#will something come of this? probably not

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends?

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

Warnings: some wine sipping, gossiping, angst, miscommunication, friend fighting, jealousy (but no one realizes), az being defensive and blind

Word Count: 5k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“It’s not that I don’t like her.”

The words tasted as false as they were, and you grimaced the moment they slipped out, already bracing for the look Mor would throw your way. True to form, she didn’t disappoint, her expression halfway between amusement and exasperation.

A defeated sigh escaped as you accepted the glass of wine she offered, watching as she filled her own nearly to the brim.

“You’re better than me, then,” she hummed, settling back onto the couch across from you. “Because I don’t like her.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t like many people nowadays.”

She shrugged, casual as ever, though a smirk tugged at her lips. “True. I’m not exactly lining up for any peace medals, am I?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair. “I just… have this odd feeling about her, you know?”

Mor tilted her head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Oh, I know. She drags Az around on a leash.”

You were tempted to say something about the irony in her words—remind her, in a loving manner, that she might've been guilty of that once upon a time, too. But you decided against it. She wasn't wrong.

You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid move in slow, mesmerizing circles. The feeling wasn’t new; it had been there since the first time you’d met her. Azriel’s new girlfriend Selene was perfectly fine—charming, even. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Like a faint hum in the background of a quiet room, just irritating enough to notice but not enough to prove anything was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

You glanced up, finding Mor’s bright brown eyes sharp and focused on you, the lazy humor of a moment ago gone.

“I doubt he’ll listen,” you admitted, resting the bottom of your glass on your thigh. “He didn’t listen to you.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Mor raised a brow like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed in response. “He’s been so weird about his love life. Gwyn didn’t work out. Elain’s probably the happiest out of all of us. Maybe he’s treading lightly.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though you weren’t convinced.

Azriel had changed in small, almost imperceptible ways since everything had settled—since everyone had paired off and fallen in love. Everyone except you. And him.

You were fine with your situation, content in the quiet steadiness of your life. Azriel wasn’t. You knew it. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. So much of his self-worth was tangled up in whether he believed himself worthy of love. And the absence of it—of a solid, undeniable love in his life, of a partner, of a potential bond—seemed to weigh on him. To him, it wasn’t just an empty space; it was a failure.

You’d almost go as far as to say he’d become desperate, living in the shadows and watching his brothers experience loves so profound they might as well have been plucked from stories meant to inspire poets and dreamers.

Mating bonds were rare. You reminded yourself of that often. Your family was just an anomaly, their luck skewed impossibly high. But logic wasn’t enough to soothe Azriel, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from chasing it. He was obsessive. Stubborn.

Nothing you said or did could change his perspective.

Mor’s voice pulled you out of your head again. “Speak of the devil,” she sang out. “Hi, Elain.”

Your gaze snapped up to the doorway, finding Elain standing just beyond the archway. She looked like a spooked deer, frozen in place with that polite smile you’d come to recognize as her default around company she hadn’t fully warmed up to yet.

“We were just talking about Azriel’s unfortunate romantic history,” Mor said smoothly. You glanced at Elain for her reaction.

It had taken time for that particular history to fade. Maybe it was appropriate to joke about now, but you personally would’ve waited a few more years before bringing it up so flippantly. Mor, however, had little patience for such niceties.

Elain’s expression didn’t shift beyond a faint flicker in her eyes, and you realized how much her composure had improved over the years. Then again, it had been a while since she and Lucien had found each other for good—long enough for their bond to solidify and for them to leave for the Day Court after their mating ceremony.

A twinge of jealousy sparked in you before you brushed it aside.

“We’re just gossiping in general. Want to join us?” you asked, gesturing to the chair beside you. Plush and inviting, it mirrored the one you sat on. “Unless Lucien is waiting for you upstairs?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed crimson. 

“Lucien’s still with Feyre, catching up,” she said, stepping further into the room. “What are you drinking?”

Mor reached for the bottle on the table, plucking it up and turning it in her hand to read the label.

“Something good and expensive,” she replied, with a half-hearted air of indulgence, before tilting her head at Elain with a faint grin.

“It’s from Rhys’s rather gluttonous collection,” you said, sensing Elain’s hesitation. “It won’t be missed at all.”

She smiled at that. “I’d love some.”

“There are a lot of glasses in that cabinet,” you said, pointing to the wood door with ornate carvings. “Grab whichever one you’d like.”

Mor sat up straighter, scooting herself back into the pillows behind her. You hummed, impressed, at her ability to hold both her full wine glass and the bottle without so much as a wobble.

You hadn’t spent much time with Elain one-on-one. Emissary duties had kept you busy during the years the Archeron sisters had adjusted to their new lives. But you liked Elain, from what you’d seen. She had a kind heart. She also had a sharp humor that surfaced at the oddest moments, usually when she and Lucien were whispering in corners, conspiratorial before seamlessly rejoining whatever social event they were at like they’d never left.

Elain returned and sat down with her chosen glass—a delicate crystal piece that gleamed in the soft light. Mor went to fill it instantly. 

“Can I ask why you were discussing Azriel’s romantic life?” Elain asked. Her voice was smooth, certain. No hesitation.

It didn’t faze her anymore, you realized—being such a strange, pivotal turning point in Azriel’s past experiences. She’d made peace with it, the way immortality seemed to demand. Time softened the edges of even the messiest situations, turning them into stories you could recount with startling detachment. Almost humorous, really.

Because how else could you explain being casual about the fact that your best friend had almost allowed his pride—and arrogance—and, somehow simultaneously, his insecurity—to lead him into a blood duel over Elain’s affections? A blood duel.

But now, it was just… something to write off. A distant memory, softened by the years and Lucien’s easy confidence. Lucien was better than you. You would’ve held that grudge against Azriel for many more years—long enough to make it a point of pride. But then again, Lucien had won everything he wanted in the end. He had the girl, the bond, the certainty that whatever lingering rivalry Azriel might feel was entirely one-sided.

It wasn’t important enough for Lucien to waste any more energy on.

You exchanged a glance with Mor, who arched a brow, clearly just as amused by Elain’s openness.

“Y/n doesn’t like his new girlfriend,” Mor said.

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t either.”

“True,” Mor agreed easily. She looked to Elain. “We don’t like her.”

“For clarification,” you said firmly, “I never said I didn’t like her.”

Mor laughed, sipping her wine with an amused grin.

Your face fell flat. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied breezily. “But if you get a bad feeling about someone, that’s usually dislike.”

You resisted the urge to scowl, already turning over the guilt in your mind. You didn’t want to be that person—the kind who dismissed another female off the bat. Maybe your gut was wrong this time. Maybe her smile had reached her eyes, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. Maybe her tone hadn’t been as assessing as you remembered, and you were projecting. You wanted to like her. You wanted to be happy for Azriel.

But he didn’t seem happy. He seemed distracted. Busy. Not himself.

And not the kind of busy you’d seen before—the methodical, obsessive focus he funneled into work or training. This was different, scattered in a way you couldn’t quite pin down. It had made sense in the beginning, when things were new and exciting, but now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. He’d started missing things—small things at first, like sparring sessions or those late-night conversations you, Mor, and him would have when you couldn’t sleep. Then came the bigger things. He’d stopped being able to review external court updates with you, even when those meetings were critical for your diplomatic roles.

Azriel had always been the one you could count on. Out of everyone, you considered him your closest friend—even more than Mor, though you’d never admit it out loud. But now it seemed like every time you made plans, Selene needed him more.

And then there was how fast it was all moving. Too fast. At a recent family dinner, she’d casually mentioned that she and Azriel could move in together—offhand, like it was the most obvious next step. Something about leaving the townhouse behind, creating a space with décor that matched her aesthetic. Azriel had just stayed quiet, looked at her like she’d just proposed the most brilliant idea in existence.

You noticed he did that. The way he looked at her. The way he’d looked at Elain and Gwyn back when they were seeing each other. It weirded you out—that tendency to put the people he saw as romantic interests on a pedestal, as though they were flawless. As though they were something he didn’t deserve.

You knew where it came from. That deep-rooted insecurity that even centuries hadn’t managed to erase. He didn’t see it, the way he wore himself down trying to prove his worth to people who, for the most part, had already accepted him. But you saw it. You always had.

And it made it harder to like Selene. To trust her intentions. Maybe that was unfair, but you couldn’t help but feel like she was just taking—taking all the parts of Azriel that used to be all of yours to share, and twisting them into something else. Something that didn’t include his family.

Still, you wanted to try. To let go of the gnawing irritation in your chest and convince yourself it didn’t matter. If she made him happy—truly happy—then none of it should matter. You were adamant on ensuring that you didn’t turn into the stereotypical overbearing female best friend.

Elain tapped her glass lightly. “Lucien doesn’t like her.”

You blinked back into reality. “Really?”

She nodded, a beat passing before she added, “To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.”

Mor leaned forward, grinning like she’d been handed a stack of gold. You almost wished Amren was here to bask in the moment. Amren didn’t like Azriel’s girlfriend, either. Maybe your family really was as unwelcoming as people claimed. Or maybe Selene simply brought out another level of scrutiny. The thought of either option made you feel bad— gross. 

“Why?” Mor asked.

“She was dismissive toward Lucien. And,” Elain hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, “She seemed… entitled, I suppose. Especially with Azriel. Like she expected him to accommodate her every whim.”

You frowned, turning over her words. “I’m sure she was just nervous. We can be an intimidating group. Maybe she just needs time to settle in. We just want Az to be happy, right? So, if she makes him happy, then I’m absolutely fine with her.”

The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. Something weird.

“Are you?” Elain asked, her tone sincere.

“Are you?” Mor echoed at the same time, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot Mor a glare, but she only raised her brows and sipped her wine again, infuriatingly unbothered. Exhaling, you willed yourself to meet Elain’s gaze.

“I am,” you said, trying for conviction. “Really.”

Elain pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted to Mor, lingering longer than you liked, and then back to you.

“Alright,” she hummed. “I guess I was wrong.”

You stilled. Elain reclined deeper into her seat, accepting a refill from Mor. Her wine glass remained only half-full compared to yours and Mor’s.

Curiosity burned. You leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “What do I mean about what?”

“You said you guess you were wrong. What does that mean?”

Mor’s gaze bored into the side of your face. Any second now, you were sure she’d make some quip about how bothered you were. But you weren’t bothered. Just curious.

Elain swirled her wine, watching the light catch the liquid. “I’m not sure. Things feel off. Like something’s coming. Az needs help with it, I think.”

You froze. “Off? Like—how?”

She hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “But I feel it. In my chest. My visions sometimes do that. That’s why I asked.”

Well, that unsettled you. You glanced at Mor, whose amused grin had fallen into something more contemplative.

It seemed you might need to have a conversation with Azriel after all.

“I don’t like that,” you admitted, your nose crinkling. 

“I think I heard him get back earlier. Go talk to him,” Mor said, her tone gentler now, though a hint of mischief lingered in her eyes. You didn’t read too much into that. Mor’s eyes tended to be expressive. She also tended to be mischievous when her blood was primarily red wine. 

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe just to check in.”

Elain nodded. “Just to check in,” she echoed, almost reassuring.

“Have fun,” Mor added, her grin returning just enough to be annoying, but not enough to distract you from the unease curling in your chest.

You didn’t respond, instead taking another slow sip of your drink. The glass clinked softly as you set it down on the table before you made your way upstairs.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mor turned to Elain. “Did you really feel something that unsettling?”

Elain let out a laugh. “No,” she said lightly. “I completely made that up. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Mor’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Seconds later, her head tilted back in a laugh just as vibrant as it was unapologetic.

“Genius,” she declared, raising her glass in mock salute.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The walk upstairs was quiet.

The townhome, in general, was quieter nowadays. Aside from the times others came to visit—like Lucien and Elain—only you and Azriel lived here full time.

When you reached Azriel’s bedroom door, your steps faltered for a moment. There was a hesitation in you that hadn't existed before. You raised your hand to knock, but the action felt more awkward than usual. It made you sad, momentarily, that you hesitated. You never second-guessed yourself with Azriel. You wanted to tread carefully in this new era of his life, though. You didn’t want to overstep, to become a nuisance. But whatever this was—whatever had unsettled Elain enough to mention it—you needed to know. Azriel had always been a constant for you, and if something felt “off,” you wanted to understand why.

Your knuckles rapped lightly on the door. “Az?” 

Inside, you heard the shuffle of movement, followed by his low, familiar voice. “Come in.”

You didn’t see Azriel immediately, but the smell of soap and the damp air told you that he recently showered. Shadows slithered across the floor, comfortable and excited, exploring the familiar confines of his room.

You greeted the tendrils as you usually did, letting them brush against your legs as you flopped onto his bed. The bed, like everything else in his room, was simple: plain black sheets, no extravagant pillows, just the bare necessities. It used to drive you mad, the emptiness of it all.  But what was in his room spoke volumes—— bare walls except for a dagger mount on one side, a small uncluttered desk with a well-worn sharpening stone. 

Azriel exiting the bathroom pulled your attention, your eyes settling on him as he rubbed his wet hair thoroughly with a towel. He shook his head slightly, wet curls bouncing onto his forehead, and met your gaze. His eyes flicked to where you lay, scanning your body. He nodded toward your feet.

“C’mon,” he almost whined. “No shoes on the bed.”

You looked down at yourself, grimacing as you realized that your shoes were, indeed, on his clean comforter. A simple set of house slippers, so nothing entirely too dirty, but it had completely slipped your mind. Very comfortable shoes, you noted, maybe you’d get Feyre a pair as a solstice gift.

“Oh whoops,” you said with an apologetic smile. “My bad, clean freak.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the quirk of his lips anyways.

For a moment, the old sense of comfort settled over you. But then, a thought crept in—the thought that maybe you shouldn’t lie on his bed like this anymore. It had been fine before, but now… now it felt different. He had someone else in his life. It wasn’t weird, exactly, but it was a little inappropriate.

You sat up straighter.

“Did you and Mor grow tired of rehashing the same centuries old gossip?” He teased.

You snorted, watching as his shadows flitted above his shoulders. They were amused, laughing in their own way. “Never,” you responded, pushing yourself off his bed. You were drawn to the otherside of his room, to the simple dresser against the wall. “Elain joined us this time.”

Your back was to him, but you had a feeling that the momentary silence, the stillness that you felt, was a knee-jerk reaction from Azriel—something reminiscent of embarrassment, shame, or guilt at her name. But all he responded was, “Oh?”

“I like her,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I kinda wish I spent more time with her…”

You paused, your words trailing off quietly as you took in the small details before you. 

Azriel’s dresser had always been the one surface he decorated, not because he cared for decoration, but because it was the only surface large enough to hold anything. Over the years, it had become a quiet testament to the things that mattered to him: a mix of Solstice and birthday gifts, trinkets you’d both collected on missions and trips. You liked seeing what had changed, what had been added. It gave you a glimpse into where Azriel had been, who had been with him. 

Lately, there had been more—more trinkets, more oddities that stood in stark contrast to the weapons displayed elsewhere, the ones mostly hidden away in his closet. A macaroni necklace from Nyx. A horribly made clay version of him you’d created during a drunken pottery night with Feyre, Mor, and Amren.

But now, the dresser was foreign. The once familiar surface had been wiped clean, replaced by delicate perfume bottles, jewelry that looked too fine to be his, and a candle that smelled—oddly—like the puke of a flower faerie. Some of it was new. Most of it was hers.

Azriel’s presence had vanished from his own furniture entirely.

“Huh.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “I see you’ve decorated more.”

Azriel tilted his head, and a few of his shadows slithered down his body, crossing the room to pool around your ankles. “I guess,” he said. “Selene said my room needed more life.”

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers along the ceramic jewelry dish, the cool surface sending a strange chill through your skin. The shadows flickered over your hand, almost as if they were inspecting it too. They moved with purpose, then slowly obscured it, hiding it from view.

You frowned, confused.

Azriel, still silent, was rifling through his closet. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as he moved, but he said nothing. The shadows returned to his side as you turned to look at him.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

Now, Azriel barely spared you a glance.

“Yeah. Meeting Selene,” he replied simply.

After a few seconds of silence, Azriel turned his head and properly held your gaze. “Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a casual wave of your hand, but Elain’s words echoed in your mind. You cleared your throat. “Well, actually, no. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

He frowned, standing up straighter, his wings flexing with the motion. “Is it something serious?”

You paused, carefully filtering through your words. “No, just something that’s been on my mind.”

Azriel studied you, doubt flickering in his hazel eyes. It was the kind of look that always made you feel like he was reading you too easily. He probably didn’t believe you, not entirely—but he nodded anyway. His lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Raincheck then?”

You mirrored his smile, though it felt thin. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow, once we’re back from the Hewn City.”

Azriel stilled. The way his gaze dropped to the floor and lingered felt like a guilty dog, an animal caught in an act forbidden. “Shit,” he said, his tone cautious. “I can’t go.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to settle. “Seriously? Az, Rhys is expecting an update.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. It didn’t matter. “But you can handle it on your own, you know this.” 

“Are you serious?” you said, the hurt slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t want to deal with Keir alone.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Rhys, but Selene’s been wanting to—��

“Never mind,” you cut him off, shaking your head. You forced a smile. “Have fun tonight. And tomorrow.”

Azriel scanned your face. After another moment of silence, he sighed.

“Okay, what is it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You clearly have something on your mind. Tell me.”

You hesitated, holding his gaze. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Selene.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, his tongue running across his teeth as he shook his head. “Not you too. Don’t be like this.”

Your frown deepened, offended by the immediate shift in tone. “Be like what? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He met your eyes again, his stare almost challenging. “We both know what you’re going to say.”

“Do we?”

“First Mor, then Nesta, and now you.” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “Should I be concerned that the females in my life are so quick to rally against my girlfriend?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to mirror his pose. “Well, yeah, Az. Maybe you should be.”

He rolled his eyes, the shadows at his feet flickering with the motion. “Fine. What do you want to tell me, then?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue. Azriel had always been good at looking through you, unraveling thoughts you hadn’t fully formed yet. And now, under the weight of his sharp gaze, you felt exposed.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Something flickered in his expression, quick and fleeting—too fast for you to decipher. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt unreadable, like he’d drawn a curtain between himself and you. “Really?” he asked, his tone tight, almost incredulous.

You faltered, a small thread of doubt weaving its way through your resolve. Was he happy? Would he even tell you if he wasn’t?

“Yes, really,” you replied, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “You’ve been distant lately. Running around at her beck and call. None of us know her. I want to understand what’s going on with you. I want to understand her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, his gaze hardening.

“I want to make sure this is the kind of relationship you want,” you finished, quieter now.

The room fell into silence, heavy and still. Azriel watched you as if he was turning your words over and over in his mind. You waited, unsure of what to expect—if anything at all.

“I wouldn’t be in a relationship I didn’t want. Can we drop it, please.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. What a strange, dismissive answer. It bothered you— bothered you more than anything he’d ever told you before. 

“Az, I just don’t want you to change who you are for someone. You don’t need to cater to her every whim.”

His expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I’m her boyfriend. I do what she asks.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the scoff that slipped out. Azriel had never been so clipped with you. “That’s not the definition of a boyfriend. That’s the definition of a bitch.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flaring in irritation. “Excuse me?”  His voice cut through the room. “Do you really think I’m some incompetent love-sick loser?”

“I think you stop seeing flaws in the people you love.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you’d anticipated. A small part of you wondered if “love” was the word Azriel would use to describe his feelings for her. Another part worried that he didn’t correct you.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he snapped. “I can clearly see that you’re being unfair. Quick to judge, much like Mor. That’s a flaw.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, “You know what I meant. The people you’re infatuated with—”

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” he interrupted, his shadows now beginning to curl between you like restless mediators, unsure where to settle. “Are you trying to cause issues?”

Something ran hot through your body.

“Seriously? I’m talking to you about this because I care. Because Elain had some cryptic feeling about you—”

“Elain is involved in this conversation, too?” His voice dripped with frustration now. “Gods, Y/n, should I send word for Gwyn while we’re at it? Get her opinion?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You took an authoritative step forward.  “I’ve never judged you. I’ve always tried to support you and your messy love life, no matter how complicated. Don’t you trust me, Azriel? As a friend?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows flickering uncertainly, still deciding whether to retreat or rise.

You gestured around the room. “Look at this place. You’ve erased all traces of your family—of you, of us. Where did you even put—”

“Oh, gods.” Azriel’s voice broke through, and for a moment, you thought he might crumble. His wings folded, and his hand dragged across his face, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. “She was right.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel met your gaze, his eyes hesitant for a heartbeat before turning sharp. “About you. Selene said you were jealous. That you had feelings for me.”

The words hit like a slap, and your world tilted on its axis. “What?” you asked again, your voice breaking on the word. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he had misspoken.

“I told her she was wrong. But now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, searching your face for something that maybe wasn’t even there.

“Now, what?” Your voice rose, tinged with anger. “You think I’m here because I’m jealous? Because I have some… crush on you?”

His wings flared slightly at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t know. It’s just—why else would you care so much about this?”

Your stomach twisted, a deep, cold ache settling there. “Why else?” you repeated, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because I care about you, Azriel. Because you’ve been my friend for centuries. Are you seriously confused about this?” 

For a moment, Azriel’s expression faltered, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you to care about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what friends do. But you’re standing there, letting her perception of me—someone who doesn’t even know me—warp your judgment. You’ve known me longer than that. Or at least, I thought you did. And the fact that you’d entertain this—” You stopped, shaking your head. “It’s insulting.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stood there, shadows now curling tighter around him. 

You had no idea how this conversation had gotten away from you, no idea how it turned into this—where this defensiveness, this anger, had come from. This wasn’t Azriel. Loyal, overly so. Impulsive. Protective. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe that loyalty was directed at someone else now—someone who clearly saw you as something threatening. You’d never been on the other side of Azriel before. Never thought you’d see the day. The realization hit like a slap to the face, leaving you shocked, stunned, a pit opening in your stomach that felt too deep to climb out of.

“You know what? Forget it.” You stepped back, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Really? That’s it?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Yeah,” you said, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

You turned for the door, hand on the handle, but paused. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and pointed, a petty jab that felt equal parts satisfying and hollow. “Make sure to lock this door when you leave—I’d hate to accidentally stumble back in and throw myself at you.”

Azriel stiffened, his wings snapping taut behind him. For a brief second, you thought he might say something, anything. But he didn’t.

You closed the door behind you with a heavy thud.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: no one tell them they probs have feelings for each other bc they’ll probably fight you (also elains moment is so self indulgent bc i would totally be making shit up based off my powers. like yeah actually you can’t be mean to be :/ powers are saying you’ll die if you are)

part two? 😏 lmk if you wanna be tagged

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[jeongin-lvr]

🎼 ─┈┈ hubby heeseung ̩̩͙˚ ᩙ ⠀

husband! heeseung with the fattest crush on you literally ever. he worships the ground you walk on; he practically kneels before you, awaiting every need and command you bring to him. he’s so serious when he says he’d take every star out of the sky and give it to you as a gift if you asked. which also includes in bed when he has your face buried into the messed up, unkept bedsheets, whispering i love you’s as he kisses your g-spot with his fat cock. or when he has you in the shower, bent between your legs on his knees as water rushes down his back because you looked too pretty with soapy hair and skin. he mumbles against your clit as he does so, gurled by water but his point still comes across, “the prettiest girl... and you’re all mine, thank you...“

husband! heeseung who recites his vows as he fucks you in a mating press. its crazy but he does it every single time he has you all curled up, knees beside your head, too fucked out as buckets of his cum leaks out of you and stains the sheets. he’s telling you every promise he made on your wedding day and more. he’s reminding you it really is till death do you part. he doesn’t realize he’s doing it; it’s probably just because he gets so worked up, so full of love. every thrust into your flutterung hole is heaven, and all he can think about is how badly he loves you and how badly he wants to get you pregnant.

husband! heeseung who finds you the absolute sexiest when you’re wearing your glasses and his big t-shirt, bare legs, messy hair, rosy cheeks. it’s perfection, he can’t get enough. if he sees you like that fully expect to be completely ruined within the next hour. he fucks you with the glasses on, an dyou’re confused because he doesn’t get crazy like this when you actually dress up or put effort into your appearence, and all he has to say is, “this is the you that turns me on.“ he’ll pin your hands above your head and press your knees into your chest as he stuffs himself inside of you, loving the way the fabric of his shirt bunches at your hips. you weren’t even wearing any panties anyway, what did you expect <3

husband! heeseung who kisses your wedding bands whenever you two are having intimate, lazy sex. lifting your wrist and hand to his lips and pecking your knuckles, kissing on your shaky hands until his lips trace the cold metal, humming with a smile at the way your gaze flickers to his. its the cutest thing, immediately making you smile when you see the sparkles filling his gaze. its so obvious he loves you so much. he even promises to buy you more rings because, “you deserve it,“ and he never fails to fulfill his promise. the next day he somehow comes home from work with a new band, something new for your growing collection.

husband! heeseung who is the first to bring up kids and is very serious about wanting at least two. he’ll casually bring it up into conversations and its adorable... until he’s lifting you onto the counter and lifting your skirt because you’re ovulating and it’s, word for word, “the perfect time to get you pregnant.“ he says it sneakily, with a wink and a cunning grin. you can’t say no, especially since the idea of him being the father of your children was almost perfect. you’re both young but it doesn’t hurt to try does it? so he’s waking you up to his cock filling you up in the morning, or when you’re just watching a movie he ends up sitting you on his dick and filling you up. you have no complaints. just shaky legs and a nice, warm creampie.

husband! heeseung who finally gets you pregnant and is somehow even more obsessed with you. he’s doting on you hand and foot. every craving you get he’s finding every ingredient. every symptom you experience he’s researching diligently, telling you cures or remedies, scheduling doctors apointments to get an experts opinion. and on days when all you wanna do is be near him, feel him, feel sexy with him, he’s so perfect at being exactly what you need. he worships your body; praising you on how pretty you look full of his baby, how you’re glowing, kissing your ankles or your tits or anywhere you might feel a little unsure of.

[elikajinnie]

P: Situationship!Heeseung X Fem!Reader (recommended age 18+)

Warnings: Situationship, Hurt/Comfort, Suggestive Content, Tension, Flirting, Mature Content, Pursuing, Possessive & Needy Behaviour, Jealousy if you squint, Alcohol Consumption, Mentioned Drug Use.

Wordcount: 22k

Synopsis: For years, Lee Heeseung had been in your life—never close enough to be a friend but too familiar to be a stranger. You told yourself you weren’t interested, that he didn’t matter to you. But Heeseung had other plans cause he made it his mission to claim your attention—and eventually your heart. But love is never easy.

a/n: was watching the iconic Kuch Kuch Hota Hai when this idea came! (dont ask how) i also wanted to try something new with the title. (disclaimer! some of the scenes are written from experience)

now playing: truth or dare by tyla | friends by chase atlantic | awkward by sza | bloodline by ariana grande | twenty nights by nobu woods | gi faen by ballinciaga

School hierarchy never interested you—peaking in high school, the whole "king of the cafeteria" nonsense. Why would it? None of that mattered after graduation. You always thought it was a waste of time, all those petty dramas and desperate attempts to be remembered as something more than ordinary.

And yet, somehow, you were known, not because you clamored for attention or played into the social games everyone else seemed obsessed with, but because...well, you were you. Quiet, maybe. Not invisible, though. People knew your name, knew your face, even if you couldn’t recall theirs at times. Maybe it was the way you never fumbled over your words when teachers called on you or the way your presence seemed calm. You didn’t try to stand out, but you were noticed, even if you never asked for it.

Made you wonder what made you noticed.

And that question was solved pretty quickly, to be honest. All because you knew Heeseung since you were young.

And Heeseung? Heeseung was everything you’d expect from someone at the top of the high school food chain. Popular, effortlessly so. Basketball captain, the school’s golden boy, practically born to be the main character in someone’s coming-of-age movie. But beyond all that, he was still totally derpy—the same kid who used to trip over his own feet at recess, the one who cried when you beat him in hide-and-seek because he hid in the most obvious spot.

He hadn’t changed much, really. Sure, he had a little more swagger now, a charm that made people laugh at his terrible jokes instead of groan, but to you, he was just Heeseung.

You’d laugh every time someone brought him up to you, trying to see if you’d spill some secret about what he was like outside of the spotlight. “You’re friends with Heeseung, right?” they’d say, voices dipping into curiosity or jealousy. And you’d shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. Because to you, it wasn’t.

But somehow, knowing him—having that tether to someone like him—had put you on the radar, too. Even if you weren’t part of his crowd, even if you didn’t sit with him at lunch or go to the parties he got dragged to, people noticed you because he noticed you.

And that was the funny thing, wasn’t it? You never cared about being seen, but Heeseung never stopped looking for you in a room.

You were never really interested in initiating anything with him, even if he was very much 100% interested in initiating something with you.

He’d find you in the hallways, leaning casually against the wall, as if it was second nature for him to cage you in, corner you with a smile that made everything around you feel like it had slowed down. He’d ask you about your day, always interested in the little details you never thought anyone would care about. “Are you busy some day?” he’d ask, eyes sparkling, as if he was hinting at something more—something he probably expected you to say yes to.

Other times, he’d slide into the seat next to you in class, talking about his upcoming game like it was an invitation in itself. “You should come watch,” he'd say with that grin, the one that could melt anyone into agreeing. "I’ll even give you my jersey after I win.”

And then there were the parties—he’d invite you to those too, always the center of attention but always making sure you knew you were welcome. Sometimes he’d just come right up to you, all charm and boldness, flirting with you shamelessly, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your skin. His presence was so intense, so overwhelming, that you couldn’t help but get those butterflies in your stomach, no matter how much you wanted to stay calm.

And yet, despite all of it—the smiles, the promises, the hints of something more—you rejected his advances.

Every. Single. One.

You couldn’t let yourself get caught up in it. You wouldn’t. Even if every part of you, every part of your mind and heart, screamed to take a chance, to let yourself fall into whatever Heeseung was offering, you pushed him away.

Mostly because you knew what type of person he was now. You saw how he was with other women in school, how effortlessly he had them wrapped around his finger, how they would come to him at the snap of his finger, eyes wide and eager for whatever he had to offer. They were drawn to him like moths to a flame, following him like he was the sun and they were planets orbiting around him. And, honestly, it was hard not to see the way his charm worked, how his attention seemed to shift from one girl to the next as if it was all just a game.

A game that you weren’t interested in playing.

You weren’t just going to be another face in the crowd, another person who would fall for his flirtations, get swept up in the thrill of his attention only to be tossed aside when someone else caught his eye. You were different. You had to be.

Heeseung was the type who could have anyone, but you weren’t just anyone. You were stronger than that, smarter than that. You didn’t need to be one of his many admirers to feel valued.

So, you kept saying no, keeping a distance, watching the way he’d grin like it was no big deal, then go off to let his attention drift somewhere else. And deep down, you knew you weren’t immune to it. Maybe you never would be. But the answer stayed the same.

That didn’t mean Heeseung didn’t stop going after you.

If anything, it seemed like the more you pulled away, the harder he tried. You'd find him lingering around your classes, catching you in the hallways, or showing up in places where you didn’t expect him to be. It was like a game to him, though you weren't sure if he knew it was to you. Maybe he thought he could win you over if he tried hard enough, if he kept being persistent, kept flashing that grin and throwing out just enough charm to keep you on the edge of saying yes.

He’d joke with you, pretending to be playful, leaning in with a wink like you were both in on some shared secret no one else understood. But you knew better. You could see through the act, see the way his eyes would light up when he thought he was getting close. It was almost like a challenge to him now, something he couldn’t let go of.

But you kept saying no.

And he kept coming back for more.

You would think that someone like him would give up after rejection, after rejection. But nooooo.

If anything, Heeseung only seemed more determined with each "no" you threw at him. You’d catch him looking at you with amusement, as if he were trying to figure you out, like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. You could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, plotting his next move. It wasn’t just persistence—it was obsession in its own strange way.

He’d show up at your locker with an extra wide grin, as if all the past rejections were just another small obstacle, one he was determined to overcome. He’d ask about your plans for the weekend, your favorite movie, your favorite ice cream flavor—all these little things that seemed innocent enough but were clearly his way of getting closer to you, of worming his way in until you couldn’t say no anymore. And each time, you’d refuse, hold firm.

It was like a tug-of-war, except you were the one refusing to be pulled.

And yet, he never stopped to one point that there was a part of you that wondered, almost begrudgingly, if anyone had ever resisted him like this before. You could almost hear the chuckles of his friends in the background, no doubt betting on how long it would take before you gave in.

It did kind of surprise you when, one day, you were walking down the hallway, busy trying to find your gum in your bag, when you accidentally overheard a girl confessing to Heeseung. You stopped, pausing mid-step as you heard her voice, trembling with nerves, pouring out her feelings to him.

You looked down the hallway you were passing, and there he was, standing with his back to you, his attention fully on the girl in front of him. She was shy, her words stumbling over each other, her face flushed as she nervously admitted what everyone probably already knew. She liked him. She wanted him.

But what he did next was something you did not expect at all.

He rejected her.

The words hit you before you could even process them. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But there’s someone else I’m interested in. Someone I want." He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even seem to waver. He was polite, but his words were clear and final.

The girl stood frozen for a moment, looking down, clearly embarrassed. You could see the brief flicker of pain on her face, but she nodded and walked away quickly, her head down.

You felt an unexpected sting in your chest, a strange mix of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You couldn’t decide if it was relief or disappointment or... something else.

And as Heeseung turned around, casually adjusting his jacket, you quickly stepped into a side hallway, out of sight, your heart beating a little too fast for comfort. You had never expected to see something like that, especially not from him. Never from him. And it made you wonder, question everything you thought you knew about him.

Because after that moment, it seemed like he rejected girl after girl, all while still pursuing you with that same relentless determination. It was strange. You would never catch him kissing other women anymore, never saw pictures on social media of him with a girl on his lap at parties, never heard whispers of him flirting with anyone else. It was like the world around him had faded, and the only focus, the only person who mattered, was you.

No one else but you.

It made you question everything. Was he really serious about you? Or was this just some strange game he was playing, a challenge to see if he could win you over when everyone else had fallen for his charm? Or was it something more than the surface-level attention he gave everyone else? You tried to shake the thoughts from your mind, tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered when you realized you were the only one he seemed to want.

But the more you thought about it, the more it made you uneasy. Did you trust him? Or were you walking into a trap?

If it was a trap, it was a pretty good one, because something changed between the dynamic of you and Heeseung. You grew more compliant, more willing to give him a little piece of your attention, a little more of your time. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him shift gears. Heeseung, who had always been so confident, so certain, now seemed a little more desperate, a little more eager to make you notice him, to make you smile.

He’d go out of his way to do the smallest things just to get a reaction from you—whether it was showing up with your favorite drink, offering to carry your bag when you were weighed down with books, or trying to impress you with his random trivia knowledge that he knew you secretly found endearing. His usual cool composure was slipping, and in its place was a version of him you hadn’t seen since you were young.

And frankly, it was kinda cute.

It was like he was a little boy again, trying so hard to win your approval, doing whatever he could to get you to look his way, to see him the way he wanted you to.

You expected to play a little around with his attention, to enjoy the way he’d chase you, all while ignoring the stares you got from other girls. It wasn’t anything serious, just a game, a harmless little back-and-forth that didn’t have to mean anything. You didn’t expect it to go anywhere—after all, this was Heeseung, the golden boy who had his pick of anyone. He was just... fun to be around, right?

But how were you supposed to know that one measly party—just one event—would change everything?

It wasn’t even a big deal at first. Just a typical Friday night, with music blasting, lights flashing, and everyone packed together in some house that barely fit the crowd. You had told yourself you’d just go for a bit, maybe chat with some friends, and leave before things got too chaotic.

When you arrived, you decided to go get a drink first, something to ease your nerves. You weren’t exactly the type to jump into a party scene, so you figured a little liquid courage wouldn’t hurt. You made your way to the kitchen, and scanned the counter for something that would do the trick. You found a bottle of something strong, poured yourself a generous amount, and started nursing it as you made your way through the house, trying to find a familiar face in the crowd.

The music was louder now, almost deafening, and the air smelled like a mix of cheap cologne, sweat, and the faint scent of pizza. The people around you were lost in their own little worlds—laughing, dancing, talking—but you were searching for someone you knew.

Your search didn’t take long before you spotted a group of people you knew—friends from class, a few people you’d hung out with before. You made your way toward them, grateful for the distraction, and they welcomed you with smiles and waves. You could feel the tension in your body start to loosen as you joined in, taking a sip from your drink and laughing along with their jokes.

You stayed with them for a while, catching up on small talk, sipping your drink more leisurely. The conversation shifted from one topic to another—school, upcoming plans, random gossip about who was dating who—until eventually, the music started pulling everyone onto the dance floor. You found yourself swept along with the crowd, the beat of the song pounding through the floor and vibrating up your spine as you moved with the rhythm, the alcohol in your system giving you a little extra confidence.

It was fun, for a while. You lost yourself in the music, and you could feel the tension slip away with each step you took, each beat you moved to, until everything felt… easy.

Then, suddenly, you felt strong arms around your waist, pulling you close, a warmth pressing against your back. It took a split second for the reality to sink in, but you already knew who it was based on the familiar scent of cologne that filled your senses. You didn’t have to look to be sure, but you turned your head anyway, and as expected, there he was.

Heeseung.

He was right behind you, holding you effortlessly, his grip strong yet gentle as he matched the rhythm of the music with you. His chest pressed against your back, making your breath catch for a moment.

You could feel his chin rest lightly on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and despite every part of you telling yourself to pull away, to keep the distance you’d worked so hard to maintain, something inside you didn’t want to.

For a brief moment, you forgot to question it all. You forgot the reasons you kept pushing him away, the doubts you had about what he truly wanted.

And when he leaned close, his voice low and steady, you felt your resolve begin to crumble as his lips just brushed your ear. "You look so good," he murmured, the sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Dancing like that, looking so tempting."

The words were playful, but there was something in the tone that made it clear he wasn’t just joking. You could feel the weight of his gaze on the back of your neck.

For a moment, you felt dizzy—not just from the alcohol, but from his proximity, the way he had you caught in his orbit, unwilling to let go.

"You’re driving me crazy," he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as if to remind you of how close he was. The teasing had a bite now and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was testing you, seeing how far he could push.

And God did he push.

Heeseung’s fingers brushed lightly against your waist, sending a ripple of heat through you. "You know," he said, his tone softer now, almost a whisper, "you’re not making it easy for me to behave tonight."

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his every move, every word. But it was useless—he was too close, too overwhelming, and you couldn’t think straight.

When you finally found your voice, it came out quieter than you intended. "Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink, Heeseung," you said, hoping to inject some distance, even though your own voice betrayed how unsteady you felt.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your back. "Maybe," he admitted, and you could hear the smirk in his tone. "But don’t act like you’re not enjoying this."

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze was locked on you, dark and intense.

"I’m not—" you started, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"You’re not what?" he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, daring you to finish your sentence.

You hated how your body betrayed you, how your heart raced, how you couldn’t seem to pull away, even though every logical part of your brain screamed at you to step back. But the warmth of his arms and the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the room—it was all too much.

For once, you let yourself linger, not pulling away from his hold, not giving him the usual pushback. He noticed immediately, his smirk growing as if he had won some unspoken game between you two.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Heeseung said, his tone teasing but soft. His fingers traced small circles against your hip, his other hand resting lightly at your waist. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I’m just too tired to deal with your nonsense.”

“Oh, nonsense, huh?” he said with a mock-wounded expression, leaning closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to your skin. “Careful, or you might hurt my feelings.”

