#you thought they’d just shrug their shoulders and move on?

[criminalamnesia]

Not a request but NEW TRAITOR CHAP WHEN??? prioritize urself no rush Pookie just the ppl gotta know

part 7 is here ���

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

it was pouring rain as you slid from the taxi, the driver attempting to yell at you to shut the door as thunder rumbled overhead.

you paid him no heed; boots splashed in murky puddles as you pushed the door closed and moved towards the yellow cab’s trunk.

you could barely hear yourself think. the rain was battering the ground as if locked in a viscous war with the cracked pavement— puddles forming as the asphalt resisted with all its might. it wasn’t enough, water seeping into the ground and muddying the grass nearby, drowning it mercilessly.

you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before shutting the trunk. you’d barely stepped back from the car before it was speeding off, kicking up water and splashing your legs.

you didn’t mind— you were soaked through to the bone, anyways. besides, you didn’t mind the storm. it was comfort— a distraction from what lay ahead.

your new team. a small, covert operations group made up of the best of the best. two sergeants, a lieutenant, a captain— and they wanted one more soldier.

the opening couldn’t have come at a better time. you’d run your course with your old squad. they’d been fine— until they weren’t. carelessness and ignorance from teammates almost resulted in your untimely death, and laswell hadn’t questioned your transfer request after hearing the tale.

in fact, she’d recommended the one-four-one to you.

you thought you’d be meeting them on base, but the captain had requested you meet them here, instead. a run-down old diner, with its bright, neon pink sign blinking down at you through the rain.

you inhaled, then exhaled. clenched your fists, then unclenched them. it was a habit you’d had since you were a child. it forced you to slow down and think, to overcome the emotions you were lost in.

you blinked. rain ran down your face, creating false tears as it streamed from the corners of your eyes. you were sure you looked a sight.

another inhale, another exhale, and then you moved towards the diner’s door. you pushed it open, stepping inside and wiping your boots on the mat in front of the door.

“I think you’re gonna need to do more than that to dry off, sweetheart” a woman’s voice calls to you, causing you to look up towards the counter. she’s grimacing, looking you up and down. no doubt she’ll be following your path through the building with a mop in hand.

“sorry,” you tell her, trying to brush some water from your jacket. “forgot my umbrella.”

the woman gave a huff, waving her hand before turning and attending to an ancient-looking coffee maker.

you take the time to glance around the diner then, noting the substantial lack of customers. only two booths were occupied, one containing a young couple tangled in each other’s arms, and the other containing a man wearing a baseball cap with the UK flag patched on it.

he looked up from his phone as you approached, seemingly unsurprised based on the grin he gave you.

“glad to see you got here in one piece,” he says as you shrug off your bag, placing it on the floor as you slide into the seat across from him.

“one drenched piece,” you say, and he gives a small chuckle.

“im kyle,” the man tells you. “don’t know what laswell told you,” he clicks off his phone and places it on the table. “but im one of the sergeants.”

you nod. “callsign ‘gaz,’ right?”

he gives a nod of his own. his phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. his eyes glance down, scan the message, then meet yours once more.

“rest of the team got held up. price is in a meeting. johnny and ghost are on assignment, but they’re due back any day now.”

“so you’re the welcome committee by default, huh?” you say, and he laughs.

“guess i am. have i scared you off yet?”

“dunno,” you tell him. “but laswell sings your praises. the captain’s, especially.”

“she sings yours, too.” kyle says.

you give a small nod, your mind racing at what laswell may have told the task force. you weren’t bad at your job— you were great at it. a great shot, a reliable solider, a tireless sentry.

your emotions got the better of you at times, that was all. attachments and bonds that formed, linking you and your fellow soldiers together in the web of warfare. tying you around the wrist and dragging you along, for better or worse. little siblings or lovers evolving from what once had been just another set of boots on the ground.

this job was all you had. you found family where you had too, and it made you all the more loyal. but when you were spurned? when the fire leapt from the pit and scorched your skin?

you weren’t quick to forgive, and you found that reasonable in this line of work. mistakes by teammates could get you killed. who could blame you for holding a grudge against an ally who had almost cost you your life?

it’s why you were here now. a new start with a new team— a team of the best, you included.

kyle’s phone buzzes again. he picks it up, the screen illuminating his face as the lights flicker overhead. the storm wasn’t letting up.

“cap’s on his way— says he’ll be here in less than 30.”

“price, right?” you recall his name. kyle nods.

“don’t tell him I told you,” he leans in, a mischievous look in his eyes, “but he’s been lookin’ forward to meeting you. maybe even more than johnny has.”

“why’s that?”

“said the one-four-one is overdue for someone else who can kick johnny’s ass. wants you to knock him down a few more pegs.”

you laugh at that, giving a small shake of your head. kyle’s lips curl into a smile. “nah, he’s just happy to have some more hands on deck. always helps to have another person that’ll watch your back.”

as kyle starts talking again, you find your nerves settling.

maybe this team could be your new family.

you looked down at your hands, noting the slight shake of them. you don’t think they’d been steady since before everything happened.

your eyes glance to the ugly, scarred stump of the finger you’d lost. simon hadn’t chopped it off prettily, and it’d been stitched up hastily. you couldn’t blame the doctor, there had been more pressing injuries to attend to.

such as the bone-deep cut to one leg, growing infected from your time spent in the chair. the scar was long, stretching from the top of your thigh to your knee. it was still pink, a sign of your body still trying to put itself back together.

your torso wasn’t much better. jagged scars and puckered knots of skin marred your image. both from before and from after.

your eyes met your own in the mirror. you barely recognized yourself. the anger within you still burned, but its flame had reduced to a simmer. exhaustion, apathy, and shame had taken its place.

perhaps that was a good thing. it saved you the energy of fighting the men you inevitably saw every day. despite your numerous pleas and demands for them to simply leave you alone, they seemed to have a hard time listening. it made you want to scream. to hurt them, digging your fingers into skin until they understood the pain behind your words.

a knock sounded at the door. you didn’t move.

a knock again. you could hear the shuffle of feet outside the door. you wished whoever it was would leave you be.

another knock, accompanied by the soft timbre of kyle’s voice.

“love, you alright in there?” he was saying. you still stood before the mirror.

things had been different since you attacked the doctor. it had only been a few days, but word spread quickly through base. if people had avoided you before, you were like the plague now.

and the shame you felt was insurmountable. the pain and regret and fury were building like a tidal wave in your stomach, rising and choking the air from your lungs.

you wanted to leave this place. get away from the men you once called family, the one you once called yours.

but leaving meant the end of your career. you just had to hold out until kate arranged your transfer, that’s all. just a few more days, right?

and then this place and these people wouldn’t be a constant reminder of what had happened to you. of what it had done to you, physically and mentally.

“go, kyle,” you called out to him, breaking from your trance as you reached for the scratchy robe johnny had gifted you one christmas.

“not until i see you breathin’, love.”

you sigh, tying the robe shut and hugging the material to your body. you moved to the door, turning the lock before inching it open.

“breathing,” you tell him, watching as his eyes flick away from yours. god, it made you want to strangle him.

to yell at him, to yell at all of them— "you did this, and you should be able to look me in the eyes and see it.”

“now go.”

he looks at you again, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “will you let me in?” he asks, and you scoff as you move to slam the door.

“fuck off, kyle.”

but he’s quick, and his hand shoots out, grasping the door’s wooden edge and keeping it from closing.

“we need to talk.”

“whatever you need to say, you can say it from there,” you tell him, and he pauses for a minute before he nods.

“doc is asking about you again. she’s up and runnin’ around. said she wants to see you.”

your lips press into a thin line. you didn’t deserve that woman’s kindness, not after what you’d done to her.

you hadn’t been in your right mind, but that didn’t excuse it. you had bloodied your fists; harmed an innocent in the war between you and your own mind.

you didn’t want to see her still worrying about you when you had assured her you were fine. you had left her supervision, and then you’d attacked her. and you hadn’t stopped until simon had pulled you away.

you would’ve killed her, you know that in your heart. you would’ve killed her, thinking she was one of the men who had wanted to kill you.

“tell her im fine,” you said, your hand tightening around the door’s knob.

“i think she’d rather see that for herself,” he says.

“im fine,” you repeat. “i’ll be out of everyone’s hair in a few days, anyways.”

kyle’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “you’re leaving?”

he knew this, they all did. perhaps they just didn’t truly believe it. all of them, every single one, still thought you’d turn around and run back into their arms.

bastards.

“as soon as laswell gives the word,” you reply. “should be soon.”

kyle doesn’t speak. he’s obviously biting his tongue— you’d seen the expression that was on his face enough to know when he was holding back, but you didn’t prod like you would’ve before.

let him keep his secrets, lies, promises, and sorries. you didn’t need them anymore.

“don’t bother me again,” you said before shutting the door in his face.

you hear him sigh on the other side of the wood, then hear the retreat of his steps. you turn back to the mirror, snarl, and grab the alarm clock from your nightstand.

you throw it into the glass, shattering it to pieces. seven years of bad luck, you think.

well, it couldn’t get much worse, could it?

kyle sighs, staring at your door for a second longer before turning away. simon looks down at him from where he was leaning against the wall, hidden from your view, his muscled arms crossed over his chest.

“surprised?” simon asks as the two of them retreat down the hallway. he makes sure they’re far enough from your door before speaking, so that you won’t hear his voice.

“we knew it was happening, price said as much after that whole thing with johnny,” kyle replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “just thought this might change things.”

“change ‘em how?” simon says. “if anythin’, this speeds it up. they’re a liability now.”

“they’re hurt, ghost,” kyle retorts, his eyes meeting his superior’s. “that’s ptsd. not everyone’s as forgiving as the doc. they attack someone outside and that’s a fucking felony.”

“that’s not our problem, sergeant,” comes simon’s baritone reply, and kyle stops.

“you’re a fuckin’ case yourself, y’know that, LT?” he says, and simon stops. “we all played a part,” kyle continues. “but you? you would’ve killed ‘em if we never knew the truth. i know you would’ve. i’ve seen you do it.”

the men stare at each other. simon’s expression is hidden underneath his balaclava, but kyle knows it’s unreadable regardless.

mean, old ghost. heartless bastard, loyal to the mission only. that’s what the others around base whispered to each other.

kyle had seen proof to the contrary. yes, simon was loyal to the mission. but he was also loyal to his team, his family. you.

he was loyal to you.

“watch yourself, sergeant,” simon speaks, his voice a dangerous rumble.

kyle scoffs and walks off, shaking his head.

simon watches him go, his breath steady.

kyle didn’t understand him, not really. not the way you had begun to. and that was his own fault, he knows it. forever holding those close to him at arms length for fear of the worst.

he’d let you in— let you invade that space he enforced so ruthlessly. and the worst had happened.

kyle doesn’t know this is tearing him in half; none of the team does. they don’t understand that simon wants you to stay because you’re you, but he wants you gone because he can see how this is killing you.

even when he’s the villain in your story, he’s still trying to look out for you— in his own, twisted way.

he doesn’t regret it. that is cemented in his mind. but as he grapples with his own emotions, his mind in its own turmoil, he knows he wants you to be okay.

“im sorry,” he had spoken to deaf ears.

sorry for the ripping apart of your life, but not sorry for what he had done.

deep down, he knew you would never forgive them. he knew that leaving this team would be the best thing for you.

he knew, he knew, he knew.

knowing and accepting are two different things.

hope this was worth the wait! i think the next part will be the end, unless my idea changes 👀

[theonottsbxtch]

LOVE - LOCKED | FC43

an: this is based off of this request and i hope you like it bc i had sm fun writing a romantic slightly angsty thing i cant wait to hear what y'all thin, i also think it may be slightly rushed tho so lol ALSO LOL WE'RE GONNA PRETEND CARLOS IS YOUNGER IN THIS BC I NEEDED HER TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER

summary: carlos' sister has lived her life completely separated from him and their family name, instead she went and made a name for herself in the tennis world - she likes her life like that. that is until she meets franco colapinto

wc: 8.7k

The roar of engines, even from a distance, unsettled her.

They reminded her of the long days her father and brother spent in garages, the low rumble of motors and sharp tang of fuel in the air. Those were the hours she’d spend alone, working on her serve in the empty court across town, each hit ricocheting off the walls with a hollow, lonely echo. Her own choice, of course. She’d had no interest in the world of carbon fibre and grease, no desire to be the girl who simply tagged along, her name always in her brother’s shadow.

Now, years later, she’d become someone entirely on her own terms. A name people knew on its own — Vázquez de Castro — a name that meant something outside of her family, outside of her brother’s fame.

She slipped her phone into her bag and looked around the chaotic pit lane. Journalists, engineers, teams in matching shirts, faces alight with anticipation for the weekend's race. She knew she’d stand out here; her face might be familiar, but she was a stranger in this world.

The hum of voices around her faded as she felt his gaze. She’d been hoping to move through unnoticed, just a face in a sea of faces, but there he was: tall, familiar, unmistakably Carlos. His brow furrowed in surprise as he caught sight of her, his quick steps carrying him closer before she had a chance to dodge. She braced herself, turning to him with a calm that she didn’t quite feel.

“No aquí,” she murmured, her voice low, hoping that would be enough to keep curious ears at bay.

He paused, just a moment, his expression softening in understanding, and he tilted his head, his face somewhere between a grin and a frown. “You came.”

It wasn’t an accusation exactly — more surprise than anything. But she couldn’t miss the faint hope in his eyes, as if he thought she might be here to see him, to share a piece of his world after all this time. She let his words linger for a beat before she replied, her tone steady.

“I was invited,” she said, giving a slight shrug, “by Fernando.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the green and silver canopy, keeping her tone casual, but she saw his shoulders fall ever so slightly.

He nodded, glancing away for a moment, his jaw set. “Right. Fernando.”

There was something she wanted to say, something to soften the look in his eyes, but the pit lane was crowded, the eyes and cameras trained on every inch of the paddock sharper than she’d ever expected. They’d notice anything. And the last thing she wanted was for the papers to start spinning stories, putting her under a headline right next to him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Te hablo en el hotel. I’ll speak to you at the hotel.”

As she made her way toward the exit, ready to slip back into the background and disappear, she heard a voice calling out just over the rumble of engines and chatter.

“¡La princesa española!”

The words were unmistakable, lilting and clear, even with the crowd and machinery all around. The Spanish Princess. The nickname made her falter. It was something she sometimes heard on the tennis courts in Madrid or whispered by fans in distant cities when she played in international tournaments. But here? She scanned the area, puzzled at who would recognise her in this world of racing.

When she turned, her eyes met those of someone unfamiliar yet striking. He was tall, with an easy, disarming smile, his race suit gleaming with the bright, bold colours of his team’s livery. He looked young, not much older than she was, but he carried himself with that unmistakable energy she’d seen in rising stars before. The rookie, she realised, though she hadn’t kept up enough to know his name.

He held her gaze a moment too long, that same smile lingering as he approached, his eyes sparking with something between amusement and curiosity. She felt herself tense, almost involuntarily, her instinct telling her to slip away, to avoid whatever came next.

“Es realmente la princesa española,” he said, his tone playful yet certain.

Then it hit her.

Franco.

That was his name.

Franco’s grin widened as he closed the distance between them, his eyes bright with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “Soy un gran admirador de tu trabajo,” he said, his Argentine accent softening his words. “I’ve watched almost all your matches — I love the way you play.”

She blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t the usual kind of recognition she got, especially not here. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been recognised in public. She looked at him, trying to reconcile this confident young driver with the earnest fan in front of her.

“¿Me conoces?” The question slipped out before she could think, her voice tinged with disbelief.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “¿Quién no te conoce?” he replied, with a touch of humour. “La princesa española, queen of the clay court, unstoppable backhand — yeah, I know you.”

There was something genuine in his tone, something that set him apart from the usual strangers who said they knew her. 

And before she could stop herself, she found herself almost smiling. She cleared her throat, searching for a response, but her mind was blank. What could she say? That she knew nothing of him, or any of these people — that she had only set foot here today by chance?

She settled for a simple, “Gracias.”

Franco’s curiosity didn’t waver. He leaned in slightly, folding his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. “So, what brings la princesa española to the F1 paddock?”

She shrugged lightly, careful not to reveal too much. “I’m here as one of Fernando Alonso’s guests. Aston Martin.” She left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t dig further. Noticing that she looked a bit like another driver on the paddock. Thankfully, he didn’t.

His grin only grew wider, and she had the feeling that her mystery intrigued him. “Well then, if you’re one of Fernando’s guests, that means you’re not tied to my team,” he said with a glint of mischief. “Come with me — I’ll give you a tour of my garage. It’ll be like… a private tour.”

She hesitated, her gaze shifting back toward the exit, where she’d planned to slip out and leave all of this behind. If she went with him, there was a chance people would recognise her, start to connect her with her brother’s world. She’d spent her whole career carefully avoiding this — the headlines, the whispers, the inevitable questions about why she’d chosen such a different path. But the look on his face, that open, boyish enthusiasm, was hard to resist.

She let out a sigh, then looked up at him with a sudden, defiant glimmer in her eye. “Screw it. ¿Por qué no?”

His whole face lit up. She could practically see the excitement radiating off him as he extended his hand, his confidence a little too easy, a little too certain. She eyed his hand for a moment before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“Modales,” she chided, her tone playful. “I’ve known you for five minutes. We’re not dating.”

“Yet,” he replied without missing a beat, a spark in his eyes.

Despite herself, she smiled, a real one, something she hadn’t felt since stepping into the paddock that day.

He led her through the bustling paddock with an easy confidence, weaving between crew members, equipment, and cameras as if none of it could touch him. She was impressed, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. The chaos of the pit lane, the narrow spaces and the clang of metal, all seemed to bend around him.

When they reached his team’s garage, he stopped by a young assistant stationed just outside, who looked at them with curious eyes.

“Do me a favour,” he said, barely containing his grin, “and grab a VIP lanyard for Williams’ guests, will you?”

The assistant glanced at her, his eyes widening slightly in recognition before he nodded and ducked away, returning a moment later with a crisp, team-branded lanyard. Franco took it with a pleased smile, then held out his hand for hers. She unclipped the Aston Martin lanyard from her neck and handed it over, watching with a mix of surprise and amusement as he replaced it with the one from his own team.

“There,” he said, adjusting the lanyard’s position with exaggerated care. “Now you’re officially part of the team.”

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “You know, I don’t think lanyards change allegiances so easily.”

“Maybe not. But I do think it’s an improvement.” He winked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Besides, the only lanyard you should be wearing here is mine.”

She laughed, caught off guard by his unfiltered charm, as he held out his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “And now, mi princesa, a grand tour.”

He led her into the garage, his tone switching between informative and teasing as he explained the various stations. “Over here, we have the engineering bay — where the magic of data happens.” He gestured toward a row of monitors displaying endless streams of numbers. “And these guys in the corner? They’re the wizards of aerodynamics. Make a mess, they won’t let you forget it.”

As they moved through each section, he offered her a glimpse into the world of F1, his energy and excitement almost contagious. She watched him with quiet intrigue; he seemed to belong here completely, as if he thrived in the chaos and intensity of it all.

“Now, over here,” he continued, leaning a bit closer to her as they approached a sleek wall of tires and tools, “this is where I go for my pre-race pep talks. I think it helps the tires, too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You talk to the tires?”

“Only on occasion,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “And they listen. Or at least, I hope they do.” He grinned again, that glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Besides, they never talk back.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but there was a smile in it, one she couldn’t quite suppress. He was disarming, funny in a way that felt refreshingly different from the sharp, serious world she’d known. He noticed the hint of a smile and held her gaze, leaning in just slightly.

Before she could say anything else, Franco led her deeper into the garage, weaving through the maze of tools, car parts, and engineers, who looked up now and then with curious glances. She followed, intrigued despite herself, and finally, unable to keep silent, asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, shooting her a look over his shoulder that was both charming and infuriatingly vague.

He stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away from the bustle of the main garage. She glanced around, realising they were in the private part of the team’s area. He opened the door to his driver room, gesturing for her to step inside. The room was small but comfortable, filled with team memorabilia, spare racing gloves, and a neat rack of team-branded clothes. Before she could take it all in, he went over to a stack of neatly folded shirts and pulled one from the pile.

He turned back to her, holding up the shirt with a proud smile. “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Wear this tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and the shirt with mock scepticism. “Bold of you to assume I’d wear your merch.”

His grin only widened. “I think you’d look great in it,” he said, undeterred. “Besides, it’d be an honour to have la princesa española in my colours.”

She took the shirt, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and met his gaze with a slight smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me,” he replied, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to say more, but just then, his phone buzzed on the nearby table, and he glanced at it with a slight frown before pocketing it again.

“So,” he continued, his tone shifting to something a little more casual, “what are you doing for dinner?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t planned on lingering much longer after her brother’s race prep finished. She hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But he was watching her expectantly, and for a moment, she let herself consider it.

“Dinner?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted with a grin. “What do you say? Let me take you out. I promise I’m as good at picking places to eat as I am at tours.”

She couldn’t resist a small laugh. “Alright,” she said, glancing up at him with an easy smile. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then, a voice called out from down the hallway. “Franco man, we’ve been looking all around for you!” A team manager appeared in the doorway, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

Franco sighed, flashing her an apologetic look as he straightened. “Duty calls,” he muttered with a smirk. He lingered a moment, as if reluctant to leave, then glanced back at her with a warm smile.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, feeling a thrill she hadn’t expected. “See you tonight.”

He nodded, his grin returning full force, then turned to follow the manager out, giving her a final, backward glance that lingered just a second too long.

Back in her hotel room, she brushed a final touch of mascara over her lashes and glanced at her phone, where a text from Franco glowed on the screen.

Franco: “Ready whenever you are. No rush. See you soon :)”

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Tonight felt surprisingly… normal. Like she was just someone getting ready for a date, no stakes attached. She straightened her dress, checked her reflection, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at her door snapped her from her thoughts, and she felt a small flutter of excitement, assuming it was him. But when she opened the door, her breath caught.

Her brother stood there, his expression a mixture of confusion and something she couldn’t quite read. She masked her surprise quickly, stepping aside to let him in, though her voice was firm. “I can talk for a bit, but I have plans tonight.”

“With Franco?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

He gave a soft, humourless laugh, crossing his arms. “I saw you two in the paddock,” he said. “And I overheard him talking about it in the garage. Apparently, he couldn’t stop telling anyone who’d listen about his ‘date with la princesa de España.’” He looked at her, and his voice softened. “So why is it you have no problem being seen with him, but not with your own brother?”

His question hung heavily in the air, the familiar tension between them settling back into place. She took a breath, struggling for the right words. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen with him — it was the weight of everything that came with it. The press, the fans, the inevitable comparisons. She could already see the headlines if they were spotted together, her name placed directly beside his, stripping away the hard-won independence she’d fought for.

She sighed, glancing at him. “It’s not… about you,” she said carefully. “It’s just… everything that comes with it. You know how it is.”

He shook his head, looking slightly hurt. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve always thought we were supposed to be in this together. But I feel like… I don’t know, like you’re just trying to run from anything that connects us.”

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe, her voice dropping to something softer, more serious. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I just don’t want to be known as Carlos’ sister everywhere I go. I’ve worked hard to build my own name, my own career, and sometimes… being around you, it overshadows that.”

Her brother studied her, his face a mix of understanding and something else, a flash of protective instinct. “You know, if you date Franco, you’ll just end up being known as his girlfriend,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s just a date, Carlos. Nothing more.”

He shrugged, his mouth quirking in a small smile. “Yeah, well, with him, nothing ever stays ‘just’ anything. Just saying.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth behind it. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”

They shared a quiet moment of understanding before she gently nudged him toward the door. “Go get some rest. And good luck tomorrow. I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.”

The evening was soft and cool, the sky painted in shades of violet and indigo as the city stretched out below them. The balcony they’d stepped onto was tucked away from the bustling noise of the hotel, private and intimate, offering only the sounds of the night breeze and the occasional far-off hum of the city.

Franco had arranged it all—quiet, serene, away from prying eyes. The dinner was simple but elegant: a few delicate dishes of fresh seafood, wine that wasn’t too heavy, just enough to let the conversation flow freely. It was just the two of them, and she realised as she stood there, her hand brushing the railing, how rare that felt.

She’d worn a dress that was understated, yet elegant—a deep midnight blue that mirrored the evening sky, the fabric light enough to catch the breeze. She hadn’t given it much thought; it wasn’t for anyone but herself. But when Franco first saw her, the look in his eyes told her that, maybe, it had been the right choice after all.

His gaze lifted from the table where he had been adjusting the wine glasses, and the moment he saw her, the words spilled out before he could even stop them.

“Dios mío, qué hermosa estás.” His voice was low, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

She felt her cheeks flush, the compliment unexpected but not unwelcome. She had been nervous about the evening, unsure of what this was or what it would become. But his words, simple and sincere, relaxed something inside her.

“Gracias,” she replied with a small smile, feeling the warmth in her chest spread, her eyes meeting his.

