make things worse?” She asked.

He looks at her, really looks at her, like there was something on the tip of his tongue he wanted to say but couldn’t, “I figured it would alleviate the pain.” 

“But I saw you play, I watched you and you beat me,” She exclaimed.

“Yeah and it hurt like a bitch afterwards,” He shook his head.

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wondered why Harry had been unwilling to play against her during the training sessions and now she knew why. She felt awful, her heart was hurting for him. 

“I don’t want you to feel pity for me and I don’t want this to change anything between us. I’m tired of being treated like a broken toy and I think it would kill me inside if you looked at me differently.” 

Y/N stayed quiet, facing forward and collecting her thoughts before saying, “Thank you for telling me,” She murmured, “And it doesn’t change anything. You’re still an asshole,”

Harry laughed and then his pinky brushed the side of her hand, “You will be everything tomorrow.” He whispered.

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the soft edge of his words, “You think so?”

His eyes softened, “I believe in you, more than anyone in the entire world.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath and looking out the window. The tension had settled and now a newfound respect lingered between them. 

She would win tomorrow, for herself and for him. 

. . . 

It had been a while since Harry had been to a tennis tournament. The last time he was on a court for an official match was well over six months ago, it was a challenger match he participated in during his training for the French Open before his life took a vast turn. 

He sat in the stands with everyone else from Crestwood who had come to watch the first game. Although Crestwood Academy invested more in the football team than any other sport, the turnout had been pretty good and nearly every seat was occupied by a student or teacher. 

On the opposite side was Eaststone Academy who seemed to have invested heavily in their merchandise for Y/N’s opponent. Everyone was either wearing a t-shirt with Vanya’s name on it or carrying a sign with supportive catchphrases written in bold marker. 

Harry craned his neck in hopes of seeing Y/N preparing herself somewhere outside of the court but couldn’t find her anywhere. He’d sent her a quick message this morning and asked her if she needed anything but she insisted she wanted to be alone. 

“Fuck, it’s good we got in the queue early,” Mitch came by with an anxious Sarah, holding two cokes in his hand. They were both wearing navy shirts and sweatbands around their heads, Sarah was holding a sign that had Y/N’s name on it. 

“She’s gonna hate you for that,” Harry tried not to smile.

“Oh I already know,” Sarah said, “She watched me make it last night and then almost ripped in half when I asked her if I should bedazzle it.”

Harry’s expression changed into one of concern, “How was she?”

“She’s nervous but she insisted she was okay,” Sarah rolled her eyes, “You know how she is.”

He did, which was why he was willing to accept the fact she wanted to be by herself even though he was desperate to drive over there with strawberry milkshakes just so he could see that smile he had been dreaming about for the past three weeks. 

Suddenly, Eaststone Academy stood from their seats and cheered as Vanya Maddison came onto the court. “I’ve never seen such long legs,” Sarah gasped, saying what both Harry and Mitch were thinking. 

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as the people around him stood on their feet. He glanced down to the court and his eyes fell on Y/N as she walked onto the court with a dip between her brows and her tennis bag over her shoulder. 

She was wearing a white, pleated skort and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Her hair was slicked back as tightly as possible into a braid and her white runners were tied up on her feet. He noticed she was wearing earbuds in her ears and then found the walkman he had given her clipped to her skort. He smiled at that, wondering which of the many songs he had put together she was listening to. 

“There she is,” Sarah pointed and then waved to get her attention. 

Y/N held a hand over her face to block the sun and looked up at the crowd. When she caught sight of Sarah, she offered a friendly wave before her eyes landed on Harry. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement and then walked to her seat on the other side of the umpire. 

“C’mon,” Harry murmured, feeling his palms sweating at the sight of her. 

“She’s got this in the bag, H.” Mitch puts a hand on his shoulder. 

Through the speakers, the umpire calls out the start of the match and everyone falls silent as both players walk to opposing sides of the court. Y/N bounces on her feet and swings her racket backwards and forwards as though warming herself up before the match starts.

When the first serve came, Y/N's reflexes kicked in. She returned the ball swiftly, keeping the rally going with her quick movements, remembering what Harry had taught her. Each exchange became more intense, but Y/N stayed determined, chasing down every ball.

When Vanya hit the ball for the other corner, Y/N ran towards it and returned the ball swiftly, earning the first point with a well-placed shot. The crowd erupted into cheers as Y/N gained an early lead.

“That’s my girl!” Harry clapped his heart in his throat. 

But Vanya wasn't about to let up. With determination in her eyes, she fought back, winning the next two points with powerful serves and precise shots. The score was now in Vanya's favor, and the pressure was on for Y/N.

“Fuck!” Y/N released a growl and hit her racket against the floor before storming off to her seat. Harry was tempted to walk down and help her but he needed to let her see what she was capable of on her own. 

Her anger was radiating from her, “I’d hate to get on her bad side,” Mitch said. 

Harry couldn’t seem to reply as he leant forward with both his elbows on his knees. “C’mon, c’mon, you can do it.” He mutters, thinking of the first bit of advice he had given her. 

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned. 

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.” 

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and stood on her feet. She walked back to her line on the court and bounced the ball up and down on the ground before throwing it up in the air and hitting it with a flat serve, exactly the way Harry had taught her. Her anger radiated from her as she slammed the ball with her racket and hit it with such force it went flying to the other end of the court but not before bouncing inside the square right by Vanya’s foot. 

Harry stood to his feet and pumped his fist into the air, “Holy shit!” Mitch exclaimed as Sarah cheered beside him. 

They were now at match point and Y/N had to win this next round if she wanted to win the entire game.

The tension thickened in the air as people sat on the edge of their seats to see who would come out on top. This time, it was Vanya’s turn to serve as she launched the ball into the air and hit it with her racket to Y/N’s side of the court.

As Y/N unleashed powerful serves and precise shots, Harry found himself captivated by her every move. With each grunt of exertion, each flex of her muscles, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Despite the shifting heads of the spectators around him as they followed the ball back and forth, his gaze remained fixed solely on her.

Every aspect of Y/N's play had him in a trance—the way her muscles rippled as she sprinted across the court, the intensity in her expression as she anticipated Vanya’s next move, the graceful sway of her hair with each swing of her racket.

But as Harry watched, something stirred within him. A warmth spread through his veins, igniting a fire deep within him. Suddenly, he felt a tightness in his shorts, a physical reaction to the raw power and determination radiating from Y/N on the court.

"Oh, fuck," Harry muttered under his breath, his heart racing as he glanced down and saw the undeniable bulge in his shorts. Panic surged through him, his mind reeling with embarrassment.

"What's wrong?" Mitch's voice cut through his thoughts, and Harry quickly lowered his drink to conceal his arousal.

“N-Nothing,” Harry forces a smile, “I need to use the bathroom.” He doesn’t wait for Mitch to respond as she pushes past everyone to get away from the crowd.

He walks quickly over to his car and jumps into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was thirteen years old after experiencing girls for the first time again. Was it wrong to rub himself off in the middle of a tennis match when all he was looking at was the girl who played his favourite sport better than anyone he had ever seen, dominating the game with her anger and intensity like she was a complete animal?

He couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind and his cock seemed to ache the more he thought about how beautiful she was on the court, completely in her element, anger and passion emitting from her. Every grunt and groan she made as she hit the ball with so much fervor had his head spiralling. 

He looked down and tried to will it away, he needed to get back out there to see her win the game. He thought of every disturbing thing he could possibly think of and even took out his phone to google the quickest way to get rid of an erection.

The excited yells of the crowd told him someone had won and he prayed he would return and see Y/N with the medal around her neck. 

After about ten minutes of taking deep breaths, he finally felt composed enough to leave his car. With a flustered face, he made his way back toward the court, silently praying for some kind of cosmic intervention to erase the embarrassing moment from his memory.

As he turned the corner, he spotted Mitch and Sarah engaged in conversation with Y/N, who was proudly wearing the gold medal around her neck. She had won - he knew she would. 

Y/N's eyes lit up as she noticed him, a wide smile spreading across her face as she proudly displayed her medal. Unable to resist, he grinned back in response.

Sweat glistened on her skin, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and delicate strands of hair framed her face. At that moment, she radiated beauty, and he couldn't deny the sudden surge of emotions that had slowly been weaving themselves into the fabric of his feelings ever since he had returned to Crestwood. 

If the past fifteen minutes were anything to go by, Harry knew this was more than just a game of tennis. 

He was in trouble.

. . .

People cheered as Y/N entered Harry’s apartment with Sarah at her side, holding beer cans in the air and patting her on the shoulder as she sifted through the crowds of people. S&M by Rhianna played over the speakers as the apartment that was previously empty was now filled up with student’s from Crestwood. 

“There she is,” Mitch’s voice yelled over the music, “Crestwood’s very own Serena Williams,”

“I wouldn’t go that far Mitch,” She chuckled, unable to stop herself from smiling so hard after the excitement of her first win. 

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room as she went in search of the one person she wanted to see whilst everyone fell into conversation around her. 

That’s when she saw him, leaning against the wall with a red solo cup in his hand. His hair was a tangled mess, and his body was adorned in a loose, white shirt, its u-neck revealing the inked pair of swallows beneath his collarbones and gold chain around his neck. On his legs, he wore a loose pair of black trousers.

Y/N held back a smile as she made her way over to him until she realised who he was talking to. 

Her face fell as she saw the angelic blonde, tanned and glowing like she’d just come back from a holiday somewhere south of the equator. 

Harry’s face lit up as Y/N approached until he realised what was going on.

“Hey,” He smiled, trying to distract her. 

“Where were you?” Y/N snapped her gaze towards him. 

“What do y’ mean? M right here,” He spoke, “You were incredible out there.”

“Who’s this?” Y/N ignored him, folding her arms and looking at the girl he was speaking to. Y/N knew exactly who she was but felt the need to act as though she had never seen her before. 

Harry hesitated for a moment before introducing her. “Y/N, this is Astrid.”

Astrid flashed a dazzling smile at Y/N, her demeanour friendly yet confident. “Congratulations on the win today, Y/N. I’m looking forward to our match in the semifinals.”

Harry's reaction was immediate. “What?” he stammered, clearly taken aback.

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, surprised. “Y/N and I will be facing off in the semifinals.”

Y/N grit her teeth and forced a smile, the two girls eyeing each other up and down as Harry’s eyes darted anxiously between them.

Now that Y/N was into the semi-finals her next opponent was Astrid Anderson, one of the best junior, female tennis players in the county. 

Who just so happened to be Harry’s ex-girlfriend.

[leclarifies]

off the grid - I

✰ max verstappen x !driver reader ✰

summary: you strived for nothing but perfection. nothing less was expected from you. being a female formula one driver made it even harder for you to make mistakes. you figured that dating max, your biggest rival yet, wasn't a mistake...right...?

genre: kinda slow-burn? mostly angst, eventual fluff at the end.

wc: 3.9k

a/n: hello! this will be a mini series that i will be working on, so this work is currently on-going! all parts will be uploaded in the masterlist <3 thank u so much for reading

NEXT PART MASTERLIST ✰ ASK ME ANYTHING ✰ REQUEST A FIC!

ROOKIE YEAR ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“motherfucker,” you cussed under your breath when you’re sent into the barrier because of a certain someone who couldn’t stay on their side of the track when you’re flying on a qualifying lap. you huffed as you shook your head, your race engineer spoke in your ear.

you had to swerve left in order to avoid a certain red bull on the track, making you lose control of the car and crash into the barriers. “are you alright?” anthony sounded out, he sounded worried but you grunt a response as you try to get out of the chassis of your car, he took that as confirmation that you were alright, “the marshalls are coming, just sit tight.”

“it’s fucking ridiculous when i’m having my best lap and this inconsiderate motherfucker can’t even stay in his lane,” you had screamed into the radio, “is it because i am a woman? it’s because i’m a woman is it??” 

the question was a sarcastic rhetorical one of course. you didn’t mean it, it came out out of anger. anthony tried his best to calm you down as the marshalls rushed to get you and your car off the track. even though you were in the gravel, the stewards had issued a red flag.

it’s not long until you return into the garage, harshly taking off your helmet and race gloves but gently handing them off to staff, “it is not because you are a woman, y/n. he made a mistake and you need to calm down,” anthony had greeted you upon your return into the garage.

“like is my big red car not apparent enough in his rear views?” y/n rubbed her temples as soon as her helmet was off her head, “for god’s sake, i’m the rookie! why is he in the middle of the track when i’m on a hot lap? it doesn’t fucking make sense.” “you’re fine–” “i’m sorry anthony, but it’s not fine! at best, i am p10, does that look like the best i can do to you?” you had been led to sit down in one of the seats at the back of your garage, but anthony shook his head. “i know you can do better but it’s your first year and second race, you need to be nicer to yourself. you are not going to get anywhere in formula one if you do not calm down, y/n,” anthony brings a reality check as you look up at him, still clearly angry, “you can be angry, you can throw a fit but all you can do right now is to be realistic.” “you have been given such a great opportunity by ferrari, they rarely pick up rookies and when they do, the rookie has a lot of expectations laid on them. i understand that puts a lot of stress on you to perform well,” anthony pats your shoulder, trying his best to calm your emotions and nerves.

he knew you were nervous, it was your first year and your first crash in formula one. the media wasn’t kind to you and he knew that, he’s been there since day one and he knew how harsh you could be to yourself. “i’m fine, i’m sorry for yelling at you. it was misplaced anger,” you buried your face in your palms, you could even hear the casters’ voices in your head. commenting on your crash. unknowingly for you, this would be the start of a rivalry between you and the one and only max verstappen.

“he said what???” 

you were basically bursting with anger, no way in hell max fucking verstappen just blamed you for the crash. all the media training over the years out the window, you were fuming. ironically, all you could see was red.

you replayed the video being displayed on the ipad presented to you by your pr manager.

“she is a rookie and this is her first year in f1, so i wouldn’t expect anything less. she should know better and avoid the people on an out lap on the right of the track, it’s common knowledge. she will gain more experience as she goes through the races this season.”

"oh i’m going to pick a fight and it’s not going to be pretty,” you were about to march up towards him before being tugged by the ferrari sweater you were wearing by anthony.

“y/n. no.”

“he’s on an out lap! couldn’t he be more careful?” frustrations coursed through your veins like molten lava, “like if i made that mistake, it would’ve been understandable. i’m the rookie here, but him? he has eight years under his belt and he decides to blame it on me???”

"okay enough. you have interviews to get through today. you cannot be this riled up,” jessica, your pr manager had advised, “be professional in front of the cameras, ferrari wants nothing but perfection from you in the interviews. no snarky jabs, no shade, you got that?” “yes ma’am..." was the only thing muttered out of your mouth as you got ushered into the media pen.

“so what happened today, y/n? there was a small accident on the track while qualifying,” a reporter asked while he shoved a mic in your face, you wanted to yell at the man. like was he blind? did he not see the shitty quali you had? “unfortunately for me, i had to swerve out of the way because max didn’t keep enough to the right. but it’s alright. starting out p10 for me isn’t bad, considering i am a rookie. i’ve been given a gigantic opportunity from ferrari and i plan to make the most of it, even if i didn’t get the best results from today’s quali,” the words rolled smooth off your tongue but you really wanted to punch someone, preferably the driver with the number 1 on his car.

“starting out p10 is actually quite good despite the circumstances, people were surprised that you managed to reach q3. was this something your team had predicted?” 

“my team had told me i could’ve reached a higher position. today was just unfortunate. i’ll try to prove that i deserve this seat in the race tomorrow,” another perfectly crafted pr response left your lips but it didn’t reflect how angry you were from today.

a few hundred interviews later and you were free for the day. honestly, it was hell.

you just wanted to come up to verstappen and punch him square in the nose but you know that your anger wasn’t what you needed in your first season of f1, so you let it go for now. 

later on in the day as people were trying to pack up and rest up for the night, you were too. today was exhausting, both emotionally and physically. you were about to head home but caught a glimpse of max and his girlfriend, kelly piquet seemingly… fighting?

you didn’t want to touch that with a ten foot pole, so you went and got settled into the hotel for the night. the hotel was nice, courtesy of ferrari of course. all of the drivers were settled into one hotel and it was inevitable that you would run into the others in the morning later on but that was a problem future-you had to deal with tomorrow. 

your social battery was dead, social interactions were not something you were looking forward to and just your luck as you entered the elevator, your teammate approached you, looking to have a small chat before retiring into his room as well.

even though your social battery was dead, you couldn't help but interact with charles. he was always nice to you, giving you guidance where you needed it and encouragement when he felt as if you were being too harsh on yourself.

he's been there too.

“hey, i heard what happened at quali today. you alright?” charles shot you a small smile, he was always polite and friendly with you. you didn’t have a reason to dislike him. he was a pleasant teammate on the track as well.

“hey charles, yeah. i had a little mishap with verstappen but it’s fine,” you shrugged and laughed almost bitterly, thinking back about the crash but charles pat your shoulder, almost seemingly giving you comfort.

“look, you’re still in your first year of f1. crashes happen, even to seasoned drivers. you’ll do fine. you even pulled through to q3 and most rookies aren’t able to do that. the team is extremely proud of you,” charles was kind enough to give you words of encouragement. 

maybe it was the stress of today, or maybe it was just you being emotional but you starting tearing up. charles obviously saw your tears and started panicking. “oh my gosh, i’m sorry. did i say something wrong?” charles asked as he tried to console you, but you shook your head and laughed through your tears.

“i’m just stressed with the day, your words really helped charles. thank you,” you swatted his arms away in a friendly way, not wanting him to worry about you. 

the elevator dinged, signalling that it was there to come and pick you guys up and take you guys to your respective floors.

in a blink of an eye, it was race day and you were behind the wheel once again. “radio check,” anthony sounded out in your ears.

“loud and clear,” your muffled voice responded back behind the balaclava and helmet. you were ready to prove the media wrong this race. you deserved to be here, you fought tooth and nail to become one of the first few female drivers in formula one and you weren’t going to let it go now. 

all you have to do is get in the zone, you told yourself. 

taking a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second before opening them back up. ready for whatever this race threw at you today. 

somehow, by some type of miracle, max had dnfed. rumors were circling around the paddock that max retired not due to engine failure but was not in the right mind to race.

you thought back about the fight you witnessed only yesterday but put it to the back of your mind for now. it was none of your business.

the dnf gave you much leeway for overtakes but you were just a rookie afterall. starting out p10 and only making it to p6. you had so many overtake opportunities but fumbled it because you doubted yourself. “nicely done today, that’s p6,” anthony’s voice rung in your ear to ground you. you were on autopilot, driving the car where it was supposed to go after the cool down lap. 

your teammate had won flawlessly, taking p1 with lando norris and oscar piastri taking second and third respectively. you were proud of him but it hurt not to be able to overtake the mclarens while you were racing today. 

“you alright, y/n?” anthony’s voice sounded out in your ear piece again, you sighed as you parked your car in the pitlane. “i could’ve done better,” you muttered out as the mechanics tended to you and your car, getting out of the car swiftly before walking into the garage to meet anthony. you took off your helmet and balaclava, the sweat dripping from your forehead. “you need to stop being so harsh on yourself, y/n,” anthony pat your back, “considering your starting position, you had near flawless overtakes. just be more confident on the track and trust your gut. don’t doubt yourself. i know you can do better.”

“i need to be better anthony, i have to,” you released your hair from the tight ponytail you had it in, “have you seen what twitter looks like lately? yeah it’s a dumpster fire from the silly crash i had yesterday. i can’t have it happening again.”

you were always tough on yourself, strived for nothing but perfection. the grid deserved perfection from you and that’s exactly what you intend on delivering. every race after the australian grand prix was almost flawless– aside from a few engine problems you had along the way. everything was fine.

your chemistry with charles on the track was starting to bloom, understanding when it was time to put the constructor's cup first before the driver's championship. charles always made a point to remind you not to be too hard on yourself.

you were a driver that was nit-picky. every small detail wrong with the car would always go through to anthony which would be relayed to the mechanics. 

sometimes you wondered if they hated you for it.

it wasn’t something you were interested in finding out now. 

"you do know that us having this yoga session is a chance for us to relax, right?" charles glanced over at you, you were tense. all over.

you were lost in thought, barely paying attention to what you were doing now, only charles' voice snapping you out of your train of thought.

you took a deep breath and looked at charles, "sorry, lots of thoughts going through this tiny little brain of mine," you gave a sheepish smile to charles. you had not been focused on whatever the team was doing at the team bonding yoga session.

the instructor had told you all to take a break after the session.

"you alright? you've been so spaced out recently, it's kinda worrying," charles had said to you but you shrugged it off, you tried to play it casually. not wanting to let anyone know how much you were struggling internally with your own thoughts.

he wasn't wrong, you had a lot of self-deprecating thoughts but nothing you couldn't get by.

"i'm–... i'm fine," you tried to breathe out as you got up from your previous position, "just thinking about the triple header next week. just nerves."

"nerves?" charles asked, almost as if it was a ridiculous idea, you cocked your head at him, confused, "we've been racing for almost a year y/n, i know when it's nerves and i know when it's not."

"i'm fine charles, just let it go," your voice softened at his concern, "it's seriously just the nerves. we're fighting head to head with red bull and mclaren, i'm just scared i'll fuck it up somehow."

it wasn't far from the truth, but charles being third and you being fourth in the standings wasn't easing whatever self-deprecating thoughts there were in your head.

"the constructor's cup is still achievable," charles pat your back as he got up as well, "we got this, okay? just trust yourself."

you kept his encouraging words in mind. he knew how hard it was to be a rookie in f1, you were always thankful for his guidance.

your relationship with max hadn't gotten better, sometimes even butting heads with eachother in races. in he beginning, he always got the better of you, not used to the type of aggressiveness that he possessed while on the track.

as the season went on though, you adapted fast. understanding that you could use max's aggression against himself.

the triple header was coming fast and you didn't know if you were ready or not.

"welcome to the interlagos circuit!"

the casters were lively and bustling with energy and you were definitely not in the right headspace, fighting on the track seemed difficult for you and you had a bad habit of getting in your own head.

but your hands were on the wheel and the red lights were about to go off, you had no time to think about anything else but the track and battles you were going to face.

you had started second row, third place. with charles taking pole and max taking second. you knew it was going to be difficult but lights out and away you go!

the first few laps, you had held your position. working together with your teammate, charles to try and gain a position but max was being max and it was hard to overtake. he was good at defense, like he said, the best defense is a good offense. his aggression wasn't something you weren't used to.

"stick to plan b, y/n," anthony reminded you, you grunted a response as you tried to hold off norris behind you. you hadn't pitted yet, and the tyre deg was getting worse by each lap you stretched them out.

"time to box!" anthony's voice came on the radio once again and you followed his orders, losing two positions but you knew this was part of the strategy.

with fresh new mediums, you had overtaken russell. now norris was in front of you, but you had the advantage of fresher tyres that were now just heating up.

it wasn't long before you overtook norris and gained your original position.

"how is charles holding up? when he is going to box?" you asked through the radio, it took a second for anthony to respond.

"he should be pitting next lap," anthony confirmed and there you were. you were in the zone. you focused hard, eventually overtaking max and you were p1. this was the highest position you ever held in a race, but you knew it wasn't going to last long if max was going to pit.

as the drivers pit onto fresher tyres. you started to struggle, but you held your place well. charles was p3 and it was back to trying to hold off max as much as possible without losing any positions to the other drivers.

the feeling of finally being a race leader was exhilarating. it felt good and you wanted to win. lap after lap flew by and you were keeping your position well, the tyre deg was starting to get to you. the grip wasn't the best but you put up with it.

max was keeping his aggression, trying to overtake at every turn, trying to use a slipstream with drs activated to take your position, but you clawed your way here. you weren't going to let some guy who ruined your first few races as a rookie take it away from you. you defended him like a champ you didn't know where you got the sudden skills for but you weren't going to guess now, using the help of pressure from charles to maintain your position.

if you kept this up then the win was secured.

you were nearing the end of the race, the high of the adrenaline was coming to an end. you were so near your first win, you could smell it but of course the thoughts from before the race had creeped up unbeknownst to you, at the worst possible timing too.

anthony's voice had sounded out in the radio, "keep it up, y/n. bring it home."

you don't really deserve the opportunity ferrari gave you, all you're going to do is fuck it up and ruin it for yourself.

give up. there's no way you can hold max off for long.

the constructor's cup is on the line, time's ticking.

you didn't know how it happened, the next thing you knew was the wind knocking out of your lungs.

your head was spinning, you didn't know what happened or what just hit you.

"y/n, are you alright? talk to me," anthony's voice sounded worried although muffled, your ears were ringing. you couldn't bring yourself to respond, "y/n?"

fuck, fuck, FUCK!

i told you. you don't deserve the red car.

you don't remember what happened next, you figured that you blacked out. you came to your senses when your eyes fluttered open in the medical center, the bright lights were blinding and god, your head was hurting like a little bitch.

you groaned out and that alerted the other people in the room, anthony, jessica, and verstappen??

"y/n, you're awake. you gave all of us a scare at the garage," anthony shot you a sympathetic smile, you knew that look all too well. you crashed.

you quickly sat up and buried your face into your palms, "i fucked up, didn't i? i fucked up the constructor's cup..." the tears were free flowing now. rolling down your cheeks and you were sobbing into your hands.

"i had it anthony, i was the fucking race leader and–" you choked back a sob as a soft hand landed on your shoulder, you didn't look up to see who it was. too ashamed to show your face.

"it was my fault."

that was unmistakably verstappen's voice but you didn't care at the moment.

the nagging voice from the back of your head returned.

you disgraced the entire female racing community with that performance.

and that's when you finally snapped.

"y/n–"

"i really don't want to talk to you right now max," you had just reviewed footage from the crash, you noticed that max had gone over-aggressive and bumped your rear tyre, making you spin out and crash into the barrier.

it was a high speed crash and the doctors told you that you were lucky you came out of that with a concussion and nothing more serious.

"please, can i at least apologize?" max tried to reason with you as you collected your belongings. the sunset was casting pretty over the track but you've started to resent interlagos.

“i think you’ve done enough max!” you turned around dropping all of your belongings to the ground, your face was angry— red from all the crying you’ve done. he had tried to console you in the medical center but you were unresponsive and wanted to be left alone, so everyone left and you were just there, sobbing your heart out at the loss of your maiden win.

“listen, i appreciate the fucking gesture but if you really want me to feel better right now, turn back time and maybe not rear end me, asshole!” you were really angry and was lashing out, max had his arms shielding himself as you tore him a new one, “you know that our relationship as co-workers is not the best right now and guess what you fucking do, you selfish prick? you fucking rear end me because you just can’t see me win!”

“it’s not like that–” max tried to reason but he knew you were inconsolable and unstable at the moment, he understood and he let you rip him a new one. he understood the pressure of being a rookie, the first female one no less.

“you’re a fucking asshole,” sobs started coming out of your lips, you started hitting him but not hard to do any real damage, his hands still up to try and shield himself but you fell apart and he caught you in his arms.

“i know, and i’m sorry. it was a mistake on my end, and i would turn back time if i could,” max mumbled as he embraced you, hugging you tight because he knew you needed it. 

you sobbed into his embrace because you didn’t know where else to find it from, “i fucking hate you– you’ve made my rookie year hell,” the hands that were hitting him were now limp next to herself.

“i’m sorry,” max whispered softly as he stroked her hair, he continued to apologise the only way he knew how and that was to offer her comfort in her time of anger and sadness. he held her tight, not letting go because that’s the only way he knew how.

in some twisted way, she did feel comforted. 

max had led you inside of the ferrari motorhome, setting himself on the sofa and still embracing you, stroking your hair and whispering apologies. 

soon after, you felt exhausted and you didn’t want to move— you didn't have the energy to move. you felt emotionally and physically drained from today’s activities and the last thing on your mind was how you were laid basically on top of your biggest rival. 

you fell asleep on top of max verstappen that night, and he didn’t want to move even when ferrari staff accidentally came inside of the motorhome to check on you.

[untolduttering]

Trust Me

Summary: Reader is terrified of medical needles and avoids Law when they get a deep enough cut to require stitches. They're caught, of course, and Law tries to help and calm a panicked reader.

Tags: hurt/comfort, blood, cutting, knives, medical needles, stitches, mutual pining

Word count: 2.3k

It happened so suddenly that for a moment, you could have imagined that it hadn’t happened at all. You were set to cutting some sailcloth after a run in with the navy left the sails with holes, and if not for the change in how the knife sliced through the fabric, you wouldn’t have noticed at all. The knife was sharp enough that there was barely any resistance as it gouged your arm. There wasn’t any initial pain either. You only grasped that there was indeed an injury once you stared at the wound, feeling the burn as it built and watching the blood flow to the surface, maintaining its surface tension before breaking and spilling over. You had already written off the flashes of white meat that gave away just how deep it was, telling yourself it only needed to be cleaned and wrapped. You snatched a spare piece of sail and pressed it to the wound, then took another to wrap around.

There wasn’t any need to worry, really. Small accidents like this happened all the time on the Polar Tang. Shachi scraping his palms on the rough surface of the deck as he fell, Penguin giggling behind him. Ikkaku dropping something heavy on someone’s foot, grimacing and apologizing profusely. If they didn’t, then Law would probably fall out of practice and lose his title.

That image of white meat flashed through your head again, and it coupled with the burning that only seemed to keep growing, never reaching its crescendo that promised eventual relief, made you think of the stitches that Law could possibly say it required. But it wasn’t bad enough for that, and Law deserved a break from time to time. So, you decided, this was something that you could handle by yourself. Even if Law always demanded that he was seen first in any case of injury, no matter how small, because he was the qualified one that could deem what required real attention, and he didn’t need anyone ruining the precise organization of his supplies. You could be careful, though. You knew what went where, and you only needed a few things. 

Steps slowing as you made it closer to the infirmary, you listened for any sign that Law may be nearby. The Polar Tang surfaced not too long ago, and so Law was most likely up on deck still assessing the damage. You pressed an ear to the closed door, though, waiting for any movement. At the lack of any sound, you entered, and shut the door behind you. It wasn’t avoidance, it was simply a need to not be bothersome over something so unimportant.

None of the cabinets and drawers themselves were labeled, as no one but Law rifled through them, so there was no need when he had it memorized. But it meant that you had to take the time to search through each one. You had to not only keep quiet, but try and keep any blood from getting onto his things.

A scurrying of footsteps rushed past the door, causing you to hold your breath and freeze. No one came in nor knocked, but if the crew members that had been on deck were moving around, it meant that Law might be below deck now too. You picked up pace, grimacing at every rattle and creak. Finally, you found the small butterfly bandages that would hold the wound close, and the wrapping as well. Your eyes skated over the suture kit as you grabbed what you needed and shut the drawer.