“I think you’ll survive,” you shot back, tilting your head to glance at him. But the way his gaze locked onto yours made your breath hitch.

He laughed, the sound low and warm, as he kept still. “You’re enjoying this,” he murmured, the words brushing against your ear. “Admit it.”

You didn’t respond right away, instead letting the music carry you both. There was something about this that felt different tonight. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t pushing too hard, wasn’t making this feel like a game. Or maybe it was just the way you let yourself relax for once, let yourself enjoy his attention without overthinking it.

“And if I am?” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended, but steady enough to hold his gaze.

Heeseung’s grin widened, his confidence shining through. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep doing whatever I’m doing,” he said, his voice full of promise.

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head, trying to brush him off, but he wasn’t having it. “Oh, don’t act so tough,” he teased, “I know I’m getting to you.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping back just enough to put some space between you, but Heeseung wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily. He followed, closing the gap again, his movements unhurried. “Running away already?” he said, his tone mockingly hurt.

“I’m not running,” you shot back, crossing your arms in front of you, though the small smile threatening to form on your lips betrayed you.

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not convinced. He reached out, gently tugging at one of your hands, his pouty expression exaggerated to the point of being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, baby. I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head again. “I’m not your baby , you know that right?”

“But here you are,” he replied smoothly, the grin returning to his lips. “Still talking to me, still letting me hold you like I belong to you. Makes me think you don’t hate this as much as you pretend.”

You wanted to argue, to push him away again, but before you could, Heeseung pulled you closer once more. “Tell me to stop,” he said quietly, “if you really want me to stop, I will.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say, but you didn’t want him to stop. You couldn’t say it either. And he noticed.

Instead of gloating, though, his grin softened into an almost shy smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his hand squeezing yours gently before letting it go, as if to remind you that you were the one in control, even if it didn’t feel like it right now.

“Don’t think this means I’m giving in,” you said, trying to regain some ground, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to sound convincing.

“Sure, sure,” he replied, his smirk returning. “But I’ll take it as a win anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at him, a playful smirk curling on your lips. Leaning in just enough so only he could hear, you whispered, your voice teasing, “Maybe you should work a little harder if you want to win me over pretty boy.”

Before he could respond, you pulled back and walked off toward the kitchen, swaying your hips just enough to make a point and you felt a surge of satisfaction when you glanced over your shoulder.

Heeseung stood frozen in place, his expression both shocked and in disbelief. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyes wide as he processed your words and the sudden shift. For once, it seemed like you had left him speechless—a rarity that made your grin widen.

You turned back around, hiding your amusement as you reached the kitchen and poured yourself another drink.

A few seconds passed, and you felt it—the unmistakable weight of his gaze burning into your back. Heeseung wasn’t one to give up easily, and you knew you’d just ignited a fire in him. It wasn’t a question of if he’d come after you, but when.

You took a sip of your drink, savoring the moment, and braced yourself for whatever Heeseung was planning. You barely had any time to react before you felt Heeseung’s presence behind you. His body pressed against your back, his warmth seeping through your clothes as his arms caged you in on either side of the counter. His hands gripped the edge, locking you in place.

A low, frustrated groan escaped his lips, brushing against your ear and sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re really going to do me like that?” he murmured, his voice laced with mock pain.

You tilted your head slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to keep the grin from spreading across your face. “Do you like what?” you asked innocently, swirling your drink in your hand as if you weren’t trapped.

Heeseung chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made your stomach flip. “Walking away like that,” he said, leaning in closer until his lips almost brushed the curve of your jaw. “Whispering things you know are going to drive me crazy, and then just leaving me standing there like an idiot.”

You giggled as you leaned back slightly, your head resting against his shoulder. “You looked cute like that,” you teased, your tone dripping with playful defiance. “Maybe I should do it more often.”

“Cute?” he echoed, his voice dropping an octave as his grip on the counter tightened. “I’ll show you cute.”

Before you could respond, Heeseung’s lips were so close to your ear that you could feel the heat of his breath. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, his tone softer now, though still playful. “But it’s fine. I like trouble.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, your shoulders shaking slightly as you set your drink down on the counter. “You’re so dramatic, Heeseung,” you said, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze.

Heeseung’s eyes locked onto yours, the grin on his face softening into something more tempting. “Dramatic, huh?” he murmured, “maybe. But you can’t tell me you don’t like it.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing yours. “I think you like the attention,” he continued, his tone smug as his lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “You wouldn’t keep me guessing if you didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure despite the rapid thudding of your heart. “Guessing? Please,” you scoffed, tilting your chin up slightly, refusing to back down. “You’re the one who keeps showing up, Heeseung. Not me.”

“And yet,” he countered smoothly, “you haven’t walked away yet. If you really weren’t interested, you wouldn’t still be here. With me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, even as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I’m just enjoying watching you make a fool of yourself.”

“Is that right?” he said, his voice dipping, playful but challenging. He leaned in even closer, so close that his lips were barely a breath away from yours. “Careful, baby, or you might end up falling for me instead.”

His confidence was maddening, but it was that same confidence that made your pulse race.

You tilted your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a raised brow. “Falling for you?” you repeated, your voice steady even as your heart betrayed you. “Don’t flatter yourself, Heeseung.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as his hand left the counter to lightly graze your hip, his fingers lingering just enough to make you aware of every single nerve in your body. “Oh, I’m not flattering myself,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “I’m just calling it how I see it.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You’ve got some nerve,” you said, shaking your head as you turned away from him.

His eyes following your every move as you picked up your drink again. “And you’ve got some walls,” he shot back.

You paused, glancing back at him as you took a sip of your drink. “Maybe they’re there for a reason,” you replied, your tone light but pointed.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied you. “Yeah, but the thing about walls?” he said, tilting his head with a grin. “They’re meant to be climbed.”

You side-eyed him, the faintest smile tugging at your lips as you raised your glass to take another sip. “Try all you want mountain climber.”

Before he could come up with a response, you smoothly stepped away, moving around the kitchen counter to put some distance between you. His brows furrowed slightly in surprise, the sudden shift catching him off guard.

“Hey, wait a second,” he called after you, quickly sliding around the counter in an attempt to follow. The way he moved—quick but a little clumsy, as if he hadn’t expected you to slip away so easily—made you chuckle to yourself.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” you said over your shoulder, your tone full of challenge as you leaned casually against the far end of the counter, nursing your drink.

Heeseung stopped on the other side, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he tilted his head. “Oh, so now we’re playing games?” he asked, clearly in disbelief.

“You started it,” you shot back, taking another sip and meeting his gaze head-on.

His eyes narrowed slightly as if accepting the challenge. “Fine,” he said, “but don’t be mad when I win.”

“Win?” you repeated, raising a brow at him. “Pretty confident for someone who just got left behind.”

That earned a laugh from him, and in one swift motion, he stepped around the counter, closing the gap between you. “Left behind?” he echoed, his tone playful as he leaned down slightly, his face closer to yours. “Nah. I’m right where I need to be.”

Your breath hitched for the briefest moment, but you quickly masked it with another sip of your drink, refusing to let him see how much his persistence was getting to you.

Heeseung’s smirk widened when you began moving around the counter again, and without missing a beat, he mirrored your steps, chasing after you. “Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?” he teased, his tone light as his eyes tracked your every move.

“You’ll have to be faster than that,” you shot back, a playful laugh escaping your lips as you darted around the other side.

His hands hovered over the counter, ready to cut you off, but you were quicker, slipping just out of reach. The look of mock frustration on his face was priceless, and you couldn’t help but grin at your small victory.

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up for a moment as if calling a truce. But you weren’t buying it—not for a second.

When he lunged, you were ready, spinning on your heel and darting out of the kitchen entirely. “Nice try!” you called over your shoulder, weaving your way back toward the dance floor, the thumping bass and flashing lights swallowing you up.

You could hear him groan behind you, the sound half exasperated, half amused. “You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?”

You didn’t answer, slipping into the crowd and letting the press of people conceal you. It was easy to lose him in the chaos, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of him standing near the edge of the dance floor, scanning the crowd with a furrowed brow.

For a moment, you just watched him. The way he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to spot you, made your chest tighten unexpectedly. But you shook the feeling off quickly, turning back to the music and letting yourself have fun.

The crowd seemed to shift and swirl, pulling you deeper into the dance floor. For a moment, you felt untouchable—lost in the freedom of the moment.

But that feeling didn’t last long. You could still feel him, even if you couldn’t see him. And then, just when you thought you’d successfully slipped away, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and right near your ear.

“Thought you could run away from me?”

You turned your head sharply, only to find Heeseung standing there, a sly grin on his face. His hair was slightly mussed, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks, probably from weaving through the crowd to find you.

“How’d you—” you started, but he interrupted with a chuckle.

“You really think I’d give up that easily?” he asked, his tone almost incredulous. “I told you, I’m right where I need to be.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your lips tugged upward. “Maybe you’re just a little too determined,” you said, stepping back slightly, but he followed your movement effortlessly.

“Or maybe you like being chased,” he countered, his voice smooth as he matched your pace.

You opened your mouth to retort, but he caught your hand, gently spinning you back toward him, his movements seamless with the music. It was so smooth, so unexpected, that you didn’t even think to pull away. “Caught you,” he murmured, his voice low as his eyes locked onto yours.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “I let you catch me,” you replied.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he answered as he pulled you a little closer.

The space between you vanished, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of everything—his hand on your waist, his body, his gaze. It was dizzying, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you stayed there, caught in the moment, wondering how on earth he always managed to get under your skin like this.

Heeseung began to sway with you to the music, his hands resting lightly on your waist, guiding your movements with an ease that felt far too natural. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. It was just dancing, just a moment. And yet, you didn’t stop him. You let him lead, let him pull you closer, until his forehead was nearly brushing yours.

But then you noticed something. The way his steps were deliberate, not just moving to the beat but steering you. Slowly, subtly, his touch guided you backward through the crowd.

Your brow furrowed as realization dawned. Heeseung wasn’t just dancing. He had a plan.

“You’re sneaky, you know that?” you muttered, narrowing your eyes as you glanced over your shoulder and saw the wall creeping closer.

Heeseung’s grin turned wicked, a spark of mischief lighting up his face. “Sneaky? Me?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the way his hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist betrayed him. “Yes, you,” you shot back, even as your back brushed against the cool surface of the wall. He leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Can you blame me? You make it so hard to keep my distance.”

You rolled your eyes, though your pulse betrayed you, hammering in your chest as his gaze locked onto yours.

His gaze never left yours for a second. The world around you seemed to fade away as he leaned in just the slightest bit closer, his chest rising and falling faster with each breath. You could feel the heat of his body so close to yours, could feel the tension between you, thick and heavy.

He glanced down at your lips, then back up to your eyes, the look in his gaze unreadable. It was almost like he was testing the air between you, measuring whether you’d pull away or lean in. His hands on your waist holding you in place as if he knew you wouldn’t make a move. His breathing had picked up now, shallow and just a little shaky, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he was just as affected by this as you were.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered, though you knew your voice was too soft to carry any real force. The words felt weak even as they left your lips, because you knew you weren’t really trying to push him away.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and low, as if savoring the moment. “Like what?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—because the answer was already in the way your heart was pounding, the way your breath hitched every time he got a little closer.

And then, without warning, he leaned in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating from them, but he didn’t make the move. He was waiting. Testing.

You both seemed to be holding your breath.

Just as you were about to say something, the world shifted unexpectedly. A figure stumbled into Heeseung from behind, knocking into him, and before either of you could react, the person’s drink splashed all over you. You gasped as the cold liquid drenched your outfit, your heart sinking as you saw the mess, the dark stain had spread across the fabric, leaving a damp, sticky trail. “Are you kidding me?” you groaned, trying to wipe it off, but it only made it worse.

Heeseung, who had been caught off guard by the collision, quickly turned around. His brows furrowed with frustration, but his gaze softened when he saw the mess on your clothes. Without missing a beat, he pushed the person who had bumped into him away with a quick but firm shove. “Watch where you’re going!” he snapped. The drunk person mumbled an apology, clearly embarrassed, but Heeseung didn’t seem to care. His attention was on you now.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand brushing against your arm as he looked you over.

You just sighed, wiping your shirt, but it was clear you weren’t getting anywhere. “This is great,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else, “I didn’t even want to be here tonight, and now this…”

Heeseung didn’t let you dwell on it for long. “Come on,” he said, taking your hand in a way that was surprisingly gentle for all the tension you’d felt earlier. “Let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a bathroom down the hall.”

You didn’t argue, allowing him to guide you through the crowd, his hand on yours was warm, and even though you were frustrated, there was something comforting in the way he took charge.

When you reached the bathroom, he opened the door for you, ushering you inside with a soft “After you,” before making sure the door was securely closed behind you. The bathroom was quieter, and the air felt colder, but it was a welcome change from the chaos outside.

“Sit down, I’ll grab you some paper towels,” he said, motioning to the counter as he quickly moved toward the sink.

You sat down on the edge, trying to assess the damage, but the sticky feeling of the drink on your skin made it hard to focus. Heeseung was quick, his movements efficient as he grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them under the faucet.

“You’re really going to make me clean up after you now?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though there was still a hint of irritation in your voice.

Heeseung didn’t reply right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you the damp towels. His gaze softened as he looked at you. “I’m not making you do anything,” he said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trying to help.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the gentle way he was treating the situation. You took the damp towels from his hands, still a little flustered by how close he was standing, how his gaze was focused on you with such intent.

“I didn’t ask for help,” you muttered, not in an angry way but more out of habit, the natural instinct to push away when things got too close, too personal.

He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know. But that’s never stopped me before, has it?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words didn’t come. You couldn’t find the right response. Instead, you just looked at him, your heart doing that erratic thing it always did when he was this close.

Heeseung seemed to notice your hesitation, his smile softening. “You don’t have to push me away every time, you know,” he said gently, his voice almost too sincere.

You blinked, caught off guard. But before you could respond, he stepped back, giving you space, though his eyes never left yours. “I’ll wait outside,” he said quietly, his voice shifting back to its usual tone.“Take your time.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

Heeseung gave you one last lingering look before stepping out of the bathroom, the door clicking softly behind him. As soon as he was gone, you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart still racing in your chest. You quickly went to work cleaning yourself up, though the mess on your clothes was much harder to fix.

Your thoughts were spinning. There was something about the way Heeseung was acting tonight, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was definitely something there, and it made your stomach twist in ways.

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to collect yourself. Why did he have this effect on you? You couldn’t figure it out, but the longer you stood there in the bathroom, the more confused you felt.

After a few more minutes, you gave up trying to fix the mess entirely. It was too late for that. Instead, you grabbed your things and stepped out of the bathroom. As soon as you entered the hallway, you spotted Heeseung standing by the door, his posture relaxed but his eyes immediately locking onto yours. “Well?” he asked, cocking his head slightly as he gave you a once-over. “Better?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, much better,” you replied, trying to act nonchalant, but you could feel your heartbeat quicken again under his scrutiny.

He gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving yours. “Good. You look… good.” There was a hesitation before the words left his mouth, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase them.

You caught it, and for the first time tonight, you didn’t immediately push back. Instead, you simply looked at him, unsure of what was happening.

Wait.

You suddenly felt a strange sense of déjà vu wash over you. The way he looked at you, the way he was standing there waiting for you, felt familiar, like it was something you had experienced before.

Your mind wandered back to a memory from when you were younger, one that you hadn’t thought about in ages. You were just a child, maybe eight or nine, playing in the park with Heeseung not too far away. You’d been running around, laughing with the other kids when some clumsy little boy—one of your classmates—spilled his drink all over you. You’d been so upset, the sticky liquid ruining your favorite shirt, and you could feel tears threatening to spill.

But then, out of nowhere, there was Heeseung. He hadn’t hesitated for a second, not like some of the other kids who were too busy laughing or ignoring you. He’d been sitting nearby, playing with a figurine in the grass, but the moment he saw you, he dropped his toys without a second thought. Without saying a word, he had stood up, walked over to you, and gently grabbed your hand.

“Don’t worry,” he’d said with that soft, comforting tone only he had, “I’ll help you clean up.”

He had led you straight to the bathroom of the park’s little concession stand, where he carefully grabbed paper towels and dabbed at your shirt, his face set in a look of determination. You remembered feeling embarrassed, but somehow his presence made everything feel better.

And now, here you were, years later, with him standing in front of you again, doing the same thing—helping you, without hesitation. It made you smile softly to yourself, the memory tugging at your heart in ways you weren’t sure how to explain.

Heeseung, noticing the smile tugging at your lips, raised an eyebrow in playful curiosity. “What’s on your mind?”

You shook your head, trying to hide the faint blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Just… thinking about something,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

He didn’t push, simply giving you a small smile, as though he understood without needing any further explanation.

Before you could think too much about it, Heeseung suddenly moved with a surprising confidence, his hand finding your waist and gently pulling you along with him. The sudden shift startled you for a moment, but the warmth of his hand against your side made your breath hitch slightly.

“You look like you need another drink,” he said, his voice low, but playful, as he guided you through the crowded hallway and toward the kitchen. He left you no time to protest, and you found yourself following him without much resistance. You’d barely processed the familiar feeling of his touch when you were already in the kitchen, the sound of music and chatter fading slightly as you both entered the quieter space. Heeseung let go of your waist once you were in the kitchen, but he still stood close.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes as he turned to the counter, rifling through the bottles of alcohol, though his gaze never fully left you.

"Something strong this time?" he asked, his tone teasing but with a hint of genuine care, as though he wanted to make sure you were really okay. "Or do you want to take it easy?"

You were still caught off guard by the way he had pulled you along, the way he’d moved without hesitation, without waiting for permission.

"Maybe just something light," you replied, trying to play it cool, even though he was making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Heeseung worked quickly, his movements smooth as he reached for the bottle, his back was turned to you. But you couldn’t stop watching him—how his muscles shifted under the fabric of his shirt, how good he looked.

Heeseung eventually finished the drink and handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours again as you took the glass. For a second, you both stood there, neither one of you saying anything. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. It was that kind of silence where it felt like something was about to happen, but neither of you were sure what.

“So, what now?” you asked, trying to break the silence, but you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you spoke.

Heeseung took a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now," he said, "we get back to enjoying the night."

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was. "Right," you said, your voice a little shakier than you intended, but you quickly recovered, giving him a small smile. "Let’s see if I can actually make it through the night without getting drenched in anything else."

Heeseung’s lips curled into a grin, and he chuckled softly. "I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again," he said, his tone playful but with an undertone of sincerity. He reached out and gently took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours.

You let him lead you back into the party, the music louder now, the crowd thicker. Heeseung didn’t let go of your hand, and you found yourself walking alongside him through the house, feeling uncertain.

✰ ✰ ✰

Somewhere during the night, you had lost sight of Heeseung. He had been dragged away by his friends, caught up in the crowd, and never returned after that. At first, it felt like a strange absence, the lingering sense of him still there even if he wasn't. But after a while, you pushed it aside, deciding it was fine.

You found yourself moving through the party, chatting with friends, laughing at jokes, and enjoying yourself. And as the night went on, you slipped into the comfort of familiar faces, people you could talk to normally. You were glad for the chance to just have fun, to forget for a moment the heat that always seemed to follow whenever Heeseung was around. You were fine without him, right?

You decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. The noise and chaos inside had started to make you feel lightheaded, and the stuffy heat of the house wasn’t helping. A little solitude would do you good, you thought.

The cool air hit your skin as you stepped out into the backyard, a quiet escape from the party. You leaned against the outer wall, looking up at the night sky. The stars twinkled faintly above, and for a moment, you let the silence settle around you. It was peaceful, the kind of calm you needed after the madness inside. You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the night on your skin, and took a deep breath.

What you didn’t know was that someone was watching you from the shadows, standing just far enough away not to be seen. The shape of a figure, leaning against the corner of the house, observing you with quiet intensity.

The moment stretched on, the backyard still and quiet, until you felt a presence shift behind you. A movement you couldn’t quite place, and before you could turn around to see who it was, you felt the brush of someone’s body so close to yours that it made you freeze.

You slowly turned your head, your breath catching in your throat, and found yourself face to face with Heeseung. His lips were mere inches from your ear as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. But something was off.

His usually sharp gaze was a little hazy, his eyes unfocused as he smiled at you—though it didn’t reach the intensity of his usual teasing grin. He looked almost… detached. Out of it.

And then the smell hit you—a sharp, pungent scent of weed mixed with the alcohol. It hit you like a wave, and you realized just how much he'd been indulging tonight.

"Heeseung?" you murmured, taking a step back instinctively, your heart picking up speed as you watched him sway slightly, his breath coming out slower than usual.

He seemed to snap out of his daze for a moment, his eyes clearing slightly as he blinked at you. "Hmm?" His voice was low, almost lazy, and there was a softness to it that you weren’t used to hearing.

You studied him for a moment, his breath still tinged with the unmistakable haze of the night’s indulgence. He wasn't himself—at least not the playful Heeseung you knew. "Are you okay?" you asked cautiously, unsure how to navigate this new version of him standing so close.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before a slow, almost dreamy smile curled up on his lips. "Yeah, just needed a break too. The noise gets... loud. You know how it is."

He swayed again, his hand coming up to rest on the wall near you, his face inches from yours.

You stood still, your heart racing as you took in the unexpected sight of him like this. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. “Maybe you should head back inside.”

He chuckled softly, but it lacked its usual spark. Instead, it was drawn out and almost tired. “Nah,” he muttered, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m fine... just needed a minute.” His fingers brushed your arm lightly as if trying to keep himself steady.

He didn’t back away, though, and neither did you.

You were unsure what to say next, unsure of your next move. "You’re making this... hard," you finally whispered, uncertain whether you were talking about the situation or him.

Heeseung smiled, but this time it was slow, almost seductive, like he was savoring the moment. “Maybe I like it that way,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. He leaned just a little closer, his breath mingling with yours.

Despite everything, despite all the confusion, you couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded. Heeseung had always been a game you couldn’t quite figure out, but right now, you were starting to wonder if maybe it was a game you didn’t want to win.

As he leaned in further, you had to make a decision: pull away, or let yourself fall into whatever it was that had been brewing between the two of you.

Before you could even make a decision, he made the decision for you. His lips parted, and he murmured a low, breathy compliment against your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You look so beautiful baby,” he said, and there was a sincerity in his tone that cut through the haze. But before you could respond, his hand shot up to grip the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your skin, holding you in place. The other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Then, without warning, he kissed you. Hard. Hungry. His lips crashing against yours as if you were the air he needed to breathe, like this moment was the only thing that mattered.

You gasped into the kiss, caught off guard by the intensity of it. Heeseung’s mouth was possessive, eager, like he couldn’t get enough of you. He kissed you with a desperation that sent a rush of heat straight to your body, his hands pulling you closer, the pressure of his grip firm. It felt like everything had exploded in that moment, every feeling you’d been pushing away suddenly pouring out in a single, stolen kiss.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and even though every part of you knew this wasn’t how you expected things to go, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. The way he kissed you—like you were the last thing he’d ever touch—was overwhelming, and for the first time, you let yourself surrender to it.

His lips were intoxicating, and as he pulled you closer, you could feel the intensity in every movement, every press of his body against yours. The kiss deepened, more frantic now, as if neither of you could get enough. The feeling of him—so desperate, so needy—was something you never expected from Heeseung, and yet it was exactly what you found yourself craving.

You tried to stay grounded, to remind yourself of who he was, of all the walls you’d carefully built between you, but with each second, they seemed to crumble. His hands moved to your back, pulling you in as his kiss grew more fevered, his breathing erratic as he let out soft groans against your lips.

You couldn’t help but respond, your own hands rising to clutch at his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as if to keep him anchored to you, like the very act of touching him would stop this moment from slipping away. Heeseung’s body was solid against yours, and despite the confusion that still buzzed in the back of your mind, you couldn’t deny how badly you wanted this—wanted him.

His breath hitched as you pulled him even closer, you could feel the way his body seemed to tremble slightly as he held you in his arms, groaning lowly, the sound vibrating against your lips as he used one arm to brace himself against the wall, the other pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. His lips were desperate, claiming, his breathing heavy as it mixed with yours.

Your hands moved without thought, one gripping the back of his shirt, the other winding into his hair, tugging him even closer. He let out another low groan, the sound so needy it sent a shiver down your spine. Heeseung’s hand at your waist tightened, as if he was trying to merge your bodies into one.

Every part of you seemed to melt under his touch, all that mattered in that moment was the way he felt against you, the way his lips moved with yours, the way his hands seemed to be exploring every inch of your body. His lips moved with desperation, and each breathless kiss made it harder to remember why you had held back for so long.

But then, just as the kiss deepened again, your mind caught up with you. You could feel the weight of it—the gravity of what was happening. The familiar warning signs, the confusion, the uncertainty, all came rushing back to the surface.

You hesitated for a moment, your hands gripping his hair tightly, your chest rising and falling in quick breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control. Heeseung, sensing the shift, finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting softly.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice raspy and gentle, as if checking to see if you were still with him in that moment.

You pulled back slightly, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to gather your thoughts, but your mind was still clouded by the rush of the moment. "We... we shouldn't be doing this," you murmured, your voice shaky, feeling the weight of the situation. "You're drunk, Heeseung. This isn't you."

Heeseung blinked slowly, his eyes still heavy with that lazy, almost dazed look as he played with the strands of your hair, his fingers brushing gently against your scalp. He tilted his head slightly, giving you that smile—the one that always made your heart flutter, even in the most confusing of times.

He leaned in just a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and he spoke softly, his voice sincere "Even if I wasn't drunk," he said, his lips curling into a slow smile, "I’d still do this." His eyes locked onto yours, the haze in them making his gaze feel even more intense. "Because you're you. A pretty girl I've wanted for years."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, the heat of his words curling around you like a blanket, and you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat. His hand on your hair moved down to gently cup your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "This... this is unforgettable. And I’d do it over and over again, no matter what state I’m in."

You were speechless for a moment, but you knew he was being honest, even if his current state made it hard to fully trust his intentions.

"But...," you started, still unsure, trying to hold onto your reason, "this isn't the right time, Heeseung. We both know that."

Heeseung’s lazy smile didn’t falter, though there was a longing in his eyes somthing you hadn't seen before. He slowly moved his thumb down, brushing lightly over your lips before leaning in again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe not the right time," he said, his lips nearly brushing against yours once more. "But you’ve always been worth the wait."

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his hand still cradling your face as if silently asking for permission. Then, he leaned in, placing a soft, tentative peck on your lips. It was gentle and when you didn’t pull away, he did it again, this time lingering a little longer. Each kiss felt like a question, and with every unspoken answer, his confidence grew.

The next kiss wasn’t as restrained. It was deeper, needier, as though the small taste he’d gotten wasn’t enough. His lips moved against yours with increasing urgency, quickly unraveling into something messier. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, while his other hand moved to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

The kisses turned sloppy, his control slipping with every passing second. His breath came heavier, mingling with yours as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, making your knees feel weak.

You couldn’t help but respond, your hands moving to grip his shoulders, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Heeseung broke away just briefly, as he gasped for air, his lips swollen and glistening. “You don’t know,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with desperation. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” Before you could respond, he captured your lips again, his kisses feverish, like he was making up for all the time he’d spent waiting. His body pressed you more firmly against the wall, as he completely lost himself in the moment, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle piece.

You tried to catch your breath, your head spinning from it all, but Heeseung wasn’t giving you a chance to think. His lips trailed down from yours, brushing along your jaw and down to your neck, where he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses that sent a shiver through your entire body. “Heeseung,” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky. You weren’t sure what you were trying to say—stop or don’t stop.

“Say my name again,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low and raspy. He placed another kiss just below your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. “I love the way it sounds coming from you.”

You didn’t answer because the way he was looking at you left you speechless. His lips were swollen from the kisses, his hair slightly messy, and there was something in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before. “Heeseung,” you whispered again, softer this time, your hand reaching up to touch his face. The moment your fingers brushed his cheek, he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a second. When they opened again, there was a softness there that made your heart ache.

Heeseung’s lips found yours again, capturing them in a kiss so deep, so consuming, that it left you breathless. You could feel the way his fingers trembled slightly as they slid up your sides. One hand settled on the small of your back, keeping you firmly pressed against him, while the other moved to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough.

He groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine as his lips parted, inviting you to deepen the kiss. The way his tongue brushed against yours was dizzying, leaving your knees weak and your mind spinning. You responded instinctively, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer.

Heeseung’s breathing was heavy, uneven, as if he couldn’t catch his breath but didn’t want to stop. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flutter. It felt like he was memorizing the feel of you, the taste of you, the way you fit perfectly against him.

Heeseung’s lips suddenly left yours, trailing a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and onto your neck. “You don’t even know,” he murmured, his words slurred slightly but full of emotion. “How long I’ve wanted this… wanted you. God, you’re all I ever think about.” His lips grazed your collarbone, grounding you as he leaned his full weight into you, effectively caging you against the wall.

His rambling continued, each word pouring out like a confession. “I dream about you… about us. It’s always you. No one else even comes close, y’know that? The way you smile, the way you look at me… even when you’re mad at me, I can’t get you out of my head.”

His lips moved lower, pressing kisses along your chest as he spoke, his voice husky and raw. “You’re so beautiful… so perfect. And now you’re here, and I don’t want to let go.”

His words were pure need and desperation, and the way he shielded you with his body only amplified the intensity of the moment. “Tell me you feel it too,” he breathed, his voice breaking slightly. “Tell me I’m not crazy for wanting you this much.”

You were overwhelmed, caught between his touch and his words. Heeseung wasn’t holding back, and as much as you wanted to respond, the only thing you could manage was a shaky exhale, your hands clutching at his shirt to keep yourself steady.

Your voice wavered as you found the courage to speak, breaking through the haze of emotions swirling around you both. “But what about all the other girls, Heeseung?” you asked, your tone softer than you expected. “All the girls you’ve been with? The ones who’ve followed you around, who’ve—” You hesitated, the words getting caught in your throat.

Heeseung froze for a moment, his lips hovering against the curve of your neck, his breathing uneven. His answer was strained. “No one’s like you,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “No one even comes close.”

His hand moved up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “You think any of them matter?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “All those girls… they were never you. Never even close to being you. I don’t care about them. I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about you.”

His lips found your collarbone again, lingering there as he continued. “I’ve yearned for you—God, for so long. You don’t even know what you do to me.” His hand slid down to your hips, gripping you as if to anchor himself. “Every time I see you, it’s like nothing else exists. No one else exists.”

He pulled back slightly, his dark, half-lidded eyes locking onto yours. “I’ll drop them all—every single one. I don’t need anyone else, never did. I just want you.”

Heeseung, ever the gentleman suddenly took you by the hand and led you back inside, away from the prying eyes of the partygoers. With a gentle yet firm grip, he guided you through the bustling crowd, his eyes never leaving yours, as he led your way towards an unoccupied bedroom. Once inside the bedroom, Heeseung closed the door behind you, locking out the world and creating a private haven for the two of you, as he leaned in and captured your lips in a desperate kiss.

You responded to his kiss with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, while Heeseung's hands roamed freely, caressing your back.

Heeseung only pulled back slightly, his chest heaving with heavy breaths before he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing a well-defined torso.

Well this would be a fun night.

It was a fun night... but what ruined it was the fact that Heeseung suddenly seemed to forget who you were. The next few days at school were a complete shift. He avoided you. He didn’t look at you, didn’t talk to you, didn’t even so much as throw a teasing grin your way in the hallways.

No, instead, he went back to his old habits. He laughed and flirted with other girls, his charm as effortless as ever, like nothing had changed. Like you didn’t exist. At. All.

It was maddening.

But the worst part? Watching him smile at those girls with the same ease he once reserved for you, as if you hadn’t been pressed against that wall, that bed, tangled up in his words and his touch. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You didn’t know what happened. You wracked your brain for answers, trying to piece together where it all went wrong. But deep down, you should have known. Of course, you should have known.

Heeseung wasn’t the type to stay tethered. He wasn’t the type to settle. He was the type to chase, to get what he wanted, and then move on. And now that he’d tempted you, now that he’d had a taste of your attention, it seemed he’d gone on to the next woman.

Why would you be any different?

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably. You weren’t supposed to care. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let someone like him get to you. But seeing him act as if nothing had happened—as if you were just another moment in his life—stung more than you wanted to admit.

And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you that night, the way he touched you, the way his words had seemed so genuine. Had it all been a lie? Or had he just changed his mind?

Either way, you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it bothered you. If he wanted to act like you didn’t exist, you’d do the same. Or at least, you’d try.

And you did try. You really did. Ignoring Heeseung, pretending he was just another face in the crowd—it seemed like the only way to keep yourself sane. And for a while, it felt like it might work. You told yourself you could move on, that you could forget about the way his touch had felt, the way his voice had sounded when he whispered your name.

Yeah, no. You couldn’t.

Not at all.

You realized that the moment you walked by the bleachers and saw a girl perched comfortably on Heeseung’s lap during basketball practice. She laughed at something he said, her hand resting casually on his shoulder. Your stomach churned.

Nope. Moving on wasn’t happening.

And then in the hallways, you would see him leaning against the wall, his signature grin plastered across his face as he shamelessly flirted with other girls. Their giggles echoed in the corridor, and Heeseung would tilt his head, his eyes sparkling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Yeah, moving on definitely wasn’t in the cards.

Each time you saw him acting like you were meaningless, like the night you’d shared was nothing more than a passing moment, it cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

And yet, despite all of it, despite the ache in your chest and the frustration bubbling under your skin, you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him. What would you even say? That he’d hurt you? That he’d made you believe you were different, only to prove otherwise?

No. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. But pretending it didn’t matter? That was turning out to be harder than you ever imagined.

Okay, yeah, pretending it didn’t matter was much harder than you thought. Because now, standing in the doorway of your room, staring at a very intoxicated Heeseung, all of those feelings you were desperately trying to bury came rushing back.

His hair was messy like he’d run his hands through it a million times. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the smooth skin of his collarbones, and his belt dangled loosely from his hands like he’d been too distracted—or too far gone—to put it back on properly. The faint smell of alcohol and nicotine wafted off him, making you wrinkle your nose.

This was not how you’d planned to spend your night. You were supposed to be studying, maybe finishing the next episode of that series you were hooked on. A calm night. But of course, Heeseung had to ruin that.

“Heeseung,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe, trying to keep your voice steady, “What are you doing here?”

He blinked at you, his eyes glassy but still managing to hold that familiar spark that made your heart do stupid flips. “I—uh...” He trailed off, his gaze flickering over you like he was trying to figure out what to say.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You don’t even know why you’re here, do you?”

“I know why I’m here,” he slurred, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I just... I wanted to see you.”

You sighed, already feeling the headache forming. “Heeseung, you’re drunk. And not in your right mind. You should go home before you embarrass yourself even more.”

But instead of leaving, he gave you that boyish grin—the one that always made your resolve waver. “Can’t I stay here? Just for a bit?”

“No,” you replied firmly, but even as you said it, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

Heeseung’s expression softened, and his voice dropped, almost pleading. “Come on, don’t do this. I... I don’t want to be anywhere else right now.”

You hated how those words tugged at something deep inside you. Why did he always have to show up and mess with your head?

You found yourself hesitating, your hand still on the door, unable to slam it shut in his face, sighing, your hand gripping the edge of the door as you tried to keep your cool. "I can't do this right now, Heeseung," you said, your voice quieter than you intended. "I have too much going on. I'm stressed, and I really don't have the energy for this."

He didn’t back off. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. His voice was low and teasing, with that same lazy confidence he always seemed to have. "If you're stressed, I can help with that," he murmured. "Play with me a little, and I promise, you'll forget all about it."

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his audacity. “Heeseung—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, a small, mischievous smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, hazy but still focused on you, sparkled with that familiar glint that always left you second-guessing yourself. “I’m really good at relieving stress. Just give me a chance.”

Your mouth opened to respond, but no words came out. The sheer gall of him left you momentarily speechless.

Finally, you shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of the moment. "Heeseung, you're drunk. You should just go home and sleep this off before you say something else ridiculous."

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Drunk or not, I’m still right,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned a fraction closer. “But if you really don’t want me here…” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway, though he made no actual move to leave.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to summon every ounce of patience you had left. “Heeseung,” you said firmly, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze. “I need you to take this seriously. Either go home, or...”

“Or?” he asked, his voice soft but teasing, daring you to finish the sentence.

Your frustration bubbled over as you only glared at him, the sight of his disheveled figure only fueling your anger. "No! Do you have any idea how mad I am at you right now?" you snapped, crossing your arms. "You ignored me for days, Heeseung. Days! You acted like I didn’t exist, like nothing happened, and now you just show up at my door like—like this?"

Heeseung blinked, the lazy smirk faltering slightly, but he didn’t say anything. That only made you angrier. "Do you even know how humiliating it’s been? Watching you flirt with other girls, pretending like what we had meant nothing? And now, you think you can just waltz in here, drunk and out of your mind and what—fix everything with a grin and some smooth words? You don’t get to do that, Heeseung. You don’t get to mess with my head and—"

Before you could finish, Heeseung surged forward, his hands grabbing your cheeks as he pulled you close. His lips crashed against yours with a force that took your breath away, silencing your ramble in an instant.

Your mind went blank, your words evaporating as his warmth enveloped you. His kiss was desperate, almost as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say out loud. One of his hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place, while the other stayed firm on your cheek.

You froze, your anger momentarily eclipsed by the intensity of his actions. But then, your hands instinctively pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss as you stepped back, breathless and wide-eyed. “Heeseung, what the hell?” you whispered, your voice shaking, unsure if it was from lingering anger or the way your heart raced in your chest.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted quietly, his voice hoarse. “You were yelling at me, and I just… I missed you. I couldn’t stay away.”

You stared at him, torn between wanting to scream at him and wanting to pull him back in. “You don’t get to do that,” you said, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and think it’ll fix everything.”

“I don’t think it fixes anything,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Before you could respond, he took a small step closer, his forehead gently resting against your shoulder. His breath was warm against your neck as he hummed softly, the sound low and almost comforting. He nuzzled against your skin, his movements slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Heeseung,” you said, your voice strained as you placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away. But he didn’t budge, his larger frame pressing closer as his lips ghosted over the curve of your neck.

“I missed this,” he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss just below your ear, his hand curling gently around your waist to hold you steady.

You tried to push again, but it was weak, half-hearted, especially as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot, sending a shiver down your spine. “Stop it, Heeseung,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction, and he clearly noticed.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and a little smug. “You’re telling me to stop,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck, “but you’re not really trying, are you?”

Your heart raced, torn between the anger still simmering in your chest and the way his touch was making your knees feel like jelly. “Heeseung, this isn’t fair,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression softer now. “You’re right. It’s not fair. But I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry. That I’ve been a complete idiot. That I can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But before you could sort through your emotions, he leaned in again, his lips brushing against your neck once more, and you felt yourself faltering.

Heeseung’s movements were subtle at first, his arm tightening slightly around your waist as he guided you further into the house. You didn’t even realize he’d kicked the door closed until you heard the faint click of it shutting.

Your distraction gave him the advantage, and before you could voice even the smallest protest, he was steering you toward the couch. His hands were steady, firm, but not forceful, leaving you confused and torn between stopping him and giving in to the pull he had on you.

“Heeseung—” you started, but the words barely escaped your lips before his mouth was on yours again, silencing you with a kiss that was anything but gentle. His lips moved hungrily against yours, leaving no room for argument, and when you tried to push back against his chest, your resolve faltered as he moaned softly into the kiss. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and to your dismay, a small whine slipped out in response.