He stood up, taking a small step toward her as if to take in the full picture, his gaze never leaving her face. “I swear,” he continued, his voice filled with genuine awe, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more stunning than earlier. It's like... you're glowing.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’re just being kind.”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. “I’m not the kind of guy to throw compliments around just to be polite. Te ves increíble, you look incredible.”

After a decent amount of eating, a stretched out silence, Franco spoke up. “So,” he began, his voice casual but warm, “what’s it like to be the la princesa española outside of tennis?”

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t really think of myself as that,” she said lightly. “It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “I think it suits you. You have a... regal air about you.” His eyes glinted with mischief as he added, “I’m sure you’d never get away with being late for anything. Everyone would just wait for the princess to show up.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “You really are persistent with those compliments, aren’t you?”

“Solo con la verdad,” he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

The evening unfolded easily after that. They spoke about everything and nothing: about their childhoods, what had brought them to this point in their careers, how it felt to always be in the spotlight. She told him stories from her tennis matches, and he shared wild tales of racing, of the constant pressure and adrenaline.

But it was the quieter moments, the small pauses between their words, that felt the most significant. When he leaned in to pass her the bottle of wine, their hands brushed, and the air seemed to thicken for a moment. His gaze lingered a bit longer than it needed to, and she noticed the subtle way his smile softened when their eyes met. She wasn’t used to this — this ease, this comfort that felt so unforced — but it was exactly what she hadn’t realised she’d been searching for.

“You know,” Franco said, his tone thoughtful, “I can’t remember the last time I had a night like this. Just—” He waved his hand toward the view, the quiet that surrounded them. “It’s nice. To not be rushing off to something. No cameras, no expectations.”

She looked out over the balcony at the skyline, the city lights twinkling in the distance. “I know what you mean. There’s always so much noise, so many people trying to pull you in different directions. It’s rare to just… be.” She turned to look at him, her voice lowering slightly. “It’s a little surreal, actually.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a silence between them that felt like a shared understanding. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at her, his expression genuine. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight. I’m glad I got to spend this time with you.”

Her heart did a little flip at the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the evening, but this — this felt right.

“So,” he continued, his voice lightening again, “any chance I can convince you to wear my team’s shirt tomorrow?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said with a wink, “but only because I know you’d look amazing in it.”

She rolled her eyes but could feel the warmth in her chest spread. “I’ll think about it,” she teased, mirroring his playful tone.

The conversation drifted back to lighter topics, the evening unfolding with ease as the world seemed to blur around them. As the night deepened, they shared stories, laughter, and quiet glances that spoke volumes. It wasn’t the fireworks, the grand gestures of a first date. But it was something else — something that felt like a beginning.

When the last of the wine was finished, and the candles flickered low, Franco stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes told her everything. His fingers brushed against hers, and she didn’t pull away.

As the night grew later, the air around them cooled, and they moved to the edge of the balcony, gazing out over the city. The quiet was comforting, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the stillness between them.

She let out a small sigh, her mind wandering, and with it, the weight of everything that had brought her to this moment. She looked up at him, caught in the calm but uncertain about what this night might mean.

"Well, this has been lovely," she said, her voice light but tinged with something else. "But, just so you know… this is probably going to be our only date."

His eyebrows furrowed, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Why?” he asked, his tone suddenly laced with concern. “Have I done something wrong?”

She met his gaze, her chest tight for reasons she couldn’t quite place. There was no logical reason for her to feel that way — he had been nothing but kind, charming, and genuine all night. But there was still that lingering sense of hesitation, a wall she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tear down.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to reassure him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked at her for a long moment, studying her face. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, something quieter, as if he were trying to understand her better.

“I’m not really a person who runs from things," she said, her voice lowering slightly, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “But there are parts of my life I’m... careful about. I can’t help but keep them to myself.”

She hesitated, feeling a strange tug in her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she found herself wanting to share something personal, something she had hidden away. She took a breath and let it slip out before she could second-guess herself.

“I have a brother,” she began, looking out at the city below them, trying to steady her voice. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Franco froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait... what?”

She glanced at him, a slight laugh escaping her lips at the look of genuine surprise on his face. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Carlos.”

He blinked, his surprise turning into a quiet sense of disbelief. “Carlos Sainz?” He repeated her brother’s name, almost as if he were trying to process it. “I had no idea…”

She looked at him, a slight sadness settling in her chest. “Most people don’t,” she said, her voice quiet now. “I never tell anyone. I’ve worked my entire life to be known for me—for what I do, not because of who I’m related to. I don’t want to live in someone’s shadow.”

Franco didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch out between them. He was thinking, she could tell. It was as though he were weighing her words, weighing the tension in her tone. Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice steady but sincere.

“With me, you wouldn't,” he said, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that took her by surprise. “You wouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow. Not if you didn’t want to be.”

She was quiet for a long moment, his words sinking in. Part of her wanted to dismiss it, wanted to keep pushing away the idea of anyone in her life stepping into that shadow. But there was something in his eyes—something honest and unwavering—that made her hesitate. He wasn’t offering her fame or status. He was offering her something far simpler. The space to be herself.

Then, he said something that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll be your WAG,” he said, his voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, his smile just a little crooked.

She laughed, a quick, startled sound. “What?” she teased, shaking her head. “Are you serious? ‘WAG’—really?”

He leaned in slightly, the smile still on his face but his eyes unflinching. “En serio. I’m serious.” he added with a little more emphasis, the words flowing naturally from him.

Her laughter died down, replaced by a brief, curious silence. She was still processing his words, still trying to understand how it had escalated from a simple dinner to this.

“You’re joking,” she said softly, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously.

“No,” he7 replied, his voice now calm, almost earnest. “I’m not. Look, I get it. The whole ‘WAG’ thing... it sounds ridiculous, I know. But the way I see it, we’d be a team. You’d have my back, and I’d have yours. No shadows, no expectations, just us. What we make of it.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms as she considered what he was saying. The idea of it felt foreign, a little intimidating, but something about it also felt right in a way she hadn’t expected. No grand gestures, no drama. Just… us, as he’d said.

“Don’t you think I’d look good in a sponsored Channel crop top?” he joked, and the thought of it made her laugh.

Before she could stop it, however, her mind flashed to her brother, to the years of keeping her life private, to the way she had fought so hard to remain in the background of her family’s legacy. And yet here was Franco, offering something different. He wasn’t asking her to be a part of his world—he was offering her a partnership, an equal footing.

For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to truly think about what that might mean. To be seen, not as someone’s sister or someone’s girlfriend, but just as herself.

“Maybe... maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain but filled with a growing sense of possibility.

Franco looked at her, a quiet confidence in his eyes. “Entonces, we’ll figure it out together. No shadows. Just us.”

“Just us.”

“You better wear my shirt tomorrow,” he said, his voice teasing but hopeful.

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at him. “I’ll think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You better. I’ll be watching.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his persistence. “We’ll see.”

The next morning arrived with the usual rush, the anticipation of race day filling the air. She woke up to a sunlit room and a few messages on her phone, the familiar bustle of the paddock already beginning to take shape outside her window. As she moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead, her mind wandered back to the previous evening.

She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair back into a sleek ponytail, glancing over her outfit choices. She’d packed a nice pair of fitted trousers and a smart blouse for the day. But then, as she opened her suitcase to grab something, she saw it—the shirt.

It was sitting on top of her suitcase, folded neatly, the soft fabric of his team’s shirt catching the light. The sight of it made her pause. She could feel a flutter of uncertainty in her chest as she stared at the shirt. It wasn’t like her to let herself be swayed by someone else’s request. But something about Franco, about the way he’d looked at her, made her reconsider.

She bit her lip, considering her options. The shirt was casual, simple, but it also felt like a statement. She could wear it for him, just this once, maybe just to see how it felt. There was no harm in that, right?

She grabbed the shirt, examining it for a moment. It was an understated design—his team’s logo in the corner, a soft fabric, nothing too flashy. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would normally wear, but for some reason, she felt drawn to it. And then it hit her—maybe it wasn’t about the shirt at all. It was about the confidence to wear it, to stand beside him and let the world see her as she was, without hesitation.

She had a moment of inspiration.

Instead of simply slipping it on with jeans like she’d imagined, she decided to give it a bit of a twist. She styled it with an oversized blazer, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the shirt underneath, and a pair of high-waisted pants. The look was effortlessly cool, edgy, but still very much her. She paired it with a pair of sleek, minimalist sneakers, and, just before she finished, added a bold red lip to complete the ensemble.

When she looked in the mirror, she felt a sense of pride. It was a simple shirt, yes, but it was her way of wearing it. And somehow, it made her feel like she was making her own mark, not hiding behind anyone else’s expectations.

She grabbed her phone, checking the time, then sent Franco a quick message.

“I thought about it. I’ll wear the shirt. But only because it goes with my outfit.”

She added a playful winking emoji before hitting send, knowing that he’d appreciate the humour in it.

The morning was just beginning to pick up its pace as she finished getting ready. The weight of the day’s events, the race, the energy of the paddock, all began to settle in. But for the first time in a while, she felt a small sense of excitement, an eagerness she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t about the race itself, but about the people she was meeting, the connections she was making, and—perhaps most unexpectedly—what might lie ahead with Franco.

She was just about to head out of her hotel room when there was a knock on the door. She knew that knock—steady and familiar. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find her brother standing there, his usual calm exterior softened by a quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, stepping back to let him in. She could tell he was a bit surprised when he saw the shirt she was wearing—the shirt of a rival team. He glanced at it, one brow raised slightly, but he didn’t comment, just closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.

He took a deep breath, as if he’d been building up to this. “Are you… thinking of seeing him again?”

There was something tentative in the way he asked, a kind of brotherly concern that she hadn’t seen in a long time. She shrugged, trying to keep her tone casual. “Maybe. I’m considering it.”

He nodded slowly, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “Why are you okay with being seen with him, and not with me?”

The question landed heavily between them, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression, the unspoken hurt in his eyes. It was rare for him to open up like this, to say exactly what was on his mind. She let out a long breath, searching for the right words.

“It’s different,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Different how?” he pressed, his tone gentle but persistent.

She met his gaze, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t realised just how much this division had affected them both, how much it lingered in moments like these. “I never felt like I was a part of your world,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “It wasn’t just about you. It was Dad, too. He… he made it clear that I wasn’t cut out to be a part of it. I wasn’t… enough. Not like you.”

He looked at her, the quiet hurt in his eyes turning into something deeper, something sadder. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “How could you? You were busy making him proud. And you were great at it. I always saw how he looked at you, how proud he was of everything you were doing. He saw you as this… continuation of him, of his legacy. But me… I was never part of that.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he processed her words. “I never wanted it to be that way. I thought you just didn’t care about what we were doing. I thought you were happy doing your own thing.”

“I am,” she said, and she meant it. “Tennis is my world; it’s where I feel strong, where I feel like I belong. But… it didn’t come without sacrifices. I grew up watching you and Dad bond over racing, and it was like there was this door between us that was shut for good. I could watch, but I couldn’t be a part of it.”

There was a long pause, her brother absorbing her words, the weight of years of misunderstanding settling between them.

“I wish I’d known,” he said finally, his voice soft, tinged with regret. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be a part of it. I thought it didn’t matter to you if Dad and I had that bond. But I get it now. I see what it must’ve felt like, standing on the outside.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken years filling the space between them. And then he added, “You know, you don’t have to keep yourself hidden to be in my life, right? I get it now. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Her throat tightened, a wave of unexpected emotion rising within her. She’d spent so long feeling like an outsider in her own family, so sure that her brother had never noticed. But now, here he was, standing in front of her, wanting to bridge that gap.

“It’s hard to just undo it all,” she admitted. “Sometimes, it feels easier to just… stay on my own path. To keep these things separate.”

He nodded, understanding. “But if you’re thinking of seeing Franco… letting yourself be part of his world… doesn’t it mean you’re ready to be seen? To be yourself, even in places that are unfamiliar?”

She considered this, his words striking a chord deep within her. He wasn’t wrong. She’d spent so long hiding parts of herself, keeping herself separate to avoid comparison or judgement. But with Franco, she hadn’t felt the same need. For once, she had felt like she could be herself—no shadows, no expectations.

“I think… I just want to find something that’s mine,” she said finally. “A space where I’m not just ‘your sister,’ where I don’t have to carry someone else’s legacy.”

Her brother gave her a soft, understanding look. “You’ve already done that. You are more than just my sister. You’ve made a name for yourself that has nothing to do with anyone else. You’re not living in anyone’s shadow… but if you ever want to step into our world—my world—I’d like to be part of yours too. Just… let me be there for you, even if it’s only sometimes.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of warmth, a sense of connection that hadn’t been there before. Maybe there was room for both worlds, after all. For the first time, she felt like she didn’t have to choose.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, echoing her words from last night.

He smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I hope you do.”

With that, he gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, a wordless acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. And as he left, she felt a sense of closure, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to keep running from her family’s legacy to be seen as her own person. She could walk her own path, even if it sometimes crossed into theirs.

She arrived at the paddock a little while later, weaving her way through the bustle of race day, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Wearing Franco’s shirt under her blazer felt like a small, bold choice—one that had her both excited and slightly nervous. She walked through the crowd until she reached his team’s garage, where the energy was already crackling with anticipation.

As soon as she stepped in, Franco spotted her from across the garage. His face lit up the second he saw her, and he immediately started making his way toward her. When he was close enough, he lowered his voice and said in Spanish, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Wait here for just a second. Don’t move.”

Before she could respond, he turned and jogged back toward his driver’s room, leaving her standing in the middle of the garage, a little bewildered but smiling to herself. She watched as he disappeared into the room, curious about whatever he was planning. Within a moment, he was back, holding a bouquet of flowers—a mix of deep red roses and bright sunflowers, their colours vivid against the greys and metallics of the garage.

“For you,” he said, handing them over with a grin, his accent warm and lilting. His eyes softened as he added, “To celebrate your first race day as my guest.”

She took the bouquet, feeling a rush of warmth as she held the flowers. “You know, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just here as… well, just as me.”

“And I think that’s worth celebrating,” he replied smoothly, his gaze locked on hers with unmistakable admiration. “Besides, you didn’t say no to the shirt, so I think I’m allowed a little celebration, no?”

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she looked down at the bouquet. “Alright, fine. You win. Thank you—they’re beautiful.”

Franco glanced around the garage, then leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a playful murmur. “You know, you’re even more beautiful than I remember from last night. I thought maybe I was exaggerating, but… no. I wasn’t.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re trying to distract me from the race.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, chuckling. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, he looked around the garage again and spotted one of his engineers nearby. Franco gestured to the man, who quickly nodded, understanding exactly what Franco was after.

The engineer handed him a headset, and Franco turned back to her, holding it up. “Here—so you can listen in and watch from inside the garage. You’ll get the best seat here.”

She blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You’ll get to hear all the comms, see how it all works up close. Plus”—he leaned in, his voice low—“you’ll have an excuse to stay around here.”

She shook her head with a smirk, taking the headset from him. “Alright. But only because you’ve convinced me with flowers and shameless flattery.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin widening as he watched her settle the headset over her ears. “I’ll keep it coming if it means you stay.”

As the team began their pre-race preparations, Franco showed her the best spot to watch from, and he took a few moments to explain some of the technical details. She found herself captivated, not just by the race, but by the way he was so eager to share his world with her. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite herself, she felt the thrill of race day in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Before he had to step away to start his own warm-up routine, he gave her one last look, his gaze holding a touch of that familiar mischievous glint. “Enjoy the show, princesa. And don’t go falling in love with the cars now—they’re not as charming as I am.”

She laughed, giving him a playful shove. “No promises.”

Franco winked, backing away with a grin as he joined the other drivers and team members preparing for the race. She stayed in the garage, feeling the weight of the headset and bouquet in her hands, both of them symbols of the way her world had shifted in just a few days.

As she watched him walk away, his words echoing in her ears, she realised just how different today felt. For the first time, she wasn’t just watching as an outsider; she was here, part of the energy, sharing a moment in his world, just as he’d promised. And maybe—just maybe—she was finally ready to be a part of something new.

The race was intense, the roar of engines filling the air as she watched Franco’s car weave through the track, making his way up from P16 to P12, gaining positions one by one with determined precision. Her heart raced with every turn, every overtake. She’d never felt the thrill of Formula One from this close before, and she found herself completely absorbed, balancing her attention between the live race and the screens in the garage that tracked every driver’s progress.

And then, in the final laps, her eyes moved to another part of the screen—a familiar car that was in the lead. A red car. Her brother was out front, defending his position with expert skill, pushing with everything he had toward the finish line. She held her breath, fingers tightening around the edges of the headset as she watched the seconds count down. When he crossed the finish line in first place, a feeling she hadn’t expected washed over her—pride, pure and radiant, filled her chest. She found herself clapping, cheering, a bright smile spreading across her face.

Franco, having just finished his own race and done the mandatory weigh-in and debrief with his engineers, finally found her in the garage. He looked exhausted but happy, his face still flushed from the adrenaline of the race. When he walked over, he paused, noticing the way her eyes were glued to the screen as her brother celebrated his victory, lifting his fists in the air in triumph.

“You’re glowing,” Franco murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her reaction.

She blinked, glancing back at him and realising how giddy she must look. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it would feel like this. I’m just… so happy for him.” Her voice was breathless, filled with a genuine joy she couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Then you should go to him. He’s probably waiting for you.”

She shook her head, hesitating, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t… I don’t belong over there, with everyone. That’s his world.”

Franco tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “Maybe that’s true most days. But today, you belong there just as much as anyone else. He’s your brother. Go celebrate with him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She bit her lip, uncertainty still holding her back. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Start with congratulations,” Franco said, flashing her a gentle, reassuring grin. “Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

He gestured toward the edge of the garage, where the barriers separated the track from the paddock. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, taking a shaky breath as he guided her forward. The crowd around them was roaring with excitement as her brother’s car was pulled into parc fermé, fans and teammates celebrating around him. She could feel her heart pounding, each step filling her with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

At the barrier, Franco gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Go on. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

With that, he released her hand, and she took a step forward, catching sight of her brother through the haze of people and cameras. He was laughing, practically glowing as he embraced his team, still basking in the thrill of his victory. And then, as if sensing her, he turned and saw her standing there, just beyond the barrier.

His expression softened, and a smile broke across his face, one that was filled with surprise and unmistakable happiness. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made his way over, reaching out to pull her into a tight, heartfelt hug. She hugged him back, feeling the last remnants of the old distance between them dissolve as she held her brother close, finally sharing in his moment.

When they pulled apart, he looked at her, pride shining in his eyes. “You came,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She laughed softly, tears threatening to sting her eyes. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick, brotherly kiss to her forehead. “Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here. Really.”

As the team around them cheered and the cameras continued to flash, she felt the enormity of the moment—a sense of belonging, not just as a tennis player, or his sister, but as herself.

She grinned at her brother, reaching up to ruffle his hair in a rare show of sibling affection. “Te quiero mucho, hermanito,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

His smile softened, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Te quiero también,” he replied, wrapping her in one last quick hug. “Thank you for being here. Really.”

The moment was brief but profound, a quiet reassurance that, despite the different worlds they had each chosen, they were still connected. He glanced back toward his team, who were waving him over for post-race celebrations and interviews.

“I have to go,” he said, releasing her. “But I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him a nod and a small wave as he returned to his crew. She watched him for a moment longer, feeling a sense of pride she hadn’t felt in years—one that was entirely unclouded by the complexities of the past. Then she turned and made her way back toward Franco’s garage, her heart still racing from the intense energy of the day.

When she found him, Franco was waiting near the garage entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a proud smile lighting up his face as he saw her approach.

“You did it,” he said softly, admiration in his eyes. “You finally let yourself be a part of all this.”

As she reached Franco, he turned to face her, his expression softening with a mixture of pride and relief as he took her hands in his. Her heart pounded, the intensity of the day lingering between them like a magnetic pull. She gazed up at him, her breath catching as she saw the warmth in his eyes—the genuine care and admiration there, as if he saw every part of her that she had worked so hard to keep separate.

Without a word, she stepped closer, her hand moving up to rest gently against his cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching hers, as if waiting for her to close the last small gap between them. Finally, she leaned up, closing her eyes as her lips met his in a slow, lingering kiss.

The world around them seemed to dissolve, the roar of the crowd and bustle of the paddock fading as the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch both steady and tender. She felt the warmth of him seep into her, grounding her in the moment, and she responded instinctively, fingers threading through his hair as he held her tighter. There was a gentleness in his touch, but an undeniable passion too, a desire that built slowly between them.

Time slipped away as they shared this unguarded moment, the boundaries she had set for herself crumbling with every heartbeat. She could feel the strength in his arms, the quiet reassurance he offered, and a warmth that sparked through her, as if he was silently promising that he would be there, no matter what.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing a little harder, their foreheads touching as they lingered close, unwilling to step away. Franco’s thumb traced a gentle line along her jaw as he looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with an affection so deep that it nearly overwhelmed her. “I needed that push,” she murmured against his lips.

His arms came around her, but he laughed as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on,” he said with a teasing glint, “the cameras have probably caught enough kissing for one day.”

She chuckled, letting him lead her back toward the quiet of his garage, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd. For the first time, she felt an undeniable sense of belonging—not just to the world she had worked so hard to create for herself, but to this moment, with him, with her family. She’d finally allowed herself to be part of it all, and it felt right in a way she hadn’t expected.

the end.

[rafecameronssl4t]

IM BEGGING FOR MORE FRATBOY!RAFE CAMERON PLEASEEEE💔

Trap Queen || Frat boy!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: hehehe missed writing frat boy!rafe also had no idea what to title this so I thought this song kinda matched idk

Warnings: mentions of sex, idk if there’s anything else

Word count: 2,042

MASTERLIST

“I have no idea what her problem is with me,” you mutter under your breath, your eyes flicking toward Jada, who’s glaring at you like she’d love nothing more than to see you vanish. Her gaze lingers, intense and filled with something close to hatred.

You turn back to Rafe, irritation bubbling up as you try to make sense of the tension hanging in the air. Rafe glances over lazily, his eyes briefly scanning Jada before he scoffs, almost amused by the situation. He leans back casually, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl between you and tossing it into his mouth without a second thought.

“Probably ‘cause she was trying to get into my pants before we started dating,” he mumbles through a mouthful, barely caring to mask the indifference in his voice. Your body stiffens, eyes widening as you process what he just said. “Are you serious?” you snap, crossing your arms and staring at him, bewildered.

“And you didn’t think I should know this?” Rafe slows his chewing, his brow arching slightly as he swallows. His reaction is calm, almost too calm.“Didn’t think it was worth mentioning. She’s irrelevant babe,” he shrugs, his voice annoyingly nonchalant. “I don’t give a fuck about her.”

You turn to look at Jada again, and this time she isn’t even pretending to hide the jealousy etched across her face. She’s whispering furiously to her best friend, the sorority president, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe with an almost desperate need for attention. The way her eyes follow Rafe, hungry and spiteful, makes the knot in your stomach tighten.

She’s clearly still bitter, and her gaze shifts between you and Rafe like she’s daring you to flaunt what she can’t have. It’s more than just resentment—it’s envy, glaringly obvious, and you can feel her simmering frustration from across the room. Frustration swells inside you, and without thinking, you reach for Rafe’s hand, gripping it firmly.

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmur, not wanting to feed into Jada’s petty game, but unable to shake the discomfort gnawing at you. Before Rafe can say anything, you grab his hand, pulling him up from the couch. His surprise shows for a second, but he follows your lead, letting you drag him away.

~

“Fuck off,” Rafe growls at the sound of a knock on his door, still half-asleep and annoyed as he shifts under the blankets. His arm gently moves you off him, and you let out a soft whine, instantly missing the warmth and security of his body pressed against yours. He sighs as the knocking persists, louder this time, more insistent.

“I’m coming!” he yells, frustration evident in his tone as he clumsily pulls his boxers up his legs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He’s barely awake, his movements sluggish, but the incessant knocking has him on edge. Just as Rafe reaches for the door, he pauses, his hand hovering over the knob.

A frown crosses his face. It wouldn’t be any of his frat brothers—they’d all gone home for the long weekend. Suspicion sharpens his senses, and he leans toward the peephole, squinting as he peers through it. His gut twists the moment he sees who’s on the other side, Alice, your sorority president, and Jada.

“Shit,” he mutters, backing away from the door. He hurries back to the bed, his hand reaching for your shoulder as he shakes you gently. “Babe, hey. Wake up,” he whispers urgently, trying to keep calm as you groan, still half-lost in sleep. “Jada and Alice are outside,” he says, his voice low but urgent.

The words barely sink in before you’re wide awake, panic flooding your system. “What?” you whisper, your voice strained with disbelief as you sit up, your heart racing. In an instant, you’re scrambling to grab your clothes, your mind spinning. “What are they doing here?” you hiss, pulling your jeans up your legs in a rush.

Your fingers fumble as you try to fasten them, your breath quickening with every second. Rafe’s hands are already on your back, tying up the straps of your top with quick, precise movements. “Fucked if I know,” he mutters, glancing toward the door. The knocking continues, sharper and more demanding this time, as Jada’s voice echoes through the room.“Rafe, open up! We know you’re in there!”