“Y/n-ya.”

You felt your stomach drop to the floor. Shit. You turned, keeping your right side facing him. Using your body to block your injured left arm from view, you let it rest on top of the counter, like it had been lifted as it was to lean against casually, and not because it was hurt and dripping. You looked him in the face because guilty people always avoided eye contact. It was set in a scowl as he waited for you to explain yourself. There was no need to chide someone that already knew they were in the wrong.

“I just needed a bandage. Small cut, I didn’t want to bother you about it,” you said. You kept your tone light, nonchalant, and tried at a self-deprecating, ‘I’m just so silly’ smile. And it might just have worked, except since all your attention was on your face and voice, you weren’t in control of your body. Law, a man keenly familiar with violence, could see the tension and threat your body held. Your pupils were dilated too, blown out to a concerning proportion. It was a look that promised that if he got any closer, you might just sink your teeth in.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked.

Continuing to refuse would be suspicious. If it really had been a measly little cut, you would have readily shown it to him just to poke fun at his worry and overbearance. You would have gone to him in the first place for a simple bandage, too. He knew this was all odd. But what else was there?

“There’s really no need,” you huffed out. “I don’t need stitches or anything.”

His eyes flitted from your face to your body. Tiny smears of blood on the fabric of your coveralls that went unnoticed at first caught his eye. He stepped forward with an extended hand. “Y/n-ya, I’d like to see it.”

Unconsciously, you flinched back. Harder, with a panicked edge you didn’t mean to let slip, you said again, “I don’t need stitches.”

“I didn’t say anything about that yet.” His voice was low, almost like he was trying to soften it.

Yet. He probably hadn’t thought of stitches, but when you said it yourself, he knew that it was worse than he had initially thought.

Law took two steps closer, causing you to turn fully forward, hands lifted. “Stop, stop it. Please.” Your throat felt like it was tightening and it made you sound close to tears.

Law was staring at your arm, now fully revealed in its red glory. So, so much red. The sailcloth was fully soaked now. His jaw tightened and nostrils flared with a heavy exhale at the sight. He lifted both hands in the air, an image of surrender. “You need to let me help you.”

You flinched again, harder this time, fully aware of those hands, that he could easily force you to do whatever. He could shambles you where he wanted, pin you down, and jam that needle in and out of your arm. You shook your head, back and forth, back and forth. You started stepping to the side, pressing against the counter, trying to get farther away, but stopped when you realized all you were moving towards was the corner. The only exit was behind Law.

Deciding to stick with a firm approach, as you had to take orders from your captain, Law said, more stern, “Let me help you.” He took one more step forward.

Your panic tripled, thrilling all throughout your body. You were a cornered animal, coiled tight from the lack of options. “I don’t need your fucking help,” you snapped.

Law felt a flicker of irritation. If you wanted to bleed out, or worse, get an infection, then that was fine. He could leave you to it if you wanted to be that way. But he smothered that feeling quickly. Yes, he could force this. He could strap you down and have it all done in minutes. That wasn’t what a good captain, a good doctor, did though. He’d win, but you wouldn’t go anywhere near him for months, not without thinking of how he handled this. You were a part of his crew. You were someone who’s pain and tears actually made his heart squeeze. This was about trust. The idea of losing yours made his own panic flutter in a way he wasn’t familiar with.

He lowered his hands slowly and let them hang by his sides. He took a few steps back as well. Gentleness was not something he was adept at, but he could try.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, truly soft this time. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I need you to trust me.”

The sudden change in his demeanor disarms you. You’d never heard him speak so softly, so earnestly, before. Your irrationality and the ridiculousness of your actions hit you, and suddenly your body drains, leaving you exhausted and sore. The wound on your arm is pulsating with ache. You do trust your captain. But your heart is still pounding. “I’m afraid.”

“I know.” Law's chest tightens at how meek those two words sounded. He moves now, albeit slowly, to you. He pauses right before his hands touch you, waiting for permission. You take a slight step forward, and he guides you toward the bed. He walks back to the counter to wash his hands and prep his tools.

“First I need to clean out the wound and make sure there isn’t anything left in there that can cause an infection. Then I’ll numb the area. Once fully numbed, I’ll do an interrupted stitch. That alright?”

Like you could really say no. It had to be done. But you knew he was doing it to give you a sense of control, and you gripped onto the kindness tightly. You nodded your assent.

After a thorough cleaning that has you hissing and huffing through your teeth, it's time for the first needle. Sitting again after going to the sink, you wait. Law lifts it from its place on the counter and brings it to your arm. You snap your head away, staring hard at the wall.

“Deep breaths,” he said. As soon as you inhaled, he stuck the needle in and pushed the plunger down. The cold burn of the liquid entering your arm made your breath hitch and your teeth to grind together. It was less from pain and more from the intrusion of something entering your body unnaturally. Law pulled the needle out and immediately rubbed soothing circles into the injection sight, gently as he was wary to add anymore hurt. You felt a keen disappointment when he stopped.

He placed the empty needle back onto the counter and pulled up the one chair in the room, deciding to sit while waiting for the numbing agent to kick in. He was close enough that your knees were nearly brushing. You fought back the urge to press them together.

“How’d it happen?” Law asked. He leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I was cutting sailcloth,” you said, jutting your chin toward the door, the vague gesture implying ‘out there’. “The knife slipped, I suppose. It happened so quickly.”

He hummed. “You should pay better attention. I’ll give you tasks without knives from now on.”

You pressed your lips together in a hard, thin line. As if you’d done it on purpose. “I was paying plenty of attention.” 

The corner of Law’s mouth twitched upward, like something about irking you brought him joy. Instead of annoyance, something about it warmed your chest. You glared at him without any heat behind it.

He nodded to your arm. “How’s it feel?”

You poked at the edge of your wound. You felt the vertigo that came from knowing there was something touching you but being unable to feel it. “All numbed up.” Taking a deep breath, you turned your head away again and lifted your arm towards him, letting Law know he could start.

He changed gloves before beginning. He started without warning, knowing well enough that a countdown meant nothing. Nothing would change the how and why of the needle going in and out. There wasn’t any pain and you didn’t necessarily feel it, but you could sense the needle breaking through your skin, dragging through the meat, and pulling back out. You felt the same of the thread. It made your stomach churn and your head spin. You dug your fingers into your thigh, needing the pressure to focus on.

Law took advantage of your inability to look at what he was doing to do some staring of his own. Knowing that you knew nothing of sutures, he knew he could stop and take you in without you asking why he’d stopped. Your eyebrows were drawn so tight together that it caused your nose to wrinkle a little. You bit down into your bottom lip as well, the queasiness you felt obvious on your face. The sight filled him with an unexpected tenderness each time he looked, and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to cup your face and smooth out your features. He wanted nothing more than to soothe you. But it was not something he could bring himself to do. The kindest thing he could do at this moment was finish the sutures.

The worst part was that he liked having you under his fingers like this. If it wasn’t so unsanitary, he’d have done this with his bare hands just so he could feel your skin. He’d let your blood settle under his nails so he could steal that small part of you for himself.

“Finished,” Law tells you.

“Thank you, Captain.”

 He puts the suture kit away and wraps your arm in gauze and bandage. “You’ll need to have me redo the bandaging every so often over the next few days. I’ll tell you when.” He could easily tell you how to do it yourself, give you all the supplies and when to do it and what to look for. But a selfish part of him needed to be the one doing it, so you’d have to keep coming back to him, so he could hear you thank him again and again.

And surprisingly,  you were content to let him do so. Such ministrations made you uncomfortable, or you straight out rejected it, because you knew that to lose that attention in the future would be painful. But you felt unbearably needy when it came to him, and would greedily take whatever he gave you, no matter how little it could be.

You left, unaware of Law’s hungry gaze as you went.

[formulawolff]

i. girls like u - t.w.

pairing: reserve female!driver x toto wolff

word count: 2.1k

warnings: morally gray individuals, slow burn, sexual content (intercourse), allusions to sexual content, cursing, marijuana use, references to alcohol use, lots of power imbalance, questionable boss x employee dynamics, light toxicity

a/n: ok this is my semi-return to tumblr after a writing hiatus. this fic is loosely based off of you by the 1975 and several blackbear songs. sorry if this shit is ass. i promise there is more world-building to come in the next chapters (it's been a while since i've wrote somethin' longer than 500 words) lemme know if y'all like it! i missed y'all! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆:

“aren’t you tired?”

fingertips brush along your back, light and gentle. stirring, you blink, stifling a yawn and you nuzzle into the warmth. 

it’s inviting, your lids drooping the moment the tip of your nose brushes along heated skin. a plush comforter shrouds your body, limbs entwined. watery rays of light peek in through drawn blinds, promising of dawn. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆:

“you wore me out. of course i’m tired.”

there’s a rumble in his chest, adam’s apple bobbing as he chuckles, “no, that’s not what i meant.”

“then what did you mean?” bringing your chin upward, your gaze locks with his. 

he flinches slightly at the harshness of your inquiry, a crimson hue tinging his cheeks, “i-i don’t really know. i-i guess i meant to ask if you were tired of watching everyone compete from the paddock. don’t you want to race as well?”

don’t you want to race as well? 

of course i do. every single fucking grand prix i pray that i’ll finally get a chance to be behind the wheel. 

to prove to everyone that i’m just as worthy of a competitor as lewis or george. that i am capable of finishing a race. 

i pray that i finally get a chance to prove that i’m a champion. 

inhaling sharply, your head falls, avoiding any sort of eye contact, “i mean, yeah. of course i want to race. i want to compete just as much as you do, max.”

“i’m sorry if–”

“it’s fine,” you murmur, finding your body clinging to him, head nestling into his chest underneath the covers, “can we just go back to sleep or–”

he exhales, lips connecting with your temple. they trail along your brow bone, placing gentle kisses all the way down to your cheeks, “you know we can’t. it’s qualifying today.”

“right.” your jaw clenches, “there’s nothing more important than qualifying.”

“hey,” fingers grasp your chin, “are you okay?”

“yup,” you nod, “i’m great.”

concern lingers, swimming in his icy blue depths. his tongue darts out, swiping along his lower lip, “you and i both know that’s a lie.”

shrugging, your lips pucker, “maybe i’m just not looking forward to watching everyone chase their dreams while i’m forced to sit on the sidelines.”

in that moment, you sense his demeanor shift. max softens, his muscles relaxing as a hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone, “you know, we could change that.”

your heart thuds, pounding as blood roars in your ears, “how?”

he leans in, his mouth nearly millimeters from yours, “i could pull some strings.”

“and how would you accomplish that?”

max’s voice is low as he continues, his tone laced with a dominance that you rarely heard beyond radios, interviews, or press conferences. it was quite the contrast than the max you were used to. it had you absolutely reeling, scrambling to maintain your composure as a shiver ran down your spine.  

“i could speak with christian, put in a good word for you. there’s a lot of change that’s going to come within these next few months. checo hasn’t resigned quite yet. the contract isn’t finalized there’s still time to get you in at red bull.”

“y-you would do that for me?”

the dutch driver nods, a little too fervently. 

“i would do anything for you.”

there was a sincerity in his words, almost as if it was a promise. a sure one, at that. a promise brimmed with a passion that you could only describe as one emotion. 

love.

you had him right where you wanted him. 

max verstappen, three-time world champion of formula one, was right at your fingertips. the dutch assassin was poised and eager, ready to fire as soon as he was given the word. 

all you had to do was say yes. 

that’s all you had to do. utter those nine words. 

i want to be with you at red bull. i want to be in that second seat.

yet, there was one thing holding you back.

well, more so a culmination of things. 

one, there was that ever-present gnawing, nagging feeling. the guilt was slowly eating you alive, threatening to spill your precious secret at any given moment. two, there was that fear of the unknown. what would happen if you managed to pull this off? would you truly be happy at red bull or were you just trying to worm your way to the top? would that shiny trophy really be worth it if you weren’t fulfilled? 

and well most importantly, the third aspect of it all. would you be able to keep up the facade that you were just friends with max verstappen? it was only a matter of time before your relationship with the dutch driver would come from the shadows and into the light.

it was so much easier to keep things under wraps when no one paid attention to you. 

“max,” you begin, “maybe we should–”

the shrill ring of his phone pierces through the air. leaning over, he plucks the device off the nightstand, grimacing as his eyes scan the contact. 

“it’s christian.”

“what time is it?” you press, “surely it’s not that la–”

“baby, it’s well past eight.”

“shit.” you shoot up, peeling the comforter off, “why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

max follows in suit, shoving a leg through his pants, “cause we were in the middle of an important conversation. i wasn’t going to just interrupt you to tell you i had to leave. that wouldn’t have been fair to you!”

“right,” you scoff, throwing on a hoodie, “you don’t have to act like i’m more important than racing. you live, breathe, eat, and sleep formula one. and i understand tha–”

lips collide with yours, the kiss nearly sucking the breath out of your lungs. it’s fiery, blazing with hunger as your knees buckle. max pulls away, panting ever so slightly. 

“don’t you ever fucking say that. you hear me?”

“yes.”

shaking his head, he makes his way across the room, smoothing out a wrinkle in his jersey before slipping on a shoe, “you mean the world to me. we can talk more about this later, but i really have to go. christian is blowing up my phone asking where i am. fuck. i really hope that no one sees me. do you have a hoodie or something i can borrow?”

crossing over to your makeshift closet, you file through the hangers, pulling a garment off. tossing the sweatshirt to max, you can’t help but giggle at his haphazard state. 

his blonde locks are all over, clearly ruffled from a long night. his clothes are wrinkly, bunched up from being thrown to the floor. the only saving grace is his red bull cap, along with the hoodie you just provided. 

however, the moment he sees the embroidered logo, he rolls his eyes. 

“really?”

“just make sure you take it off before you see christian. and put on some deodorant when you get the chance. you stink,” wrinkling your nose, you blow the dutch driver a kiss as he waves you off. 

yet, he catches the airborne smooch, returning the gesture, “i’ll text you later baby. i lo– i have to really go now. have a good day, all right?”

“i’ll try my best,” you reply, buttoning a pair of jeans, “you know i won’t be doing much.”

“goodbye love!” his voice carries down the hall as he exits your motorhome, the sound of the door echoing throughout the space. 

well, so much for making progress.

there’s a buzz in your pocket, stealing your focus for just a second.

fishing your phone out, your brow furrows. no one really contacted you in the mornings. well, unless it was an emergency or an urgent matter. 

it was a text message, from a sender you were well acquainted with.

it was none other than sir lewis hamilton. eight-time world champion. one of the greatest athletes of all time. 

who just happened to be your fellow teammate. well, fellow teammate and best friend.

who knew that formula one contracts came with a package deal like that?

where art thou, sweet girl? i fear that our team principal is going absolutely mad because you are running very behind. pls hurry before he starts going in on me for being on my phone during a team briefing. 

your thumbs glide across the screen, crafting a careful response.

sorryyyyyy. running late per usual. perks of being in the reserve, right? i’ll be there in like five minutes. 

the reply was instant, phone vibrating once more.

hurry up. toto is pissed. 

gritting your teeth, you shove your phone back into your pocket. luckily, you had packed your go-bag for race weekends the night before. well, before you got preoccupied with max. slipping on a heavier coat, you push through your bedroom door, making your way down the hall. 

exiting your motorhome, you spin on your heel, throwing up the hood as you navigate through the endless maze of the paddock. 

you would think after six months you would know your way around by now.

members of the crew and hospitality chirp greetings and good mornings, earning a mumble here and there in response. graciously, you accept a wellness shot from one of the hosting staff, in hopes that it would perk you up just a tad. 

eventually, you nudge open the door of the briefing room, keeping your head ducked as you settle into your designated seat, lewis spotting you. from across the space, he shoots you a thumbs up, paired with a precious grin, dimples and all. 

the second you slide on your headphones, a voice floods your ears.

it’s brassy and gruff, thick with annoyance, brimmed with that accent you were all too familiar with. 

“good morning, hase. i’m so glad that you could take the time out of your busy schedule and join us this morning.”

it was none other than toto wolff, team principal of mercedes amg petronas.

your boss. 

looking up, you notice him to your far right, perched in his seat. his gaze is lasered in on you, almost piercing. with his brows furrowed and lips wound tightly shut, you couldn’t quite distinguish the emotion plastered across his features.

was it anger? disappointment? sheer and utter regret?

“good morning, toto,” you grumble, heat flooding your cheeks as snickers bubble up from all around.

“as i was saying,” toto clears his throat, “i think that we need a new approach for the remainder of the weekend. clearly george isn’t feeling up to par, so we need to explore our options.”

“i could drive,” george russell, your other teammate coughs, “i want to ra–”

“i don’t think pushing you to your limit is an intelligent idea,” toto cuts in. the words are firm, the team principal continuing, “let’s face it, with ferrari and mclaren in the mix this season, we are desperate for points. we need to make a strong move this weekend or else we are going to fall behind. even more so than we already are.”

the voices trail off as your mind wanders, your focus dissipating by the second. typically, you never paid too much attention to the briefings anyway. after all, they did not pertain to you. they usually were directed at the engineers, strategists, george, and lewis. 

not like you needed to really pay attention too closely. you were just kind of there. a body in the room.

the backup plan. 

fuck, did that absolutely torture you. so much potential wasted. all of your blood, sweat, and tears poured into nearly two decades of racing just to end up fiddling with a loose thread of your hoodie as a room full of men bickered about who would fill a fucking seat. 

some fall from grace this was. the 2023 formula two champion reduced to a reserve driver simply because no other team would take her. 

after all, you couldn’t really complain too much. this was the life you chose. you were the one who ultimately made the choice to sign to mercedes for a two-year contract. 

after all, it was your dream to drive for mercedes.

“here’s what we should do,” toto’s voice seeps into your headphones once more, snapping you out of your dazed state, “we should utilize our reserve driver. what is the point of having a reserve driver and not utilizing her?”

“toto,” bono’s voice chimes in, “i’m not sure if–”

“bono,” the fierceness in lewis’ tone takes you aback, “this is what’s best for the team. as a whole. we cannot give it our all if we don't have healthy drivers.”

“george,” toto turns to the british driver, “what do you think? do you have any input?”

“i don’t disagree,” george shrugs, the words hoarse, “i want to be healthy for saudi arabia.”

“then it’s settled,” the team principal shifts towards you, his lips curling into a smug smirk as his arms fold across his chest.

“i think that it’s time for our little hase here to really show us what she is capable of.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆:

taglist: @sweetjellyfishland @ts1m1kas @bxuzi @racecardilfs

lemme know if you would like to be tagged for future chapters! <3

[gingerylangylang1979]

Gifs courtesy of @gentlesleaze

Carmy wants Sydney... carnally. 

I’ve debated about what his epic face journey here meant for a year now and I’m without a doubt convinced he was seriously attracted to Sydney from the day they met. There is no other explanation. I mean, if somebody wants to try another explanation go for it, but um. Who looks at a new employee like this? Would he have looked at Marcus like this? Let’s be for real. 

Why is he like this? It’s just too weird. He looks like he just saw a sexy angel (he did). Carmy is a bit odd but this is the weirdest he has ever acted. I mean it’s really stunning and I think just shows there was always something there with him for her. I don’t see how you can deny he is acting so extra. He can’t speak at first, he forgot he was expecting her because he is so surprised by her, he’s just staring, he can barely talk professionally, he forgets what UPS is, then he does this crazy shy double take. His voice is hella soft with her. He needed to look at her again, but it’s almost like he feels guilty. I could analyze these acting choices forever. It’s a really fascinating scene. 

Carmy thinks Sydney is gorgeous. He thought so from the first time he saw her. Now, he kind of tucked away that info super quick. He’s a gentleman and he’s professional. She’s qualified, actually overqualified, of course he’s gonna hire her. But Carmy’s not a pervert so he’s not gonna hire her and sexually harass her. He’s gonna keep it chill. He’s surely worked with attractive women before. No biggie... right? He can keep it together. When Richie calls her sweetheart he checked him. See, it’s all good. No worries. 

But he can’t stop staring. Carmy stares at Sydney often. He loves her face. There are times when what he is communicating could easily be communicated without being up in her face. But no, he is like as close to her face as he can be without being on it, examining from multiple angles as much as possible. He likes to turn to her. He likes to look up at her. He likes to look down at her. He likes to side-eye her. He appreciates art, beauty. Her face is that. She’s so precious to him. Notice how when we see her from his perspective she’s always extra glowy. 

Anyways, I’m sorry when this man gets her the lovemaking is going to be so raw and passionate. I’m telling you. He wants this woman, in his bed, like Moonstruck style. He just isn’t fully aware, but he does think she’s absolutely beautiful. He probably also thinks there is no way she wants him. 

This has to be fun for Jeremy to act. None of his Shameless romances had this kind of depth. This is an epic, super nuanced slow burn on a quality drama. He gets to be spicy, but sneaky, and unsure. And Ayo is so funny. They must be having a blast with this. 

[damagdsnow]

Fix my reputation

Pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

Summary: You and Coryo are together for mutual benefits, he needs a well known woman by his side to look vulnerable and loving during the presidential elections and you need your reputation to be fixed after your unforgivable scandal.

Tag: fake dating, slow burn, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, manipulative/soft Snow, strong and independent reader (as she should), fluff, angst, power play, smut, fingering, thigh riding, switching sub/dom, degradation, denied orgasm, piv, dirty talk, overstimulation, oral (fem/male receiving), praise

Chapter 1, chapter 2;

aesthetic chapter one, aesthetic chapter two;

Tw: Snow being Snow, mention of alcohol, panic/anxiety attack, mention of blood, mention of parent death, physical aggression (not detailed and not from Snow)

Word count: 11.3k

note: before reading this I recommend you to read the first chapter here. Also, thank you so much for all the love and support on chapter one I didn’t expect all of this, I love you guys ❤️

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

The first time you had met Coriolanus was when Dr. Gaul had announced he was going to be her apprentice Gamemaker during the next Hunger Games.

At that time, you got a job as a health advisor, essentially you monitored tributes' vital signs and whether they were injured, you formulated unique medicine so mentors and sponsors could help their favorites heal faster and be a step ahead of the others. You were used to stitch wounds, examining patients, making prescriptions. This was a whole new thing to you. Dr. Gaul said to you that you were one of the most qualified doctors in that department, this is the reason why she pressured you to ‘amaze’ her.

”When I read your qualifications I was shocked to learn you were looking for employment,” was the first thing Dr. Gaul said to you when she requested to meet you.

You were in her laboratory, a bright room filled with gruesome creatures, dead and alive. She was standing in front of you, with her voluminous curly hair and her reddish long tunic, while she was feeding some sorta of genetically modified fish.

“I was looking for some thrilling experience,” you started fidgeting your fingers, “making me useful for the good of Panem.”

You practiced saying these words many times before meeting her, what were you supposed to say? That you desperately needed a job? That as soon as you found another position you would quit immediately?

”Your idea to formulate a drug that would help tributes in the arena?” With a long tweezer she dropped a pink cube in the small pool, ”so original,” she smiled while feeding the fishes with more cubes.

“You know what it means right? The games will last longer, people spending money on their helpless and injured tributes, mentors fighting to get the best sponsor,” she continued, her icy eyes were staring at you, “this is going to revolutionise the games.”

“I’m glad you liked my proposal,” you looked down, wondering if it was better to make eye contact with her or watch those horrific creatures with long fangs and thorny tails.

“Liked? I absolutely adore your way of thinking,” she put the tweezer back on a metal tray. “No one was able to surprise me since–” she paused and you looked back at her, ”do you know Coriolanus Snow? You two would get along well.”

At that time you wondered who he could be. Coriolanus Snow? His name sounded familiar to you. Only when Dr. Gaul introduced him to the department as an apprentice, you recognised his face.

You both graduated from the Academy, he was just a year older than you, and during the tenth annual Hunger Games his name was popular amongst students. Even though you went to the same school, you had never talked to him. Until a couple of months before the reaping, Dr. Gaul let you and other members work in her lab to do research. Of course he was there too, and chance had it that you were paired up with Coriolanus, sharing the same desk in the library section.

You could see him sitting opposite to you, his side was impressively tidy, just a black leather notepad and a book. Your half was full of microbiology volumes, agar plates and creased post-it. Coriolanus was too focused on his writing that he never gazed over you, on the other hand you were distracted by his presence. You remembered him differently in the Academy, his hair was slightly longer than before, his facial features were more defined, but the same cold aura surrounded him.

You felt kinda intimidated by him.

You’ve heard colleagues saying how brilliant he was: he won the Plinth prize in his senior year, he graduated with honors at advanced military strategies and he now had a high position as the right hand man of the pretentious Head Gamemaker.

He intrigued you.

You thought you were not the smartest person in the room. There was something in him, probably his confident behaviour while he was writing on his notebook, as if he was superior to you. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, you thought of ways to start a conversation, not a small talk, but something smart to impress him.

Your heart was beating fast and you finally figured what to say, “Mr. Snow I found a better technique for–“

“What makes you think you can talk to me?” He cut you off while still writing in his notebook.

His words stunned you. The conversation you imagined in your head was now gone, what could you say at this point? “I just wanted–” you stuttered

“Don’t bother, I don’t want to know.”

Your admiration for him slowly faded each day. The way he corrected you every time you had a proposal, pointing out your mistakes in front of everyone, or when he made you work till night in the laboratory to perfectionate your research. You tolerated that, you were used to hard work and mean teachers in your university years, but sometimes he didn’t even show the slightest remorse on things he would say about the districts. About you, indirectly.

Every year on reaping day you thought that it could have been you. Your name in that little piece of paper, read out loud changing your destiny. If it wasn’t for your father’s role in the Dark Days, you could have been in that arena yourself, instead of having the privilege to control tributes’ lives in a cozy chair.

Your dad was an engineer, more a genius mastermind who designed and built high tech weapons. Specifically incendiary bombs, which were crucial to stop the rebels from invading the Capitol during the last year of the war. The project was so successful that he obtained an honorary medal from President Ravenstill himself. He was able to buy a place in the Capitol, for the only purpose to give you and your sister a better future, and you actually lived in luxury compared to your old life back in the districts. However, your father did not side with the president’s political view, still he had to conform to it or he would probably be considered a rebel.

He played the game, to stay alive. Until he was not part of that show anymore.

“I only did it for you and Darla, I don’t care about heavens or hell. As long as my family is safe, I regret nothing of the atrocities I’ve done,” were the words your father wrote to you in a letter, before being killed.

They had never been clear about the dynamics of his homicide, but you were sure it was not an incident as someone would say. The Capitol killed him, they took your dad away from you, the only person you admired, that never let you down.

Your blood was from the districts, even if you’ve lived all your life in the Capitol, you couldn’t change your origins. Coriolanus reminded you of that, with his despicable comments about how ‘horrible and disgusting’ the people from the districts were. As if you didn’t exist to him, you were not a person from his perspective. But he did not know that, no one knew you were not from the Capitol, it was only written on your official documents.

“The games are meant to remind us all who we truly are,” was something Coriolanus often said, bullshit you thought, for you the Games were an insult to humanity and civilisation, cruel entertainment for empty people.

Coriolanus Snow, such a brilliant mind but wicked thoughts.

At the same time, you were not better than him. You worked for the Head Gamemaker and indirectly supported the unnatural destiny of those children. It was easier blaming the government, the bad guys, than admitting to be part of the corrupted system you truly despised. Your excuse was that you had no choice, and partially it was true, but can money win over your beliefs? Were you so desperate to bend your morality just not to be jobless and not respectable? You were acting as your father: were you a fighter or survivor?

Little did you know that your worst nightmares were going to haunt you soon. After the incident you were unemployed, with a bad reputation and with a man you hated.

Check, check, check.

You woke up at lunch time for the third day in a row, it was like being a child again. But there wasn’t your mom taking care of you, your dad making your favorite dish or your big sister spoiling you with presents. You couldn’t ignore your responsibilities and let the adults do the big things for you. You were the adult now, but if you kept self destroying your life this way, it was like everything you’ve done vanished away. Giving up was not an option, or to put things clear, it was the easier possibility amongst the other challenging beginnings.

One of these included him.

Coriolanus was not a beginning, he was more like someone you bump into when you are in a rush, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there but that let you miss the train, made you change your destination. However, the end of the journey was a mystery, with him nothing was clear from the start.

The gala was proof that you couldn’t handle that world, it felt like everything you did made your situation in a much worse position. If it wasn’t for Coriolanus, you would’ve busted into tears on live tv, he was used to that world, lying so naturally that he convinced them.

Cameras, flashes, interviews. Not exactly what you have been preparing for all your life.

You didn’t want to remember what happened that night. Your mind replayed memories as if it was a film, but you were trying to stop it. The dancing? The photographers?

No, the kiss.

The thought of his hands on your skin, his hair on your hands, his lips against yours. The more you pushed that image away, the less it faded from your mind. How could you let him do something like that? You knew that letting him in again would only bring more chaos into your life, but at the same time, you needed to fix your mess and he was your solution.

Also, you didn’t want to acknowledge that all the attention was something you needed. Not the bad press, the misleading articles and intrusive photographers. It was the care for you, the way he defended you, the warmth you didn’t feel in a long time. You knew it was fake, just a facade, but that pretending was healing an empty spot you have been hiding for ages.

When you checked your mail, you recognised the reddish envelope. It was from Snow manor.

"Be ready at 7 pm, someone is going to pick you up.’ signed by Iris Davebonn.

Of course it was not over.

He had a plan, and he didn’t give up easily. You also had a plan, he was not the only one with something to prove, but was he the only way out to your hell? Or was he another villain in your tragedy? You had nothing to lose but everything to gain.

Coriolanus is the forbidden apple, the fruit I shall never be tempted to desire.

You opened the fridge, still sleepy but hungry. For your breakfast you had a couple of options: water and rotten eggs or rotten eggs and water. So as always you decided to steal from your neighbor’s tangerines tree, you could easily pick the fruits from your window, the advantages of living on the first floor. You knew that the old lady next door noticed your thefts, but she hated you either way so at least you gave her a reason to. Since you didn’t have a monthly paycheck anymore, you had to live with your remaining savings, but soon you were left with nothing with bills and rent to pay.

Actually, Dr. Gaul never fired you, she wasn’t as upset as Capitol people, she even congratulated you because this way The Hunger Games were discussed more on tv and newspapers. For her, the incident was a perfect strategy to make the Games popular. She even thought you did that intentionally, because in her distorted view,”it was funny seeing their faces when for the first time, a 12 years old boy from district eleven won”. Against all odds, the unknown tribute without sponsors and hope to make it alive, won the games because “I killed everybody else.”