His lips curved against yours as if he could sense your weakening resolve, his hands started guiding you to lay down on the couch. The weight of his body hovered close, not trapping you but leaving you with the realization that Heeseung wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, “if you really want me to, I will.” But the way he looked at you, his dark eyes full of yearning and desperation, made it clear he didn’t want you to say the words.

When you didn’t respond, Heeseung’s lips curled into a slow, almost knowing smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. He leaned down, brushing his nose against yours before capturing your lips once more.

This kiss was different—softer at first, unhurried but still filled with that undeniable hunger. His weight shifted slightly, his chest pressing against yours while his hand slid from your cheek to your waist, steadying you. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, as though he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound you made, and every way you responded to him.

You couldn’t stop yourself from melting into him, Heeseung’s lips left yours only briefly, trailing kisses along your jaw, his warm breath ghosting over your skin as he murmured, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your chest. “Heeseung… please,” you managed to whisper, though your voice trembled, making it come out weaker than you’d intended.

But he only shook his head softly, his lips brushing against your cheek as he murmured, “Shh… Don’t.” His voice was low and soothing, almost pleading, as though he couldn’t bear to hear you say anything that might break the moment between you. “Just… stay with me. Don’t push me away right now,” he whispered.

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, this time slower, softer, as if he was savoring the moment.

And you couldn’t help but let yourself fall deeper into the kiss.

✰ ✰ ✰

Yeah, you were getting pretty tired now.

After waking up the next morning to an empty bed, Heeseung having dipped sometime before you even stirred, you couldn’t say you were surprised. Disappointed? Sure. Hurt? Maybe. But surprised? Not in the slightest.

The hollow feeling lingered as you dragged yourself to school, telling yourself to just push through the day like nothing had happened. It was easier said than done when the moment you stepped into the halls, you spotted Heeseung leaning casually against his locker, laughing at something one of his friends said, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world.

And of course, he acted like last night didn’t happen. Not a glance in your direction, not a nod of acknowledgment—nothing. It was as if you didn’t exist, as if you hadn’t shared anything at all.

You bit down the frustration bubbling in your chest, refusing to let it show. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let him get to you, that you’d play it cool, but damn, it was harder than you thought. Watching him joke around, watching him flirt effortlessly with anyone but you—it stung more than you wanted to admit.

You sighed, gripping the straps of your bag a little tighter as you walked past him, pretending you didn’t notice him either.

It got to the point where your friends couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“What’s going on with you and Heeseung?” one of them asked, their tone laced with curiosity and concern. “He was all over you, and now he’s... not. Did something happen?”

You hesitated, debating whether to say anything, but their expectant gazes made it clear they weren’t letting it go. So, with a deep breath, you told them everything.

Their reactions were immediate.

“He did what?” one of your friends exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Are you serious? He was with you and then went back to ignoring you? Twice?!” another chimed in, her voice rising in anger.

They were shocked at first, then angry—angrier than you were, which was both comforting and a little overwhelming.

“You need to stop answering his calls,” one of them said firmly, leaning closer. “He’s just using you as a backup plan when he’s drunk and lonely.”

Another nodded, her expression equally resolute. “Don’t let him in, no matter how much he begs. If you let him in, you’re just setting yourself up to kick him out later. And trust me, that’s worse.”

“Exactly,” a third added, crossing her arms. “And don’t even think about being his friend. Friends don’t wake up in each other’s beds after nights like that.”

The last comment stung more than you cared to admit, but they weren’t done.

“If you’re under him, you’re never getting over him,” another said bluntly, her words hitting harder than you’d expected. “And you deserve better than this game he’s playing with you.”

You sat there, their words circling in your head like a storm. Deep down, you knew they were right. You knew you couldn’t keep letting Heeseung in only to get hurt every time he left. But knowing it and doing something about it were two very different things.

One of your friends sighed, shaking her head. “You know what this sounds like, right? A situationship. That’s what this is turning into.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“That’s exactly what it is,” another chimed in, crossing her arms. “He keeps you close enough to make you think you matter, but far enough to avoid any real accountability. Classic situationship behavior.”

You groaned, leaning back against the bench. “I don’t even know if it’s that deep. He probably doesn’t think about me at all.”

“Well…” one of them started, glancing over your shoulder, her expression shifting into amusement and curiosity.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She hesitated for a moment before blurting it out. “Heeseung’s staring.”

Your head snapped around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. And sure enough, there he was, standing at the edge of the basketball court, holding a ball loosely in one hand. He wasn’t laughing with his teammates or focused on the game. No, his eyes were locked directly on your group—or more specifically, on you.

Your friends followed your gaze, and a chorus of whispers erupted.

“Oh my god, he really is.”

“What is he doing just standing there?”

“Is it just me, or does he look like he’s debating something?”

One of them nudged you. “Okay, spill. What’s going on in his head? Did you say something to him recently? Text him?”

You shook your head quickly, still staring at Heeseung. “No, I haven’t even looked at him, let alone talked to him.”

“Then why is he staring like that?”

“I don’t know!” you said, your voice low but frantic.

Another friend tilted her head, watching him closely. “It’s not just a glance, either. He’s full-on staring. Like he’s trying to figure out if he should come over here or something.”

The thought made your stomach flip, cause there was something more intense in the way he looked at you—like he was fighting some internal battle.

“Well, whatever’s going on,” one of your friends whispered, “he’s definitely not over you.”

You turned back to your friends, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You guys are making this into something it’s not.”

One of them snorted. “Honey, he’s the one making it into something. Look at him.”

Against your better judgment, you glanced back at Heeseung, and your breath hitched when your eyes met his again. He didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze only grew more focused, like he wanted to make sure you knew he was looking.

You quickly turned back to your friends, forcing a tight smile. “Let’s go,” you said, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

They exchanged knowing glances but didn’t argue. One of them muttered, “Good idea,” as the group began gathering their things.

As you walked away from the bench, you resisted the urge to glance back at Heeseung. Your friends stayed close, their chatter filling the air as they tried to distract you, but it was hard to shake the feeling of his eyes still on you.

When you reached the school gates, one of them broke the silence. “So… are we just going to ignore the fact that he was practically burning a hole in your back with that stare?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, your voice sharper than you intended. “We’re ignoring it.”

Another friend chuckled softly. “Okay, okay. But just so you know, he’s not ignoring you.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stepped onto the sidewalk. “Well, he’s doing a great job of pretending otherwise most of the time.”

“That’s the thing,” someone said thoughtfully. “Guys like him—they act like they don’t care, but the moment they think they’re losing you? They start doing stuff like this.”

You didn’t reply, tightening your grip on your bag as the group walked down the street. You didn’t want to talk about Heeseung anymore, didn’t want to think about the way he looked at you.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was a vicious cycle, one you hated but couldn’t seem to break. Each time you told yourself it would be the last, that you’d stop answering the door, that you wouldn’t let him in again. And yet, every time the night fell and he showed up—messy hair, glassy eyes, and a crooked smile—you found yourself giving in, letting him cross the threshold into your apartment.

Heeseung had this way of making you feel like you were the center of his world. His hands were always warm, his voice low and sweet, whispering things that made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe.

“Why do you do this to me?” you’d asked one night, your voice breaking as you stared up at him, your fingers tangled in his hair.

He’d only smiled, brushing his thumb against your cheek as if he didn’t have an answer, or maybe because he didn’t want to give you one. “Because I can’t stay away from you,” he’d said, his voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

But then morning would come, and he would vanish like a dream you couldn’t quite remember, leaving behind an empty space in your bed and a heavier one in your chest. And at school, it was always the same. His eyes would find you across the cafeteria or the hallway, and for a moment, it would feel like everything stopped. But he wouldn’t come over, wouldn’t talk to you. He’d just look.

Your friends noticed it, too, how he’d stare at you as if you were the only thing in the room, even when there were other girls around him, laughing at his jokes and vying for his attention.

“You’re letting him ruin you,” one of them said one afternoon, her voice tinged with frustration.

“I know,” you admitted, your voice hollow. “But it’s not like I can just stop.”

You wanted to hate him, for the way he seemed to pull you in only to push you away, for the way he made you feel like you were everything one second and nothing the next.

But you couldn’t. Because even though you knew it was toxic, even though you knew it was breaking you bit by bit, there was a part of you that couldn’t let go.

Because in those nights, when he looked at you like that, when he touched you like he’d fall apart if he didn’t, you felt wanted. Needed. And no matter how much it hurt afterward, you kept holding onto it, hoping that one day, he’d stop running.

It wasn’t until his friend Jake—of all people—came to talk to you that you started piecing things together. You’d been so caught up in the back-and-forth, the way Heeseung would tease you one moment and ignore you the next, that you never truly understood why. But now, hearing it from Jake, it was like a lightbulb went off in your mind.

Heeseung, despite all the other girls he flirted with, never gave them the attention he gave you. He never kissed them, never looked at them the way he looked at you.

And Jake had confirmed it. Heeseung was in love with you. Hopelessly in love, but he didn’t even know it himself. That’s why he acted the way he did. He didn’t know how to handle it, how to deal with it.

Jake had told you Heeseung was scared. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and it terrified him. So, he’d masked it all with arrogance, with distance. But when he was drunk, then the walls came down, his real feelings would surface. That’s why he’d always show up at your door when he was intoxicated—because, in those moments, he couldn’t hide from what he truly felt for you.

You wanted to be mad at him for hiding behind that facade, for playing with your feelings. But now you understood. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you; it was that he was so afraid of what this all meant, of what it would do to him, to both of you, that he couldn’t face it. So, he ran, and he used everything he could to keep you at arm’s length, to protect himself from being honest with you.

But knowing the truth didn’t make it hurt less. You still found yourself torn between wanting to be there for him, to help him figure it out, and wanting to protect yourself from getting hurt even more. Because at the end of the day, you were both so damn lost in this mess.

“Look, I know you’re confused. But you need to understand, Heeseung’s been a mess about this. He’s never felt anything like it before. And trust me, he doesn’t know how to handle it.”

You shook your head, trying to process everything Jake was saying. It didn’t seem to make sense. Why hadn’t he just told you? “But why does he act like he doesn’t care? Why ignore me at school like I’m nothing, and then do… all that when he’s with me?”

Jake shifted uncomfortably, knowing the weight of your words. “It’s easier for him to push you away than admit it to himself. He’s scared. He doesn’t get why he’s so into you. So he avoids it.”

You stared at him, your heart racing as everything started to fall into place. But you still had questions, things you didn’t understand. “But why doesn’t he just… talk to me? Be honest?”

Jake shrugged, his eyes softening. “He doesn’t know how to navigate this. It’s easier for him to hide behind his stupid behavior than face the truth.”

You were silent for a long moment, processing all of the information you had gotten.

When you didn`t answer, Jake let out a resigned sigh, his shoulder slumping slightly before he gave you a supportive pat on the shoulder. "You’ve got to make him talk," he said quietly, his voice filled with sympathy. "You’re the only one who can get him to open up. Just… don’t wait forever, okay?"

He gave you one last look before walking off, leaving you standing there with your heart racing in your chest, all of your emotions tangled up in knots.

Your footsteps were heavy as you walked away from the scene, feeling the weight of every question that lingered in your mind. Why did you have to talk to Heeseung? You weren’t his therapist, nor his emotional support. Wasn’t he man enough to talk to you? You clenched your fists, frustration building in your chest.

What if Jake was wrong? What if he was just trying to paint a picture that didn’t exist, feeding you some narrative to make you feel better about the mess you were in? What if you were making a fool of yourself? The thoughts spiraled, doubt flooding your mind. Every interaction with Heeseung now felt like a game you didn’t know how to play, where the rules were constantly changing and you were left scrambling to catch up.

What if you were just a sidepiece? The thought stung more than you wanted to admit, and the image of Heeseung laughing with other girls earlier flashed in your mind. He was always so charming, so easy with them, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you were just another stop on his list, a temporary distraction, something to pass the time until someone else caught his eye.

You sighed deeply, rubbing your forehead as you made your way to your car. You wanted to be done with this—done with the confusion, the uncertainty, the constant emotional whiplash. But part of you knew it wasn’t that easy. Nothing with Heeseung ever was.

But maybe Jake was right. Maybe you could be the one to make him talk—to make him finally admit what was really going on in his head, what he was feeling. But was it worth it? Was risking your heart worth it?

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of frustration and sadness wash over you.

✰ ✰ ✰

Okay, to be fair, Heeseung had it coming. You repeated it in your mind like a mantra as you looked down at your phone, the screen lighting up with his constant calls and texts. Each one more desperate than the last, his words slurred, the grammar all over the place—clearly, he wasn’t in his right mind. The messages seemed to echo the chaos in your chest, but you refused to reply.

You stared at the phone, feeling a mix of frustration and something else—something deep and heavy that you couldn’t quite place. He had done this to himself, hadn’t he? He had made his choices, and now he had to deal with the consequences. The constant buzzing of your phone finally slowed, and you thought maybe he had given up. But then, the doorbell rang.

You froze, your stomach dropping. You crept cautiously to the door, standing there for a moment as the bell rang again and again, each chime making your heart race. The knocking started soon after, loud and urgent, but you stayed still, arms crossed, refusing to move.

You weren’t going to let him back in.

The knocking stopped suddenly, and for a moment, everything was silent. And then, through the door, you heard his voice.

“Please… please open the door…” His voice was shaky, desperate, as if he was on the verge of breaking. “I’m sorry. Please, I need you. I just… please don’t leave me like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t something you were used to hearing from him. It was different.

"I need to see you... I can't stop thinking about you... Please, don't... don't shut me out, not now."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you cautiously unlocked the door, the sound of the latch clicking echoing in the silence. When the door creaked open, you were met with the sight of him sitting on the ground, his posture slumped, eyes staring at the bottle in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

As soon as he saw you, he scrambled to his feet, his movements frantic, as if he couldn't wait another second. Before you could even take a step back, his arms were around you, pulling you into an embrace that was far too tight to push him off.

You gasped in surprise, your hands instinctively pushing against his chest. "Heeseung, wait—" But your protest was quickly smothered as he held you tighter, pressing his face into the side of your neck.

“I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you,” he mumbled, his words slurred and uneven, the alcohol clearly taking its toll. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for everything. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just…” His grip on you tightened, his hands shaking slightly. “Please, don’t hate me… I need you…” His voice faltered, and you could feel the tremor in his body as he clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather the words to say, but before you could form anything coherent, Heeseung’s lips were suddenly on yours. His kiss was urgent, a little sloppy, as though he was trying to drown out whatever feelings were swirling inside him. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you could feel the weight of his need against you.

"Stop," you whispered weakly, your hands pushing against his chest, but it did little to stop him. If anything, he just leaned in further, his lips moving with a frantic energy as he kissed you harder.

You pulled back for a moment, gasping for air, but Heeseung wasn’t letting go. His forehead rested against your neck as he breathed heavily, his lips brushing against your skin. “I need this,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice muffled but laced with desperation. “I need you.”

You tried again, more forcefully this time, pushing him back slightly, but his grip on you tightened. “We need to talk,” you managed, your voice breaking, your hands trembling as you tried to create space between you two. “You can’t just keep doing this—coming to me when you’re drunk, acting like nothing happened—”

But Heeseung didn’t seem to hear you. His eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you again, this time a little more gently, though it still held that same desperate edge.

You couldn’t help but respond, even if you didn’t want to. Heeseung was like a drug, and you were already too far gone, as his kiss deepened and his hands roamed, you couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of your mind, reminding you that this wasn’t how things should be. You deserved more than this chaotic cycle, more than the confusion, the highs and lows.

But in that moment, you let him hold you, let him kiss you, because you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Not when he needed you like this, not when you still felt that pull, even though you knew it wasn’t healthy.

And when he finally pulled away, looking at you with those dark eyes full of longing, you were left breathless, conflicted, and unable to move.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was like a cruel game he played—one step forward, two steps back. After the night, when he’d clung to you, he’d returned to his old ways at school, completely shutting you out. It was as if the moment he left your apartment, the walls came back up, and he was back to pretending you didn’t exist.

You’d see him in the halls, laughing with his friends, flirting with other girls, completely ignoring you like everything that happened between you two meant nothing. It was maddening.

You tried to act like it didn’t bother you. You went through the motions, keeping your head down, focusing on your schoolwork, your friends, anything to distract yourself from the constant ache in your chest. But the more he ignored you, the more you realized just how much it hurt. And it hurt even more because you knew that he wasn’t like this because he didn’t care. He was like this because he was scared. Scared of what was between you, scared of how vulnerable it made him.

Heeseung was a complicated mess, a boy who wanted everything but feared the very thing that could make him feel whole. And you? You were stuck in this limbo, torn between wanting to confront him and just walking away before you got hurt even more.

It was exhausting.

One minute, he was the boy who couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t stop kissing you, the one who made you feel like the only person in the room. The next minute, he was a stranger.

You were deep in thought, trying to make sense of the mess that was Heeseung, when you suddenly felt a presence beside you. Turning to your left, you saw a guy you barely knew—someone who kept to himself at school, never talking much. He was standing there, a nervous but hopeful look on his face, and before you could even react, he asked, “Hey, would you like to go out sometime? Maybe grab a coffee?”

You opened your mouth to decline, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t make him feel bad, but before you could say anything, an arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in close with surprising force.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you instinctively stiffened as you turned to see none other than Heeseung standing there. He leaned in just enough to block your view of the guy, his eyes focused on the nervous stranger.

Before you could protest or say anything, Heeseung’s voice cut through the tension, casual but firm. “She’s not interested,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The quiet guy who had been asking you out now looked taken aback, stepping back a bit, unsure how to respond.

You couldn’t believe what was happening. Heeseung had just walked up and made it clear to someone else that you weren’t available. You wanted to say something, to protest, but you couldn’t find the words. It felt as if everything had suddenly flipped upside down.

“I—uh…” The guy stammered, clearly intimidated by Heeseung's presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” He turned quickly and walked off, leaving the two of you standing there in silence.

You snapped back from the suprise and pulled away from Heeseung’s grip, your mind spinning. “What the hell, Heeseung?” you managed, your voice laced with frustration.

He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze flickered to where the guy had disappeared, and then back to you.

You stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but instead, Heeseung just stood there, his expression unreadable.

"What’s your problem, Heeseung?" you demanded, stepping back. You couldn’t contain the anger that was rising in your chest. "Why are you acting like this?"

He ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes avoiding yours for a second. He let out a frustrated sigh before meeting your gaze. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, the words almost sounding like a confession. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Your heart sank a little, but it didn’t stop the fire that was still burning inside you. You’d had enough of this back-and-forth.

"Then figure it out," you snapped, pushing him off. "I’m not going to keep doing this, Heeseung. Get your shit together."

He didn’t say anything more, but the look in his eyes—so conflicted, so full of uncertainty—said everything.

You turned on your heel, walking away before he or you could say anything. You didn’t know if you were making the right decision, but you couldn’t keep letting him drag you around like this.

It was later that night, after you’d gotten a bit of distance and time to cool down, when you heard the familiar sound of your doorbell ringing again.

You froze for a second, unsure if you wanted to deal with him yet again, but the quiet, hesitant knock that followed told you it wasn’t the same as before. You found yourself standing by the door, hands gripping the doorknob, hesitant to open it.

When you finally did, your breath caught in your throat. There he was, but only.. not the usual version of him you were used to seeing. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale, and he looked... broken.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time in a long time, there was no bravado. He was standing there, vulnerable, as if unsure of how to approach you after everything.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He wiped his face with his sleeve, almost embarrassed. “I fucked up. I know I’ve been an asshole… but I needed to see you. I need to talk.”

You stood there for a moment, trying to process everything. It was hard—too hard. You’d spent so much time questioning his intentions, wondering if he even cared. Seeing him like this, so exposed, made you feel conflicted. Part of you wanted to push him away for all the hurt he’d caused, but another part of you wanted to reach out and hear him out.

“Why now?” you asked quietly, your voice betraying the frustration you’d been holding back. “Why come to me like this? After everything?”

He looked down at the ground, visibly struggling. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. I’ve been running from this. From you. From how I feel. And now I’m just… lost.” His words were shaky, like he was trying to hold onto his composure but was failing. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Everything felt like it was happening too fast. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead he stepped closer, and for the first time, there was no arrogance in his movements, no cocky confidence. He looked genuinely lost, as if he was desperately trying to figure himself out. “I don’t know what I’m doing… but I know I want to fix it. Fix us. If you’ll let me.”

You took a step back, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling a little with uncertainty. “You’ve been so hot and cold. One minute you’re all over me, the next you act like I’m invisible. How am I supposed to trust that this is real?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was gathering the courage to say what had been haunting him. When he spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. “I know... I’ve been a mess. I was scared,” he confessed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You made me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things that… terrified me. And instead of coming to you, talking to you about it, I ran. I pushed you away, and I’m sorry for that.”

The way he was standing, so different from how he used to act, made you reconsider everything. He wasn’t hiding behind walls anymore. “I don’t want to be scared anymore,” he added quietly, his voice cracking just slightly. “I want to be with you. If you’ll allow me.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what to say next. You were so unsure now, seeing him spill his heart out for you.

“I don’t feel this with anyone else,” he said softly. “No matter how hard I tried to push it down, it’s always been you. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.” He paused for a moment, before he dropped down to his knees in front of you, taking both your hands gently in his, while his eyes never left yours. “I don’t know what I was waiting for. I was stupid, I was scared. But I know now... I love you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you, and I’m sorry for making you feel like you were nothing. You’re everything to me. Please... let me prove it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a long moment, all you could do was look at him, trying to process what he’d just said. You had never imagined he’d say those words, especially after everything that had happened. But now, as he knelt before you, his hands still holding yours with such gentleness, it felt different. It felt real.

Doubts still lingered, but as you looked at him—really looked at him—kneeling before you, his hands gripping yours, something inside you began to shift.

The truth was, you loved him too. Despite everything—the hurt, the confusion—you couldn’t deny that your heart ached for him. And seeing him like this, open in a way you never thought possible for him, made you realize how much you wanted to believe in him, in this. You took a slow breath, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke. “I don’t know, Heeseung…”

He didn’t pull away, didn’t try to say anything more. He just waited, his gaze never leaving yours, hopeful but patient.

You looked down at his hands still holding yours, his fingers trembling slightly. “I’ve been hurt, and I don’t want to be hurt again,” you said, your voice wavering just a little.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve hurt you, and I’m so sorry. But I promise, I’ll do anything to make it right. Just… let me try.”

Your heart ached at his words. And slowly, almost hesitantly, you nodded. “Okay. We can try.”

He exhaled sharply, relief flooding his features, but you could see the uncertainty still lingering in his eyes. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but something inside you told you that this—he—was worth trying for.

He stood up, his hands still holding yours, and pulled you gently into his arms. You let him, your body instinctively melting into his embrace. He buried his face in your hair, his breath warm against your neck.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “I’m going to make you see that I mean it.”

Staning there in his arms, the doubts slowly began to fade. Maybe it would take time. But you felt hope stirring within you. Maybe you could try to make this work.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to read your emotions. His hand still cupped your face gently, waiting for a sign from you. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice low, filled with both uncertainty and hope.

"Yes."

Without another word, his lips descended onto yours, and the kiss was everything. Deep, urgent, and filled with so much emotion that it took your breath away.

When you started to feel breathless you tried to pull away, your breath ragged, but each time you did, he followed you, his lips catching yours again, desperate, insistent. Your heart raced, and your head spun as you tried to pull back for a moment’s reprieve, but Heeseung wasn’t having it.

"Please," he groaned between kisses, his hand gripping your waist tightly. "Just—just let me…" His voice was rough, desperate, as if your lips were the only thing keeping him grounded. "I need you. You… You make my heart beat. You make everything else fade. I want to breathe you in until I can’t breathe anymore."

His words were tangled, like he couldn’t get them out fast enough, like he was trying to make you understand something, but what, exactly, you weren’t sure. His kisses grew more frantic, more needy, and despite your attempts to catch your breath, you couldn’t help but respond to him.

You finally managed to gasp out his name, your voice barely a whisper, "Heeseung... Stop, I need to breathe."

He paused for a split second, just long enough for you to catch your breath, his breathing just as erratic as yours. "I can't... can't stop," he muttered. "You're all I think about... all I want."

✰ ✰ ✰

It was funny how much things had shifted since Heeseung’s confession. You couldn’t deny the change in him. He meant every word he’d said that night, and he made sure to show you just how serious he was about being with you.

Heeseung was intense in everything he did, and his love for you was no exception. It wasn’t just in the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the room, or the way he clung to your hand like letting go would mean losing you. No, it was in the small things too. The way he remembered the little details about you, how he stayed up late just to make sure you got home safe from your late-night shifts, or the way he’d pepper your face with kisses whenever he thought you looked stressed.

And then, there were the nights. Heeseung had always been passionate, but now that he wasn’t holding back, it was overwhelming in the best way possible. He left no part of you untouched, no part of your heart unloved. Your skin bore the evidence of his intensity, faint marks that lingered long after his lips had moved on, a testament to just how much he adored you.

He didn’t just say he loved you; he showed it. In every kiss, every touch, every whispered word, Heeseung made sure you knew just how much you meant to him. And while it could get a little overwhelming at times, you couldn’t deny that it felt good—so good—to be loved so completely.

Heeseung's love was all-consuming, and with it came an intensity that left you breathless. He made it his mission to show you just how deeply he cared. But he never lost the playful side that made you fall for him in the first place.

He still teased you relentlessly, knowing exactly how to make your cheeks flush. “What’s that look for, baby?” he’d smirk when he caught you staring, leaning in close to whisper, “Can’t get enough of me?” His confidence was maddening, but you’d learned to give as good as you got.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with you like you were strangers meeting for the first time. “Hey, gorgeous,” he’d say, slidling up to you with a grin. “Come here often?” It didn’t matter if you were at your desk or in the middle of a crowded hallway; Heeseung always found a way to make you laugh and roll your eyes at his antics.

But then, he’d do a 360 and leave you utterly disarmed. Like the way he’d wrap his arms around your waist out of nowhere, pressing his lips to your ear to murmur, “I love you so much.” It was whiplash, the way he could go from cocky to soft in an instant, and it kept you on your toes.

Now that you had Heeseung basically wrapped around your finger, it felt empowering. He catered to you, always quick to appease your whims, and he seemed to thrive on your happiness. Whether it was picking up your favorite snacks, carrying your bag, or pampering you after a long day, Heeseung was yours—and he made sure you knew it.

But he had his limits.

There were moments when he reminded you that, while he adored you, he wasn’t completely under your control. Like when you pushed him too far with teasing, a playful remark about him being “so soft” for you turning into a challenge in his eyes.

One such night, you’d been cheeky, testing how much you could get away with. “You’ll do anything I say, won’t you?” you’d teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, the shift immediate. “Anything?” he repeated, voice low and laced with something that sent shivers down your spine. Before you could process, he had you pinned, his hand firm but careful as it held your wrists above your head.

“You like to push me, don’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Think I’m all soft and sweet?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before he showed you just how wrong you were. Heeseung wasn’t rough in a careless way—he was calculated, controlled, and oh-so-intense. He left no room for doubt about who had the upper hand in those moments.

By the end of it, you were breathless, your legs trembling as you clung to him for support. Heeseung’s smug grin and the way he kissed your forehead tenderly afterward only made it worse.

“Still think I’m soft?” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from your flushed face.

You couldn’t even answer, too dazed to form words, which only seemed to please him more.

The next day, walking was a challenge, and Heeseung, ever the charmer, had the audacity to chuckle when you winced. “Told you there’s only so much I’ll let you boss me around,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

It was infuriating, but it was also Heeseung. And if you were being honest, you loved every second of it.

a/n: finished this while waiting for the train to come, in the snow storm :) reblogs and commentary are appreciated <33

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[orangeblossomsintheair]

HONEY YOU’RE FAMILIAR | MV33

summary : For a second, he thinks about turning around. Walking out. Pretending he never saw you, because what’s the point? It’s not like he can just waltz up to you and say, “Hey, sorry I ghosted you for no reason other than I’m emotionally constipated. Want to get a drink?”

wc : 5k

an : writing this to distract myself from my other wips? ..i would never.. 😦 also i wrote this at 12 am so let this not be a place of judgement :))

Max sometimes forgets how small Monaco is.

It’s easy to do when most of his memories of the place are a blur of fast cars and glittering parties. He spends most of his time racing through the streets during the Grand Prix or holed up in a hotel room overlooking the harbor.

When you’re constantly traveling the world, hopping between paddocks and podiums, the compactness of Monaco barely registers. It’s a speck on the map, a gilded bubble he never really bothers to think about until it’s right in his face.

But sometimes, like tonight, he’s reminded.

Monaco isn’t a city, not really.

It’s a playground. A handful of streets strung together like a necklace, choked with Lamborghinis, Rolls-Royces, and yachts so big they could be small countries. It’s a place where everyone knows everyone.

Or, at the very least, they know of everyone.

The millionaires gossip about the billionaires. The bartenders know who tips in cash and who never tips at all. Even the stray cats probably have dirt on the local royals.

It’s not just small in size. It’s tight.

Wealth wraps around this place like a noose, strangling it into exclusivity.

There are no dark corners to disappear into, no sprawling suburbs to lose yourself in.

Just a few restaurants, a few clubs, and a few streets where the same people circle each other like they’re on a carousel. If you’re here long enough, you’ll eventually run into everyone you’ve ever met.

Even the ones you’ve been trying to avoid.

Max doesn’t think about that when he walks into the bar.

He’s not in the mood for deep reflection or existential dread. He’s here because Daniel said he needed a drink, and when Daniel Ricciardo says you need a drink, you listen.

That’s how Max ends up at some overpriced lounge that smells like vodka and ambition, standing under soft, warm lighting that’s trying too hard to make the place feel classy instead of claustrophobic.

He’s nursing a beer, half-listening to Daniel tell some convoluted story about a failed date and a stolen Vespa, when he hears it.

A voice.

Your voice.

It’s the kind of thing that cuts through the noise without him even realizing why. It’s not loud or particularly distinct; it’s not like you’re screaming or making a scene. But it’s you. The way you talk, your cadence, the rise and fall of your words. It’s all so achingly familiar that it grabs him by the throat and yanks.

Max freezes. His drink doesn’t make it to his lips.

The years fall away in a blink, and suddenly, it’s like no time has passed.

He’s twenty-two again, still figuring out how to smile for cameras, while you’re draped over the back of his couch, talking absolute nonsense about whether or not the cars in Cars have insurance or not.

He doesn’t even realize he’s turned to look until he spots you.

You’re standing at the bar, laughing as you say something to the bartender. It’s loud, and Max can’t hear you properly, but he can feel you.

The way you lean casually on the counter, the tilt of your head, the way you wave your hand to punctuate whatever you’re saying. It’s so painfully, annoyingly you.

And God, you look good.

For a second, all he can do is stare. You haven’t seen him yet, thank God, because Max Verstappen does not know what the hell to do with himself right now.

You look different.

Not in a drastic way, just… grown.

Your edges are sharper, your presence more refined, like a photo that’s come into focus after years of being a little blurry. But the core of you is still the same. It’s in the way you throw your head back when you laugh, like the world isn’t slowly crumbling under the weight of climate change, billionaires, and whatever Kardashian family drama is brewing this week.

And suddenly, Max is thrown back years.

To a time when you were his person. The one he called when things went sideways, or when he won, or when he was just bored and needed someone to hear him rant about understeer.

You were his best friend.

No. The friend. The one. The only one who ever really got him. And then…Well, then he was an asshole.

He tries to tell himself that you two drifted apart.

People do that, right? It’s life. Except that’s a lie, and Max knows it. You didn’t drift; you held on like a freaking tow hook. You tried—texted him, called him, showed up to races, tried to remind him there was a world outside of 300 km/h and tire degradation.

Max doesn’t know what to do with this. With you. He’s not used to seeing ghosts in real life, and you might as well be one now.

Max debates his next move. He could just… not. Pretend he didn’t notice you. Slip out quietly, finish his drink somewhere else, and avoid whatever emotional grenade this is about to be. That would be the smart thing. The logical thing.

But Max has never been great at logic.

For a second, he thinks about turning around. Walking out. Pretending he never saw you, because what’s the point? It’s not like he can just waltz up to you and say, “Hey, sorry I ghosted you for no reason other than I’m emotionally constipated. Want to get a drink?”

But then you glance over your shoulder.

And your eyes lock.

He doesn’t have time to decide whether to stay or bolt

You see him.

And Max realizes he’s fucked.

For a split second, he thinks you might look away, maybe pretend you didn’t see him either.

He’s not sure if he’s hoping for that or dreading it. But then your face lights up, and the look you give him isn’t what he expects.

It’s warm. Familiar. Like you’re genuinely happy to see him.

His chest tightens. Max isn’t sure what he thought he’d see. Resentment, awkwardness, indifference, maybe.

But this? This disarms him completely.

You wave, and before he knows it, his feet are moving.

“Maxy,” you say as he approaches, your voice carrying that teasing lilt that could only ever be you. It knocks the breath out of him, so familiar and effortless it almost hurts. “Long time no see.”

Max freezes for the briefest of moments, the nickname hitting him like a slap and a hug all at once. Maxy. No one’s called him that in years. Not his family. Not his team. Not anyone.

No one except you.

“Yeah, uh, long time,” he manages, scratching the back of his neck in a gesture so awkwardly familiar it almost makes you laugh. He looks like he’s 17 again, shy and unsure.

Before either of you can say more, Daniel sidles up next to him, a beer in hand and an amused eyebrow raised as he glances between the two of you. “Know her?” Daniel asks, his voice dripping with curiosity.

“He does,” you reply smoothly before Max can fumble an answer. Your smirk is playful, but there’s no bite to it, just that same easy warmth Max hasn’t felt in what feels like forever. “I used to keep this one in line. Back when he was all awkward interviews and tragic haircuts.”

Daniel barks out a laugh, glancing at Max’s meticulously styled hair. “Tragic haircuts? Wait, this-” he gestures wildly at Max’s head, like it’s some architectural masterpiece “-is the improved version?”

You’re already laughing, and it’s the kind of laugh Max hasn’t heard in years.

He groans, dragging a hand over his face, though the corners of his mouth are betraying him with a faint smile. “Don’t encourage her,” he mutters to Daniel, but his tone is far too soft to have any weight.

It’s stupid how easy this feels. How natural. Max isn’t used to easy anymore.

Daniel, bless him, is soaking it all in.

“So?” he says, giving Max a teasing nudge. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, or do I have to guess?”

“I was getting there,” Max grumbles, shooting him a half-hearted glare before looking at you. For a moment, he falters. He doesn’t know what to call you. Acquaintance feels too cold. Stranger would be a lie. And friend? That feels like stepping too far into a past he’s not sure he’s ready to face.

“An old friend,” you offer, saving him effortlessly, like you always did. “And you must be the famous Daniel Ricciardo.”

Daniel grins, full of boyish charm. “Guilty as charged,” he says, tipping his beer in a mock toast. “And let me just say, I already like you. Great taste in insults.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Ricciardo,” you say, though your smirk says otherwise.

The three of you fall into an almost absurdly natural rhythm, as though you’ve all been doing this for years. Daniel’s effortless charisma bounces off your sharp wit, and Max finds himself smiling more in five minutes than he has in weeks.

Maybe months.

It’s like the weight on his shoulders has lifted, just for a moment, and he can breathe again.

You’re mid-story when he realizes he hasn’t felt this light in ages.

“So there I was,” you’re saying to Daniel, gesturing dramatically, “dragging Max out of his hotel room because he was refusing to face the world after a bad race.”

“I wasn’t refusing to face the world,” Max interjects, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

You give him a look that could level a building. “You were lying on the floor eating Haribo like it was your last meal,” you say, deadpan. “It was tragic. Genuinely tragic.”

Daniel’s cackling now, nearly spilling his beer. “Please tell me there are photos of this.”

“Sadly, no,” you reply with mock disappointment. “But the image is burned into my brain forever. It was that bad.”

Max groans, shaking his head, though the grin tugging at his lips is impossible to hide. “Why did I ever let you into my life?”

“Because no one else could handle you,” you fire back, and it’s so quick, so natural, it makes his chest ache.

Daniel takes a step back, still laughing. “You two are too much,” he says, pointing at the two of you like you’ve just performed a comedy sketch. “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t get too emotional without me, okay? I’m going to find another beer. Or maybe a Vespa to steal. Who knows?”

You watch him disappear into the crowd, still grinning. For a moment, the two of you are left standing there, and the noise of the party seems to fade just slightly.

“Daniel’s fun,” you say, breaking the silence.

“He is,” Max agrees.

When the music starts bumping up again, the two of you are faced with a whole other problem entirely.

“So, you’ve been busy!” you yell, leaning across the sticky bar top, your voice barely cutting through the bass thumping around you.

“What?” Max shouts back, leaning closer.

“I SAID, YOU’VE BEEN BUSY!”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHY I’M SHOUTING!”

“WHAT?”

You throw your hands up in exasperation, but he just smirks, clearly enjoying this.

So you double down.

“DO YOU WANT ANOTHER DRINK?” you bellow, miming holding a glass.

“WHY ARE YOU YELLING ABOUT DRINKS?” he shouts back, baffled.

“BECAUSE IT’S TOO LOUD IN HERE!”

“WHAT?”

This back-and-forth nonsense goes on for an impressively ridiculous three minutes, the two of you getting progressively louder, until Max finally groans, shaking his head like he’s reached his limit.

He steps closer, leans in like he’s about to shout something else, then just presses a warm, steady hand to the small of your back. “Come on,” he says, not even bothering to raise his voice this time.

“What?” you yell, still committed to the bit.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he starts gently steering you toward the stairs, and you stumble a little, caught off guard by the unexpected physical contact.

“Where are we going?” you shout, craning your neck to look at him as you climb.

“UPSTAIRS!”

“WHY?”

“BECAUSE I VALUE MY HEARING!” he fires back, glaring at you over his shoulder.

“OH, NOW YOU CARE ABOUT YOUR HEARING?” you tease, but he ignores you, his hand still firm and insistent on your back as he guides you upstairs.

The VIP section is quieter, tucked away from the pulsating bass and the sweaty chaos of the main club floor. Max had slipped a word to a bouncer—who nodded in a way that made you roll your eyes—and now you’re here, sinking into the plush leather of a semi-circular booth with a ridiculous view of the dance floor below.

The second you step into the VIP area, the relative silence hits you like a warm blanket. You blink, adjusting to the sudden absence of aggressive EDM, and turn to Max, who looks much too smug for your liking.

“Smuggled into VIP like I’m some sort of black-market item,” you tease. “Careful, Verstappen. This is how egos start.”

“You’re welcome,” he says dryly.

“For what?” you shoot back. “The privilege of not getting tinnitus at 27?”

“Yes,” he replies smoothly, sliding into a nearby booth like he owns the place. “You’re lucky to know me.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “My life has improved immeasurably since you dragged me up here. I’ll write a thank-you card.”

“Make sure it’s handwritten,” he quips, signaling a waiter for drinks. “And don’t skimp on the stationery.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, rolling your eyes but you’re smiling, and he knows it.

He chuckles, leaning forward slightly. “Hey, if you’re going to criticize, at least admit this is better than shouting at each other over terrible music.”

You glance around the room, all dark wood and dim lighting, where a few scattered people are having hushed conversations or staring down at the dance floor with an air of superiority. “Alright,” you admit, “it’s not terrible. But the crowd up here…”

You nod toward a guy at the next table wearing sunglasses, inside, and sipping champagne like it’s water. “Is this your scene now? Bottle service bros and indoor eyewear enthusiasts?”