Jada calls out, her tone laced with impatience, as if she’s holding some kind of authority over him.“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, cursing the situation. The last thing you need is Jada and Alice catching you here—especially like this. Your mind races with the possibilities of why they’ve shown up now, of all times. Rafe turns to you, his hands resting on your arms as he tries to steady you.

His eyes are calm but serious. “Just hide in the bathroom. I’ll deal with them,” he says firmly, his voice low and reassuring despite the situation. You nod, heart pounding in your chest, and quickly dart toward the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind you. Locking it, you press your ear to the wood, your breath held as you strain to hear what’s happening.

You hear Rafe sigh heavily before he opens the door, his voice low and tense as he greets Jada and Alice. The muffled sound of their conversation seeps through the door, but it’s hard to make out the words clearly. Your stomach twists as you wait, hoping that whatever they want, Rafe can get rid of them without making things worse.

Rafe opens the door just enough to stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a bored, unimpressed look on his face. He eyes Jada and Alice, his expression indifferent as he sizes them up. “Can I help you?” he asks dryly, making it clear from the start that he has no interest in whatever they’re about to say.

Jada and Alice exchange a quick glance, their irritation barely hidden beneath thin smiles. Alice, with her usual fake sweetness, steps forward, her voice dripping with insincerity. “Is Y/n here by any chance?” she asks, flashing Rafe the overly saccharine smile she gives to everyone. He sees right through it—he knows exactly how two-faced she really is.

Rafe lets out a short, amused snort, crossing his arms. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he replies with a smirk, clearly enjoying himself. Jada opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her off before she can get a word in. “No, she’s not here. Why do you even care?” He raises an eyebrow, his voice sharp with challenge.

Alice, not backing down, continues with the same fake concern. “She wasn’t in her room while we were doing our rounds last night, and her roommate said she never came back,” she explains, though her tone lacks genuine worry. Rafe can barely stop himself from rolling his eyes. It’s clear they’re just fishing for information, and their excuse is weak at best.

“What, you have curfews on a Friday night?” Rafe deadpans, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He watches as the annoyance flickers across their faces, and he takes pleasure in knowing he’s getting under their skin. Alice forces a tight-lipped smile, her patience clearly wearing thin.

“Yeah, to make sure everyone is home safe and sound,” she says, her voice still maintaining that fake sweetness, though Rafe can hear the underlying frustration. “Right, sure,” Rafe mutters, clearly not buying it. He shifts his weight and straightens up, his disinterest obvious. “Well, like I said, she’s not here,” he says flatly.

The two girls stand in tense silence for a moment. Rafe can see a flicker of something—perhaps jealousy or frustration—behind Jada’s eyes, and it intrigues him. He watches as Alice turns, clearly ready to leave this awkward encounter behind, but Jada’s sudden outburst catches her off guard.

“What do you even see in her, anyway?” Her sudden outburst catches Alice by surprise, and she glances back at Jada with wide eyes. Rafe raises an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by her boldness. “Jada, let’s just go. She’s not here,” Alice mutters, her hand gently squeezing Jada’s arm, as if trying to ground her. Rafe can’t resist interjecting. “Yeah, Jada. She’s not here,” he mocks, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans casually against the doorframe.

Rafe’s disdain for Jada is palpable, and he relishes the chance to get under her skin. The flush of anger spreads quickly across her cheeks, her fists clenching at her sides as if holding back an explosion of frustration. The heat radiates off her in waves, her glare sharp and unyielding, her eyes narrowing with contempt.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she snaps, her voice bitter, teetering on the edge of desperation. Her gaze burns into him, full of resentment. “You think you can just parade around with her like she’s some prize to be won. What makes her so special?”

Rafe meets her gaze head-on, completely unfazed. He tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Why are you so obsessed with my fucking girlfriend, Jada?” His voice cuts through the tension like a blade, catching her off guard for just a second. She falters, her posture stiffening at the unexpected challenge.

“This is clearly between you and me, so leave Y/n out of it,” Rafe continues, his tone sharp and unwavering. He steps closer, his expression darkening with warning. “You got a problem with me? Fine. But don’t drag her into whatever this is.”Jada’s eyes flash with frustration, her lips tightening as she struggles to maintain her composure.

She clearly wasn’t expecting Rafe to call her out so directly, and the protectiveness in his voice stings more than she wants to admit. “You think you can just blow me off like I’m nothing?” she hisses, her voice trembling slightly. “I see how you look at her, how you act like she’s so perfect, like she’s better than everyone else.” There’s a bitterness in her words, a jealousy she’s no longer able to hide.

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “If you think this is about anything more than your own jealousy, you’re delusional,” he says bluntly. His tone is calm, almost amused, as if he’s thoroughly enjoying watching her squirm. “If you’ve got some fantasy that I ever wanted anything to do with you, that’s on you, not me.”

“Get over yourself. I don’t want you, and I never fucking did,” Jada opens her mouth, clearly intending to argue, but no words come out. For a moment, she’s frozen, her face a mixture of shock and hurt, as if she never expected him to be so blunt. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable. Rafe leans back against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a lazy air of indifference. He knows he’s won.

“Why don’t you take your little jealousy trip somewhere else?” he says with a bored tone, as if she were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His words only fuel her fury, but he doesn’t care—he’s already dismissed her in his mind. Jada’s fists tremble at her sides, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

She glares at him one last time before spinning on her heel and storming off, her heels clicking angrily against the floor. Alice glances at Rafe for a moment, but she’s smart enough not to say anything. She shoots Rafe a scowl that could cut through steel, her frustration evident. “Leave Y/n alone. Don’t test me,” Rafe warns, his tone lowering to a menacing growl.

There’s no way he’ll allow them to interfere in your life, not when they’re so clearly motivated by envy. Alice opens her mouth, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitates, measuring the threat in his eyes. After a moment, she seems to reconsider, her expression darkening with resignation. With a heavy sigh, she shakes her head and turns on her heel, hastily following Jada down the hallway. Rafe watches them go, a sense of satisfaction washing over him.

[golden-ebony]

First Lesson✎ ⋆⑅˚₊

♡ Pairing: Logan Howlett/Fem!Reader

♡ Word Count: 2.3k

♡ Rating: Explicit

♡ Warning/Tags: SMUT, MINORS DNI, p-v sex, slight fingering, desk sex, Logan is a good boy for you

♡ Summary: you give Logan a lesson of silence when you take control in your classroom

♡ Note: this came to me in a vision while at work

Walking around your classroom, you examined your students as they worked in pairs to finish their worksheets. It was Friday, and the kids were uncharacteristically focused. As a reward, you allowed them to begin their homework early since you were able to breeze through your lesson. You peered over your students’ shoulders, most of them finished with their assignment and chose to chat instead. With a few minutes left in the class, you decided to get your kids ready to go.

“Alright, guys,” you bellowed, catching each students’ attention as you made your way to the front of the classroom again, “We only have a few minutes left, and I saw that many of you have already completed your assignment, and correctly!” you jested, receiving some giggles from your students.

“So, like I said earlier, plants are kind of like us, but they’re still different.” As you began, your focus moved to the open classroom door, Logan leaning on the doorframe. You heard some of the kids in the back say hi to him, all of them trained at this point to call him Mr. Logan. He smirked against the frame anyway and started to become a distraction to your students. “They get hungry, too, but how do they eat?”

A few of your students raised their hands, but you couldn’t help but notice Logan talking to your students in the corner, being a further distraction. “Mr. Logan,” you call him instead, catching his attention. “Since you are here, you might as well learn something, too. Can you tell me what plants eat?”

A number of students chuckled. Logan slightly shrugged, “I didn’t know they ate, darling.”

“Well not as much as you do, Mr. Logan,” you quipped, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle your smile. The laugh from your students was boisterous; thanks to Logan, and your own petty behavior, you knew they’d be unfocused for the last few minutes. Whenever Logan decided to bother your class, it felt like an unspoken competition on who could make your students laugh more. In reality, Logan just liked teasing you in front of your students. You used to get very flustered when he started this, but now, you matched his sarcastic wit. “But yes, they do eat.”

His eyes went playfully wide with a wry smile as your class essentially broke out into laughter and conversation. You knew this was his plan. Logan knew your narrowed and targeted eyes, crossed arms, and pout was your way of calling him an asshole in a room full of children. Definitely worth it, in his opinion. 

“We will talk about photosynthesis next week, so I’ll dismiss you guys a little early, alright?” you yelled over your students’ voices. They all quickly began packing up, still chattering. “But Mr. Logan, stay after class,” you said as sternly as you could over the noise of the kids. It was loud enough for your students to voice a number of ooohs. 

You began erasing your white board for the day as the kids began saying bye to both you and Logan. Hearing the scattering of the last set of feet, you next heard Logan close the door ensuring it was also locked.

“Don’t you have a history class that should’ve been ending right now instead of bothering me?” you scorned, looking over your shoulder at your boyfriend, a hint of humor in your voice.

“They’re working on papers,” Logan shrugged, another smirk grew across his lips as he crossed his arms, “I thought I told you that this morning.”

“It’s hard to hear you when your face is buried between my thighs, Lo.”

In hopes of just hearing what his Friday entailed, you asked this morning as you prepared to go get ready for the day in your own room at five in the morning. Logan thought the time would be better served by getting an early morning taste of you. He found a way to do both, but you were soon interrupted.

“Regardless, you look damn good when you teach,” Logan cooed as sauntered over toward you, “Why would I wanna miss that?”

You finished erasing your board before placing the eraser down, “Yeah? Sit down, you might learn something, baby.”

“Oh yeah?” Logan raised an eyebrow at your statement before letting out a chuckle. He walked over to your desk and sat on the edge. “Then go ahead and teach me something. I’m more of a hands-on learner though, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I know,” you slyly muttered as you ran your hands over his taut thighs until they spread enough for you to stand between them. You brought your hands to his chest, massaging his pecs before moving to his shoulders. He let out a small hum, pulling you closer by your waist.“I actually think you could teach me a thing or two, too, Mr. Logan.” 

You could tell he was already mentally undressing you out of your olive dress. The heat between you was palpable. He moved his hands down to give your ass a squeeze under your dress, slightly spreading your cheeks before his hand traveled to the small of your back. The moaned gasp you let out was genuine. “What could I possibly teach the most beautiful and smart woman in the world?”

He was laying it on thick. Probably because neither of you had a lot to address your more intimate needs as of late. His words, no matter how many times he said something like this, made it difficult for you to look at him directly. You momentarily looked away, but Logan was quick to lift up your chin between his two fingers. 

You were forced to reconnect with his darkeden eyes. “Don’t get all shy on me now, baby. Aren’t you supposed to be the teacher here?”

His teasing tone made you stand up straight, taking notice of how your touch was affecting him.“I am…” Both of your hands traveled dangerously close to his groin. Logan let out a frustrated growl as you touch was merely teasing him now. Your hand briefly moved over his hardened groin before moving to his tease thigh, “and you’re not being a good student.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying your delicate touch before opening them to look up at you again. His gaze held a bit of lust as he spoke in a slightly breathless tone, “You’re one to talk, sweetheart..touching me like this in your classroom…”

One of your hands gripped his t-shirt, pulling him closer toward you. Your face was nuzzled into his neck. His hand that was once gripping your chin fell over chest. Your tone was low and sultry as you breathed near his ear, “Thought you were a hands-on learner, hm?”

Logan couldn’t help but shiver slightly from your breath on his ear. His cock was painfully straining against his jeans. From his low growl, you knew he had enough of your teasing. “You’re right,” He hand swiftly moved from your chest between your legs. A gasped moan jumped from your throat when Logan’s rough fingers rubbed over your sensitive folds. “I am a little more hands-on.”

Logan smirked the moment he heard your moan. You nuzzled yourself further into his neck, stating the opportunity to leave a line of hot kisses from his jaw to the collar of his shirt. The damp spot that Logan felt on your panties didn’t do your folds justice. His finger easily slicked through them once he pushed your panties aside.

“You been wet like this all day, baby?” Logan lowly asked. “This wet since I had my taste this morning of ya?”

As your response, your hand palmed his covered cock, creating the friction that Logan desperately needed.

Logan could only let out a low growl of pleasure as you continued to kiss down his neck and palm him. The feeling of your lips against his sensitive skin was driving him insane. He quickly pulled you to his lap so that you were properly straddling him. His other hand grabbed a handful of your ass, giving it a rough squeeze. Your wet core grinded against Logan’s cock, reminding you both how badly you needed this. 

Your hands gripped his muscular back as you leaned back to look at your boyfriend. He was flushed with lust before pulling you into an intense kiss. Drowning in the moment, Logan’s tongue quickly danced with yours as your hips rolled against his. 

Logan wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you firmly against his body. He hummed in satisfaction as his cock rubbed against your core. He could feel how wet you were getting and it only made him want you more. He was practically aching to be inside of you. Your cunt was clenching the air, begging to be filled.

“First lesson,” you muttered against his lips. Your hand went to undo his belt before moving toward his zipper, “keep quiet, baby…”

Logan huffed and groaned as you went for his belt and tried to keep his volume down. You were in a classroom after all. It was Friday, but anyone could be in the hallway. He wanted to make a smartass remark but the only thing he could get out of his mouth was another low growl. 

“Y-yeah, whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

You smirked at the desperation in his voice as you finished undoing his button and zipper. “Promise to be a good boy? Keep quiet for me? Make sure no one catches us?” you whispered against his neck, pulling out his cock. You felt his cock twitch in your hand from your words alone. Your thumb rubbed over the head, smoothing his precum over it. 

Logan was very used to dominating you, throwing you in the exact positions he envisioned. Watching you take control in your own classroom was a new thrill that he didn’t know he’d be so into.

You were clearly waiting for his response, only rubbing the tip of his cock with your thumb as you looked at him with bedroom eyes. “I promise I’ll be good, baby . I’ll be nice and quiet for you.”

You hummed, hearing what you wanted, before moving your own panties aside. You sank onto his cock at an antagonizing speed. Feeling filled to the brim, you groaned against Logan’s shoulder to follow your own advice.

Logan held in a deep moan. Determined to be good for you, he released his moan through a deep sigh. His hands were clinging onto your hips and his shoulders were tensed up from the effort to keep his noises inside as he looked up at you. 

Looking rather pleased with yourself as you warmed his cock for a beat, you slowly started to roll your hips against his. Logan’s eyes could only watch you in a mixture of lust and affection. You looked so absolutely beautiful on his lap. His grip on your hips tightened as you rocked against him. Feeling you clench around him, Logan could only respond with low, labored breaths.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so fucking good. Just like that, Lo. Just like that.” Your hips began picking up their pace. You place your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself. With the desk reinforced to the floor, you could only hear the guttural whine leave Logan’s mouth, a sound you never heard from him before. 

Logan hated how much he loved hearing the words leaving your gorgeous lips. He looked like he was struggling to keep himself under control. He was clenching his teeth tightly and breathing heavily.

You felt a sense of pride as you receive reactions from your boyfriend that you’ve never gotten before. Seeing him desperate and bothered only encouraged you to push him even further. Staying continuously clenched around him as you rode him. Biting your lip, you kept your moans at bay. 

Logan was struggling, “F-fuuck…c’mon, sweetheart, m-making it so damn hard.”

“I know, Lo…just a little longer. I’m so fucking close, baby,” you whined, chasing your high. Keeping one arm wrapped around his neck, your other hand scrapped at his shirt, gathering the material with your nails.

Logan could feel himself getting close as you continued to clench around him. He knew his finish was going to be intense. Hell, your words alone had him breathing heavily and you were doing most of the work as you were practically bouncing on him now.

Logan’s lips moved down to your collarbone, nipping at the tight skin. You bit your lip to contain your own moans as Logan nipped on your skin. It was enough to bring you over the edge, “Oh f-fuck, Logan, Logan, Logan, I’m c-coming, baby.” Your voice was low and whiny as you continued rough movements.

Logan placed a hand on your back to pull you closer, your chest pressed against his.“S-shit, baby! Ah, fuc–” Logan's volume was quickly increasing as he reached his high; you were quick to clasped your hand over his mouth as you both reached your peak.

You continued to fuck Logan through his high until you felt the warm of his cum shoot inside you, beautifully coating your walls. Logan's throaty groan was smothered by your hand, his eyes practically rolling to the back of head as he came down from his climax. You both were seeing stars in your classroom.

Your hand dropped from Logan’s mouth; it was quickly replaced with your lips in a slow, lazy kiss. You felt Logan chuckle against your lips.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” He was still clearly out of breath.

You breathlessly sighed with soft pants, “I-I know…you did great, baby,” you cooed, caressing your bearded cheek in your hand. “I’m surprised we didn’t break the desk,” you teased.

“Hell, you almost broke me,” Logan gruffed as you moved off of him. You used some nearby tissue to clean yourself off.

You laughed as you and Logan both fixed your appearances, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t love my little lesson,” you slyly smiled.

“Like I said,” he muttered, pulling you against his chest when he stood up, “you look damn good when you teach.”

♡ note: i love hearing y'all's thoughts

[luveline]

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he treks the last step up to the front door. The door gets caught on the latch when he pushes it open, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m ten minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, like always. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”

[msschemmenti]

girls night

jj x reader x emily

prompt: y/n is garcia’s neighbor and the girls come back from a rather rowdy night of salsa lessons and drinks and forget which apartment is garcia’s.

a/n: another crack drabble from my notes app but i couldn’t decide between jj and emily

“pen where are your keys?” emily spoke around a hiccup. they’d all had waaay too much to drink tonight and it was hitting the older woman as she swayed in the lobby of penelope’s apartment building. salsa dancing always brought out the women’s inner alcoholic and it was a miracle they’d even made it to the apartment building in general.

penelope, ever the excitable drunk, circled the lobby in a conga line of one but stopped next emily with a grin. “in here!” she grinned wiggling her cupcake shaped purse in front of emily’s drooped eyes.

the woman nodded and dug around in the cupcake until she felt the metal of the keys and pulled them free from the bag. “alright ladies, i think we’re ready to tackle the stairs now.”

“the stairs?” jj whined pushing herself up from the wall and toward emily.

“yes the stairs. the elevator is broken,” emily gestured to the metal doors with the paper sign on them. both jj and garcia boo’d loudly and mimed throwing tomatoes at the door. “plus i think we need the physical activity to sober up a bit. move out, soldiers.”

jj rolled her eyes and threw a dorky salute emily’s way before practically pulling herself up the stairs by the railings. garcia following closely behind and emily playing caboose on the train of drunk women. they make it all the way to her floor and pause in the hallway.

“pen did you decorate the entire hall?” jj asked in confusion. the normally empty hall looked like garcia’s home exploded all over every door.

“yeah! we had a neighbor decorating party. so now every door looks like mine.” garcia twirled unsteadily and poked one of the wreath covered doors.

“well which one is yours? it’s usually pretty easy to tell when i’m sober but i’m struggling a bit here.” emily asked as they walked the hall looking at each door.

mid spin garcia stops in front of a door with a potted planter and rainbow doormat and grins, “this one!”

jj furrowed her brows, “i thought you lived on this side facing the street…”

“the street is this way, jayje.” penelope singsonged as she extended her finger to boop her nose. “just get the key on my pink key ring. that’s where i keep my apartment key, so when im like this i can remember.”

emily looked jj wearily and shrugged before fishing out one of the two keys on the pink key ring. “as long as one of us is confident in this decision…” she mumbled before trying the key. when it didn’t turn she gazed up at the blondes in confusion. “um it’s not working.”

“oh oh wait, try to jiggle it. sometimes it gets stuck.”

emily wiggled the key all kinds of ways— unknowingly making quite a bit of noise in the hall. she turned to question garcia to complain when the lock turned in her hand and the door pulled open from the inside. all three women froze in shock and slowly allowed their eyes to pan up over the woman holding the door in her hand.

“hi,” she spoke with a laugh as she took in the hazy drunken cloud that was clearly covering the three agents on her doormat.

“garcia, who’s the hottie in pink?” jj whispered out of the side of her mouth, eyes never leaving her woman.

“jen,” emily groaned swatting the blonde’s hip as she watched the blush cover the woman’s cheeks.

“oh my god, y/n! what are you doing in my apartment?” garcia grinned, ignoring her bickering coworkers to pull her neighbor into a hug. y/n pushed her glasses up her nose and patted garcia’s back affectionately.

“penelope, you live across the hall babe.” y/n chuckled sweetly as she held the technical analyst by her shoulders to look her over. “and it looks like you’ve had quite a bit to drink, huh?”

penelope grinned, “uh huh. are you sure i don’t live here? it’s so pretty.”

“yeah hun, i’m sure. here why don’t i help y’all get inside and settled for the night?” y/n asked slipping her feet into a pair of slippers by the door and grabbed her keys. she turned to face the two other women leaning on either side of her doorframe. “and maybe i can introduce myself to your friends.” she spoke with a wink before corralling all the agents across the hall and over to penelope’s door. which looked pretty similar to her own.

emily shoved the keys toward y/n clumsily, “you probably need those.”

y/n accepted the key with a laugh and unlocked the door. “thanks hun,” she pushed the door open and held it open for all three women to file in. “welcome to you actual home penelope.” all three agents fell onto the closest flat surface and released various groans and sighs of relief at not being stood upright. “god you guys really got your fill on whatever alcoholic drink you could. i’m gonna go find you guys some water and advil. don’t move— unless you think you’re gonna puke.”

as soon as the woman turned her back to head into the kitchen, jj and emily both sat up to face garcia. “when’d you get a hot neighbor?” jj asked accusatorially.

“yeah! last i heard there was some old mean lady across the hall. you’ve been holding out on us.” emily chided, poking garcia’s shoulder pointedly.

“down you animals, she moved in a couple months ago. we’ve been a bit busy with you know the dark evil cruelest corners of the US. sorry i didn’t find the time to throw in my new neighbor is hot and single and very into women.” garcia rattled off with a shrug.

“well yes, we’ve been busy but sometimes hot neighbors trump serial killers.” jj replied matter of factly causing emily to tilt her head in thought.

“shut up jj.” she deadpanned with a shake of the head.

“hey!” the blonde called with a pout.

before anyone could actually continue the conversation y/n rounded the island with three glasses of water and a palm full of pain killers. “it seems in your inebriated states, you’ve all forgotten how open floor plans work.”

“oh my god, i think she heard us.” garcia whispered [not actually] to the now blushing women next to her.

“what did y’all drink?” y/n asked watching as each woman downed their water and pills.

“something called the green fairy. very good and very effective.” garcia replied.

“that’s for sure.” y/n nodded in understanding before turning her gaze to the other two women. “as flattered as i am ladies, you can come introduce yourselves when you’ve sobered a bit. that’s if any of you remember this tomorrow.”

“i don’t think either of can forget a face like yours.” emily flirted with a smirk, almost seeming completely sober. until a hiccup distracted her.

“we’ll see about that.” y/n laughed before heading to the door. “i trust all of you can at least get yourselves ready bed. i’ll lock you in for the night.”

“thanks y/n!” garcia sang they watched her disappear through the doorway.

“no prob, pen. come get your keys tomorrow! good night ladies.” the three women heard the door lock from the outside and the echo of the other woman’s door closing in the hallway.

“someone remind me to flirt with her tomorrow.” jj spoke, eyes half open but finger pointed to where y/n had been standing last.

“i’ll set a reminder in my phone.” garcia said pulling the phone from her pocket.

[cevansbrat0007]

A Friend in the Dark: Part I

Summary: Ari receives an unexpected call from you in the middle of the night. Takes place directly after the events in The Do-Over. And be sure to check out A Friend in the Dark: Part II!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Sexual Fantasies, Allusions to Oral Sex, References to Home Invasion, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner, who helped me come up with the opening. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari runs an agitated hand through his already tousled brown locks before tossing a stack of documents on his desk. Leaning back in his seat, he finds himself wondering why he was somehow always the one who always ended up drowning in a sea of never-ending paperwork. 

At this rate he was never going to make it home. The last thing he wanted to do was spend another night sleeping on the couch in his office. Unfortunately, it was quickly beginning to look like his only option. Of their own violation, his tired eyes stray towards the desk drawer that holds all the takeout menus. 

Maybe he’d try that new Mexican joint over on Madison – the one that claimed to have the best tamales in town. It was a bold claim to be sure. But it was definitely worth investigating if only so he could– 

A sudden knock at his door jolts Ari out of his thoughts. How strange. Buck, Pixie, and the rest of the gang had left hours ago. And he was sure they’d closed up on their way out, which meant that he should’ve been alone. 

The knock sounds again, this time a little more insistent. Next thing he knows, the door slowly begins to swing open to reveal…

You.

The woman he’d left behind months ago. Far away, in the little rinky-dink town of Bell’s Creek. Or so he’d thought. But now here you were. Standing there looking like you’d just stepped off a runway, wearing a black, off-the-shoulder mini-dress that hugged your curves just right.  

Stunned into silence, all Ari can do is continue to gape at you. His mind races as you step into his office, a million burning questions hitting him all at once. 

What brought you here? How did you find him? Was everything okay? 

“You’re a hard man to track down, Mr. Levinson.” You purr before taking a seat on the edge of his desk. Unable to help himself, his eyes stray to the hem of your dress as it rides up, giving him a glimpse of your deliciously thick thighs. 