Not as funny as she thought.

Eventually, you couldn't handle the pressure anymore and you quit. The last time you saw her she persuaded you to be by her side the next year, “if you did that by accident, I wonder what you could do purposely.” You never considered that offer, you didn’t have to work there in the first place. If only you could go back, maybe… Maybe, everything would’ve gone differently.

The world fell apart when you heard the sound of cannon in that room. Everybody was cheering for that girl from district two, the favorite, the one that won Capitol’s heart during the interviews. The lovely Rea, the brave tribute that was bit by an horrific dog. That creature cannot be defined as a ‘dog’, more like a venomous lion with a crocodile mouth. Your role was to make a medicine that could heal her wound. Sponsors asked it, her mentor was willing to pay whatever price to save her, the Capitol was betting every penny on her.

The pressure was such that you mistakenly switched two drugs and gave her the other for the boy from District three. Fatal mistake.

You were their only hope but you became the death of them.

Relying on somebody else was the last thing you wanted, especially if it was Coriolanus Snow. You didn’t want to need him. But there you go, on your way to his house. Again.

An avox opened the door for you and silently you followed her to the living room. Iris and Coriolanus were both standing near a star shaped glass table surrounded by small couches, you wondered what their conversation was about because they stopped talking the moment you walked in.

“Speaking of the devil,” Coriolanus said looking at you, he was wearing a white shirt and black pants, his hair was messy as if he woke up a couple of minutes ago.

”There she is,” Iris stepped towards you, opening her arms, “the new star of Panem,” she hugged you like you were an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while, it didn’t feel as awkward as you thought, it felt sincere.

”I think you meant a fallen star,” you laughed hugging her back.

”Honey, the gala was a success!” She said with a warm smile.

You perceived his blue eyes gazing at you, the same look he gave you when you were walking with him arm by arm at the gala.

Why is he staring? Am I wearing something inappropriate? Or is it just the indecipherable look he always has?

“Did you read the newspaper?” Iris pointed at the glass table in front of you but you were distracted by a bowl full of pastries to even pay attention to her.

You leaned forward to read the page but your sight was too blurry. The tangerines were the only thing you ate since this morning, not really an energetic meal. You sat on the small couch and you put the newspaper close to your face, nose almost touching the page, squinting to have a better view.

“Are you blind?” Coriolanus said with an annoyed tone, he tore away the paper from your hands.

”I don’t have my glasses with me,” you lied, you have never worn glasses in your entire life.

You rubbed your temples trying to see clearly again and you swiftly took what seemed to be a pink cookie from the tray on the table. What flavour was that? You tried to make a straight face while chewing that sugary stuff, at least your body was eating something.

“To make things short— they think we are the couple of the moment,” Coriolanus started while reading the page, “that everybody was shocked— bla bla,” he rapidly said, “oh and they mentioned my name four times!”

“No, Mr. Snow, if you have to do something you have to do it right,” Iris intervened, taking the newspaper from his hands.

She sat down on the couch near yours and started reciting the article, reading word by word.

“Is love in the air? In Capitol City probably is.” She read the first line,“what a great title isn’t it?” Iris commented

“Go on or we are going to stay here all night,” Coriolanus said.

You looked at him, he was standing up making you feel inferior, like a shadow looming over you.

“After the unsettling events happened in the last Hunger Games, there is finally some hope in our community. The aspiring president Coriolanus Snow showed up with someone not-so-new in the latest gala before the presidential campaign.”

“ ‘not so new’ so kind of them—” you said and he shushed you. How dare he?

“She studied medicine and has worked with the Head Gamemaker for the past year. Rumor has it that for some kind of incident, she was the cause of the premature death of two tributes.”

Iris took a breath. “Unexpectedly, last night Coriolanus proudly walked with her for the very first time in public. Both dressed in white, representing the noble Snow name, they conquered the attention of the media and the crowd. Are they the couple of the moment?” She smiled while looking at you, “the best part is about to come.”

“If we are basing the answers on the way they look at each other, they definitely stole our hearts. We are looking forward to seeing how this unexpected love will grow.”

You laughed, that was too corny for you, was it possible that they truly believed that little show you made?

”Will Coriolanus Snow win the election the same way he won her heart? Right now we are in love with both of them.” Iris finished.

“Did they really write an article about our possible love story?” You took another cookie, green this time, “they really are bored people.”

”You should be happy they didn’t talk about what happened in the arena,” Coriolanus said but you couldn’t see him, he was standing behind you.

“Well, they mentioned it anyway,” you said while chewing that lemon pastry, or was it mint? For a moment you thought it was better starving than eating whatever thing it was.

”Thanks to me they probably will give you a chance,” he said.

”The tone they used– it was like they think you are doing charity by being with me.”

“Well it kinda is–”

”Oh shut up,” you stand up, turning to him, “your name has never been this many times in a newspaper.” You were close to him, and even if you were not sitting anymore, you felt small standing there facing him.

His eyes were still examining you, as if you were a book written in a language he couldn’t read.

“You two look like siblings fighting over meaningless things,” Iris said, stepping in, getting in the middle of you.

“See? Even Iris thinks you are being overly dramatic.”

You fought the urge to answer back, did he just call you over-dramatic?

“Honey, look who's talking,” Iris said pointing a finger at him, “you are not really easy to work with,” then she turned over to you, “in just one day people fell for your fairytale, imagine what you can do in a month.”

“Do you really think this can work?” You avoided looking at him behind her shoulder.

“They don’t care about what you did, you are just another distraction from their empty life,” she explained to you, “they need something else to talk about.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, there are more important things,” Coriolanus said, “such as the presidential elections.”

”Is there something else you can say instead of politics and fame?”

”What do you want me to tell you? My sad story about when I mixed some drugs in the laboratory?” He stepped closer, ”oh no, that is something you always talk about.”

”I liked you better when you ignored me,” you said remembering the first time you tried to have a conversation with him.

“Stop please,” Iris said, “you two should bond more, this atmosphere is making me wanna retire early,” she touched her hair, orange this time, “maybe you will like each other.” She walked away from your sight.

“It's going to be tiring enough pretending to like him in public,” now there was just the glass table separating you from him.

“So this is a yes, you are going to do this,” his face lightened up.

“It seems this charade it’s working,” you said convincing yourself that was your best chance of getting your reputation back.

Did you just sign a pact with the devil?

He is the forbidden apple. But it doesn’t mean I can’t just play with it.

“Before I forget,” you heard Iris voice coming from the door entrance, “next week dinner with the Holdens and Suncots,” she was putting her yellow coat on, “they gladly accepted the invite here,” then she put her gloves on, “see you tomorrow—oh and try to bond you two,” she pointed a finger at him before closing the door and leaving you alone with Coriolanus.

You looked at the clock above the coat hanger and it was getting late, but you had nowhere else to be at that moment. No one waiting for you at home, no one expecting your call, nothing to do the next day.

“Tigris is going to design another dress for you,” he said referring to the dinner.

“Can’t I just wear something I already have?” The thought of him deciding what color and style your dress had was not something you tolerated.

“Of course not— do you dine here or?” That didn’t sound like an invite, more as if he was suggesting you go home.

“So kind, I’ll pass,” you said with a sarcastic tone.

”I asked because you almost devoured the entire jar of pastries.” He smiled, waiting for your reaction.

”For the record, they are tasteless.”

He rolled his eyes, “the car is waiting for you outside,” he turned his back and walked towards the kitchen.

”I can walk, I don’t need your personal driver,”

Your words stopped him right in his tracks, ”what if you get lost? How could I do without you?” He said jokingly, turning over to see you, “and it’s fifteen minutes away, in the dark— don’t be a child and go by car, you’ll get used to it.”

You didn’t answer, not like you had something to say. Of course you would’ve accepted the ride, your apartment was too far from his house, you just wanted to irritate him. Maybe you were not so different from Coriolanus, you were playing the same game.

Car rides make you recall only good memories. Your dad got a car when you were little, it was gray and smaller than this one, and he used to drive you to school everyday. Until you got into university and you moved to your current house, it was ten minutes from university so you got used to walking.

The engine stopped and you stepped out of the car, it was cold outside and you wished you had heating at home, a luxury you couldn’t afford anymore.

You fumbled with the keys trying to open the door, you were freezing and you rushed because you heard some steps. You didn’t want to have a conversation with your neighbor, she’ll probably just scold you about the stolen tangerines and how loud you shut the door when you go out, the old same story. You finally walked inside  but someone blocked you from closing the door. It was a young man, probably in his thirties, he had a tiny recorder on his hand and you immediately clicked. 

“Hi, I’m from Capitol’s People Magazine, I wanted to ask you some questions about your relationship with Coriolanus Snow,” he said pointing you to the black device.

”I’m sorry— for interviews, talk to my manager,” you said with a kind tone.

Iris suggested that every time journalists asked you questions you did not want to answer, you had to say those words, and now was the case. You slowly closed the door but the man put his feet in between.

”How could the heir of one of the most influential figures be with a corrupted woman like you?” He looked at you with eyes full of anger.

Corrupted woman, this was new to you. What was the correct answer to that? 

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you smiled while trying to close the door by pushing it against his feet but he was not intending to leave you alone.

He aggressively tried to wedge his foot into the door, forcing it to stay open while he continued to badger you with invasive questions about the gala.

”Are you planning on ruining his image while stealing his money?” He reached your arm and grabbed it. 

“What’s wrong with you?” His grip was getting tighter as you tried shoving him. 

He was strong enough to smash the door open, stepping inside your house. With his hand on your wrist, he roughly pushed your body against the wall, your back facing him as he stood behind you, your heart pounding outside your chest.  

“You are just a crazy bitch,” he whispered, “you think you can fool them but are a disgrace for Panem,” he pushed your head against the wall, one side of your face hitting the coarse plaster making your skin burn. 

“Get off me! ” you shouted, struggling against his grip.

In response he hit your head again against the wall. You squinted your eyes in pain as a tear streamed down your face, you felt powerless, everything happened so fast.

“Tell me what you want from me,” you said with a weak voice.

“After all you did, you should shut the fuck up and do what you are asked to do,” he put his hand on your scalp as he pushed you harder against the wall. 

You screamed like you never did in your entire life, someone had to hear your cry for help, right? But he was quick to cover your mouth with his palm and that was the perfect occasion for you to bite his skin. He kept his hand on your mouth while he choked on his own screams. 

Your muffled howl echoed in the room but no one seemed to hear you. Or so you thought. Someone grabbed the man from his collar and pushed him away from you. It was the driver, his tall figure was now beant down to beat that man. You were paralyzed, now your back was against the wall and your lungs finally breathing, but your body was unable to answer your brain’s orders. 

”Run!” The driver screamed at you while punching the man one more time, “go in the car! Run!” 

You ran towards the car but your legs felt weak and your head too heavy. You opened the car door and you laid down in the back seats. What the hell just happened? 

What if he came back? What if next time there is not someone to save you? Your anxiety grew inside your chest and you kept yourself from crying. 

“Are you okay, Miss?” The driver asked breathlessly as he violently closed the front car door with a rush, “should I take you to the hospital?” He was looking at you, he had an old scar on his cheek that you didn’t notice before.

You shook your head, “I just need water” you mouthed, trying to maintain a regular breathing.

“Thank you for saving me,” you whispered.

You looked at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes reflecting the street lights while he was driving as if nothing happened, as if his bloody knuckles on the steering wheel were not hurting.

After minutes that seemed hours he talked, “It is my duty,” he said, “Mr. Snow wouldn’t have forgiven me.”

Coriolanus was in his study preparing a speech for the next interview, he had to be careful to pick the perfect words, to speak with the right tone, and to make the adequate facial expressions. Nothing was left to case. Every single action had to be meticulously studied and calculated.

It was his specialty. Playing with words and making people fall in love with his charm. He did it naturally, molding people the shape he wanted. Because he had to have everything under his control, his power, his eyes.

For the first time he was struggling. He was stuck on the opening line and he didn’t know how to continue. Sleepless nights and alcohol were the usual in the past week. This was one of the nights. Locked in his study until he wrote something of that speech, depriving himself from sleep.

Coriolanus was walking around the room, fidgeting with a pen on his long fingers. Until his mind-wandering was stopped by a firm knock on the door, annoyed it could be an Avox, he ignored it. But the knocking didn’t stop.

He let out a sigh as he unlocked the doorknob, “how many times do I have to tell–” to his surprise, the driver showed up at his door, “Virma, what are you doing here?”

Coriolanus soon found the answer to his question by looking over the driver’ shoulder. You were hidden behind his back, like a hurt animal scared of its fate. You didn’t want to come here, like a lost child brought back home. But where were you supposed to be? What place instead of his?

Your ruffled hair, your smeared makeup and your empty look. It didn’t take long for him to understand something happened. A sense of anger grew inside of him. This was not written in a script, it was not meant to happen and when things did not go according to plan, Coriolanus lost his composure, he could have been unpredictable.

His face darkened. He grabbed your arm and he dragged you in his study, along with Virma. You felt his hand on your wrist, his touch was something familiar to you, maybe gentle, as if he was actually worried about you. He pushed Virma to the side and closed the door behind him, casting you both in the dim light of his opulent study.

You were now facing him, his expression was different from an hour ago. His hand traveled to your face, his fingers lifting your chin as he leaned to have a better view of you. The left side of your face was scraped, fresh cuts burned on your temple as droplets of blood trailed your skin. Coriolanus traced his fingertips on your bruised skin and you flinched, instantly regretting the movement as a flash of pain shot through your head, but he was not rough like that man. He loosened his grip on your arm, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of your injuries. He was delicate, as if he was touching something fragile. 

You were too focused on his expression to even pay attention to your sore skin. His knitted brows, his parted lips and his concerned look.

“Who did this to you?” His voice barely above a whisper, he glared down at you as he inspected your figure, as if he was looking for other scratches he missed.

You could almost feel the tension radiating from him.

His hand was now on your neck, fingers touching the back of your head, “a journalist, I don’t–” you looked down, “he was asking questions but I–"

“Mr. Snow, I think I know who he is ,” the driver said and for a moment you forgot he was in that room, “he is Lucius Cliffhard' son.”

"Cliffhard' son? The father is running for president why would he–” Coriolanus didn’t finish his sentence and he looked back at you, “thank you for your service Virma,” his hand left your neck leaving a warm spot, “we will talk about it later.”

You heard the door closing and now you were left alone with him. You could barely stand up, your adrenaline was leaving your body and your anxiety was taking its place.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he walked towards the opposite side of the room, looking for something in the small bathroom of his study.

You were standing in the shiny black floor, your heart was pounding so loud you could not hear your weak voice, “he probably was waiting for me to come home because the moment I opened the door he uhm—“ you stuttered, "started asking questions but I didn't answer, so he pushed me against the wall and his hand was on my mouth—“ you paused, ”he hit my head and—“ you felt a lump on your throat and you hoped he didn’t hear you.

His steps were again echoing the room, his figure walking closer to you. He had a piece of cotton wool in his hands and without a notice he held it against your scratches by cupping your face with his other hand. It was burning your skin, his fingertips were slightly brushing your neck while he dabbed gently the cotton to clean the wounds on your temple.

”Continue talking,” he said nonchalantly as he tilted your head to have a better view of tour left side of the face.

You stopped breathing in that moment, maybe because of the nauseating smell of the disinfectant or maybe it was because he was inches away from you, his focused look on the bleeding cut, “I think he just wanted to scare me,” you managed to say in a steady tone.

The blonde snapped his head at you, his blue eyes now on yours, “he is a psychopath,” his scent reminded you of that night at the gala, “he hit you because you didn't want to be interviewed, he could've killed you."

You reached his hand where he was pressing the cotton wool and for a moment your fingers brushed before he removed his hands from your skin. “you are exaggerating– he just needs help, ” you said.

Coriolanus closed his eyes, he clenched his fists and the knuckles turned white. He walked towards the desk and he poured himself a drink, taking a long burning sip. You watched him in silence as you inspected the reddish cotton on your hands.

“Do you trust him so much you want to come back to your house?” He was behind his desk, arms resting above the chair, “I told you, here you could have been safer from the media,” he raised his voice, “but you are stubborn, you risked your life and– if it wasn’t for Virma who knows what could have happened,” he said nervously while pouring himself a drink.

“So now it’s my fault?” You bawled at him.

“You don’t understand that now whatever happens to you affects me,” he said, “what are they going to say when they see your bruises and god forbid— he writes an article saying who knows what lies of what happened.”

“See? You don’t care about my safety, you only care about what they think,” you stepped closer to him because he wasn’t even looking at you, “you want me as your puppet, so you can have me under your control— your house, your peacekeepers, your scripts— it’s all part of your plan,” you said.

”You are free to go back to your pathetic life if that’s what you want," he took a sip of his drink, still looking down, “I can’t save you from yourself, after all– you were miserable before and now too,” it was like venom coming from his lips.

A tear streamed down your face, “this is what I hate about you,” you scoffed, “you are a selfish and heartless man, I was right from the start.”

You have called him only good names: uncaring, unaffectionate, disrespectful, selfish and heartless. The list was getting longer.

“What did you expect? I thought it was going to be easier with you but you are getting on my nerves,” he stood up walking towards you, “you should be grateful— but no, you like acting so superior to me,” his chest was getting closer to you.

You scoffed, “why? Who are you?” You looked up at him through your lashes, “just a rich spoiled kid who is playing at being the next president of Panem.”

“And you fucking need me,” he said against your cheek, “this is why you didn’t leave, you don’t want to admit that without this ‘heartless man’ standing in front of you who knows where you could be right now,” his eyes were consuming you.

”Look who's talking,” you pointed a finger at him, “the Capitol's favorite toy who needs a ‘miserable girl’ to make him popular.”

Coriolanus placed his free hand on your wrist, squeezing it lightly, “you like this am I right?” He licked his lips, “talking back at me, uh?”

His nose was touching yours, his grip was burning your skin and you could feel his hot breath mixing with yours. The blonde was dangerously close to you, but you missed that feeling. Have you already erased what he has said to you? Was he so powerful to make you fall for his spell?

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

His lips brushed yours, memories flooding back to you. You didn’t know if he was about to bite you or kiss you. It would have hurt you either way.

“Tell an Avox to prepare your room,” he said, “or freeze in the streets, I don’t care— your choice.” Coriolanus let your arm go and he walked away from your sight.

It started to be just for show but the backstage was even worse than the real life. At the same time you could not give up on this play, you had to change your rules, your morals, to keep being with him.

So you were alone in the dark in the hallway, thinking about running away or staying.

Coriolanus could not win this way, you hated to admit you still needed his presence to fix your reputation. The darkness seemed to swallow you as you hesitated, torn between your principles and the pull of his influence. He had too much power right now, but you were willing to wait, by making things your own terms.

As you stood there, unwilling to give in to his manipulations, the lingering memory of his touch warred with the sharpness of his words. You slammed the door shut for him to hear you, he would have to do better to get you away from him. 

Coriolanus could have touched your face as if you were the rarest creature on earth but the same lips once brushed yours, could tell the most hurtful things to you.

But you did that too. You were both craving the same sin. But too proud to admit on your faces.

“Is everything okay now?” You were in Tigris room, a colorful space barely illuminated by the outside light. It was in the basement, not really a cozy place to work.

You were talking about the aggression that happened a couple of days ago, nothing you wanted to recall actually, especially your conversation with Coriolanus, but you didn’t tell her that.

”Yes, the bruises are healing over,” you answered, touching your temple.

Tigris smiled at you while taking your measurements. She didn’t look like her cousin, apart from the blonde hair, she was pure and kind hearted. Why was an angel like her on earth with people like you? Like him?

“Why are we doing this again?” You asked “Didn’t you already have my measurements?”

You were standing on a stool, only wearing your undergarments while Tigris was putting the tape measure around your chest.

”Coryo sent me a note telling me that last time the dress was a little loose,” that was the last thing you could ever expect to hear from her, because it was in fact true, he noticed that.

“He did what?”

“I know, I was surprised too,” she smiled, “anyway, I read the newspaper.”

Oh no, you didn’t want to talk about that too.

“You two look great in the picture,” she handed you a wrinkled page where you could see a black and white photo of you and Coriolanus at the gala, he was looking at you while holding your waist.

You didn’t know about the existence of that picture until now. That night you were too starved to even pay attention to the newspaper, how could you miss that?

“It was so strange seeing him with a woman,” she commented while looking for some fabric.

“What do you mean? Has he ever had a girlfriend?” You knew the answer to that question but you wanted to hear from her.

“More like ‘girls’ than ‘girlfriends’, ” she laughed, “I’ve never met one of them,” Tigris wrapped a red cloth around your waist.

“Well, not that I’m special,” you looked at the mirror in front of you, “it’s just a stupid show.”

“What a shame,” she folded the excess fabric on your side and put a needle, “I liked you,” Tigris whispered.

You wished you could do something for her, she deserved more than a molded little room and a cousin like Coriolanus.

“So we are seeing each other more often, am I right?” she broke the awkward silence.

“Yes, Iris forced me to stay in this house,” Iris was really in apprehension when she saw your bruises, she lectured you on how people are vicious and in your ‘situation’ it was better not risking more.

“How lucky, aren’t I?” You added.

“I know my cousin can be– difficult to understand but,” she walked behind you, “there are some things that brought him to be this way,” her fingers tighten the fabric on your back, “and of course he’s not a saint, he just needs something– someone perhaps, to make him remember who he really is.”

“I can’t fix him,” you glanced at her reflection in the mirror, “I’m broken as much as he is and– we are incompatible.”

“As the sun and the moon?”

“Maybe.”

The comparison did fit well.

One is the star planets gravitate around, the only source of light at the center of the solar system. The moon is a small satellite whose only purpose is to spin around the earth, showing only one face and depending only on the planet's gravitational field.

Coriolanus wanted to appear like the sun, bright and powerful but he only displayed one face like the moon. You felt small, needing for something to orbit around as the moon did, but you didn’t know how radiant and capable you actually were, exactly like the sun.

Since you moved in his house, nights were longer than the others. It was getting harder to fall asleep because of your intrusive thoughts keeping you awake.

Is the door locked? Am I safe here?

The positive side was that your new room was probably bigger than your whole apartment. Then, you were not freezing anymore and you were finally eating food, not stolen fruit and smelly milk.

Even though you were living in his house, you tried avoiding his presence: by not having lunch the same hour as him, by going out your room only when you heard his door locking or having your usual meetings with Iris before him. That was your way of saying that he could not control your life, especially when he treated you the way he did.

However, that was still his house.

Red silky bed sheets, roses scent, his gold engraved initials on objects.

Coriolanus was not easy to forget. It was as if he had poisoned the air you were breathing, everything reminding you of him. The good and the bad. You promised yourself to not be tempted anymore, he was mercilessly manipulating you into believing he was the person he wanted to appear at the Capitol. But other than his mesmerizing eyes, his golden curls and delicate hands, there was another man hiding in his shadow. You had to picture that side of him every time he teased you, or you could be a sinner.

You were laying on the bed, leafing through the pages of the brand new script it was sent to your room. This was even worse than the other. Not only you had to remember some political matters regarding the current campaign, but you had to pretend again how good of a man Coriolanus was. How he supported and cared for you and how bright your plans as a couple were.

“I was extremely lucky to meet him, he is the sun to my dark days,” what an irony, “I am looking forward to living this exquisite love fully by his side.”

So cheesy for what?

“You can’t avoid me forever.”

You heard a muffled voice coming from the hallway, you walked towards the door but you didn’t answer. It was him of course, after the bad there was the good. He surprisingly tried talking with you on other occasions, but you had walked away before he could even finish his sentence, running away was easier, or god knows what you could’ve done.

“I can hear your heavy breathing,” he said close to the door, “open the door or I will,” he was waiting for your response, thinking about what he could say to get your attention. “Please?” Good manners are always the right answer, right? Right?

You let out a sight as you unlocked the door. Coriolanus was standing close to the room’s entrance, his arm was leaning against the wooden jamb and you noticed he was wearing his coat, as if he was about to go out.

“Oh so you’re alive,” he said, “I was worried about you.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but it didn’t matter either way. Right?

“What do you want?” You were still holding the doorknob, not letting him step inside the room.

“Come with me, we have to go somewhere,” he said with a rush in his tone.

“I kindly refuse your invitation,” you were about to close the door but he put his hand in between. I could squash his fingers, you thought, nothing he could not recover from.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, “sooner or later you will have to pretend to like me,” his face was partially illuminated by your room light, making his eyes brighter.

You looked at his long fingers keeping the door open, he had his usual shiny ring on his index finger and for a moment you thought you could really squash his hand, “I think it’s better we have less interactions possible apart from the social events.”

“It’s been days since people saw us together, yesterday they asked about you at the debate,” he hissed, “see? Instead of asking about my political project they were– nevermind, just come with me.” His eyes were begging you, such a satisfying image.

“I’m not dressed up, what a pity,” you said mockingly.

He peeked at your figure, “you’re fine.”

You did not feel fine. You weren’t even wearing your clothes, you did not had the chance to pack up your things from your apartment and you had to ask Tigris for some piece of clothing that could fit you. She gave you some of her designs, a green matcha wool skirt matched with a cotton white top. At least you were about to wear pretty clothings, not your old unironed shirts.

“Just for show,” you said while grabbing a jacket.

“Just for show,” he echoed.

You realised that in this game of power and appearances, keeping your distance wasn't an option anymore. You knew that you were now entwined in a dangerous dance with Coriolanus, one that could lead to momentous success or catastrophic ruin. The stakes were high and your mixed feelings towards him could not interfere with your plan, he was not the only manipulator anymore.

“Where is he bringing me?” you asked Virma after fifteen minutes of silence in the car. It was better not talking directly to Coriolanus when possible.

“Miss, isn’t this a date? Enjoy the ride,” the driver said with a smile.

You and Coriolanus laughed. Date? The only date you were looking for was the date this show would end. The car stopped and from the window you immediately recognised the place. It was not a fancy restaurant, a loud club or someone’s wealthy mansion.

First date with Coriolanus Snow at… the Citadel?

That was not what the script said.

You heard the car speeding away as he walked towards the huge grey entry, he unlocked the door and he stepped inside. You stood on the sidewalk, not sure if you wanted to follow him, it was too late to change your mind and too dark to be alone outside.

At least ten peacekeepers were guarding the entrance but Coriolanus walked towards the grey corridor unbothered. The first time you were there, you were searched as if you were a prisoner, as if you could hide a bomb inside your small pockets. This time they did not even consider you, because you both spent months working day and night in that cold laboratory.

The elevator plunged down at least twenty floors, the dark walls were so thick you could strain your vocal chords for hours but no one would hear you. You were standing beside him, waiting for the door to open as soon as possible. The only sound echoing in that place was the loud machinery that was slowly moving down.

“Did you miss this place so much you wanted a guided tour by me?” You asked, breaking the silence, “or is it a surprise party for me?” Five floors left, “tell me now so I put my best smile for the cameras,” you said mockingly, but he didn’t even look at you.

Couldn’t this man laugh for once? So boring.

The elevator doors parted and you finally stepped inside the laboratory. It was an open space divided into three areas. The center was where Dr. Gaul did experiments with animals, occasionally it was also where she did her lectures and exams; one side was the sterile area where the researchers did surgical operations and medical trials where they often experimented with new drugs on genetically modified animals; on the other side, there was the library and research tables, where you mostly spent most of your time studying advanced biotechnology methods.

“How romantic– I guess what people are going to say when I tell them for our first date you took me to see these sweet and lovely creatures,” you said as you looked at the wall glass with dead beasts inside clear yellowish cases.

“You should keep the bar low with me— and I just need to find some documents, you know this laboratory better than me,” he removed his coat and stepped towards the library on the other side of the room.

“You tricked me– you just wanted a favor from me,” your voice echoed and you were not sure he heard you. You walked through the library looking for him.

“I’m in the archives section,” his voice was not far away.

The library was arranged in a circular pattern, as if the bookshelves were layers and in the very core there was a large space with study desks, the ones you had slept on many nights back when you worked there. Soon you found the blonde leaning over a desk while reading some pages in an orange envelope.

“Did you find it?” You asked in an annoyed tone.

“Here there is– this is your file,” he said while standing up.

“My what now?” You walked over him, intended to grab the envelope with the 'confidential' print on the cover.

Coriolanus stepped back, leaning his back on the bookshelf behind him, “given your precedents, I thought it was better to check your past before they did,” he had already read your file a long time ago, but he didn’t tell you that.

He started reading the first page, “you uhm graduated with honors in medicine– bla bla bla first student in your class, —okay here, you specialized in general surg— oh no you did not” he paused, “yet?” Coriolanus looked at you with a puzzled face, suggesting you to say something.

“I will this year,” you looked at your fingers, fidgeting with the ends of your jacket.

“Lie number one, here it says you didn’t pay the tuition,” he pointed at the paper.

Fuck. You couldn’t afford paying for electricity, imagine the university fees, in the most expensive city in Panem. You stuttered something but he continued talking.

“Anyway, you got a place in the Ranvistill Clinic —impressive— and then you mysteriously asked for a transfer after two years, and this is how you got here,” he looked at you, “what happened?”

Was that a tricky question? This conversation was making you uncomfortable. You felt under trial, as if you were accused of crimes, Coriolanus was the judge and you were the only one defending yourself.

“Is this an interview? I didn’t know that apart from being interested in writing scripts you also were a human resource guy,” you tried switching the topic, the conversation was getting too personal.

“Do you have something to hide? I must be prepared for anything they can ask me,” he frowned.

You had many secrets you hoped he didn’t already know, “I changed jobs, that’s it.”

“You failed my test,” he chuckled, “you lied straight to my face in a serious matter –this is lie number two.”

“A test? What the hell Coriolanus.” You sighed as you walked over a desk, sitting on it.

“See? This is why you don’t have my trust.”

The man that cannot be trusted was really talking about trust?

“If you already know every detail of my life, why are you talking with me?”

“Oh, I knew it was going to bother you —anyway no, there’s just something that does not add up.” His eyes went again on that file, hands leafing through pages.

“Which is,” you said with a passive tone.

“Clodius South, head of the surgery department —or I should say, your umh— ex boyfriend?” He closed the folder and put it carelessly on the shelf behind him.

Your heart skipped a bit, “I’m done,” you stood up but he came closer to you.

“Answer just one question, I'm curious– why did he fire you? I mean, officially you transferred but I know it wasn’t voluntary,” he didn’t seem to give up, his look was pleading for answers, “so strange, you had been together for a year.”