Max glances at the guy, smirking. “Not my scene. But I figured you deserved something better than sticky floors and overpriced tequila shots.”

You laugh. “Wow. I feel so special. Nothing says friendship like a quiet room and a drink I can’t pronounce.”

“Admit it,” he says, leaning back again. “You love it.”

“I love judging it,” you correct, grinning. “Big difference.”

Max watches you for a moment, shaking his head with an almost fond expression. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“And you’ve changed too much,” you shoot back, gesturing at his ridiculously put-together outfit. “Look at you, Verstappen. Fancy haircut, custom clothes, actual social skills. Who are you?”

“First of all, the haircut is functional,” he retorts, mock offended. “Aerodynamics.”

“Oh, of course. Wouldn’t want your hair slowing you down at 300 kph,” you say, pretending to be serious.

“It’s a real thing!” he insists, laughing now. “If you knew anything about racing-”

“If I knew anything about racing?” you interrupt, your voice rising in mock outrage. “Excuse me, I was there when you had to Google how to talk to the media without sounding like a robot. You think I don’t know the intricacies of racing, Maxy?”

“Don’t call me Maxy,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh, I’m definitely calling you Maxy,” you say, delighted. “I might even get a custom T-shirt. ‘Maxy’s Biggest Fan.’ I’ll wear it to a race.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “If you do that, I’ll steal your phone and delete every embarrassing photo you’ve ever taken of me.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have backups,” you say smugly, sipping your drink.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head, but there’s a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

For a moment, the two of you fall into an easy silence, the noise of the club below fading into the background. You glance at Max, noting the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way he’s fiddling with the label on his beer bottle—a habit he’s had for as long as you can remember.

“So,” you say, breaking the quiet, “what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve bought since you became all… you know.”

“All what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You know,” you say, waving a hand vaguely. “World Champion. Multi-millionaire. Guy who smuggles old friends into VIP sections.”

He chuckles. “Ridiculous? I don’t know… probably the private jet.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “The private jet is the least ridiculous thing about you, Verstappen. Try again.”

“Fine,” he says, thinking for a moment. “I bought a sauna for my house. Didn’t use it for six months.”

You burst out laughing. “A sauna? For what? Post-race existential crises?”

He groans, rubbing his temples. “It was a bad idea, okay? I thought it would be relaxing.”

“Did it come with, like, a tiny man who throws water on the rocks for you?” you ask, grinning.

“No, but now I kind of want one,” he admits, laughing.

“God, you’re the worst,” you say, shaking your head, but your tone is full of affection.

“And you’re jealous,” he fires back.

“Of your unused sauna?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m absolutely consumed with envy.”

The two of you dissolve into laughter and the conversation continues.

Next thing you know it’s 3 am and you and Max are stumbling out of the club, too giggly for both of your sakes.

Daniel had hopped on to another place hours ago so it’s just you and him.

The cool night air hits you like a slap, but instead of sobering up, it just makes you giggle harder.

Max freezes mid-stumble, his head lolling back like he’s auditioning for Les Mis on the world’s worst stage. “Why’s the air so aggressive?” he slurs. “Feels like it’s… pushing me. Rude.”

“Why’s the ground so spinny?” you counter, stumbling sideways into him.

“'Cause you’re bad at walking,” he accuses, latching onto your arm like a barnacle while swaying dramatically.

“You’re bad at walking,” you fire back, immediately tripping over a shadow and nearly eating pavement.

“You can’t even walk straight!” Max protests, laughing as he catches you before you faceplant.

His arm slides around your waist, steadying you in the most unsteady way possible.

“You’re the one spinning,” you argue, slurring every other word. “Maaaybe you should ju- just stay still for once in your life.”

“Oh, because you’re the expert,” he fires back, wheezing as you nearly trip again. “Where- where are you even staying at?”

You squint at him, trying to focus. “Uh… good question.”

Max stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at you with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “What do you mean good question? How do you not know?”

“I don’t rememb- ber,” you admit, cackling as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Max groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re just- what? Homeless now?”

“Homeless for the night,” you correct, wagging a finger at him like that somehow makes it better.

Max laughs so hard he has to pause, doubling over slightly. “How- how do you forget where you’re staying?”

“’S not my fault!” you defend yourself, leaning heavily against him. “The hotel has, like… a name! A boring one! And too many floors!”

Max groans so loudly it echoes off the buildings. “Oh my God. You’re homeless now. You’re a wandering drunk with no home.”

“I'm trying a new lifestyle,” you say, grinning. “Like… nomadic, y’know? Spiritual.”

“Yeah, okay, Buddha, let’s find you a real place to sleep before you start befriending rats,” he mutters, dragging you down the street.

“I like rats,” you say cheerfully. “They’re just misunderstood.”

“You’re misunderstood,” Max shoots back. “Come on. You’re crashing at my hotel. I can’t leave you out here to, like, adopt a possum or something.”

“I don’t wanna!” you whine, digging your heels into the ground.

“Tough!” Max barks, throwing his arm around your shoulders to keep you moving. “You’ll thank me in the morning when you’re not spooning a garbage can.”

You groan dramatically, slumping into him. “Maxxyyy, I’m tired. Can’t I just sleep on a bench or something?”

“Nooo. No benches. Benches are gross. You’ll get, like… pigeons on you.”

“Pigeons are my friends,” you declare solemnly, as if this is a hill you’re prepared to die on.

Max shakes his head, clearly trying to stay serious but failing miserably. “Okay, Dr. Dolittle, you’re not sleeping outside.”

You groan again, dragging your feet even as he starts pulling you along.

“Stop whining,” he slurs, swaying as he tries to walk in a straight line. “It’ll be like- like a sleepover! Like when we were five.”

“Sleepovers at five were better,” you mutter. “Less… you.”

“Excuse me?” Max stops, glaring at you like you’ve mortally offended him. “I’m the best sleepover buddy. I let you steal my Haribo once.”

“You hid the Haribo under your pillow!” you counter, poking him in the chest.

“’Cause you’re a thief!” he says, grinning as he pulls you toward the street corner.

“Am not,” you huff, pouting.

“Are too,” he replies, but his tone is teasing as he hails a cab.

When the cab pulls up, it feels like the world is tilted just enough that the ground might collapse under your feet at any moment. You both tumble into the backseat in a fit of giggles, your laughter echoing off the darkened streets.

It’s the kind of laughter that’s born of a little bit too much alcohol and a whole lot of absurdity. You could’ve sworn you heard a streetlight flicker in disbelief at the sound of your shared joy.

“You smell like tequila and poor decisions,” he mutters with a lazy drawl, his words slow but somehow still cutting through the haze of the night.

Max flops dramatically against you as if the very act of sitting upright requires more effort than it’s worth.

His head lands squarely on your shoulder, and for a split second, you’re both tangled in the shared warmth of a really questionable decision.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded, and grins like a kid who just got away with stealing candy.

Max’s eyes widen in mock outrage. “I did not!” He shoots up from your shoulder like you just insulted his very existence, but the motion sends him veering dangerously toward the cab door.

You’re already shaking your head before you even speak, the words spilling out one over the other. “You smell like someone who wore Axe in high school.”

He catches himself at the last second, gripping the seat like it’s a lifeline.

Max is practically in tears from laughing, his snort-laugh echoing off the walls of the cab as he tries to argue that Axe is, in fact, a perfectly fine product, just poorly misunderstood by society.

By the time the cab pulls up to Max’s hotel, you're both deep into a discussion about whether Axe body spray could be classified as a biohazard in certain quantities.

It’s a ridiculous debate, fueled by far too much tequila and a complete disregard for logic, but it’s the most fun either of you have had in ages.

The cab screeches to a halt, and Max stumbles out first, holding the door open for you with the kind of exaggerated flair you’d expect from someone who probably practices his dramatic entrances in front of a mirror.

As he pays the driver, his wallet slips from his hands not once, but twice, and he’s already apologizing profusely, his face flushed from the alcohol and his own clumsiness.

Finally, he gets the wallet sorted, tucks it back in his pocket, and reaches down to drag you out of the cab like you’re a piece of luggage.

You’re both barely standing, teetering back and forth on your feet as if gravity itself is conspiring to make the night even more ridiculous.

“Your palace has really ugly carpet,” you mutter, laughing as you trip over the offending fabric, your feet not quite able to keep up with your brain’s idea of where they should go.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Max says, throwing his arm out grandly to gesture toward the hotel lobby like he’s unveiling the Louvre.

The marble floors, polished to a shine, the sleek, understated furniture… none of it compares to the visual assault that is the ugly carpet underfoot.

Max snorts, his hand steadying you as you almost face-plant into a particularly gaudy potted plant. “You’re banned from the palace,” he retorts, giving you a playful shove.

You recover, and together, you stagger toward the elevator, which, for some reason, feels like an obstacle course in itself.

The elevator doors open with a dramatic ding, and Max promptly starts jabbing the wrong floor button in a series of random, very confident moves.

Each one is a miss, but he keeps at it, as if this were somehow part of the plan.

Max grumbles under his breath but finally, miraculously, hits the correct floor button. He turns to you with an exaggerated wink. “See? I told you. Genius.”

You lean against the wall, your body shaking with laughter as you struggle to breathe through the giggles.

“This is why they don’t let you operate machinery,” you manage to gasp, watching him fumble with the buttons in disbelief.

You raise an eyebrow, patting him on the head condescendingly. “Sure you are, buddy. A true mastermind.”

When the doors finally open, you both stumble out, holding on to each other uselessly.

The elevator ride is a blur of jokes and half-baked insults as you both fight to keep your composure.

Max leans against the wall with a smug look, clearly reveling in his victory over the elevator button.

“Jesus. You okay there, Einstein?” you tease, leaning casually against the wall and watching him drop the card once more. You can’t help but laugh.

At the door to his room, Max proceeds to fumble with his key card in a way that can only be described as tragically incompetent.

The key card slips from his fingers twice, and each time, he lets out a string of expletives in a garble of Dutch and English.

“Shut up,” he mutters, his voice already tinged with frustration. “Technology’s hard.”

“This bed is softer than my hopes and dreams,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the comforter as you stretch out like a starfish.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door swings open, and Max stumbles inside with the grace of a rhino on roller skates.

He turns to face you with a theatrical sigh. “There. I did it. Happy now?”

You’re already halfway to the bed, your shoes flying off in opposite directions, one ending up by the dresser and the other getting lodged under a chair.

With a dramatic thud, you collapse onto the bed, your body sinking into the soft, luxurious comfort like it was the only thing holding you together.

“Nope,” you reply, barely lifting a finger to indicate where his side is. “Your side’s over there,” you say, pointing vaguely toward the edge of the bed, but it’s clear from the way your eyes are barely staying open that you’re not in any shape to play the “bedroom politics” game.

Max, predictably, flops down beside you with the subtlety of a sack of bricks, his arms and legs sprawling out in every direction.

“Move over,” he grumbles, his face smooshed into the pillow.

“Too bad,” Max grunts, grabbing your pillow from beneath your head and smushing it over his face. “This is a dictatorship, and I’m the dictator.”

For a brief moment, it feels like nothing’s changed at all.

“Goodnight, Haribo hoarder,” you slur, your words trailing off into nothing as sleep drags you under.

The last thing you hear before you fully fade into unconsciousness is Max’s muffled laugh, and you can’t help but smile.

—-

Max stretches, or at least tries to. His arms flail in an uncoordinated spasm, which results in a series of awkward grunts and a pop from his back that sounds like a joint trying to jump ship.

Max’s eyes snap open, and for a second, everything is blurry.

He blinks a few times, the weight of his eyelids making it feel like he’s wading through molasses.

A dull ache sits in the back of his skull, a reminder of the questionable choices he made the night before.

He groans, dry, scratchy, the kind of noise that only belongs to mornings where you regret both your life decisions and your snack choices.

He’s still in his room. So far, so good.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary... except for that persistent feeling in the air that something is off.

For a second, he considers staying perfectly still, hoping his body will remember how to function like a normal human.

But then—

There’s something warm beside him. Something... alive.

Max freezes, eyes snapping wide open. His breath catches in his throat as he tries to process what’s happening. The warmth next to him isn’t the soft comfort of a pillow.

It’s... a person.

A person in his bed.

What the actual hell?

His brain goes into overdrive, trying to make sense of the situation. His mind races through a thousand thoughts in a second, each one more ridiculous than the last.

Did he... did he end up getting a stranger drunk last night? Did someone break into his room to cuddle with him?

Max’s eyes dart to his left, and it hits him like a freight train.

The person is you.

You, sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, your hair tousled and your face peaceful, completely unaware of his mounting panic.

“I need to call Daniel..”

For a moment, Max just stares, brain failing to catch up.

How did this happen? His head starts swimming. His mouth goes dry. His first thought is that he’s dreaming..except, no.

This is far too real. He’s not that lucky.

[lockefanfic]

Last Chance

“Come over?”

You knew what the message meant, what she was asking for. What else could she mean, sending you that text at near midnight on a Friday night? 

The night air is crisp as you leave your friend’s apartment, where his yearly Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Years party was raging. It seemed to only get colder as you stood on the sidewalk waiting for your ride, and the Uber driver’s seeming reluctance to crank up the heat in his car meant that the ride across town to her apartment was almost equally as chilly. 

Her building was a lot warmer, thankfully, and when she opens the door and greets you with a smile she gives you all the warmth you need.

“Come in,” Chou Tzuyu says with a small wave of her hand and nod of her head. “Drink?”

“I’ve had plenty at the party,” you admit, “but wouldn’t say no to water.”

“Good choice,” she says with a sly smile, cracking open her fridge to pull out a jug. “Gotta stay hydrated.”

You watch as she pours you a glass, her back turned to you as you enter her small but nicely furnished kitchen. She’s wearing a short, tight t-shirt and what were probably the tiniest pair of green cotton shorts known to man. The fit left much of her midsection and all of her long, shapely legs bare, highlighting the wideness of her hips and the fullness of her thighs. You hadn’t thought it possible, but she almost looked as attractive with the flimsy scraps of cotton on her as she did without them.

She hands you your glass of water, tapping it with her own as you both take sips and step into her living room. 

“Had a real shitty week,” she says, unprompted, as though she somehow felt the need to justify calling you over on a Friday night, felt the need to justify what the both of you were about to do. “Kind of need to blow off some steam.”

“Fair enough. Work again?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh under her breath, leaning against the arm of her couch, where you join her. “Big project due next week that’s kept me at the office most nights. And…”

“And?”

“There’s this guy.”

You sigh, inwardly, hiding your reaction behind another sip of water. You feel a sting somewhere in the depths of your heart, one you do your best to keep hidden behind the barrier of nonchalance that you’d worked hard to maintain with her.

“Oh?” you manage.

“Co-worker,” she says, softly, after another sip. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘don’t date co-workers.’ But I’m pretty sure he’s into me, y’know? And I’ve been into him since, well, forever ago. But I’m so frustrated, because he won’t make a fucking move, no matter how many signals I send his way.”

“...and you’re into him?” you ask, even as the words hurt to say.

She fumbles a bit with the glass in her hand, staring down at it as though she were looking for the answer to your question in the transparent liquid that it contained.

“Well, yeah,” she admits. “I know I should really keep it professional, considering how long we’ve been working together and how much I rely on him at work, but… I dunno. I dunno what to make of it, that’s all. I just wish he’d call me or something, get it over with, one way or another. Was kind of hoping he’d ask me out over the holidays, but nothing.”

“Ah,” you admit. “Maybe he’s just not into girls that aren’t hot enough to be invited to  Inbetween-Christmas-And-New-Year’s parties,” you tease. “I wouldn’t be either, to be honest.”

Tzuyu smirks and gives you a playful swat on the arm, the smirk turning into a warm smile. “Thanks for coming over,” she says, softly. “I need this.”

“I mean, I had to leave an above average Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Year’s party because my moderately attractive friend across town needs my dick in her so she can get over some guy at work, but sure, I guess I kinda need it too.”

Tzuyu giggles - a soft, musical sound you never tired of hearing. 

She locks eyes with you for a moment, and in that split second you feel disarmed, as though she sees right through you, right through the humor and sarcasm and other defenses you’d put up to keep her from seeing the real you. You worry, for a moment, that she sees right through your sarcastic, aloof facade you forced yourself to wear lest she see how you really felt about her.

The moment is fleeting, though, and after she takes your glass of water and places it on the coffee table next to hers, the look you find in her eyes is altogether different. There’s hunger there now, and need.

She pulls you to your feet, wraps her arms around your neck, and your heart stops beating for a moment when your lips touch. 

Gentle, soft at first, as it always was, because despite being friends with benefits for a year or so and friends for much longer you both never quite got over that initial awkwardness, those odd, clumsy moments when you both knew what you wanted but weren’t quite sure how to go about initiating the process to get it.

You liked to think it was because you were both hopeless romantics at heart, and something within you both thought that sex without the feelings was beneath you, was something only indulged in by desperate single people who couldn’t get into a relationship to save their lives. Perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to be the one to admit, at least on the outside, that this was just for pleasure, that you were using a friend for an orgasm or two and that was it, end of story, we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

But the feeling quickly fades amidst the feel of another body pressed to yours, and soon the kiss becomes heated. Tongues dance, mouths open, your lips crush against each other. Your hands roam - yours around that tiny waist of hers, hers around your neck, fingers furrowing into the hair at the back of your neck. You pull her against you and her body molds to yours, warm and soft and pliant.

You break the kiss, eager to have more of her, your heart pounding now, so loud you fear she might hear it pounding out of your chest. She gasps as you dive into her neck, her hands weaving further into your hair, nails digging into your scalp. She tilts her head to the side, gives more of herself to you.

“Fuck,” she hisses, between gritted teeth. “Fuck. Need this.”

You devour her neck, finding and fixating on those sensitive spots where you knew she loved to be kissed. Your hands slide up her back and cup her ass and you’re thankful again that she decided to wear such a flimsy outfit that did little to hide the wonders of her body. 

She pulls away for a moment to pull her shirt up and over her head and she’s topless now, her hands working on your own clothes and divesting you of your button-up and t-shirt you wore beneath it. You come together again and the thrill of her soft, warm breasts pressing against your chest takes the breath away from your mouth for a moment, even as she covers your newly breathless lips with a kiss. The stiff peaks of her nipples press against you, tight and needy, sending a shiver up your spine.

You reach down, pick her up with your hands beneath her ass - and she giggles again as you carry her toward her bedroom. Her legs wrap themselves around your waist, her arms around your neck, but she weighs nothing against the need for her that gives you all the strength you need. She’s smiling and laughing and she’s everything you could ever want, right there in your arms.

She’s yours, and she’s not.

You drop her onto her bed, where her landing gives those small, perfect breasts of hers a delightful looking bounce. Your eyes find hers and for a moment, a split second, you’re afraid again - that she can see right through you, find the way you really feel about her beyond the hunger and lust and need. 

Because Chou Tzuyu is perfect - when she’s topless on her bed, lips slightly parted, eyes hooded, yes - but she was also perfect when you met her in your senior-level psychology lecture, perfect when you helped her move into this very apartment, perfect when you went out for dinner after she landed her first big job in her field; the very same one where she’d meet the guy she was apparently so very into, the same guy you most decidedly were not, the same guy you were apparently a substitute for on a lonely Friday night.

You need her - that perfect, tight body, the wide hips and full thighs, the round, perky breasts and the beautiful smile - but in ways beyond the physical. You need her beyond lonely weeknights and 2am weekend hookups. You need her for Sunday mornings at the grocery store where you both plan your lunches for the week, you need her for vacations in Fukuoka and Amsterdam and Vancouver. You need her for random, candid photos on your phone during a coffee date where she believes, ridiculously, that she were anything less than perfect in your eyes.

But she’s not yours - at least, not in the way you would like. She’s half-naked on her bed and you’re between her spread thighs and she’s looking at you like she wants to devour you whole and somehow, someway, that’s not enough. It would never be enough. But it’s all you have. It’s all she can give you.

You bend to kiss her, and being past that clumsy, awkward initial phase, the kiss is heated, passionate. It’s also a short one, because the rest of her body beckoned, and you didn’t possess the patience or self-control to deny yourself what was yours to take. You indulge in the delights of Chou Tzuyu’s body because it’s a distraction from the feelings that you fear might take over if you indulge them, if you let yourself dream about what your life would be like if she weren’t just a friend, weren’t just a Friday night fuck.

You kiss a path down her neck, to her sharp, prominent collarbones, each soft peck eliciting a little gasp or hiss from her lips. When you reach her breasts she’s practically begging, back arched off the mattress, desperate to have your mouth on her. She loved having your hands on her small mounds, your lips locked over her nipples, licking and sucking. Smaller boobs are more sensitive, she’d said once, only half-jokingly, and you never forgot it.

You give her what she wants - what you both want. Your mouth latches on to one breast, lips closing over her tight nipple and sucking, licking, lightly biting.

Tzuyu moans - a long, languid sound of pleasure, her loudest of the night. You never tired of hearing the pleasure leaving her lips in long, wordless drawls. It was like music. It was a song that only she knew the lyrics to, that she performed only for you, and you never tired of hearing it play.

Your mouth and hand swap, your lips latching tightly to her other nipple while you squeeze the other one with an open palm, relishing the feel of the soft flesh beneath your fingers. 

You spend a little longer on her right breast, because you knew it was somehow more sensitive than the other one - just another of those small things you knew about her body that no one else did. Another fact about Chou Tzuyu that belonged just to you, that you held tight against your chest and treasured greedily. You loved knowing that you knew things about her body no one else did. 

You loved knowing that you were the only one who knew these dirty, filthy little things about her, and that you were the only man on earth she trusted with them. The thought of sharing that knowledge with another man - or even worse, of losing access to it altogether, having it taken away from you by some random asshole who didn’t know these things, hadn’t worked to learn them - made you feel something dark and upsetting, something between fear and anger.

Tzuyu is a moaning and sighing mess now, her legs wrapped around your lower back, her own back arching up and off the mattress in an attempt to offer more of her body to you. Her nails dig little spikes of pain into your scalp with each suckle you draw from her nipple. Her thighs part even further and you feel the warmth between them pressing against your belly, even through the green shorts riding up her hips. She moans and writhes beneath you and if you’d spent the rest of the night with her breasts in your mouth and under your palms you would’ve been satisfied with that alone.

But she has other ideas - wants more, craves more. The fingers she’s woven into your hair push you downward. You release her stiffened nipple from between your lips with a pop, gazing up momentarily to find her looking back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, a sigh on her lips. Their corners perk up in a barely noticeable, shy little smile.

Her tongue darts out, moistens her full pink lips, and you catch the unspoken request.

You bend your head again, returning your lips to her skin, starting a trail down her flat stomach, taking care to press a soft kiss on that cute belly button of hers. You open your eyes to watch her abs flex with every movement, delighting in the sight and feel of the tight muscle beneath the perfect, creamy skin. Hers was a body she’d spent many long hours in the gym and pilates studio for, and you were more than happy to make sure she knew how worth it it all was.

You reach her shorts, eventually - the flimsy strip of soft green cotton that was just barely enough to provide her with some measure of modesty. You take a moment to admire the way they sat on her hips, the way her full, flushed thighs look spread beneath them. She squirms under your gaze, her hips searching for friction, begging you to get them off her.

Your patience outlasts hers, because she’s the one to reach for the buttons keeping the shorts closed. You consider stopping her and undoing the buttons yourself, but there is a part of you that needs to see her undress herself for you, needs to watch her reveal her most intimate parts to you and you alone.

Thin, dainty fingers make quick work of the button, and she raises her hips, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and pulling them off her hips. You make way as she pulls the shorts off the long, endless length of her legs. She tosses them aside, over the side of the bed, where for all intents and purposes they cease to exist.

Her thighs remain tight together for a moment, only a few moments - and in those seconds her eyes are locked on yours, capturing and holding every ounce of your attention. Her thighs part, her legs spread and allow you back between them, but your eyes hold her gaze regardless. Her eyes tell you she wants you to relish the way she looks, naked and vulnerable, her body spread and laid out for you to take, to make yours for the rest of the night.

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you mumble, unable to really say anything more than her name.

She smirks, those wonderful lips of hers curling into a smile. Without further word she grasps your skull with her palms and gently pushes you down towards her waiting pussy.

Her cunt is beautiful, like the rest of her - flushed and pink and glistening in the soft light of her bedroom, the insides of her thighs already moist with her juices. You bend down and give her a long, slow lick from the base of her opening to the top. The taste of her floods your palette just as the sound of the gasp that leaves her lungs fills your ears - a sound that is quickly muffled by the closing of her warm, moist thighs around your cheeks and face.

You do it again, give her another lick from bottom to top, then a third. You swirl her juices around on your tongue, relishing the taste of her. She’s squirming now, writhing, waiting for you to really commit to pleasuring her, her back arching and her nails digging more incessantly into your scalp.

You take a glance up at her - a viewpoint that you were truly blessed to bear witness to - past the flat planes of her stomach, between her heaving breasts, and finally to her face, flushed and pink, lower lip tucked under teeth, eyes fixed on you. She does it again - communicates her need without words, telling you, begging you, to give her the pleasure she so desperately needed. 

And so you do, bending and closing your lips around the tender bud of her clit, your tongue darting out softly, gently, avoiding the sensitive nub and instead licking around it, tracing soft, slow circles around it, just the way you knew she liked. 

The wordless song that has been leaving her mouth all night hits a higher tone, another octave as you work her over with your tongue. Everything intensifies for Tzuyu - the pleasure coursing up her spine, the wetness between her legs, the volume of the moans leaving her mouth. Her head falls back, eyes shutting, mouth now permanently ajar.

It intensifies for you, too - the pinpricks of irritation her nails are digging into your scalp become painful nails, the wet warmth of her thighs closes ever more around your cheeks, and the slick wetness of her cunt increases, making your lips and chin slick. You continue to swirl your tongue around the tender flesh surrounding her clit, neither increasing nor decreasing in pace - simply maintaining your current one, knowing from experience what made her body work, what would give her the most pleasure.

Tzuyu becomes a mewling, quivering mess beneath your tongue. The moans and profanities leaving her lips continue unabated. She forces herself every now and then to open her eyes, glance down at the top of your head nestled between her spread legs, the mere sight of you there, in her most intimate area with your lips around her clit, enough to send yet another spike of pleasure up her spine and into her addled brain. 

“God, fuck, that feels so good,” she manages to gasp, her brain barely able to form recognizable words out of the stream of sounds leaving her mouth. “Fuck, keep going.”

You knew where exactly where she was, what level of pleasure she was experiencing - knowledge that was the product of many a night doing exactly this, pleasuring her just the way you were now. You knew that she was right there, dangling on the precipice, and that she needed just that one last nudge, one last push.

You slip your right hand from where it was wrapped around her thigh, sliding it beneath her, bringing your fingertips to her drenched opening. She gasps as she feels your fingertips at her thus far neglected entrance, knowing what it means, knowing what is about to come. You can almost feel her pussy writhe and ripple around your fingers, now a knuckle deep, urging you, begging you deeper.

“Please,” she gasps, and you oblige. You slide your index and middle fingers inside her, palm up, and the effect on her body is immediate. Her moans cut out, her entire body goes rigid for a moment, as though shocked by lightning. The silence left by the cessation of her moans leaves only the sound of her body writhing on the bed to fill your ears, along with the wet slickness of your fingers moving inside her.

Throughout it all your tongue is swirling around her clit, merciless, unwavering in its pace and depth and pressure. Your fingers are ones pushing her, upping stakes, sliding slowly deeper inside her slickness, curling upward, searching, finding, then teasing.

It takes only a few seconds of your fingertips grazing that most sensitive part of her before Tzuyu orgasms, taking herself by surprise almost as it did you. Her world explodes, her body goes stiff, her eyes shut and for a few wonderful moments all she sees is stars.

You almost have to fight to hold her down with your free hand flat on her tense belly lest your mouth lose contact with her spasming cunt. You fight to keep your tongue and fingers moving, if at a slightly slower pace, letting her ride it out, letting her feel and relish every second of the pleasure coursing its way through every fibre of her being. She’s quiet through it all, mouth frozen in a silent scream, which was rare - she was usually one to announce and talk through her pleasure, but here she was, rendered unable to even moan.

“Fucking hell,” she spits, sometime later when she is able to form words again. Her body is suddenly boneless and sinking into the mattress, utterly drained. Her thighs finally loosen around your head, much to your chagrin, because you’d grown fond of the sticky warmth you’d found between them.

She pulls your face up toward her, and you delight in the tour you’re given of her breathless, sweaty body beneath you as you crawl up the bed until you’re face-to-face. When you reach her lips she captures yours in a tight, passionate kiss, her tongue finding yours and tasting herself on its surface.

“I need you now,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours. You need her too. You always have, truth be told, but perhaps not in the same ways that she needed you. You want to say something, lying here, inches from her face, her eyes needy and vulnerable. But the words never come. The moment passes.

Before you can react any further her hands slide from your head to your shoulders, where she gives you a gentle push onto your back on the bed. She rolls atop you, straddling your hips.

There’s a coy smile on her lips as she undoes the belt at your waist before undoing the button and fly of your jeans and pulling them down your hips. She lets out a soft giggle as you raise your hips and pull the clothes off your legs as though they were on fire. This is all a game to her, a release, a fun, if momentary, distraction. The realization of that stings a little, somewhere deep inside you, where she can’t see the hurt she’s caused to you.

When you’re finally as naked as she is, she straddles you again. Your eyes find hers, as they always did, drawn to them, magnetically, as though you could always find what you needed in them. The small moment of levity and amusement she gained from watching you desperately undress disappears, replaced again by need and desire. 

Her tongue slips out between her lips when she gazes down and sees your cock, hard and aching. Her hand reaches out to grasp it and you feel the air rush out of your lungs at this first intimate contact. She brings your tip to her entrance, dragging the head up and down through her lips, lathering it with her slick juices.

You want to say something, want to tell her how utterly captivating she looks on your lap, your cock at her entrance; you want to tell her how much you wish you were about to fuck your girlfriend or your wife and not just a friend; you want to tell her how the very thought of another man being where you are, right now, upsets you more than you had any right to be.

The moment passes - again. You slide inside her, and suddenly words don’t exist any more.

The sight of Chou Tzuyu impaled hilt-deep on your cock is like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, like nothing else you ever will. She’s feminine perfection, right here, on you, wrapped around you. 

Her head is tilted back, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes shut, brow furrowed, as though deep in concentration. Her breasts are perfect and round and her nipples taut. Her abs flex - defined, toned. And her thighs - perfect, full, flushed. She’s more than you can take. She’s more than you can keep.

It’s a feeling that is only intensified when she begins to move, begins to use those strong, firm thighs and hips of hers to move herself up and down your cock, slowly, with soft, measured movements. She lets herself get used to you, get used to that delicious stretch of you inside her. It’s painful, in a way, how slowly she’s moving - it takes more self-control than you’d care to admit not to just hold her hips down and piston into the wonderful slickness of her cunt.

But hurting her was the last thing you wanted. If only she’d known how much she was hurting you. You wonder if she would stop if she knew. You wonder if she would even care.

Eventually she ups her pace as her body molds itself around you. She’s beginning to sigh and gasp now, mostly on the downstroke as your cock slides inside her, spreading her apart and stretching her out, sending shocks of pleasure throughout both your bodies with each entry. Your hands are firm on her hips, resisting for now the temptation to reach up and play with her softly bouncing breasts, or pull her back down onto your cock with more force. You’re content, feeling her, watching her take her pleasure from you.

Watching her use you.

Tzuyu feels your eyes on her, roaming her body, drinking in the sight of her. One hand reaches up to her breasts, capturing one, teasing the taut nipple for a moment with long, dainty fingertips, giving you a show. Eventually she brings both her hands to her scalp, gathering her hair, pulling it above her head and holding it there. She’s a vision, then and there - her hands above her head, back arching, breasts bouncing wildly as she continues to ride you.

“Jesus, Tzuyu,” you spit, the profanities tumbling from your mouth before you even knew you were speaking them. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

She lets her hair fall from the top of her head in a chocolate waterfall. Her hands cup her own breasts, fingertips playing with her aching nipples.

“You like me like this, baby?” she hisses, a question she knows the answer to. “You like me like this, bouncing on your cock, all tight and wet for you?”

“Fuck, yes, Tzuyu, fuck.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, before her lower lip curls under a perfect white tooth. She lets something deep and guttural escape her throat behind her bitten lip.

She bends over you, hands on either side of your head, hair framing a face twisted in pleasure.

She ups her pace, riding you fiercely now, hips slamming down onto yours at a pace that is almost violent. Your hands grasp her thighs, fingers clawing into the soft flesh, feeling the muscles beneath them work to throw their owner against you over and over and over.

“Fuck me,” she snaps, and you oblige.

You thrust upward to meet her, timing each movement of your hips to match with the downstroke of hers, and soon you are slamming your bodies against each other at a merciless pace.

Tzuyu shrieks - loud, sharp. She swears and spits and she’s becoming a loud, mewling mess atop you, but throughout it all she manages to keep riding you, keep bouncing that perfect body of hers atop your cock. Her cunt pulsates, squeezes you like a velvet glove. She’s so wet, leaking with so much arousal, that every slamming of your hips against each other is muffled by the wet stickiness that has coated much of your lower bodies.

“Oh god, oh god, I-” she begins, each word punctuated with a thrust of your cock into her cunt. “Oh fuck, I, so good-”

You watch her, watch that perfect face of hers twist in pleasure, watch as that perfect body of hers takes your cock. Your brow furrows and your hips burn with the effort but you feel none of the fatigue, none of the weariness of the physical effort. All that matters is her pleasure. All that matters is making sure she-

“Cumming-” she hisses, just barely before she does. 

Her eyes shut, body stiffens, just as it did when she came on your mouth - and her cunt tightens wonderfully around your cock, pulsating, squeezing. You bury yourself inside her to the hilt, wanting to feel every second of her orgasming around you. You can feel the shocks of pleasure radiating from her, reaching her limbs, flooding her brain with sensation. 

When she remembers to breathe she lets out a long, drawn out breath. Her arms, shaky, finally give way and she collapses atop you, head next to yours. For a few long seconds she does nothing but breathe heavily against you, the gasps and sighs that leave her mouth loud against your ear. Your hands roam her sweat-slick back, fingertips tracing a path down her spine and pulling a soft sigh from her tired lips.

“God,” she says into your ear. “Fuck, that was so good, baby.”

You loved and hated when she called you that. It was a pet name for lovers - and she only used it during sex. She only ever called you by your first name anywhere outside the bedroom. Another reminder of the boundaries. Of the limits.

“You feel amazing, Tzuyu,” you say, truthfully. Her cunt is still pulsating softly around your painfully stiff cock as the last waves of her orgasm leave her body. The warm slickness of her around you made a pleasant distraction from your emotions. Pleasant, but not easy.

You feel her lips curl into that sly smile of hers again against your cheek. She plants a few kisses under your ear, tracing a path along your jaw, until she finds your lips. Her hips begin to move again, side to side - not taking you in and out of her body, but just moving you around, swirling your stiffness inside her.

“Your turn, baby,” she whispers, half-lidded eyes locked on yours. “How do you want to cum in me?”

You’d had her in every position imaginable over the time you’ve been fuck buddies. But you always enjoyed one of them more than the others.

“Want you from behind-” you begin. “-Tzu.” you finish, resisting the temptation to call her ‘baby.’ Some small, bitter part of you felt she didn’t deserve to be called that, not if she was going to tease you, hurt you with its use, make a weapon out of it that she wielded carelessly, inconsiderately.

Thankfully, she doesn’t notice your momentary hesitation - maybe she was still recovering from the high of her orgasm, or maybe she was too focused on gyrating her hips around the stiffness still hilt-deep inside her.

“Alright, baby,” she says, again, the word stinging even if it was laced with the sweet honey of her voice. The smile on her lips is proof of how oblivious she is to the damage she wreaks with each wreckless use of it. 

You didn’t blame her. How could you? How could you expect someone to know what you felt internally when you continually denied it externally?

You’d promised each other, when you first started this little arrangement, that you’d put an end to it if either of you found yourselves with anything even remotely resembling feelings for the other. But how could you end it, when you’re in her bed and you’re both naked and she’s wet and ready and on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at you, slick pink lips opening to say-

“Come take me, then.”

A stronger man would have ended this a long time ago. You were not that man, not today. You doubted there were many men in the world with that level of strength.

You bring yourself behind her, admiring the sight of her - perfect, as she always was, perfect in every sense of the world. She’s creamy skin and a tiny waist and those hips and thighs, my god, those hips and thighs. She’s there and wet and ready and wanting and who could say no?

You bring your tip to her opening, parting her lips with your head, swirling it, swiping it up and down her slick flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure into both of your bodies. She sighs and her back arches delightfully, the dip of her spine sharp and prominent in the low light of her bedroom. She mewls and sighs, her hips pushing back against you, needy, wanting.

“Fuck, baby, come on,” she sighs, she begs. 

You loved her voice, soft and light, like silk spun into air - but you loved it most when it was begging, needy.

Her hips continue to push against you, the round cheeks of her ass pressing against you, trying to pull you inside her herself. “Please,” she continues, airy and breathless. “Put it in me. Don’t you want my pussy? Don’t you want me?”

You did. You wanted her, but in more ways than this. Chou Tzuyu is on her hands and knees in front of you and she’s dripping wet and begging and somehow it’s not enough.

One of her hands slides down her body, and her fingertips part the slick lips of her pussy. She’s glistening and pink and pure distilled need, right there, right here, ready for you to take. 

And she doesn’t give a damn about your feelings, is blissfully oblivious to everything but the emptiness between her legs. All she wants is a fuck. That’s it. That’s all you are. You’re everything and nothing, all at once.

“Look how empty I am without you inside me, baby. Come fill me up.”

You slide inside her - how could you not, after hearing that? She’s so tight and hot and wet, and you forget, momentarily, everything other than the feel of her cunt wrapped around you.

You fuck her - hard, firm, your pace fuelled more than you would care to admit by a darkness inside you that you weren’t proud to admit to. Jealousy, of some man you’d never met, some man who made her feel like you never could? Anger, at her, for not seeing how you felt about her, how amazing you could be together?

Whatever it was, it was ugly and came from a dark place, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it. But you fuck Chou Tzuyu with it running through your veins - fast, hard. And she sighs and moans and thinks you’re just especially turned on today, want a harder fuck than usual. She doesn’t know any better. Doesn’t know that you’re using her body the way you are, as an outlet for your frustration and anger as much as an outlet for your pleasure.

You reach forward, running your fingers through her hair with a surprising gentleness, even as your cock hammers in and out of her body, rocking it, pounding her.

Then your fingers close, pull. She yelps, gasps.

Her spine arcs sharply backward as you pull backward on her hair. You use her hair like a leash, pulling back as you thrust forward. Tzuyu can do nothing but take it, her body given to you fully. The spasming and quivering of her cunt around you is evidence of her acceptance, her submission. 

Your hips slap wetly against her ass with each hard thrust you make into her tight, slick pussy. The bedroom fills with it - flesh hitting flesh, wordless sighs and moans that turn into begging, profanity, name calling - the lewd soundtrack of sex.

“Fuck, fuck,” Tzuyu manages, “You’re so fucking deep, fuck, more, fuck me more-”

You shut her up. The hand pulling her hair wraps around her scalp, pushes her face down onto the bed. You pin her down, your palm flat against the back of her neck and upper shoulders. Throughout it all you are fucking her, using her, just as she uses you, even if it’s for different reasons, with entirely different depths of emotion.