“Why are you here?��� He stammers, his mouth going dry when you invitingly cross your legs.

And now he knew that you weren’t wearing any panties.

You offer him a delicate shrug. “I tried to stay away, I really did.” Stretching your legs, you draw his attention to your stiletto clad feet. “But it was just too hard.” 

Ari had never considered himself to be the type of man who was into feet, but that never stopped him from admiring your perfectly painted toes. Tonight they were a shiny, deep red that matched your manicure. 

“Look, Duchess…I–”

“Tell me you didn’t miss me.” Reaching over, you use two fingers to tilt his bearded chin. “That you haven’t thought about me since you left Bell’s Creek.”

“Every damn day.” He admits hoarsely. “But we can’t–”

“We can.” You softly interrupt, before sliding off his desk and sinking to your knees, forcing the bounty hunter to move his chair to allow you space. “I’ll show you. Give you a taste of how good it’ll feel to have me the way you’ve always craved.”

Ari’s pulse kicks up the moment he feels you rest your soft hands come to rest on either of his thighs. Meanwhile, his already impossibly hard cock is busy straining in his jeans, desperately seeking relief. His head tips back as he waits for you to do something – anything – before he resorts to embarrassing himself by begging. 

“Did you really think I didn’t know how bad you wanted me?” You lightly drag your nails over his impressive bulge, delighting in the way he shivers at your touch. “You wanted me from the moment I walked into that church.” You allow your hands to rove higher so that you’re now gently gripping his belt. 

“Yes.” His breathing is shallow and labored.

“But it wasn’t until you found me at my shop that day, when you got angry at the thought of me sleeping with Martin, that you decided you wanted to fuck me.” You slowly begin undoing the clasp. “Isn’t that right, Detective Levinson?”

“Y-yes.” Ari rasps, licking his dry lips. He groans low in his throat when you wrap a hand around his girth, freeing him from the confines of his pants. 

“How many times have you imagined this?” The question comes out both sweet and silky. “How many times have you lain awake at night fantasizing about what I'd sound like when I’m choking on your thick cock?”

“Shit, baby!” He hisses as you begin stroking him up and down, working him with each sensual flick of your wrist. “Every fuckin’ night – gah!” 

“Wanna know a secret?” You ask at the same time as your mouth slowly starts to descend, heading in the direction of his aching member. “I’ve been dying to taste you too.” You pause, stopping just short of taking the plump mushroom head between your lips. 

“I can’t wait to find out if you’re salty…or sweet.” Ari’s hips buck when you finally take him into your mouth, greedily sucking him down as if you’d done it a hundred times. Of its own accord, a large hand fists itself in your curls, forcing your head down and making you gag as you struggle to take more of him. 

“That’s it, Duchess. Don’t fuckin’ stop. Don’t…don’t…don’t…”

Ari’s House – 3:00am

Ari suddenly shoots straight up in bed, blinking rapidly as his bleary eyes work to adjust to the darkness of his bedroom. He scrubs a weary hand over his beard before vaulting himself out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. 

Without flipping the light, he immediately turns on the tap, splashing his face with water. He’s annoyed by the fact that you’d managed to find your way into his dreams yet again. As if it wasn’t enough that you already seemed to plague his every other waking thought, now he also had to worry about you disturbing him in his sleep. 

Although it had been days since you’d last spoken with each other, that hadn’t stopped him from keeping tabs on you. While he tried to tell himself he was just doing his due diligence, deep down he knew there was a little more to it. In his mind, there was nothing better than watching your hips sway as you unknowingly went about your day.

Especially when you were wearing those leopard print leggings you seemed so fond of, or better yet, a pair of denim shorts that perfectly hugged your ass. Sure, he was a fool. But some days he was beyond caring. He’d long since decided that you were the only good thing about this dingy little town anyway.

Ari flops back down on the bed with a disgruntled sigh. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, even if he could somehow convince his stubborn dick to cooperate. As he lays there, he finds himself wishing he would’ve gotten a chance to speak with you at the church potluck the other week.

At the time he’d been besieged by the townsfolk – mostly women – all of whom had demanded his attention. Meanwhile, you’d been content to stay huddled in the corner, picking at the food on your plate in a way that almost reminded him of a little bird. 

Closing his eyes, he wills his body to relax in hopes of reclaiming at least some of his inner peace. Only to jump when he hears his phone begin to ring from its place on his nightstand. 

Who the fuck was calling him at this hour?

Frowning when he doesn’t immediately recognize the phone number, he briefly hesitates before answering.

“Hello?” The greeting comes out a little gruffer than he intends.

“Ari?”

His world suddenly grinds to a screeching halt. Because while he doesn’t recognize the number, definitely knows the voice. 

He’d know your voice anywhere.

“Ari…are you there?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. I–I’m here.” He gives a quick shake of his head as he attempts to get his mind to connect with his ears. “You okay?”

“I’m so sorry for calling so late. I really am, but…” There’s no missing the distinct hitch in your throat, even as you try to keep your voice low. “I think someone…” He listens as you trail off, most likely to try and collect yourself.

“You think someone is what?”

“I think someone is outside my house. I–I think they’re tryin’ to get in.” 

It’s at that moment when Ari feels all breath literally leave his body. Mostly because it was the last thing he expected you to say. Regardless, seconds later he’s on his feet, hastily throwing on his clothes.

“Where are you now?” His tone is short and clipped as he goes about collecting his things. 

“I’m locked in my room.” You whisper while struggling to keep the tears at bay. “I ran when I heard them scratching at the backdoor.”

“Good girl.” He grunts before putting the phone on speaker so that he can begin lacing up his boots. “You got somethin’ to protect yourself until I get there?” 

“I have a bat.” You supply helpfully, even as you huddle on the floor by your bed. 

“Baby, I meant more like a gun.” 

“Um, no. No.” You inwardly curse yourself for being so afraid of those damned things. Your uncle used to own one, but you’d foolishly gotten rid of it after he passed. ”I–I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Ari speeds down the stairs, taking them two at a time as he holds the phone to his ear. “I want you to stay right where you are, okay? Gimme your address.”

“Okay.” Your fear is so palpable, it’s almost paralyzing. But you at least have enough sense to remember where you lived. Thank goodness for that.

“Good girl.” Grabbing his car keys off his kitchen counter, the bounty hunter makes it out of his house and into his truck in record time. “I’m on my way. You call this into the station yet?” He asks, double-checking that his preferred gun is still in his glove compartment. 

“N–no. Because what if I’m wrong and–”

“But baby, what if you’re right?” He swiftly interrupts as his vehicle’s engine roars to life. “Look, I’m gonna hang up with you and call this in.”

“Please don’t go!” You cry, before slapping a hand over your mouth. 

“I swear I’m gonna call you right back. Right fuckin’ back, okay?” God, he hated to leave you – even for a second. But this was something that had to be done. “You have my word.”

“O–okay.” Is all you can muster as you clutch your baseball bat tighter to your just. “But please hurry.”

“I’m comin’.” He assures you as he backs out of his driveway, pulling onto the street. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. And don’t you dare open up that door for anyone but me. You hear?”

“Yeah.”

“Good girl.” The bounty hunter praises once more. “Just try and stay calm for me. I’ll be there soon.” 

Gritting his teeth, he ends the call before dialing the one cop he knew would be on duty tonight – Officer Milton. Knowing time is of the essence, he hurriedly relays the info to the one man before hanging up and phoning you back. 

Except you don’t answer. In fact, it goes straight to voicemail. When the same thing happens a second time, Ari gives up in favor of concentrating on the road. He’d be to you soon. And whoever was responsible had better hope that the police beat him to the punch. 

Otherwise the fine officers of Bell’s Creek would have a dead man on their hands. 

END PART ONE  

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[bleedingoptimism]

Eddie gets home from the shop covered in car grease and tired but satisfied with a good day’s work. Opens the door to catch Wayne on his way out,

“Your boy was here earlier,” he tells him clasping his shoulder as greeting.

“Dustin?” Eddie asks confused, trying to remember if they were supposed to meet today.

“No, not the kid. The boyfriend.” Wayne says nonchalantly, moving toward his car.

Eddie splutters and coughs, “Steve? Wayne! He’s not my boyfriend!”

Wayne stops mid-step and turns, looking actually distressed when he asks, “Why not!?”

If his life was a cartoon, Eddie is pretty sure his jaw would be hitting the floor right now, “What do you mean, why not?!”

He raises his hands preparing to start numbering with his fingers all the reasons why and opens his mouth and then… nothing comes up.

Actually, Wayne has a point… Why isn’t Steve his boyfriend?

Wayne fixes him with a look and Eddie closes his mouth and shrugs sheepishly.

“Eddie, the kid just showed up with three tupperwares full of homemade food because he said, and I quote ‘accidentally made too much’ which is a horrible excuse frankly, he’s a horrible liar. Which, for the record, I recond it’s a wonderful quality,” He clasps his shoulder reassuringly and then slaps his cheek softly, “Better get your head out of your ass soon and get on with it, son.”

And then he gets in his car and leaves Eddie there, still standing by the door, mouth slightly agape.

💞

Twenty minutes later he’s standing outside Steve’s and Robin's duplex, knocking on the front door loudly.

“Comming! Oh! Eddie, hi!” Steve answers, and just like always, it punches the air right out of Eddie’s lungs when he sees him. He’ll never get used to how beautiful he is.

He’s barefoot and wearing a huge sweater that makes it look like he’s not wearing anything underneath but Eddie knows he is wearing his green little shorts, the ones that should be illegal. It’s his go-to comfy outfit and it always makes Eddie want to cuddle up with him on the couch and kiss every inch of him.

“Why aren’t you my boyfriend?” Eddie asks, not even bothering to say hi.

Steve blinks at him and opens and closes his mouth quite a few times, it makes Eddie think of those cute fish that throw kisses.

“I- I-” He stammers and then he huffs and leans on the doorframe, and smiles at Eddie with his head cocked to one side. It’s a ten thousand wats smile and it just about blinds him,

“I wanted to ask but- Wait, how come you suddenly showed up?” And then his eyes light up, “Was it the tuppers?”

“What?” Eddie asks confused, “No, Wayne asked me and-” And then he remembers Wayne saying Steve had dropped food for them, “Were you trying to feed me into a relationship?”

Steve shrugs, “Maybe… everything else I tried wasn’t working so…”

Eddie thought about it before while talking to Wayne. When he couldn’t come up with any reasons as to why he wasn’t dating Steve, he realized all the little things they’d been doing for each other. Both of them trying to court the other while being incredibly oblivious to each other.

They really are two idiots in love.

Eddie chuckles, and steps into Steve’s space, he moves a strand of hair out his eyes and lovingly places it behind his ear, “So… would you? Be my boyfriend?” he asks him.

Steve smiles and grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him inside, closing the door to the outside world.

Eddie takes that as a ‘yes’.

coffee? a homemade meal? ☕💕

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗠𝗬 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝗕𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗨𝗦 max vertsappen  x  dutch! fem! driver! reader ( angst ) fic summary . . . when admiration and worship morphs into an obsession that borders on rivalry and hate, even as it remains tangled with traces of reluctant respect. From studying his every move as a young fan, Yn transforms into his fiercest competitor, driven by the need not just to beat her childhood idol, Max Verstappen, but to utterly dethrone him. (5.7K words)

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests | taglist )

You pull off your helmet with a fury that blurs your vision, the weight of the day’s mistakes turning everything to red. You’d been so close—so damn close to taking the lead from him, only for Max to pull that brake test, sending both of you into the barriers. Without a second thought, you dropkick your helmet across the gravel, your scream piercing the air.

He’s already out of his car, stalking toward you with that smug, barely-contained anger in his eyes. The type of anger that’s wrapped up in confidence and control, the kind that shows he doesn’t care, not really.

“Are you out of your mind?” he barks, his voice clipped, only the faintest bit breathless. “What the hell was that?”

“You! You were what the hell that was!” you shout back, stepping forward until a marshal wedges between you, holding you both back with outstretched arms. “You pulled that damn stunt! You think you’re untouchable, Verstappen, but you’re not!” Your words echo across the track, catching the attention of everyone nearby.

Max’s lips curl into a mocking smirk. “Untouchable? Coming from the one who can’t seem to finish a race without nearly taking someone out?” His laugh is bitter, biting, and it grates on every nerve you have left.

“When did you turn into such a coward?” you hiss, every word as sharp as the tension in the air. “Or did the idea of losing to me start to get under your skin?”

Max’s face twitches, just for a second, but he covers it up with a shrug, like your words meant nothing. “Get real, Yn. You’re reckless. This sport has no place for someone like you if you’re going to risk both our necks out there.”

But as the marshals pull you apart, each of you going in opposite directions, the heat simmering in your chest turns from anger to something almost painful, a question that’s been lying dormant for too long: When did I start hating him so much?

In the quietness of the shower back in your drivers room, the memories come rushing back.

There was a time when you couldn’t even imagine hating Max. A time that you looked up to Max. You can see it now, your younger self glued to the screen, watching every race, every move he made on the track. Back then, he was a hero, a force you admired, your inspiration as you fought your way through karting, Formula 4, Formula 3.

It was one of those post-race interviews, back in the early days, when a reporter called you “Mini Max.” They’d smiled at you, waiting for your reaction, and you’d laughed, your cheeks flushed as you spoke about how much you looked up to him. It felt like an honor, a small victory, to be compared to him.

But somewhere along the way, admiration soured into frustration. Somewhere along the way, you started to hate him—hate that he seemed so invincible, that he could still overshadow you, that no matter what you did, he was always a step ahead.

Now, the thought of finishing behind him feels like a betrayal to the younger version of you, the girl who once dreamed of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her hero. No, now it’s no longer enough to be near him. You need to beat him. You need him to feel what it’s like to lose.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

While he was enjoying the off-season, probably relaxing on some distant beach enjoying his winder break, you were here—training, pushing yourself past every limit until your muscles ached, until you couldn’t remember anything but the fire burning inside you. You wanted to be better. You had to be.

You’d already stolen one of his records: youngest F1 driver. But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You wanted his wins, his titles, his legacy. Every drop of sweat, every missed social event, every sleepless night—all of it was for one thing: to dethrone Max Verstappen.

“You’re pushing too hard,” your performance coach warned one day, watching you with concern as you struggled to complete yet another lap on the simulator, your hands trembling with exhaustion.

“I’m not stopping until I’m faster than him,” you gritted out, voice strained, but you didn’t let up. You couldn’t. Because every time you closed your eyes, you saw him there, his smirk, his arrogant confidence, and it made you push harder, faster, ignoring every ache and pain.

Pre-season testing felt like a curse. The moment you hit the track, frustration settled in like an unwanted passenger, sitting heavy in your chest as you struggled with the car’s every turn. You needed something perfect, something that could carry you past him, but instead, the car felt like it was working against you, resisting every command.

“Is this really the best we can do?” you snapped at your engineer after another failed lap. Your tone was sharp, the bite in your voice making him flinch.

“It’s early, Yn,” he replied cautiously, not quite meeting your eyes. “We still have time to make adjustments.”

Time? You wanted to laugh, but it felt too bitter. There was no time—not when you could feel Max somewhere on the track, clocking in faster times in his rocketship, his team perfecting every detail while you were stuck here, in a car that felt like it was holding you back.

“It needs to be better,” you said quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper, but every ounce of frustration bled through. “I need it to be better if I’m going to beat him.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As the season began, you avoided Max like he was some kind of curse, the plague even. Every time you saw him across the paddock, your jaw clenched, and you turned away. Every glance he threw your way felt like a challenge, and every interview brought questions you hated answering, questions about him, about your rivalry, about your chances against him.

The roar of the crowd was still pounding in your ears as you climbed out of the car, adrenaline coursing through you as every nerve thrummed with frustration. The race had been brutal—more than it should have been. You’d fought for every inch, every corner, only to have Max come up behind you on that last lap, reckless as always, clipping the side of your car and puncturing a hole right near the rear wing.

You tore off your gloves, tossing them to the side before stepping closer to examine the damage. The deep gouge was blatant against the pristine paint, a mark of just how close he’d come to forcing you out completely. Your fingers traced the edges of the hole, the anger simmering hotter with each second as you replayed the moment he veered in your direction, testing you in a move so blatant you couldn’t ignore it if you tried.

A nearby camera crew caught the scene, the lens aimed in your direction as you ripped off your helmet, pushing damp strands of hair from your face. You barely registered the red light on the camera, too consumed by the frustration boiling over.

“He really had to pull that move, didn’t he?” you muttered, voice dripping with bitterness as you wiped sweat from your brow. “Typical Max. God, he’s such a… such a bitch.”

The words came out low, rough, but it was enough for the camera to catch them, the red light blinking like it was in on the joke, laughing with you, or at you, whichever it was. You let out a huff, half-expecting him, Max,  to have heard it somehow, already imagining his response—a smirk, a raised brow, maybe some cocky comment about how close he’d gotten to overtaking.

As you ran a hand over your face, trying to shake off the rage, you felt someone approaching from behind. You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. Max’s presence was unmistakable, like a storm looming over you, too close, too intense.

“What?” you snapped, finally spinning around to face him. He was already out of his helmet, his blue eyes fixed on you with that unreadable look that made your blood boil all over again.

“What? No ‘thank you’ for keeping it interesting?” he replied, his tone light but his gaze sharper, more calculating.

“Oh, sure,” you retorted, a bitter laugh slipping out. “Thank you for trying to send me into the wall with that last move. Real sportsmanship, Max.”

He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t seem to mind getting a little aggressive when it suits you. Didn’t think you’d be this sensitive about it.”

“Sensitive?” You stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “That was reckless, even for you. I’m not surprised you’d think putting both of us at risk is somehow a good idea.”

Max’s smirk faded, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “If you can’t handle the pressure, maybe—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, words coming out like steel. “Don’t you dare imply that I can’t handle it. I was still ahead of you, even with that stunt. Maybe you should stop hiding behind dirty tactics and see how long you can actually stay in front without them.”

The air was thick with tension, and you barely noticed the media crew and team members pretending to busy themselves nearby, clearly trying to avoid interrupting whatever this was turning into.

Max let out a slow breath, his expression softening just enough that it threw you off for a second. “Believe what you want, Yn. Just remember who crossed the line first.”

His words were like a taunt, but they left a hollow ache in their wake as he turned, walking away without another glance back. You clenched your fists, feeling the heat of the camera still on you, catching everything.

Fine. Let them see, let them know you weren’t about to let him get away with this. If Max Verstappen wanted a rivalry, then that’s exactly what he was going to get.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The roar of the engines echoed around the track, every corner a battle between you and Max. Your car was an extension of you, a machine honed and perfected for moments like this, pushing you to the very edge as you fought for P1 in the sprint race. Max was right there—just inches away, as relentless as ever. Every overtake, every daring cut into the corner, was met with resistance from him, as if he refused to let you have even an inch of track.

“He’s defending like mad,” one of the commentators said, awe in his voice. “You have to wonder if they’re aware of how much this fight feels like Caesar and Brutus. Max as Caesar, of course, with Yn gunning for him like Brutus.”

Your focus sharpened even further, the comparison strangely invigorating, pushing you to take every move with more aggression. If they wanted a Brutus, they’d get one.

When the race ended, you crossed the line right behind Max, fuming and breathless but satisfied with the chase. It was in the media pen afterward, your mind still replaying every maneuver, that an interviewer brought up the commentary.

“Did you catch what they were calling you out there?” the interviewer asked with a sly grin, clearly relishing in the drama.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “No, what?”

“They called you ‘Brutus.’”

You blinked in surprise, a mix of confusion and amusement flitting across your face before you brushed it off with a shrug. “It’s fitting, isn’t it? Brutus was victorious in the end.” You tried offering, looking at the bright side and giving a small smile, letting the interviewer chuckle as you shrugged off the implication. You knew there was a bite to your words, an edge that hinted at more than a friendly rivalry.

Meanwhile, in Max’s own interview, when they informed him of the new nickname, he barely batted an eye. “Yeah?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. Then he gave a small, careless nod. “It’s fitting, ’cause she’s a brute.” There was a half-smirk on his face, and the way he said it was practically a challenge. You could practically hear his voice, even though you were nowhere near him.

The next day, you stepped onto the track with a new kind of energy, a thrill of anticipation in your veins. As you took your position on the grid, a chant from the crowd filtered into your helmet. You could hear it even over the sound of engines revving, the murmur and shout of the crowd growing stronger: “Brutus! Brutus! Brutus!”

The name had taken hold, and there was something about it that set your blood on fire. You embraced it, straightening in your seat as though you were some kind of warrior, sent with purpose to take down Max. It felt like you weren’t just racing for yourself anymore; you were embodying something larger, a symbol of the one who dared to challenge the reigning power.

You glanced to the side where Max’s car sat in P1, his familiar helmet tilted as he prepped, no doubt hearing the same chant. If he looked your way, you didn’t see it, too wrapped up in the energy that was now backing you. You were Brutus, and you were ready to show everyone, including Max, just how fierce you could be.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Each race felt like peeling back another layer, another page in a book you couldn’t stop reading, even as it tore at you. Max had become everything that drove you—every late-night practice, every reckless risk taken, every corner claimed just an inch sharper. You’d built your entire career studying him, dissecting his strengths, cataloging his weaknesses, carving out a strategy with every heartbeat set to match his.

But that irony twisted in your gut like a knife. It was almost poetic, really: you’d spent years learning him, watching him, emulating him until you’d become something terrifyingly similar. It was as if you’d built yourself in his image, shaped your own ambition around his fire, around the relentless hunger he brought to every race. But the thought was bitter, cold. Every time someone compared you, every time they pointed out how alike you were, it felt like a betrayal.

A betrayal to the younger you, to the version of yourself who’d watched him with awe, who’d traced his lines on paper with stars doodled around his name. The one who had once seen him as a symbol of everything good and pure about racing.

Now, he was nothing more than a hurdle you couldn’t ignore, one you refused to let stand in your way.

But no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much you resented him for being the goal you chased, you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t. Not until every accolade, every win, every record was ripped from his hands. Not until you stood there, victorious, knowing it was your name on everyone’s lips. Even if it meant becoming the very thing you hated.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The music pulsed, pounding through your chest as you leaned over the bar, nursing your drink with an intensity that bordered on dangerous. Tonight had been supposed to be an escape—a distraction from the simmering frustration that came with finishing just behind Max. Again. You could still feel the clench of your hands around the wheel, the image of him just a few seconds ahead as you crossed the finish line etched behind your eyelids. You wanted to forget it all. Lose yourself to the numbing, pounding bass and the warm haze of alcohol.

But that small sense of victory shattered the moment you caught sight of him across the club. Max. His eyes were on you, his presence impossible to ignore as he stood near the VIP section, laughing with friends, drink in hand. You groaned, tipping your drink back in a quick gulp. Of all the places...

You tried to ignore him, focusing on the dance floor, the bodies swaying around you, anything but the fact that he was watching your every move. But the alcohol mixed with the adrenaline still buzzing from the race, and that tiny, vengeful part of you wanted to prove something—to remind yourself you didn’t need to dwell on Max Verstappen.

But then you felt it: a warm, familiar touch wrapping around your waist. An arm pulling you back gently, firmly, into a chest that you knew too well.

"You know," he murmured, voice low, his breath warm against your ear. "You’re just like me."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated the way your heart reacted, a mix of anger and something else you didn’t want to name. You tried to wriggle free, stumbling slightly as the room spun around you. “Get off, Max. Go celebrate somewhere else.”

But he didn’t let go, his grip steady, holding you against him. “Come on, Yn,” he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "Let me take care of you. I'll take care of you."

His words wrapped around you like a taunt, like an invitation. You wanted to resist, to pull away and leave him there, but your head was foggy, your limbs heavy from the drinks, from the heat of his breath. You could barely manage a scowl as he pulled you closer, his hand steady against your waist.

“I don’t need your help,” you muttered, your words slurred but defiant.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice a warm murmur in your ear. “But I’m still here.”

Your mind swirled, the beat of the music fading to a low hum as you let yourself sink into his warmth, barely remembering how you’d stumbled out of the club, your legs unsteady as he led you down the hall to his suite.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning, you woke with a start, your head pounding as the light filtered through the hotel curtains. You groaned, burying your head in the pillow. You weren’t home—this wasn’t your bed. Slowly, memories of last night seeped in, fractured and surreal. The club. The warmth of Max’s arm around your waist. The soft rasp of his voice in your ear.

And then it hit you. The sex, the moaning, the positions, the kissing, biting, fighting, fucking. All of it.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to feel a warm hand on your wrist, pulling you back into the bed. “Leaving already?” Max’s voice was thick with sleep, his blue eyes meeting yours with a soft, unreadable look.

You tried to pull away, the instinct to run screaming through your hazy mind, but he caught your chin gently, tilting your face toward him. “Stay,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours, soft and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

Your mind raced, half of you screaming to push him away, but the warmth of his mouth, the way his hand cupped your face—it was both maddening and disarming. Just for a moment, you let yourself lean into him, your guard down, all your reasons to hate him slipping through your fingers like sand.