“Why are you so interested in my sentimental life? You don’t have a chance with me, you know that right?” You laugh, feeling the tension in the air.

“There is no such risk, I’m not attracted to you,” his figure blocked you from walking away, “I just need your popularity, so I can fix it to something good.”

“You were the one kissing me in the car,” you bit your tongue, that kiss was something you didn’t want to bring up, it was better to forget about it. However, the other option was talking about your past, not something you were proud of.

“Oh please as if you didn’t want to,” he tilted his head, eyes locked on yours.

You laughed at his words, “you wish,” your back leaned against the desk.

“Then why did you kiss me back? I remember you didn’t let me breathe for a moment.”

“That was part of the show, Coriolanus Snow.”

“Now you use my full name? Last time I checked you called me differently,” he rested his arm on the desk you were lying on, making his height the same as yours.

You damned the only time it slipped from your lips calling him Coryo, a nickname you promised yourself to not say ever again.

“Why? Did it turn you on?”

His other hand was near your leg, slowly moving closer to your exposed skin.

“You can’t even imagine,” he swiftly looked down to your lips then back to your eyes.

The room did not feel cold anymore. Your breathing was getting slower, his parted lips warming your skin, his arm grazing your leg.

“So tell me, what happened with him?” Coriolanus insisted, but you had other plans in mind.

He was in power right now, he brought you here just to humiliate you with your deepest secrets. Weren't you just a miserable girl? It was your turn to make him feel miserable.

“You say you’re not attracted to me but you always find an excuse to touch me,” you whispered to his ear, his curls brushing your nose and his hand slightly brushing your leg.

This would have made him back off, telling you how stupid you are to think something like that, gaslighting you about the fact he never did such things like touching you.

“If it bothers you so much why you never push me away,” his hand traveled up to your leg, “go on, I’m waiting,” his fingers were now brushing your thigh and you felt his cold ring against your skin.

Fuck. That was not your plan.

You can always get back to it.

“I know your limits— I bet you barely touched a woman in your life,” you knew it was not true, you only said it as a provocation, to hurt his fragile ego as you planned.

I won.

”I don’t have limits, and we both know you would lose your bet,” his hand went under the hem of your skirt, making you shiver in surprise.

His index finger traced the outline of your panties, slightly playing with the waistband. Coriolanus didn’t break eye contact with you, his pupils were wide, you couldn’t see the blue that usually painted his iris, he was breathing slowly with parted lips, as if he wanted to control his heartbeat. And his hand felt so warm and familiar, so close to your core.

You knew that look, the one that he gave you when he let his guard down. The same look Coriolanus had when you came in his study a couple of days ago, his other side that he rarely showed to anyone.

His palm rested on your bare naked thigh.

“You don’t talk now?” His voice soothed your face, “tell me to stop and I will.”

That was the perfect occasion to slap that smug from his face, but you couldn’t even make up a coherent sentence. His voice was a gentle whisper cutting through the tension, but all you could manage was to stare at his eyes, trying to calculate his next move.

You knew what it was. It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that could shatter your plan. Did you have something to lose? You have already bent your morals, risked your life and crossed lines you never thought you would. Coriolanus would have been another crime to add to your list.

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

But what if I took just a bite? A taste of mortal sin.

“Why did you bring me here?” You managed to say trying to control your breathing.

“You once asked me why did I chose you,” Coriolanus whispered to your ear, “and I told you that it was for the presidential campaign,” his hand moved up again, “publicity, press and interviews— I only care about that,” his fingers were covering your clothed cunt.

You took a deep breath and swallowed, your back was still leaning against the desk edge, his other arm on your side. His words were not making things easier for you, not because you were listening to what he actually was saying, but because his tone of voice was something you could only hear in these moments. When he acted good, for the cameras, for the show. But there was no one in that room.

Coriolanus kept talking, “but my point is, why didn't you leave?” His index finger circled around your covered core, “I mean— I could list a few reasons why, considering also how wet you are right now,” he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your wetness. “But you always say you hate me, that you despise me, why are you here then? Are you so desperate?”

Your eyes were closed, your mind wandered prohibited thoughts while his hand was painfully too far away from what your body needed. What could you say to him? That he was right about being so desperate to pretend to be with him, so you could clean your image? That despite his selfish behavior he was tempting you into falling in his game?

Coriolanus brushed your soaked entrance with his fingertips as he massaged your clit with your own wetness. You shamefully spread your legs giving him more access to your folds, his digits that once touched your face were gently rubbing your needy center.

Your silent whimpers were enough as an answer for him to slide one finger inside you.

Your hand was now on his biecep, grabbing his arm so tightly or you could fall. There was something in you that was holding you back from punching him to his face. Was this the charm everyone talked about? Was this the version of him everyone adored?

“Given that you prefer remaining silent— I can tell you why,” his hand moved inside you, “you like the attention,” your cheek was against his, while your other hand rested on the nape of his neck.

Your reaction to his movements made him close his eyes in bliss, but you were too focused on not making sounds that you didn’t notice his expression. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he was making you feel good.

“I bet you’ve barely been touched by a man,” Coriolanus echoed.

It’s just one bite of the apple.

You looked at him this time, and you wished you did it before. The blue in his eyes, his plump lips, the glistening on his forehead covered by his falling blonde curls. An angel.

No, no, he is the devil, not an angel.

“Wrong,” you breathed and his pace fastened, “actually they were better than you,” you whispered and his eyes widened.

“Lie number three,” he slid another finger, “I can tell when you’re pretending and when you’re not,” he brushed your clit with his thumb.

Oh.

You bucked your hips to make some friction, Coriolanus was painfully slow as if he was taking all the time in the world. He leaned his head to your left temple, where small reddish bruises were fading away from your skin, and he planted feather kisses on it. Coriolanus slowly traced a trail of wet kisses alongside your face. His soft lips were healing your bruises, his hand was igniting your core.

His fingers moved faster, pumping in and out your hole and slightly curled to hit exactly your sweet spot. Your little moans echoed in the room along with the sloppy sound of his hand never leaving your cunt. Coriolanus stroked your bundle of nerves once more, his lips sucked a spot behind your hear, slowly moving down your neck, marking your delicate skin with his warm kisses.

That was it. You were sure your high was coming in a matter of seconds, your mouth curved as pleasure began flowing through your body.

“But wasn’t I an uncaring, disrespectful —and what was that—oh, selfish and heartless man?” His hand stopped moving, “well I guess you were right,” his fingers were slowly pulling out your unfulfilled hole.

What was he doing?

“Did you really think you could do whatever you wanted? Having meetings without me, eating locked in your room, ignoring me for days— I have the control here.” Coriolanus looked down at you with a satisfied expression, believing that he finally asserted his dominance over you.

Your mind raced for a response, but before you could gather yourself, his words hung heavy in the air.

That was his revenge.

You thought you could teach him a lesson but he was a step ahead of you. Coriolanus humiliated you, exactly as he planned. His intent was to make you feel ashamed of your past but you gave him a better opportunity: he made you feel needy for him.

Self sabotaging.

“They are here,” he said in a calm tone, as if you were not almost buckling in that very moment.

Five seconds ago you were close to your orgasm and now you were feeling the emptiness growing inside you. You looked around confused, adjusting your body so now you were standing up, your weak knees begging for rest.

Who?

“They?” You stuttered as you watched him stepping back.

“Yes, I called them before,” he smirked, ”put your best smile for the cameras.”

Coriolanus acted like he did not just had his fingers inside you, but his body was telling another story, his bulge was visible from his pants and you noticed that as he swiftly covered his erection with his hand.

He walked towards the elevator where two peacekeepers were waiting for him. You fixed your skirt, probably too ruined and sticky to ever wear it again.

Fuck him.

You followed him, making sure to walk properly or he would’ve noticed how flustered you were. The thick doors closed, it was you, two peacekeepers and the blonde. You were sure he could smell your arousal, you still had traces of his saliva on your neck and a little bruise on your skin. A new one.

Coriolanus took a handkerchief from his pocket and he carefully cleaned his hand from your wetness, like he was cleaning his hands after a crime. Yours. The cloth wrapped around his fingers, as your walls clenched around him moments ago.

Then he caught you staring at his hand, “are you okay? You look flushed.”

You sick bastard.

Your cheeks were painted in a crimson color, of course he could see that, he was the cause of that. The same cause that made you cream your panties and shake your legs. If it wasn’t for the peacekeepers, you would have probably strangled him. But that was his lucky day.

He won.

After an infinite amount of time where your mind couldn’t stop picturing the sloppy sound from before, the elevator’s door parted. Coriolanus grabbed your shoulder as he was directed toward the exit. The silence in that room was now replaced by loud voices coming from the outside.

“Who did you call?” You tried pulling away from his grip but he kept you close.

“I told you, they haven’t seen us in a while.”

He opened the entrance and you heard someone shouting, “they are here!” A group of unknown faces were pointing microphones towards you, asking questions you didn’t bother to listen to.

You walked through the crowd side by side to him, his arm around your waist as you covered your face from the blinding flashes. The car was waiting for you in the exact spot it left you, Coriolanus let you enter in the car first as he followed by closing the door, blocking the loudness outside.

You sat on the back seat, heart racing outside your chest, forcing yourself to completely ignore his presence.

Coriolanus was again back in your thoughts as your wetness slid down your legs.

He is the forbidden fruit.

I am tempted by thee.

A/N: finally it’s out!! It has been so hard writing this chapter, I had so many ideas that I couldn’t mold them together into a coherent text lol. Anyway, as always tell me if there are grammatical mistakes because another difficulty was my limited vocabulary (a special thanks to wordreference.com or I wouldn’t be here today.) Every day I’m trying my best to improve my English so have mercy on me! Let me know if you want to be tagged next time!! 💌

Thank you so much for all the love and support!! Your comments mean a lot to me ❤️❤️ I love you all

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[venusacrossthestars]

Doughnut Holes

Pairing- Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

A/N: I literally hate this, this is a hodgepodge of randomness, I'm so sorry. I also really want a doughnut hole now. This is @arieslost doing, we couldn't stop talking about Lando and I loved every second.

WC- 6k-ish

F1 masterlist

One might compare the inner workings of a Formula 1 team to a carefully crafted house. You had the foundation, walls, floor, roof, all of the main components that made a structurally secure house. Then you had the fluff- all the things that weren’t technically needed but the things ultimately made a house, a home. Without the fluff, the house was nothing but a cold, unwelcoming shell. 

You would be considered a part of the fluff, you were among those who brought the warmth, the love, and all of the things that the others didn’t. While McLaren didn’t necessarily need you to run successfully, it seemed that a certain driver did. 

Lando considered McLaren to be his second home, after all, he does spend the majority of the year with them. The people, the constant movement, nothing was ever still and for the most part he enjoyed it. His whole career was based around speed, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wish for it all to slow down.

Like everyone, Lando had his good days, and then his not-so-good days. The latter becoming more and more constant. It would start off with something small- waking up five minutes before his alarm went off, putting on a pair of socks only to find one had a hole in it, or arrive at a meeting- only to find out that all the doughnut holes were gone. Then it would escalate, it could be anything, from learning that something was wrong with the car to having media duties after a terrible qualifying. Lately, anything that could go wrong was going wrong. 

The first time Lando had met you, well more like the first time Lando saw you, was no different. Lando had woken up late, couldn’t find a pair of matching socks, and had a half-dead phone because his charger had broke the night before. He didn’t care for meetings when he was in a good mood, and he certainly cared for them less when he was in a bad mood. By some miracle, he arrived on time for the meeting but not nearly early enough for a doughnut hole. Lando closed his eyes for a moment, he could hear as more and more people entered the conference room and hoped that this day could only get better. 

“Mate, you look like crap.” Lando’s eyes snap open and turn to the Aussie driver who looks at him with a frown. 

“It really hasn’t been my morning, more like it hasn’t been my week. Nothing is going right and frankly, I’m sick of it.” 

Oscar gives him a sad smile, “I’m sure things will turn around.” 

“I hope so.” 

The meeting had begun like every other meeting, a promise for a good season, what was being worked on, the same old same old. However, they weren’t even at the twenty-minute mark when another person entered the conference room. Lando, like everyone else in the room, turned their heads to the newcomer. 

“Sorry,” the newcomer squeaked out, clearly embarrassed by all the attention focused on her. “I’m just here to drop off the flash drive you forgot Zak.” 

“Oh, thank you Y/N, what would we do without you?”

“Crash and burn, sir. Crash and burn,” the girl- now known as Y/N replied with a smile. And although you weren't smiling at Lando, he really wished you were. 

You had left as quickly as she had came, the only thing left in Lando’s mind after the meeting was your smile and the fact that his day had gotten miraculously better. 

Bad days didn’t typically phase you, it generally meant that things would only get better. 

But, walking in late to a meeting you weren’t even a part of was not the pick me up you needed. The day had already started out rough- your car wouldn’t start, your sock had a hole in it, and worst of all- catering was out of doughnut holes by the time you got there. 

It was a quick 1, 2, 3 drop and go but there were so many important people in that room, including the two McLaren drivers. Even though you didn’t do anything remotely embarrassing, you were up that entire night overthinking it, but in reality, it wasn’t like anyone was going to remember the girl who simply dropped off a flash drive. 

A week had passed since the meeting, and things were looking up for little Lando Norris. He had matching socks, a working phone charger, and most importantly he was holding the last powdered doughnut hole. However, he had not seen the girl from the meeting anywhere. It wasn’t surprising with how many people were coming and going, each had their own responsibilities. That didn’t mean Lando wasn’t disappointed, there was something about that girl. 

A quiet ‘son of a bitch’ caused Lando to snap out of his thinking, as he turned to face who was muttering such profanities so early in the morning he was met with the slight of you standing at the catering table. 

“Everything ok?” Lando would be a fool if he was going to let his opportunity to talk to you slip through his fingers. 

“Huh?” you responded almost unsure if the Lando Norris was talking to you. 

“You just swore? So I’m assuming something happened?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing really, its just that- never mind it's stupid.”

“Not stupid enough for you to be swearing at 8 in the morning.”

You wave your hand dismissively, "it's just that I woke up on time and got here early all for a doughnut hole and there's none left.” 

Lando casts his eyes down to the napkin in his hand that contains the last doughnut hole and holds it out to you, “here you can have mine.” 

You look down at his extended hand and bring both of yours up in protest, “No it's ok. I think I’ll survive without it.” 

“No take it, I shouldn’t really even be eating it.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely positive,” Lando says as he holds his hand out further. 

“Thank you,” you take the precious breakfast treat with little hesitance and pop it into your mouth. 

“I’m Lando by the way,” Lando holds out his now empty hand. 

“I know, I’d be surprised if anyone working here didn’t know who you were.” You tease, grabbing his hand with yours and shake it. 

“Oh, I supposed you're right.” Lando rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, ‘way to make a complete fool of yourself, obviously, she knows who you are’ he thinks.

You giggle at his response and offer him a smile, “I’m Y/N,” but before you can say anything else you are interrupted by the shrill ringing of your phone, “and I am needed elsewhere, have a nice day Lando. It was lovely meeting you.”

Lando watches as you answer the phone and scurry off elsewhere, but he is definitely going to have a good rest of his day now, not even the lack of a doughnut hole could bring his day down.

Before what you and your coworkers now call the doughnut hole occurrence™, you've never interacted with Lando, there were a few occasions where you happened to be at the same meeting as him, but never enough for him to notice you or have him introduce himself. Now, however, you seemed to be seeing him a lot more, well more than the other McLaren driver. Maybe, it was because both of your schedules lined up or it was like that phenomenon where you see one certain car, then all of the sudden you’re seeing that car everywhere. But what changed in the matter of weeks that now he was everywhere? 

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find the British driver attractive. But you were two separate worlds away, you- an assistant who was a constant people pleaser, and he was, for a lack of better words, himself. You didn’t consider the two of you friends, hell you had one conversation with the guy over a breakfast treat. You didn’t even really consider the two of you colleagues, you both ran in different circles of the racing world. That fact didn’t stop you from giving him a smile every time you saw him and to your, and your coworker's surprise, he would give the small gesture a return. 

You truly hated being a people pleaser, especially now more so than ever as you stood outside the door of Lando’s driver room. “Stipud Debbie, stupid saying yes. ‘Oh Y/N they need a temporary assistant for Mr. Norris. I told them you’d be perfect for it', ” you mimic Debbie, your supervisor. “Why couldn’t I have said no?” 

Many of your co-workers liked to joke that you were a jack of all trades. That you could be pushed into the deep end without knowing how to swim and learn that second. You were a quick thinker, that's how its always been. But even the most flexible of people had their limits, and you were currently staring yours in the face. 

Lando didn’t know what to expect as he opened the door of his room to the hallway, but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting you of all people to be standing there muttering to yourself. 

“Can I help you?” Lando asked, puzzled as to why you were here. 

“Sorry, I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Y-”

“Y/N, “Lando interrupts, “I remember you. You’re the girl I gave my doughnut hole to.” 

“Oh, yeah. That’s me,” you chuckle out, “it looks like I’m your new assistant for the foreseeable future.” 

“I don’t really see the need for an assistant,” Lando says. His words cause your face to fall, and he quickly tries to backtrack, “It’s nothing personal but during the season I am either- traveling, racing, doing media duties, or sleeping. So I really don’t know who said I needed one.” 

“I don’t know either, Debbie, my supervisor recommended me and now here I am,” you gesture out, “and I really don’t want to tell my boss that you said that.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something for you to do. I mean I do, do things.”

“Ok,” you draw out with a nervous breath, “I mean I am a bit of a people pleasure. As long as you don’t ask me to do anything gross, illegal, or really immoral I think we’ll be fine.”

“See those are all the things I need an assistant for,” Lando jokes. He notices how your shoulders lose some of their tension. “But if you are my assistant does this make me your boss?” 

You seem to ponder his question, “Maybe, but probably not.” 

“Fair enough.”

The first few weeks of working for, or more with Lando have proved to be smooth sailing. You weren’t being pulled in eighteen million directions, nor were you running around like a headless chicken. Lando was right when he said he didn’t really need an assistant. You probably answered a few emails, some phone calls, ran out and have gotten him a few random things but that was about it. 

There were also a few things you have learned about Lando during your time together. He never demanded, he always asked politely- something that your previous employers and co-workers never did. He also always insisted on eating meals together, anytime he ate he always made sure you were eating too. Lando also talked a lot, not that it was a bad thing, at first it was a bunch of small talk- he asked about your family, if you hand any pets, what your friends were like, what kind of hobbies you enjoyed, things like that. Then he would ask your opinions on things, what he should wear, what sandwich he should get and once joked with you, “you’re my assistant, you should be telling me what to do anyways.” It almost felt like a friendship instead of an employee-employer relationship. 

Today was no different, Lando was going on about some TikTok he saw the previous night, a TikTok that he had already sent you. “And the dude wiped out and ate shit. I’m telling you, that while I felt bad, I almost peed my pants from laughing so hard.” 

“The way he landed, there is no way he didn’t break a bone or several.” You responded not looking up from your computer. 

It was hard working with a funny, talented, kind, handsome man. A man whom you were already attracted to without knowing him and getting to know him, the really Lando Norris, was only making it worse. 

“Let's do something, I’m dying of boredom,” Lando drones out, flinging himself down on the couch next to you. 

“Lando, I am trying to reply to some of your business emails, y’know my job.” you continue to type away, trying to emphasize your point. However, you are rudely interrupted when your laptop is ripped out of your grasp. 

“The emails will still be there later, let's go do something!” Lando exclaims now dangling your computer away from you. 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know, I was hoping you’d have an idea.” 

“Yeah, I got one.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, it's called giving me back my computer so I can do my job,” you deadpan as you lunge for your computer. Lando's reflexes however are much quicker than your movements, so you are left pressing into him, computerless. 

You quickly sit up and turn away from him, trying to hide your embarrassment. By doing so you miss the small frown that Lando gives at your quick retraction. 

Lando however quickly recomposes, “I know,” he stands, “let's go bowling!” 

“Bowling?” 

“Yeah, y’know, the game where you basically throw a heavy ball down a lane and try to knock down the pins.”

“I know what bowling is you doof.” 

“Then why’d you say it like that?” 

“Because out of all the options in the world, you pick that.” 

“For your information, I like to bowl.” 

“Yeah, you also like to golf. You really like your old man sports huh?” You tease. 

“Hey! That’s not very nice missy,” Lando waves his finger at you mockingly. 

“Fine, I apologize Mr. Norris. I would love to go bowling.” 

“Yippie!” 

“Lando?” 

“Yeah?”

“Never say that again.” 

“Yeah, right, sorry.” 

Lando was excited, he actually didn’t know why he picked bowling. Truthfully, he just wanted to get out and do something, preferably with you. These past few weeks with you as his assistant have been amazing. Not because he had someone running around doing his bidding, but because he had someone to talk to. At first, it felt weird talking to you, he kept asking you random questions. He didn’t want you to feel pressured into answering him just because in some run-around way he was your boss. He wanted you to feel comfortable around him, and he could tell that the more he joked around with you, the more at ease you felt.

The two of you walked down the hallway towards the exit, talking seemingly about nothing. Well, you were doing most of the talking, not that he minded, he could listen to you ramble for hours. Whenever you were around, everything else became fuzzy. He noticed how your eyes got a certain twinkle to them as you talked about your favorite things. He knew how you loved Oreo cheesecake, and that your favorite doughnut holes were the red velvet ones, but since catering didn’t offer those you had to choose your other favorite, powdered sugar, and that you also had a distaste for fish, claiming it tasted like how still water smelled. 

He tried to show you that you were more than an assistant to him. He always made sure to eat with you, he never demanded anything, he asked your opinion on important things. Lando knew, however, that those things were the bare minimum, hence why he asked you to go bowling. 

“Where ya going?” The familiar accent of Lando’s teammate stopped them in their tracks. 

“Hey Oscar,” you turned to great the Australian, “Lando wanted to go bowling, so I guess we're going bowling.” 

“I haven’t been bowling in forever. Last time I went I had to play with the gutters up.” 

You gasped, clasping your hands in front of you, “why don’t you come with us?”

Lando froze at your invitation, he was hoping that it would just be the two of you. He could see Oscar's gears turning in consideration. He looked at you then behind you at Lando, who was shaking his head and moving his hand in front of his neck, trying to tell his teammate to say no. 

A grin split across Oscar's face, “y’know what, I would love to go bowling with you and Lando.” 

At Oscar’s response, you swiftly turned back around to Lando, who swiftly changed his movement. Rubbing the back of his neck he gave you a sheepish smile, “great, the more the merrier I guess.” 

The drive to the bowling alley was painfully quiet, normally the silence would be filled by Lando’s rambling but the Brit had no quirky comments. This led you down a spiral, did you do something to upset him? Was he mad at you for inviting Oscar? You thought the two of them were close and that Lando would’ve invited Oscar anyways after running into him. 

The three of you entered the alley still in silence and frankly, you were fed up with it, “is this a bad time to say that I am absolutely terrible at bowling?” 

“No,” Lando speaks up, “it just means that I am going play the easiest round of my life.” 

The clerk hands you your shoes and assigns your group a lane. “I feel like a clown with these shoes,” Oscar admits. 

“You look like one too,” Lando deadpans. 

“Jeez, no need to be rude.” 

You look at Lando with a raised brow. You can't tell if he is joking or not. 

“Anyways,” you but in, shifting their attention to you, “How are we going to decide who goes first?” 

“It’s only fair that the master goes first to show the peasants how it's done,” Lando declares. 

You and Oscar share a look of ‘can you believe this guy?’ “Go for it then all mighty master.” 

You watch as Lando goes for his turn, and much to Oscars and yours amusement the ball goes straight to the gutter. The little screen over the lane plays a silly animation indicating that Lando, had in fact, not hit a single pin. 

You are unable to control your laughter, tears pool in your eyes. You have to hunch over in your seat in order to keep your laughter at bay. 

“It’s not funny,” Lando pouts. 

“You’re- you’re right,” you wipe at your eyes and take a deep breath, “it’s not funny. It’s fucking hilarious.” You managed to get out in between a fit of giggles. 

“You're lucky your laugh is cute,” Lando waves his finger in warning. 

Your stomach flips at his admission. Your laugh, cute? Your gaze meets Landos and he is quick to turn around and go for his second turn. 

“Did I hear that right?” you whisper to Oscar. 

“Yup,” is all he offers in response. 

You hear a collision of the ball and pins followed by a loud “SPARE!” from the overhead TV, indicating that Lando has in fact struck a spare.

“See I just needed a warm-up,” Lando says wiggling his fingers at you and Oscar. “Who’s next?” 

“Ladies first,” Oscar gestures for you to stand. 

Rolling your eyes you stand, “wow, so chivalry isn’t dead.”

Walking over to the lane you can’t help but look back at Lando, who gives you a double thumbs up. Taking a deep breath you throw the ball down the lane, and to your surprise, you manage to hit, not one, not two but four pins. 

“Not too bad,” you hear Lando from behind you. 

“All those years of Wii bowling must’ve paid off.” 

“Just don’t throw it backward.” 

“I make no promises.” 

Your next toss is much better, out of the six pins left you managed to knock down five. You turn around to gloat but the two McLaren drivers are in discussion, Lando looking pissed off and Oscar looking unapologetic. 

“Is everything ok over here?” You stand with your arms crossed staring down the two of them. You came out to have fun, not to babysit two pissy twenty-something-year-olds. 

“Everything is fine,” Lando snips out. 

“If you say so, Oscar you're up.” 

The Aussie groans, “you both did good, this is going to be embarrassing.” He points to you, “I thought you said you were bad at bowling.” 

“I’ve channeled the Wii bowling Gods and they have blessed me, maybe you can do the same,” you tease as you sit next to Lando. 

You turn your attention to Lando and quietly ask, “Is everything ok?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Well you were quiet on the drive here, you’ve been a little bit snippy towards Oscar and I. And just now- you were talking to Oscar and you looked pissed off.” 

“I’m fine.” Lando shrugs off your worrying. 

“He’s just pissy I interrupted your alone time,” Oscar interjects. 

“You went already?” Lando asked, surprised by the quickness. 

“Yeah, it goes by fast when you roll two gutters in a row.” He shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Wow, you really are bad,” you admit, “but what do you mean by ‘our alone time.” 

“Nothing,” he shrugs again. 

Lando is quick to get up, seemingly uncomfortable with whatever Oscar meant by ‘alone time’. Now you really need to know. 

“Oscar,” you poke him in the shoulder, “what did you mean by that?”

“Like I said, nothing,” 

“You might be able to act all innocent and good in front of the cameras, but you Oscar Piastri are the biggest shit-stirrer of them all.” 

Oscar just shrugs at that, leaving you to wonder what he meant. Did Lando truly just want to spend time with you and only you? Was this just because Lando saw you as a friend and wanted to hang out. Or was this as an ‘I want to get to know you better because I like you and could potentially have feelings for you?’ hang out? The first one, you rationalized, it's definitely the first one. 

The rest of the game went in a blur, too focused on what Oscar said and what your overthinking brain was processing. 

Lando has never felt more uncomfortable and furious at the same time, and all because of Oscar’s comment. He really shouldn’t have let it get to him, it was just a friendly jab, Oscar knew how Lando felt about you. He also couldn’t get the look on your face at Oscar's comment out of your head. You probably thought he was a creep or some weirdo. 

The ride back, albeit not as uncomfortable as the ride there, was still filled with this silence that Lando did not care for. 

“Mate, how did you manage to roll a gutter almost every single time?” 

“I don’t know, it's almost sad,” Oscar admits. 

“Oscar, it is sad,” you but in, “there has to be a statistic out there or something saying it's harder to do that than actually knocking down pins.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Oscar exclaims, “you still lost.” 

“Yes, Master bowler Mr. Norris reigns supreme. But at least I managed to score points. I even got a strike! That’s more than you can say!” 

“I am never hanging out with you two again. You are the worst.” Oscar huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and stares out the car window like a pouting child. 

‘Good’ Lando thinks to himself. He would’ve said it out loud but after you had asked him what was wrong at the bowling alley he tried to be in a better mood. Granted, having Oscar come along wasn’t what he had in mind when he asked you to hang out with him, but he still had an alright time. Plus, he did get to hang out with you, which was better than sitting around doing nothing while you answered emails. 

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” you told Lando once back in his driver's room. 

Lando whipped his head around to see you packing up your laptop and other miscellaneous belongings scattered around the room. “What? But it's still early.” 

“Yes, and I still have emails to answer remember?” 

Lando groaned at the remembrance, “but I’m still-” 

Lando stopped at the sight of your raised palm, “If you say you are still bored I am going to smack you, and besides I think you need to call it an early night because you were extremely crabby with me and Oscar earlier.” 

“Crabby? I’m not a toddler who forgot his nap.”  

“Are you sure? Because it was hard to see the difference earlier.” 

“I just wanted to hang out with you.” 

“And you did hang out with me, did you not? 

“Yeah, but Oscar was there too. I just wanted the two of us to hang out.” 

“Lando you see me every day, we ‘hang out’ all the time.” 

“No, you’re working most of the time,” he corrects you. 

“We get nearly every meal together, no? You send me TikToks, funny tweets, reels. You meet me after all your media duties, qualifyings, and after the races. We see plenty of each other.” 

“Do you not like spending time with me?” Lando asks dejectedly. 

“Did I say I didn’t like spending time with you?” 

“No, but you also didn’t say you liked spending time with me.” Lando points out. 

You roll your eyes and Lando watches as you walk closer to him. Lando feels the heat of your palms through his shirt where they lay on his shoulders. His brain nearly short circuits, while this isn’t the first time the two of you have touched one another, this one feels different. 

“Lando I like spending time with you,” you shake his shoulders. “Maybe a little more than I should.” It’s quiet and Lando knows that he probably wasn’t meant to hear that. However, he feels relieved at the statement, knowing now that the feeling is mutual. 

You smile again, “as I said earlier- I still have emails to answer and you should get some rest, you crabby toddler.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waves you off, “Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?” 

“Of course, Goodnight Lando.” 

Lando can’t help the grin that breaks out on his face, and it stays that way till he falls asleep. 

It's the next morning and you are tying your shoes on when there is a knock at your door. 

“I’ll be right there, just give me a second,” you call out. 

You make it to the door and when you open it you are greeted with Lando’s smile. However, your view is obstructed when Lando all but shoves a brown paper bag in your face. 

“What is this?” you ask taking the bag, “it's not a dead animal is it?” 

“Do you think I'm so sort of psychopath?” 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” 

“Just open the bag.” 

Hesitantly, you unroll the top of the bag and peer inside. Thankfully, it's not a dead animal, instead in the bag lies half a dozen red spheres. 