Her mouth muffled against the bed, she’s unable to say or do much more. And you prefer her this way, because every word she says - even the ones that spur you into fucking her harder, faster, deeper - will only make it harder to leave her when you’re done.

Not that you needed much motivation to fuck her the way she liked - hard, deep, but not wild or uncontrolled. You maintain your pace, enjoying the way her cunt squeezed and tightened rhythmically around you. Tzuyu knew how to communicate with her body, knew how to tell you exactly what she wanted without words.

You watch her beneath you, relished the sight of her helpless and unable to do much of anything but take your cock again and again. Her moans and sighs are muffled by the cotton of her bedsheets, but you heard enough of them to tell you you were hitting just the right spots inside her. She’s under you and she’s yours and you do your best to stay in the moment, enjoy the feeling of her wrapped around you.

You feel that feeling in your core, the telltale building of pleasure in your gut that heralds your impending orgasm, tells you to fuck her harder and deeper and bury your cum inside her. She must have felt it too, somehow, in the slightly more erratic rhythm of your thrusts, or the tighter grip of your palm against the back of her neck.

Tzuyu turns her head enough to clear her mouth of the bedsheets, despite your palm on the back of her neck.

“Fucking cum in me,” she hisses, “Please cum inside me. Make me yours.”

The perfect words, on any other night - but on this night they only hurt you. 

Because she isn’t yours, might never be. Tomorrow, she might be another man’s. Even as you thrust harder and harder and your orgasm comes closer and closer all you can think of is how empty this feels, how even if she’s under you and taking your cum she’s not what you want her to be, what you need her to be.

But for a moment, a fleeting, blissful moment, you forget all that. Your hand leaves the back of her neck to join the other one at her hips, pulling her hips back against yours as you crest your peak, burying yourself inside her and letting go.

She moans as she feels you pulse inside her, each movement of your cock signifying another rope of warm, thick cum that fills her thirsty, needy little cunt. You give her a few more short, sharp thrusts before you bury yourself inside her for the last time. She’s so fucking full of you that your juices begin to overflow from her stuffed pussy, around the lips still tightly wrapped around your shaft, down your balls and her flushed thighs.

Time freezes, becomes irrelevant, and for a few blessed minutes you forget everything about the way you feel about Chou Tzuyu.

When your senses return and your brain has recovered long enough to process thought, the first thing you’re aware of is her voice.

“Fuck,” she’s saying, “God, that was… god.” And then she’s saying your name, and it makes you wince, as though hearing her say it caused you pain. 

You slip out of her, and she winces herself - although hers is borne of the emptiness you’ve left inside her and not out of any deeper emotion. She makes no effort to get off her hands and knees, staying frozen there, her ass in the air like some lewd testament to the sinful acts you’ve just committed. You watch, absent-mindedly, as your cum drips from her well-fucked cunt, down her thighs, staining her bed.

Eventually she falls onto her side, facing you. You’re sitting there, on your knees on the bed, watching her. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy. She’s so perfect, so desirable - and you curse yourself for the millionth time that night that you lacked both the wisdom to find the words to say and the courage to say them.

But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not the guy she wants, not the one she’s waiting for a call from. And that’s when it hits you, dark and ugly and painful - you wonder if she were pretending you were him this whole time, pretending it was his cock fucking her, making her cum, cumming in her, using you like some fucktoy replacement for the real thing.

You turn away from her, as though the very sight of her were somehow painful to you, despite the fogginess of your post-orgasm haze. Before you know it, you’re climbing off the bed, finding your pants on the floor, throwing them on.

“Are you-?” she begins, her words soft as you find your t-shirt and button-up, throwing them on.

“I, uh, I have to get back to the party,” you stammer, hoping she would buy your flimsy excuse for an exit. But you had to leave, had to do anything to get out of that room. The thought of losing her, the thought of this being your last time together - it hurt, it was too much, and every fibre of you screamed to get away from it.

“Oh,” she says, softly. You turn to find that she’s sitting up on the bed now, her arms wrapping around her knees.

“There’s, uh, my friend, he, he introduced me to this girl,” you mumble, fabricating a story, trying to come up with some way to hurt her, just as she’s hurt you. “I told her I’d, uh, get back to the party. She likes me, I think,” you add, the words tasting like ashes in your mouth.

“Right,” she says, surprise and something else in her low voice. Her knees come up closer to her chest. “So, um, hey, about that guy-”

“Good luck with him,” you spit, cutting her off, afraid of what you might hear if you let her continue. “Uh, let me know how it goes.”

There’s a short silence, one that drags on for longer than you’d like. You don’t look up at her, unable to muster the courage to do so. You fumble with your shirt buttons, fingers numb.

“Sure,” she says, finally. “I… I think I’m going to call him tomorrow.”

“Right. I, uh, I should go. I’ll. Uh. I’ll talk to you later,” you say, as you turn towards her bedroom door.

You think you hear her say something, a couple of words.

Your eyes finally look up at her, but she’s looking away. You look for confirmation on her face, but she’s turned away from you, and her expression is unreadable. She suddenly looks small and vulnerable.

“Did- did you say something, Tzuyu?”

“Nothing,” she says, a hand pressed against the side of her face, her eyes shut, as though she were suddenly fighting a headache. But just as quickly it appears, it’s gone, and Tzuyu manages a weak smile, even if there’s no happiness or mirth in her eyes. “It’s nothing. Be safe getting back to the party, okay? And don’t forget your jacket - it’s cold outside. Let me know when you get there.”

“I, I will, Tzuyu,” you say, words shaky, unsure. “See ya.”

You leave her, leave her hot, stifling apartment.

The night is cold.

Author’s Note: High five to you if you guess what she said.

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter three | formula one imagine

chapter three: home away from home

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

back in monaco for the first time after the crash, y/n reckons with ghosts from the past and the uncertain future.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | PART ONE | PART TWO

despite the hefty price tag of the cat carrier, brando looks less than impressed. y/n continued to try and coax him in with a treat but the cat was suspicious to say the least.

“please get in the carrier brando,” she waved the treat in his face again, “we’re going to see max! you love max and you don’t mind kimi, yeah? remember them? we just have a short 16 hour drive because your lordship doesn’t like planes so can we please get in the carrier?”

brando bit into the treat and slowly made his way into the carrier looking sorry for himself. the biggest and final chore was now done with minimal guilt, she would take that. y/n wasn’t moving to monaco - no, she prided herself on being one of the only drivers to not make that jump, but she also didn’t exactly know when she was coming back.

there was less than a month until car launches and tests and max insisted on hosting some team-bonding sessions for her and kimi. it was probably just an excuse to see her before she is ‘tainted by mercedes’, but y/n found herself excited to see the dutchman again.

the suitcases were by the door and the plants had been watered, it was now or never. crossing the boundary of her front door, it dawned on y/n that her life was changing again. there wasn’t quite the excitement she had leading up to her first race in formula one, but she could feel the butterflies threatening to return.

the door clicked shut and the next phase started. in the lobby of her building, y/n approached the front desk.

“hi frank,” y/n said to the concierge, “i’m going away for a little while so could you keep all of my mail together for me?”

the older man smiled up at her. frank had been working at this building since y/n first moved in. he had tried to hide that he was a formula one fan but wasn’t quite successful. he had stuttered when she had turned up one evening, cap low on her head and oversized sunglasses despite the darkness.

“miss y/ln, would you like me to help you with your bags?”

y/n had frozen when frank said her name. frank had taken his hat off, trying to sort out the salt and pepper freckled hair on his head.

“i’m so sorry miss y/ln, that was unprofessional of me. as you now know, i am aware of who you are, i hope this does not make you uncomfortable. we will do anything you need to be comfortable here.”

y/n had also taken off her hat and looked frank in the eye. she deemed him sincere and allowed herself two minutes of respite from her burning anger. “no worries,” she looks down at his name tag, “frank. i would love some help, maybe on a better day i can sign something for you? other than these bags, i’d really love if this being my home was just something we keep between us.”

frank mock saluted and started grabbing bags.

“you won’t be gone forever will you, miss y/ln?” frank asked, pulling y/n back. the older man looked uncharacteristically worried.

“and miss our scintillating conversations? i would never! i assume you’ve heard i’ve taken the job with kimi? i’m going to do some ‘team-bonding’ with him in monaco and then i’ll be back”

frank took one of her suitcases, helping her to the garage.

“monaco you say? you wouldn’t be staying with the handsome dutchman by any chance,” frank said, raising an eyebrow in question.

“i might be?” y/n opened the door of her pink cadillac, “was it you who let him and kimi up without my permission, frank?”

“guilty as charged ma’am, but they were there with good purpose so i just had to”

frank continued loading the car with her suitcases, opening the back door and securing brando’s carrier in place.

“he also gave me a signed pair of race gloves, sorry!”

y/n exclaimed as she shut the door of the car. “i knew he was bribing you! but yes, i guess i am glad you let them up - for now.”

frank pulled y/n in for a hug. she let it linger before clearing her throat and pulling back.

“i know i’m just an old man, but it’s nice to see you excited about something again. you came to me three years ago a broken girl with a constant face like thunder,” frank pinched her cheek, “but here you are, ready to conquer the world again. i am proud of you. but don’t get too lost in your new role to not see what’s right in front of you.”

y/n was confused. frank continued, “the crash took a lot from you, but it did not make you unloveable. give people a chance.”

the older man stepped back and gave her a wave.

“make sure you make enough stops and get some sleep, it’s a long drive to monaco. say hi to max for me.”

frank turned and made his way back into the building. y/n sighed and climbed into her car. the pink cadillac was hardly subtle but she had banished all of her other cars to a different garage three years again so it would simply have to do.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, kimiantonelli and 11,304,788 others

yourusername: sixteen hour road trip ahead of us, i hope brando is ready to get real acquainted with taylor swift's discography

view all comments

user1: she’s so cute

user2: it’s the pink caddy!!!

user3: y/n is back in formula one and is driving the pink cadillac - never kill yourself

charles_leclerc: okay miss active on instagram

yourusername: had to come back and steal all the likes from you obviously

charles_leclerc: oh yes please remind me how you still have double the followers i do when you haven’t posted in three years?

yourusername: idk sounds like you have a skill issue to me

charles_leclerc: sixteen hours and you’re back on my stomping ground… watch it missy

yourusername: i will watch

yourusername: because i know you and you will grovel

charles_leclerc: maybe…

charles_leclerc: i’ve missed you, sue me!

yourusername: i just might!

charles_leclerc: wait-!

user4: all these reunions are making me sappy

user5: i’m stuck on the fact that y/n is driving all the way to monaco?

yourusername: brando doesn’t like flying 😕

user6: oh to be a high maintenance cat of a rich person

maxverstappen1: jimmy and sassy are eagerly awaiting your arrival

yourusername: awwww i’ve missed them

maxverstappen1: i was talking to brando…

yourusername: rightttttt

maxverstappen1: but i am eagerly awaiting your arrival

yourusername: as you should be

maxverstappen1: i stocked up on all your weird english biscuits and everything

yourusername: you’re too precious

user7: oh to have a bond like theirs

user8: i fear it’s a trauma bond

user9: it’s still cute!

kimiantonelli: can’t wait to get started miss y/ln

yourusername: please call me y/n kimi you’re making me feel so old

kimiantonelli: oki

kimiantonelli: miss y/ln what kind of pasta do you like

kimiantonelli: *y/n what kind of pasta do you like

olliebearman: you are such a failure omg

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the road was quiet, with taylor swift’s voice filling the silence. y/n had exhausted the conversation with brando, who was tuckered out in the backseat. by now the pair we deep into france, y/n had stopped being able to translate the road signs many miles ago.

the thought of returning to monaco was daunting. there would be ghosts around every corner and memories that y/n wasn’t sure she was ready to confront. y/n wasn’t even sure which drivers even lived in the principality any more - however, she knew that her former teammate did.

lando norris was a bit of an enigma in y/n’s life. there were early growing pains in their friendship? work relationship? but as the 2021 season rolled around, she thought they had finally been ironed out. the gap was slim, but lando had outscored her in 2020, so his ego was still intact and that made him a little more enjoyable to be around.

y/n wasn’t sure who or what had pushed lando over the edge of accepting her as a teammate and not just a mere annoyance, but january 2021 was night and day from her rookie season. y/n had a sneaking suspicion that lando had been subject of some heated PR meetings over the christmas break, but as long as she wasn’t in them, she didn’t really care.

suddenly there was a shift in the atmosphere. lando spoke to her outside of meetings, in between video takes and checked in over the breaks. suddenly lando knew the name of her friends, where she had gone on holiday and her favourite food. y/n didn’t think much of it at the time. but then came everything else.

july 2021.

y/n didn’t tend to spend long on social media, why open herself up to the opinions of stupid people just because they were loud? one morning, a sunny one in monaco, y/n received a flurry of texts from her trainer luca. ripped from her yoga session on max’s balcony, y/n checked her texts.

luca: is there other strenuous activities i need to be aware of?

luca: tiktok.com/userlandonorris/reposts

luca: if this is a thing, should jon and i coordinate training plans?

huh?

y/n clicked the link and was taken to lando’s tiktok page. she felt like an old woman trying to navigate the app but finally found the reposts. the first few she saw were edits of herself? and then a couple talking about “finally being understood by that person” and some other more charged in nature.

what the fuck. there wasn’t a normal day in this team it seemed. y/n pulled back the door and went to find max. the dutchman was tucked into bed, still sore from silverstone just two weeks earlier.

“have you seen this shit?” y/n said, shoving her phone in max’s face, “i mean what does this even mean? 69? i didn’t even know lando could count that high?”

“i think he’s referencing sex, y/n”

“i know he’s referencing sex idiot! why is he referencing having sex with me?!”

“i don’t know, you’re the dumbass who joined that team - he’s probably trying to like get you on side after the shit he pulled in austria and is doing it in classic dumbass lando fashion.”

austria had been eventful. both lando and y/n had somewhat slow starts to the season, with just one podium to their names by the time they pulled up to the red bull ring. the two papaya cars lined up fourth and fifth on the grid, with y/n managing to edge in front of her teammate, which meant the two were subjected to the word teamwork 72 times in a 45 minute meeting (y/n had counted).

when the lights went out, y/n got the jump on the ferrari of sainz ahead of her, wrestling her way past the spaniard and up into third. with cleaner air, max had already wrangled a healthy three second gap back to her and was hunting down lewis, so she focused on keeping the prancing horse behind her. as they approached the steep incline, carlos jerked out to the right and tried his luck up the inside. the spaniard was heavy on his brakes, burning up his tyres as he missed the apex and shunted his front wing into y/n’s front right tyre.

the contact didn’t manage to cause a puncture or any terminal body damage, but the push had made way for carlos, lando and charles to slide past her as she strained to keep her mclaren from going into the gravel trap.

“what the hell was that?” y/n asked down the radio, keeping her eyes focused on charles’ ferrari down the road. “do i have any damage?”

“no damage that we can see. hang back for a couple of laps, the ferraris are eating their tyres and will fall back to you.” jude, her usually cool race engineer, had a bite to his voice.

taking the corner as tight as she could y/n barked back, “surely he has to give that place back? he forced me off the track?!” y/n was practically vibrating, with anger or from the force on her tyres, she wasn’t sure yet. “just keep your head down, we’ll get back to you,” hugo replied.

the ferrari of charles was getting further and further down the road. “hugo their tyres aren’t falling off, can i hunt them down yet? what about this penalty?” it was like talking to a brick wall as the pit wall didn’t reply. y/n bit down the urge to swear up a storm and put her foot down with renewed vigour.

by the next lap y/n had managed to battle her way into charles’ drs and was priming her tyres for a late move further down the track. charles tried to cut off the slip stream and predict which side y/n might choose, but it wasn’t enough as the mclaren breezed past charles before they even hit the apex.

unbeknownst to y/n the silence from hugo was indicative of the larger argument happening on the pit wall. despite putting massive flatspots on his tyres, lando had yet to make his way past sainz’s ferrari. will, lando’s race engineer, was deep in discussion with him over the radio (which would’ve made quite entertaining viewing for y/n after the fact if it didn’t concern her so deeply).

“lando we are confident that sainz will get a penalty. y/n has cleared charles, we need you to back sainz into y/n so she can overtake. when she does we want you to give the position back.”

and if that wasn’t the sentence that summoned the shitstorm.

“why should i give the position back? i did nothing wrong?”

lando kept his foot down and increased the gap between himself and sainz. will’s voice rang out on the radio again,

“lando. sainz pushed y/n off track and you all gained positions, the right thing to do is to give the position back.”

that was a red flag to a raging lando. he let off a spiel that had made the post-race debrief and all media duties torture for the pair of them.

“carlos did nothing wrong and i did nothing wrong. y/n needs to learn we won’t just let her past like schumacher did. tell her to hurry up if she wants this position back, i won’t give her a podium just because she can’t defend.”

there was silence on the mclaren radio for a few moments. there was even silence on the broadcasts. no one quite knew what to say to that.

y/n had closed in on sainz, hundredths away from being in the spaniard’s drs range. her radio finally crackled back to life, “y/n you have full permission to use your tyres, we aim to pit soon. you are free to race with lando.”

excuse me? on one hand y/n was glad, there had been a couple awkward moments already this season where she had been told to hold position and not fight. however, that was her position, lost through no fault of her own?

“i am free to race? he should give me that position!”

“you are free to race. head down and clear sainz before we discuss again.”

this was bullshit. she knew it, hugo knew it, zak brown knew it, the broadcast team knew it and deep down lando knew it too. sainz was an easy pass for y/n in the end as she pipped him on the start finish straight. lando had a three second advantage which meant that y/n had some free air to cool down her tyres and get ready to fight her teammate. she would be clean but she was finishing on that podium whether he liked it or not.

within two laps y/n had completely dropped sainz and was breathing down the neck of lando. she was within his drs range as they rounded the final corner but before she could launch an attack lando swerved into the pit lane. that was an early stop? y/n quietly thought to herself that it seemed all too convenient that he was called into pit just as she was about to catch him… not that it really bothered her all too much, the over cut was more powerful at austria, so if she kept her good pace, she should come back out in front of her teammate.

many laps later and a late pit stop for y/n, the younger mclaren driver proudly picked up her second podium of the season. she hauled herself out of the car in parc ferme and immediately embraced max who had once again managed to win his quasi home race, catching lewis with ten laps to go.

once she had been weighed, y/n made her way to the interviews, glad to see it would be jenson conducting them - he always gave her nice questions.

“up first we have our third place finisher, the incomparable y/n y/ln! what a stint on those mediums, i thought for a second you were going to go all the way on them!” jenson said with a wide grin.

“thank you jenson! yeah… after the first lap i thought my race was pretty screwed… the fia took their time with carlos’ penalty so i had to regain my positions myself… but i think all in all it was a good race i’m glad to being going into my home race on the high of a podium and i’ll be looking to do even better there!”

jenson smiled at her but started to pick at his nails, a telltale sign he was going to have to ask a question he didn’t want to ask. “not to bring you down after a great race, but i must ask, what do you make of lando’s comments on the radio?”

y/n was puzzled, and her face showed that much. she started stuttering and shrugging. one of the production assistants behind jenson passed her a phone and pressed play. y/n held the phone up to her ear and felt the words rush over her.

“carlos did nothing wrong and i did nothing wrong. y/n needs to learn we won’t just let her past like schumacher did. tell her to hurry up if she wants this position back, i won’t give her a podium just because she can’t defend.”

oh. okay. y/n knew she needed to take a couple breaths before she responded or she would say something she would regret. people would probably forget about lando’s comments by next week but if she said something like that she’d be stuck with the brat label for the rest of her career.

“that’s disappointing for sure to hear. third and fourth is a good result for the team and it ended how it should’ve. we’ll discuss this with the team but for right now i’m going to celebrate my podium and drink some champagne!”

jenson gave her a nod to say she did well and beckoned over lewis. y/n walked back to the side of the podium pen and slid in next to max.

“who the fuck does he think he is saying that? i’m being serious, someones got to knock some sense into him,” max said under his breath, aware cameras were still on them.

“i know, it’s bullshit, but i doubt they’ll say anything severe to him.”

just as y/n was making peace with the fact there would be no severe consequences for lando, her and max turned to see the man himself in the media pen. intrigued, both listened in on his interview.

“it sounds bad on the radio, yes. but i stand by the message, maybe not the delivery. this is formula one and y/n needs to know that you can’t just bat your eyelashes and be let by.” lando’s PR handler cuts the interview there and drags him back towards the mclaren garage, barely concealing her anger on her face.

“well, well, well.”

max groaned from under the blanket he had wrapped over his head, snapping y/n out of it.

“yes he was a massive knob in austria, as per usual, but i don’t understand how implying he’s sleeping with me makes it any better? it makes it look so much worse!”

“can you stop bothering me about it i think you just retriggered my concussion.”

“i don’t think that’s a thing, max,” y/n said and then her phone chimed, “speak of the devil, he’s asked if we can go for some lunch to ‘discuss the season’ whatever the fuck that means”

“good leave me alone”

“we’re going to luigi’s do you want me to get you some carpaccio to go?”

“i actually take it back, i love you - yes.”

y/n refilled his water and got his painkillers from the kitchen before she slipped on her shoes and made her way out of the complex. this is what was confusing about lando. he was more than happy to berate her on the radio but then would set up meetings like this like nothing had happened. usually y/n could write it off as a heat of the moment thing - she had once called mick an ‘incompetent cunt with shit hair’ on the radio so she definitely understood it. but it never stopped there, media duties were the death of lando and y/n was interested to see how he aimed to worm his way out of this one.

luigi’s was surprisingly busy for a tuesday afternoon but y/n spotted lando easily with his big jumper in the july heat. lando didn’t stand up to greet her so y/n just sat down as soon as she got to the table.

“do you know what you want to order?” lando snapped the menu shut and looked over to her.

“i’m doing well lando, thanks for asking,” y/n muttered sarcastically, “i’m just going to get some of the salmon, it’s good here.”

the waiter turned up just as she put the menu down and y/n ordered the salmon, a juice and the carpaccio to go. lando had ordered some chicken salad and a water. once the waiter had left he hissed at y/n, “did you order that on purpose?”

“what?”

“the salmon.”

“are you allergic or?”

“no?”

“then what’s the big deal? i like salmon, it’s good for you.”

“i hate fish. everyone knows i hate fish. i invited you here to sort things out and you’re already starting with the mind games.”

y/n’s mouth fell open. he was actually being serious.

“you know not everything is about you right? salmon is in my meal plan and they cook it nicely here. i don’t think about you in everything i do.”

lando huffed, whispering a ‘that i’m sure of’ to himself. this was so childish, and y/n was very to let lando know that. “do you want to repeat yourself lando? or are you going to continue to be a child?”

lando was taken aback, “me being a child? says you! i wanted to talk this out after silverstone like we planned? you were going to come to see my family and everything. they were so excited to meet you, especially my sisters. but no, you let me, let us down!”

y/n actually laughed in disbelief. “i told you i was sorry about silverstone and i was, but max needed me and in that moment he was who i had to be with.”

“it’s always max, isn’t it?”

“he was airlifted to the hospital lando, i’m sure he would’ve preferred me hang out with your family than have to do that again.”

lando had started to rip apart the napkins, a sign he was desperately trying to regulate himself.

“you always choose him! you choose him then, you only stay at his when you’re in monaco - you’re even picking up food for him on our date!”

“our date? are you kidding me? i’m going to ignore that,” y/n took a sip of water,” and for max? i care about him deeply and he was in hospital after a very dangerous crash!”

“then why don’t you care about me? huh?” lando was getting choked up, “you’ve never been there for me when i’ve crashed?”

now y/n was even more confused. lando had wanted her to be there for him when he had crashed but also couldn’t stand to be around her longer than necessary until this season. this boy was such a headfuck.

“you fucking hated me last season lando. and the way you’re acting here and how you acted in austria don’t really tell me that you like me any more.”

lando huffed and crossed his arms like a child. y/n continued, “this is what i don’t get with you. you can’t stand me all last season, literally refusing to call me by my name, only calling me rookie and running from meetings as soon as you can but now, now! i need to be there for your every need. now you can repost dumb tiktoks and fuel rumours about us?”

“they told me we needed to look closer!”

“so you decided to tell the world we’re fucking?”

“i didn’t say that!”

“you basically did, i saw the reposts. and for your information i would never fuck you in a million years.”

“no, that’s for max only isn’t it?”

“what is you people’s fucking obsession with thinking i am sleeping with someone on the grid? is it that inconceivable that i might be able to exist around my fellow drivers without trying to sleep with them?”

“well you should stop acting like you are then!”

y/n stood up abruptly, scraping the chair across the floor. she hastily grabbed her stuff and slotted her sunglasses back.

“you can send me what i owe for the lunch, i don’t feel like sitting here and being berated because you can’t handle this season. you know who actually has something to be stressed about, the guy actually in the title battle, who is in bed still recovering from a crash. so goodbye lando, i’m going to go take care of my friend who actually cares about me and can talk to me without belittling me.”

she sweeped out of the restaurant, the waiter at the entrance saw her coming and passed her the carpaccio. the heat of monaco was sweltering but the drama between her and her teammate was heating up even more.

present.

y/n was still none the wiser about how she felt about lando, even all these years later. something inside of her wanted to reach out to him, reassure him that he was good enough, especially after how 2024 had panned out, but then the memories of their time together at mclaren come flooding back and she feels content with her silence.

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and charles leclerc (italics)

little birdy told me you’re back in monaco

by little birdy i mean your instagram post

omg have you considered a career switch to being a detective?

you’re mean

anyway!

cocktail night at mine tonight

i guess you can bring your losers too

yes that includes ollie before kimi asks

wow that’s a big assumption that i’m going to say yes

drinking on my dime? when have you ever said no?

you have a good point

i’ll be there at 8 - losers in tow

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“we get to go to a cocktail night at charles? oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

kimi squealed down the phone to y/n, “hold on let me tell ollie, we’ve got to get ready!”

y/n could hear him shuffling through their shared flat, “it doesn’t start for another like three hours kimi!”

the two boys had started excitedly discussing outfits and which cocktails are the ‘cool’ ones.

“we’ll swing by yours at 7:45, be ready we won’t wait.”

y/n hung up and turned to max smiling, they were so cute. the two of them had been curled up on the couch with the cats for the majority of the afternoon as y/n was catching up on sleep. the brit turned to max,

“oh i forgot to tell you,” max perked up, “guess who came to my apartment after the GQ thing?”

max shrugged, throwing a toy for jimmy.

“lewis.”

“hamilton?”

“yeah!”

max’s eyes sharpened, “why would he be at yours?”

“wouldn’t you know? you’re the one who gave him my address,” y/n replied, trying to make eye contact with max who was avoiding her gaze.

“yeah i thought he was going to send you like condolence flowers or something not show up unannounced?”

both of them had sat up at this point. brando was sat between them, looking between them confused.

“he showed up and complimented my dress. i asked him if he was sad he missed me at mercedes and he like proper leaned in and asked what i could possibly teach him? kissed my hand and left. it was weird.”

y/n laughed as she recounted the story but max wasn’t laughing.

“it’s funny max, you’re meant to laugh.”

max forces out a sarcastic laugh.

“what’s wrong?”

“nothing. i just think it’s weird. food for thought.”

“don’t worry he won’t replace you. you’ll always be my favourite.”

max smiled at that. he piled on top of her, with brando squished in the middle.

“you’ll always stay at mine in monaco right? i’ll always be your best friend on the grid?”

“always,” y/n said, tucking one of max’s hairs behind his ear, “beside where else would i stay? in kimi and ollie’s bachelor pad? i’d rather die”

max let out a laugh and let his head fall on y/n’s chest, her hands immediately tangling in his hair.

“i’m sorry for that. i just love you and our bond, i get jealous that mr seven titles might steal you away.”

“away from you? they’d have to take me kicking and screaming. you’re the only one who had my address, you’re the only one i spoke to in the three years. don’t think i’ll ever not have you first.”

the cocktail party was nearing, but the pair were content to stay tangled on the couch, with a grumpy brando tucked in between them. outside of the apartment, the ghosts of monaco still lingered. maybe it was a good thing charles had a weird obsession with cocktails and his at home bar, y/n could use some liquid courage tonight.

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charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, pierregasly and 2,304,667 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: it’s been three years and she still can’t mix drinks.

view all comments

user1: war is officially over

user2: i hope nothing bad happened between them but it is stuck in my mind that they didn’t talk in the three years

user3: i’m hoping she just flat out wasn’t speaking to anyone but max and charles did nothing bad

user4: his tribute post is still up which others can’t say so

kimiantonelli: i think her drinks are just right!

yourusername: i think we’re gonna work so well together

kimiantonelli: i think so toooooooooo

olliebearman: he’s just really drunk?

yourusername: so he’s not always like this?

olliebearman: loud? not really. but hanging off every word you say? yeah that’s pretty normal

user5: oh how i’ve missed my beautiful wife

user6: lando’s beautiful wife

user7: nuh uh george’s

user8: what about the guy who actually posted it

user9: i actually think you all should kill yourselves!

yourusername: i’m really not that bad you just have bad tolerance

charles_leclerc: i have measuring tools right there and you insist on doing the ‘y/n pour’

yourusername: does the ‘y/n pour’ get the party started or not?

pierregasly: yes because everyone is pissed by 9pm

yourusername: is that not the aim of a party

charles_leclerc: this is a sophisticated soiree - i even bought olives for this

yourusername: oh please

maxverstappen1: i think it would be funnier to watch everyone drunk stumbling around y/n

charles_leclerc: okay well we’d all be a bit more chill if you didn’t gatekeep her for three years

maxverstappen1: don’t care 😛

user10: max is the level of unbothered i need to be right now

user11: he’s on necks even in the off season

user12: so who else is to come?

user13: please please please let the brits be there i need my dose of y/nlando

user14: they're meant to be i swear

user15: oh my sweet summer child

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fin.

note: enjoy my quick updates while you can i am back at my big girl job tomorrow :((((( but i will try to keep up with this pace where i can!

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae!!! I love your writing and have been a silent supporter for a long time but I was wondering if I could request something with one of the marauders (or all of them) having an oh moment, but not like an “oh I love them,” kinda thing but like an “oh I’ve made it” sorta thing? I don’t really know how to explain it well sorry, but like they didn’t think they’d actually be in this relationship or they didn’t think they’d get this far in life with them? I’m really sorry I’m just babbling on about something that doesn’t make sense but if you could find some way to write this or if I spark any kind of inspiration I would be so grateful!! Thank you for even considering and sorry for such a long request, love you! Can’t wait to see what you’ve got next! (But don’t overwork yourself! eat, drink, and sleep!!!)

Thank you for your lovely request angel! And thank you to @ellecdc for helping me figure out what to do with it :)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 639 words

James listens as your voice changes, drifting into the kitchen and back out again as you go to toss an old newspaper into the bin. You’re tidying as you talk, telling him about the book you’ve just finished. Not so James will read it, but so he’ll feel like he has. Simply because you like to share things with him. 

You gather envelopes from the dining table between your hands, flicking through them absentmindedly, pausing in your rambling to ask, “Do you need this notice?” 

“No, that’s alright,” he says from the couch. “Bin it.” 

Your table has become a mess. James doesn’t know when it happened. It’s the closest thing to the door when you come in, so it’s accumulated receipts, flyers, and anything else the two of you don’t want to hold onto when you get home. You sort it all into piles, voice a reassuring melody. 

Outside, the sun is going down. Syrupy golden light bathes you in a warm glow, coming in through the window like it was meant to find you. James is honestly unsure how he got so lucky. 

James Potter is no stranger to love. He was brought up to feel with his whole heart, and he knows how fortunate he is to have parents who raised him that way, and friends as good as he has, and a girlfriend so lovely. But this life.

There’s your mail, all mixed together on the dining table. And the meal you’ll likely share there later, maybe with the tall candles you were so happy to find on sale earlier in the week. You could have last night’s leftovers, or James could make you his mother’s pasta, which you love, and lean over the table to kiss sauce off the corners of your lips. Afterwards you’ll probably curl up on the couch to watch one of your shows. James loves that you have shows you watch together, loves that you wait for him to watch new episodes and always say let’s just watch one more when you’re already heavy and yawning against his side. He loves your flat, and your inside jokes, and all the things you don’t need words for. 

He wonders how often people get this lucky. That they just go and make the perfect life with someone without even realizing. 

“Hey, sunshine.” 

You look up at him through the aureate glow. You appear amused at the new endearment, not of James’ usual repertoire. You don’t realize how fitting it is. 

“Could you come here for a moment?” 

“What’s up?” you ask, setting down the stack you’re working on. You sit just where he knows you will, tucked up against his side. James wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in snug like a key fitting to its lock. 

“Nothing,” he says, turning to give you a proper hug. You let him half haul you onto his lap, your hands on his shoulders and his face in your neck. You smell like home. Like your lotion and the bathroom after you shower and lazy Sunday mornings. 

“James.” Your voice is a happy hum by his ear. “What’s this about?” 

“I love you.” He nuzzles underneath your jaw, relishing your surprised laughter. “I love this. I love us.” 

Your fingers burrow into his curls. “I love us, too,” you say, softly. 

“Do you want my mum’s pasta for dinner tonight?” 

“Ooh, yes. Always.” You pull back from him, holding his head still so you can look at him. Your thumb draws a loving semicircle by his temple. “I was thinking I could light those candles I found.” 

James beams. “I thought you might.” 

You give an odd smile back. Bemused, but also horrendously besotted. “You’re being weird.” 

James kisses you sweetly with a smile still on his lips. “Only for you, my love.”

[retiredteabag]

Caretaking and Guilt

Pairing: Toji x Reader

Synopsis: quintessential sickfic- you just have a hard time accepting help from others.

Tags: Fluff, comfort, mild angst

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

These past few days you hadn't been feeling so well.

Friends and coworkers had been getting sick left and right. You had thought you were lucky enough to pass it by but after a couple restless nights and a depleted appetite, it was fair to say you had caught the bug.

Yesterday you had tried to prevent the worst of it, taking medicine, drinking orange juice, staying active; none of it seemed to hold back the storm that was this illness.

The second you had opened your eyes this morning you could tell it had all been pointless.

Your head was throbbing, you were unbearably congested, your chest felt heavy, and chills racked your body. There was a cold sweat sticking to your neck and it hurt to swallow. Above all else, you were exhausted. You kept drifting in and out of dreamless sleep, waking to a deeper state of drowsiness.

At one point you had checked your phone only to realize it was mid-afternoon and you had been in bed all day. Toji had been out on a job and would likely be back before dinner.

It's not as if you were embarrassed or ashamed to be sick, but being the fervently independent individual you were, you hated the idea of needing to be cared for.

So, despite your shaky legs and turning stomach, you stumbled your way into the bathroom to try and wash off the sweltering perspiration and muck from yourself.

Something had to be made for dinner after all.

You’d probably feel better after washing up, right?

After what can only be described as a brave attempt at standing under the shower head's assault, you found yourself covering up the drain in your shower bath and allowing the downpour slowly fill up the tub surrounding your collapsed form.

You sat for an inordinate amount of time, every so often opening your eyes to see the waters rising closer to your chest. The droplets knocked against your ears and eased you into a cloudy headspace.

The water was hot. Stiflingly so. What you assumed would aid in clearing out your clogged sinus cavity did very little on that front but rather aided in the onslaught of an enervating fever.

Too weak to consider the sweating and dehydration your hot "rain bath" had caused, you fell into a state of delirium as you shook and dressed yourself in some sweatpants and crew neck.

The man who so frequently was at the forefront of your thoughts was no longer haunting your thoughts. You had originally gotten out of bed to prepare a meal but in your current state, that would not be happening.

It was laughable even to yourself as you made your way into the living room, pitching off to this side and then and staring off at the kitchen and front door for what would appear to an onlooker to be an unnervingly duration.

Eventually, you had to blink and come back to yourself, lost at how you had even gotten into the living room. And for being in such a position to seek comfort, you were overcome with the sudden need to lay on the couch.

Just for a couple minutes to "rest your eyes" as Toji often called it. And "rest your eyes" you did as the room started to spin and your hid your head into the cushions.

--

That was how Toji found you when he arrived home.

The two of you didn't text too often so the fact that you hadn't messaged all day hadn't set of any alarm bells for him. When he came through the front door, finding the place untouched since he left, well, that certainly did.

The room was dim, there wasn't any noise coming from the other rooms of the place, your presence was something he felt he needed to seek, not follow.

It was odd, seeing you there, conked on the couch, smooshed into the bolstering. And even more odd was the feeling it filled him with.

There was an overwhelming sense that something is wrong... Toji had never seen you like this. He tried to recall any hints that could have alluded to you clearly feeling unwell but the two of you had both been so busy. In and out of work, how long had you felt this way?

He knew how you were, never sharing when you hadn't gotten enough sleep or when a light was too bring and causing your headache to throb. Of course you wouldn't have said anything.

He should have noticed it. If Toji is good at anything, it's noticing. Especially when it comes to you. So whatever was going on, it must have progressed rapidly.

Toji sat up against you on the couch, when you didn't move or make any show of recondition, he pursed his lips and told himself to relax. His palm made its way around your head between the couch in order to feel your forehead and it was then that he started to panic.

You were hot. Too hot.

He had never been sure of what to do in these types of situations. His immune system was just too good, he rarely had issues like this and he had never seen you in such a pathetic state.

You were going to play it off when he woke you, he knew you would, so, how then, is he supposed to know for sure how serious it was?

He leaned his weight against your back now, looking down as your sunken form. He didn't say anything until you had whined and shifted to squint up at him.

"Hey." It came out grumbly.

"Mmm?" Everything felt airy, your ability to move your body, your recondition of where you lay, the man before you. Was any of this even real? Gosh, you felt awful.

"How you feelin'?"

Toji was a big, tough, guy. He was notorious for his unfeeling and cold nature. Rarely did he take the initiative to coddle or pamper you. And even rarer still were the times you would allow it.

In this moment though, every fiber of his “big, tough, guy" being was blaring for him to treat you gently.

He ran his hand down your back, the gooseflesh on your neck sent a chill across his and he began to seriously worry that you must be sick.

"mmm" Was your only response.

You firmly placed your face back between the couch and its cushions, truly believing you had just given a proper reply to Toji.

Narrowing his brows even further, Toji leans in, gently petting your back, lifting your hair from your neck. He places the back of his hand to your flesh there.

He couldn't recall a time where you had ever been more heated than he.

"Hey, I need you to look at me." He whispers, trying to draw your attention again.

"...ughhh...'oji" You try to shift from him but in no state, certainly not the one you presently found yourself in, were you a match for his strength.

"hey, hey, hey..." He doesn't even realize the tone he has taken on, as if he is approaching a wounded animal. He really just doesn't know what to do.

"...Eghhhh... it'ssso cold."

It is this slurred declaration that finalizes it for him. Never before, even when inebriated, have you taken on this tonality.

Toji's thigh jitters on the couch but he hides his internal alarm well otherwise. He is usually so quick to manhandle you over his shoulder, tossing you this way and that. But not now.

He takes you tenderly, and when you shuffle your face into his arm, he swallows the feeling that coats his throat.

"You been feelin' bad all day?"

He makes his way to the bedroom, when you nod into his chest his posture straightens.

Of course.

Once you're feeling better he's going to need to have a talk with you about sharing how you feel. At this moment, however, you are a limp noodle, falling away from his body as he plops you onto the bed.

He tucks the blanket around your body and sits on the edge of the bed.