The aftermath of the kiss felt like whiplash. Your initial hesitation morphed into pure, seething anger, and you shoved Max’s arm off, pulling yourself away. The alcohol may have clouded your thoughts last night, but clarity came barreling through now, sharp and laced with regret. You needed to get out—fast.

Throwing off the covers, you stormed to the other side of the room, grabbing your clothes off the floor with an urgency that matched your pounding heartbeat. As you shoved your legs into your jeans, Max stirred behind you, still sprawled half-asleep, reaching out as if to pull you back down beside him.

“Yn,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Why the rush? It’s not like you’ve got anywhere better—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, jamming your arms into your jacket. Your voice was clipped, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the zipper. “Just… don’t. I don’t know what I was thinking last night. This—” you motioned between you two, fingers trembling with irritation “—this was a mistake.”

Max sat up, that grin fading as he registered your expression. “Wait—hey, just hold on,” he muttered, pushing the blankets off and scrambling to find his boxers. You didn’t wait, storming toward the door, but his voice pulled you up short.

“So you’re really just going to walk out? Pretend this didn’t happen?” He was struggling into his pants, one leg half in as he hobbled after you.

You turned to him, words cutting through the morning air like a knife. “Yes, Max. I’m walking out because that’s exactly what this was—a mistake I’m leaving behind. We’re nothing alike, no matter what you want to think.”

He swayed, one hand against the wall as he finally managed to get his pants on, his eyes narrowing. “Are you sure that’s what this is? Or are you just scared to admit that you don’t hate me as much as you say you do?”

You paused, heart catching in your throat, looking at him for what felt like a minute before laughing bitterly, hoping your pause wasn’t too long for him to notice. Your heart ached. “You’re delusional. The only reason I was here was because I was too drunk to know better.”

Max took a step closer, eyes glinting with a challenge. “Then why don’t you tell me to stay away? Tell me to stop following you. I will, right now, if that’s what you really want.”

You faltered, your gaze flicking to the door, the pull between you both undeniable and frustrating. You could feel his stare digging into you, asking you to turn back, to stop pretending that he didn’t know you better than you wanted him to.

But instead, you gripped the doorknob and turned it, your knuckles going white. You didn’t say anything. Why didn’t you?

And before you let him say anything, you stepped through, slamming the door behind you.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the screen as another race played out before you. It wasn’t your own; it was one of Max’s races from a few seasons back. Your thumb hovered over the rewind button, your attention focused solely on catching every turn, every move he made. You leaned forward, squinting as you watched his lines, his techniques—any crack in his armor that might finally give you the edge you needed.

Behind you, your mother and father’s voices clashed in the kitchen.

“If you’d bothered to pick up the dry cleaning like I asked—” “Oh, don’t start. Just because you’re married again doesn’t mean you get to dictate my life, Liza.”

You tuned them out. Their back-and-forth was almost as predictable as Max’s lines around a slow corner; it was white noise now, nothing that could break your concentration.

Just as you spotted something—maybe a half-second hesitation in his approach to the apex—your father walked into the room, arms crossed, a smirk on his face as he eyed you and then the screen. He leaned against the doorframe, clearly amused.

“Still glued to that Verstappen kid, huh?” he teased, shaking his head. “I swear, it’s borderline obsession at this point.” He held something up, something that made your heart skip a beat—a familiar little notebook, worn and creased, with your childish doodles on the cover.

You looked at it, your chest tightening. The old notebook you’d kept as a kid, filled with every scrap of information about Max you could find—techniques, race strategies, his overtakes, his lines…everything.

He walked over, dropping the notebook onto your lap with a chuckle. “Remember this? You used to practically idolize him. Stars, doodles, the works,” he said, a slight hint of nostalgia in his tone. “You’d scribble notes while watching his races, your little hero.”

You swallowed, flipping open the notebook slowly. There it was: your handwriting, a little messy but full of enthusiasm, each page packed with observations about Max’s races. “Quick on the throttle here,” “Stellar defense move,” “Perfect line through Turn 4.” Some sections even had little stars around his name, doodles you’d drawn in the margins. Little hearts you hadn’t even noticed you’d drawn. Back then, he’d been like a god to you, the driver you’d wanted to be like, even surpass one day. The admiration on those pages was almost embarrassing now, a reminder of how innocent and naive you’d once been.

“Maybe I used to admire him,” you muttered, closing the notebook with a slight flush. You looked back at the screen, at the Max on the track, now an opponent, someone you wanted nothing more than to beat. “But that was before I knew what he was really like.”

Your dad laughed, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Sure, sure, whatever you say. Just keep your obsession in check, alright? Wouldn’t want Max to get a restraining order.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t shake the feeling of those old memories lingering. The stars, the admiration—they were still in the notebook, a record of a time when you’d looked up to Max, and in a way, it reminded you of why you’d wanted to race in the first place. But now, you had something more to prove, and none of those doodles and stars could make you forget that.

The notebook lay open in your lap, one page showing a neatly drawn corner with “Max’s line” scribbled beside it. You had been meticulous, even back then, mapping his every turn, his every strategy like they were holy instructions, some sacred blueprint of how to be the best.

“Honestly, Liza, I’m not the one who left the thermostat set to Arctic!” Your dad’s voice cut through the hum.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to run every single thing by you,” your mom snapped back. The sharp clink of a pan hitting the stovetop made you wince, your focus wobbling before you found it again.

You sat down heavily in your sim rig, the notebook clutched in your lap. Flipping through its pages, you skimmed over the small stars and scribbled praises, memories spilling out like ghosts as you stared down at all those words you’d once used to describe Max: quick, flawless, untouchable. A tiny part of you wanted to laugh at yourself; the other part ached, the way you did when you realized something beautiful had soured beyond repair.

You loaded up the AI program, Max’s settings set to the hardest mode. The muffled argument from the kitchen filtered through the walls. Your parents were at it again—voices low but tense, each word prickling at the air, growing louder with each moment.

“And what about last weekend? Who took Kendra to her recital while you were out playing golf with your buddies?” your mom accused, her tone biting.

“Oh, please, because I didn’t already spend hours making sure her car was fixed?”

You shifted your focus to the screen, finally blocking them out as you took off into the first lap. The AI Max was fast—just as aggressive as he was in real life, lunging to take the inside line at every turn, leaving barely an inch between his virtual tires and yours. You held on, matching his speed with ease, remembering every note, every trick you’d taught yourself just to keep up with him. Lap one down. You’d beat him.

“Oh, come on, Frank! If I had a dollar for every time you pulled that excuse,” your mom continued, voice muffled but unmistakable.

“Then go ahead, keep tallying, Liza. I’ve got a list a mile long if we’re counting grudges!” he fired back.

You reset the sim, sending the AI Max to challenge you again. The screen flashed, and you were off, Max’s virtual car zipping ahead as you pushed your own car to keep pace. The tension built lap by lap, each turn taking you closer to a victory over him—even if it was only a pixelated version. A feeling of triumph stirred in your chest as you overtook the AI at the final corner, winning another lap, then another.

Another loud clang from the kitchen pierced the air, followed by your mom’s frustrated,

 “Can we at least agree to stop shouting for once, Liz?”

“Sure, sure, until you find another reason to bite my head off,” 

But by now, it didn’t matter how loud they got; you couldn’t shake the realization sinking in as you felt the weight of the notebook in your lap. You’d beaten him here, again and again. 

Your gaze had dropped back to the pages in your lap, flipping through more of those pages, each one carrying fragments of that old adoration. Back when he was more than an opponent, back when he was someone you idolized, maybe even more than that. You felt your eyes burn as a tear slipped free, catching on your cheek.

You clenched the notebook tightly, fighting to shove down the wave of anger and resentment. When had it shifted? When had this fierce obsession turned into something ugly, something that kept you up at night, wanting nothing more than to knock him off that pedestal and destroy him?

The ache twisted deeper as you whispered, almost to yourself, 

“Why did you have to ruin it, Max?”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Abu Dhabi sunset cast an intense glare over the grid, heat rising from the track in waves as the entire circuit buzzed with anticipation. This was it—the final race, the decider. The season had been a brutal, relentless tug of war, and every inch you’d gained had been hard-won, paid for with countless hours and sacrificed peace. Yet all that melted into a charged, quiet tension as you stood on the grid, looking straight into the piercing gaze of Max Verstappen.

He looked calm. Unshaken. A flicker of something unnameable crossed his face as he watched you, that damn smirk just barely tugging at his mouth. It was the same cocky expression that haunted your memories, the one that lit the spark of anger you’d fanned all year. You looked back, hard, steady—fighting the urge to let your lips twist into something bitter. All you wanted, all you needed, was to cross that line first. To watch him falter, just once. You could almost feel the weight of the wish pressing into your chest, every quiet, secret prayer you’d ever made for him to fail. You wanted it so badly that it felt wrong—like holding fire too close to your heart.

Just let him crash, you thought. Just once. You closed your eyes briefly, wishing with all the intensity you’d buried over the years. It was twisted, immoral maybe, but you was past caring. This was yours to win.

The lights went out, and with a roar of engines, you launched forward, you world shrinking to the roar of your own car and the blur of track under your tires. Corner after corner, you battled, inches apart, daring each other to break first. Max was relentless, always in your mirrors, always pushing you to your limits. They danced around each other with a precision that spoke of rivalry, yes, but something more, too—years of watching each other, of studying each other’s moves like rival chess masters waiting for the inevitable mistake.

But it was Max who finally cracked.

A few laps from the end, as you watched him from your mirrors, you saw it happen in real time. He’d miscalculated, his car swinging out too wide, the split-second error sending him straight into the barrier. The force of it made you gasp, the sound of his car hitting the wall ripping through your chest, catching you off guard. Your hand tightened on the wheel, breath coming fast as the seconds dragged on.

“Is he . . . is he okay?” you asked, your voice shaky as you came through the radio. “Max? Is he okay?”

There was a pause, and then your engineer’s voice cut in, calm and steady. “He’s fine, Yn. Focus. Just bring it home.”

Those words, simple as they were, snapped you back into the race. The track blurred around you as you pushed, pushing yourself as hard as your car would allow. When you crossed the finish line, your screams rang out over the radio, your  engineer’s laughter joining you as the reality of it finally sunk in.

“Yn, you did it! You’re the champion!” he shouted, laughter bubbling over the line. “You are the world champion!”

“World champion!” You screamed, slamming your hands on the steering wheel in pure and overflowing euphoria. “Oh my God! We did it!”

You let out another whoop, a wild, unrestrained sound you didn’t recognize. Pulling into parc fermé, you climbed out, eyes bright as you leapt onto you car, your fists thrown in the air as cheers erupted around you. It felt surreal, everything you’d been fighting for finally, finally in your hands. Your team rushed toward you, their faces alight with joy as they lifted you up, your arms outstretched as you soaked in the moment, your heart swelling.

But as you turned to face the crowd, the energy draining just enough for clarity to creep in, your gaze locked on him. Max stood just outside the circle of people, his helmet still in hand, his expression unreadable. You almost froze, the swell of triumph slipping, replaced by something else. You forced yourself to look away, turning back to you team and pulling them in closer, their arms slung around your shoulders as they lifted you onto their shoulders, chanting your name. Their support grounded you, lifting you from the gnawing doubt you hadn’t expected.

As they set you down, your heart hammered, still buzzing from the race. But in that instant, you felt it—a pang of something like regret as you looked at him again, standing alone, just watching you.

Max took a small step forward, a soft, almost hopeful look in his eyes. “Congratulations,— Yn! Congrats—” he called out, his voice barely rising above the roar of the celebration around them.

But you didn’t move toward him. Your team pulled you back into their cheers, and you let yourself be swept up, allowing the thrill of victory to drown out everything else. As your team lifted you onto their shoulders. And as the cameras flashed, the crowd cheered, and your name echoed around the circuit, you held onto the knowledge that you’d won, even if a small, nagging voice reminded you that you’d left something behind in the process.

the Dutch national anthem now plays for you.

this is the longest one shot I've written so far, someone hold me

[papaya-twinks]

hey babe, perv! Lando trying to touch his girl under the table when he's meeting her parents perhaps?? love your work btw x

Warnings: Smut, 18+, sex toys

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

“Hey Mrs Y/L/N, Mr Y/L/N,” Lando said politely, a smile on both your parent’s faces. “Lando, dear, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” your mum said to Lando, seeing the timid boy in front of them. You could tell they thought he was lovely, and you appreciated it, but how desperately you wanted to tell them of how roughly he’d fucked you just before he arrived at the house. In the car. Down the road from your house. 

“Come this way, I’m making dinner,” my mother said warmly, “perhaps you, Y/N, could show your lovely boyfriend your childhood bedroom,”. Oh, Lando had not shut up about going in there, the words he’d said to you. The filthy words. You know how badly I want to fuck you in your old room, Y/N. You’d take me so well. You led him up the room into your room. 

It was a classic teenage girl’s room, the pale walls covered in fake vines, posters adorning the wall next to the windows. “Nice,” he said, but his attention was firmly on you, instead of the actual room. “We’re not fucking in here, Lando,” you frowned, “they’d hear us and dinner’s nearly ready,”. 

Lando batted his eyes innocently at you as you whined, “Lando, I said no,”. He hummed to himself, shrugging with mock innocence. “I never said sex,” he said, as you rolled your eyes. “You’re heavily implying it,” you mused. “What about…a toy or something, instead?” he shrugged. “Lando,” you gasped as he revealed the vibrator and small remote from his pocket. 

“You so planned this,” you huffed as he smirked. “Maybe I did,” he hummed, “but I see no protest from you,”. You chewed on your lip as he moved you to sit on the bed, moving your legs apart. Thank god you were wearing a skirt, then. You hissed slightly as he dipped his finger into your core, before he pushed the toy against you. 

Your eyes widened as he did so, the vibrator buzzing gently against you. “Oh god, Lando,” you gasped, gripping his shoulders softly. “Feels good?” he asked, a small smirk on his face, “now we’re gonna have dinner,”. Your eyes widened as he led you down the stairs, sitting at the table, an innocent smile on his face, as if he wasn’t teasingly edging you with the toy. 

“Y/N, dear,” your father frowned, “you okay? You’re bright red,”. Both were oblivious to what was going in between unit legs as you nodded through gritted teeth. “I’m good,” your voice came out as a high pitched squeak as you felt Lando up the speed quicker. Your foot knocked into his ankle in protest as he looked to you innocently. 

Little bitch.

[iluvpjo]

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽𝔂 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓖𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓢𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓼

Synopsis: Luke and you went to a party being held at camp that Mr. D and Chiron have no clue about, whilst there you happen to get drunk and your best friend Luke has to keep an eye on you and take you back to your cabin. When you guys get back you drunkenly spill your feelings for him and start to get touchy, and your best friend has a hard time saying no to you.

Warning(s): NSFW! MDNI, alcohol! Drunk reader, I never edit or proof read my fics btw ermmm

Pairing: Luke Castellan x fem reader

Word count: 7,938k (bit long sorry I got excited writing abt Luke for the first time haha)

*No specified godly parent for reader

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The night was drawn on for a long time, it seemed that no matter how many songs were played that no time was passing at all. Luke stood in the corner of the party underneath a tree, brushing off the few girls that attempted to speak to him. He didn’t wanna talk to them, not when he had to keep his eyes on you. His best friend for years, the two of you clicking immediately as soon as you arrived at camp, it was like you were meant for each other. In a platonic way obviously, the both of you thought — and lied to yourselves about it often.

There you were, stumbling around the party as your tired legs struggled to keep up. Luke furrowed his brows staring at you, he knew you were a strong girl but he couldn’t help but be worried for you. The two of you arrived at the party together but as you kept drinking and having fun you eventually grew apart from him, dancing like no one was watching in the crowds of other campers. It was shocking that Mr. D and Chiron hadn’t noticed the party at all, if they had then they’d surely have shut it down.

Luke eyed the cup you were holding, you’d probably swapped cups around seven to eight times by tonight. The classic red solo cups from the movies, one held loosely in your palm. With the way you were swaying around trying to stand properly you’d probably end up dropping your cup if you weren’t careful, then you’d come over and whine to Luke about it anyways. So Luke decided to approach you again, walking up beside you and gently tapping your shoulder to get your attention. You flinched for a second, shrugging your shoulder to get his hand off of you.

“Wha—? Get off me..” You murmured as you kept looking away, not yet noticing who the man was standing next to you. “It’s only me.” Luke replied, moving his hand back to touch your shoulder again. You smiled and turned your head as you heard his voice, your lips curled up a little crookedly. You definitely looked drunk. “Oh! Hey Lukeeee.. Where’ve you been? ‘Missed you.” You twisted around to open your arms and hug him, your cup falling to the ground absentmindedly. The cup you’d been holding for the last ten minutes, sipping and holding onto it like it was your most prized possession — discarded in just a second.

“You’re drunk.” Luke sighed and shook his head a little as he looked at you, your arms wrapped loosely around his torso and you pressed the side of your face to his chest. “Maybe a little tipsyyyy.. but I didn’t have THAT much to drink!” You laughed it off and shrugged your shoulders. “You’ve been going back and forth all night grabbing yourself drinks, you’re more than just a little tipsy.” Luke pinched his nose bridge before reluctantly rubbing your back.

You hummed happily as he pet your back “Hm? ‘You been watching me? Pfft.. Stalker.” You giggled again. Luke couldn’t help smiling to himself a little, shaking his head at you “Maybe we should head back to the cabins soon, yeah?” Luke suggested. He’d hoped that you’d agree and that you’d stop drinking, with the way you were already he was a little nervous thinking about you getting any drunker. “Whaaaat? Noooooo.. The party only just started!” You whined and stomped your foot on the dirt like a child who hadn’t gotten their way.

“We’ve been here for three hours already, aren’t you tired?” Luke asked you with a softer voice now after seeing you getting a little whiny. He didn’t like upsetting you, it hurt his heart when he did. He liked making you happy, he’d do anything to keep a smile on your face. He’d slay a man for you if you even just suggested the thought of it. “Tired? Nooo.. I’m very much awake! You can go to bed if you’re tired though, ‘you don’t need to stay here just for me..” You said to him as you slowly pulled away from your hug.

Luke gave a small pout to himself after you’d said that “No, I wouldn’t leave you alone here.” He answered immediately “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” You shook your head at him as you wore a drunken smile. “I know you can, but I wouldn’t feel like a very good best friend if I left you by yourself.” Luke gave back a sympathetic smile, letting you know that he’d never doubt your ability to protect yourself. You were a big strong girl, but you were his big strong girl, so he couldn’t risk leaving you alone at the party to be talking to any other guys.

You stared at him blankly for a moment as you tried to process what he said, giggling to yourself a little as you swayed a bit. “Well.. now that you’re here with me.. let’s go dance!” You exclaimed and moved to grab both his hands in your excitedly. You acted excited every-time you two hung out together, like every moment hanging out together was a special thing— and it honestly was to you. Luke gave a soft sigh as you held onto his hands, shaking his head before giving you a small smile “..fine. Lead the way party girl.”

You dragged him along towards the center of it all, there were already a few drunk campers dancing together around you two. Luke regretted listening to your suggestion after you’d both stepped inside the small crowd of people, but the thought quickly faded away when he saw your bright smile on your face. It made him feel special that you always wore that big beautiful smile around him, and of course you would. He made you happy, there was never a bad moment with him, because the two of you were best friends for life.

“Dance with me!” You laughed and began to dance, swaying yourself side to side and twisting your body to go with the music. “You’ll be the death of me.” Luke commented to himself before joining you slowly, hoping not to attract any attention to the two of you. He copied as you did, swaying his body to the side and watching you with a glimmer in his eyes. Underneath the soft moonlight, the lit lanterns, and the occasional bright coloured lights scattered around the party, he thought you looked beautiful. He thought it often but it wasn’t often that it was ever spoken out loud.

After a couple minutes of dancing you began to grow tired, slowly letting yourself slump down. Luke caught you in his arms, letting you fall into his chest as you lost your balance. You giggled to yourself at your drunken clumsiness, putting your hands on his chest and moving your head to look up at him. “Don’t worry, I got’cha .” Luke murmured as he held your weight against him, making sure you wouldn’t fall to the floor and hurt yourself. “Heh.. Lukeeee..?” You slurred as you spoke to him.

“Yes?” Luke tilted his head at you and smiled to himself, wondering what drunken nonsense you’d spit up next. “Have I ever told you how much I loveee youuu?” You asked him, the question caught Luke off guard and he blinked confusedly for a second before answering. “What do you mean..?” He asked before shrugging and talking again “I- I think you’ve told me before. Maybe on my birthday or something.” He looked to the left trying to remember. “Mm.. Weeeeelllllll… I love you Luke! You’re my bestest friend forever and ever!!” You confessed to him.

“Yeah? I love ya too.” He couldn’t help but feel a weird weight on his chest after you’d said that, he thought that maybe you saying that last bit was a little unnecessary — of course he was your best friend forever and ever. But why had he expected you to have said something else? He tried to shake off the feeling, but he wasn’t able to. He couldn’t shake the feeling out of his chest when you were leaning your pretty face on it, nuzzling up against him like he was simply a warm pillow or something.

“Y-You’re so pretty Lukeeee.. Love you so much.” Luke could feel how drunk you were now with the way you were speaking to him, the look in your eyes also made him sorta nervous. Your drunken eyes stared up at his face through your long eyelashes, the alcohol not being able to mask the sheer look of want in your eyes. Luke stammered as he spoke, a little flustered from your words, but he tried to keep a regular mindset. “You think I’m pretty?” He asked and blinked confusedly “Of courseeee I do! I love your face.. and your eyes.. and your hair..” you started to mindlessly mumble.

Luke snapped you out of it “I think it’s time you go to bed sweet girl.” Luke mumbled back to you softly, moving his hand to gently rub your back. You nodded your head this time instead of fighting, moving your hands to cling to his chest. Luke sighed as he got what you wanted him to do, picking you up off of the ground and swinging you over his shoulder. He was lucky you weren’t the kind of drunk to get easily sick or else you probably would’ve thrown up your dinner from the action. You giggled to yourself in glee, swinging your legs back and forth as he held you tightly. It didn’t hurt but he didn’t want you to fall or anything, he was always so careful with you.

“Sleep over..” You told him as you both started heading over to the cabins, your head hanging low near his hips as he held you over his arm. “Hm? You want me to sleep over in your cabin with you?” Luke asked you, he wasn’t sure if he should — but he wasn’t sure if he shouldn’t. He’d feel bad if you became sick and needed him, but you were the luckiest camper in the world and had a whole cabin to yourself. Luke wouldn’t be able to simply sleep in an empty bunk or something like that, if he was gonna sleep over he’d have to sleep right next to you. The two of you hadn’t done something like that before, perhaps you both sat on your bed talking but you’d never actually slept together.

“Yeahhh!! Please Luke?” He couldn’t see you but he knew that you were making those puppy dog eyes at him, probably pouting your lips too like usual whenever you’d ask him for something. “Hm.. Okay, I’ll sleep over. I’ll take care of you, my drunken girl.” He snickered a little to himself after saying that last bit playfully. You liked his comment too, because not only did Luke hear you giggling but also because (and he couldn’t see you doing it) you were blushing.

Luke walked up to your cabin and swung open the door, closing and locking it behind the two of you so no campers would come in while you were sleeping. Luke walked over to your bed and set you down gently, lying you on your back so you’d be comfortable. You smiled up at him stupidly as he set you down, your hands making grabby motions towards him ushering him to come down towards you. Luke shook his head with a smile at your antics, kicking off his shoes and laying down beside you.

Luke laid on his back facing the ceiling, feeling a little bit awkward as he was lying there beside you. You turned around as soon as he laid down, twisting onto your side to face him happily. “Hehe, hi.” You giggled to yourself as you stared at him, Luke decided to amuse you and he turned to face you like you did to him. “Hello.” He chuckled quietly to himself at your drunken silliness, he didn’t really like you being drunk but he couldn’t lie that he found your drunken antics to be rather cute.

“Lukkkeeeee..” You dragged his name out to get his attention, he rolled his eyes for a second “Yes? What is it now, hm?” He hummed “You’re so handsome.. ‘love you..” You softly spoke, your eyes looking at him a little dazed. Luke had been getting flustered from you more than enough times tonight, and now that you’d said that he was flustered yet again. He blinked in surprise and slight confusion, wondering to himself why you’d say that so suddenly. He figured it was the alcohol.

“What makes you think that?” He asked you a little quietly, smiling to himself as he looked back at you. “I told youuuuu! Everything about you is so handsome and pretty.. My pretty boy.” You answered his question, slowly moving to nuzzle your head against his chest. Luke was more than surprised now, completely caught off guard yet again. ‘Is this still.. friendly?’ Luke thought to himself as he felt you nuzzle your face against him. “You’re drunk sweet girl, you ‘dunno what you’re talkin’ about..” Luke said, moving one of his hands to gently rub his knuckles against your soft cheek.