“You did not!” You exclaim, and you can’t help but break out into a grin. “Where did you get them?” 

“I’ve never seen anyone get so excited over doughnut holes,” Lando laughs. 

“They aren’t just any doughnut holes! You got me red velvet doughnut holes, my favorite.” You pull Lando into a hug. In which he wastes no time returning your embrace, savoring the way you fit perfectly in his arms. 

“See I remember things, especially if they are about you.” 

You pull away, mostly from the shock of what you just heard. You can feel your cheeks heat up, and quickly you clear your throat, “Thank you, Lando, I really appreciate it. Do you want one?” 

“How can I refuse a pretty girl like you.” 

Your jaw drops, and Lando looks nonetheless phased as he pops the ball of dough in his mouth. 

“So on the agenda today is-” you begin, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach, pulling your phone out to see what is actually on the agenda for the day. 

“Nope,” Lando snatches your phone from your hands, “I’m kidnapping you for the day.” 

You stare at him dumbfounded, “what?” 

“You and me are officially off the clock for the entire day, no meetings, no phone calls, and no emails.” 

“I mean that's kind of you, but why?” 

“Why not,” he shrugs, “I thought you liked to hang out with me,” Lando wiggles his eyebrows. 

Your palm meets your forehead, “I’m definitely getting a headache by the end of today,” you mutter. 

“I hope that was a comment about how excited you are to hang out with your favorite McLaren driver.” 

“Who said you were my favorite?” 

“Ouch, I buy you doughnut holes and this is how you repay me?” 

“How ever will the little Lando Norris survive?” 

“Come on you loser, I have kidnapping duties to attend to.” 

Who would’ve thought that skipping work with the person you work for could be so fun? Lando had all but dragged you from tourist attraction to tourist attraction, shop to shop. It almost feels like a date, he opens the door for you, offers to pay for your trinkets, all the things a boyfriend would do. You are quick to remind yourself that this is just a friendly outing, just two friends hanging out. 

The topic of dinner was being thrown around, after eating junk all day the two of you needed some substance, “I was thinking sushi,” you tease. 

“I know you're joking because you also hate fish,” he points out, “I was thinking more Italian, I know a place.” Lando grabs your hand and drags you in what you assume is the direction of the restaurant. 

“Did you have fun today?” Lando asks as the two of you are seated in what feels like a set right out of a romance movie. 

“I did, thank you.” 

“I’m glad, I felt bad for my behavior yesterday. I felt like an ass.” 

“Is this why kidnapped me?”

“No,” he quickly shakes his hands, “I did this because…” Lando trails off. 

“You did this because?” You urge him to go on. 

Instead of giving you an answer he scratches his chin and looks shyly at you. Your mind automatically goes to the worst-case scenario. 

“You’re firing me, aren’t you,” you rip the band-aid off, no point in beating around the bush, “I should’ve known it. First, you get me my favorite treat, then you take me all around the city. Oh my God, I should’ve known.” You slump down in your chair and cover your face with your hands. 

During your spiral you failed to notice how Lando’s eyes nearly bludge out of his head, he too is now panicking. 

You feel Lando’s warm hands as he reaches across the table to grab your wrists, “Y/N, god no I’m not firing you,” you still refuse to look at him afraid that if you do you’ll burst out in tears. “Come on baby, show me those pretty eyes.” 

That grabs your attention. Your head quickly shoots up, “what did you just say?” 

“Um, that I’m obviously not firing you?” 

“No, no, after that, you called me baby.” 

“Yeah, it um slipped out.” 

“Oh,” is all you can manage out. 

Lando lets off a soft curse, “I was going to tell you after dinner, but the reason I was pissed off yesterday was because I wanted to take you out bowling, kind of as a date?” 

“As a date?” You ask in disbelief. 

“Yeah, but then you invited Oscar, and I tried to get him to say no but that little shit doesn’t know how to take a hint. Or more like he does and just wanted to see me suffer. He didn’t make it any better with those little comments,” Lando rambles on, “what I mean to say is that I kind of have liked you since you interrupted that meeting a couple months ago.” 

You have never been at a loss for words like you are at this moment. “You,” you point to Lando, “like me,” then point to yourself. 

Lando nods, “Why though? I mean why me?” you ask. 

“Well at first I thought you were cute, you look so frazzled but yet you held your confidence. Then you smiled, and I wanted to be the one you smiled at so badly. I thought I would never have the chance to talk to you but then there you were, swearing at the lack of doughnut holes, and I couldn’t believe the universe had given me a second chance. Then you got a phone call and scurried away before I could ask for your number or anything like that. I was so mad at myself for the following weeks. I couldn't get your laugh, your smile, your snarkiness out of my head. Then you were outside my door saying you were my new assistant, and I almost turned you away.” 

If you were lookin in a mirror the only way to describe how you looked right now would be similar to a deer in headlights

Lando continues, “then, these past few weeks, I’ve gotten to know you more and more and I couldn’t help falling more and more. So yesterday I was planning on confessing after bowling but then Oscar joined us and I was pissed off and I took out on the both of you.” 

“Oh. This is a walking HR disaster,” you jokingly mutter.

“If you don’t feel the same I understand. And I won’t be upset if you don’t want to work with me anymore.” Lando quickly adds in. 

“But I do feel the same. I’m just confused,” you admit. 

“What are you confused about?” 

“You’re a famous Formula 1 driver, you are so big in this world that McLaren probably wouldn’t be able to function if you left. I’m nobody in this world, if I left everyone would go on like it's a normal day.” 

“You’re not nobody to me. I need you to function.” 

You smile at his admission, and you close the distance between your hands on the table, “I would consider this an amazing first date.” 

“Really?” Lando asks hopefully, “I kinda just complied a bunch of stuff together hoping you would like it.” 

“I loved it,” you admit before a look of horror flashes over your face, “I didn’t say anything after your confession, did I?” 

“You don’t have to,” Lando interrupts. 

“But I want to, that morning when you gave me the last doughnut hole I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was just a small gesture that made my day. I thought I knew who Lando Norris was before then, an attractive Formula 1 driver who just so happened to drive for McLaren-” 

“You think I’m attractive?” Lando giggles. 

“Yes I do,” you sigh out, cheeks burning at the thought of saying the rest of your feelings out loud. “But you quickly became Lando, the person who asked about the little things, the person who got to know me. All the little quirks that make me, me. I was trying so hard to stay professional, not let your little touches, the way you would talk, or all the times you insisted on getting lunch with me, all those things get to me. I was surprised when you offered me your last doughnut hole but I am so thankful that you did.” 

“I guess we should thank catering for never ordering enough doughnut holes for this?” 

“We should, I guess that doughnut holes can be our thing.” 

“Of course, they can be our thing.” Lando pauses, “Does this mean we’re dating now?” 

“Take me on another date, an official one this time, and you got yourself a deal.”

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Somersaults and Stealing Hearts Part 1: Meeting the Coach✨

Coach! Joel Miller x gymnast! OFC

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you to @lotusbxtch and @alltheirdamn for beta reading for me, and for @mountainsandmayhem for helping hype me up! I’m really excited about this one ✨

Summary: Welcoming a new coach is no easy task, especially when Joel Miller steps through those doors with his stupid tousled curls and dark brown eyes.

Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 4.2k

Tags: Eventual smut, enemies to lovers type energy, bitter OFC, a hint of swooning, age gap (Madison is 24, Joel is 39), slow burn, pre!outbreak au

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Sunlight bursts through the glass windows of the Austin Gymnastics Club as chalk and sweat permeate through the air of the heated gym. The long balance beams seem to shine in the distance, and the white walls with gold medals and trophies in glass cases fill the extensive space. My calloused fingers are numb from the lengthy bar routine I just finished, and my lower back burns from the shaky dismount. I take a moment to breathe deep and fill my lungs with icy water, letting the chill cool the ache of fiery lungs.

   Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on deep breaths. Don’t think about the heartbreaking loss that’s about to happen.

   When I open my glossy eyes, I take a minute to compose myself. Losing Coach Carr is near devastating when regionals are in a little less than two months. How the fuck am I supposed to be ready when we’re getting a brand new coach who doesn’t know a thing about our routines or training schedule? 

   Ripping the water bottle from my tight grip, I find my way back onto the blue spring floor and decide to stretch my sore triceps. Wincing in pain, I groan, extending my arms overhead, feeling as if my muscles will split in half at any moment, but I’m used to it. It’s just part of a gymnast’s daily routine. No pain, no gain. 

   Senior year. Only a little over three months until I’m graduating with a bachelor’s degree in Kinesiology. Granted, I opted for online classes to focus on what’s really important. Gymnastics. It’s what I breathe, all I can think about day after day, and I won’t stop until I qualify for the Olympics. And Coach Carr should’ve been the one to help me get there, but those dreams were crushed like sand beneath the soles of my feet. Go figure. Nothing ever went my way. Especially after I lost my dad…

   Having to take a whole year off training and college was rough enough. And close to being twenty-five-years-old? Well, some of the girls still tortured me about it, whispering how I was too old, how I’d never make it. But they were wrong, and I’d prove it. 

   If they were gentle sheep, then I was a starving wolf. Out for blood. 

   Another deep sigh leaves my lips, and my shiny pink leotard feels extremely tight, almost like it’s squeezing the breath right out of my lungs. In the next moment, someone is hip checking me, and I almost topple over onto the mat from the unwelcome force. I glare in the direction of where the uncalled action came from, but I immediately drop my frown when I see it’s just my best friend, Cassie. 

   “Whoa, did you wake up on the wrong side of bed this morning? You’re awfully cranky,” she laughs as she presses down some dark flyaways from her tight bun and smoothes out her violet leotard with the back of her palms.

   “Sorry,” I grumble, letting my arms fall down to my sides in defeat. “I’m just on edge today with Coach Carr leaving.”

   Cassie blinks twice and looks up with sympathetic emerald eyes. “I know. I’m upset too, but what can we do? She’s already leaving, we can’t stop her now.”

   “Yeah, but why didn’t she at least wait until after regionals? You know how important that competition is. If we want to go to the national championships, then we have to bring our A-game,” I huff, stomping my heel into the squishy floor just to show how frustrated I am.

   “Ask her husband, he’s the one that got the new job in Denver. Maybe you can talk him into letting his wife stay just for you,” she laughs, pushing against my shoulder playfully to try to get me to lighten up, but it doesn’t work. “And it’s you, babe. You want to go to nationals, and you want to win that championship title. I’m just here to ride it out with you. You’ve got the heart of a lion in this gym. No way you aren’t getting that gold medal,” she says encouragingly. 

   I give her a fake smile and hip check her right back. “Says the girl who medaled at our last competition. You’re going with me, and that’s final,” I smile.

   “We’ll see about that,” she says with bright green eyes.

   The room lightens up a little bit as Cassie pulls some of the anger from my tense body, but it all comes crashing back down like shattering like glass the moment I see Coach Carr’s bubbly smile and long blonde hair swaying as she greets a man I don’t recognize by the glass door.

   I tip my head to the side and squint, hoping to get a better view of the mystery man with the tight-fitting white t-shirt and dark jeans that hug strong legs. “Who’s that?” I ask, hoping Cassie will have a clue as to who that might be.

   “I think that’s our new coach. Joel Miller,” she says, peeling her eyes over his broad body.

   “Who is he?” My voice comes out quieter, like I almost don’t want to know. Coach Carr never said anything about a male coach, and she definitely didn’t mention that he’d be older and so… handsome. 

   “Not too sure, but I’ve been hearing the other coaches talk lately. Heard he took his prior team all the way to nationals,” she voices, making my ears perk up at that.

   My eyes grow a little wider, and my back stiffens up at the mentions of nationals. “Nationals, huh? Then why isn’t he still there with that team?” Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, I try to study the tall man, as if I can see inside his mind.

   “Not sure,” she shrugs. “Guess he heard we were the best, and maybe it’s a better paid position? I don’t know, but Jesus. Do you see the biceps on that man? He’s hot. Maybe he can help me stretch… if you know what I mean,” she winks, curling a loose strand behind her ear as her eyes go starry.

   Oh, for the love of God. 

   “Cas, stop. You’re being gross.” I scrunch my nose in disgust and hit her lightly in the side of the shoulder. 

   “What? Like you don’t find him attractive? He’s ridiculously good looking. Just look at him,” she sighs dreamily, her eyes sparkling from the sunlight peeking through the windows.

   But I am looking at him. And whether I like it or not, he’s walking straight up to the spring floor with Coach Carr right at his heels, and he’s not too far from where I’m standing. 

   When he’s only a mere few feet from me, I notice how his biceps hug the soft fabric of his t-shirt and large veins spiral down his thick forearms, spidering along the backs of his rough hands, ending in strong fingers. I gulp when I see how devastating his dark brown eyes are. They’re almost like pure marble, smooth enough to sink into. And his hair. Thick, sandy brown with speckles of gray threading through his lush locks and his clipped beard. Cassie was right; he’s breathtaking.

   “Fuck yeah, bestie. He’s taking us all the way to nationals,” she whispers as a fit of giggles leave her pink lips. 

   I roll my eyes and seal my mouth shut, but I can’t help but keep sneaking secret glances at the man with pretty eyes. Cassie doesn’t need her big ego boosted to know she’s right. He is good looking, really good looking. But that doesn’t mean I’ll accept him here. Coach Carr is abandoning me right when I need her most. She was supposed to be there for regionals which would set me up for nationals. No way will I just accept a stranger, like he knows anything about my routines or moves. No. I’ll just give him the cold shoulder because I’m bitter about this whole stupid arrangement.

   “Girls, gather around! I’d like for you to meet someone.” She gestures to the mystery man and beams her white smile to the entire room. The rest of the gymnasts take their place on the spring floor and glance with anticipation at the newcomer. “This has been a super hard decision for me to leave you all, but I did my best to make sure you’ll be in good hands. So, girls, I’d like you to meet your new coach, Joel Miller.”

   All the girls’ eyes blow wide, and whispers flit around the room, echoing giggles and gossip that makes me silently groan. Some of them bat their long lashes, some fix their high ponytails and twirl the hair they can reach. Others just stare and gawk, letting their eyes roam the expanse of his broad body, and my stomach drops when I realize all my teammates are going to be swooning over our new coach. 

   I let my eyes rake over the spongy floor, dragging my heel over a piece of fuzz like it’ll get me out of this awkward situation. I don’t want a new coach, especially one that all the girls won’t stop talking about.

   “Now, you might’ve not heard of him before, but he’s coached a few varsity teams, and he even took the Oklahoma Sooners all the way to nationals, which I know is a dream for most of you,” she says proudly, her chin held high as some of the girls gasp and drop their jaws to the floor. 

   Great. Now I’ll have to hear their stupid lovesick mouths drag on about how handsome and talented he is. Give me a fucking break. 

   “Nationals? I want to go to nationals!” One of the girls shouts as she jumps up and down frantically, only stopping when Coach Carr tells her to settle down.

   “As do most of you, and I’m sure Coach Miller here will do just that,” she smiles wide, letting her long blonde hair fall over her light blue polo shirt. Joel sheepishly smiles and follows Coach Carr’s lead. “Okay, well let me go around the room and introduce you to all the girls. There’s quite a bit,” she laughs, glancing at me and the other eleven gymnasts.

   As she makes her way around the room slowly, I can’t help but tune the room out, making a small bubble in my mind where only my thoughts start to tick like the hanging clock above the front glass doors. 

   You can do this, just breathe. Don’t freak out, you’re only losing your most favorite coach in the entire world. I bite my lower lip and feel the sharp pain sink into my skin. 

   Breathe. 

   Just when I start to fade off into the soft blue tones in my mind, I hear my name being called loud and clear across the open room. I snap my eyes up frantically when Coach Carr says my name again. “And this is our shining star right here, Madison Summers. She’s the best of the best,” she smiles proudly, like I’ve just won her the gold medal.

   Joel shifts his weight to the left and folds his flexed arms over his broad chest, and I swear he’s about to rip right through that thin t-shirt. “Your shining star, s’that right?” he asks with a thick Southern drawl that floats through my eardrums like a sweet melody. 

   Fuck. Even his voice is charming. All deep and gravelly and annoyingly enthralling. It’s about to give me a damn headache at this rate.

   “Oh, yes,” she replies brazenly. “This girl right here has been bringing us home with first place titles since she started here. She’s the real deal, Miller. I think she might even take you all the way to nationals. Keep her on her toes.” She claps him on the back firmly, and a slow smile expands across his plush mouth, framing his dark mustache. His brown eyes flick over my body slowly like he’s assessing every single inch of me to make sure it’s true, and he parts his mouth like he wants to say something.

   Letting my hazel eyes fall to the ground, I adjust my position and keep my arms locked tight around my chest. Maybe I can hide from the red blush that’s building in my cheeks because now all the girls are staring at me with envy, and I despise being the center of attention. 

   When the sting of embarrassment starts to fade away, I hear him clear his throat. “Impressive. Guess we’ll jus’ have to see ‘bout nationals then. See jus’ what you bring to the floor, Shining Star,” he murmurs with a light voice that spouts off that deep, gravelly tone that makes my insides clench.

   Shining Star. The nickname makes the little light blonde hairs on my neck stand straight up and has my crimson cheeks flushed. He needs to stop.

   I slowly lift my chin, and then my eyes meet his straight on. Butterflies flit through the pit of my stomach for just a second when his amber colored irises stay locked on mine. He gives me a once over, one eyebrow lifted as if I’ve piqued his interest, and that’s the last thing I want to be right now because these girls will give me hell about it.

   Averting my eyes back to the floor to escape that growing tension in the air, I listen to Coach Carr go on about how she’s letting Joel take the reins. I can still feel his dark eyes honing in on me, and the room suddenly feels like the Texas summer heat, stifling and insufferable. I don’t care what it takes, but I will not think of Coach Miller as anything other than my coach. He may be handsome as hell, but there’s no way I’m going to simp like a lovesick puppy over him like every other girl in this gym. 

   Katelyn’s piercing blue eyes find mine in an instant when I finally find the strength to look up. Her painted red lips are pursed, and her high cheekbones look like they could cut straight through glass with the way she’s glaring. Her too-tight, sparkly white leotard shows off her curvy figure, and I know she’s already jealous of the attention I’m getting. 

   Great. Just great. That’s the last thing I wanted to happen. She already hates my guts; why did Coach Carr have to make it worse? 

   I concentrate back on the fabric of the ocean blue floor and pray it’ll swallow me whole. Cassie places a comforting palm on my shoulder and nudges me to see if I’m alright. I give her a tight-lipped smile and again pretend. So much for not feeling overwhelmed and anxious today. 

   Joel’s voice booms through the room, and my hesitant eyes slowly shift back up to him as he paces the floor and looks out to the sea of eager gymnasts. “Alright, ladies. Coach Carr here has given me a rundown of some of your routines, but I’d like to jus’ walk around the room today and get a feel for them and how your practices usually go. She was kind enough to let me scope the team out a few weeks ago. And I will say, I was very impressed. Some more than others.” His eyes shift to find mine, and I suddenly feel like a deer in the headlights. Blindsighted and paralyzed. He’ll surely collide right into me at the worst possible time when I don’t even see him coming.

   He’s been at practice before? He’s watched me specifically? Oh, shit. 

   Some of the other girls giggle, but I stand frozen like a mouse caught in a trap. How can Coach Carr leave me alone with him? He’ll have me losing my balance over a simple split jump on the balance beam. But I won’t let that happen. Not a chance because I’m going to ice him out, just like I planned to do before I even knew he’d be the new coach. 

   “Okay, girls. I do have to get going, I'm afraid, but please be respectful to Coach Miller. He is a very good coach, and I expect you all to be on your best behaviors.” She gives all the girls a knowing look that says don’t test her, and then she makes her way over to me as some of the girls disperse around the gym.

   “Ahh, my favorite athlete,” she smiles as she pulls me in for a tight squeeze. I breathe in her lemon perfume and memorize what it feels like to be embraced by her because I won’t have any more warm hugs after this. I’ll only have rough hands that maybe high five me for landing a double tuck on the mat, if that. 

   I squeeze her right back and hold on for dear life. “Please, don’t go. I need you,” I whine, afraid tears might run down my cheeks when I watch her walk out that door one last time.

   “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I hate leaving you, but you know I’ll be there for Regionals.” She gathers my hands in hers and squeezes gently. I feel the sting of fresh tears in the back of my eyes, and they start to gloss over. 

   “Hey, now,” she reassures me. “You’re going to be just fine without me. You have a great coach to take over my spot now.” She smiles warmly, but it doesn’t quite meet her bright blue eyes.

   “But it’s not you. You promised to take me all the way to Nationals,” I pout, letting my bottom lip jut out as a cold tear slips free.

   “Hey, no tears now. Everything will be okay. And I know I promised, but marriage and Eric’s new job just got in the way. I can’t tell you how sorry I truly am, but I still believe in you. You’ve got this, and Joel will take you to Nationals. I know he will.” 

   My eyes flick to him subtly, and I huff out a long sigh as my eyes start to narrow into thin slits. Joel wouldn’t take me to nationals. It was never his job to, and I sure as hell don’t want to put my faith in a new coach I know almost nothing about. I don’t care how good looking he is; he’s not my coach. 

   Coach Carr quickly picks up on my building anger and irritation to the whole situation, so she steers me back to look her dead in the eyes. “Hey, be nice. I don’t want you giving him trouble just because you’re upset,” she warns with a stern look written over her serious face. 

   “Who said I was going to give him trouble?” I scoff, kicking my heel into the blue padding of the floor like that will do me any good.

   “Madison Summers!” She says my full name sharply like a mother would when their child is getting scolded, and her grip tightens on my hands. “Now, I know you very well. And I know when you’re upset. You can be upset with me, but please don’t take it out on him. He’s only here to help you reach your dreams, and I have no doubt that he’ll do just that. So give him a chance, for my sake. I wouldn’t leave you to someone I didn’t trust.”

   I bite my lower lip and nod, turning my gaze back to Joel as he focuses on Giselle’s uneven bar routine, watching the way her sparkly red leotard shimmers in the glistening sunlight that melts through the glass windows. Sighing heavily, I agree to obey her wishes, “Okay, I guess I can try to play nice.”

   She gives me a quick hug and squeezes tightly. “That’s my girl.” I let the warm comfort envelop me fully, remembering the scent of spearmint gum and lemon perfume. A smell I’ll soon only remember in my fading memory. 

   With one more hug, she sends her best wishes to me and says goodbye to the other girls, and then she’s just gone. A vacant ghost that’s disappeared into her new life. 

   A life that I won’t be in.

   I watch the glass window like she’ll come back, like she was just kidding about leaving the entire time, but every second the clock ticks tells me she’s gone. And now I have to suffer without her. First it was my dad, now my favorite coach…

   Dragging my feet on the thick carpet, I hold my head high and decide to focus on my balance beam routine today. I’ve been struggling with sticking my landings lately, and I need to focus.

   Blocking out all the blaring music in the gym, I pull my head together and spend the next couple of hours perfecting my routine. Firm arms, chin up, jump high, dazzle the crowd, smile. But it’s hard faking a smile when my favorite coach just left me in the dust to deal with him. Coach Miller, the bane of my existence.

   Pushing him clear out of my mind, I find my center and complete a back handspring, back tuck combination, throwing all my rolling emotions into quick motions. I think I have it but when I land, I find that I nearly get knocked off my center and almost go crashing down to the blue mat that sits beneath me. 

   Shit. Almost had it.

   “Tuck your knees and point your toes harder.” The deep voice nearly takes me over the edge of the chalky beam.

   “What?” I whisper out, looking up under my thick lashes, right at Joel fucking Miller.

   “Tuck your knees more next time. It’ll speed up your rotation, and you’ll land solid. Pointin’ your toes harder will give you quicker and sharper movements. And remember, presentation is everything.” He leans against the white wall steadily, right next to one of the chalk stands and carelessly taps his index finger against his tanned forearm.  

   “My rotation was just fine,” I sneer.

   “Could be quicker,” he defaults back quickly.

   “I was quick enough,” I snap.

   “Is that why you almost fell after your back tuck?” He tilts his head and gives me a contemplative look that dares me to challenge him. I bite my tongue in response and stare right into his big brown eyes, not saying a word.

   God. Those fucking eyes.

    “Jus’ try again,” he presses, his eyes fixed on me. I purse my lips and dig my hands into my hips, standing my ground as the balance beam becomes my rock. I don’t want to try again. At least not when he’s looking and has his eyes glued on every single move I make. I could’ve figured it out on my own how to perfect my landing.I don’t need him.

   “I don’t got all day. The clock’s tickin’.” He points to the black military style watch on his left wrist and keeps his large arms glued across his chest, his thick eyebrows threading together like he expects me to fire off another sharp response.

   I huff and get back into position, my toes pointed and resting right on the edge. I take one quick glance his way and then jolt my body backwards. With my toes pointed hard, almost sharp as a pencil, I flip into a back handspring, my fingers meeting the beam for just a second, and then I jump hard and high. Making sure to tuck my knees deeper into my chest, I flip into a back tuck easily. Every rotation seems sharper and faster, much better than the sluggish one I just did before. And before I know it, I’m landing perfectly on the balance beam, not even a single wobble flows through my body as I stick the landing.

   Joel’s eyebrows raise, and the hint of a proud smirk shadows his mouth. I want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face because I know just what he’s thinking. He was right all along. “What’d I tell ya? Perfect landin’. Maybe you should listen to me after all, huh? Think I might know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

   I roll my eyes and cross my arms firmly over my chest, standing with full attention on the balance beam. “I could’ve figured it out on my own.”

   “You’re a stubborn thing, ain’t ya?” he chuckles, shaking his head as silver threads and sandy brown curls tousle with every movement he makes. His eyes are basically milk chocolate, the way they glitter in the sunlight when he’s laughing. And I fucking hate it.

   “Apparently,” I shrug, giving him a stern look while I lick my tongue against my bottom teeth aggressively. 

   “We’ll jus’ have to work on that then, won’t we?” He tips his head my way and pushes off the wall, flexing his rock hard biceps as he waltzes away with a stupid grin spread across his mouth. 

   I clench my fists at my sides and dig my heels into the firm balance beam, trying my best to keep my wits about me. Stupid Coach Miller and his sly remarks. 

   Stubborn thing, ain’t ya. I scoff at the statement. Of course I’m stubborn. If he thinks he’ll get on my good side and tear down my walls then he’s sadly mistaken. I won’t budge. No. I’ll just have to show him how much more stubborn I can be.

   This isn’t his gym. This is mine. And I plan to make that very clear.

[bratphilia]

Heyyyy so I was the person that requested more fics like the flip side (it’s 6 am and I can’t remember if that’s what it’s actually called atm) but I was thinking about possibly a situation where reader has a history with William possibly when they worked at Freddy’s before they shut down and were younger (still of age though; I’m thinking probably when they like reopened for a little bit in the early 90s). Now in the I guess present day they aren’t exactly going out with mike but maybe they are a babysitter and mike and reader are pining over each other?? But him working there brings up bad past memories of your time there but you don’t really want to tell mike.

Honestly looking for lots of tension, slow burn, pining, and angst but not too much angst yk and ofc nsfw

Sorry if this is like too specific or whatever but this has been on my mind for sure

note: i did some age calculating to fit with the timeline so reader is 18 in 1993 and 25 (the same age as mike) in 2000. creds to michy for convincing me this was actually post-worthy.

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader x mike schmidt

tags: threesome, rough sex, dub/con, age difference

taglist: @dilfity

triangle (w. afton x reader x m. schmidt)

(in november, 1993, you're a fresh hire at freddy's and the youngest adult on the staff at eighteen years old. it's not an ideal workplace by any means, but it's decent compared to other jobs that you most definitely didn't qualify for. and the people at freddy's are nice! maybe a little too nice, but the motto for the employees was "remember to smile, you're the face of the company" after all.

you work mainly as a waitress. you would say you're pretty good at your job. you're nice to the customers and work surprisingly well with the kids. the uniform is admittedly cute, too. red vest and a black pencil skirt. your skirt, for some reason, came in a bit too small prompting a few lingering glances from employees and patrons, but besides that you don't really mind.

it's a cold, rainy day in autumn. you wish you were wearing pants, but for once you're thankful for the lack of air conditioning in the restaurant. it's closing time and you're heading back to the employees room to grab your jacket and umbrella. you sit on the red, metal bench waiting for your sister expectantly. you never bothered to get your own license because she's always been a reliable source for rides everywhere. tonight was not one of those days. it's been at least an hour. your leg bounces up and down.

you hear the doors shut and a jingle of keys, and the distant scent of cigarette smoke lingers. you turn to see your boss, mr. afton, locking up the restaurant. he turns to you too, clearly confused why you're still here. "shouldn't you be home by now?"

you swing your legs and sigh. "my ride never showed."

he clicks his tongue and looks out to the parking lot, then looks back at you. "why don't i take you home?" you realize in this moment you and mr. afton have never quite really spoke. he's one of the thirty-something-year old owners of freddy's. he wears the springbonnie suit sometimes and performs with the co-owner, mr. emily, for the kids on fridays and saturdays. he's very charismatic and sociable, but mainly with the older crowd of the employees at freddy's. you hear some of your colleagues whispering about him, how he's such a kind and handsome man, which, as you're getting a good look at him right now, the latter is definitely true.

"are you sure?" you ask. mr. afton smiles down at you.

"sure thing. follow me." it's a huge upgrade to what you were previously considering before his offer: walking home in the pouring rain and chancing ruining your uniform.

you follow close behind him. so close that your umbrellas slightly bump into each other. a deep purple-paint-detailed mercedes-benz comes into view. judging by mr. afton's clear affinity for the color purple, as he includes it in at least one part of his daily attire, you assume it's his. he opens the car door on the passenger's side for you.

"thanks," you say politely.

in december, 1993, mr afton — who you've come to know as william — has become a frequent presence in your life. it started when he actually asked you if you wanted another ride home. you had phoned your sister, letting her know there was a change of plans. this became an everyday thing until you no longer needed to call home.

you would be lying if you said you hadn't started to develop feelings for him somewhere along the way. how could you not? he was just such a nice man! so charismatic, not just with you, but with the customers. always asking everyone how their day is going and dropping whatever he's doing to help out. there's was something special about your connection with him. he made you feel special.

it was one rainy day, just like the day back in november, when he stopped you and leaned in and kissed you. it was the most unexpected thing that happened to you in awhile. you don't know what possessed him to do it, but you found yourself eagerly kissing him back. so much that he chuckled and commented on it before sending you off. you spent the rest of the night lying awake in bed, touching yourself to every possibility you could think of.

the next day he avoided you, much to your dismay. you couldn't stop thinking about it. it slowed down your performance, making you distracted. the time just dragged on.

it wasn't until he called you in his office after your shift that you felt any kind of relief. he asked you to lock the door behind you, just like how one of those fantasies you daydreamed of started. with a fast-beating heart, you did what he said and turned to face him. and then his mouth was on yours again. it was much more sensual and yet there was an anxious component to it that made your stomach tingle with excitement.