"You eat yet?"

If you think that not responding will get him off your back, you are sorely mistaken. He would get an answer out of you. Nudging your side, pressing your body further into the mattress.

"Hey. Have you eaten?" He asks, slower this time.

You open your eyes, feeling a bit more cognizant. From the bed, you heave a breath and blink up at the man. "M' a bit nauseous."

"So, no."

"Yeah…”

He sighs, saving his lecture for when he isn't pounding with anxiety at your expression. The bed starts to tilt as Toji shifts his weight, moving to get up.

He was very likely going to prepare something light for your stomach, but in a moment of weakness, (wholly brought on by the cloudy brain and certainly not your realization of how soft your man was being) you reach out for him.

"Don't go."

A shiver causes his shoulders to tremble. A week ago he would have said no, shoving you off him only to fulfill your request. But in this moment he doesn't even have it in himself to jokingly deny you.

Turning back, he tickles a hand along your face. Pressing slightly at your temples. The massage eases everything for a moment, you wish you could stay like this for the however long your ailment lasts.

You roll over slightly, turning your face away from him and into the pillows. His fingers dance from your temples to the side of your eye, to the bridge of your nose. He presses slightly, running his fingertip up the length of it, to the space between your eyes, then back again.

He repeats the motion a few times, watching your breathing even out. He watches chills roll over you as his hand finds the back of your neck, moving to scratch gently there.

It does not take long for you to fall back into a restless sleep. As he watched you snore under the lump of blankets, he hoped this rest would do you well.

Toji isn't the best cook out there, but he's not as useless in the kitchen as he might seem. He would swap between preparing soup to peeking into the bedroom every so often. Cutting up some potato, shredding some chicken, chopping some carrots. Only to get nervous and stand in the doorway to watch the heep of germs on his bed.

Typically he would feel a sense of accomplishment for his healthy meal and the speed at which he prepared it.

Not now. His thoughts were filled with your weak voice back on the couch, your gaze when you asked him to stay with you.

He had never seen you like that. It had thrown him.

Toji almost didn't want to wake you but it only took remembering that you hadn't eaten all day for him to eventually nudge you awake.

You groaned and complained but once you were conscious, it seemed that you were more aware.

"W-wait, what?…Toji, you made this?"

"Yeah, so you better eat it all."

He scooched you over into the middle of the bed before sitting up beside you. You waved off his attempt to feed you, insisting on holding the bowl in your lap.

So Toji just watched, looking down at you spooning soup into your mouth. Humming every so often.

"It's good, Toji."

"Oh, yeah?" You aren't looking at him but you can hear his grin, "Lucky you, there's plenty of extra."

You smile. But it doesn't reach your eyes.

You know Toji did this because he wanted to, but sitting here, being useless all day, you felt so ashamed.

"...Lucky me....thank you...Toji."

"No worries." His fingertips found the back of your neck once more and started thrumming a pattern while you stared off, still eating.

"I'm sorry."

You couldn't not say it. It just came out.

"What? Why?"

The spoon clinks against the bowl and you cover your eyes with a hand. "Just...all of this, I'm sorry it happened, and that you had to come home and do all this."

"Alright-“ He leans over now, trying to bend and catch your eye but you turn away. He grabs the bowl in one hand and sets it on the bedside table beside him. "I don't want to hear you say that again."

You shake your head to disagree but he leans back then, gripping your shoulders and laying you atop his shoulder.

"I wish you would let me take care of you."

You stay on him, feeling his chest rise and pound with life and love. But you still try to avoid the eye contact he was trying to make happen.

"You already have-"

"Well I wish you would let me without whatever all this guilt is. I don't want you feelin' bad for getting sick. And then apologizing for me watching out for you."

There was a steady pause. The two of you lay, listening to the silence, awaiting your reply.

"Thank you." Is all you said.

Because it's what you felt. And you knew he wouldn’t accept anything else.

"Sure, baby." He leans down and kisses the top of your head.

And as badly as you would like to stay present and ask about his day like you normally would. It is becoming a real challenge to stay awake. Especially with his hand tracing patterns over your arm.

And for the first time in three days. You have some restful sleep.

--

The next day you wake feeling much better, rejuvenated even. But Toji is still fussing over you like he's your grandma. Tapping his foot and waiting for you to finish eating before allowing you to do anything else.

"I slaved over that, you better not leave a drop."

You roll your eyes, grateful the teasing dynamic has come back to you both. Even so, there is an underlying care that the two of you share, you smile before getting up, he tries to take your bowl but you insist on washing it yourself.

Toji’s head is on your shoulder and his breath whispers on your neck, you rinse the suds from your dish. For once, it feels nice and warm to be cared for without pretense.

You set your bowl on a towel, quickly shifting to tiptoes and leaving a smooch on Toji's cheek.

He makes a funny noise in the back of his throat then. Whiling around to squish your cheeks in a firm grip.

"Ya better not go getting me sick."

You stare at one another, and although he had just finished pushing your from him, he looks at your face in his hand. And without a moments hesitation longer, he drags you in for a proper kiss.

To him, felt good to love you, and to you, it felt good to be loved

[toxycodone]

mouthwashing characters and their icks

ship. tulpar crew x reader

content. sfwish, just annoying things about our faves, some are romantic and some are general.

Captain Curly

Wildly empathetic. Like to a point where it’s annoying. Like yes, you get it. It’s sad to see an animal on the side of the road. But this is the second dog this week and it’s bit him twice. (He also falls for like. Fake homeless scams. Omg.)

I think he had an era where he had a cat that fucking hated him and never ever left under the guest room bed and terrorized his guests but he didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. 💀

He always ends up playing devil’s advocate without trying. Like when you’re complaining about someone at work or some bitch who cut you off in traffic, Curly’s like “maybe they had a bad day!” or something.

He just…never lets you just wallow in your misery when you need to. When he starts with his “look on the bright side!” stuff it makes your eyes roll back into your skull.

Is soooooo fucking conflict avoidant he’d rather just take shit on the chin then ever speak his mind about things with you. It gets so bad bc he’s bottling all this crap up and getting kinda catty. Because he won’t just grow up and tell you what his problem is.

Comes home in his dirty ass shoes and tracks mud all over the house. I mean he’ll swiffer it up like the housewife he is but it’s annoying.

Doesn’t clean his hands before touching your phone (or his own) before eating,. U get a greasy screen.

Jimmy is an asshole to you and Curly just goes “now now, Jim…” It won’t be until Jimmy does something like. Really bad. That Curly decides to put his foot down and enforce boundaries with that man. You witness this dude literally use your man as a doormat way too often.

If you make him choose. He would probably choose Jim unless push really came to shove…..

GIRLS FLIRT WITH HIM IN PUBLIC AND HES TOO ‘AWKWARD’ TO SAY “I’m taken…” so he just flaunts in the attention. In reality he just…likes the attention but doesn’t want to admit it to himself. (He’s loyal don’t get me wrong but this is annoying)

Thinks big romantic public gestures are cute. Whether that is an ick or not is up to you.

Jimmy

GOES THROUGH YOUR PHONE WHEN YOU’RE ASLEEP OR IN THE BATHROOM. And when you catch him he’s doesn’t even bother to make a good excuses “just wanted to check something.” Okay??? What?? If you go through his phone he will legit tackle you for it back (he isn’t even cheating he’s just pathetically bitchless and friendless. His last text was to his dealer and bro didn’t even respond.)

Will leave your important messages on read. It’s like he has read receipts on just to spite you.

Aggressively questions you out of the blue on who you know and hang out with as if it isn’t the same fucking people each time.

Really horny when he’s drunk and tries to seduce you but has terrible whiskey dick.

Terrible morning breath. Rank. Disgusting. Also all his clothes have the faint scent of stale cigarette smoke. Along with his carpet. And furniture. His walls are probably off-white too.

World’s dirtiest bathroom it’s literally so gross. He leaves his stubble in/around the sink after shaving with an electric razor real fast before work.

Has probably kissed you and then asked you what you last ate with a grimace 💔

Your friends hate him. Your family hates him. Your landlord hates him. And he hates them back.

You’ve had to bail him out of jail before. The officer on duty just gives you a pitied look when he sees you walk in and say you’re bailing him of all people out.

Pretty sure he has threatened to kill himself if you leave him multiple times but lashes out at you when you’re sweet to him at the most random times.

Anya

Stealing this from @l1v1ngd3dgrrl but Anya has the DUMBEST. LAUGH. Like she has a cutesy laugh until she’s finally not thinking and she laugh so hard she snorts. So loud.

Refuses to file down her nails so she accidentally scratches you all the time.

Definitely has an ex she’s still friends with that makes you lowkey question what is going on between them bc they’re obviously still into her and she doesn’t see it.

She silently judges and you can see it on her face when she has something to say but then she goes “it’s nothing!!!” And refuses to say it. (However, this does make her the best gossiper and she can be a total mean girl and tear apart bitches you hate on secret.)

Lowkey tries to psychoanalyze you when you’re venting to her like girl. I am not your homework.

Thinks it’s her responsibility to “fix you” for some reason. Takes you being depressed, angry, etc a little too personally.

Never watches the movies or shows you recommend you have sit her down and watch it w her. And she will. Be distracted by stuff on her phone.

Avid Mitski fan. And Nora Jones. Just an air of sad girl and longing to her that goes soooo crazy.

Big fan of ugly sweaters and tacky matching outfits….but has the audacity to make comments on your style.

Daisuke

“This one’s for you!” *Misses*. In public. In front of your friends. Need I say more.

Uses your hair products in the shower and your soap and your nice shaving oil without asking. :/

This is moreso in the beginning of the relationship but. I see this persisting that he’s constantly looking to you for approval for things. Has a really difficult time making decisions on his own, too. He’s looking to you for guidance on stuff,

Unironically thinks Dutch ovening you is funny.

Your friends all think he’s mid and although he’s sweet. You’re way outta his league. You’re dating down.

Has more skin care products than he can ever use. He’s a total product junkie.

GACHA GAME WHALE. Has definitely borrowed money for a ten pull in genshin 💔

Has cried out of frustration over Fortnite before (he was in a bad place. Okay.)

Cannot keep a job for the life of him. The only solid career he lands is like. Bobarista. But goddamn he’s good at it.

Has. Forgotten your anniversary/birthday/etc. before. and probably almost threw up out of guilt.

Swansea

Does the dad cold start every morning. Hacking. Coughing. Spitting up in the sink. It’s gross.

When he takes a shit he’s stuck in the bathroom for like half an hour at least. It’s always oddly humid and gross if you go in after him.

Chews with his mouth open.

Walks around shirtless only in underwear and will proudly fart whenever he needs to and it’s loud as fuck.

His kids lowkey hate him tbh. 💀 they have a better relationship as adults but man. Rocky fucking childhood.

Nothing ever really makes him satisfied or truly happy so you’re stuck in this weird limbo on if he actually gives a shit about you or not.

Rolls his eyes at you. When you can plainly sees he has suuuuch an attitude problem it’s crazy.

Definitely has asked for a manager in your presence over something minuscule (you wanted to die)

[littlegrapejuice]

Flatline | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando parties a bit too hard and needs to be patched up. Luckily, he can count on a pretty nurse.

Author's Note: I'M BACK MFS🙂‍↕️ it's been a while haha but enjoy this lil lando fic that was inspired by the song Flatline by 5sos!! Also happy new year hehe, hope everyone is doing good and i wish y'all the best for 2025🫶🏻

F1 MASTERLIST🏎

King’s Day 2024. Amsterdam, Netherlands.

Amongst all the drivers, people would’ve thought Max Verstappen the most prone to be sighted in public while celebrating his country on its national day. However, the one that was currently trending on social media was Lando Norris. Pictures as well as videos were being posted, reposted, and commented on every second. No one had expected Lando to spend the weekend away in the Netherlands in between two grand prix. But here he was, partying on a boat and even DJ-ing along with his good friend Martin Garrix.

Lando didn’t know whether people just didn’t care about him – seeing as the Netherlands were the home of one of the greatest drivers of the current generation – or if people actually didn’t know him. In any case, he was glad not to be disturbed by fans – even though he loved them – and be able to enjoy the day the same way everyone else was doing it: by partying, dancing, singing, and drinking.

Obviously, Lando was planning to be careful as he knew that his PR team would have his head if he did something stupid during his two-week break. But still, he was having fun like a typical twenty-four year old. He was having the time of his life. Dutch people definitely knew how to party on their national day, that’s for sure.

…..

A few hours later however, what everyone hadn’t been expecting was for Lando to end the day with bandages all over his face. As the surprise of him being in the Netherlands settled down after a while, pictures and videos stopped circulating around. Until fans all over the world were met with images of Lando with a bloody nose, a smile still on his face. People had no idea what had happened. No context had been given, only the speculation of Lando having drunk and partied too hard that he had hurt himself.

Fortunately for him, Lando had been able to count on you. Being a friend of a friend, you loosely knew Martin but had never really exchanged more than a few words with him. However, he was currently glad that the invitation to his boat party had managed to reach you as you were qualified to take care of Lando’s battle wound – his words. Being a nurse, and the only one with some medical knowledge on the boat, you had quickly reacted when people had started panicking after seeing Lando’s face starting to bleed.

To be honest, people had overreacted a bit. Because when you approached Lando to see the extent of the damage, you realised it was only a cut albeit the consequence of some glass. So although he wasn’t hurt very badly, you still suggested bringing him into the hospital where you worked. Obviously, Lando had refused at first as he pretended that everything was fine. He was. But just to be sure, you needed to give him a general check-up in a clean location as a random boat in Amsterdam wasn’t exactly the most hygienic place to patch someone up.

So after Martin also agreed to the idea, Lando had no choice but to listen to his friend and go with you. The Dutch told Lando that he would come get him later as he needed to bring his DJ equipment back home – he promised to be ready to give him a ride back from the hospital later on as he knew that Lando had a flight the next day. This is thus how you found yourself in a cab with none other than Formula One driver Lando Norris on the way to your workplace. Truth be told, you hadn’t expected to go there today. But you knew it was part of your job to be able to help anyone in need even if you were on your day off.

The ride had mostly been silent. Lando had been on his phone, probably texting a few people about his whereabouts, while you were focused on the next steps to do when you’d be arriving at the hospital. You were pleasantly surprised when Lando paid the driver without a second thought and told him to keep the change.

“I could’ve paid, you know. Thanks,” you told him as you entered the building.

“You’re taking care of me on what definitely seemed like your day off, so that’s the least I can do for you.” Lando smiled at you and even with the bandages around his face, he was still very good-looking.

“Still, I appreciate it. You can go wait in this room if that’s okay?” He nodded and you finished explaining what would happen next. “I just need to inform my manager I’m here, get some stuff for a small check-up, and then I’m all yours. I won’t be long.”

“Sounds perfect”, Lando replied with a grin.

True to your words, you were back in the room where you’d left the Brit less than ten minutes later. He noticed that you’d changed into your uniform – which you’d been lucky to have a spare here as your usual one was at your flat – and enjoyed the view of observing you in your element. Working in the medical field was your calling, and you didn’t see yourself anywhere else.

First, you removed the bandages that you’d wrapped around Lando’s face earlier before you cleaned up the small wound – properly this time, with adequate material. As Lando winced when you disinfected it, you apologised.

“Does it hurt much?” You asked.

“Not really”, he shrugged. “Just uncomfortable I guess.”

“Hmm, okay”, you nodded. “Tell me if there’s anything else at any point.”

Quickly finishing up, you were soon enough putting a band-aid on Lando’s nose. You debated offering to put a silly one originally designed for kids, but decided otherwise as you didn’t want to look weird for suggesting it. However, the driver had noticed your eyes drifting to them when you’d hesitated in which one to take, so he spoke up:

“You think you could actually give me one of those”, he wondered with a smile before adding. “The cute ones, there.”

When you saw that he was pointing at the Disney ones, you stiffled a laugh. You hadn’t expected him to directly ask for one himself, but you were kinda glad that he did. Amongst the different characters present, your choice was easily made.

“I guess that the Cars one caught your eye?” You raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if you were right.

“Bingo!” He laughed. “I’ll admit that Frozen was tempting but I gotta stay true to my roots.”

“Fair enough”, you chuckled. “Your job ain’t really much to do with building ice castles, or I’ve done my research wrong.”

“You looked me up?” Lando asked, the surprise obvious in his tone.

“Well, yeah?” You answered with a ‘duh’ tone as you gently put the Cars band-aid over the plain one you’d previously applied. “Even though the whole country supports Max and not many people care about the other drivers, I gotta know about the competition.”

“You think I’m competition to Max?”

“Of course! Anyone is: as long as Max isn’t the only driver racing on track, he has competition.”

Your explanation made Lando’s grin widen as he was glad to be considered in the same league as the Max Verstappen, especially by someone who lived in the Netherlands. To you, any other driver that had managed to be a part of the twenty that raced in Formula One was a good one – Lando included.

“He does have three more championship titles than me though”, Lando stated. “And God knows how many wins.”

“He’s had a good car for years,” you pointed out. “Your time will come, don’t worry. I can feel the papaya greatness for this year – though if I ever wear orange, it’s for Max.”

Not knowing what to reply to your words, Lando simply nodded while you put away the box of band-aids. You thought about the final steps of your check-up, and turned back to face the driver.

“Okay, so I’ll just put this on your finger to see your heart rate and then I’ll make you do a breathalyser if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, no problem. Do your job, don’t worry.”

“Great, thanks.” You carefully clipped the pulse oximeter on Lando’s finger before stepping away. “I'll be right back in a minute.”

“Take your time,” Lando replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

When you left the room, the Brit let out the biggest sigh of his life. Oh God, he thought. It seemed like you hadn’t realised how close you’d been to Lando as you were only focused on doing your job, but he hadn’t been able to take his eyes away from you. He really hoped you hadn’t noticed anything, as the last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable at your workplace. Get a grip, Lando told himself while waiting for you to be back. Don’t fuck this up if you want a chance.

You came back into the room shortly after, a box in your hands – which Lando assumed to be the breathalyser. He knew he had drunk enough that he wouldn’t be allowed to drive, but he hoped he had sobered up enough after his trip to the hospital. After unboxing the breathalyser, you got close to Lando again and explained to him what he’d have to do.

“Nothing too complicated, don't worry. You’ll just have to exhale into this.” You showed him the object. “And I’ll tell you when to stop. Then, you’ll be good to go!”

Lando nodded in reply, even though he hadn’t really paid attention to the actual words you’d said. He had been more focused on your face and the way you’d gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. He almost wished he’d been the one to do it, and he wondered if it was the remains of alcohol in his blood making him think that. He also wondered if he would still be attracted to you if he had met you while stone cold sober. But when you gave him a soft reassuring smile as you told him to be ready to blow into the breathalyser, he knew he would find you gorgeous no matter his state of mind.

What he didn’t know though, is if it was the alcohol or his attraction to you that was making his heart faster – both, to be honest. The result was the same: the machine was showing his heart rate quickening and Lando could perfectly hear it echoing in his head, which made his eyes widen at the thought that you would hear it too. Lando’s heart rate was actually the least of your worries as you were focused on the current task of measuring the level of alcohol in his blood, but it became the most important barely two seconds later when you heard the continuing beep that usually meant the lack of heartbeat.

“Your heart is going flatline!” You exclaimed in shock as you tried to quickly assess how Lando looked in order to find the cause. “Oh my God… oh my God, what the fuck is happening?!”

And while you were panicking, Lando realised that he had made a grave mistake. See, as he still wasn’t back to his normal state of mind, the driver thought that it was a wonderful idea to just remove the pulse oximeter from his finger so that you wouldn’t have noticed his heart rate speeding. But of course, you had immediately noticed the lack of constant beep from the machine and were currently still stressing – breathalyser completely forgotten.

Seeing your panicked state, Lando was now feeling extremely guilty and decided to come clean.

“I’m fine!” He was almost shouting. Hearing his voice made you stop in your tracks, and you looked at him with worry in your eyes. “Sorry”, he apologised. “I accidentally removed the thing, please calm down. I’m not dead.”

“Oh”, you could only answer. You felt awkward now. “That’s good, then.” You scratched your neck and nervously laughed. “It’s weird, it shouldn’t come off that easily unless it’s forcibly removed. Sorry if I gave you one that wasn’t properly working.”

And this was his last straw. Lando was now feeling even guiltier at your words, as you were going to blame yourself for using seemingly faulty equipment.

“Please don’t be mad, but… I-actually-removed-it-myself”, he said as quickly as he could.

“What?” You questioned with a tilt of your head.

“I removed the heart thingy myself because I didn’t want you to hear my heart rate.”

“Lando, that’s my job?”

“Yeah, but like…” He didn’t know what else to say, except for the truth – thank the alcohol for giving him the confidence to utter the next words. “I was just thinking about you, and you were looking super pretty while explaining stuff, and I wasn’t really paying attention to be honest, but then I felt like my heartbeat was going really fast, and you’d hear it, and you’d think I’m like weird, and–”

“Oh God, Lando calm down!” You put your hands on his shoulders so that he would look at you instead of the floor, and meeting your eyes silenced him. “You’re good, don’t explain yourself. I know that you’re not completely sober yet so your mind might make you do weird things. I’m just glad you’re alright and not suddenly a victim of a heart attack.”

“I don’t want you to see me as a crazy drunk guy right now!” He retorted, trying to clear his name. “Even sober, I’d think the same. Maybe not do the same stupid shit though…” He muttered the last sentence.

Silence now filled the room as you removed your hands from Lando and put them in your pockets before sighing. You tried to assess the situation and process his words. You’d had your fair share of people complimenting you in your workplace so Lando’s feelings weren’t that unusual, but it was still rare to end up in this type of situation. You thought for a minute about what to do while Lando stayed quiet. He was scared of dumb words leaving his mouth, so he didn’t want to take any more risks.

“Tell you what”, you caught his attention. “We finish this up, I clear you free to go, and maybe we can start over when you’re not my patient anymore. Sounds good?”

Still not trusting his words, Lando simply nodded. You then kept going with the last steps of your check-up before announcing to Lando that he was discharged. He had surprisingly sobered up quicker than you would’ve thought – maybe because of the heart rate incident – and his alcohol level wasn’t as high as you’d imagined it to be.

You walked him back to the entrance hall and asked him if Martin was here to get him. He briefly checked his phone and noticed a couple texts from the Dutch that were notifying him of his arrival in a few minutes. You therefore decided to wait with Lando, having all the time in the world – it was still your day off and you knew that the hospital wasn’t understaffed today, so there was no need for you to stay and give a hand.

As you were waiting in an excruciatingly awkward silence, Lando chose to man up and clear the previous situation up.

“I still think you’re beautiful,” he stated. “And I’d love to get to know you,” he added. “I know I’m not fully sober yet, but I’m almost there and my thoughts haven’t changed.”

“That’s good to know”.

“Good as in positive for me to shoot my shot?” Lando wondered with a nervous smile.

“You can try, I think your chances of success are pretty high right now.”

“Great.” His grin widened, and you couldn’t help thinking about how he was currently the beautiful one. “So, can we go out together one day? I know this great restaurant that my wonderful local friends told me about.”

“That’d be my pleasure”, you replied.

“When do you finish work?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

“I’m actually done…” You feigned to analyse the time on your watch. “Right now. What a coincidence!”

“Coincidence indeed”, Lando agreed. He then took out his phone and gave it to you. “I’ll text you the location?”

“Sure”, you nodded. “Maybe not a full meal tonight, but I’m still down for a drink and snacks.”

“Works for me. Raincheck for a proper date then?”

“Come back for it once you have a race win under your belt”, you challenged.

“Deal”, he accepted. “I have really good motivation.”

“Tell you what, you can also get a wish if it’s the next race that you win.”

“A wish? Anything?” You nodded and Lando thought about ideas. “Kiss on the first date?”

“Alright, you’re on!” You sealed the deal with a handshake, a playful glint in your eyes.

Merely a couple seconds later, Martin was pulling up in front of the hospital which was yours and Lando’s cue to go your separate ways before meeting soon again.

…..

A week later following your semi-date with Lando, you were now watching him celebrate his first win on the top step of the podium in Miami. You couldn’t be prouder of him, and your first thought was to text him as soon as you saw him go back to his garage. You hoped that he’d have access to his phone soon enough and quickly drafted a message to congratulate him. Right before you sent it, your wish – and eventually his in the process – seemed to have been granted.

Flying back to you next weekend before imola

I’m expecting a welcome kiss👀

You chuckled at his texts, a blush appearing on your cheeks as you thought about how he was still serious about you, and deleted your initial message before sending a new one.

Wouldn’t have it any other way

Congratulations race winner! Can’t wait for the next ones, I knew your time was coming🧡

If Lando never imagined that being hurt could lead to him bagging a pretty nurse and getting his first Formula One win, he was now thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get a small wound before each race if it meant that you would take care of him and that he’d be lifting the winner’s trophy afterwards.

..........

Hope y'all liked this ^^ idk if it's common knowledge on here but I'm a HUGE 5sos fan and when i recently heard flatline after a while, i knew i had to write smth f1 related for this song (esp the chorus)

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated if you enjoy my writing<3 it means a lot to me and i love knowing what people think - apart from my bestie who's often my #1 fan haha

See you next time, take care🤍

[gothicfied]

Thanos / Player 230 Headcanons

Paring: Thanos / Player 230 x fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying and gunshots (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, although this is probably buns (my first time writing something like this, I'm sorry, people😔🙏)

જ⁀➴ In his mind, you were this little lamb who needed his protection. Even if you proved yourself to be capable of surviving on your own, Thanos was set on dragging you with him, insisting that it'd be better if you would just stick with his group (much to your and also Nam-gyus annoyance). And, considering he was ready to sacrifice other peoples lives for this prize money, you were scared to refuse him.

જ⁀➴ At some point, you found it endearing how much he seemed to care for you. His cheesy raps about you, his pet names - 'baby', 'princess', 'sweetheart' - the way he was actually putting in the effort to get you through the games, ready to sacrifice a 'friend' (poor Gyeong-su).. you couldn't help but relish the affection he was showing you.

જ⁀➴ It was nice feeling something other than fear and dread, so you couldn't help but entertain Thanos' feelings. Perhaps you weren't just entertaining them? It was hard to ignore the growing connection between you two. Especially when he seemed to open up more and more, especially after lights out.

જ⁀➴ When the drugs wore off, Thanos was actually nice to talk to. At night, he'd come and sit on your bed, comforting you if you were scared (which you very obviously were). Draping an arm around your shoulders, he'd listen to every worry, thought and wish you have and would just stay quiet for those moments (which was very rare and made you appreciate these moments even more).

જ⁀➴ For some reason, you two understand each other. Sure, when high, Thanos was insufferable, loud and annoying and would do every stupid thing imaginable just to impress you. He'd play risky during the games, just to never shut up about how he survived it and how 'he would never die and leave you alone'. After that, the moments where he seemed to be vulnerable meant that much more to you.

જ⁀➴ Thanos' confidence is unwavering. He'd be relentless and would chase after you, regardless if you wanted it or not. In his opinion, you two were the most perfect match and he'd do anything to be able to call you his. Your beauty, your determination and the way you carried yourself simply mesmerized him.

જ⁀➴ After every game you two survived, he'd pull you close to him, tightly wrapping his arms around you and hug you until you couldn't properly breath anymore. "I'm so happy you made it out alive, princess. God, I couldn't imagine what I would do without you in here!"

જ⁀➴ Even with you there with him, Thanos needs that prize money. Would he sacrifice you for it? Never in a million years. Does he still pressure you into voting to continue? Yes, absolutely.

"Come on, baby! Just one more game, I promise." He snakes his arms around your waist, leaning down while talking, "you know I'll protect you. And with the money, we can build a new, happy lives together. What do you say?"

જ⁀➴ Seeing you scared expression while loud gunshots filled the room during the mingle game does something to him, though. Thanos' eyes bore into yours, making you look away quickly. He needs that money, he knows you do, too. But seeing you so distraught might actually make hin change his mind about wanting to continue. After all, he's completely head over heels for you and he'd do everything not to lose you.

[ghouljams]

That AU where Princess Reader kills herself because of her broken heart then gets reincarnated many many years later and gets to see her Ghost but now he’s a Lieutenant in the SAS and Reader is probably someone wealthy and in need of having a bodyguard.

Dreamily sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhs

The cycle continues, except this time Reader will not lose her Ghost again.

(I’m a sucker for reincarnation where only one remembers. The angst Ghost would feel if he was the one that remembered would be top tier too ughhhhhhhh I need to start writing againnnnnnnn)

Ghost sees you across the bar and knows you're meant for more than this. Meant for stone floors and sconces, for ivory towers and colorful banners, for satin slippers and floor length gowns, a crown on your head and tears staining your face. You shine like a beacon in the dimly lit pub, your smile like sunshine pulling at a long inescapable darkness, drawing him in like a moth to a flame before he can take a moment to stop himself. Something about the way your eyes find his makes him feel... unworthy.

You don't drink. The knowledge comes to him unbidden and true, despite the tall glass in your hand.

Your skirt is short, and there's a strange guilt that eats at him when his eyes drag over the bare skin of your thighs. Something else twists in his stomach, aches in his fingertips to touch such unfamiliar territory, to feel the softness of your skin just once.

A subtle sparkle against your chest, delicate jewelry that betrays your wealth to no one but Ghost. The kind of girl he could never hope to sink his teeth into, and yet all he wants to do is bury his face between your tits and lick the diamonds off them.

You blink up at him as suddenly as he finds himself in front of you, your lips parted around the end of an unfinished sentence. Your hair halos you just like he remembers, and suddenly a hundred faces flutter through his mind, gentle as the wings of butterflies and all of them you. Always you.

"Buy ya a drink." Simon offers.

"Oh," You glance at your glass, "it's just sparkling water and lime." You look back at him and he wants nothing more than to sweep you up and kiss you like you deserve, "I don't drink."

I know, Simon wants to say, I know you in every small way that doesn't matter, that's never mattered, and I've loved you in all the big ways that never came to pass.

"Dinner then," He asks instead.

"Alright," You agree with a smile.

This time. This time he'll get it right.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Intoxication [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

wc: 9.2k

Summary: when Spencer and reader accidentally consume aphrodisiacs, it seems impossible to maintain control of themselves. It all comes down to who will lose their mind first.

warnings: +18, mdni!! alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, unintentional use of aphrodisiacs, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, kissing, porn with plot, p in v, protected sex, no y/n!

It had been just over half an hour since I entered the fraternity building, fully aware that within the first second, I’d feel the need to leave. Attending any gathering wasn’t a regular thing for me. The noise, the crowds, and the multitude of germs everywhere were reason enough to avoid them.

However, that time, I thought, why not? I had never been to one of those university parties and wanted to experience it. However, I never considered the fact that, to enjoy one, you either: a) went with a group of friends or b) drank until you forgot your name and the discomfort you felt about yourself. I didn’t have the first option, nor did I want to do the second. So, after a few minutes of reflection, I decided I would walk back to my apartment and go straight to bed.

The place was huge, and since my postgraduate program didn’t include the benefit of dormitories, I rarely found myself in places like that. I was about to leave when a hand grabbed my forearm to stop me. In front of me, smiling widely, was her. The moment I saw her, I could swear my face lit up.

“Hi”

“Spencer! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Without letting go of my arm, she came closer, wrapping me in a hug and planting a kiss on my cheek before I could react.

I quickly glanced at her, and in the dim light, I noticed her wearing a fitted, spaghetti-strap dress in a deep burgundy red with delicate floral embroidery that looked hand-drawn on the sheer fabric. The material, likely chiffon or tulle, clung to her figure as if custom-made. I tried to focus on her leather jacket instead because the last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable by staring too long.

“I was just about to leave, actually.”

“Why?” she asked, noticing my sigh.

“It’s just... I don’t know anyone here.”

“Well, that problem is now solved,” she kindly murmured.

I didn’t even get the chance to respond when she had already walked over to another girl, whispering something in her ear, probably to let her know she’d be away for a while.

Even though I wanted to decline to stay, the truth was that I genuinely enjoyed her company. Rejecting her would have been too rude. We had met some time ago thanks to the advanced classes she took, which overlapped with mine. She was younger than me, of course, but only by one or two years.

She had always been kind to me, attentive, and one could say she was a friend. After all, I trusted her enough to let her hold my hand and guide me through the crowd, despite my aversion to physical contact… and people.

“It’d be a crime to let you leave so early after finally coming to a party,” she breathed once we were both seated on a tiny couch where the noise was slightly muffled. At least she had been considerate in that regard.

“I don’t even know why I came,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. She was leaning against one side, legs crossed, looking at me with a smile. “I don’t like parties.”

“Do you like drinking?” she asked. I shook my head “Maybe that’s the root of the problem.”

“Getting drunk to the point of losing control isn’t my thing,” I replied.

“That’s not what it’s about,” she murmured almost compassionately “It’s more like… fuel for your social battery, you know? You don’t have to deal with these people. I don’t even know half of them, but the guys in this fraternity are disgustingly rich and just want to get as many girls drunk as possible to sleep with whoever they can. They won’t mind if you drink a little. Enough to have fun, but not so much you end up in some stranger’s bed.”

I thought about it for a second and silently nodded. I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of her by saying I didn’t want to drink because, come on, what kind of university student doesn’t drink?

“I understand your point, and I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but alcohol has a more complex impact than it seems. It’s not just something that ‘fuels your social battery’; it’s a central nervous system depressant, which means it slows down brain and motor functions. That initial feeling of euphoria or relaxation happens because it inhibits the prefrontal cortex—the part of your brain that regulates judgment and self-awareness. So, technically, drinking a little might make you feel more uninhibited or confident, but it can also impair your ability to make rational decisions if you overdo it, even if you don’t notice right away.”

I paused, gauging how much more I should say before losing her interest. Hearing no objections, I continued:

“Additionally, strong liquors, which have high ethanol concentrations, can hit your system faster than diluted drinks. And if you drink too quickly, you could easily exceed your liver’s ability to metabolize the alcohol. The excess ethanol stays in your bloodstream, raising your blood alcohol levels and increasing the risk of intoxication.”

I avoided looking directly at her, partly because I didn’t want to get distracted by her gaze and partly because I was nervous around her.

“It’s not that I want to ruin your fun, but if you’re going to drink, you should do it slowly, alternating with water, and never on an empty stomach. Not to seem smarter than everyone else, but because staying in control can be the difference between a fun night and a situation you don’t want to be in.”

I expected her to look bored, confused, or even indifferent, assuming she’d left halfway through my rambling. But when I looked at her, I was surprised by the admiration shining in her eyes, accompanied by an amused smile.

“All right, genius boy, if you know all that and basically have the perfect recipe for not making stupid mistakes while drinking, why do you still refuse?” she teased playfully. I didn’t know what to say, but luckily, she answered for me “Listen, I drove here. How about we make a deal? We can drink a little, have a good time, maybe dance if you want, and if either of us starts doing something embarrassing, the soberest one will make sure to drag the other to the car and drive them home. Deal?”

She handed me her car keys, and I wasn’t sure if the brush of her hand against mine was intentional or if she had decided to linger a little longer.

I agreed to her proposal, and a second later, she was already off her seat, walking toward where I assumed the kitchen was. No one noticed us entering, too absorbed in their own business to care if we were strangers.

There was every type of alcohol scattered around, and she took the liberty of pouring me a shot of a clear liquid, which I guessed was vodka. She warned me to drink it in one gulp, and when the warmth hit my throat, I barely managed to avoid coughing. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“Tastes like… strawberry.”

“It’s good, right?” she laughed, giving my shoulder a playful nudge.

Our previous seat was already taken, so she opted for us to stand in a quiet corner. I have to admit that, although I still felt slightly awkward, the vodka was having the desired effect; making me feel more animated to talk.

Talking to her was almost hypnotic. Maybe it was the rhythmic movement of her lips, still stained with traces of what had once been red lipstick, or perhaps it was her tone, but it made me feel like I had to watch her. She never faltered when she spoke, always exuding confidence and calm, no matter the topic.

On the other hand, whenever I responded, I completely lost focus. No matter what I said, she kept looking at me with a wide smile, nodding, and even leaning closer when something made her laugh. But her laugh wasn’t mocking—no, it was as if she genuinely found my intellectual jokes or nonsensical remarks funny.

Gradually, my glass emptied, and she guided me back to the kitchen, serving us moderately but consistently. After an hour, all my nerves had vanished, leaving only a normal guy enjoying the terrible background music, unconcerned about how dirty the place was, and utterly captivated by the woman next to him.

“It’s strange, you know? I didn’t think I’d enjoy something like this. Parties always seemed so… chaotic,”

She looked around with a slight smile.

“That’s true. They’re not exactly calm, but in a way, the chaos has its charm. It lets you leave everything else behind for a while.”

“I suppose you’re right. Sometimes, you just need to disconnect.”

“You seem less tense now, huh? Are you sure it’s not the vodka helping with that?”

She moved closer, almost leaning against my chest in a friendly way, and seeing her looking up at me made my face feel hot.

“Maybe. But it’s also largely due to the company.”

She seemed surprised by my sudden boldness and let out a laugh that I interpreted as a sign of approval. We continued drinking, laughing, and soon my stomach demanded food. Even in my slightly tipsy state, I still remembered that eating would help lessen the effects of the alcohol.

I have to admit that the way I held her waist to guide her to the kitchen was entirely intentional. However, she didn’t seem bothered by the contact. By this point, I’d realized that no one really cared about what we took or didn’t take, so we felt free to rummage through the pantry.

“There are chips, pretzels, Cheetos, some cookies...” she began listing, handing me each package she found.

I grabbed a stray cookie, and suddenly, she let out a sigh of admiration.

“What is it?”

“Chocolate,” she murmured happily. It was a half-eaten, luxurious-looking golden package with no label “Do you want some?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Chocolate has properties that can slightly boost energy and mood. Both alcohol and chocolate can be hard for the body to handle, especially with a combination of high sugar and alcohol content. This can lead to stomach discomfort, dizziness, or a stronger hangover the next day.”

But she wasn’t listening. She had already popped a sizeable piece of chocolate into her mouth. Immediately, she offered me a piece, slightly bigger than hers.

“You have to try it,” she moaned.

I resisted, but I have to admit that the fact she grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer caught me off guard enough to let her slip the chocolate into my mouth.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later.”

It was delicious, that’s for sure. Like a pair of sneaky raccoons, we kept scavenging for snacks in the kitchen until we were satisfied. She grabbed a bag of chips, and I took the bag of pretzels.

After our little break, she poured us another round of drinks, and something inside me told me it was time to stop. I decided that would be my last glass for the night.

Let’s dance she suddenly whispered, and once again, I let her lead me toward the crowd.

I didn’t know how to dance; I think that was pretty obvious. But the situation managed to make me forget that fact.

She was patient with me and laughed every time I made a mistake. Even though there was smoke around me, probably from weed, that didn't stop me from staring intently, and even somewhat intimidated, at my friend. Beautiful, statuesque, and drunk friend.

We danced for a long time until something in her swaying movements, in the way she smiled at me, began to make my head spin. It was as if the atmosphere was charged with something more—something I couldn’t identify at first.

She leaned closer, and my pulse began to quicken slightly. Her hands rose to tangle in my neck, bringing a warm sensation that followed: my thoughts seemed clearer, sharper. I wondered if it was the alcohol, but then something different began to course through my skin.

The warmth intensified, not just in my body but in my mind as well. I felt more alert, more awake, yet the calmness of the vodka lingered, balancing the sensation. My skin felt more sensitive, as if every little touch sent vibrations through me in a more intense way.