Luke could feel the heat radiating off of your face, your cheeks were flushed and flustered — and not only from the alcohol. “I might be drunk, but I know you’re still a pretty boy..” You pouted your lips as you said that. ‘Why’s he not taking me seriously? I’m not stupid.. I’m not THAT drunk.’ You thought to yourself, did he think that you were so drunk that you wouldn’t be able to remember his gorgeous face? Never. Not when you thought about him so often. He was your best friend, how could you not? Especially when you had secret feelings for him.

Unfortunately however, your drunk self had absolutely no clue that it was supposed to be a secret. Here you were mumbling about how pretty he is to you, and dragging your fingernails up and down his arm gently leaving goosebumps in your wake. “You thinkin’ straight party girl? I think the alcohol is getting to you, maybe it’s best we go to sleep..” Luke answered with a softer voice, his face etched with concern. Luke moved his hand to touch your forehead, feeling your temperature.

He then moved his hand down to feel your cheek. Your drunken self smiled dumbly at his actions, leaning into the touch affectionately like he was just cupping your face for fun. “I’m fine Luke, ‘m not a baby. I don’t wanna go to sleep, ‘m not tired.” You whined and furrowed your eyebrows at him. He would’ve thought you were genuinely upset if it weren’t for the cute pout that painted your lips, or for the soft gradient on your cheeks. “You’re drunk, and you’re not thinking right. Sleep’s good for you.” Luke replied.

“Hmph. ‘Don’t care. Why do you think I’m not thinking right? I’m thinking completely normally!” You huffed and moved back a little, crossing your arms over your chest. There was a soft pang in Luke’s chest, he didn’t wanna see you upset - even if you were acting like a bit of a whiny brat. He spoiled you with the way he treated you, and tonight would be no different. He was your best friend and he’d take care of you for as long as the boy could breathe, protecting you and serving you with his life practically.

“No, you’re not. You keep complimenting me and telling me you love me, you’re obviously out of it.” Luke pinched his nose bridge, but he wasn’t annoyed nor irritated with you at all. He’d never be like that with you. “But you ARE pretty and handsome.. And I DO love you. What’s wrong with what I’m saying? You don’t like itttt?” You asked him, tilting your pretty head to the side. “It’s not that. It’s just- you’d never say this stuff sober.” Luke couldn’t help chuckling to himself a little, despite the slight weight his sentence had on his own heart.

“I’m worried about what you’ll think when I’m sober.” You were quick to answer, like you’d already thought of it when you weren’t drunk. “I’d never get upset with you, you know that. But you don’t really think these things when you’re sober.. do you?” Luke was preparing for you to tell him that it was some sort of joke. His heart already hurt thinking about it. “Huh? ‘Course I do. I think about you alllllll the timeeee!” You confessed with a soft laugh “No you don’t, the alcohol is messing with your head.” Luke sighed softly and shook his head.

‘Why doesn’t he believe me?’ You thought to yourself, feeling Luke’s hand comfortingly caress your cheek like he was taking care of someone sick. You weren’t sick. “You can’t tell me what I think.. and the alcohol isn’t messing with my head!!” You complained, starting to get a little irritated that he wasn’t believing your words. “Of course it’s messing with your head sweet girl, why else would you be saying these things?” He asked “Because its true. Because you’re my pretty best friend, and I thought it was obvious that I wan’ more than that..” You huffed.

You didn’t even realise the words that just escaped your lips, not even after you’d said it. You were drunk, and when you were drunk you’d just say whatever’s on your mind, even if it was a secret you were never meant to speak out loud. “W-Wait.. Huh? You.. want more than us being friends? Like what?” Luke already knew the answer but for some reason the doubt in his brain was telling him that you obviously meant something else. You couldn’t want him like a lover, why would you when you were the most perfect girl in the world to him. You could probably have any guy you want, why’d you want him?

“Sometimes when I look at your face for too long I get sad that I can’t kiss you..” You confessed, your eyes moving from staring at his face in general to down at his lips. Luke licked his lips to wet them absentmindedly. “You do?” He was torn, not knowing wether or not if it was just the alcohol talking. “So often.. It surprises me that you can’t tell- but I’m glad you can’t. Don’t wan’ you to know how I feel about you because I ‘dunno how you’d react.” You confessed with this slight sad look on your face.

“I think you just told me? But sweet girl, how do you know it isn’t just the alcohol talking? Making you think you’ve got feelings that aren’t really there?” Luke asked and pulled you in for a hug, feeling upset with himself that he was making you sad. “Because I don’t just feel them when I’m drunk! I wan’ you everyday… I wanna kiss you and hug you, I want so much more than what we have..” You sighed and lowered your head to bury it into his chest. “I.. I ‘dunno if I can accept your feelings when you’re drunk sweet girl.” Luke started to gently rub your back to comfort you again.

“Whyyyyyy..?” You were pouting your lips again, and you looked like your eyes were about to well up with tears. Luke felt his heart shatter for you, he was making you feel like this? Luke pulled away from the hug that he’d roped you into, keeping his hands on your shoulders so that you’d look up at his face when he spoke next. “I wouldn’t wan’ you to make any bad decisions when you’re drunk. If I accept your feelings right now then you’re probably gonna wanna kiss and eventually that’d lead to making out and- I just don’t want you to wake up upset the next day regretting it.” Luke looked you in the eyes.

“Hmph!” You huffed and looked away from him, whining to yourself in your head about how you weren’t getting what you wanted. “You know what? You’re right.” You said, returning your gaze to look up at him with slightly squinted eyes. “Alright.. Thank y-“ you cut Luke off before he could finish his sentence “-I would wanna kiss you tonight. And I would wanna makeout with you too. But you’re wrong about me regretting it, I don’t regret anything I do with you.” You finished. “I’m sober, and you’re not, it feels wrong. Like I’d be taking advantage of you.” Luke explained.

“Like I’d care if you did.” You rolled your eyes at him before ever so slowly moving to kiss his cheek, Luke let you at first but as you kept leaving soft kisses pressed against his jaw he had to try and regain his composure and gently push your head away. “That’s not good thinking sweet girl. I’d never forgive myself for taking advantage of you like this.” Luke shook his head like he was already disappointed in himself. “You wouldn’t be! T-Think of it as me taking advantage of you!” You suggested with a small excited look on your face.

“How would that even work?” Luke questioned quizzically as he furrowed his eyebrows at you, “Like.. I’d be taking advantage of what a good best friend you are, you’re always trying to make me happy and treat me nicely.. and you know, accepting my feelings would make me real happy.” You moved closer and gazed into his eyes longingly with want. “It’d make you happy now but what about in the morning?” Luke felt like he was slowly losing this non existent battle with you. But little did he know that he had lost the battle before it even started, because of course he’d give you whatever you wanted at the drop of a hat - why should this be any different?

“In the morning I’d probably feel.. like having swollen lips, and I’d probably feel pretty warm from having you curled up to me.” You answered “That’s not what I mean sweet girl and you know that. We kiss and I accept your feelings and then what happens tomorrow? What if you regret it all?” Luke was struggling to keep himself from immediately giving in to you, he already felt like kissing you just staring at your face like how he was. “If I regret it then we can pretend it didn’t happen. And if I don’t regret it? It happens again..” You felt like you were begging him at this point.

“Hm…. Fine. But you’re the one who begged me for this. Please, I hope you don’t regret asking for it.” Luke spoke that last sentence to himself even as he kept staring at you. Slowly, Luke began to close the gap between the two of you. You eagerly leaned in and closed your eyes, feeling his lips gently brush up against yours. His lips were soft and suddenly it was like this kiss had reawakened every positive thought you had about him right then and there, releasing all the feelings and desires for him. You kissed him back, beginning to move your lips against his.

Luke did the same thing, your lips moving together in sync as you both kissed. Luke felt slightly guilty but he also felt relieved to be able to finally do something like this, the pressure that was resting on his chest had been lifted off of it. Luke moved one of his hands to caress your hair affectionately, the other hand gently grasping your waist. You felt better than ever, your arms moving to wrap around his neck loosely. The way Luke was kissing you was so gentle and sweet, it wasn’t like how you’d fantasised but you still found it really nice!

Your drunken self took a little more action, keeping the kiss gentle and sweet but making a move to switch things up just a little. You parted your lips slightly, darting your pink tongue out just past your lips to attempt to enter his mouth. Luke caught on and quickly had to have an internal conversation with himself on wether or not he should let you, but then found himself wondering why in the world he wouldn’t let his best friend get what she wants, what she deserves. He let your tongue inside his mouth, which made you let out a soft hum/moan of delight.

It made you feel hot already, your tongue finally exploring the inside of his mouth; It felt lewd, it felt good. Luke could taste the faint taste of alcohol which made him a little irked at first, but he then relaxed as he tasted the aftertaste of some fruity flavour your alcohol was mixed with. Luke slowly moved his tongue against yours as you guys kissed, tongues not fighting for dominance but instead just playing with each other. You leaned forward to try and move your body closer to him, which made your tongue slightly slide further into his mouth which caused him to let out a quiet moan.

You would’ve teased him about it if your own mouth wasn’t occupied. You moved your hands again, one moving to grab his hair gently and the other hand moving to rest on his hip as you both moved to sit up a little more on the bed. Luke then slowly moved his own hands off of you before grabbing at your hips and tugging you forward, your weight landing in his lap. Your head felt spinny and you felt very giddy as he placed you in his lap, your knees on either side of him. You guys eventually broke away from the kiss, drawing a soft whine from you.

“Be patient sweet girl, ‘both need time to breathe..” Luke chuckled softly to himself at your reaction to him pulling away, both of you taking a breather for a moment. Your eyes blinked in confusion when you felt something weird, like there was something pulsing underneath you or something. Your eyes drifted down to look at where you were sitting in his lap, your jaw opening just a little to elicit a soft gasp from your lips. You could tell he was hard, and what you’d felt before was him twitching.

Luke rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly now, glancing away a little flusteredly as his cheeks became pink. “Sorry about that, can’t control it.. it- it’ll go away on its own don’t worry about that.” Luke looked embarrassed as he said that, making you wanna kiss him again. “What if I don’t want it to?” You asked him with a sly grin, a playful tone to your voice. “Huh? What do you mean, what’re you gonna-“ Luke clenched his teeth and shut his mouth when he felt your hips grind against him.

His head fell back slowly as he felt your fronts pressing against each other’s, “Y-You don’t have to- we really shouldn’t-“ Luke tried to speak. It was mainly distinguishable except for the few moans and groans that interrupted it. You kept moving slowly against him until his hands on your hips gripped tighter and he made you pause your actions. “Huh?” You asked with a dumb look on your face, ‘Was I not allowed to do that?’ Your face now looked a little guilty.

“Sweet girl, I thought we wouldn’t be doing anything you’d be regretting tomorrow?” He asked and you shook your head “W-We are! I won’t regret this, please just let me-“ He cut you off this time. “-Hold on. Hold on. I- Is that you I’m feeling?” Luke asked after taking a quick sharp breath, you confusedly looked down at where he was looking and grew a little embarrassed. You’d worn a skirt to the party, and right now he could feel the panties under your skirt becoming soaked by the minute.

“S-Sorry!! J-Just wan’ you..” You gave a guilty look, pouting your lips and feeling kinda embarrassed. Luke stayed silent for a moment which made you feel worse, until his hands on your hips guided you to grind back down on him again. “I can tell you need this.. and who am I to deprive you of your needs?” Luke sighed as he gave in yet again, his own needs being met too now. Your eyes fluttered shut and you struggled not to make loud high pitched moans, but you tried your best and instead was little out heaps of soft breathy moans instead.

“You’re so pretty in my lap.. should’ve had you here a long time ago, huh, sweet girl?” Luke asked you with a slight playful tone, you could tell he was teasing you. You wanted to say something smart but your drunk brain just wanted to nod “Y-Yes.. Would’ve loved to sit in your lap Luke..” You admitted shamelessly. “I would’ve felt guilty having you sit in my lap though.. Because I know I’d get hard and I couldn’t be thinking perverted things of my best friend like that.” Luke kissed your jaw.

Kisses were peppered along your jawline, making your head tilt back. “I would’ve loved it.. Would’ve acted all stupid and clueless so I’d have an excuse to rub up against you..” You giggled as you confessed “I’m not dumb sweetheart, I would’ve noticed that right away.” Luke chuckled “Mm.. would you have done anything to stop me?” You tilted your head at him “…Maybe not.” Luke shrugged before kissing your lips again.

While kissing together your hands found their way down to the end of Luke’s shirt, creeping their way up underneath. Luke paused your movements for a moment, pulling away from the kiss and making you confused for a second. He then slid his shirt up over his head and threw it to the ground, you then felt giddy and excited as you saw his exposed torso and chest. “So pretty..” You mumbled to yourself drunkly before moving your head to kiss his collarbone, making Luke take a sharp inhale. You weren’t thinking much when you made your movements, only taking what you wanted.

Your hands touched over his muscles, caressing his abs with your gentle hands. “You’re killing meeee…” Luke drew his words out, giving a small smirk as his own hands rubbed gently at your hips. “Mm.. ‘love you..” You replied and kept touching him, exploring him like you’ve been wanting to do for a long time now. Months, maybe even years now, and you were finally getting what you wanted. Of course, you could’ve easily asked him earlier but you weren’t confident enough to do it.

You stopped your hands after touching him for a minute, remembering that you should take your top off too. You quickly and eagerly pulled the fabric over your head and dropped it off the side of the bed, sitting there on his lap with this big dumb smile on your face. “..Wow.” Luke’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of your barely covered chest, his hands moving to grasp at your pudgy breasts inside your bra. “Have you been wanting to touch them as badly as I’ve been wanting you to?” You asked him with a glimmer of hope on your face.

“Of course I have. They’re so pretty.. all for me?” Luke asked you with a smug look on his face, of course you nodded your pretty little head. There was no point in lying when he already knew the truth. Luke moved his hands off of your covered breasts and unclipped your bra so that they’d be free “Is this still okay?” He asked you afterwards. “Yep!!” You nodded again, taking his hands in yours and placing them back over your now naked breasts. As you watched him fondle you your eyes glanced down at his veiny arms, his hands were veiny too, it made your heart flutter.

“Your hands are so…” You got lost in your own thoughts, just as Luke did when he was finally touching you. Luke’s fingers curiously pinched your nipples for a moment which made you whine, after this he decided to curiously bend his neck down and place one into his mouth. You didn’t stop him, you didn’t want to. You sat there like a pretty little doll for him on his lap and let him explore his thoughts, his mouth sucking and tugging on your nipple appreciatively. “I-if you keep sucking them you’re gonna leave a hickey!” You pouted your lips, yet you enjoyed the attention he was giving you.

“I don’t think that’s possible sweetheart.. but even if it was, would you complain?” He looked up at you through his half lidded eyes, wanting to hear your words. If you said yes he’d pull off immediately, yet you bashfully shook your head and said no. “That’s what I thought.” Luke chuckled quietly before moving to your other breast, sucking on the other one a little more harsher and drawing out a soft moan from you. Your fingers found themselves in his hair, grasping his head a little to keep him where he was.

When you had enough of him abusing your nipples you let go and he got the idea to pull off, moving back and staring down at you in his lap again. “You sure you still want me to do this sweet girl?” He asked you, caressing your face in his hand. You leaned into his touch and nodded your head “Yes, please?” You asked him. Luke sighed and then smiled down at you, moving his hand from your cheek to ruffle your hair “Anything for my girl.” Luke answered. He couldn’t say no to you, you were his favourite girl.

Luke pulled your skirt and underwear down at the same time, and you lifted yourself off of his lap to let him pull them off of you. He threw your skirt onto the floor and held your underwear in his hand for a moment, admiring the wet spot in the middle that covered your crotch. “D-Don’t look at that..” You whined in embarrassment, moving shyly to try and take them from his hands. Luke lifted his arm up so you wouldn’t be able to grab them, his taller height putting you at a disadvantage. “Am I embarrassing you sweet girl?” He chuckled to himself “Y-Yes.” You huffed with pink cheeks, pouting at him and furrowing your eyebrows.

“You’re so cute.” Luke chuckled again as he admired your reaction “But sweetheart, I’m not trying to embarrass you. Promise. I’m just simply admiring this mess you’ve made for me..” Luke reassured you, slowly putting the pair into the pocket of his pants. “H-Hey are you taking those?!” You asked him flusteredly, “I am. That a problem? I’ll give them back if it is.” Luke asked you and tilted his head. You huffed and sat back before saying “..No..” and giving him this coy look.

“I’ll take good care of them.. Actually, I shouldn’t make false claims like that. When you get them back they’ll be more ruined than when I got them.” Luke admitted before kissing your jaw softly and then pulling away, you would’ve made some comment but you shut yourself up as Luke slowly began to undo his pants. He moved you off of his lap for a moment so he could take them off, placing them carefully on the floor so that his prize he got off of you wouldn’t fall out of his pocket.

Luke then pulled down his underwear, letting his already hardened cock spring up to life. Your eyes watched it hungrily, your tongue darting to lick your lips as they suddenly felt dry. “You’re staring sweetheart.” He snickered at you before joining you back onto the bed, crawling on top of you and pushing you down gently so your back hit the blankets beneath you. You felt pretty flustered but you wanted to go through with this for sure, it was everything you could’ve wanted. “S-Sorry Lukeeeee… you look BIG.” You commented softly, your drunken mind speaking your thoughts out loud.

“You still wanna do thi-“ you cut him off “Yes, I do! Do you?” You asked him and pouted your lips a little, you’d hoped he wouldn’t say no but you wouldn’t force him if he did. Luke smiled down at you “Of course I do.” He answered and kissed your lips again before pulling back. Luke moved one of his arms that were beside your head, his hand creeping down between your legs. You felt shy being so exposed but the alcohol in your system kept you from hiding away, Luke’s fingers slowly and curiously dipped between your thighs to gently touch your clit.

It was more like a poke at first as he started exploring you, but then he started to gently rub at your soft bundle of nerves and it made you squeal. “A-ah..” You whined as he began to touch you down there, you were pretty sensitive at times and you’d guessed that right now it was one of those times. Luke smirked down at you appreciatively, his fingers continuing to rub at your clit to get you extra wet for him. Your hips grinded up against his hand, shuddering for a moment or two. “F-Feels good..” you whimpered “Looks like it does.” Luke responded.

“D-Don’t tease me!” You huffed a little, Luke only chuckled and shook his head at you “I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing sweet girl.” The way he looked down at you gave you butterflies. Your legs unwillingly parted a little more on their own, spreading yourself out even more for him. Luke could see everything now and he felt like he was getting the best show of his life, his fingers slowly moved from your clit and he began to drag his hand down between your slick covered folds.

You stared at him with anticipation, your chest moving up and down as you breathed heavily. Luke pushed a finger inside and felt no resistance, snickering to himself quietly before pushing in another. This time there was a slight resistance but it didn’t cause you any pain or discomfort, you were wet with slick covering your entire pussy so of course it wouldn’t be too hard for his fingers to find their way inside. “A-Ah’ Lukeeee..” You bit on your bottom lip as you felt his fingers inside of you, waiting for them to move or do SOMETHING.

“You’re so wet sweet girl, all for me..” Luke admired the way your pussy clenched around his fingers, he began to move his hand slowly. His fingers curled, pushing in and out of you ever so slowly. He didn’t mean to tease you and make you whine, he just wanted to make sure you’d be prepared, but as soon as your pretty lips went and said “Luke! Please, just- move them faster.. please?” You begged, he stopped playing around and listened to you. He’d never wanna make you beg for something, you were his girl, he’d never do that to you.

His fingers began to move faster now, his fingers making this flicking motion inside of you as he dug his fingers inside even further. It felt good, it made you start to squirm and moan on the bed, which drove Luke absolutely crazy. The sounds of your moaning and the squelching of your pussy around his fingers made his own cock begin to twitch and leak with precum, dripping onto his own thigh. Luke kept fingering your hole though to open you up, “Could I slip in another finger or would that be too much?” He asked you with a sweet voice.

“P-Put it in..” You answered. Luke hummed and let a third finger push into your tiny hole, stretching you out more for when it was time for his aching cock to enter you. His movements didn’t stop, he kept finger fucking you with three fingers now which definitely stretched you out. Luke could feel your pussy inside opening up even more for him and that’s when he asked “Could I enter you now sweet girl? That still alright?” He looked down at you as he asked. “Y-Yes please!!” You reached out for him and beckoned him to come closer and fuck you.

Luke withdrew his fingers from your hole, leaving you twitching and leaking as he reached for his own cock. He stroked himself for a moment before slowly lining himself up with you, pushing the head of his cock in slowly. “A-ah..” You groaned and clenched your teeth “Is it too much? Need me to pull out?” He asked worriedly but you shook your head “No! P-Please. It feels good.. J-Just- keep going..” You gulped. Luke noticed now that you weren’t moaning from pain and he was happy to listen to your request.

He kept slowly pushing in, inch by inch he filled you up. He was halfway through when he noticed this dazed look in your eyes “You alright sweet girl?” He asked and tapped your cheek with his hand to get your attention, you giggled and nodded your head “R-Really good. It feels good. A-Are you in?” You asked a little bashfully. “I’m halfway in sweetheart, Is it too much for you?” He asked “No!! Y-You just feel big.. and good.. keep going” you encouraged him.

Luke hummed and listened, pushing in even more until he filled you up fully. You were squirming now even though he hadn’t moved, “My stomach hurts.. but it feels so good! P-Please move now, please fuck me..” You threw your head back against the sheets. Luke listened and began to move inside of you, setting a slow pace at first to get you used to how his cock felt rubbing up against you. Of course it didn’t take long for you to get needy though and start to buck your hips back up against him.

“No need for that sweetheart. You want me to go faster or harder and you just tell me. You don’t need to work for it.” Luke reassured you and grabbed your hips a little roughly so you’d stop moving them. Luke then set the pace to be faster, slamming his hips against you and fucking you hard like you’d been wanting for as long as you could think. “YES! Ah!~” You felt yourself being folded in half by him, he moved closer and threw your legs over his shoulders so he could pound you even deeper.

Luke let out a guttural groan as he was fucking you, unable to keep his own sounds inside. It felt too good for the both of you to stay quiet, but at least you didn’t share a cabin with anyone. Your arms moved to cling to Luke, pulling him down slightly closer to you so that you could hug his neck. You would’ve pulled him closer but your legs could only bend so far. You could feel Luke drilling your cunt, pressing up against your cervix and making this aching feeling in your stomach— but despite that it felt like heaven on earth.

“It feels so good! Lukeeee, I love you!!~” You moaned out, you looked like you were absolutely fucked out at this point. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your legs were twitching, and you knew by tomorrow that your hips would feel awful but you couldn’t worry about that right now. Not with his incessant fucking into your tight hole. Luke admired the way you looked, your blissful face looked like how he’d imagined whenever he’d touch himself to the thought of you. He kept moving his hips with perfect stamina, moving on of his hands to dip back between your legs.

His cock kept hitting this perfect part inside your pussy which was making you feel real good, he then added a bit more stimulation to your pussy by rubbing at your clit up and down with his thumb. It was a little overstimulating and before you could say anything you ended up cumming, your pussy clenching around him and twitching inside. Your whole body shook for a moment as you were cumming, and Luke watched with delight as he watched your orgasm unfold.

Luke had fucked you through your orgasm but when you stopped shaking he paused his movements, about to pull out when you stopped him. You were a little tired looking now, trying to catch your breath as you spoke “B-But you haven’t came yet..” You felt guilty “I know, but I don’t wanna overstimulate you sweet girl.” Luke looked at you with worry as he didn’t wanna hurt you. “F-Fuck it.. I’m a strong girl, keep doing it.. please?” Luke couldn’t help but listen to you, if that’s what you wanted then that’s what you were gonna get.

“Tell me if it’s too much.” Luke warned you once.

Once, before he then moved his hips again. He was going faster now as he stopped worrying about your orgasm, now drilling himself into your cunt to try and get himself to cum. You were of course shaking from this, it was definitely a lot for your pussy to handle, but you’d be strong for him. It’s not like it felt bad either, because it felt really good! Luke kept fucking your hips for a moment or two, relentless and carefree with the pace he was setting.

“I- I’m gonna cum.. where do you want me to cum sweetheart?” He asked you quickly, knowing he had to pull out and cum somewhere. “I dunnoooooo… my thighs?” You suggested and let go of his neck so he could move away. Luke pulled back away from you, sitting up between your legs. Luke stopped fucking you and quickly pulled out of your hole, making you whine a little before he then let his load out onto your thighs, some of it dripping down towards your cunt anyways.

Luke used his hand to push it away, looking down at you lovingly after he’d finished cumming all over your thighs. “I love you so much.. did that feel good? Was that okay?” He asked you to make sure you were alright “Y-Yes.. it felt SO good! Thank you Luke, I love youuuuuu.” You giggled and pulled him back down onto the bed beside you to cuddle up to him.

“Be careful sweetheart you’ve still got my cum on you.” Luke warned, rubbing your back gently as you cuddled up to him. “How about we go for a shower, yeah? I think everyone’s gone to bed now, and whoever isn’t is still partying so we should be just fine.” Luke suggested and you gave a tired nod. Luke scooped you up bridal style in his arms and grabbed two towels for each of you, putting them on you guys before leaving your cabin.