"why don't you sit on my lap?" he suggested once he pulled away from you.

you froze. you've never actually done this sort of thing before. something delicious curls inside of you. gingerly, you sit on the thigh he patted on and he bounces his leg slightly, the fabric of his pants hitting just the right spot. he laughs at the yelp you give.

"just relax, baby. 's just you and me."

in january, 1994, is when kids go missing. everyone is on edge and patrons are frequenting freddy's less and less. on top of that, the animatronics are malfunctioning more and more, so there are even less customers due to the amount of maintenance that needs to be done.

you and william continue your routine: you fuck and he drives you home afterwards. but lately, something's been weird with william. he's been more... erratic? is that the right word? or just elated. he seems so gleeful, but more violent during sex. he's never showed any masochism until now. he even put a knife to your throat as he pounded into you, threatening to "fucking kill you" if you scream. you took it as just one of those things he says during sex, like when he calls you "slut" and "whore" but it's starting to scare you as it becomes a frequent thing.

it gets worse. you're taking the trash out to the alley when you see the security puppet laying limp. you go and investigate only to find charlie emily, the other owner's daughter, dead and badly hurt. like she's been stabbed repeatedly. you scream in shock and run in to find william, but he's long gone. instead you went to your co-worker, who called the police.

you were asked to stay at the restaurant until you after you were questioned and you told them everything you saw. you looked but william was still nowhere in sight. you walked home that night.

catching the killer was never something you were interested in. in fact, you hoped to do the opposite of some of your vigilant co-workers, who openly investigated the restaurant. some of them ended up missing too. the police had been called at freddy's on multiple occasions.

on one particular occasion, the last one before freddy's closed, actually, you went to the backrooms to catch a breather. what you found? william pouring bleach to bloodied clothes, bloody knife laying on a nearby table. you drop your keys in shock, alerting him. Turning on your heel to break for it, he grabbed the knife and your arm.

"tell anyone and i'll fucking gut you right here, right now," he threatened in a low voice.

you jostle your arm, desperate to break free. "please!" you whisper-shout. "i won't tell anyone, please let me go!"

and for some reason, he trusted you.

freddy's closed after that, and you swore to yourself you would take what happened to the grave. maybe you were a coward, but you had no solid evidence it was him behind the murders. it would all just be hearsay. no one would believe you anyways. william had such a high reputation, not just at fredy's, but within the community.)

--

mike hangs up the phone with a sigh. "so...?" you say, leaning towards his direction in anticipation.

"i took the job," he grumbles. his head is in his hands, running through his hair anxiously.

you throw your hands up in the air in excitement. "yay! we get to keep abby!" mike immediately snaps out of his sulking to bust out laughing. as he shakes his hand, he mentally adds your twisted sense of humor to the endless list of things he loves about you. and your distantly maternal role in abby's life. we get to keep abby.

you snap him out of his thoughts with a question. "who's the lucky employer?"

he laughs again in disbelief. "freddy fazbear's pizza. working in security. they need someone to watch the place and make sure no one breaks in and stuff."

you frown and furrow your brow. freddy's. william. "something wrong?" he muses, noticing your change in demeanor. you shake your head.

"no, nothing. i'm happy for you. sounds.. just peachy." mike shoots you a half-smile.

it's nighttime when it's almost time for mike's shift. your head is in your hands as you sit on the couch. it's one of those times when abby's off in her room, scribbling away with a crayon. you feel sick to your stomach. why did it have to be freddy's? who even gave him this job? why is it still there?

you hear a slew of curses coming from mike's room and decide to investigate. he's struggling with the loop of his belt and you can't help but smile. "need some help?"

he looks at you, face turning red. "you don't have to—"

"oh, come on," you sigh, moving to help him. "it's okay to need help sometimes." mike doesn't say anything, but from the way he's looking at you, he wants to.

"what?" you ask, but mike just shakes his head. you wouldn't understand. you decide to just leave it alone — mike's always been a distant guy.

"you need to be careful," you tell him with a much more serious tone than intended.

"why?" he asks, confused.

you try to relax your face and give him a lighthearted smile. "you should always be careful, mike! you never know what kinds of people you can encounter."

he has no idea.

two days go by. mike comes back home, surprisingly well-rested, until before his third shift when he casually mentions to you that he mainly just sleeps on the job. you freeze at that, worry forming inside of you in the pit of your stomach. "wh-what do you mean you just sleep there?! are you fucking crazy?!"

mike looks bewildered at your outburst. "i told you about this. i'm doing that dream stuff still..."

"okay, but do you have to do it on the job? do you have any idea how dangerous that is, when you're supposed to be looking out for any suspicious behavior." you're poking a finger into his chest, scolding him like he's a child.

"jeez, what's the matter with you?" he sighs in frustration. "if it bothers you that much then why don't you come with me and make sure i stay awake? i'm tired all the fucking time, and you know that!"

you know you shouldn't, for your own safety, but you have to think about mike. besides, if there's two people there, one can call the police. you let your paranoia, and your overwhelming care for mike, get the better of you. "fine. i'll come with you. put on your vest, grab abby, and i'll be in the car."

mike looks at you with sad eyes. you really didn't mean to be so harsh but it doesn't matter; he's more important. the drive over is silent, not that mike is really a talker anyways, but there's a thick tension in the air. your jaw and your fists are clenched anxiously, and you try not to look at him. when he parks the car he sighs and says your name.

the three of you set up camp in mike's office. abby sets up her tent and shortly falls asleep. you pace around the room while mike stares at the cameras, head in his hands with his eyes barely open. you walk over and snap your fingers in front of his face with a huff.

then something goes wrong. mike calls you over. "uh, i think i just saw something move? towards the offices." if it's potential danger, you decide it should be you who goes. not in a heroine sort of way, more of a need for closure.

you make your way slowly towards the offices. the dead silent halls make room for the only sound being your quickened breathing. you can practically hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. something rustles and, of course, it comes from wiliam's old office. you pray it's a rat.

as you push the door open, you breath a sigh of relief when the room is empty. that is, when someone slaps a hand over your mouth. "how truly lucky i am that you were the one to find me, lovely."

you struggle instantly but he wraps his other arm around your neck and pushes you further into the office. you land on the ground, hitting your head on the chair. looking up at him in horror, you cling onto the chair for dear life and get a good look at him. he admittedly aged well. salt and pepper hair and beard and all, it looks ridiculously good on him. "don't be afraid. i only want to make amends. i saw you were here and—"

"fuck you!" you spit venomously. "i don't want anything to do with you!"

william looks dumbstruck, then he scowls. the look on his face scares you as it contorts horribly. "what is it? is that boy? you realize i'm the one that gave him this job, right?"

"i don't know what the fuck you're talking about, but—"

suddenly, william lunges towards you and grasps you by your cheeks, holding your face tightly. "stop acting like such a fucking brat. remember when you were such an obedient little girl for me? let's go back to that, yeah?"

before you know it, you're being shoved against the desk facing forward. "i'm gonna teach you some fucking manners." you scramble in his grasp but his strength is unmatched. you know what's coming next and it makes you feel something burning in your stomach that you try to convince yourself desperately is sickness.

he pulls down your pants and you begin to sob. "please!"

"look at you, begging for me already," he laughs. he's undoing his belt and you already feel his dick prodding at your entrance. if this was back in the 90s, before all of this bullshit, he would've had the decency to engage in some foreplay, but there's a sense of urgency that makes it all the more—

god, what the hell is wrong with you. you're so fucked.

he undresses your bottom half, leaving you just in your sweatshirt. "gorgeous," he comments. "just as i remember."

you feel his dick prodding at your entrance, and you squeeze your eyes shut as he pushes in. it still feels as good as it did back then. he fucks you nice and slow, emphasizing each thrust with a slap from his hips onto yours. how does he still fuck this well at his age?

instead of picking up his pace gradually, like he used to, he continues to fuck you slowly. you're moaning uncontrollably now, clawing behind you at his chest, hoping he'll get the message and pick up the pace. he doesn't and just laughs darkly. "he doesn't fuck you as good as i do, huh, baby? you needed my dick to satisfy you all those years ago, and still need it now the way you're gushing on my cock."

you want to tell him mike doesn't fuck you at all, and that you're just friends, and that you only belong to him—

someone calls your name from the doorway. you and william both snap your heads towards the direction, only to find a shocked mike with his mouth agape. "mr. raglan? what the fuck is going on?"

"michael schmidt!" william practically exclaims, excited. he stops fucking you, purposefully burying himself to the hilt inside of you so you groan and squirm at the loss of stimulation. "come! come join us! your girl and i were just getting re-acquainted."

"she's not my..." mike trails off, finding himself moving closer without thinking. he takes in your appearance: bottom naked and bent over the desk with a fucked out expression. god, you're so pretty. you're always so pretty, but this is just...

no, this is wrong, he tries to tell himself. it's almost like william reads his mind when he sing-songs, "join us, or i'll kill the both of you."

like there was a devil and angel on mike's shoulder, the devil was winning. he's always wanted to fuck you and he doesn't necessarily have a death wish, either. "what, uh, what do you want me to do?"

your face falls and your mouth goes dry. william speaks with a grin, "why don't we trade places?"

mike scrambles to undo his belt and you practically drool when he pulls his cock out. fuck, you've wanted mike for awhile now. all that pent up tension between you two is finally spilling over the edge. all those lingering glances and long-lasting touches leading up this

especially like this, with your former fling and the guy you babysit for, makes it — and fuck it, you'll say it — all the more hotter. he replaces william's spot behind you and thrusts in quicker than the latter. he's practically humping you, fucking you desperately like he's running after something. his hands grip onto your hips tightly. "yes," william hisses, pumping himself while sitting dowqn in his chair. when you glance at him, he has the audacity to fucking wink at you. "'attaboy, keep goin.'"

that only encourages mike as he moans your name. "fuck, your pussy feels so good — hah!"

"mmm, mike!" you moan back.

"look at you two," william says breathlessly, "what a lovely fuckin' sight." mike begins to plunge in and out, reaching your cervix with each thrust, and you're close already. he senses that, and you can tell he is too by the way his thrusts gradually become more unbalanced. william's grunts are getting louder.

you're the first one to come, then william, and mike is still desperately pushing out of you. for good measure, he lands an uncharacteristic smack on your ass and then buries himself to the hilt becoming coming inside. the feeling of him filling you up is absolutely delicious. when he pulls out he studies the way that his cum drips out of your pussy. he's enamored with you, by the way.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Feelings (2)

Hi!

This is the second part of Feelings, I hope you will like it too :)

I'm taking things slow for now, but some other things would happens in the next chapter.

Feel free to let me think what you think about it.

And enjoy! ♥

TW : Mention of smut

PART 1 |

______________________________________________________________

The next day, when you woke up, you stay with your eyes closed. You remember perfectly what happened last night, but you are scared. Scared that it was a dream or that Alessia was in reality drunk and thought you take advantage of her. You would never do something like that obviously, you asked her several times yesterday if she was ok and if what you are doing is ok too. And asks for her consent before each new movement too.

And you know you are not dreaming; you have some aches that are particular of this kind of activities.

When you open your eyes, Alessia is still in your bed. Lying on her side, she’s looking at you. And you are straight in the light blue of her eyes, but you can’t determine what feelings are in it.

“Hi” you say softly.

“Hello” she answers only.

“Did you sleep well?”

She nods, before rolling on her back to rub her eyes. She putted her shirt back during the night, but that’s not what you realize. She seems a little strange this morning, like something is bothering her. Once again, you don’t expect everything from her, maybe it was just a one-time thing for her. So you get up from your bed, looking for your clothes too.

With a shirt, you fell better to have a difficult conversation. You sit on the bed right after, looking at Alessia. You can’t remember how many times you told her that she’s beautiful yesterday. But she is this morning too. You don’t say it anyway, only looking at her. She seems nervous and almost breathless when she finally talks.

“Look Y/N…”

She seems lost too and you already have understood. You raise your hand and she looks at you.

“It’s ok, Lessi. If you want to pretend that nothing ever happened… It’s ok.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to yesterday or even today. But I feel like this is maybe not the right time to start something like this. We are at the beginning of the World Cup and…”

“It’s ok” you repeat, cutting her again.

The bitterness that fills your mouth make you unable to offer her a real smile, the one you are making now must looks like a grimace to be honest. You don’t know what she understood about your feelings yesterday, and you don’t know if the way she looks really sorry helps you or not.

“I better go.”

You only nod, not being able to speak or even look at her when she takes her other clothes, all around the room on the floor. She kisses your cheek softly and left the room soon after. And you never feel so empty in your life.

********

Some days passed. You and your team played other games and managed to qualify for the next round of the tournament. You never talk to Alessia again after that morning and you can’t even just look at her. You told her that it was ok, and you really thought that you were going to be ok. One night with her was way more than what you ever expected.

But you were wrong. What’s happening to you right now is way more difficult to deal with than your breakup with Alma. People don’t come to talk to you, assuming that you were struggling with that. It was a good excuse.

You only talk about what happened to Maya and Sofia, a good friend you made in Spain. Maya met her several times when she came to Barcelona to see you. You even make some videos call the three of you, your friends trying to ease your mind.

“But she said basically that it wasn’t the right time. It means that maybe when the World Cup is ending…” was saying Sofia.

“There is no way that it’s happening, Sofia. She doesn’t even look at me.”

It would be stupid of yourself to still be hopeful about something like this. The only time you had eyes contact, she looks the other way so fast that her eyes must have burn.

“Maybe she regrets what happened between us” you sigh, pinching your nose.

“No, I know Less” Maya answers. “She would have told you if it was something like this. She doesn’t take things so easy, making a think to regret it the day after. She only had two boyfriends and sleeping around isn’t her thing.”

Maya knows Alessia well, they played together for years in Manchester United. You are a little jealous sometimes, but in another way, it would be harder to see her every day. You feel a little better hearing Maya and for one time you fall asleep without too much struggle.

Next morning, like every morning, you get for a walk on the beach after the breakfast. You ate with Georgia and Keira, who takes you under their wing, probably at Leah’s request. But they were still busy, and you don’t want to be a burden for them.

You were sitting on the beach you discovered at your first day here when you feel a presence behind you. Turning, you realize that it’s Lucy.

“You alright Kiddo?” she asks, and you answer with a smile. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Nah, please do.”

Lucy sits and looks at the water in front of you when you resume your looking. Some peaceful minutes passed before Lucy talks.

“I know I’m not the most observant person in the world, but I see how much you struggle those days. You’re making a good job hiding it and I probably wouldn’t be able to realize it if I never passed by the same things.”

Curious, you look at Lucy. You were close with her, more than with Keira to be honest. You are the only three English at Barcelona, it helps to create a great bond.

“When Keira and I broke up…”

“Oh. No Luce, I stop you right there. It has nothing to do with my breakup with Alma.”

Lucy looks at you curiously too, her arms around her knees.

“What I wanted to say, it’s that maybe you can think it’s the end of your world. But life has sometimes something better looking for you. Look at my old ass, I still found something even better that what I had.”

“Ona?” you ask with a smirk.

You can’t help but laugh when you see the light red coloring Lucy’s cheeks.

“Lucy Bronze, are you blushing?”

“I’m trying to help you and you give it back to me by making fun of me?”

She looks disappointed but you know that she is only joking. You laugh softly and decide to tease her a little bit.

“Ok, when do you present her to me then if she’s so perfect? I’m way closer to her age than you are.”

“Shut up.”

She throws you some sand and you laugh a little more before looking up at the sky. It’s bright blue, the sun is shinning and you really love the Australian vibes. But you think about Lucy’s words, and you decide to ask her the question that is running in your mind.

“What am I supposed to do if Life gave me the best thing and take it back from me?”

Lucy stays silenced for some times, and you know that she’s looking at the best answer she can give you.

“If it’s the one thing you have to have, then you will have it back. Maybe it wasn’t the right time now.”

It’s funny that it’s almost the same words than Alessia said. But “maybe” is the keyword of the sentence and you can’t hope it anymore. So you just hum before sighting.

Little did you know that Alessia was actually talking about you too, finally.

********

“I kissed Y/N.”

Ella was peacefully drinking her coffee and spit it around, making Mary grunt. Alessia was holding this information for too long, she needed to take it out. And she trusts no one more than Ella and Mary.

“What did you just say?!” Ella almost shout when she can breathe again.

“Ella” Mary growls.

Mary realized that something was off with Alessia, but she didn’t want to push the younger girl to confess anything. She was far from imagine that it was something like that though.

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, did you kiss her or did she kiss you?” Ella asks.

“I don’t know? We kiss each other I guess; it was a mutual thing.”

Alessia shrugs, looking at her best friend with attention. Like Maya told you at the phone, she only had two relationships and only with boys. And she never said anything about being gay or having a crush on a girl.

“Is it why you are all weird those days? Are you regretting it or something?”

Mary facepalm at Tooney’s lack of tact. For the good of everyone, she decides to take the lead of this conversation.

“Have you talk to her since the kiss?” Mary asks gently.

“No, not really. We just are very busy and… well maybe I kind of ignore her.”

Alessia seems lost, so is Ella, for once unable to say anything. So Mary just put a comforting hand on Alessia’s knee, trying to be the most soft possible.

“You know that it’s ok right? Kissing girl?”

“Yeah” Alessia mumble.

“Of course it is!” Ella exclaimed herself. “Don’t let anyone or yourself saying you otherwise. You have to do what you need to do to be happy. Only your happiness matter.”

“I hate to say that, but she’s right” Mary smirks.

Alessia laughs hearing her friends, feeling a little lighter. Maybe it’s because of her confession, maybe it’s because of their reaction. Or maybe the two. But she’s way more at ease when someone from the staff came to take Ella for some physical exercises. Alessia stays with Mary only and give her a look before talking again.

“We didn’t only kiss” Alessia whispers, looking at her fingers “I… We slept together too.”

Mary doesn’t say that she thought it was the case, but she kind of knew it. In her opinion, Alessia’s reaction would have been a little too much is it would have involved only one kiss.

“Was she good?” Mary asks with an angelic air.

“Mary!”

“What? I’m just asking!”

She raises both of her hand and Alessia rolls her eyes, unable to hide a little smile. This conversation is taking an unexpected turn.

“She was good. She was so sweet and gentle… And very affectionate and careful. I didn’t know it was possible to be this and… I don’t know, very hot and sensual at the same time?”

“Well you’re a lucky girl.” Mary laughs.

Alessia have red cheeks but seems interested by Mary’s comment. She won’t say at loud, but what she shared with you that night was better than everything of her precedents “bedroom stuff”, how she likes to name it.

“Is it always like this?”

“Mh all girls aren’t good too, I think. Like in straight world, you can find everything.”

“How can sex with a girl feels so different?”

Mary smiles softly, touched by Alessia’s naivety and cuteness. She doesn’t know why Alessia chose not to talk about it with Ella around, but she’s determined to be a good friend and advise her instead of teasing her.

“I don’t know Love, I never been with a man before. But have you thought that maybe it’s not because of the gender of the person, but the person herself?”

Alessia raise her eyes on Mary, biting her lips. Her cheeks are now a little redder and Mary understands quickly that she was kind of right. Like your other teammates, Mary knows you like girls. Everyone knows. You had some flings with other players, but the goalkeeper don’t know a lot about your love life.

“What happened after you slept with her?” Mary asks softly.

“I told her that it wasn’t the right moment to start something serious. She told me that it was ok, but she still seems strange don’t you think?”

“A little, yes. Why isn’t it the right moment?”

Alessia shrugs and looks away this time. She wasn’t really proud of her behavior with you, but it was to protect herself in a way. She is scared about her feelings for you and the way you make her feel that night.

“Because we are literally at the World Cup? And she’s living in Spain, I don’t think I can do a long-distance relationship… And… Well, I never been with a girl before. It’s kind of scary. And she just broke up with her girlfriend who cheated on her.”

“If you are sure that it’s the good choice for you, then you were right to do it Less. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Alessia nods and hug her friend when Mary extends her arms to her. She’s not really sure if it’s the good choice to make actually. But she can’t go back to the morning after. She’s grateful for Mary though, even if she chooses a way that Mary wouldn’t, the goalkeeper never tries to change her mind. She adapts herself at the other person.

********

The game against Nigeria is the worst memory of your tournament. You came in for Lauren Hemp at the second period, but with LJ’s red card it was a though game. You are exhausted at the end of the second prolongation, but you still have your penalty to shoot. Georgia missed hers and you are the last of the five on Sarina’s list to take your shoot.

Your hands are shaking when you put the ball on the ground, and you try to breath correctly when the referee talks to the other goalkeeper. You look at the bench and it was the first time that you really crossed Alessia’s gaze since you slept together. Her eyes are even more blue than you remember. She nods at you and gives you a half-smile. You don’t answer to her, but this contact as small as it was, gives you some confidence back. You have this. You can do it.

Taking a deep breath, you take three big steps back and look right in the other goalkeeper’s eyes. Some seconds after you start to run, hit the ball who go straight in the left corner of the net.

You feel your knees gives up when Lucy jumps on your back and soon you are with other players on top of you. The relief is amazing, and you are still shacking when someone takes your hand to help you getting up. You realize when she hugs you that it’s Keira.

“Well done” Sarina says to you when she pats your back.

When she calls you later, Leah was a little more polite about your achievements, and told you to shut up when you answer that it was a teamwork. You laugh though, happy to hear your friend.

“You are sure you still don’t want to come to play at Arsenal?”

“No Leah, stop” you laugh.

“Whatever. I will have Alessia next season anyway, she makes good choice, unlike you.”

You can her Leah’s smirk while she talks, but it’s not the information that stay in your head.

“Lessi is coming to Arsenal?”

“Oh shit. Yes, it supposed to be a secret, please don’t say anything to anyone. I’m not even supposed to know it myself.”

“What did you do Williamson?” you grin.

You don’t know why this information is disturbing to you. Maybe because you have hopped that the blonde would like to come to Barcelona? But you know that she won’t do it, her family is in England, and she has another bond with them than you have. Plus, she already left to the USA before, she probably wants to stay as close as possible to them.

Thanks God, you have Leah’s adventures tonight to keep you entertained and to help you a little to forget about this information. You don’t talk to her about what happened with Alessia, you don’t really know why. Maybe because she knows the girl, but in reality, you prefer to have an advice from someone in front of you.

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Secret Secret Chapter 1

OT8 Straykids x reader, ABO AU

When a new translation position opened up at your dream job, you were quick to apply. You met all the qualifications, had glowing reviews, and knew you were a perfect fit. There was only one problem. JYP only hired beta's. And you were not a beta.

Story Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Eventual Smut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Heats/Ruts, Discrimination, Angst, Slow Burn

Masterlist | Next Part

You looked up at the towering glass building with your heart in your throat. There were people walking in and out of the building with ease, likely workers or personal for JYP who didn’t think twice about their positions, about how much you longed to be a part of them.

You had been gunning for this opportunity for years, but now that you were finally there, your feet refused to move. You turned your focus away from the building and spotted a group of three girls all huddled together with their eyes laser focused on the entrance, whispering to each other.

No doubt fans trying to catch a glimpse of their favorite idols.

You let out a sigh. “Okay, it’s okay. You can do this. It’s fine, you got this.”

With a nod to yourself, you dragged your feet forward and practically stumbled through the front doors. The girls from before giggled loudly behind you, and you refused to look back. You hoped nobody else noticed.

You walked over to the reception desk quickly, giving the receptionist a blinding smile to hide your nervousness. His scent reminded you of sugared candy and smelled of beta, but you of all people knew how deceiving scents could be. After all, it was the entire reason you were here to begin with.

“Ah, hello,” You said. “I’m here for a job interview? For the translator position?”

He nodded his head in understanding. You gave him your name and he pulled out a lanyard with the words ‘VISITOR’ printed on it, handing it over along with a quick explanation of where you had to go. You thanked him with a bow, and made your way to the elevators, repeating the direction to yourself.

Second floor, third door to the left. Second floor, third door to the left.

It wouldn’t do you any good to get lost before you even had a chance to get the job. The elevator was quick, the doors opening smoothly with a ding. There was a mirror at the back of the elevator, and taking advantage of nobody else being in there with you, you quickly adjusted your clothes and fixed a stray strand of hair that was sticking out, making sure your face didn’t give away your panic.

You also made sure to quickly smell your wrists, relieved that the perfume you had put on before leaving the house was still strong. The scent blockers would block out your own scent to the rest of the world, and it would draw too many questions from the company you were trying to interview for. The specific perfume you had on was a lovely jasmine scent, and clearly a beta scent.

It was essential for you, considering you weren’t a beta.

You were an omega.

The elevator doors opened onto the second floor and even though you knew where you had to go -Second floor, third door to the left-, you still took a moment to stop in front of the desk to double check you were heading in the right direction. The beta receptionist up here showed a lot more expressions than the one downstairs, giving you a blinding smile and wishing you luck. You thanked her with a small nod, and made your way to the third door to the left.

You paused right outside the door, taking another deep breath.

“You got this,” You whispered to yourself again.

You knew you were qualified. You had a recommendation from your last company, glowing reviews from your manager who had been disappointed to see you go, but knowing that you had bigger dreams than translating for a legal firm. Working in the entertainment industry was your dream job, and JYP was one of the top entertainment companies in the business. This was a big opportunity.

But you knew the one thing you had going against you, was your presentation.

JYP only hired betas. They had for years, and even as the world pushed for equal rights among Omega’s and Alpha’s, the truth was that so many companies hesitated to hire them due to their stereotypes and requirements. And while JYP openly accepted trainees of all presentations, their staff were held to a higher standard.

Omega’s were too emotional. Omega’s needed protection, staff members were expected to protect. Omega’s had heats and would take time off work. Omega’s would want to start families. Omega’s were more likely to develop romantic feelings.

Omega’s were a liability.

You frowned at your reflection in the mirror. All those harsh words that had been thrown at you every time you complained about all the jobs that turned you down. Words said by strangers, friends, even family. Every person who tried to excuse their own biases and refusing to change anything. You wanted to prove them wrong.

“You got this,” You repeated, nodding to yourself.

You were going to prove them wrong. You had to.

Even if you had to lie to do it.

You knocked on the door, and the woman on the other side called you in after only a moment. You made sure to bow to the three people in the conference room as you entered, sitting down at the opposite end of the table from them. You knew how this was supposed to go, since you had done it many times before.

‘I see here you speak 5 languages. Where did you learn them?’

‘You have traveled and worked in other countries? What was that experience like?’

‘We received a glowing recommendation. Why did you decide to leave your last job?’

And just like always, the questions began to get a little too predictable.

‘Are you married, or in a relationship?’

‘Why not?’

‘Are you interested in a relationship?’

And then came the dreadful question.

‘What’s your presentation?’

They always asked you that. Every time, even though you knew full well that they had your resume right in front of them, that they could see it for themselves. It frustrated you, because it had nothing to do with your work. Because you were still obligated to put down your presentation on your resume by law. Because employers would still discriminate against you because of it.

You forced a smile on your face. “I’m a beta, as you can see.”

It wasn’t a crime to lie about your presentation anymore than it was to lie about your gender. Your old boss made sure of it. He was one of the few employers who fought to have you on his team, even when so many other companies and workplaces advised against it, tried to tell him about the downsides to working with an omega.

He had scoffed at them. “Bunch of old fashions dumbasses.”

You loved your old boss.

So unless the company had access to your medical records (which they didn’t), or somehow found a copy of your birth certificate (which you hoped they didn’t, that wouldn’t make any sense), they had no way of doubting your lie.

Which is why you wore the fake scented perfume you had gotten from a lovely little store near your apartment that specifically targeted trans-presentations. You weren’t unhappy with being an omega (just unhappy at the way the world treated them), but the false scents they sold to help those who were had been a god send in making sure you appeared to the words as what you wanted them to think of you as.

If it helped you get the job, you would be a beta for as long as it took.

And with the forced smile still pulling at your cheeks, you were complimented on your outstanding qualifications and experience, and told that they would call you back soon with more information. You thanked them for their time with another bow, and although you weren’t in the clear just yet, let out a sigh of relief the moment you made it back out into the halls.

The young beta girl behind the desk gave you another smile as you passed, and you made sure to thank her for her hard work as you made your ways to the elevator. The beta from the front desk didn’t even look at you twice as you walked through the lobby, but you didn’t mind him, knowing he was busy and had work to do.

The girls from before were gone, and the doors to the building opened and closed as people entered and existed. Birds chirped from somewhere above you.

You crossed your fingers, and prayed.

-0-0-

“Oh my god! OH MY GOD!” You screeched.

“What?! WHAT?!”

Sooyoung, your roommate, looked up from her phone with wide eyes in a panic at your shouts of excitement. You held out your phone to her, but before she could even make out the words on the screen, you were already pulling it back to stare at it in awe.

“I got accepted!” You squealed.

Sooyoung gasped. “You got the job?!”

“I GOT THE JOB!”

“Ahhhh!” Sooyoung screamed in excitement, throwing her own phone to the side and jumping up next to you, both of you hopping around the room. “Oh my god, do you know what this means?”

“That I’m going to need a whole lot more scent blocker?”

“No- well, yes.” Sooyoung stopped hopping, looking up in thought. “Actually, yeah. You’re going to need a shit ton of that stuff. And more of the perfume, now that I think about it.”

You visibly drooped. “Man, it’s a good thing I’m going to be making bank at this job, because that stuff is expensive.”

“Not the point. I was going to say, we need to celebrate,” Sooyoung concluded with her hands in the air.

You laughed at her. “Celebrate lying to my employers?”

“Celebrate sticking it to the man! You are braver than I am, that’s for sure.”

You shook you head in amusement, but her words did make you want to throttle someone momentarily. Sooyoung had been dealing with the exact same discrimination you had, but as an alpha, her battle was targeted more towards those who questioned her aggression and instability, especially ‘as a woman alpha’, as one employer had put it. Seeing as Sooyoung was desperate to work in education, those harmful stereotypes made it impossible to get anyone to trust her around children.

She was making do working at a community college at the moment, but you knew her real dream was to work with preschool aged children.

“It doesn’t make much of a difference,” She had explained to you once. “I swear most of my students act like children anyways, the only difference is they don’t have the excuse of being literally 5.”