My eyes focused more on her movements, her voice, and the way the air filled with her perfume. I wanted to get closer, as if there were an invisible force pulling me toward her. And though my body responded with a soft yearning, my mind remained present, conscious of every second.

By the way she was looking at me, I imagined I wasn’t the only one experiencing these kinds of emotions.

“Sweetheart.”

“Hmm?”

“Can we sit down for a moment? I’m completely sweaty, and the smell of weed is starting to bother me.”

“Of course.”

My hands rested on her waist, unsure of where else to go, and we stumbled out of the crowd, finding a couch to collapse onto.

I was sweaty too, and we were both breathing heavily. When I saw her lean her head back against the seat, leaving her neck exposed, something stirred inside me.

“You move well, Reid.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I mean it. You just need a little confidence,” she smiled. Perhaps the alcohol dulled her sense of personal space, which is why she leaned so close to me. “You’re so smart that, with a bit of practice, you’d be the most skilled at a lot of physical activities.”

Did she know how nervous she was making me? My face was already flushed from the alcohol, the effort, and now from the way she was looking at me while twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

I wanted to say something else, but a voice interrupted mine: a tall, burly guy accompanied by two others who seemed to be flanking him. Probably a member of the fraternity hosting the party.

He specifically addressed her, asking how she was enjoying the party and throwing in a compliment, clearly with ulterior motives. For a moment, I felt disheartened. Of course, she could have gone with him and I would have understood. I was far too used to rejection.

“I’m having a great time—with my friend. Thanks,” she exclaimed, cordial but curt.

“Want a drink?”

“Honestly, no.”

By the uncomfortable smile she gave the men, I assumed she was politely ending the conversation. With some reluctance, the guys walked away.

Suddenly, my breath caught when I felt her hand rest on my thigh, sliding painfully slowly down to my knee. I couldn’t even hear her words over the heat of her fingers on my pants.

“Sorry?”

“I thought you were going to say something, earlier.”

“No,” I quickly replied, smiling like an idiot because of the way she had leaned toward me. “Nothing.”

“I like listening to you. You know so many things, and you don’t make me feel dumb when you explain them. That’s very sexy.”

“Sexy?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, because I’d replied in a voice an octave higher than normal. “You are very sexy.”

Her compliment was followed by a soft, distracted kiss on the line of my jaw, which sent my brain into overdrive.

“Uhm… you… you’re beautiful. Very beautiful.”

My clumsy compliment seemed to please her, and I felt one of her nails, long and painted black, tracing circles on the skin of my knee. Each small movement felt deliberate, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Did you know fireflies don’t just glow to communicate but also to… attract?”

Her voice broke the silence between us, soft but layered with a double meaning that made me lift my eyes to her.

“Yes, I know,” I responded automatically, my brain switching to autopilot. “Bioluminescent signals are a form of courtship. The light patterns vary by species and can be very specific.”

She turned her head toward me, her lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Of course you’d know that. But tell me something—do you think it actually works? Making someone notice you just by glowing?”

My throat went dry. There was something about the way she was looking at me, like she was expecting a more personal answer than a scientific one.

“I guess it depends on who you’re trying to attract,” I murmured, feeling ridiculously exposed under her gaze.

“That makes sense.”

Her hand slid slightly—barely noticeable—toward the edge of my knee. After tapping her fingers on my pants, she withdrew it.

She didn’t move from the couch, and neither did I. There was something about her posture that held me captive—the way she leaned back against the seat, relaxed yet naturally elegant. Her dress had ridden up slightly along her thighs, revealing more skin than I felt prepared to handle at that moment. I tried to look elsewhere, but it was as if my eyes had a will of their own, always returning to the same place.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Yes, of course,” I replied quickly, turning my head in the other direction. Perhaps too quickly, because my neck cracked slightly in the process.

She didn’t say anything, but her suppressed laughter made me feel even more awkward. In the silence that followed, I forced myself to focus on something safer: the empty glass on the table, the flickering lights through the window, anything but the curve of her leg or the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” she commented suddenly, with almost theatrical casualness. Then, without warning, she leaned forward as if to adjust her shoe, causing the neckline of her dress to dip even further.

“Do you think so?” I muttered, my voice raspier than I intended.

She smiled, a gesture somewhere between innocence and knowing.

“Yes, definitely. Though maybe it’s because we’re sitting so close,” she said, glancing around as if she had only just noticed the temperature.

Her words felt like both a slap and a caress at the same time. I tried to keep my gaze fixed on her face, but it didn’t help that her eyes shone with a kind of mischievous intent. Then she lifted one leg, bending it to get more comfortable on the couch, and her knee accidentally brushed against my thigh.

“Did you know you have a very particular way of distracting yourself?” she remarked while toying with the hem of her dress, as if unaware of the chaos she was causing in my head.

“Do I?” my voice sounded weak, almost a whisper.

She nodded slowly, leaning in a bit closer until I could feel the warmth of her proximity.

“Yes. It’s like you’re trying to avoid something but… you can’t.”

My throat went dry. I wanted to say something clever, to steer the conversation away, anything to regain some ground. But instead, all that came out was a nervous, forced laugh.

She didn’t stop looking at me. Then, with exasperating slowness, she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her thigh—a casual gesture.

“You know, sometimes you seem so self-aware. It’s something that can be endearing, but also… well, how do I put it?” she paused for a moment, bringing a finger to her lips as if she were reflecting. “It makes you seem easier to impress.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing, Reid. It’s just me rambling” her voice softened, and I felt the lightest touch on my nose as her finger grazed it. I tried to ignore the fact that her gaze had lingered on my lips “Scattered thoughts I have in my head.”

Without warning, she let out a loud exhale and leaned back into the couch, arching her back as if trying to relieve some muscle tension. I know she probably wasn’t aware of the movement, but it was what finally made me lose the little composure I had left.

“I need to use the restroom. Can you give me a moment?”

I escaped. Cowardly, completely, I got up and practically bolted toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment of peace. As soon as I entered, I realized I had an obvious problem in my pants—I was hard as a rock, and that wasn’t good. I looked at myself in the mirror, surprised at how flushed my face was. My pupils were dilated, my lips dry… What the hell was happening to me?

It quickly became clear that she was the reason for my situation.

The alcohol prevented me from feeling the embarrassment I surely deserved, and instead, I felt like my head was spinning. I placed a hand over the fabric of my pants, letting out a frustrated, pained groan.

I stayed there for a while, trying to think of something that would make my erection go away, but nothing worked. A couple of knocks on the door startled me, and that forced me to leave. Once in the hallway, I walked for a bit until I bumped into someone.

“Spencer! I’ve been looking for you. Are you okay?”

“No! I mean, yes… it’s just…”

I needed to think of something quickly—something believable, but not catastrophic. However, it was hard to concentrate with her body so close to mine, mere inches away from her noticing my situation.

“Did you throw up?”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s nothing. I think the vodka didn’t sit well with me, uh, maybe I got dizzy from dancing, I don’t know. I think it’s best if I leave.”

“Poor thing,” she murmured, pouting “I’ll take you home right now.”

“I can take a cab.”

“Nonsense. That was our agreement, remember? If one of us was in bad shape, the other would take care of them. Plus, I was the one who encouraged you to drink. I’d feel bad if something happened to you.”

She was already putting on her jacket—she’d been holding it, probably suspecting the situation—and tried to find the keys in her pocket. My outstretched hand reminded her that she’d already given them to me earlier.

When she placed her hand on the small of my back to guide me out, my breathing deepened. The sensation of excitement coursed through me in a way I couldn’t ignore. I realized that something in me desperately wanted her. Too much.

It wasn’t an impulsive desire but a subtle one that had been building throughout the night—with every glance, every gesture. Perhaps the vodka had intensified my evident attraction to her, but whatever the reason, it had turned into something far more palpable.

It was almost as if my body was begging me to stop her right then and there, to kiss her recklessly, and maybe, just maybe, ease the relentless ache inside me.

The cool night air made me feel better, and as the noise faded behind us, I began to calm down. I fervently tried to hide the bulge in my pants, but the truth was she didn’t even seem to notice. Then again, it would’ve been strange to catch her staring at my crotch, right?

“Are you sure you’re in a condition to drive?”

“I’ve driven home in far worse states of drunkenness. Don’t worry,” she smiled.

She looked more lucid now, as if her intoxication had vanished in an instant. I decided to trust her abilities.

The drive home was silent, and I kept shifting in my seat, trying to find strategic positions to avoid embarrassment. I guess she attributed my silence to the supposed discomfort I was feeling, as she didn’t try to start a conversation.

She didn’t say anything when she caught me looking at her through the rearview mirror. It was an innocent glance, at least on my part, simply admiring her. Her lips were driving me crazy, her eyes, slightly narrowed from the lack of light and smudged with mascara, seemed the most beautiful to me. I didn’t know what she saw in me, but I think—no, I feel—that it was something she liked.

“Thank you so much for bringing me home… and for everything.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Quite a lot, actually.”

“We should do this more often.”

“Go to university parties?”

“Just go out in general. To a bar, grab some drinks, a coffee, the library if you’d prefer,” she laughed “The place doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re there.”

Was she implying she wanted a date with me? I swallowed hard and looked at her, trying to decipher what she wanted me to do. I couldn’t figure it out.

“I’d like that, yes. We can talk about that later. Thanks again for the ride.”

A kiss on my cheek marked her goodbye, and I rushed out, eager to get inside my apartment. I was about to unlock the building’s door when the sound of a car horn made me turn around.

“Hey, would you mind if I use your bathroom? I’ll be quick,” she promised.

I needed to get to the shower and turn on the cold water, but I didn’t protest when she turned off the car engine.

Almost no one visited me in the apartment, so I kept the space however I pleased. It wasn’t really messy, but there were plenty of things on the desk and several books scattered around.

She entered, as she had said, rushing to the bathroom. It was only then that I dared to put a hand over my pants, swallowing a moan that was about to escape from my throat.

In my limited sexual experiences, nothing like this had ever happened to me, and I wondered what the cause might have been. Alcohol couldn’t be blamed, of course, but it was responsible for ruining my ability to react enough to find another explanation.

The shirt began to feel heavy on me, and almost out of necessity, I undid the first buttons to let myself breathe. I tried to ventilate my skin by tugging at the fabric with the tips of my fingers, but it was useless. I sighed.

I glanced around the room, just wanting to make sure nothing was embarrassing in view, and at that moment, she came out of the bathroom. She looked flushed and had some wet hair, as if she had washed her face.

“You okay?”

“Yes, just… suddenly felt a bit feverish”

“Let me check”

My intentions were purely medical when I cupped her face with one hand, putting the back of the other against her forehead to confirm or deny my suspicions. Of course, I hadn’t considered how close we would be. Or maybe I had, subconsciously, and that’s why I moved forward.

My choice of words wasn't the best either.

“You’re hot,”

“I don’t think it’s as much as you.”

A daring smile slid across her lips, and I held my breath as her fingers traced up to the line of my collarbone, exposed by my shirt.

“Why are you saying that?”

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s just… I don’t understand it.”

A soft laugh echoed in my ears.

“Well, I think you’re very handsome. Would there be any other reason for that?”

I swallowed deeply. She noticed the movement of my Adam’s apple.

“No… I think… I think not. It’s the most logical thing.”

“Don’t they tell you that often?” she murmured, genuinely confused. I shook my head “That’s a shame.”

Her hand, which had been tentatively caressing my skin, moved up to my neck and pulled me just a few inches closer to her.

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Yes?”

“Could I kiss you?”

A chill ran down my spine. And without thinking, I answered yes.

Her mouth found mine with a softness that contrasted with the whirlwind of sensations inside me. It was a heady contrast: the sweetness of her lips against the intensity of the desire that had been building up in every fiber of my being.

My hands instinctively moved to her waist, hesitating for a moment, as if fearing that this might just be a product of my imagination. But she didn’t hesitate. Her body leaned into me, closing any distance that remained.

Her lips were insistent, demanding, and before I could process what was happening, her hand slid down to my chest, pushing me gently back until my back collided with the wall.

“I’m sorry…” I managed to murmur between kisses, pulling my face slightly away. My voice came out more trembly than I wanted.

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her face toward mine, her fingers now brushing my jawline.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“For this” my gaze dropped quickly before returning to her eyes. “No… I didn’t want you to feel it. It’s embarrassing.”

For a moment, I thought she would pull away, that the spell of the moment would break. But instead, her lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Embarrassing? I thought I was the only one feeling all this tension,” her tone was low, almost a whisper, but filled with a certainty that made my breath grow even more erratic.

Before I could respond, her lips captured mine again, this time with more intensity. The kiss was everything I didn’t know I needed: desperate, intoxicating, completely consumed by the connection between us. I felt her body press against mine, her curves fitting perfectly as if they were made to be there. And then, all my doubts, all my attempts to hold back, vanished.

My mind was a whirlwind. Every touch of her lips, every time her tongue sought mine, was like a fire I couldn’t put out. My face was hot, yes, but now not because of the alcohol, not even from the effort of holding myself back. It was her closeness, her touch, her condescending voice still echoing in my head.

She knows what she’s doing. And she’s slowly killing me.

“Hey, wait…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you feel okay with this?”

“A lot. Do you want to stop?”

“No. It’s just that… you’ve been drinking. I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you” my voice came out hoarse, full of doubt and repressed desire.

Her eyes met mine, firm and warm at the same time, as if her gaze could completely disarm me.

“Relax. You’ve been drinking too, pretty, and I think if anyone could make that accusation, it would be you. Do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?”

“No”

“I’m fully aware of everything. I don’t even feel drunk anymore. The only thing that’s making me dizzy right now is you, Spencer…”

I shivered when I heard my name on her lips like that. She continued:

“I’m just as anxious as you are. I’ve been holding back all night, trying not to make this too obvious, but I can’t anymore. Please, don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt what I want. I want you”

Her confession hit my heart like a blow and ignited a spark that set my entire body on fire. My hand moved up her back until it tangled in her hair, while the other rested on her hip. The pull was gentle but enough for her to understand that my inner struggle had ended. I wasn’t resisting this anymore.

I wanted her too. I wanted her now.

“I never imagined…”

My words were barely audible as our lips brushed in a kiss that was both an explosion of emotions and a long-awaited relief. Her mouth was soft, and so perfectly synchronized with mine that I felt like the world stopped at that moment.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, anchoring the connection between us, while my thumb traced a slow path along her jawline, savoring every detail of her skin. It was more than a kiss. It was the confirmation of something that had been lingering all evening.

When we parted just a centimeter to breathe, our foreheads stayed pressed together.

“Did that clear your doubts?”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say all that,” I replied with a weak smile, the only one my pounding heart allowed me to form.

“Then stop overthinking”

The space between us disappeared again as we kissed with desperation we had both been suppressing. Her low laugh vibrated against my lips, and I couldn’t help but smile. How did she do it? How did she drive me crazy with so little effort?

But now wasn’t the time for questions. It was time to feel.

The whole world had reduced itself to him: his warm breath, his lips that wavered between soft and desperate, and the hands that roamed my waist with a mix of reverence and clumsiness, making me want him even more. Spencer had always been an enigma to me, a balance between restraint and passion that I didn't know how to decipher... until now.

I had waited for this moment more than I would ever admit. Maybe it had been the way he looked at me when he thought I didn't notice, or the warmth in his voice when he said my name, as if it were something sacred. But now, with his body pressed against mine and his doubts finally gone, I knew I hadn't imagined anything.

It was as if the pieces of a puzzle I had been trying to put together in the dark finally clicked into place, and the resulting image was more beautiful than I had ever dreamed.

Wanting to reverse the roles, it was now him who gently pushed me against the wall, and I felt the control he always seemed to have begin to crack. His breath was heavy, his body trembling slightly, a sign that this was as new and overwhelming for him as it was for me.

"Spencer..." I murmured his name again, feeling it resonate in my chest at the same time his lips moved more intensely against mine. "Can I ask you something?"

I received an affirmative exhalation, and to let me speak, his lips moved to the hollow of my neck. Although my mouth was free, the soft and wet kisses I was receiving blurred my judgment a bit.

"Tell me”

"Did you really feel bad at the party? Or was it just..."

"I didn't want you to notice what you were doing to me. Although I think at this point it doesn't matter much, right?"

Contrary to what I expected, Spencer pushed his hips against mine, as if he wanted to prove that it was true. I could even call it a claim, something that said: look what you did to me. And I wanted him to know just how much my body was begging for him.

Carefully, I moved one of his hands from my waist, and before he could protest, I guided it to one of my thighs, dangerously close to my core. I was glad I had thought of lingerie as a great complement to my dress, maybe in an attempt to feel sexy even if no one saw it. But now, he was going to see it.

Spencer understood my silent request. Those long, slender fingers, which seemed made for more than just flipping through the pages of a book or scribbling frantic notes on paper, slid across my smooth skin. I sighed as I remembered the veins tracing a map under his fair skin, like rivers of contained energy.

Until they finally reached where I needed them. And his touch... God, his touch was something else. They were hands made for discovery, for holding, for exploring, but in those moments, they seemed to be made only for me.

Spencer wasn't an overly bold guy, so it didn't surprise me that he just traced shapes above my panties, as if he wanted to diagnose my anatomy before making any move. My sighs at his ear seemed to please him.

Suddenly, he stopped kissing me, and I huffed, since I liked the attention he was giving my shoulder, until I felt his lips drop just slightly. A loud, pathetic moan escaped me when he squeezed my tits while burying his face to leave an experimental kiss.

I was barely processing that when he knelt in front of me and, carefully, took the edge of my dress and lifted it.

My legs trembled with anticipation at the thought of what he was going to do next, and then I felt his lips brush my thigh. He started gentle, kind, but soon he began sucking every bit of skin he could, and in the end, he made sure to leave bites strong enough to make me whimper.

Who would have thought that this man, seemingly so inexperienced, turned out to offer the best foreplay a woman could desire?

I squealed as I felt his kisses trail down to the fabric of my panties, pausing for a moment to lick the length of my still-clothed pussy.

“You’re dripping wet,” he observed. I was too focused on not giving in right then and there to say anything "Is oral something you're into?"

“I don’t know,” I exclaimed honestly. I didn’t care how vulnerable I looked as I confessed that no man had ever dared to give me head “You?”

“It’s an idea that piques my curiosity, yes.”

Gently he slid some of the fabric aside to clear the way for his tongue, and I felt as if my entire body was only aware of the parts he was probing, kissing, sucking. When he raised my thigh to shoulder height, deepening his thrusts, I felt like I was going to pass out.

I lowered my hand to his thick head and tried, in vain, to push him away from me. I honestly didn’t have the strength or desire to do so, much less when he had picked up the pace.

I moaned a sweet nickname out loud and then Spencer pulled away, looking up at me with glossy, swollen lips.

“Take me to bed, please.”

He didn’t need me to say it twice as he immediately stood up and took me by the waist to guide me to said spot. I was able to taste myself on his lips and for some reason that only turned me on.

Once we hit the mattress the way he laid me down was gentle and I sighed at that. How could he be so sweet all the time? I wondered. And worse yet, how much would this little adventure affect my future expectations?

Because if it was about standards, I was finding out that Spencer Reid was the standard.

Seemingly more enthralled now by my lips than my pussy, he continued with the make-out session we were having. With each touch we had, my excitement was increasing more and more. In the midst of it all I managed to unbutton his shirt and take it off to leave it somewhere on the bed; the semi-darkness of the room shielded any insecurities he might be feeling, as well as my own.

“You are painfully stunning, did you know?”

My tone was one of reproach, and he laughed at that, looking down almost embarrassed. Maybe he wasn't used to compliments, but something told me he was definitely enjoying it.

I heard him murmur something under his breath about me, while he took down the straps of my dress. My hands almost instinctively went to unbuckle his belt, and before I could do anything, he pulled away from me. Needless to say, this left me confused.

"Sorry, I..."

“You don't want to?” I murmured understandingly. I thought maybe he wasn't a big fan of these situations, and I understood, but somehow I felt hurt.

"No! Sure I want to. I want it a lot, but..." he tried not to look at me, as if avoiding confrontation "It's just that I don't have any protection here”

A laugh escaped my lips, and I feared he might interpret it as mockery, so I stretched my neck to steal another kiss.

"One would think there are many girls who pass through these sheets."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you. It's cute, actually. It even makes me feel guilty," I murmured, smiling "For a second, I was afraid something had made you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that."

I hesitated for a second whether I should suggest what was on my mind.

"We could do it like this. It doesn't bother me."

"It's not just about avoiding an unwanted pregnancy..." he began. At that moment, I saw him return to his usual nerdy mode. "Although, of course, that counts. But there are things like sexually transmitted infections, some of which don't even show symptoms at first and could complicate things if not detected on time. I know this doesn't sound very attractive, but believe me, protection isn't just for avoiding future problems; it's also to take care of you now, so you don't have issues later: because sometimes men can transmit diseases we're asymptomatic for, and to be honest, I've never done those kinds of tests. A lot of people don't think about it, but the risks are real. And don't get me wrong, I trust you, but even though you trust me, diseases don't discriminate. And I'd like us both to have that peace of mind. Prevention is never too much."

“You conflict me deeply. On the one hand, I admire how responsible you are; it's very cute. But on the other hand, I just urgently need you to fuck me deep and cum inside me”

Spencer was surprised by my desperate whining and tensed when I placed one of my legs around his waist, trying to persuade him. But I was even more surprised when I felt him pull completely away to stand beside the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To the pharmacy," he announced, putting a jacket over his bare torso.

"Are you serious?" I laughed widely, sitting on the bed now that my companion had moved away.

"Definitely. I feel like I can't handle it any longer, it’s physically painful, and when you talk to me like that, it just drives me crazy” he groaned, joining in the fun. It was the first time something like this happened, and I honestly thought it was absolutely hilarious “I'll be back in a minute, I swear! Please, don't go...”

"I couldn't," I murmured sweetly. He came closer, and I took the opportunity to kiss him again "Be quick. I'll be waiting anxiously for you."

Something in my tone of voice affected the man, or maybe it was the wink I gave him, but I saw him bolt out the door. I flopped back onto the bed, taking a moment to digest what was happening.

I have to admit that my classmate had always been attractive to me, but I never thought he could feel the same way. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would be waiting for him in his bed so that, with any luck, he could ravish me without holding back.

As I reached out my arms, I could feel the fabric of the shirt I had previously removed from him, and then I brought it up to my nose, inhaling without thinking. A familiar scent hit me immediately: the mix of sweet cocktails he had drank during the party and a subtle trace of cannabis, as if the night was still impregnated in him. I could distinguish a hint of wood, perhaps from the furniture in the place, combined with a light scent of sweat that was not bothersome, but rather natural. And then, among all that, there was his perfume: a citrus and spicy aroma that evoked something fresh, but also deep, sensual, as if every molecule of his being was waiting for something more. I breathed harder, feeling that this aroma, this moment, defined him.

I didn't know why that particular night my whole body was screaming for his closeness. I was crazy about him and it wasn't the alcohol's fault, because I'd had too many drinks to know. Neither of us had ever done drugs and for a moment I was terrified by the idea that I could want to be with someone like that, with such fervor that it was worrying.

Still dizzy from the excitement of the moment, I lowered one of my hands to my crotch to get rid of my panties. I thought about him, wondering how skilled he was. Not that I doubted his abilities, but just like I’d told him that night, he might need some practice.

I started to fantasize about helping him through this situation, maybe guiding him or pampering him by just asking him to lay back so I could do all the work. Spencer was the kind of man who invited you to please him, the kind of man you wanted to satisfy because he never pressured you into it.

Playing with myself, I sniffed his shirt again, desperately wishing I could have the source of said scent with me, until my brain was filled only with daydreams in which he was the protagonist and my fingers were replaced by his. That's why I didn't notice when he opened the apartment. And that's why I didn't know he was watching me from the door frame until I heard him let out a ragged sigh.

Being caught in that position made me feel embarrassed at first, but the way he practically lunged at me and kissed me more decisively than before, I figured he liked seeing me like that.

"Busy?"

I was caught off guard by his sassiness and I knew he was proud of it by the smile I felt on my neck.

“I guess you found what we need, right?”

“Uh-huh”

“Have you read any books on female anatomy?”

“Quite a few”

“So I guess you know a lot about sexuality, don’t you?”

“In theory, yes. Unfortunately, I haven’t had many opportunities to put it into practice.”

A smile spread across my face, which luckily he couldn't see because he was too busy leaving a trail of kisses along the top of my torso.

“How unfortunate, considering you’re a scientist. I wouldn’t mind becoming an object of your study, though, you know?”

He subtly slid the straps of my dress and revealed my bra, from which a considerable part of my boobs protruded, which he happily kissed.

At the same time his hand came down to caress me, making me shiver with anticipation, resting on just the right spots. It was the least I could expect from such an intellectual man, one who definitely knew about the thousands of nerve endings concentrated in my clitoris, which he was definitely tapping into to satisfy me.

“May I?” he whispered, looking at the little underwear he still had on.

I nodded immediately and arched my back to make it easier for him to unbutton it, which didn't take too long. He was practically worshipping every inch of my skin, which, combined with his gentle yet firm fingers rubbing me, was driving me crazy.

We both moaned in unison as he pushed a finger into me. It felt just as good as I had imagined.

I had read somewhere that, physiologically, women need more time to achieve an orgasm and although none of my exes had cared about that, this one seemed to know that fact. Maybe that was why he was giving me such attention, which I was undoubtedly grateful for.

“Honey…” I choked out “you’re doing great, really, really good, but would you mind if we replaced those fingers? I want to feel you inside me,” I practically begged.

I never begged, I felt like a fool doing it, but if that got me the intensity of the kiss he gave me, I wouldn't mind starting to do it.

Spencer pulled away from me, searching for the packet of condoms he'd run off to get, and while he unbuttoned his pants I got rid of my dress, which by this point was just a mass of fabric around my waist.

My body wasn't perfect, but I figured that wouldn't matter to him. Besides, I doubt he'd be rude enough to mention it.

“Need a hand?” I joked playfully, noticing that he was struggling to open the silver package.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous,” he said to himself, hoping I wouldn’t mind too much.

I wanted to reward him for treating me so well a few moments ago and I took the package from his hands, placing my palm on his chest until I laid him down against the mattress. Once in that position it wasn't difficult to get rid of the wrapping to place the piece of latex on him, thinking that I didn't have a single complaint about his body.

My hands on him made him nervous and I watched him turn into a mess as I began pumping his cock up and down to make sure he had the condom on properly.

“You don’t have to hold back. I like the sounds you make,” I exclaimed in a velvety tone, trying to sound as genuine as possible “That way I know you’re enjoying it.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out for much longer,” he confessed, as my hand continued to move along his length. Although I wished I could take better care of him, I understood the situation.

“Your wish is my command”

He didn't complain when I put each leg on his sides and he bravely hardened as I teased him for a moment before sinking my pussy onto his dick. I started slow, trying to make him last as long as possible, but with each second it was getting harder to keep up a pace.

I tried my best to ride him, trying to give him the best experience as a thank you for all his hospitality. And from the whimpers coming out of his throat I assume I was doing my job well.

At some point his hands ended up on my hips, guiding me as he pleased. Sometimes he pushed me down, as if he wanted to get to the bottom of me, and other times he manipulated me so that the thrusts were fast.

He wasn't lying when he said he would cum in no time, as the repressed desire added to the previous sexual actions had him on the edge of the abyss. I knew he had reached orgasm when he closed his eyes and his hips slammed against me, in erratic movements.

I kept riding him a little longer, chasing my own climax, and when I got it I put my hands against his chest, arching in pleasure. Spencer, breathing heavily, grabbed my wrists in his hands and then pulled me so that I was against his torso, my lips too close to his.

He placed his palm on my cheek and pulled me in his direction, seemingly asking for a kiss. I granted it.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am,” I sighed wryly. It was cute that he didn’t know that sometimes girls don’t even make it. “How was it for you?”

“I'm speechless.”

I laughed and, to a certain extent, felt flattered that I had left a man who knew a million ways to express himself in that state.

We enjoyed the high we had just had for a few minutes and waited for our breathing to slow down; when our sighs took the same rhythm, he spoke again.

“You should go to the bathroom. It’s, uh… healthy for you to do it after every encounter.”

I reached for the garment he had been wearing and, trying to protect myself from the cold air, I put it on over myself.

“Do you mind lending it to me?”

“Nu-huh,” he hummed, eyeing me as if I were a cupcake. I would later learn how affected he was to see me using his clothes to slide out of bed.

When I came out of the bathroom he already had his boxers on, probably wanting to maintain modesty, and when he went to attend to his needs I also looked for my panties. It wasn't long before he returned to keep me company.

“Do you want to cuddle? I’d feel like a whore if I just left”

“Yes, of course I want”

He made sure to throw anything that was on the bed onto the floor and patted the pillows to make them more comfortable. I settled into the space next to him, leaning against his chest, right at heart level.

One of his arms was holding me from behind and in some strange way that made me feel safe; protected.

“Your feet are frozen, are you cold?”

"Not much"

“Do you want me to get you some socks?”

“I’m fine, Spencer,” I laughed softly. I brushed my cheek against his skin and tried to snuggle closer to him. “It’ll just get colder if you leave.”

“Did you know that the human body is incredibly efficient at maintaining its temperature? When two bodies are nearby, like… now,” he paused, settling a little closer to me, “heat transfer occurs due to thermal radiation and direct conduction. Essentially, each body generates heat that helps the other maintain a stable core temperature.”

“So you’re like a human blanket”

“That’s right. In fact, in situations of severe hypothermia, sharing body heat in this way can literally save lives.”

I raised my head to look at him and noticed an excited gleam in his eyes, the one he always had when he shared something from his vast knowledge.

“I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what you said earlier, about female anatomy,” seeing him frown, I continued, “No field of study considers one experimentation enough, right? Everything needs to be replicated two, three, four times. Ten times if necessary.”

“Your guess is quite accurate.”

“Say no more. We must give everything if it is in the name of science”

From the smile on his face, I knew that my joke had pleased him and that my proposal seemed to please him. To seal the deal I reached up and kissed him softly. We remained silent for a while, him caressing me over his own shirt and me enjoying the closeness.

“I like you a lot”

“I had a feeling,” I teased, earning a soft laugh from him “I really like you, too."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and for some stupid reason a blush crept up my cheeks, even though we had just had sex. I carefully placed myself on top of his body and buried my face in his neck, feeling him hug me around the waist.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, I could tell by how calm his breathing was becoming, and I tried to enjoy the peace he emanated a little longer, until, eventually, Morpheus picked me up in his arms too.

@spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @shuichiakainx @gghostwriter @cafters @weallhaveadestiny @your-left-sock @jaeminsmilk @tmrs-basilisk @kristennotstewart @lostinwonderland314 @f4tpo3s @lortheswiftie @dark-unicorn222 @samsienichole @blackholegladiator @gretaandthatsit @cherrysprlte @halfbloodwriter @piercethefic @reidingandallthat @ariel-23-19 @zorrasucia @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @juluina @kylakins88 @tinainaction @sadroses98 @dumbbunnys-safes @bowerfeithwk @freyafriggafrey

Thank you very much for your interest! I hope you liked it, if you feel like it, let me know what you think :)

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 8

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes, again with the slight smut phew, angst on top of more angst, no comfort... yet (or ever? hmm much to ponder about)  A/N: Imagine if I leave it here lmao Also, I've been listening to White Ferrari on repeat while editing this chapter. I'm not saying that you should too while you're reading, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Oh, and Angel by Massive Attack. Trust me, it's gonna come up. (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8

The cold tiles of the bathroom floor wreak a shiver through your body.

You’re curled up in front of the toilet, barely upright after another round of puking what little bile is left in your stomach. Cold beads of sweat dot your forehead and every breath feels thin, ragged, like you’re trying to gulp air through a pinhole. The chill seeps under your skin, leaving you shuddering involuntarily between dry heaves. 

You make the rookie mistake of tilting your head ever-so-slightly to rest against the cool porcelain, and the miniscule action threatens to send the room careening into another violent spin. A wave of nausea hits you and you desperately gnaw on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from gagging.

You feel like absolute shit. 

There’s something lodged inside, sinking deep into the pit of your stomach. A poison, a corruption—heavier than the excess of alcohol still clawing its way through your system. It isn’t the simple penance for overindulging, no; it’s darker, rawer, less perfunctory than the remnants of last night’s events. 

It churns inside you, leaving an acrid, metallic taste on your tongue and a dull ache behind your eyes. 

The buzzing of your phone reverberates beside you, a relentless vibration against your thigh. It hasn’t stopped since the moment you clawed your way out of bed and staggered toward your porcelain waste bucket. You weren’t supposed to bring it along with you—it should’ve been left abandoned outside of this room, far from this bleak sanctuary. This… this disgusting aftermath of your revelry. 

Unfortunately, it’s practically an extension of you now. A limb, almost. Or worse, a crutch—something you lean on so habitually, that the mere thought of its absence feels like an amputation.

“S-sorry,” you release a shaky breath, tears pricking your vision, unbidden. Unwelcome. “Sorry.” 

Another vibration. You can picture it clearly in your head: the worry marring his face, the exasperation in his eyes.

You retch.

––––

The red takeout box from Panda Express sits in front of you, its contents lukewarm and forgotten for the better part of the hour. You barely remember ordering it—actually, now that you think about it… Did you even order it yourself? Your memory’s a little hazy, just like everything else today. And last night.

Sylus’ voice crackles through your phone, propped precariously against a half-empty mug of tea on the low table. 

His presence, as always, manages to fill the room, though this time there’s a palpable tension in the air since you opened the game. His initial greeting had all the warmth of a parent catching their kid sneaking in past curfew. The moment his image blinked into view, you could see the battle in his eyes.

On one end, he simmered with ire, almost ready to boil over. On the other, he looked like he’d gladly claw his way out the screen just to tuck you into bed and personally force-feed you the food you’ve been ignoring for the past forty minutes.

“Eat it,” he grouses, a hint of steel sharpening his deceptively calm tone. The worry beneath it feels like it could strangle you. 

(And if it could, it probably would—if he has any say in it.)

You whine, burrowing deeper under the blanket, folding yourself into a sad, uncooperative ball on the couch. “I will. Eventually.”

“Eventually?” he echoes, the incredulity clear in his voice. “Do you plan on eating it soon as it becomes inedible, or is this a test of endurance?”

With a sigh that feels like it’s pulled from the depths of your soul, you poke halfheartedly at the lid. The smell of grease and fried food wafts out, making your stomach churn. Whether it’s from nausea or hunger pangs, you can’t tell.

“It smells like regret,” you mutter, swallowing the lump rising from your esophagus. 

Sylus snorts, and you can tell it slipped out before he could stop it. “Considering the state you’re in? Can’t say I’m surprised. But you still need to eat, kitten. You can’t run on stubbornness alone.”

“I’m doing fine so far,” you argue weakly, knowing you’re not convincing anyone. Your body feels like it’s been put through the wringer—limbs heavy, muscles crying in protest, a pounding headache that refuses to let up.

“Fine,” he repeats, dry as ash. “You can barely hold yourself up, but sure, let’s call that fine.”

You finally flip the box open, revealing a mess of something fried and vaguely brown. The smell hits you harder this time, and you salivate something odd. “I don’t think—”

“Eat,” he cuts you off, voice firm, brooking no argument. “You’ve done well with the tea, but now you need something to fill you up.”

“I can think of something else I’d like to fill me up,” you mumble, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself.

A beat of silence, and then Sylus’ tone shifts—a touch amused now, but it’s edged with a deliberate weight that makes your skin prickle. Uh-oh. 

“Sweetie,” he says slowly, almost indulgent, “if you’ve got the energy to make jokes like that, you’ve got the energy to eat. Be good, and I’ll make sure you’re properly rewarded once you’re feeling better.”

You laugh, breathless, trying to mask your nervousness from the subtle innuendo. Obediently, you pick up the plastic spork beside the carton. “You’re really selling this hard, huh.”

“I’m not here to sell it,” he sighs, voice losing its edge, but there’s still a firmness to it. “I’m here to make sure you don’t pass out. One bite. Start there.”

You spear a piece of shrimp hesitantly. It looks harmless enough, but you lift it like it might bite back. 

You take the tiniest nibble. 

It’s greasy, salty, and absolutely meh—but it doesn’t immediately trigger your gag reflex, which in itself feels like a small victory. 

“There,” he says, his satisfaction palpable. “See? You survived.”

“Barely,” you shoot back half-heartedly, though the corner of your mouth twitches.

“I’ll make sure to congratulate you later for your heroic recovery,” he says wryly. “Now another bite, sweetheart.”

You make a reluctant noise but comply, munching slowly. He hums in approval. When you glance at the screen, his expression has mellowed—the severity giving way to something almost tender.

You look away quickly, swallowing hard; though you're not sure if it’s because of the tiny morsel of food or from the heavier something that's lodged in your throat.

The sound of your chewing is slightly amplified by the silence that comes after. You’re afraid to break it first. 

So Sylus does it for you. Once he’s decided you’ve had your fill of the fried rice.

“Would you like to talk about last night?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “What about last night?” 

A long pause. 

“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. “I’m just saying that if you want to, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. You press your lips together, unsure of how to answer. There’s discomfort; the unease brought by your own self-consciousness. 

“I—uh—” You start, fumbling for the right words. “I didn’t mean to… make things weird or anything. I don't usually get that wasted,” You sigh, blowing a stray hair out of your face. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” 

“The only thing you did wrong last night was ignore my messages,” Sylus murmurs, his tone a little admonishing. “Making me worry about your well-being.”

You glance up, catching the affection in his eyes. He gives you a slight smile, relieved to finally have your attention fully on him.

You scrunch the blanket in your fist, fiddling with a loose string. You want to say something. Anything. But you can’t seem to summon the courage. 

Finally—

“You don’t think…” you hesitate, voice small. “You don’t think it’s– that I’m… too much trouble?”

He tuts softly, the sound playful, with hints of something fond. Comforting, almost. So you hold his gaze, even if it’s a little harder than you’d like it to be.

Sylus looks at you with something so… endearing that it’s almost painful. “You’re perfect. My little troublemaker,” his eyes burn a little brighter. “Mine.”

The words hit you like a wave—soothing, gratifying. Staggering.

Oh, you want to believe him. You want to lose yourself in his words, to give in to the feeling of being cherished, of being seen. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything as much as this. 

But turmoil wages a war inside you, and you’re stuck between the pull to let yourself believe and the sharp reality of your situation.

The futility of it all.

It makes you hurt, deep inside, in a way you don’t know how to fix.

––––

The package you got from the lobby is nondescript. Unassuming. The kind of box that could contain anything from kitchenware to – you don’t know, maybe a desk lamp? You turn it over in your hands, squinting at the lack of clues of its content and its sender. 

Did you order something and forgot?

Payroll was over a week ago, and you’re aware of your irresponsible tendency to pile everything that catches your eye onto an online shopping cart just to tempt yourself into buying shit you don’t need, but you’re pretty sure you’d remember spending money on… whatever this is. 

It’s not until you’re back in the privacy of your apartment, scissors in hand, that the mystery begins—and promptly ends.

The contents spill out, leaving you to blink owlishly at the mess of shredded wrapping paper and its pièce de résistance: a nine-inch monstrosity of a dildo, hot red in color. 

The… thing is practically a weapon, its twisting ridges and intimidating girth looking more like something you’d need a user manual for. Or a fucking exorcist, you distantly think in rising panic. 

“Uhh…” The sound tumbles out, an embarrassing mix of confused and gobsmacked. “I don’t remember—?”

Ping!