He was right, when the both of you entered the boys shower room there was no one else there. You two quickly showered, Luke had to help you stand up and he even kindly cleaned you even though you said you didn’t need any help. After the shower he took you guys back both to your cabin, dried and dressed you both, and then joined you to go to sleep. “Mm.. Aren’t you worried about getting caught in here?” You asked tiredly “Nah, we’ll be alright sweet girl. Just go to sleep.” Luke murmured as he held you close and kissed your forehead.

[nhlclover]

𝖥𝖠𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖨𝖳 𝖲𝖤𝖳𝖧 𝖩𝖠𝖱𝖵𝖨𝖲

summary seth always visits the training room in hopes of getting your attention until one day it backfires. warnings flirting + teasing, simply fluff! word count 1.26k notes first seth piece!! i literally love this man so much so i hope y'all enjoy. i've also had this plot for ages and i finally decided to write it.

Seth entered the team’s training room for what felt like the hundredth time since the start of the season, and his eyes immediately searched for you. He carried the same easygoing grin that he always did, the one that made it seem like nothing could bother him. It was one that was starting to become all too familiar to the other Hurricanes players and staff — a grin that usually meant Seth was up to something.

He spotted you by the cabinets, organizing boxes of splints and unrolling new lengths of tape with a focused intensity that made him pause. He couldn't help but admire how dedicated you were, how you seemed to move effortlessly despite the chaos that usually surrounded you. The first time he saw you, he thought it was just a fleeting attraction—something he’d forget about by the next practice. But as the days passed, he kept noticing more about you: the way you bit your lip when you were deep in concentration, the soft hum of a tune you’d sing under your breath when you thought no one was listening, and the bright way you laughed, like you weren’t weighed down by anything.

The training room started to feel a little brighter when you were there, and he found himself coming up with excuses to swing by more often. A slight tweak of his ankle, a vague soreness in his leg—any reason to have you check him out, even if he didn’t need it.

Over time, his visits became less about any actual injuries and more about getting to see you and getting to talk to you. He tried to be subtle, but his teammates noticed, throwing teasing comments his way when you weren’t looking. They’d tease him, elbowing him in the ribs, telling him to “stop pretending to be hurt just because he liked the company.” Seth would laugh it off, but he knew they were right. Every time he walked through those doors, it was just another chance to see you.

“Hey, y/n,” Seth greeted, a playful tone dancing in his voice. “Got a minute? I think something's up with my shoulder today.”

You turned, eyes meeting his with an amused glimmer that always seemed to make his pulse quicken. “Your shoulder this time, huh?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know, Seth, you might just set a record for the most visits to the training room,” you said.

“What can I say?” he shrugged, still grinning. “I’m a delicate guy.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you replied, but the corner of your mouth twitched like you were fighting back a smile. You pointed to the table. “Sit. Let’s take a look at this ‘injury’ of yours.”

Seth hopped up on the table, swinging his legs like a kid. “I don’t know,” he said, voice dripping with dramatic flair. “It’s feeling pretty tight today. Might be serious.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping over to him. “Shirt off.”

He didn’t hesitate, stripping off his shirt in one smooth motion, revealing the lean, athletic muscles that came from years of hard work on the ice. You tried to keep your expression neutral, tried not to react to the way his skin gleamed under the fluorescent lights. But Seth saw the flicker of your eyes, the quick dart to his chest before you composed yourself. It sent a thrill through him—he liked that he could get a reaction out of you, even if you tried to hide it.

You stepped closer, fingers already tingling with the familiar sensation of checking injuries, but this time, you felt something different. Maybe it was the way he was watching you, eyes locked on your face like you were the most interesting thing in the room. Or maybe it was the way his skin felt warm beneath your touch, the slow rise and fall of his breathing under your fingertips.

“Any pain here?” you asked, pressing lightly on his shoulder.

“Maybe a little,” he said, though the slight smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I think you should keep checking, just to be sure.”

You sighed, a little exasperated, but you kept your focus. There was clearly nothing wrong with his shoulder, the lack of wincing or tension in his movements betraying his lie.

“Well,” you said, pulling your hands away from his shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “I think you’ll live. But just to be sure, maybe I should recommend you take a game off. Can’t be too careful, right?”

Seth’s eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “Whoa, whoa, hold on—no need to get drastic here!”

“Why not? You keep showing up here all the time. It seems like you need the rest.”

He swallowed, trying to keep his cool, but you were so close now, and it was making his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. “Because,” he said, a bit too quickly, “I’m not actually hurt.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “You’re not?”

He let out a long, exasperated sigh, pulling his compression shirt back over his head. “No. I just… I just wanted an excuse to see you, okay? The shoulder’s fine. I’ve always been fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I know it’s stupid, but I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

You bit back a smile, trying to keep your composure. “You mean to tell me, all these times you’ve come to see me claiming your knee hurt, or you twinged your back… all those times you were faking it just to talk to me?”

Seth groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s pathetic. But you make it really hard to think straight, okay? And I’m not great with this stuff. I figured if I came in here enough, maybe you’d notice me.”

“I did notice you,” you said, and there was something softer in your tone now. “I noticed you every time you limped in here, pretending to be all tough. And believe me, I knew you were faking it.”

Seth’s head shot up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You did?”

You nodded, biting back a smile. “Yep. Since, like, the second time you came in saying your elbow felt ‘off.’ You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“Well, that’s… that’s just great,” Seth muttered, feeling heat flood his face. “So I’ve been making a complete idiot of myself this whole time?”

“A little bit, yeah,” you admitted, stepping closer, “but it was kind of cute.” You reached out, gently tapping his shoulder. “You know, you could’ve just asked me out, Seth. It would’ve saved you a lot of time and fake injuries.”

“So… does that mean you might be interested?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Yes, Seth. It means I’m interested. Now, are you finally going to ask me out, or do you need to pretend to break a leg first?”

Seth’s grin spread across his face, genuine and full of relief. “Alright, alright. Would you… maybe want to go out with me sometime? For real, this time?”

You smiled back, nodding. “I’d like that.”

His heart soared, and he couldn't help the goofy grin that spread across his face. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, stepping back and giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Now, go stretch that ‘injured’ shoulder of yours before I change my mind.”

He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve got it.” And as he left the training room, Seth couldn’t help but feel like he was walking on air.

[the-californicationist]

The Window (4 of 7)

Ch 01 // Ch 02 // Ch 03 // Ch 04 // Ch 05 --- AO3 Link

Seeing him again had been a shock. They’d arrived late — not that you were checking on their flight or anything — and they were all a bit worse for wear. Usually, after any mission, good or bad, the flight home was cathartic. Everyone could breathe easy. They were going home to good food and infinite WiFi. It was cause for celebration, no matter how beaten and bruised they felt. But, this time was different.

Price was walking through the hangar while you were cataloging ammunition shipments, lowly desk work while your leg healed up, and he looked so small. Well, he still towered over all of the other soldiers in the bay - except for Ghost - but he just looked so pale and listless. His eyes were dull, staring at the ground, watching his feet take their steps, aimlessly driven to his next destination. 

Ghost followed him, equally distracted. His mask was off, and you could see his eye-black smeared all the way down to his mouth, like he’d been rubbing his face, fretting. Gaz had looked furious. He was tossing their gear like it had personally offended him, and he railed into one of the trainees for getting in his way. His warm brown eyes had turned cold and harsh, unfeeling. 

Soap was the worst. He jumped from the chopper and immediately started to scan the room, looking for you. He pulled one of the mechanics aside and you heard him asking for you by name, and as the man pointed in your direction, you hid behind the crates. Undeterred, he headed your way, so you crawled into the dark space between where he wouldn’t find you. He searched and searched, pushing aside heavy boxes and truck wheels, hunting for you. He became frantic, pacing back and forth, until Price called his name. His eyes lingered on the darkness where you were hidden, looking but not seeing. Then, glassy-eyed, he retreated, his gaze turning from desperation to unbridled frustration. 

It was when you’d been trying to sneak back to the barracks that Price had found you, chasing you through the base. You weren’t running, per se, but you were moving quick enough, and you had quite the head start. He, however, was sprinting, pushing people out of his way, calling after you. When he saw the look on your face, he knew he was in trouble. 

“Get back here, Sparrow! That’s an order,” he shouted down the hall. 

You turned around to face him, throwing up your hands in an exaggerated shrug,

“You’re not my CO, sir.”

“Spar — Get out of the bloody way!” He shoved a trainee into the wall, pushing past him in an attempt to follow you to your room. 

Price was panting, his chest heaving as he grabbed for you, his hands sinking into your soft flesh. You wrenched your body away from him and blocked him from coming into your room. He furrowed his brow and said,

“It’s Sunday. It’s my day.”

“I’m already pregnant. Your services are no longer needed,” you spat, “Much like mine, apparently.”

You tried to shut the door on him, but he blocked it with his huge shoulders, looking at you with a ravenous hunger in his eyes,

“I just got back from the fuckin’ sandbox. We can fight later, but I need you, little bird. Please.”

“And I need you to go fuck yourself… sir.” You slammed the door so hard that you thought you broke the hinges. 

You listened to the handle jiggle in the lock from Price’s audacity. Then, silence. 

Why was it the silence that hurt the worst?

Soap was at your door that night, banging on it, shaking the frame,

“Bonnie! I ken you’re in there. Lemme in. I jus’ wanna talk to you. Bonnie?”

Silence again, and then there was a slow, wiping sound against the door, like a big palm being slid down it. 

“Sparrow? Please.” His voice was so strange. It seemed small. Usually, Soap was the loudest, the most boisterous. And now, he sounded ill. 

You listened at the door, hurt and angry, but missing your men. Hearing Johnny beg was almost enough to make you unlock it. Almost.

Over the next week, they all tried to get back in your good graces. Gaz brought you flowers no matter where you were. He covered your desk with them, and you kept throwing them out or giving them away. He left them outside your door, sitting in the hall, complete with little handwritten cards: 

I’m so sorry, baby. Please text me? - G.

Come to the main hall? We just need to talk. - G.

You ripped his notes up and tossed them in the trashcan irreverently. 

Johnny had been a little less subtle. At the end of a long day, he’d be waiting outside your door, sometimes alone, sometimes with the others, trying to get you to listen to him, 

“C’mon, bonnie. Dinnae shut us out. Please, lass.”

You had become an expert at the cold shoulder. 

Ghost, fitting with his quiet demeanor, wouldn’t beg. In fact, he wouldn’t say a word. But, he followed you everywhere, haunting your office, stalking you at the gym, sitting at your table during briefings. One time, he cornered you in the elevator, riding with you past his own floor, his eyes burning into your skin. 

And then there was Price. Other than his presentations during mission briefings, you hadn’t heard his voice since that very first day. But, he was always around. His smoke gave him away. Your room reeked of his tobacco, and when you were working, you’d smell it in the air. But, when you’d look up to spot him, he was nowhere to be found. 

That didn’t mean he failed to reach out to you. He was always on your phone. He called you every morning when he woke up, and he called again every night when you went to bed. You never picked up, but as you lay in bed watching his smiling face pop up on your home screen again, this time, you did.

You didn’t say hello. You just waited to hear what he had to say. You needed to hear him again. Anything. Just a hello. 

“Sparrow, it was me. It wasn’t them. You have to forgive them. I was the one who —”

You hung up the phone and cried into your pillow hard enough to make yourself sick. 

After that night, things got so much worse. Your emotions were raw, and everything made you terribly sad. Your body was in desperate need of someone to care for it, and your hormones were going absolutely haywire. You were either nauseated or horny, and there was no warning which would hit at any given moment. 

You found yourself sneaking out of work early, hiding in the shower, furiously coming on your hand over and over, thinking - wishing - that it was Soap's or Gaz's mouth instead. When you lay in bed at night, you desperately ground your hips into your dildo, riding it like you wanted to ride John and his men, wanton and soaking your sheets.

Eventually, you had reached your limit, and you met Soap, Gaz, and Ghost in the mess hall. They were all sufficiently apologetic, and they were curious as to what had changed your mind.

“Dinnae get me wrong, lass. It’s been hard without you, and I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but… why are you forgivin’ us?”

“Price told me what he did. He said it wasn’t your decision to take me off the team.”

“That’s not true,” Ghost refuted, earning himself a swift nudge from Soap and a glare from Gaz. 

“Shut up, mate. Do y’know how long it’s been since —” Gaz hissed, but Ghost interrupted him.

“The captain was the one who fought to keep you on the task force. He was out-voted.”

“Out-voted? There’s only four of you. Should’ve been at draw…” you observed.

“Exactly. We all voted against him. You’ve no bloody business on the field right now, and you know it. You can barely sit here with us for ten goddamn minutes before you’re sprintin’ off to wretch in whatever can’s the closest.”

You averted your eyes from him, trying to process what he was saying, and feeling the sting of shame when you had to admit that he was right. This first trimester had been an absolute nightmare. You were a sweaty, puking mess here in the offices, and you shuddered to think of feeling this way out in the Urzikstani sands, getting shot at, eating nothing but MREs and instant decaf coffee. 

“We just wanted the best for you, birdie,” Gaz reached out for your hand and held it in his, “We know how badly you want this baby, and we…” He looked at the others for a moment and said, “And we’ve fallen in love with you, Sparrow. We can’t lose you. Let us take care of you.”

You were so tired, and you needed to release the tension you’d been holding inside of your chest, so you relented. 

They followed you back to your room and sat you on the bed, kissing you so deeply that you could feel their hunger. They’d been waiting for you. 

All of them were dripping with precome, and you watched as it stained the thick canvas fabric of their pants, making you wonder if they’d even touched themselves in the time they were apart from you. 

They began to strip themselves and you, kissing every bit of your skin, leaving purple marks from their aggressive desire. Gaz held your hand to his crotch and rubbed it across the front, making you feel his hardening rod, encouraging you to stroke him. Johnny was busying himself with your pants, aching to put his mouth on your molten core, and just the thought of his tongue was enough to make you shiver. 

Ghost bent to suck at your nipples, peeling your shirt and bra off in one go, and you held his head, cradling him with as much affection as you could muster, but as you looked up at you, he knew there was something wrong. 

“Hey, stop.”

The others, as if burned, immediately stopped their worship of your body and looked up at you. 

Ghost continued to pry,

“What is it, love?”

“I just…” You could feel yourself start to cry. 

“You miss him, don’t you?”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You may have forgiven Simon, Johnny, and Kyle, but you missed John. You needed him there. Without him, even their kisses felt hollow. 

“We’ll bring him back to you, dinnae fash, hen,” Soap reassured you, throwing on his shirt. 

“C’mon, he’s in the gym. I saw him with his bag,” Ghost followed Soap out of your door, hard as a stone and trying to adjust himself to something a little less indecent. 

Gaz kissed your lips, his full mouth warm and tasting of cinnamon sugar,

“Be right back, pretty girl.”

You waited five minutes, then ten. You decided to lay down, just for a moment, and before you knew it, you were out. 

You weren’t sure how long you slept, but you woke up in someone’s arms, opening your eyes and watching as he lay you in the big, combined bed the five of you shared. You turned to see his face when you felt him crawl into the sheets beside you, blinking the sleep away and trying to catch your bearings. 

“John?” You croaked, struggling to find your voice. 

“Shh,” he whispered, “Go back to sleep, little bird.”

“They told me…”

“I know. They bloody well shouldn’t have. You need them. You’re both going to need them.”

“I can’t be mad anymore, John. I’m so tired. I just want you all back. Please,” you clutched at his chest, drawing him closer to you in the small bed, “Don’t leave me again.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Sparrow. Here. Feel?”

John’s huge cock was half-hard, and he fit it inside you, slipping it into your wet pussy, squeezing himself through you, just as he loved to do, letting you warm him up. The shock of it went right to your head, and you gasped, hiding your face in the fur of his chest, letting his arms wrap around you protectively. 

“I’ll stay right here, birdie. As long as you want me to.”

“Aye,” Soap’s voice spoke up in the darkness, deep and low, “We all will. Tha’s a promise, lass.”

One by one, each of your men came back into the bed, laying their heavy arms over you and each other, bodies and limbs tangled and gripping at whatever flesh they could find. 

You felt Ghost’s hand slide over your hip, resting his hand on your belly protectively. Gaz leaned over Price to kiss you before settling his arm over the captain’s ribs, his arm cradling your arm as you cuddled with John. Soap’s feet were wrapped around yours, keeping them warm. 

As he hardened inside of you, John kissed your forehead softly. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, John.”

A part of you was still upset at how heavy-handed they had been with your independence, but you felt your smooth muscles fluttering against John’s cock, and it was getting harder and harder to hold onto the anger that you so desperately wanted to let go of. 

As they all settled in to sleep, you decided to try and rekindle the bond that had been broken. You rocked your hips forward, sliding your slick body up and down Price’s fat length. His eyes shot open, burning into you with a dark passion.

“Little bird?”

Your lips found his neck, trailing wet kisses up to his earlobe, taking it in your mouth and suckling at his skin. 

“Not tired, love?” Simon asked, planting his own kisses on your shoulder blades, coaxing your hips to rock back and forth, chasing your high. 

“You need us, innit tha’ right, lass?” Johnny’s fingers reached over your hip, following Simon’s and then trailed down, finding your swollen clit and rubbing slow, tight circles around it, making you soften around Price like an opening bud, petting your petals until you practically unfurled for him. 

“Ungh, Garrick. What are you… “ Price growled through gritted teeth. 

You watched as Kyle licked his hand and tucked it behind John’s back, heading for his tight asshole, fucking him gently on his fingers. 

“Keep fucking our girl, Cap. She needs you,” Kyle told him, “I’ll take care of you, sir.”

“I’m not as patient as the sergeant is, lover,” Simon rustled under the sheets to find his cock, and he held it in his fist, pumping it against your plump ass cheek, “Will you let me in?”

You turned over your shoulder and let him kiss you, feeling his soft lips slide against yours, giving him your tongue to suck on as his hands kneaded your sensitive breast. 

“Yes, Si,” you whispered, “Anything you want.”

You thought his reaction to your words was a little over the top, but Ghost was reacting to Soap, ducked below the sheets, eating his asshole, shoving his tongue deep in the tight opening, prepping him for more. 

Simon tucked his cock between your legs, spitting on his hand and rubbing it on you and himself, lubing you up in a messy, frantic sort of way, too desperate to care about finding a bottle of gel somewhere in the room. 

Johnny was already rutting into his lieutenant, making Simon’s cock leak and jump, excited and drooling for its own warm hole. When you felt his head touch your asshole, you sighed at the tingling electricity building there, eager to be stretched by him. Finally, he popped into your ass, and he began to fuck himself up into you, inch by inch, filling you up. 

Price was grinding his fat dick inside of you, and he groaned when he felt Simon join him on the other side, making you even tighter, forcing the captain to struggle to fit. 

Soon, all five of you were fucking each other at the same time, moaning and kissing and licking one another’s skin, twisted together in a wet mess, and you had never felt such pleasure before. It was as if you were all on the edge, ready to come at the faintest breath of an orgasm, waiting for the spark to ignite the whole room into an explosion of ecstacy. 

“Mmf-fuck!” Simon’s hand wrapped itself around your neck, “Your fuckin’ arsehole feels like heaven, love.”

“Dinnae stop, Si. I can feel when you bottom out in her. Makes you so tight, mate,” Johnny begged him, pinching the lieutenant’s nipples between his fingers over and over, teasing him relentlessly. 

“You alright, little bird?” John asked you, kissing you softly, barely dragging his lips across yours, dreamily moving against you harder and harder, chasing his pleasure, “Fuckin’ Garrick is takin’ away my stamina every time he rams into me like that. Gonna make me come too quick, Gaz.”

“Sorry, sir,” Kyle smiled, giving you a wink, as he licked and nipped at the same earlobe that you had, remembering how much he loved that spot, “Feels too good to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you moaned, wrapping your hands around John’s shoulders, holding on for dear life, “Don’t ever stop.”

While you wait for the next chapter, please consider checking out my other work. Thank you!

[luveline]

wondering what zombie!au Steve might try to do for a sappy romantic surprise.. I feel like he’d get really excited about planning something intimate/small but really meaningful and tooth-rotting sweet.. maybe it’s for a birthday? or just for a spot of cheer?

Before the apocalypse, Steve was desperate to be loved. None of his girlfriends ever seemed that interested in more than sex or popularity, and if they were, they’d realise they wanted more than Steve soon after. He spent years wishing somebody would look at him and find exactly what they wanted. 

And you do. 

You look at him like he’s your everything (when you aren’t complaining, that is). “I’m gonna have to shave you myself,” you say, climbing into his lap, your hand tipping his head back less gently than you mean to, he’s sure. “That’s a wound.” 

“It’s a scratch. It’ll be fine tomorrow.” 

He grabs your waist, surprised but certainly not unhappy with your sudden presence. You’re straddling him. “Does it hurt?” You rub the area surrounding his raw skin. “Does that hurt?” 

“Not really.” He runs his hands up and down your sides. “What’s up?” 

You shrug. He leans back against the headboard as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “We finally have a bed again.” 

He pulls you in for a hug. “Yeah?” 

“It’s so nice. I missed this.” 

“I missed this too. Clean sheets, a door that locks…” 

You understand what he’s hinting at. He isn’t subtle, but he’s also in no rush, and you know that too. “Maybe you can give me a massage later,” you murmur. “We still have some of that nice lotion.” 

He loves that, the thought of you on your front as his hands push up your shoulders, your skin and his palms warmed by friction. “What about me?” he jokes, hands sliding up your back, tracing the path he’ll make later on. 

“You can have one too,” you say, your face dropping down to his neck, where you kiss him mildly, like you’re thinking of something else. 

Steve wants to give the gift to you before he forgets it. You can be a very distracting person, not just because he’d like to encourage your lips to his for a good kiss, or because you’re the perfect partner for hugging under the covers. Maybe it’s because he loves talking to you, about everything and anything at all.

“Hey, so.” He encourages your head back, his hand on the nape of your neck. “I have something for you.” 

“Do I have to get off of you?” you ask. 

“No, you can stay there.” He reaches into his pocket. 

“Wait, you’re smiling. Are you that excited to give it to me?” 

“Pretty excited.” 

You caress the inside of his elbow. 

It’s probably why you’re so easy to love. Not that you love him, but your propensity for sweetness, and the way you show your own affection. If he didn’t need both hands for this next part he’d twine your fingers together and hold yours all night long. 

He pulls a small plastic bag from his pocket to show you the contents, then changes his mind and opens the bag to take it out instead. “I know you were pretty happy that I found your necklace in my jacket, but I got it for you such a long time ago, I’m not saying you shouldn’t keep it. You should keep it.” 

“I don’t think I could get rid of it,” you say, honest and curious. “You gave it to me to make me feel better. Do you remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember. You had a frown like no one’s business for days.” He finds the charm and lays it over his hand. The chain is slightly tangled, but he can fix that. “There wasn’t a box, but. I don’t know, it reminded me of us, and you need an upgrade, I think I should ask you to get married–”

You smile in surprise, “What?” 

“But I can’t find a ring. So I have to promise to get you one, and you can have this for the interim.” It’s an incredible skinny chain joined by two hearts. Steve knows it’s cheesy, it’s insanely corny, whatever, he’s smiling like a loon. “I figure it’s me and you,” he says, putting it in your open palm. “Linked together.” 

Your gaze moves between him and the necklace slowly. “You want to marry me?” 

Steve curls your hand closed over the necklace. Gentle, he takes your face into both hands. “I get that I haven’t been the best boyfriend, but you can’t really think I don’t want that, right?” 

He’s really asking, but you don’t answer.

“I would’ve married you a long, long time ago, if things were different,” he says, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “I would’ve asked,” he corrects softly, before stealing another kiss. 

You press your screwed up fist to his chest as you kiss him back. 

“Who says we have to have rings?” you mumble. 

The idea of calling you his wife is insanity. It trips him up, flips his heart, but he thinks you deserve the real thing. As real as it can get, considering. 

“I’m gonna keep looking,” Steve says. 

The way your eyes soften as he rubs your cheek sets everything he’s saying to you in stone. Who else could he ever want to be looking at him like this beside you? How lucky he is that you’d bother. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Your face tilts down and he drops one hand, moving the other to just under your jaw, his pinky and marriage finger sewn behind your ear, middle and index on your cheek. He watches you and you turn your gift in your palm, waiting for you to lift your head.

“Thank you,” you say again. “Will you put it on me?” 

Steve strings it around your neck and clasps it at your chest before twisting it to sit properly. The new necklace is a bit shorter than your simple diamond. You could wear both without issue. 

You look down at them but can’t quite see them. “Does it look good?” 

“Yeah. Looks beautiful.” 

He wraps his arms around you again and looks up in to your face, chests coming together as he straightens his back and the gap between you closes just enough. You look down at him, your smile a mirror of his. Steve thinks being as in love with you as he is makes for its own kind of gift. Much better than a necklace, but he’ll keep trying to bridge the gap. 

He forgets everything else when you’re together. Everything. 

His face falls into your chest and collar against your necklaces. You press your face to his hair and cuddle him nicely. 

“Love you,” you both whisper at the same time. 