You had encouraged her to keep trying, that there was going to be a school out there somewhere that would see past her presentation, but she had already lost hope. You hoped that your own success might encourage her to do something similar, but you knew that wouldn’t fix the real problem. The deep-rooted issues and the systemic injustice.

But that was a can of worms you didn’t want to open at the moment.

Instead, you agreed to a night out on the town (as Sooyoung put it), and with her encouragement, went to go get ready. She had clicked her tongue at your first outfit, scoffed at the second, and rolled her eyes at the third.

“Babe, are you even trying?”

“What’s wrong with this?” You said with a pout, looking down at yourself.

You had chosen a pair of tight jeans that made your ass look good, and a cute white shirt that had a crisscrossing pattern that hugged your waist. If you threw your hair up in a ponytail and added some dark makeup, you would look like you were straight off the set of a kpop music video. But apparently that wasn’t the vibe Sooyoung was looking for.

“Don’t get me wrong, you look good,” She assured as she dug through your closet. “But we want you to look better than good. I want every man and woman to do a double take when you pass by. I want you to be the best dish at the table.”

You laughed. “I thought we were just going out for some fun. Some drinks, hit up a club or something … you sound like you’re trying to get me laid.”

She winked at you. “Who says we can’t do both?”

Typical of Sooyoung. She had been trying to hook you up with someone since you broke up with your ex a few months ago, but you had been so busy with work and then planning out your interview, so you hadn’t had time to think about sex.

Now having a new job and unknown responsibilities for the foreseeable future, getting one last hoorah before you had to be at work in two days sounded like a great opportunity.

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well okay then. Let’s see what you got for me.”

Turns out that while Sooyoung loved teaching kids, she could very well get a job as a professional stylist. You hadn’t even been aware that you had a black dress, but she had pulled it out of somewhere. It was … tight. It looked amazing on you, you would admit that, but it was so short and so tight that you felt like you were going to flash someone if you bent over. Thankfully, Sooyoung managed to pair it off with a slightly longer skirt that blended seamlessly with the dress, giving the illusion that it was longer than it actually was.

“Got to leave something up to the imagination,” She had told you.

With the way that the guys at the club were eyeing you, you weren’t sure that really mattered. You hadn’t cared at first, the drinks you had doing wonders in making you not care about the rest of the world and what they thought, but you had reached a point in the night where you didn’t want to drink anymore, but it didn’t seem like Sooyoung was ready to go home just yet.

Unlike you, she didn’t have a limit. She was still going at it strong on the dance floor, pulling some poor omega guy against her and stinking up the area with horny pheromones.

Although, its was a club. There was a lot of that going around.

The stares your were receiving combined with the heavy scents that were being released was starting to make you feel uncomfortable. It didn’t help that you were free of scent blockers tonight, and you were undoubtedly an omega to anyone who got a little too close. You hated their predatory looks turned downright sinister when they thought you would be easy.

“What’s a pretty little omega like you doing all by themselves?” One Alpha tried, and you bared your teeth at him when he released his heavy scent on you.

Your omega cried out at the thought of an alpha, but you were not controlled by your secondary gender. He obviously wasn’t expecting you to fight back, probably wanting some submissive and breed able omega that would let him do whatever he wanted to them. When you told him to fuck off, he gave you a nasty look, but thankfully did as he was told.

You were grateful he didn’t try to push It farther.

Sooyoung caught your eye from across the room, eyebrow raised in question.

You good?

You gave her a thumbs up.

All good.

Satisfied, Sooyoung went back to dancing with … you weren’t sure. It was a girl this time, but you couldn’t tell her presentation from this far away. Whoever it was, they looked like they were having fun. You downed the rest of your drink, and making sure Sooyoung saw you gesture towards the bathrooms, you went to get a break from all the lights and noises.

The hallway leading to the bathroom had a few patrons loitering around away from the loud music and chatting, but it was far less crowded than the main room. The bathroom itself was empty, and you just took a second to breathe.

After two hours out, you were starting to get tired. Sooyoung had a lot more stamina than you did, and she wouldn’t hesitate to end the night right now if you asked her too. But although she had used your new job position as an excuse to go out and have some fun, you knew that this was a night off for her just as much as it was for you. She needed this, and you didn’t want to end her fun just yet.

Besides, you had a plan of your own.

You had downed enough glasses of water and spent enough time off to the side that you had sobered up, and with your mind and thoughts clear, you decided it was time to go get some. You pushed your dress down a little to where your cleavage was on display, fixed your hair, and gave yourself a wink in the mirror.

“You got this.”

You exited the bathroom with the full intention of heading out to the dance floor and looking for someone to have a good time with, but you practically ran out and straight into someone else who was leaning against the wall right next to the door. You nearly knocked them over, and immediately reached out to steady them.

“Shit. I’m am so sorry.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” They reassured you, mouth muffled by the mask they were wearing. “I should have realized standing next to the bathroom door was a bad idea.”

“Oh no, that was all me,” You said, giving the guy a look over.

He wasn’t very tall, but not that short either. His mouth was covered by a black surgical mask, the kind most people in Korea wore when flu season made its rounds, or when the air quality wasn’t very good. It was odd to see someone wearing that kind of mask in a club, but not entirely unheard of.

Besides his black mask, he also wore an entirely black outfit. A black shirt, black sweatpants, and a black hoodie that his most of his hair, although a couple of dark strands could be seen from the sides. He looked more like a college student on their way back home from long hours of studying than someone who was out for a night on the town, like he would be more comfortable at home with friends than a club in the middle of the city.

“Ah, no worries. I guess you can say I fell for you.”

The guy chuckled at his own words, an awkward laugh to a stupid pick-up line that normally would have you rolling your eyes, but the way he said it, like an offhanded joke, had you giggling along with him. His scent wafted over to you in the narrow hallway, a mix of floral and fruity. It reminded you of the beach.

You bit your lip, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Well, what can I say. I guess I just have that effect on people.”

His scent grew stronger at your words, and though his eyebrows raised in surprise, there was a pleased hint to his scent. It smelled like alpha, and your omega perked up her metaphorical ears in interest.

“Ah, I don’t doubt that,” He mused, leaning against the wall and tilting his head at you, eyes darting down your figure.

Your stomach flipped under his gaze, your own scent undoubtedly giving away your interest, so there was no reason to play coy. Instead, you gave him a flirtatious smile, deciding to shoot your shot.

“So, what are you doing hanging out outside the woman’s bathroom?”

It was only once you had spoken that you realized how accusatory your words sounded, and you wanted to wince in embarrassment. The men’s bathroom door was directly in front of the woman’s bathroom. For all you knew, he was waiting for a friend, or maybe the stalls were all occupied, and he was waiting for someone to leave, or literally any other reason.

He let out a laugh. “That does look a little bad, huh?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” You tried to explain, feeling like you had just completely vanished any energy that had started to build.

“No, it’s okay.” He giggled to himself. “I guess I was just waiting for a beautiful lady to fall into my arms.”

“I guess you’ll have to keep waiting, because I’m not exactly in your arms,” You shot back.

“Well that can be arranged.” It was your turn to raise your eyebrows, and the guy backed down immediately with an embarrassed laugh, hands reaching up to hide his face. “I’m sorry, that was a little much.”

Your legs moved forward on instinct, hands reaching up to grab his own in a soft grip. You pulled them away from his face until you could see him clearly, the small expanse of skin that you could see behind the mask turning red, dark eyes staring into yours. You swallowed, giving him a nervous smile of your own.

“Not at all,” You said, softer than before. Your eyes darted down to his masked face, and you wished you could see beneath it. “I … I wouldn’t mind.”

“Being in my arms?”

“Or anything else you offered,” You said.

The energy way back as if it had never left, a heavy haze falling over the two of you. His skin was warm, pupils dilating, and his scent became heavy with arousal, your body immediately reacting by pushing out your own vanilla scent in hopes that it would attract the perfect mate. From in your head, your omega was practically begging for you to make this man your own.

You were finding it hard to argue.

He flipped your grips around so that your hands were now in his. One of your hands was pulled up to his face, your arm twisted so that your wrist was now next to his mask, and you wondered just how much of your scent he was able to pick up from behind the mask. It must have been enough for him to understand because his eyes crinkled as if he was smiling.

“Anything I offered, huh?”

“I mean, if you’re offering,” You said shyly, batting your eyelashes at him.

He let out a huff of laughter, and you used the position of your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling your body close to his. His grip dropped from your hands and to your waist, stopping you from moving closer.

“And if I said I wasn’t interested?” He asked.

You froze. “Well then this would be very awkward.”

“Ah, don’t worry.” He pulled you up against him completely, one of your knees hitting the wall behind him, a thigh slotting perfectly in between your legs, your chests pressed together. Your face was so close to his that you could feel the cloth of his mask brushing up against your nose. “I’m interested.”

“Great,” You replied, voice breathy.

“There is a bit of a hiccup, however-“

“Is it the mask?” You interrupted.

His eyes crinkled again. “Ah, am I that obvious?”

“I don’t mind,” You reassured him.

You didn’t care why he had the mask on. There were tons of reasons for it, from privacy to insecurities, that were none of your business. You told him as much, and his body seemed to relax slightly against your own, the tropical mix of his scent showing he was relieved at your acceptance. You found your nose drifting close to his neck, to the scent gland in front of you.

This close to him, his scent was thick enough you could practically taste it.

“We can make it work,” You told him, head feeling fuzzy from the sudden onslaught of alpha pheromones. Your omega was embarrassingly close. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours.” He didn’t even hesitate.

And that was how you found yourself pushing yourself into the crowd to get to Sooyoung, letting the alpha stranger that you just needed to give a heads up to your roommate. It wasn’t until she spotted you, letting out a yell of excitement and pulling you towards her, that you realized you didn’t even know the alpha’s name.

Whatever. I wasn’t like you were planning on marrying the guy.

You didn’t even need to explain much to your roommate, the face she made when she got a whiff of you telling her everything she needed to know. She yelled at you to wear protection and you flushed when the eyes of everyone around you turned in your direction, so you made a quick retreat shortly after.

It wouldn’t be until later the next day that you would explain the entire interaction to Sooyoung over a late afternoon brunch. She congratulated you for finally getting out of your rut (pun intended), and you found out that Sooyoung had managed to snag not just the omega she had been dancing with for half of the night, but also the cute beta girl who had joined them later on.

All in all, it felt like a successful night out.

-0-0-

It was only your first day, and you were already feeling a little overwhelmed at the sudden change in your environment. It wasn’t your first time translating in an official business setting, but law firms were much different than a kpop agency, and all the new rules and regulations made your head spin. Thankfully, you were used to doing paperwork, so the sheer number of NDAs you had to read through was familiar for you. It took nearly three hours of your time just to finish signing things, going through an orientation of sorts, and to be introduced to the office where you would be working. You understood why you had been called in so early.

Park Jeonhui, the head translator for JYP entertainment, sat you down around noon to explain the situation to you.

“The past few years, we’ve kept up pretty well with having only a few translators, only hiring extra when necessary, but recently we’ve had more groups to manage, which means more material, more opportunities, and unfortunately, more demand. Specifically, it’s no longer possible for the few translators we have to constantly be jumping from group to group when they are needed.”

You nodded in understanding, and she handed over a folder to you.

“Due to this increase in demand and the multiple world tours that are planned for the near future, it was the companies decision to hire translators who would focus on a specific group. Due to the languages you speak and your experience, we have decided to place you on the team for Stray Kids. Have you heard of them?”

You had, indeed, heard of them. While you weren’t a huge fan (you were much more of a Once than a Stay), you had heard their music and watched their music videos. You probably wouldn’t be able to recognize any of the members if you saw them on the street, however.

“You’ll be meeting with Stray Kids manager and their leader today to go over their current projects and your work expectations.”

“Sounds good.”

“Before that, however, I was wondering if you had any questions?”

It seemed like the perfect opportunity. You physically had to bite your tongue to keep from asking her why the company didn’t hire omega’s or alphas, knowing it was neither the time for that kind of question (you didn’t need to put yourself under scrutiny so soon), nor was it the person you should be questioning. Jeonhui was just the translation head, she didn’t decide company policy.

Even if it was a stupid policy.

“Well in that case, I’ll let them know we’ll be finishing up soon.”

When an older man knocked on the conference door to ask for Jeonhui’s help with something, you took the opportunity to pull out your phone and quickly check out yourself in the front camera, making sure you looked presentable. Your old boss had drilled into you enough time the importance of looking professional in front of clients, and while neither the manager nor leader of Stray Kids were your clients (if anything, they were your bosses), those old habits were kicking in. You were thankful that you decided to at least wear your best professional shirt, a casual white button down.

Jeonhui thanked the guy, and while the first man bowed and left the doorway, Jeonhui remained at the door. She stepped forward and bowed to someone else you couldn’t see, and after a quick exchange of words, she moved to the side.

Two men walked in.

The first one was a dark-haired guy who seemed young, but older than you. His beta scent was stronger than most people, but calm enough that it didn’t bother you. He seemed laid back and easy-going, wearing comfortable clothes as opposed to the professional outfit you had seen other managers use. He bowed at you, introducing himself as the Stray Kids manager, and as you stood up to bow at him in return, he took his seat at the head of the table.

And from behind him appeared a younger man, closer to your age. He was handsome with dark hair and soft eyes, his smile revealing dimples as he chatted briefly with Jeonhui. The normally stoic and polite beta woman seemed to melt in the stranger’s presence, a soft smile on her face. It was jarring. The young man then turned to you, and you once again bowed, but when you raised your head, all you could see on his face was shock.

You were confused, worried if you had accidentally done something you shouldn’t have, but then his scent reached you.

Floral and fruity, like sunscreen and pina colada and the hot sun on sand.

You froze, sharing the wide-eyed gaze with this complete stranger, who wasn’t actually a complete stranger.

Soft moans, fingers brushing up against your thighs as you were filled deliciously from behind, another moan forced out of your mouth as he wrapped his fingers gently around your throat, lips brushing up against the shell of your ear.

“God, you’re so tight.”

You nearly chocked on your spit.

The man you had unintentionally had a one night stand with two nights ago was the leader of Stray Kids.

Your boss.

“Alpha, please!”

“Just a little longer,. You can hold on just a little longer, cant you? Hmm? Don’t you want to be good for your Alpha?”

You were so close. Your body felt like it was on fire and your head spun, the darkness that seemed to engulf you left your nerve endings so sensitive, and you couldn’t see him, could think, couldn’t do anything more than accept the pleasure he was giving you. He seemed to know that you were at your breaking point, because as a whine began to build in your throat, he pulled away.

His fingers pressed right where you needed them most, and you found yourself spiraling.

“Cum for me, Omega.”

And he knew your secret.

[nqueso-emergency]

I'm sorry to add to your inbox but I just need to say this --- Why do BoBs keep calling Buddie a "slow burn"? There is nothing in the writing that you see in a slow burn romance. No lingering hand touch, no almost kiss, no getting flustered if you see the other shirtless, no moment where one nearly confesses their feelings but circumstances change their mind. Sorry, people, but "Can you watch my kid while I go cheat on my girlfriend with the doppelganger of the dead wife I can't get over" does not qualify as a slow burn.

Well.. what else can they call it?

You're right, I'm just saying 🤷

[pharawee]

Back in May I bought Khemjira's Rescue on meb, happy that there finally was an official English translation because I love horror and actually liked the first pilot teaser for Spirit Reborn - even though it wasn't well received.

I now know why the teaser wasn't well received (the official version has since been deleted and there's only some re-uploads left) and I agree. Khemjira isn't really a classic QL where the story centres around two people falling in love. It's a horror novel first (and the novel's content warning is very open about this). Much of the romance only happens in the bonus chapters. It's also steeped in Isan folklore and Theravadin Buddhist teachings and virtues, with heavy and uncompromising themes of karma, rebirth, right action and non-attachment (which I really appreciate but might not be everyone's cup of tea because it completely ignores concepts of justice and revenge).

The novel itself is translated really well with only a few editorial slip-ups but tons of footnotes to explain potentially unfamiliar concepts and give translations for the recited khatha. The bonus chapters are plentiful and rewarding if you're into romance and the usual level of BL novel spiciness, but even without them the narrative flows really well and comes to a satisfying conclusion. I really liked the novel - it might be my favourite right after I Feel You Linger in the Air - so I was slightly apprehensive when Mandee announced that they had acquired the rights for a new adaptation.

I don't know the actors at all so I only have the novel to go by, but all in all I'm really happy with Mandee's pilot teaser. It's so close to the novel that even seemingly short filler scenes are recognisably taken from moments in the story. And while I still think Keng Harit is a bit too young as Por Kru Parun, he manages to capture his commanding and alluring presence very well.

My only worry now is that they'll downplay the religious themes in order to elevate the romance between, well, basically everyone. I couldn't even blame them though, because most of the audience will be expecting romance, and the series probably wouldn't be very well received if both couples remained chaste until the very end. I don't think Khemjira's Rescue even qualifies as slow-burn for reasons I'll explain a bit later (and behind a spoiler warning).

But first, a bit more about the main characters because I've seen some confusion about their names etc. I'll keep these as spoiler-free as Mandee's pilot teaser was so if you've watched that then you're all set.

Khemjira is cursed, as are all male descendants of his family, doomed to die before their 20th birthday (the series changes it to 21). His mother gave him a traditionally female name to confuse the curse but to no avail: as he grows older he's more and more troubled by the heavy and malevolent presence of spirits. These are kept at bay by an amulet given to to him by a venerable Por Kru (a practicioner of Buddhist white magic) but when that's no longer enough, his friend Jhet introduces him to his teacher Por Kru Parun who lives in a small Isan village. Despite the burden of bad karma, Khem is a good person who always tries his best even when he feels like giving up.

Por Kru Parun (the series calls him Karan) is a respected practicioner of Buddhist white magic. He lives in a traditional wooden house outside of a small Isan village and protects his community from spiritual harm. He learned from his grandfather (who was himself a respected Por Kru) and also spent many years ordained as a monk. Because he lives by the precepts (which go beyond the five precepts of laypeople) he seems detached and aloof, often wearing dark sunglasses so others won't get charmed by him. His real (nick)name is Peem but he only starts using it with Khem once the two get romantically involved.

Jhettana and Charnvit (aka Jhet and Charn) are Khem's best friends. Khem meets Jhet during freshman orientation when Jhet senses the malevolent spirits around him. It's also Jhet who suggests visiting his teacher Por Kru Parun in his home province. They do this during a university excursion. This is how they meet Charn who's part of the student trip and very suspicious about what they're doing. Charn is extremely polite, addressing everyone as Khun. He wears glasses to aid his bad vision. Both Jhet and Charn are extremely protective of Khem, choosing to become Parun's students in order to help save him. They're also the secondary couple with a surprising past connection.

These two boys are Thong and Ake, Parun's spirit servants. They're the ghosts of 12-year-old twins that already served Parun's grandfather. They also have a surprising role to play in things to come.

SOME SPOILERS FOR THE MIDDLE OF THE NOVEL

As for why the romance can only happen after Khemjira's curse has been lifted: as practitioners of white magic, Parun and his students Jhet and Charn have to adhere to the precepts. These include abstinence from unchastity, so they should remain non-attached to thoughts of sexual and romantic nature. If one of these precepts is broken, all of them are considered broken (which makes it impossible to practice white magic) - Khemjira's rescue would fail if any of them got involved romantically. Parun knows that he's mindful enough to remain non-attached until the curse has been dealt with. He also knows that he can't expect the same of Khem so he refuses to take him as his student (which is fortunate because that way we get to read about Khem's pining).

And beyond the horror and the romance, there's also a third element that heavily features in the story: rebirth. All of the characters' fates are interwoven through several past lives, and I'm really curious how Mandee will decide to tackle this added layer of complexity and identity. In The Sign, Idolfactory used the same actors througout every past life (while 1000 Years Old used different actors with the same identifying birth mark). In Khemjira's Rescue the past identities of some of the characters are incredibly important and I'd hate to see them getting erased by using the same actors to better fit with BL marketing. It was so rewarding to find out that Jhet and Charn were starcrossed lesbian lovers in a past life and I'd love it if they kept that reveal for the series as well.

Oh, and also? Yes, there's going to be at least one naga. 🙌

END OF SPOILERS

Ultimately, if Mandee truly commits to playing the long game and doesn't simplify the story in order to appeal to marketing opportunities, this could end up being one of the best Thai BL series to come. From what I saw, the actors can definitely pull it off, and the fact that the 11 minute long trailer focuses so much on novel-accuracy is very promising already. Just don't have Parun and Khem get it on too early. Sometimes you have to keep it in your pants for a bit in order to save the day. 🙏

[formulawolff]

ii. eighteen minutes - t.w.

pairing: reserve fem driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 2.5k

warnings: morally gray individuals, slow burn, sexual content (intercourse), allusions to sexual content, cursing, marijuana use, references to alcohol use, lots of power imbalance, questionable boss x employee dynamics, light toxicity, slight controlling tendencies from toto

a/n: here’s the second chapter of my new baby. i really like the direction of this fic & i hope y’all do too. also, i really wanna clarify and say that the reader, toto, and max are NOT supposed to be good people. they are supposed to be written as people who have flaws + make mistakes. i hope y’all enjoy! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆:

“look at you! come on now, do a little spin for me.”

sucking in a breath, you swivel on your heel, turning in a tight circle. lewis nods in approval, his tongue swiping along his lower lip.

“who knew a fire suit could look so good on someone? if you’re not careful, you may have quite a few drivers in your dms later. me included!”

“stop,” you hiss through gritted teeth, “it’s a little tighter than i would like in some areas.”

lewis’ lips purse, the british driver eyeing every inch of the suit, “that’s not necessarily a bad thing–”

“could you stop harassing our sweet girl?” 

george strolls through the entrance of the garage, arms folding over his chest. lewis rolls his eyes, mouth forming a pout as george plucks a strand of hair from your right rib-cage, “how come you get to be that close?”

“because i don’t sexualize her every five seconds,” george mutters, shaking his head, “how are you feeling? nervous?”

“nervous?” a dry laugh erupts from the base of your throat, “i’m clenching my cheeks right now. i’m afraid i’m going to shit myself.”

“it’ll pass,” george shrugs, “soon the adrenaline will kick in and you’ll be fine. don’t stress yourself out too much. it’s only qualifying.”

“it’s only my first qualifying in formula one,” you counter, wiping your slick palms on your suit, “it’s only my debut as one of the few female drivers in a male-dominated sport. it’s only the first time the other teams will get to watch me drive and–”

“you just want to look good for red bull,” lewis waves a hand, “don’t act all coy over there. we’ve seen your interviews. we know you have an interest in joining the dark side.”

“the dark side?” you arch a brow, “what does that mean?”

“you’d be under the helm of christian horner if you went over to red bull,” george exhales, his hands settling on his hips, “that’s a no-no in the mercedes handbook. so, we refer to it as the dark side.”

“oh,” a slight wave of shame blazes within you as you sense the subtle scrutiny radiating off the british drivers as they pick you apart, anticipating your response, “i just wanted to showcase my capabilities, that’s all.”

“there’s no harm in that,” lewis whistles, “after all, a lot of seats are up for grabs. several long-term contracts for drivers are going to be up after the season. 2025 is going to be one interesting year. that’s for sure.”

“indeed,” george nods, “not a lot will change around here though. i’ll be sticking around. so will lewis.”

at george’s statement, you notice the way lewis tenses up, almost freezing in place. yet, he loosens up the moment another individual enters the paddock, the driver bearing a meek smile.

“howdy, toto!”

“guten morgen,” the team principal is almost cold, showing no emotion as he approaches the three of you, “i assume the two of you briefed our little hase on our strategy for qualifying this weekend?”

“yep,” lewis dips his head, “she’s chomping at the bit to get a hot lap in!”

“ah!” the team principal’s head turns in your direction, a smug smirk now apparent, “is that so?”

fuck you, lewis hamilton. fuck you big time. 

“yup!” you swallow thickly, shifting in place, “i’m ready!”

in reality, there was nothing more than you wanted in that moment to be in max’s arms, snuggling against his chest as his hands roamed, rubbing gentle circles into your back. 

as much as you shunned those feelings that bubbled to the surface whenever he was near, there was one thing that you could not deny. 

he knew how to make you feel safe. 

and god did you wish he was at your side, your fingers intertwined together. even the sound of his voice was enough to soothe your nerves.

if only he was here right now.

if only.

due to the nature of formula one’s guidelines, in order to replace george, you would have to participate in at least one of the practice sessions on the track. which, since qualifying was considered a practice session, you would be given the okay to compete. however, there was the more petrifying aspect of it all.

qualifying determined the grid.  

if you did not perform, then mercedes would be at the bottom of the grid, fighting their way to the top in order to earn points. if you did not manage to snag a position in the top ten, then you would not earn any points. 

and no team wanted zero points. 

especially at the beginning of the season where a high-caliber team like mercedes wanted to make a statement. 

so, it was up to you to set that tone. 

to prove that you were not only a worthy competitor, but also that you were capable of earning points. 

talk about a pivotal point in your formula one career.

a point which would hopefully last more than eighteen minutes. 

hopefully.

“all right,” toto clears his throat, placing a hand on your shoulder, “come with me. we’re going to go on over to the car. i’m going to have you meet with bono, marcus, and james. they are going to give you a little insight about the new upgrades to the car, along with some adjustments we’ve made since sakhir.”

“sounds good,” letting out a shaky breath, you follow the team principal’s lead, dipping your head to fellow members of the crew as they wave, circling around you like vultures. they appear eager, poised to pounce at any given moment. with every passing second, the tension in the air thickened, a buzz beginning to grow among the garage. 

of course, they were talking about you. 

this was the first time you were going to be behind the wheel of their car. the car that they had worked tirelessly on over the course of weeks, if not months. the car they had poured all of their passion, their energy, and their resources into. the car that required numerous donations and sponsorships to build, craft, and perfect. 

a car that was worth millions. 

and it was up to you to ensure that the car came out unscathed, without a single scratch or dent.

some pressure that was.

and god, was it starting to weigh on your shoulders.

“before you speak to the team, i need to tell you something.”

you pause, cocking your head, “yes?”

toto leans forward, his mouth hovering merely millimeters by your ear. 

“don’t fuck this up, hase. the moment you get behind the wheel of that car you are going to do one of two things for me. one, you manage to qualify in the top ten for tomorrow. or two, you crumble under the pressure and crash the car.

if you crash the car, you’re fucking done. you will never step foot inside brackley ever again. i will release you from your contact the very moment you make it back to the paddock. so don’t fuck this up, yeah? i’m sure you don’t want to lose your cushy little lifestyle in the reserves.”

a shiver courses down your spine, fear bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as he towers over you, wearing a sickeningly smug grin. however, that terror only lasts a second, dissipating as retaliation takes over. it’s fiery and hot, your jaw clenching as your fists form tightly wound balls. 

“fuck you,” you manage to spit out, “fuck you, toto wolff.”

“that’s exactly what i wanted to hear,” he coos, breath hot as it fans against your ear, “good girl.”

“fuck you,” you sneer, “if you utter so much another word to me, i’m crashing the fucking car.”

toto wolff couldn’t help but let the satisfaction course through his veins as you glower, folding your arms tightly against your chest as you make your way over to the huddle of engineers and crew. you were almost stomping, your steps a little louder than usual. 

he had you right where he wanted you.

tensed up, fury filling you to the brim. your brows pinched together with dismay, a frown etched across your features. the toes of your shoe tapping away against the floor, itching to feel the wheel beneath your fingertips. impatient as ever, the fear of loss mixed with the desire to win creating a dangerous yet lethal mix. 

a loaded gun, merely seconds away from firing. 

to toto, this was necessary. 

this was the only way he was going to make you a champion. 

you see, toto wolff made no mistakes.

he was a calculated individual, carefully plotting and carrying out every single move when it came to the decisions made by the team. no detail, no matter how miniscule or trivial was finalized without his permission. no contract was signed without his presence. no calls were made without his knowledge. 

so, the decision to replace george with the reserve driver for the first grand prix was not a decision that was made lightly.

in his eleven years at mercedes, the team principal had witnessed it all. with eight constructors’ championships, seven driver’s championships, and a stake in the team, toto was a dominant force in the world of formula one. he had seen his fair share of controversies, faced backlash from the media, and harbored his secrets. 

although he thought he had seen just about everything there was to see in formula one, that all changed the moment he saw your face. 

that was the exact moment in which toto wolff’s entire world came to a screeching halt. 

that was the moment in which he knew he had to have you. 

he knew he needed you at mercedes. 

no matter the cost. no matter the stakes. no matter the risk.

he had lewis hamilton to thank for that. 

it all happened one race weekend in zandvoort. toto could recall the memory perfectly, down to the exact minute. he could remember the way lewis was toting you around, your arm entwined with his. it was in the garage, as lewis was giving you a tour, showing you around a little bit, introducing you to a few prominent members of the team. 

at first glance, toto was under the impression you were just another fuck for the british driver, another innocent girl that fell victim to the bachelor’s charming ways.

that all changed when lewis introduced you as the prodigy of prema racing, the one who shattered records and obliterated barriers.

the next world champion pf formula two. that was, if you played your cards right.

the next face of the mercedes team, if toto played his cards right. 

as fate would have it, you did earn that title. 

in turn, that achievement ended up changing the trajectory of your life. it opened up numerous doors, more than you ever thought were possible. brands reached out to you through social media, inquiring about sponsorships. fans praised you across social media, stating that you were a trailblazer for the world of motorsports. 

most importantly, it opened the door to formula one. 

you had toto wolff to thank for that. 

with the help of lewis, he was the one who got the ball rolling on your contract. he was the one who took a chance on the hot-headed, bratty driver. he was the one who called you, inquiring if you wanted to sign a two-year deal with mercedes. you would be in the reserves, but you would be on the team, nonetheless. 

although you were not the first or second driver sitting in a seat, toto was well aware of the potential brewing within you. 

which, was partially the reason why you were competing today. 

he wouldn’t have made the call if he did not believe in you. 

as you slip into the car, he lingers at the helm of the control panel, sliding on a pair of headphones. 

“one, two, radio check. hase, can you hear me?”

your voice, so sweet and delicate, floods his ears, “i can hear you, toto.”

“good, good,” he tuts, “okay team, let’s have a good qualifying, yeah?”

as the remainder of the crew finish the check, the team principal’s gaze fixates on the reserve driver. her helmet was a little too big, but he could make out her lashes as they fluttered, her head bobbing along as the team buzzed about, ensuring that everything was in perfect order. 

a member of the crew flashes toto a thumbs up, signaling that it was time.