Your phone chimes before you can finish, and you slowly turn your gaze towards the screen, a sinking feeling beginning to form in your gut.

The message is short. And oh-so-smug.

Ah. Just in time. 

The realization dawns on you, and your cheeks burn hot enough to fry an egg. “Sylus!”

What? Even in text, his tone carries that infuriating slyness you can practically hear from a mile away. You’ve earned it.

Your mouth works uselessly for a moment before words could spill out, clumsy and agitated. “Earned what?!” 

A little treat for being such an obedient little thing while you were recovering, remember?

“Holy shit,” you wheeze. A half-hysterical giggle bubbles up your throat as you hold the draconic cock far from you as if it’s gonna attack at any second. Fuck, it might. “This is almost as big as my forearm! The hell am I supposed to do with this?”

What do I expect you to do with it? Sylus’s reply comes almost instantly, the weight of his insinuation almost coming across as mocking. I thought that was obvious.

You didn’t think your face could go any redder, and you’re sure you resemble a fucking tomato right at that moment. “Sy-Sy, this is—” You gulp, glancing at the toy with wide eyes. “fucking massive. It–it has… it’s got scales!”

Ah, so you’ve noticed the craftsmanship. Quite exquisite, isn’t it?

“E-Exquisite?” you sputter, voice soaring at a higher octave. “This looks like it came out of Alien or something! I’m pretty sure it’s gonna start moving on its own…”

Only if you press a button.

Your brain short-circuits, and you frantically examine the thing for telltale signs of any hidden mechanization.

There’s a short lull, laden with barely restrained amusement. Then: Relax, sweetheart. It’s not going to bite.

You let out another – nervous – laugh, gingerly setting the large toy down as if it might explode from its sheer audacity. “I hate you.” 

No, you don’t, Sylus counters without missing a beat. But I do appreciate how flustered you’re getting. Go on, sweet thing—tell me how it’s too much for you. I could listen to that all night.

You let out a strangled noise, burying your face in your hands. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you.”

Mmh, you know me so well. 

You sigh, the gravity of what’s inevitable setting in. It was like fighting a losing battle. 

Something the both of you knew right from the start.

-

-

-

(You are my angel)

“I-It hurts to put in,” you whimper, body trembling as sweat clings to your flushed skin. Every muscle feels taut, coiled tight with both anticipation and a flicker of fear. “p-please…” 

“We have the rest of the night, little dove. We’ll take it slow,” Sylus whispers, his voice a velvet caress in your ear, warm and grounding. “I’m right here.”

His words melt into you like cloying liquid, wrapping around your resolve like a sensual embrace.

(Come from way above)

“Again.”

“I-I can’t,” you sniffle, the words breaking into short, shaky gasps as your chest heaves. The remnants of your last orgasm still ripple through you, the one he’s ripped from you mercilessly.  

“You can, poppet,” he coos, the endearment sliding over you like cool mercury. “Give me one more, yeah? Want to see those pretty eyes rolling for me.”

The thought alone has you shivering, his tone dripping with enough heat to stir something molten from within you.

(To bring me love)

The air hangs unbearably hot, almost suffocating. Every nerve sings, alive with the memory of his ministrations—though he’s never truly touched you, has he? 

It doesn’t matter. The line between what’s real and what’s not blurs further with every passing moment.

Your body burns, and yet you crave more, more—the pulsing ache of your stretched walls only feeding the gnawing hunger that builds inside, like an unrestrained beast. 

You blink sluggishly; your vision swimming as pleasure courses through you in heavy, dizzying surges.

Has he bewitched you? You’ve become insatiable, ravenous—monstrous in your desire. For him. For the addicting high only he could give, and teasingly dangle just out of reach. 

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

How…? He’s nothing but a voice, incorporeal, yet he commands you completely. Your hands, your movements, your very breath feels as if it belongs to him. They follow his instructions without hesitation, carving paths of fire and electricity across the bare expanse of your skin.

“More?” Sylus rasps, and the edge in his voice sends a thrill down your spine. There’s something feral in his tone, and it brings you an almost animalistic sense of glee to know that he isn’t unaffected by all of this any less than you are. 

“More,” you beg, raw and needy. He groans in response.

“Good, so good for me,” he hisses a litany of praise that sounds so much like a curse. “My good girl. Mine to break, mine to ruin.”  

Your back arches as you cry out; muscles locking, mouth falling open in a soundless scream as both agony and ecstasy crash over you like a tidal wave.

(Love you, love you, love you, love you Love you, lo–ve you, love you, love you … Love you, love you—love you, love you…)

––––

"My cousin's getting married tomorrow."

You say it with an air of nonchalance, your voice light, as if you’re just commenting on the weather.

Sylus doesn’t respond right away. His usual quick wit is conspicuously absent, replaced by a silence that stretches long, settling into the room like a beam of sunlight from your window. The continuous whirr of the electric fan and the droning of the news anchor on TV fill the space instead, in place of conversation.

You don’t force it. Instead, you wait patiently until it bends under its own weight and breaks.

After what feels like minutes, his voice cuts through the quiet; neutral and impassive. "Where's it happening?"

"A little chapel in Downtown Orlando, near Lake Lucerne. Nothing fancy. They’re keeping it small."

He nods, his gaze distant. Somewhere you can’t follow. "Just close family?"

"Yeah," you murmur, your fingers absently tugging at the fraying hem of your cardigan. "And a few friends. My mom’s going, along with her new husband. They sent me photos of the setup earlier—it’s pretty."

Sylus hums. “Would you have gone, if it weren’t so far away?”

“Yeah,” you answer automatically. “Yeah, ‘course. But I’m here, and they’re there. So I could only send my regards.”

Maru pads into the room, brushing against your leg before bumping his head insistently against your shin. You scoop him up, ignoring his soft meows of protest, and cradle him in your lap.

“She’s been planning it for months,” you continue, scratching behind soft cat ears. “Way before she got engaged. She’s one of those people who just… knows. Knows what she wants, knows how to get there. All mapped out, down to the finer details.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a faint smile ghosting his lips. It doesn’t reach his eyes. "What a luxury,” he remarks, almost wistfully. "To pave your life so easily, just like that."

There’s something unspoken behind his words, something heavier than a passing comment. 

"Do you think about it?" His question startles you—not just its suddenness but the way his gaze locks onto yours, intent and searching, like he’s trying to read the answer in your face before you could even utter a word.

You blink. "... About what?"

"Marriage."

You hesitate. The question feels delicate, like a soap bubble floating in the air, fragile enough to burst at the slightest touch. "Sometimes," you admit. "But not like she does. It's always been more of an abstract idea, I guess."

He doesn’t speak. 

"I don’t know," you say softly, “if it’s something I could ever want. Or if it’s even meant for me."

Your voice falters, and the rest is left unsaid, though it lingers between the spaces untouched. 

I don’t think about it, no. Not if… if it’s not with—

You stop yourself before the thought takes flight, tampering it back down.

Sylus leans back, his gaze flickering away. "It’s a commitment," he says eventually. "One that requires a lot of thought. I understand."

He doesn’t elaborate, and for a moment, you almost consider leaving it there. But something in you—persistent, prying—urges you to press just a little further.

"What about you? Have you thought about it?"

There’s an imperceptible shift in his expression; the faintest furrow between his brows, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Perhaps not in the way you're thinking," he says quietly, almost to himself. "Sometimes I wonder what it means. For someone like me." He hesitates, glancing at you, an uncharacteristic vulnerability in those deep pools of red. “For…” 

His words hang unfinished; you feel its hollowness pushing down on you, as though they bore meaning neither of you can bring yourself to name.

You feel it settle in your chest, vacant and aching, like an absence of something. Gone before it even began.

––––

It dawns on you on a regular Saturday evening, as you're (clumsily) peeling potatoes for dinner, and Sylus is dutifully recounting the events of his day to you like your very own talk show host on late night cable.

It creeps up at you—not in an explosive burst of clarity, no. No fanfare, no earth-shattering epiphany. It’s quieter than that, like the tides under the moon, rising unnoticed until you’re already ankle-deep.

Maybe it’s always been there, tucked into the corners of your mind, hidden in the spaces between the teasing banter and the way he watches you when he thinks you’re unaware. A whisper that you refused to acknowledge, too afraid of what it would bring.

You must have known, even then. Right from the start.

From the way it feels when he says your name—softly, reverently, like it’s a privilege to utter it so freely.

From the way you ache when he waits for you to finish a thought, as though every word you speak is something worth treasuring. 

And it’s in the way he knows you better than you understand yourself, filling your silences with meaning so you don’t have to. 

You love him. 

You know how this ends.

––––

Coming down from a mind-numbing high is always an experience, a short state of nirvana; this time no different from the rest. 

For a fleeting moment, everything feels infinite—a small eternity suspended in pleasure. Petite mort.

But then reality hits you once again, and the pleasure vanishes like smoke. 

It leaves you feeling utterly spent. Empty. The silence crashes back in like a tsunami, heavier than before. The stillness wraps around you like a suffocating shroud. 

The sound of your shallow breathing, the oppressive white noise, the distant hum of the city from outside your window… These are your only source of life. There’s no warm touch to ground you. No arms to pull you close. No sweet nothings to piece you back together. Just this. Just you.

You had known. You always knew. 

This was it—the price of wanting something you were never meant to have. For surrendering yourself to something that exists only in fragments and pixels, bound by lines of code and a screen you can’t cross. You delude yourself into thinking it’s worth it, that these fleeting moments of bliss outweigh the quiet wake of devastation it leaves behind, every time. 

And yet—

A choked sob breaks past your lips, shattering the silence. It tears out of you like something primal, something you can’t control. 

Your body folds in on itself, naked and trembling, your arms banding across your stomach like you’re trying to hold something broken together. The sheets beneath you feel clammy, disgusting, but you pull them tighter anyway, desperate for something to hold on to.

It hurts all the same. 

“Talk to me,” Sylus whispers urgently. There’s something jagged and desperate about it. “Please. Tell me how to make it better.”

How could you? 

What words could bridge this chasm between you? How do you explain a hurt so uniquely yours, so tied to the fragile intricacies of a body he doesn’t have, of feelings that leads to nowhere? 

How do you describe the way it breaks you, knowing that he’s oh-so close, yet still—yet always—out of reach?

How do you describe the weight of being too human in moments like this?

You press your forehead to your knees, heart in your throat. You don’t know how to make him understand.

“I can’t,” you whisper into your knees, voice cracking under the weight of what’s left unsaid. 

-

-

-

The next morning arrives with the muted glow of daylight filtering through the blinds, but it does nothing to lift the oppressive tension in the room. You don’t mention last night. You don’t even glance at the lit phone screen.

Sylus doesn’t bring it up either—not directly. But you feel him. The weight of his attention clings to the edges of the silence you’ve imposed, like static crackling just beneath the surface.

You keep moving. It doesn’t matter how; you make yourself busy. Work has never been more engrossing as it does at that very moment, and you hurl yourself into the thrilling world of emails, spreadsheets, and Teams meetings like you’re vying for the spot as best employee of the month. 

His impatience is impossible to ignore. It presses against you, insistent, like a gasp of breath waiting to be released. But you don’t give him the chance.

At some point, his voice drifts from the speakers, low and clipped, but careful; as if he’s reigning in his emotions, afraid to scare you further away.

“Are you going to talk to me?”

Your fingers hover the keyboard. For a moment, the mouse cursor taunts you, as if it's also impatiently waiting for an answer.

Sylus thinks the silence you leave him suspended in is deliberate, even cruel.

He doesn’t push, not immediately. You hear the faint noise of the game’s background music, the tinkling piano keys, a reminder of his presence. 

When he speaks again, his tone is softer, laced with something almost… pleading. The change in his tone doesn’t ease the tension; it makes it worse.

“I can’t help if you shut me out, my heart.”

Still, you offer nothing.

The air feels brittle, stretched too thin, like glass just before it shatters. You can almost hear the first cracks forming, spidering between the two of you.

He doesn’t speak again. 

The day drags on in an uneasy rhythm. You move through the hours like a ghost, and Sylus remains silent. But the quietness pulses with disconcertment; a build up without release. The quiet isn’t peaceful. It’s the kind that crackles like a frayed wire. It collides with your refusal to confront it.

And so it goes: you avoid, he waits, and the distance between you grows.

––––

You’re at a crosswalk on the 4-A highway intersection, surrounded by a sea of pedestrians, the incessant hum of the metropolis vibrating beneath your feet as if the very ground you walk on is alive. 

The moment your gaze lands on a couple just ahead of you, everything seems to quiet down, like a fuzzy FM radio station on mute. You see them, caught in their own little world, oblivious to the noise and rush of the city. 

The woman’s laughter is light—happy. Her hand in his, secure and relaxed. The way she looks at him… it’s familiar, almost. Something you recognize.

The man beside her moves with a subtle grace. His presence is undeniable, but it’s the way he watches her, something soft and devout in his gaze, that draws you in. He’s tall, his sharp features and posture elegant—and somehow, it fits perfectly beside the smaller figure pulling him effortlessly against the throng of people. 

Without warning, the unnamed man’s features shift into something more distinct, and the woman turns into the reflection you see every day in the mirror.

It’s not the couple before you that you see anymore—it’s you, against Sylus’ chest, his silvery-white hair stark against the dark fabric of his clothes. You imagine his red eyes, those sharp features, the quiet strength of his presence wrapping around you, like it’s where you belong.

You're lost in the fantasy—the way it could be, if the two of you existed in the same world, side by side. His hand around your waist, the shared intimacy, the profound joy. Just the two of you against all odds.

A smile starts to tug at the corners of your lips, but before it can fully settle, the harsh blare of a car horn shatters the illusion.

The world rushes back around you. A teen bumps into your shoulder, pushing you forward. The vision of them—of him—dissolves, leaving you in the busy street, once again just another face in the crowd.

––––

Everything falls apart one afternoon.

You confront Sylus, words spilling out before you can stop them. You don’t know what drives you—bravery, desperation, or maybe the crushing weight of hopelessness that has finally stripped you of your fear.

“How’s she?”

His brows furrow. “Who?” He looks genuinely thrown, and for a second, you wish you could take the words back. 

When you finally say her name, his expression shifts. It’s quick—a flicker of something you couldn’t catch before he schools his features again. 

“Why do you ask?” There’s an undercurrent to his voice now, his tone wary, eyes searching yours. “I try to avoid any interactions with her if it’s not needed.”

He pauses; then his gaze softens, though there’s still a guardedness to it. “Are you… worried?”

You shake your head, frustrated with yourself, with him, with all of it. “It’s not—It’s not that.” You don’t know how to put it into words.

How can you explain the knot in your chest? The envy—not for reasons he thinks… or maybe for exactly those reasons. Maybe he knows. Maybe that’s why he’s looking at you like that, imploring and cautious at the same time.

“You have her,” you finally say, and the words fall flat, bitter on your tongue.

Sylus’ eyes flash, sharp and unyielding. “And you and I both know who I’d rather have.”

Now, isn’t that the crux of it all?

Your throat closes up, a hard lump that you can’t swallow down. “I don’t know how you could,” you manage, though it rings hollow in the dead air. 

“Don’t.” His voice is harsh now, rougher than you’re used to. Frustration bleeds through his usual composure. “Don’t act like you don’t feel it.”

You bite your lip, your gaze darting away. He calls your name, and there’s something raw in the way he says it, like it costs him something just to say aloud.

You choke out a laugh that sounds more of a sob than anything. “I don’t know where to go from here. It was fun at first, but now… It’s just sad.”

He frowns, and for a moment, there’s a boyishness to the expression, an innocence to his vulnerability. It stirs something deep in your chest. 

He opens his mouth, no doubt ready to ask why—why now, why this? Why are you unraveling in front of him, like this? 

But you don’t give him the chance.

“I love you, Sylus.” You admit, barely above a whisper. The words fall heavy between you, a confession and a wound all at once.

Sylus stills. 

The silence fills the room, but his eyes—those soft crimson—speak volumes. His jaw tightens, hands clench into fists, but there’s no real surprise in his face. He’s always known.

“I know,” he tells you. 

There’s something ancient in the timbre of his voice, like it’s been torn from the deepest part of him. And for a moment, neither of you moves.

_

He feels it—the way you’re slipping through his fingers. Every word you say feels like a step away, less of a standstill, more a surrender, and he… he’s never felt more powerless than he does in this moment.

(And isn’t that just grand? You’ve always had this uncanny ability to make him feel things he’s never felt before. He just wishes it wasn’t like this—wishes it wasn’t slipping into something he can’t hold onto.)

He doesn’t know what to say or do, doesn’t know what could possibly alter the trajectory you’re both hurtling towards. But the thought of losing this, of losing you, is unimaginable.

“I love you,” he says, rough and uneven, like the admission physically hurts. “In ways that terrify me. Do you understand?”

Your eyes widen, and he sees it—the flicker of hope. Fragile and fleeting, but there. Your gazes lock, and the world stops. 

For a moment, there’s no sound, no movement—just the two of you standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

“I want—” His voice cracks, infinitesimally, but it echoes in the void between you. “I want to hold you. To wake up next to you. To touch you in all the ways that matter, not just in words and binary. I want to be what you need.” 

You know what’s coming. 

“But—”

The word lingers.

“But you can’t,” you whisper, finishing what he couldn’t.

Sylus looks at you, his red eyes burning with an intensity that feels heartbreakingly human.

You’ve reached another impasse, and it feels like the final one. The air between you is thick with words unspoken, promises that can’t be made. It’s not anger that lingers, nor is it blame. It’s something quieter. More agonizing.

A resignation.

And yet, even in this fragile moment, a piece of you—of both of you—refuses to let go. To what could be, to what never will.

––––

Your mom’s voice rings bright through Facetime, a faint blur of words as she gives you the rundown of the events from your cousin’s wedding. The dress (An elegant Oscar de la Renta boat neck), the cake (A three-tier red velvet, a little on the sweeter side), and the vows (“Oh, you would’ve cried, honey!”).  

You try to listen, but your attention keeps drifting away. She notices, of course. 

“You seem more preoccupied lately, dear. Boy troubles?”

It’s a simple question, but it lands differently. Her voice is too light, too casual, like she’s asking if you’re still eating your vegetables. 

She doesn’t seem to acknowledge how far the distance has grown between you, how many years have passed where you stopped expecting her to understand. You’ve wanted her to notice, to see the parts of you she never asked about. The changes in you, whether small or monumental. But she never did. And you stopped waiting.

You chuckle tiredly. 

“Yeah, mom. Boy troubles.” 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim

[just-a-silly-lil-thing]

Coming from someone who used to be a librarian, libraries are amazing community resources, and they're more than just books. In addition to books, libraries have movies, music, audio books for in your vehicles, or a cd player at home. You can make copies probably cheaper than at Office Depot, and you could get papers laminated, and you could get them bound(not like leather bound or like a paper back) for like work books for school or something. At my library we had programs for kids and we even had adult programs and guest speakers we've even partnered with Feeding America over the summer to do lunches for students and even if your local library doesn't do that you can ask them for resources/to direct you to somewhere that does give out food for those in need. I've been to a library that even had two recording studios in it. Oh, and at least at the one I worked at, you could talk to the director and get books ordered from Amazon. And if the library you're at doesn't have what you need you can get it from another library without having to travel to that library, they might ask or you can ask for the book, movie, cd, or audio book to be placed on hold for you. Libby and Hoopla are also great as well. Not all libraries are the same, and all will be different in some way, but I encourage all of you to go to your local library and check it out. Even if you don't sign up for a library card, they're still great places to go and hang out or just sit in quietness.

I'm sorry this is so long. I really just wanted to talk about how great libraries are :)

unsung benefit i think a lot of ppl are sleeping on with using the public library is that i think its a great replacement for the dopamine hit some ppl get from online shopping. it kind of fills that niche of reserving something that you then get to anticipate the arrival of and enjoy when it arrives, but without like, the waste and the money.

[enwoso]

BOUND BY THE PAST | alessia russo x child!reader

it’s another long one, 4.1k words of angst and a small bit of fluff in there somewhere🤏🏼. honestly this was fun to write, and i’ve also in the process lost the request so whoever requested this thank you!

but what i will say is, i really wouldn’t wanna mess with alessia tbh.. especially after reading this. girl goes full on mama protection mode.

anyways enough spoilers, enjoy!

grumpy masterlist | psa: this fic is set after a bridge to cross, so i would recommend reading that to find out who harrison is.

the emirates stadium was alive with cheers as the final whistle blew, alessia felt the familiar rush of victory as her teammates surrounded her. the game had been a triumph and the buzz of the crowd still echoed through the stadium.

alessia's gaze scanned the stands briefly, somewhere closer to the bench was alessia's parents and her older brothers along with leah's family all cheering along, them choosing to sit in the stands for once in stead of the comfort of the friends and family box to be able to feel the excitement of the win as the season was coming to an end.

but her focus shifted as she searched for some other faces entirely, you were seated in the box with your dad, harrison. it had all been alessia's idea, she knew her family were coming but if they were seated on other sides of the stadium.

in alessia's mind the plan was foolproof, she had told her family that you were having a going out with harrison, and she had told harrison step by step what to do to not bump into her family.

even leah didn't know about harrison coming to watch the game.

"so tiny isn't coming today?" leah asked as she sat tying her shoelaces clad in a full arsenal tracksuit, her hair in a messy bun.

alessia shook her head as she finished making her pre-match drink, "no harrison's taking her out for the day, it's the only day he could do this week and i think he said something about taking her to the soft play" alessia explained, it hadn't been the only day he could do this week and he definitely didn't mention a soft play.

alessia in her mind knew the plan would work, she kept it this way, not telling anyone as she knew how fragile yeh situation was. she didn't want to ruin the one of the last home games of the season for anyone or at least have to deal with the inevitable confrontation — at not before she had to.

—

"mummy!" alessia froze mid step, the familiar sound of your voice ringing out through the corridor as she tried to make her way to the family area after having been showered post-match. her heart skipping. a mix of delight and apprehension filling her chest.

turning towards the sound, her breath caught the sight of you bouncing down the hall, your tiny hand firmly clasped around harrison's.

harrison followed hesitantly, probably knowing alessia would say something to chastise him about not sticking to the plan. his tall frame towering over the little girl as he let her lead him.

his posture was awkward, as his shoulders were slightly hunched as a white t-shirt adorned his body his long arms filled with tattoos as he looked as if he wanted to shrink himself.

his eyes darted around nervously, scanning the area. he was well aware this wasn't the plan.

"y/n, slow down," he muttered, glancing back towards the way they'd came. he had hoped to avoid running into anyone, let alone alessia's family.

but you were determined, your hair which was in little pigtails bounced as you practically skipped towards the private family area. you coming to a hault in front of your grandparent, your uncles and leah's family who were in there too.

you looking up at your mummy's shocked face with an innocent grin, "i brought daddy to see you, mummy!" you announced proudly looking between both harrison and alessia as if you'd just presented your mum with the greatest gift

harrison cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly under the weight of several pairs of stunned eyes. "hello" he said softly, giving a weak wave.

the room froze, as alessia's parents exchanged wide eyed glances her mum placing a hand over her chest as if steadying herself more than likely knowing what was about to happen. her dad's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as they flickered to alessia awaiting for her to say something.

but instead it was luca who broke the silence.

"what the hell is he doing here?" his voice was sharp and dripping from venom as he already moved forward as if to place himself between harrison and alessia.

"luca." carol warned but it was too late.

harrison instinctively pulled you a little closer, your hand tightening around his. "i'm not- i don't mean to-"

"you didn't mean to what?" gio cut in stepping up beside luca. his tone was cold as his expression was one of pure disbelief. "show up uninvited? drag her into this?" he gestured towards you as you were becoming more and more closed off.

"i wasn't trying to cause trouble," harrison said quickly his voice calm as he glanced down at you who was looking around and at him with confusion, clearly sensing the tension. "she wanted to see her mum, i didn't want to upset her."

"you've already done enough of that," luca snapped his tone still laced with venom.

the comment from luca, seemed to hit a nerve. harrison's expression shifted, his calm demeanour giving way to frustration. he straightened his posture, squaring her shoulders.

"look, i get that you don't like me, i get that i've made mistakes. but im here for y/n now. i'm not going anywhere no matter how much you scowl at me"

luca scoffed, stepping closer, "you think a few months of effort erases everything you've done? you don't deserve to be in her life"

"luca!" alessia's voice was sharp, but harrison didn't back down as her voice blended into the background.

"you think i don't know what i've done?" harrison shot back, his voice rising slightly. "you think i don't live with that every day? i'm not here to make things right with you or anyone else in the room, expect my daughter. that's it."

"your daughter?" gio crossed his arms, his face hard as he continued, "the one you walked out on the moment things got tough?"

"i've owned up to that," harrison snapped, his calm composure was cracking, fast. "and i'm doing everything i can to fix it. you don't have to like me, but you don't get to decide whether i'm in her life"

"what do you not get, you don't get to just show up and demand to be a dad!" lucas's voice was sharp, his frustration boiling over, "that little girl isn't just some box you can check off to feel better about yourself!"

harrison clenched his jaw, his fists curling at his sides, "i'm not trying to feel better about myself. i'm trying to be a father to my daughter and for what it's worth, alessia seems to understand that — something you two clearly don't."

"enough! stop it" alessia's voice raising as it cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. she stepped forward, placing herself between her brothers and harrison.

"mummy?" you voice was trembling as it broke through the shouting, small and wavering. your tiny hands gripping the bottom on alessia's jersey, her big blue eyes wide and shimmering with tears as she glanced between the adults.

harrison's anger drained instantly as his gaze dropped to his daughter opening his mouth to try and fix it as alessia shook her head for him to back down.

alessia immediately crouched down, pulling you into her arms, "baby, it's alright," she whispered, stroking the back of your hair. but your body was tense and your little fists balled up into alessia's jersey as you buried your face into your mummy's neck, desperately looking for any sort of comfort.

alessia turned to look for leah, leah being stood quietly by the door watching the mess unfold, shock slightly radiating on her face as well as a small pang of betrayal as alessia felt she couldn't tell her that you were coming to watch with your dad.

leah had heard the yelling from the corridor as she surged down still buzzing from the win but her smile quickly turned into a frown when she walked into the room.

"le, can you take lovie out. she shouldn't be seeing this.." alessia begged as you clung to your mummy, tears spilled from your small eyes.

leah nodding as she pushed herself off the wall, her heart arching at the sight of your confusion. alessia tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as she kissed your forehead whispering an 'i love you' before handing you over to leah.

leah shifted you so you rested comfortably on her hip, as she began to turn towards the door, she shot alessia a pointed look. leah's voice dropping to a murmur, "i told you this would happen when they found out."

alessia's jaw tightened, her frustration boiling over, "not now, leah" she snapped her voice sharp as she gritted her teeth together. leah left with you to calm you down as alessia turned to look at the boys who were still arguing.

"you fucking abandoned her, and abandoned that little girl. you don't deserve the right to waltz back into either of their lives like nothings happened.” luca spat back as harrison's jaw tightened as he kept quiet but his mind was definitely ticking away of what to say next.

"and you think showing up here unannounced is the way to do is?" gio added his arms crossed over his chest protectively.

"unannounced?" carol, interjected gently her gaze shifting to alessia, "did you.. know about this?"

all eyes turned to alessia who felt the weight of their stares pressing down on her, as she swallowed hard glancing briefly at harrison before nodding.

"i gave him the tickets," she admitted, "for lovie but i didn't tell anyone cause i didn't want to ruin the day for anyone."

"ruin today?" gio repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief at his sisters actions, "you ruined today the moment you gave him the tickets."

"you think i wanted to ruin today? i'm not here for you?" harrison snapped rising to his feet, his voice was low but sharp, his frame tense as he squared up to gio. "i'm here for my daughter!"

gio stepped forward too, his expression thunderous. "you don't get to act like the hero after disappearing for years. showing up doesn't erase what you did!"

"i never said it did!" harrison's voice rose again, his frustration starting to bubble over. taking another step forward towards gio, his chest puffed out. "but i'm not going to stand here and let you talk to me like i don't care about her. i'm trying to be better-"

"better?" luca barked out a harsh laugh as gio joined in before looking back at harrison with the same thunderous glare.

"alessia doesn't need you, y/n doesn't need you. you don't belong here, mate."

"that's not your call!" harrison shot back, his voice dangerously loud now. he took another step closer his fists clenched at his sides.

"gio stop!" alessia's voice rang out as she begged the two to stop, even now luca was trying to get gio to back down as he reached out to grab his shoulder but it was just shrugged off by the younger russo brother.

"you don't get to decide what's best for her," harrison continued, his voice trembling with restrained anger. "she's my daughter"

"don't you dare say that word like it means something to you." gio hissed stepping closer to harrison, his voice venomous. "you're nothing but a selfish coward who runs away when things get tough!"

harrison's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides, "say that again," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"i said, you're a coward," gio spat, his eyes blazing as he stowed even closer.

the words barely hung in the air before gio swung, his knuckles catching harrison square on the cheekbone which would definitely turn blue by the morning.

harrison staggering back as his expression snapped from shock to fury in a instant. and without hesitation he lunged forward his first slamming into gio's jaw with a satisfying crack.

"you want to say that again?" harrison snarled, his chest heaving as gio was the one to stumbled this time.

gio wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring daggers at harrison. "you think that scares me?" he hissed already moving towards him again.

"enough!" mario barked from across the room, but neither of them seemed to hear.

luca rushed forward, shoving harrison back hard enough to create some space, "seriously knock it off!

alessia took the chance to dart herself between them, he hands trembling as she pushed against harrison's chest. "stop it! both of you!" she pleaded, her voice breaking.

her plea was just loud enough to pierce through the tension, as harrison's fists slowly uncurled and gio rubbed his jaw breathing heavily as he halted st him.

alessia turned to her dad, her face flushed and tight with anger, "they're done," she said firmly, her voice trembling with finality as she glanced between them, "aren't you?"

gio muttered something under his breath turning away while harrison stood rigid. the fire in his eyes gradually dimming. but alessia didn't move, staying firmly in place until both men retreated.

"this isn't helping anyone, and i'm not letting, either of you turn this into a war zone-" alessia shouted her voice firm as both boys hands were red with fury and there faces right with frustration.

"i'm not trying to fight, i just want to be there for my daughter" harrison squeaked out his voice low and strained.

“you don't deserve to be here for her!" gio fired back, but alessia spun on him, her eyes blazing with fury.

"gio! enough!" she snapped. "you don't get to decide that. i do. and i've made my decision."

"less-," gio started, but alessia cut him off with a glare.

"no, gio." she said fiercely. "this isn't about you and what you think. this is about lovie. and right now she's down the hallway terrified because of you two"

the silence that followed from alessia's words was deafening and her words must have hit a soft spot as both boys retreated form where they were, moving to be at the side of the room as alessia stayed stood in the middle of the chaos.

"less, we're just trying to look out for you," luca began his voice was calm as he tried to justify his and his brothers actions. "you know we're only trying to protect you and tiny-,"

"protect me?" alessia spun around, her voice sharp and trembling with emotion as her eyes blazed as she stared down her brother. "you think this is protecting me? scaring my daughter? making her cry? how is that helping anyone?"

"less, come on," luca interjected, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "we didn't mean for it to get like this. we just don't trust him, and—"

"and that gives you the right to pick a fight in front of her?" alessia cut him off, her voice rising, her hands clenched at her sides. "she's four, luca! she doesn't understand why her uncles are yelling at her dad. do you have any idea what this is going to do to her?"

"alessia—" gio tried, but she held up a hand, silencing him.

"no, gio. you've done enough damage." she snapped, "all you've done is make everything worse!"

both russo brothers looked visibly chastened, their gazes dropping to the floor. carol stepped forward, her face pale. "alessia, sweetheart, maybe we should all take a moment to cool off—"

"i don't have a moment," alessia said, her voice breaking slightly. "my daughter is crying in the hallway because of all this. i need to go sort out the mess, they've made."

without waiting for a response having heard enough from them, alessia turned on her heel and left the room, her chest heaving as she tried to collect herself.

—

alessia finally found leah after having to take a few minutes herself to let out a shaky sigh. leah was sitting on a bench near the locker room. you cradled in her lap.

your face buried in leah's neck, as your body still trembled slightly from time to time as small hiccups left you. leah's hand rubbing gentle circles on your back as she whispered low and soothing reassurances.

"hey" alessia said softly as she approached the two, her heart breaking at the sight of you being so upset. her body filling with so much mum guilt.

leah glanced up, her expression a mixture of concern and lingering frustration as she shifted you slightly so that alessia could take over. "she's a bit shaken up," leah murmured standing as alessia crouched in front of the two of them.

"thank you" alessia said quietly, her voice filled with genuine emotion as leah nodded lingering for a moment before stepping back to give some space.

"lovie, baby" your mummy whispered, reaching out so gently to stoke the hair out your face as your were sat curled up with your knees to your chest. "it's okay, mummy's here now."

you sniffed, finally lifting your head up out of your knees to look at your mum. your face was red and tear-streaked as your lips trembled. "why was uncle gio and luca so mad at daddy?" you asked so innocently, your voice a little raspy from crying.

alessia's chest tightened, pulling you into her arms holding you tightly as the two of you sat on the floor. alessia's back hitting the bench behind her.

"oh my love" she murmured. "sometimes grown-ups say things they shouldn't when they are upset. but that doesn't mean they don't love you, okay? uncle luca and gio love you very much. they just.. got carried away and shouldn't have acted like that, especially when you were there."

you rubbed your eyes with your fists, your voice trembling as you asked, "am i not going to see daddy again?"

the question hit alessia like a punch to the gut. she pulled back slightly, her hands gently cradling your face as she looked into your wide worried eyes.

"oh baby no," she said firmly, her voice soft but resolute. "that's not going to happen, you'll be able to see your dad again, i promise."

"bu-but uncle gio said he shouldn't be here," you whispered, your tears starting to build up again, "d-does that mean he has to go away?"

alessia swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump in her throat that was building from your worries as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

"no, baby," your mummy assured you, "uncle gio only said that as he's worried about mummy, not because he doesn't want you to see your daddy. and daddy won't be going anywhere - you'll still get to spend time with him."

"really?" you asked, you voice trembling with hope.

"really" alessia promised as she pulled you into another hug, "you and your dad are creating a special bond and no one is going to take that away from you. not uncle luca, not uncle gio, not anyone."

your small arms tightened around alessia's neck, "i don't want you and daddy to fight" you murmured.

alessia's heart ached at the simple plea, "we aren't going to fight, my love." she said softly, "sometimes grown ups make mistakes, but i promise i'll do everything i can to make sure you don't see that again."

you nodded against your mummy's shoulder, you little fingers clutching the fabric of alessia's hoodie. "okay," you whispered.

leah, who had been standing a few steps away, finally stepped forward again, her expression tender, "hey angel" she said softly, crouching down next to alessia and your level.

"how about we go and get some ice cream? i think we all need a treat after today, huh?"

you lifted you head, your tears starting-streaked face slightly lighting up, "pink one with sprinkles?"

leah smiled, brushing a stray hair from your cheek, "the biggest pink one with loads of sprinkles, as many as you want!"

alessia pressed a kiss to your temple, grateful for leah's presence in that moment. "what do you think, baby? wanna go get some ice cream with lele and mummy?"

you nodded, a faint smile creeping onto your face. alessia stood, holding you close as leah placed a comforting hand on alessia's back.

as they started to pack away there belongings from the changing room, everyone else left seamlessly a good hour ago. a quick redo of your hair and the three of you were ready to go.

as they walked out from the changing room, alessia whispered softly to you, "everything's going to be okay, lovie. i promise."

the three of you only a mere metre from the exit, alessia with her backpack slung on her shoulder and your little one which had left with you this morning when harrison came to get you in her hand as you held the other tightly.

leah chatting and lightening the mood by asking you about your imaginative ice cream order. small gasps and giggles leaving leah's lips.

"can you take lovie?" alessia asked as you held tightly onto your mummy's hand, leah nodding her brow furrowing as to why though. "i'll meet you at my car in five, i have one more thing i have to do before ice cream time!"

alessia's head nodded towards the room where her brother's and harrison were still in, stood in silence mainly giving each other dirty looks. leah nodded smiling as she began to walk out the exit door, continuing to ask you what flavour ice cream you were going to get on this big ice cream you'd made up.

walking into the room the tension was thick — heavier than any moment alessia had ever witnessed between her family and harrison.

it felt like the room was on edge of something much worse than what had already happened. the harsh words, the mistrust, the frustration.

stood looking between the her brothers as gio rested an ice pack on his jaw while harrison rested one on his cheek — the swelling on both of them starting to show slightly.

alessia's arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face a mask of calm resolve but the storm brewing inside her was undeniable.

her brothers stood across from harrison their expressions full of disdain ready for another attack. as for harrison, for his part was still stiff and defensive, clearly feeling the weight of alessia's family's anger but trying to hold his ground.

her gaze locked firmly on her brothers and harrison, as gio opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologise or maybe to carry on the screaming match but you'd never know as before he even had a chance alessia cut him off.

"zip it, you've said quite enough today," she said, her tone sharp and unwavering, "and that goes for all three of you" she added pointing to the three boys before turning her gaze to her brothers.

"you two have crossed the line today. so i'll make it clear, again. in my life, my daughter or my choices are mine to decide — neither of you get to tell me how to handle it. especially when it comes to my daughter."

luca opened his mouth to argue but alessia raised her hand stopping him dead in his tracks, "shut it." she said her voice a low growl that sent a clear message.

"i don't want to hear another peep. not from you, not from you" she pointed to gio who was about to say something too, "or from you" pointing over at harrison.

the room fell healthy silent all them staring at her stunned in disbelief. alessia took a slow, steady breath collecting her thoughts for a moment.

"i get it," she said her voice now steady but there was a fire in her eyes that couldn't be ignored. "you're angry. you're protective. you're all trying to act like the hero and protect me and love. but trust me, i don't need any of you trying to believe you know what's best for me. i've been doing this on my own and i'll continue it that way. and that includes harrison — whether you two like it or not."

she looked directly at harrison, then back to her brothers her eyes fierce with strength she'd been holding back all this time. "i can make my own choices on who's in my daughters life. and if i decide harrison deserves a chance then that's my decision. not yours."

gio's fists clenched as he moved his head as if he were about to say something else but alessia was already ahead of him, again.

"don't you dare," she warned him, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. "don't you even think about interrupting me."

her brothers stood there, tight lipped, completely taken aback by the intensity in alessia's voice and the authority in her words.

harrison meanwhile, stood still, ice pack still held to h the side of his face, unsure of what to say, but realised the trust of it all. this wasn't the time for his defence — he had to let alessia take charge.

alessia stepped back, giving them all one last piercing look, "i'm done here. so if you have a scuffle you want to continue, then do it once me, my daughter and my girlfriend are out this building. do not ever bring that type of behaviour around my daughter again, or you'll live to regret it."

the finality in her words echoed through the room. without another word, alessia turned on her heel. her heart pouring as she walked toward the door, he back straight and shoulders square.

she didn't wait for anyone's reaction - this was her moment and she wasn't backing down to any of them. they all had a lot of grovelling to do.

as she reached for the door, she glanced over her shoulder one last time, "bye!" she said coldly, her voice unwavering. "i'll be with my family, where i belong. don't try and talk to me until you've figure out how to respect my choices."

the silence that followed her leaving the room was deafening. luca, gio and harrison all left standing there, two with ice packs held to their faces as the weight of the blondes words sunk in. 

but alessia wasn't looking back anymore, she was done trying to explain and make them see things her way. she had made her choice — you, leah and herself came first.