Your laugh tickles his scalp, warm breath in his hair. 

[01zfan]

delusional | j. sc

ex-bf!sungchan x fem!reader | 5k words

this was originally a request but i lost my mind somewhere along the way. i hope this is to your liking

contains: weed smoking, consensual high sex, unprotected sex, cheating, sungchan is lowkey toxic till he meets his match. basically you and ur ex are in the middle of an idgaf war.

“i can’t believe she hangs out with him now.” sungchan points from his lunch tray to you and the man you’re walking with. 

sungchan would’ve never taken you for the type to date someone after him. sungchan had that thought with all of his girlfriends. eventually the girls would move on and each time sungchan would be flabbergasted. how could any of his exes ever find someone that would put up with their attitude, pay for everything, and fuck them like he did? sungchan would always be the one to end things, making girls crawl back to ask him to be on their roster. he would always oblige of course, all of his exes were gorgeous and amazing in bed. but he just was never ready for commitment.

you were different from them. when sungchan gave you the same rehearsed lines he told the girls before you, all you did was shrug your shoulders. you didn’t beg him to stay, or ask what you did wrong. you didn’t try to bargain, which is what the girls usually did first. instead you just left his dorm and never came back. sungchan waited by his phone for your desperate late night text or a sobbing voicemail. it never came. he even embarrassingly waited after one of your classes to see you disheveled, not caring about your appearance after going through such a hard breakup. but you were shining and smiling, dressed well. sungchan ignored the pang he felt in his chest when he saw how happy you looked. that pang, however was quickly replaced with anger when he saw your new boy toy trailing behind you.

“she’s always been friends with haechan.” eunseok doesn’t even have to look behind him to know who sungchan is talking about. you and your lab partner have been the topic of every conversation since he saw you two together last week. without even meaning to, sungchan found a way to incorporate you and your new boyfriend into every conversation.

“they were always in the same group, there’s a difference. now he follows her like a fucking lost puppy everywhere on campus.” sungchan sets his food to the side.

“he’s lost his appetite.” shotaro laughs and eunseok has to hide his smile behind another bite of food.

“i’m full.” sungchan said, dropping his fork on his plate. his two friends are no help in consoling him. he sees them try and hold their composure, to take him seriously. sungchan has of course brought girls over to their shared apartment. shotaro and eunseok bared witness to the steady stream of women sungchan surrounded himself with. when they’d bring them up in conversation, sungchan always had to be reminded of which girl they were talking about.

“oh the girl from biology? yeah she was crazy.” sungchan said nonchalantly, clicking through shows on netflix.

shotaro and eunseok have told sungchan multiple times that he was the problem. they even made a rule where sungchan could no longer bring over girls. the pair were confused when you started popping around the apartment in the daytime. usually sungchan had his sexcapades at night, trying to sneak his girls out in the morning before his roommates woke up. but suddenly you were there and sungchan would bring you up, not needing any reminders on who you were.

eunseok covers his mouth with his hand trying to hide his laugh.

“oh it’s real serious.” eunseok says.

shotaro joins in. sungchan looked at you and your new man. you two were coming towards his table. sungchan straightened his posture and cleared his throat. shotaro and eunseok looked behind them. when they saw you two coming towards the table they turned back to sungchan wide eyed and tight lipped, still holding back laughs.

sungchan shot them a look that said behave, but you walked by them like it was nothing. you barely spared a glance in his direction. you had a certain pride in your walk, or maybe it was a bounce brought on by not having to carry your books. haechan trailed behind you, holding your things underneath his tray. sungchan wanted to scoff at haechan–to laugh at him for becoming your errand boy. until sungchan remembers you having him the same way. he held everything of yours. sungchan would take them from your hands wordlessly, he hated seeing you carry things when his hands were free. but that was different from haechans’ situation. he did it in a chivalrous gentlemanly way. haechan did it in a pathetic and desperate way. 

you sat with haechan at a table in the back corner. sungchan recognized your friends, but he couldn’t name them. maybe they were your other friends. why would you let haechan meet your friends so fast? it took you months before you let sungchan meet your friends.

“that’s tough dude.” shotaro said.

“real tough.” eunseok agreed.

although shotaro and eunseok were talking to him, sungchan wasn’t looking at them. he was too busy looking at how you were sitting next to haechan. whatever someone said made you laugh. nobody is more funny than him so why were you laughing so hard? you had your hand on haechan’s shoulder and pinched it. the same thing you used to do to him. sungchan wanted to get up and go over to your table. he was starting to feel like he didn’t even exist to you anymore. then you looked at him.

you leaned back in the chair and locked eyes with sungchan. he was expecting you to look away, the way girls would look away when he caught them staring. instead you held eye contact, your look was neutral. sungchan’s eyes widened and now he was the one compelled to look away. when you waved at him, it took less than a second for sungchan to wave back. sungchan half expected you to start crawling over to him, refusing to stand your ground any longer. but you just look at him and smirk, going back to your conversation. 

“she’s got you good.”  shotaro said.

“real good.” eunseok said.

sungchan gave his friends the most intense glare of his life. this had no effect on the two while they continued to eat their food. he didn’t even get to tell his friends the worst part of it all. you had made your instagram a private account and locked down your twitter. you were hiding yourself, locking your heaven away from your snooping ex. sungchan wanted the ability to still look at your face and see your thoughts, but it was no longer possible. eunseok and shotaro would just tell him he’s lucky you didn’t block him, but sungchan wondered if blocking would’ve been better for his peace of mind. soft blocking and removing him from everything was like putting you just out of reach from him. you being so close but so far away made sungchan the most desperate he’s ever felt. it was sick, but late at night he would wonder if the girls he broke up with felt the way he did.

after eunseok and shotaro were done eating, sungchan was finally able to leave. he couldn’t leave without his friends walking beside him. that would only make him look more like a loser. so now sungchan walked behind his friends, trying to seem as cool and mysterious and nonchalant as possible while he walked by your table. sungchan felt someone’s eyes on him and he hoped they were yours.

sungchan went on the rest of his day with you on his mind. he kept waiting for a follow request, a text, an email, anything. he just kept thinking about how annoying it was that you weren’t feining for his attention like all his girls before you. sungchan passed by your dormitory on his way home. he looked up the tall archaic building, staring at what he believed to be your window. he thought about the nights he would spend there when your roommate was gone. 

sungchan remembered being cuddled up to you underneath your sheets. he liked when you made him be the little spoon. sungchan would always protest but he loved feeling you behind him and your arms around his large frame. he wondered if you made haechan be the little spoon too. he wondered if haechan was sleeping in your bed while you did your homework. he thought about you sleepily climbing up the ladder of your lofted bed to see him waiting for you. sungchan couldn’t stop thinking about your new man curled up next to you. he wondered if your hands drifted over haechan’s body while he felt you up. before sungchan could get a hold of his thoughts, he was opening the door to your building.

your RA didn’t even look up from her desk when sungchan came in. he went to the hallway your room was in and walked down the hallway. 

sungchan used to be proud that he knew his way around this all girl dormitory. he thinks about the hushed whispers of girls sneaking him in, or reading directions off his phone. he couldn’t tell you were half those girls’ rooms were now, but he still remembered yours.

sungchan stood in front of your door. he couldn’t bring himself to knock. sungchan knew he stuck out like a sore thumb. anyone opening the door would question him, and he could get in big trouble if the RA found him wandering the halls of the all girls housing like a ghost. but sungchan didn’t care. he suddenly felt antsy, imagining you on the other side of the door. before he could knock, his phone started going off in his back pocket. maybe it was divine intervention. sungchan grabbed his phone and nearly dropped it when your photo and caller ID took up the whole screen. 

he quickly looked around the dorm hallway, completely empty except for him. did he know you were here? did your RA let you know your crazy ex who is completely over you was waiting outside your door? 

sungchan started tiptoeing down the hallway through a back entrance where he wouldn’t have to see the RA. he didn’t answer your ring until he was in the courtyard outside of your building.

“hello?” sungchan was out of breath. he pulled the bottom of his phone away from his mouth. he had to seem as unaffected as possible.

“were you working out or something?” 

“why are you calling me?” sungchan mustered all of his strength to sound curt, but he was walking around in circles with a hand in his pocket. he kicked a rock around with a smile on his face as he heard you thinking on the other end of the line.

“i left my pipe at your place.”

“i gave it to eunseok.” sungchan says. which is partially true, he gave your glass pipe to his friend for safe keeping.

“can you bring it to me?”

sungchan wanted to tease you for reaching out to him first. he was no idiot, he knew that the pipe was just an excuse to call him. 

“what’s in it for me?” sungchan asks.

“maybe i’ll let you inside my apartment so you don’t have to wait outside my door like a fucking stalker.”

sungchan hangs his phone up immediately. how’d you know he was outside your door? he thinks back to your RA, how she looked kind of familiar. realization hit sungchan like a freight train when he recognized the RA as one of your closest friends. despite his embarrassment, sungchan was ecstatic to get a semi invitation into your apartment again. so he ran the half mile to get to his apartment.

sungchan was grateful that neither of his roommates were home. he was in and out in a flash, stealing a joint from eunseok’s collection. he left a ten in the place of the joint, and a text for the pipe that he was going to run to his ex like an errand boy. this was so unlike him, to be at someone beck and call. but he couldn’t help it, not when he was thinking about being in the warmth of your apartment.

sungchan walked back into your dorm the same way he did prior, this time the RA was staring him down. he gave a wave, trying to save face. sungchan was sure they were laughing at him in whatever groupchat you had, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

when he knocked at your door, you left him waiting. when you finally opened it, your eyes went to the pipe and the joint first.

sungchan walked into your dorm. it felt like a century since he had seen your place. 

“you can sit down. you look like you ran a mile.” you say, shutting and locking the door behind you.

sungchan obliges, he was tired from running around campus doing your bidding. when he sits at your desk he sees various weed paraphernalia, ranging from a vape to a bong. he sees a miniature pipe. before he can chide you for having too much stuff, you come to him with two cups of water.

“get on the bean bag instead.”

sungchan got up a little too quickly from your desk to sit on the bean bag. it was next to your seat but a lower. his long legs had to be bent so he could sit up right. he felt your shag rug underneath his feet. it was soft and he picked at it with his hand.

“is this new?” sungchan pointed at your shag while you packed the bowl.

“present.” you said simply. sungchan wanted to trace over the slight frown you had from concentration.

“it’s soft. i like it.” sungchan says.

you look up from packing the bowl and smirk.

“haechan picked out the color.”

sungchan tried his best to control his expression but he couldn’t help frustration that flashed across his face. you basked in him trying to show you he didn’t care. he was really too easy. you put the bowl into the bong and prepped yourself.

“your RA just let me walk in, you know. she should be fired.” sungchan laughed.

“you know she’s my roommate right? she saw you come in and texted me.” you say matter of factly. atleast sungchan was right thinking he knew her from somewhere.

“you ready?” sungchan held his lighter to the base of the bong, ready to ignite the bud sitting in the bowl. he wasn’t normally this chatty when smoking a girl out, but he found himself wanting to say as many words to you as possible.

with your lips to the mouthpiece you nodded, and sungchan lit the left side of the bowl. it was something random he remembered about you, how you always said the left side was the best side. you looked at sungchan and smiled. he could feel you looking at him and had to clear his throat to stop himself from smiling. he was too easy sungchan thought. maybe him and haechan weren’t so different after all.

you took the hit from the bong like a champ, breathing in the smoke till the pipe was clear. once you pulled away, you sucked in an extra puff of air, to really get it in your lungs. 

“attagirl.” sungchan said softly as he watched your chest raise up, staying there for a moment. you let the air out, staring at sungchan as you did so. he looked a little different. was he wearing a different shirt than when you saw him in the dining hall?

eventually the hits started getting to you. you considered yourself lucky to be a lightweight when it came to weed. just from two bong hits and the joint you felt floaty. you looked at sungchan’s hooded and bleary eyes, wondering if yours looked the same.

“you still smoke?” you asked sungchan. he nodded, holding back a cough while he handed you the joint.

“taro and eunseok rubbed off on me. i don’t do it as much as i used too though.”

“eunseok rolls the best joints. thank him for me.” you cough after taking another hit. you were definitely high now.

“how do you know eunseok rolled this?” sungchan looked at the joint in his hand. he was pretty high already and he could tell you were too. his tolerance had been lowered since you two stopped seeing eachother. sungchan now only smoked when his two roommates did. 

he held up the ashtray to you. you took in one last drag then knocked off the ash. it was half gone, but that’s more than enough for you to enjoy later. instead of answering sungchan’s question, you motioned for him to come in front of you. he obeyed you almost immediately, sitting in front of you. you bent over until your mouth was ghosting over his. focusing on his lips, you slowly pushed the smoke cloud into sungchan’s mouth. he took all of it while looking directly into your eyes. his eyes were open so wide you could see his sclera was red and bloodshot. when his hands reached up, you put your hands on his shoulders. it stopped him from reaching up to your face and pulling you in for a kiss, the thing he’d always do when you two smoked together. sungchan instead let his hands rest on your knees. when all the smoke was out of your mouth you pulled away like nothing happened.

“he put mullein in here. to help with the irritation and everything.” you handed the joint to sungchan for the final time. he put out the joint and placed it in a small plastic cylindrical container. 

sungchan knew that you put your weed in the tiny wooden box that was next to him on the rug. he had seen you do it a million times before. but sungchan also knew he needed to feel you in his space while you leaned over him to get to the box. so he handed the container to you, and you entered his orbit smelling like vanilla and something else, maybe something new that you put in your hair. you linger there for a moment and he’s tempted to lean in and kiss your cheek, to pull you on top of him. sungchan has to close his eyes when you put your hand on his knee to push off of to get in a comfortable position back in your chair.

after you placed the joint in the desk, you leaned fully into your comfortable chair, feeling like you were going to become one with the cushion. you looked at sungchans’ hand, that had moved up from your knee to your thigh. thought about tracing the veins on his hand. you thought about putting your hand on his and dragging it further up your leg. you were definitely high now.

“that’s nice of him.” sungchan pretended like he remembered what the hell you guys were talking about. “should we open your window?”

“just stay right here.” you said, leaning even more into the chair. sungchan let his hand trace shapes on your thigh. 

you try to think about how cruel it is of your ex to breakup with you and expect you to come crawling back. sungchan’s reputation preceded him, you had been warned about his behavior. you try to think about how he loved you and left you fast, trying to remember what you did wrong. instead all you can think about it why you stuck around for as long as you did. you try not to think about how nice it would feel to fuck him on your new shag rug.

“i’m guessing your roommate won’t be back for awhile?” sungchan has a look that sends shivers up your spine. you nod.

“haechan is coming over in like thirty minutes.” you add. 

“you gonna cancel on him?” sungchan’s hand creeps higher and higher up your leg. 

you get off the chair, pushing it out of the way and you sit in front of sungchan, looking him in the eye.

“no, i’m telling you that you have thirty minutes.”

almost instantly, sungchan pulls you closer to him. your hands find his chest, fisting the fabric of his tee that is keeping you from seeing his abs. you clumsily find the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up for him to get the hint. 

sungchan pulls away from you to take his shirt off. it’s thrown somewhere in the room and he pushes back into you, lips finding yours quickly. usually when you guys had high sex it was different. it wouldn’t be any less intense than it was currently—with sungchan pulling your pants down and pushing your bra up to reveal your boobs—just slower. if sungchan wasn’t under a time constraint he would’ve loved to draw out your pleasure, making you cry out his name for your whole building to hear. he wanted to spend the day kissing you, leaving marks on all your body parts he hasn’t been able to see. to make you come crawling back to him, to beg him for more. but now he had to settle for a quickie before your new boyfriend came knocking at your door.

sungchan pushes you down to lay on the shag rug. your bottoms and shirt are gone, only leaving you in a sports bra that is pulled down. you see your ex do a once over of your body. you don’t know if it’s because of your high but it takes forever until sungchan touches you. it's just one finger and a light touch. he drags his finger from the valley of your breasts all the way down to your navel. you’re twitching just from this, brought on by a certain horniness only weed gives you. your gasp is depraved and desperate as sungchan spreads your legs by your thighs.

“you fucking haechan now?” sungchan asks. he looks up from you from between your legs. you want to push his head down, so he will shut up with his stupid jealousy and do what you called him here to do. you prop yourself up by your shoulders to look at him.

“if i am, it's none of your business.” you bend your knees, debating on closing your thighs around sungchan’s head.

“that’s a yes?” sungchan kisses the soft skin of your thighs. he looks you in your eyes as he sucks harshly on your skin. “there’s no way he is fucking you right.”

you let out a sigh and lean your head back.

“oh yeah?” you say, trying to egg him on. sungchan was always chatty during sex but the jealousy dripping from every sentence made you squirm.

“there’s no way he knows how you like it. or how to handle you” sungchan kisses your clit. you hate how affectionate he’s being with you, especially after breaking up with you. like he’s still your boyfriend or something. you move your hand to the back of his head and lightly push him into your heat.

“you’re wasting time.” you say lightly. sungchan looks at the digital clock next to your bed. he ducks his head into your heat, instantly getting to work. you let your body rest on the shag again. already you feel like you’re losing your mind. as much as you hated to admit it, you weren’t getting fucked the way you needed to. having sungchan in between your legs devouring you made you realize how depraved you really were. the weed in your system also made every sensation feel new and exciting. you were moaning, body lifting off the bed when sungchan started fucking you with his tongue. when he picked up your bottom half to bring even closer to him, you were done for. within five minutes, sungchan pulled from you with slick covering the bottom half of his mouth.

“such a good girl for me.” sungchan said to your lower half, leaving one final kiss. sungchan moved his body up yours. before he could give you a kiss, you flipped over, sticking your ass in the air. you decided he doesn’t get the privilege to kiss you in between moments of intimacy.

“so mean to me baby. after i just made you cum too.” sungchan fake pouted as he took off his pants. you said nothing back to him. when sungchan returned behind you, he roughly pulled you back so your ass was touching his dick. when he was high, sungchan’s intrusive thoughts always won. that’s why he started slapping your ass with his dick, fixated on how your ass jiggled with each hit. 

“i haven’t fucked any girls since we broke up.” sungchan murmured. he was moving your ass around now. you were so pliant for him while simultaneously refusing to give him the validation of being your ex. he wanted you more than anything.

“you don’t have to wear a condom.”

“awww you won’t give haechan any pussy? still hung up on your ex or somethin’?” sungchan’s hands rested on your ass. he tried to sound indifferent as he teased you, but hearing that news made him undeniably happy. haechan wishes he could see you like this. 

sungchan slowly spread you out one last time. he held his dick in his hand and summoned all the spit he had in his dry mouth. after a glob of spit landed on his length, he did a few quick pumps. when he slid into you, you both let out prolonged whimpers and moans. something about the way you were already clenching around him made him dig his teeth into his lip.

when he was fully inside of you, sungchan moved one hand to the small of your back to press you down. his other hand spread your thighs more so he could slot in between him. with each movement, you sucked in a little bit of air. you purposely clenched around him just to revel in the fact that he was inside of you completely. sungchan slowly pulled out just to go back in just as slow. you reached out a hand to him and he held your hand, pinning it against your back.

sungchan could barely control himself as he looked at you in your current state. your walls fluttering around his dick while you had a vice grip on your rug. he thought about how you had such a pretty backside while he ran his hand down your spine. sungchan wanted to say he missed this view, that he missed you. instead he gave your ass a light smack.

“still as big as you remember?” sungchan smirked. you clenched around him again. he was obsessed with teasing you in bed. you always would react to whatever he’d say and he loved the fact that you had a mouth on you too.

“i’ve had bigger.” you say, biting your lip to hold back a moan. sungchan gives you another slap.

“i think she disagrees.” he says while picking up his speed. “i can barely move she’s holding me so tight.”

sungchan looked at the clock again. he had about ten minutes. it was strange how time passed when he was having fun. he wanted to get lost in you, but he had to focus on making you feel as much as he could in the next ten minutes. he moved a hand down to your clit. he rubbed slow circles. he laughed because it was hard to multitask, the weed making his brain fuzzy.

“what’s so funny?” you moaned. you tried to sound rude but the spot that sungchan was hitting made you fold. before you knew it you were rocking your hips back into him, whimpers falling from your lips.

“just wanna make you feel good, baby. i can tell you haven’t done this in awhile.” sungchan said. he was starting to get lost in the feeling of you too.

“thank you.” you moaned. you had no control over what you were saying and thinking anymore. the slapping of skin and moans filled the room and the view of sungchan fucking you filled your mind.

“such a sweetheart.” sungchan intertwined your fingers with his. 

he gripped your hand tightly, increasing his speed. you were at his mercy, other hand searching for something to stabilize your body. you tightened your grip on his hand. sungchan leaned over, pushing you down to a position that had him hitting deeper than before. you turned to jelly underneath him, moaning louder than before. he brought a hand over your mouth while he brought his lips to your ear.

“you hear that?” sungchan said, biting your earlobe. you didn’t have to listen hard to hear the squelching. the lewd wet sound filled your ears. “she’s saying she misses me.” sungchan smiled against your ear. him talking to you like that had you seeing stars, whole body on fire.

“i’m gonna cum.” you say, muffled behind his hand. sungchan understood you perfectly, cooing to you while he picked up the pace of his hips and fingers.

you came undone while sungchan sucked on your neck. he continued his ministration on your clit as you said his name in broken cries. sungchan came shortly after you clenched around him. his thrusts went from hard and slow, trying to give his all to you. he continued to thrust even after you were both done with your high, enjoying the overstimulation. when he was done he didn’t pull out, but instead collapsed on top of you.

you let him stay like that. it felt nice being surrounded by sungchan again. his body was sweaty and warm against yours, and his arms wrapped around you made you feel secure. even though you could feel yourself getting crushed, you reveled in it. this would be the last time in your life you’d ever see sungchan so you let him stay like that, even after hearing knocks on your door.

[villain-enthusiast]

The hero coughed blood.

Fucking shit, they thought frantically, hand pressed over the gaping wound in their side. Their new opponent packed a serious punch, more than what the agency had expected when they sent the hero out to stop them. Somehow they’d escaped, but not without the nasty stab to their stomach.

Class two villain my ass. The hero grunted as they stumbled into an alleyway, nearly slamming their shoulder into one of the brick walls. They slipped into damp corner and sat down gingerly, their breathing shallow. Cold sweat broke out on their forehead.

They shook the sputtering communication device on their wrist. Busted. The hero suddenly realized with disturbing clarity that they would die here if they didn’t get help soon, bleeding their guts out on the floor.

Blinding pain shot through their torso, and they closed their eyes, muscles clenching. They couldn’t stand up, not without passing out. And with their internal bleeding, pressure to the wound would be largely ineffective.

They were so totally fucked.

“Hero?”

The hero’s lids snapped open. The cloaked figure before them dipped and swayed, but they forced themselves to concentrate. No, that wasn’t their assaulter, that was—

“Villain,” they rasped.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” The villain’s tone was mocking, but could the hero hear a hint of concern?

The hero attempted a sloppy smirk as they approached. “Oh, y’know, just decided to get stabbed and die today. Regular hero shenanigans.” Shit, their words were slurring.

The villain didn’t respond, crouching down in front of them. Their fingers brushed over the throbbing cut on their cheek, ghosted over the bruise on their jaw—it was funny, the hero noted, how the villain's first instinct was to check their face—before trailing down to the still-bleeding wound at their side. Their hand paused.

The silence was so thick that the hero could hear their wavering heartbeat in their ears.

“Who did this to you.” The villain’s words were quiet. Deadly.

The hero choked on a disbelieving laugh. “Like you care,” they wheezed, but even they could hear the doubt in their own voice. When the villain continued to wait for an answer, they added, "One of your lackeys.” Their eyes fluttered as a wave of fatigue overwhelmed them.

The villain snapped their fingers. "Hey, stay with me." They gently removed the hero's limp hand from their side, examining the gash. They swore under their breath.

"That bad, huh," the hero huffed.

“This looks like [other villain]’s work,” the villain muttered. “Destroying your comms, letting you escape with a fatal wound, making you think you’ve gotten away when really,” their eyes slid up to meet the hero’s detached stare, “you’re on the brink of death.”

“How kind of them.”

The villain shook their head. “Why were you even fighting them? They’re superhero’s responsibility. You’re supposed to be going after me.” They paused, gaze darkening. “And only me.”

The hero shrugged minutely. “Agency assignment.” Their muscles clenched as white hot pain rattled through them again, leaving them weaker than ever. “Can you just kill me already? That’s what you came for, isn’t it?” They titled their head back against the wall and closed their eyes, feeling their body grow more distant by the second. “Just fucking do it.”

They heard the villain move, and they waited for the knife against their throat or the gun at their temple, but instead, gloved hands slid under their back and legs, lifting them up.

What? The hero shifted weakly, but the villain shushed them and bundled them closer to their chest.

“No questions. I’ve got you,” the villain murmured, holding them tightly as they sprinted down the alley, making sure they didn’t jostle their injury. “You can sleep now. I’ve got you.”

And the hero, somehow feeling safe in their enemy’s arms and too tired to wonder why they were being saved, succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness not a second later.

.

part two