“all right hase,” with every fiber in his being, the team principal fights a grin as you mimic the wave of a princess, a gloved hand rotating back and forth as the car lurches out of the garage.

“es ist zeit zu gehen.”

the second you sailed on to that track,, your foot pressing on the gas, any doubt or fear dissolved, replaced by nothing but pure, electrifying adrenaline. 

“all right ms. reserves,” marcus’ voice seeps into your right ear, “let’s see what you can do.”

when it came to qualifying, all it took was one lap. 

one singular lap to prove yourself. 

and by god, that’s what you were going to do. 

you were going to prove yourself that you were more than just a body in the reserves. you were going to prove to the world of formula one that you were dominant on the track, just as you were in formula two. you were a world champion. 

the only woman in your sport to ever accomplish that magnificent of a feat. 

one of a kind.

the longer you were on the track, the more you realized how your body longed to be behind the wheel. the bells and whistles of the car came easily to you, really. natural, even. just as you had practiced in the simulator. 

your reflexes were sharp, on point with every turn of the chicane. your feet rotated back and forth between the gas and brake with ease, almost as if they had a mind of their own, like they knew this circuit by heart. 

before you knew it, you were sailing back toward the pits, to the mercedes garage. the chatter of the radio was almost like white noise to you, as you had paid no mind to the voices that filtered in and out of your helmet. part of you felt a sense of guilt for not listening to the engineers or crew. although, at the end of the day, you were the one driving the damn car.

coming to a halt at the garage, you pit, flipping the visor up. members of the crew swarm your car. yet, the only one you really make out is toto. with his broad stature and powerful aura, he was truly hard to miss. 

the team principal leans over, one hand resting against the halo of the car. 

the other taps your helmet, the corners of his lips tugging into a broad smile. 

for the first time, you make note of his dimples. how they soften his chiseled features. 

and for the first time, you can’t help but notice how gorgeous toto wolff is when he smiles. 

“congratulations, hase,” a chuckle rumbles in his chest, his hand lingering on your helmet. 

“with the fastest lap on the track, you’ve made it to the second session of qualifying.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆:

taglist: @sweetjellyfishland @ts1m1kas @bxuzi @racecardilfs @bblouifford @justacornerofmybrain @irishmanwhore @noooway555 @sleutherclaw @okdokeygryssel63 @jeannealicette @marknolee @allyisalright-blog

[lovelykei]

Save you

Bakugo Katsuki x reader

This one is angsty and it also has spoilers about the war arc so read at your own risk 😀

This is also my first time writing for something other than haikyuu so I hope it’s okay😩

It was chaotic, heroes were laying on the floor bleeding out, burning, screaming and begging for someone to reach them. A young hero was running around trying to reach the heroes in need. Sweat dripping down the forehead and straight into the heroes eyes but they didn’t stop, they couldn’t stop. In a world where soulmates feel each others pain this hero whose every joint was screaming to stop kept running, kept healing as the pain consumed them. For just a second it felt like time was moving in slow motion. Pressure, pressure, pressure, rip. A blood curling scream brought the entire battlefield to a halt. It was silent as the pro heroes turned towards you, the young hero who had been healing everyone, who was now on the floor hand clutching your chest. Everyone immediately knew that something had happened to Dynamight.

As fast as the pain came it was gone and now you felt nothing. Your body was lighter than it had ever been but your heart had never been heavier. Cause soulmates were meant to be forever, it was the other half that people spent their entire life searching for. Soulmates weren’t meant to die thousand of kilometers away, soulmates weren’t meant to die at 16 while fighting a villain they weren’t even qualified enough to be fighting. Katsuki wasn’t meant to die like this.

-

It had been years since day and somehow katsuki had been brought back to life with the help of the pro hero edgeshot. The apartment was silent apart from the soft thudding of feet pacing back and forth anxiously. The air was thick, the night was dark, the tears were silently streaming down. It’s past midnight, katsuki always made it home by 10pm. The dinner that was always on the table by 10 had turned cold. You put your phone to your ear trying to call just one more time hoping he would answer when the door busts open.

“I’m sorry baby I got caught up with paperwork” Katsugi apologized lightly as he walked through the door kicking his shoes off. The soft thud of your body falling to the floor brought his attention back to you and made him rush over. It was still dark, it was still late but it was no longer silent. “You have a phone don’t you? Couldn’t you call? Text? Why did you just disappear?” He reassured you that he was right there and that his phone had run out of batteries and although his tone was gentle there was an air of frustration coming from him. “You can’t get like this Everytime I’m a little late baby” you roughly pushed him away from you, standing up as you did so. “It’s been 3 hours katsuki, that’s more than a little late don’t you think” maybe it was the fear that made you lash out, maybe you were just angry he didn’t understand. “Im a hero y/n I can’t always make it home on time and I can’t always call you, we have talked about this” he ran a hand over his face frustrated that you were doing this again. Silence fell over the apartment as you turned around and walked to your shared room. He followed after you and slammed the door. “You married a hero, you knew what that meant so why are you acting like this? Ever since I started working as a hero you’ve been psychotic” he screamed and kicked a pillow that had fallen to the floor. How dare he call you psychotic when it was all his fault. How dare he turn it on you. “Answer me for fuck sake” it was obvious that he was frustrated and tired but you couldn’t get the words out. “I thought you died” it was barely above a whisper but he heard you and scoffed. “So what? You’re worried I’m weak? You’re acting crazy cause you don’t think I can take on villain?” He felt offended that you thought so little off him, angry that you saw him as someone so weak.

“But you did die katsuki” your teary eyes met his glaring eyes. “You died and I felt it all, I felt the pain from your heart exploding, I felt the emptiness of our soul band dying” you gripped the sheets in your shaking hands as you spoke louder and louder. “You fought shigaraki without worrying about leaving me behind and you died. Then you came back and moved on. But I’m still right there, thousands of miles away from you screaming and crying because.. BECAUSE I COULDNT FEEL YOU ANYMORE” you screamed at him. Every night you wait by the door for him to come through okay and at night you stay up healing his injuries while he sleeps. Every moment of every day was spent worrying that he wouldn’t make it back this time. That if he died now there wouldn’t be another miracle. He walked over to you and tried to wrap his arms around you to apologize. “It just feels like we got matching fucking wounds. But mine is still black and bruised while yours is perfectly fine.” He held your limp body in his arms for hours that night. Reminding you every 30 minutes that’s he’s right there, that he’s still alive and apologizing over and over. But even as the sun rose and the birds started chirping you were just limp in his arms, the tears still streaming down your face. It was the first time he saw how broken you were and suddenly everything made sense.

Back in UA you had insisted on healing even his paper cuts saying you wanted to strengthen your quirk. And after you graduated he had opened an agency while you had decided to stay and work with recovery girl. He didn’t get it at the time, all the years you trained to become a hero only to turn around and become a school nurse..it had pissed him off for sure but he got it now. After that day you hadn’t spoken a word, you called in sick to work and spent most of your days laying in bed crying. You didn’t eat, you barely slept, the only thing you could do was cry. For once in his life Bakugo really didn’t know what to do, he tried to work less so he could feed you and bathe you but it’s like you were gone. He thought that this time he’d pushed you to far and as he sobbed into his hands he was furious that he couldn’t save you.

[sissylittlefeather]

I wrote something!!!

I'm not sure if it's any good, but the writer's block passed long enough for me to get this one done. I hope you enjoy it!

Hot for Teacher

A/N: an AU in which you and Elvis are teachers at a high school together. Special thanks to @ccab for helping me come up with the idea for this one! Also, this is a slow burn, but the payout is worth it, I hope!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation, also some baby talk during sex kinda?

Word count: ~5.5k

It's 1965, so this is our Mr. Presley:

You'd been the art teacher at Central High School for almost five years when they hired a new choir director in 1965. You were sad when Mrs. Sparks retired because she had been your director when you went to the school, but you were curious about who they were going to bring in. When you found out it was a man, you were definitely shocked. You didn't know men could teach in a school as anything other than a coach, but the principal assured you he was qualified.

When you see him on the first day, you almost drop all the art supplies you're carrying. He is the most attractive man you've ever seen in your life. When he notices you struggling with the armful of supplies, he runs over to help.

"Can I take some of this for ya, honey?" His southern accent is as smooth as butter and you're glad he's there to catch the supplies as you almost drop them again. He takes a bulk of them from your arms and then gestures for you to lead the way to the classroom. Once inside, you show him where he can unload the supplies. He walks over to you and extends his hand.

"I'm Mr. Presley, Elvis Presley. I'm the new choir director." You take his hand and shake it slowly.

"I'm Miss Y/l/n, art teacher."

"Miss not Mrs.?" He looks at you sweetly.

"Yeah, just Miss." You make a conscious effort not to look down at your feet, but his gaze is so soft that it makes you nervous.

"Well, it looks like we'll be sharing a hallway, Miss Y/l/n. Nice to meet you." He smiles and your stomach clenches. His blue eyes and perfect smile make the blush rise in your cheeks. You aren't used to being in the presence of such an attractive man.

"Yeah. Thanks for helping me." It sounds dumb but it's all you can get out.

"You're welcome! Well, I better head back to my room. If I need any help, can I bother you again?" You nod to let him know he can bother you whenever he wants. Then, he backs out of the room smiling and heads down the hallway.

******

At the beginning of the second week of school, he pokes his head into your room just as you're getting ready to walk to the teachers' lounge for lunch. You've seen him in the hall a couple of times, but there hasn't been much to your conversations beyond politeness and brief answers to his questions about the school.

"This might sound silly, but where do you eat lunch?" You noticed that he hasn't been eating in the lounge, but you never guessed it's because he doesn't know where it is.

"In the lounge. It's on the second floor in the sophomore hall."

"Oh. Do you mind if I come with you?" You look up at him. Is he asking to eat lunch with you? No. Surely he just wants to know where the lounge is.

"Yeah, sure!" He nods and smiles, almost seeming relieved that you said yes. You grab your lunch box and walk with him up the back stairs to the lounge. You assume that once you get there, he'll sit somewhere away from you, but he doesn't. He settles in right next to you and starts to unload his food.

"How long have you been here?"

"This is my fifth year."

"Did you teach somewhere before this?"

"Nope. This is my only school."

"So you're, what, 26?"

"28. I went to graduate school before I started teaching." You're not sure why your age matters, but the more you talk, the more comfortable you get with him. He's very easy to talk to because it feels like he's really listening.

"This is my 8th year teaching, but I started at a bigger school as an assistant director."

"How are you liking it here?" He smiles and the conversation continues through lunch.

He walks you back to your classroom and thanks you for helping him find the lounge.

"Same time tomorrow?" He asks when you reach your door.

"Oh, yeah, sure." You're not sure why he's so excited to eat lunch with you, but you're not complaining. He's so cute and surprisingly good company.

When the kids make their way into the room, you hear a group of girls whispering and catch pieces of the conversation. You definitely hear "Mr. Presley" and something about wearing a short skirt. At first, you roll your eyes, but then you say a quick prayer that he's not one of those teachers.

******

Your lunchtime together becomes a ritual and before too long, you both come to expect each other's company while you eat. One day, you have to stay in your room while a group of girls works on a project. He pokes his head in to pick you up for your walk to the lounge, but you gesture to the girls.

"No lunch date today?" He asks, disappointment in his voice. Your mouth pops open at the word date, but you close it quickly. However, the group of girls definitely notice both his use of the word and your reaction. They look at each other and giggle.

"No, I'm sorry. I have to stay with them."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I should be available."

"Good!" He smiles and backs out of the room.

As soon as he's gone, the girls elbow each other trying to get the other one to talk. Finally, one pipes up.

"Miss Y/l/n, are you dating Mr. Presley?" You feel your cheeks get hot.

"No. I'm absolutely not."

"Why not? If he looked at me like that, I would!" They erupt into a cascade of giggles and your cheeks get even hotter.

How does he look at you? Surely, they're just seeing things.

******

It doesn't take long for the rumors to start flying around the school about you and Mr. Presley. You finally hear one that makes you blush and you decide to talk to him and see what he has to say about them. When you walk to his room after school, he's sitting at the piano and there's a group of girls all fighting for his attention. He's trying to get them to focus on whatever they're supposed to be practicing, but they're too busy trying to flirt. At first, you get a little nervous that he's feeding into their efforts, but it doesn't take you long to realize he's not just oblivious, he's annoyed by them.

"Girls, let's go back to the beginning." He practically hollers just before he sees you in the doorway. He instantly stands up, towering over the heads of the teen girls, and smiles at you. They all stop tittering and turn to see what earned this reaction from him. When they see that it's you, they completely fall apart laughing.

He looks around at them confused and ushers them away from the piano to get their things and leave the classroom. Just as she's leaving, the last girl snickers.

"We'll just leave you two alone, then." He looks up at her suddenly and then back to you.

"What was that all about?"

"You haven't heard? Apparently you and I are doing all kinds of unspeakable things when the students leave." Now it's his turn to blush and look at his shoes.

"I try really hard not to listen to what they say about me." You hadn't considered how hard it might be for him to be taken seriously looking the way he does. He looks back up at you, the little piece of hair on his forehead bouncing with the movement.

"What should we do about it?" You ask.

"Well, we could just make the rumors true." He smiles devilishly and you inhale sharply. "I'm kidding, y/n."

That's the first time he's called you by your first name. You honestly wonder how he knows it. You're also completely caught off guard by the obvious flirtation of his last statement.

"I'm sorry. I've just found that the best way to deal with this is to joke about it or ignore it completely. Trying to deny it just makes them talk more. Trust me on this."

"Okay. If that's what you think is best." He walks over to you and you feel like he's trying hard not to touch you.

"It'll blow over. They'll be bored soon and move on to some other rumor." You nod and look up at him. There's an undeniable energy between you, but you choose to ignore it. You walk away and head for the door of his classroom. "It'll be fine."

"Thanks. I'll see you later." You head back to your classroom, nerves lit up like a Christmas tree. Was he kidding?

******

You continue like this for the next few months, eating lunch together and hanging out in each other's classrooms after school. Eventually the rumors cool, but they still come up every once in a while. You learn to ignore them and the giggling that happens any time Mr. Presley sticks his head into your classroom to ask a question. But you still haven't learned to call him Elvis, despite him asking you to regularly. When you're alone, he calls you by your first name. There are several more occasions that feel specifically flirty, but they're never overt enough for you to know whether he's serious or not.

In the spring, he decides to take his competition choir to a contest in Florida. He needs a female chaperone, so he asks you if you'll go with them. You're not sure how you feel about spending a weekend on the beach with 20 high school kids and this man that you can't stop thinking about, but you decide to say yes when he comes practically begging with his big blue eyes.

"Please, y/n, I really need a female teacher to come with us. Everything is paid for. It'll be fun."

"Okay, but where exactly are we going?" You ask tentatively. His eyes start to sparkle when you say okay.

"Fort Lauderdale. There's a big choir festival there every year. And the kids get some beach time. It'll be great."

"Beach time? We have to chaperone them on the beach?" He laughs.

"Nah, we'll let them run wild for that part." You reach out and shove him playfully without thinking. That's the first time you've ever really touched him and there's definitely something there that makes your heart skip a little. He gives you a look that seems to indicate that he felt something similar. There's a moment where you're looking at each other before his classroom door opens and the principal walks in, breaking whatever was between you.

"Mr. Presley, did you find a female chaperone for your trip?"

"I did! Miss y/l/n has agreed to come with us." The principal looks between you for a second and then shrugs.

"Sounds good. Just make sure you keep the kids safe, keep them out of trouble, and bring back a trophy." She turns and walks out, leaving you alone with him again. You look back at him and raise your eyebrows.

"Guess there's no backing out now."

"Nope." He smiles and you almost melt. Why does he have to be so attractive?

******

When it comes time for the big beach trip, you pack your most modest bathing suit and head up to the school to get on the bus. You're nervous about how you'll handle being the only two adults with 20 teenagers. You're also nervous about spending so much time with Mr. Presley away from school. Until now, you've never seen him outside the four walls of the high school. You settle in the front seat with your bag tucked up underneath you, assuming he'll sit in another seat. But he doesn't. He sits right next to you.

"Good morning!" His proximity makes your stomach flip flop.

"Hi, Mr. Presley." He sighs.

"Elvis, please. You can call me Elvis." You nod, but have no intention of calling him by his first name. He stands up and gives the kids some announcements and rules to follow before the bus pulls out. The drive is long, so you get comfortable and look out the window.

Once you're on the road, the conversation flows naturally between you and the time passes quickly. The kids are well-behaved when you stop for lunch, so you relax quite a bit about your chaperone duties.

When you roll into the hotel around dinner time, you're all ready to get some food and relax in your rooms. The kids need a good night of sleep before the competition tomorrow morning and beach time in the afternoon. He orders pizza for the group and everyone makes their way to their rooms to eat. You check on all the girl rooms while he walks around to the boy rooms and you meet back in the middle at your rooms. He has a pizza for you to share.

"You wanna eat in my room or yours?" You didn't think about the fact that you'd need to be in one room to share the food.

"Um, let's do your room." He smiles and opens the door for you to walk in before him. Then, he walks to the bed and sits on the edge, patting the bedspread next to him. You plop down next to him and grab a slice of pizza from the box. He grabs a slice too and sets the box down on his other side.

"We've had lunch together a lot, but this is our first dinner date. I wish it was a little fancier." He smiles and holds up his pizza. There it is again, the word date. Does he want to date you? You take a few more bites of pizza trying to work up the courage to ask. He seems to know what you're thinking, though, and addresses it before you can.

"Y'know, y/n, I wouldn't mind taking you out to a real dinner sometime." He swallows hard and looks down at his pizza. It's almost like you make him nervous too. You take a deep breath and then answer.

"I'd like that." He looks up at you quickly, a relieved smile on his face.

"You would?"

"Mhmm." You nod, smiling back at him. As you finish eating, you talk about different restaurants in town that you could go to when he takes you out. After the meal, you talk for a while before you decide to head to bed. At the door, you turn to thank him for the meal and before you know it, he's pressing his lips against yours, with his arms around your waist. You're shocked, but it doesn't take you long to wrap your arms around his neck. You stay like this for a while before he pulls back and presses his forehead to yours.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time."

You're still in shock that he kissed you. Asking you out was one thing, this was something else entirely. Still, there's a big part of you that wants him to keep kissing you. The fact that you're in a hotel room becomes glaringly obvious and for half a second you forget that you're there to chaperone teenagers. But it comes screaming back to you when there's a knock on the door. He jumps backwards away from you and hides you behind the door as he opens it.

"Mr. Presley, we were wondering if there was any extra pizza?" It's a group of boys that are apparently still hungry. He grabs the pizza from his bed and walks back to the door, handing it to the guys. Once the door is closed, he looks at you with a big sigh of relief.

"That was close."

"Yeah. I should get back to my room." He nods and peeks out the door to make sure the hallway is clear. You move quickly toward the door but he grabs you one last time and plants another kiss on your lips before you can stop him.

"Elvis!" You hiss as you break away from him and sneak over to your door.

"You called me Elvis!" He stands there with a crooked grin on his face as you blush and make your way into your room.

"Goodnight!" He whispers as you nod and close the door to your room, leaning against the back of it breathing heavily. Everything that just happened feels like a dream and you're not sure where to go from here.

A not-small part of you imagines slipping back into his room later once you're certain everyone is asleep. But you shake your head to get rid of that idea. Just because he kissed you doesn't mean he wants you in his bed. Does he?

Oh well. You won't find out this weekend. You wash your face and put on your pajamas. Tomorrow should be interesting.

******

The contest in the morning goes really well and the kids are proud to get a trophy for second place. They perform well and you can tell Elvis is proud. He's beaming when he comes to you after the awards ceremony and wraps you in a hug. It takes about thirty seconds for you both to realize that the students are looking at you.

They elbow each other and whisper, so he lets go quickly and corrals them back to the bus to go back to the hotel before their beach time. You stand there in awe for a minute before you take up the back of the line and make sure everyone makes it where they belong.

******

Once you get to the beach, the kids spread out and claim spots on the sand. You lay out your towel where you can be sure to keep an eye on them and then take off your cover up. You feel eyes on you and look over to see Elvis standing and watching you.

"Is this spot taken?" He asks, gesturing to the ground next to you.

"Nope. I saved it just for you." He laughs and sets out a towel next to yours. He has on scandalously small shorts and a small button down. You try not to stare as he sits down.

"That is a bold outfit choice." You say jokingly.

"What? It's what I wear to swim!" He tries to defend himself.

"You trying to impress these 17 year old girls?"

"No, I'm trying to impress you." He almost whispers. You look up and meet his blue eyes, and you feel like if you don't look away, he'll lean in and kiss you right there on the beach.

"Well, it's working." You whisper back as you look out to the water. He smiles and looks over to where the kids are.

"I could say the same thing about your bathing suit. You trying to drive these boys insane?" You snap your head over to him incredulously.

"I guarantee you they don't notice-"

"I hear what they say about you. I'm not the only one with a crush." You feel your cheeks get hot.

"Oh, stop."

"I'm serious. You really think that many boys are interested in art?" You have noticed an unusual number of boys in your classes. Is he right?

"I never thought-"

"You're a beautiful woman, y/n. I can't say that I blame them." If it weren't for the kids you'd tackle him right then and there. You've never made love on a beach, but he's making you think about it.

"Careful. We have a job to do here. You're distracting me." You say it playfully, but you're more serious than you sound.

"Good. The kids have to sleep eventually." He runs his finger down your arm softly, and you get goosebumps. There's an undeniable electricity in his touch.

The rest of the day is spent like this, with whispered flirtation and stolen touches. By the time the sun is setting and it's time to head back to the hotel, you're both so turned on that you're not sure how you're going to make it through dinner without jumping on him.

******

Somehow, you survive dinner at a decent seafood place close by. He wrinkles his nose when you order shellfish and you mock him endlessly when he orders chicken. But it just continues the game you've been playing since the night before. By now, the kids have to have noticed how sexually charged you both are. But if they do, they don't say anything or do anything to indicate that they do. They're too wrapped up in their own teenage melodramas to pay attention to their teachers.

When you get back to the hotel after dinner, you make sure everyone is securely in their rooms and then head back to your own room.

He looks both ways down the hallway to make sure you're alone and then pulls you into a deep kiss, this time parting your lips with his and sliding his tongue into your mouth. He presses your body up against your hotel room door and rolls his hips into you.

"I've been trying so hard not to do that all day." He whispers into your mouth after he pulls back. You whimper a little bit and he kisses you again.

"Elvis, we can't do this. Not here."

"No, you're right. I just needed to kiss you." He kisses your forehead and then pulls away from you, looking at the ceiling. He rearranges his pants, so that his erection is less obvious.

"Goodnight, y/n. I'll see you in the morning." He moves back to his door and opens it with the key. You open your door and you both walk in, closing the doors behind you.

******

In your room, you walk to the bed and sit down, sighing. You'd give just about anything to be in a hotel room with him not chaperoning kids.

You lay on your bed fully clothed for close to an hour before you finally decide you should get ready for bed. As you're walking over to your suitcase, you're surprised to hear a soft knock on the door. You assume it's one of the girls needing something, so you walk to it quickly. When you open the door, though, it's not one of the students. It's Elvis. He walks into the room and shuts the door behind himself.

"What? Why?"

"I can't stop thinking about you." He reaches out and puts his hand on the side of your face. Then, he leans in and kisses your lips gently. He hovers over your mouth and then kisses you a second time. The third time he opens your mouth with his and his tongue grazes yours softly. He hovers again and whispers.

"Do you want me to stop?" The feeling of his lips on yours is intoxicating and you need so much more of him.

"No." He dives into kissing you fully, tongue dancing wildly against yours, and hands wrapping around your midsection to grab your ass and pull you into him. Your arms immediately go around his neck, as he pulls at your clothing. He drags your shirt up over your head and off and you desperately tear at the buttons on his. He starts to walk backwards toward the bed, removing his shirt and shoes as he goes, but never letting his lips leave yours. You follow him, reaching behind your back to unhook your bra and toss it to the side.

When you get to the bed, he sits on the edge and you climb on top of him, straddling him where he sits, your naked skin pressed against each other. You make out like this for a while, feeling his erection pushing against you through his pants, before he stands up with you wrapped around him, turns, and lays you back on the bed with him on top of you. As he's kissing down your neck to your chest, he whispers again.

"You're sure this is what you want, because I'm about to hit a point where there's no stopping." You smile and nod your head.

"Yes. Don't stop." You feel him smile against your skin as his tongue circles your nipple, his fingers pinching and teasing the other. His hand grasps your side as he continues to kiss down your body to the spot between your bellybutton and the top of your pants. He removes your pants and underwear together, pulling them gently down your legs and revealing the most intimate part of you to him. Then, he kisses your ankle before sliding his hands up both of your legs, settling himself between them.

"Goddamn, you're beautiful." You've never heard him cuss before, but something about it makes your core throb. He slowly drags a finger up your slit and finds the sensitive spot at the top. "And you're already so wet for me, baby."

He starts to massage your clit and you moan and arch your back. You've never known a man to make you come so undone with just his hand. He slides his finger back down and pushes it into you, moving it in and out before adding a second finger. That's when he leans over and presses his tongue to your clit and you almost scream. He moves it over and around the hardened bud as he slams his fingers in and out of you quickly. You feel the coil of your orgasm tighten as he continues to lick you and fuck you with his hand. He feels your walls flutter and whispers into your clit.

"Come for me, baby." The subtle vibration of his voice is the last thing you need to push you over the edge and you dive into oblivion, your toes curling as the waves of pleasure rush from your core out to your extremities and back again.

"Oh, God, Elvis." You moan as you ride out the high of your orgasm. He kisses your hip and slides his fingers out of you, wiping his face as he moves back up your body.

"How was that, baby?"

"That was incredible. Don't tell me you're finished?"

"Oh, baby, I'm just getting started." He takes your hand and puts it on his hardened member and you begin to stroke him through his pants. He undoes the clasp and slides them down and you're surprised to see he isn't wearing any underwear, so his cock bounces free easily. You're not sure what you expected, considering the rest of him is perfection, but his cock is beautiful. It's uncut, long, and straight and it makes your mouth water just looking at it. But you'll have to taste it another time because he doesn't waste a second lining himself up with your entrance.

"Are you ready for me?" He kisses your mouth again.

"God, yes, please." He nods and pushes into you, slowly filling you up. The sensation is delicious and you whimper because he's going so slow.

"Your little pussy is desperate for me, huh?" He smiles and you nod aggressively.

"Well, she's going to have to wait." He teases and starts to pull back out.

"No! Please!" He laughs a little at how needy you are.

"Alright, baby can have what she wants." He pushes into you swiftly and deeply, stuffing you to the hilt. This time you moan together.

"Goddamn, you feel so good. So tight and wet for me." He kisses your neck and starts to pump in and out of you passionately. His hips slam into yours rhythmically as his balls slap your ass. You've never felt anything so satisfying and you wrap your legs around him to make sure he doesn't stop any time soon.

"Yes, fuck me." It slips out of your mouth before you can stop it and he laughs again.

"Baby has a dirty mouth. Maybe she needs to be punished." He pulls out of you and moves your legs from around him, turning you over onto your stomach. He pushes your legs together and finds your pussy, slipping into you from behind. Then, he slides one hand up under you to rub your clit, grabbing your hair and pulling gently with the other. He kisses the back of your neck and shoulder as he continues to fuck you, finger making circles on your sensitive nub.

"How's that, baby?" All you can get out is a moan and a whimper. It feels so good and you're right on the brink of another climax. The feeling of his dick inside you and hand working your clit is almost overwhelming. Two more thrusts and you tumble over the edge again, electricity bubbling in your veins as you come hard.

"Yes, Elvis! Fuck!" You say it through gritted teeth. Your orgasm seems to send him over the edge too and he pulls out quickly pumping his cock until his release shoots out all over your ass and back.

"Fuck, yes, baby, that's so good." He moans as he comes on you. Then, he rolls over onto his back next to you and you prop your head up with your arms.

"I'm sorry; I really intended to turn you back over, but I didn't make it." He smiles at you sheepishly.

"I'm not complaining. That might be the hottest thing that's ever happened to me."

He rolls off the bed and fetches a washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up. You turn over to face him on the bed and he pulls you in close until your skin is pressed up against him again. He puts his hand on your cheek and kisses you deeply.

"I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a fantasy come true." You laugh and look into his eyes.

"It was for me too."

"Can I stay with you?" He runs his thumb across your cheek.

"What if the kids need us and we're in the same room?"

"Well, then they'll have a good story for when we return. Come on, I'll leave before anyone is awake in the morning. I just want to hold you a little longer." You can't argue with that. The feeling of his body against yours is everything you've ever wanted.

"Okay. But you have to leave really early." He smiles and snuggles into your hair.

"I promise."

******

The next morning, you're awakened by a knock on the door. Elvis is still wrapped around you and you're both naked.

"Miss y/l/n! We can't find Mr. Presley! Abigail is sick!"

He pops his head up when he hears his name.

"Shit shit shit!" He whispers, frantically trying to find his clothes. You glance at the clock in your state of panic. 6:27am. He should've been gone by now. You pull your robe on and he hides in the bathroom as you answer the door.

"What did you need?"

"Sorry to bother you so early. We tried knocking on Mr. Presley's door, but he didn't answer. Abigail has a fever."

"Okay, well, we will need to call her parents. We're going home today anyway, so there's not much else we can do. Thanks for letting me know."

"Do you know where Mr. Presley is?"

"Oh, he's probably just asleep."

"We knocked pretty hard..."

"I'm sure it's fine. Go on back to your room. I'll be there in a bit." You close the door and he comes out of the bathroom and wraps his arms around you.

"That was close." You sigh and lean against his chest.

"Yeah, but it was worth it." He kisses your lips gently and then goes to finish getting dressed. You start to get ready and he gives you one last kiss before sneaking back to his own room.

******

You make it back to the school without any other incidents. The girl with the fever is reunited with her parents and sent home. None of the other kids seem to suspect anything happened between the two of you. Once all of the students are sent home with their parents, you realize you're alone with him again.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Nothing. This wasn't just a vacation fling?"

"Not for me. Was it for you?" He looks at you worried.

"Oh, no. I was just making sure."

"Can I take you to dinner? Without the students this time?" You laugh and nod your head yes.

"I wonder how long we'll make it before the kids figure us out." He ponders out loud, taking your hand and walking you to his car.

"Oh, I'm sure there'll be new rumors about us tomorrow. Might as well make them true." You give him a sly look and a wide grin crosses his face.

"Baby, that's the best idea you've ever had."

******

Fin

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