#even when it's just some plain guy there's charm

[wreckofawriter]

Only If You Catch Me

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pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: fred had always been frustrated by your endeavors with other men, especially other men that always looked quite a bit like him. after a disastrous mistake during quidditch practice you find yourself wondering how you had never seen fred Weasley in the light you saw him in now

word count: 4.4k

warnings: jealousy, language (maybe?), only proof read once so sorry for any mistakes!

a/n: this is my first big piece in ages, I hope you guys enjoy and im so sorry for my prolonged absence i fell off on writing for a while and im just now getting back to it

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Some things were just facts, plain and simple; the sky is blue, two and two is four and you had a type.

“Another ginger I see.” Alicia murmured as you sat down across from her, pints of butter beer clinking together. Your eyes were locked with a pretty freckled boy by the bar. 

You huffed even though she was quite right, this must have been the third redhead that you set sights on this year. “Well William got boring and,” You paused wrinkling your nose, “-pushy” 

The Three Broomsticks was packed, the sounds of chatter and warmth guarding you from the icy cold of the blizzard that had swept through Hogsmeade. You and Alicia had joined the dozens of students seeking cover in the popular pub and quickly snagged a small table near a large fireplace where you now looked out on the sea of flushed faces and smiles. 

“With your type it's a wonder your last name isn’t Weasley.” Your friend chuckled and you laughed. 

“If I could have gotten my hands on Charlie, it would be.” You replied, your silly crush on the older Weasley brother lasting from your first year to what you were sure would be your last. 

Alicia giggled, taking a large swig from her pint, licking the foam off her top lip. “Why not one of the twins then?”

“What twins?” A voice asked from behind you.

“She couldn’t be talking about us now could she, Georgie?” Fred jested.

“No no,” The other replied, “I mean what could Spinnet possibly want from us?”

Alicia rolled her eyes with great effort, “Trust me when I say I want nothing to do with you. As for my friend here, I don't know if I can say the same.” she said with a smug grin and you sent her a furious look.

Fred smirked, leaning over the back of your chair, his large palms ghosting your shoulders, “Is that true? Do you need something from us?” He leaned in even further, his nose brushing your hair, “from me?”

You began to look a bit red as he pulled away, “Please Weasley,” you managed to scoff “since when do I need things from you? In fact, I believe you still have my Charms notes.”

Fred had come to stand in front of you now, George joining his side, “It's just that your notes are so much better for writing Flitwick’s essay. ” He argued. 

“You don’t even take notes.” You said, exasperated. 

“Exactly” The twins replied in unison. 

Alicia snickered beside you.

Chairs appeared and Fred and George sat. The table seemed half the size it was before as Fred's elbow knocked against yours.

“Made yourselves at home have you?” You spoke, wincing.

Fred just grinned and leaned purposefully closer, thighs now brushing.

You slid towards Alicia who was turning a laugh into a cough and set your eyes back on the boy with freckles. 

“You headed to the Slytherin match next weekend?” Alicia asked absently.

“Of course.” George replied, “I’ve bet Lee a galleon that Malfoy catches a bludger with his nose.” he chuckled,  “He reckons it’ll be his gut.” 

You all smiled at the idea, no one hated Malfoy more than those on the Gryffindor quidditch team. 

“We also have business to do.” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.

“You don't have any more of those nosebleed nougats do you?” You asked, eyes still across the room, “I’ve got to get out of Binns’ class tomorrow.” 

Alicia's eyebrows shot up, you hardly missed History of Magic, or as you liked to call it, nap hour. “Why's that?”. 

“No reason.” You mumbled, intently staring into your butterbeer. 

Fred’s eyes darted between the two of you. 

“Of course we’ve got some.” grinned George, oblivious, “2 sickles a pei-.”

“Or for free if you tell us what you're up to.” Fred interrupted, catching a strange look from his brother. 

“I'm not up to anything!” You gasped with a bit too much enthusiasm. 

Alicias eyes had narrowed to slits and Fred had never looked more unconvinced. 

Your face began to grow hot and you found yourself wishing you had more grace in the act of lying.

“Oh come off it,” George said, “If she wants to snog Murphy instead of hearing about the seventh generation of goblin rebellions, who are we to judge?” 

You were glowing pink now, sending a vicious look at George who had taken to sipping his drink innocently. 

Fred looked appalled, his face contorted like he had just caught a whiff of something horrible, “Murphy!” 

“Keep your voice down.” You hissed angrily, glazing across the room again to be sure he hadn’t heard, “I'm trying to keep it quiet.” 

Fred was fuming, “Who wouldn’t, swapping spit with a git like that.” 

You scoffed, pulling out a small coin purse, “Can I just have some nougat?”

“Nope.” Fred responded, voice suddenly ferocious, “We’re out.”

You were beginning to grow frustrated, “George just said you had some.”

Fred glared at you, “We’re out.” he repeated his nose high in the air.

You turned to George looking for help but he threw you an I’m-not-getting-into-this look and you were forced to round back on Fred. 

You glared at each other for a moment before Fred caved, "Fine we’ve got some,” He huffed, “Three Galleons.” 

Your mouth dropped, “George said 2 sickles!”

He crossed his arms, “They’re in high demand.”

You stood, chair flying back into the wall with a loud crack, “You’re a complete prick.” you said sharply snatching your bag and sweeping past Fred and over to meet Finn Murphy  who was now standing to leave the pub. 

“Well I think you handled that well.” Alicia said, grinning at Fred who looked as though he had been slapped. 

George, who looked all too happy with himself for instigating such an interesting conversation, helped himself to the remains of your butterbeer as you and Murphy bowed out into the flurry of white followed closely by Fred’s glare.

“Looks as though she's gonna snog every redhead at school before you.” Alicia snicked. 

“Yeah,” George snorted, “You might want to keep an eye on Ginny.”

Alicia giggled even harder, pressing a hand to her lips in an attempt to keep her drink in her mouth. 

Fred could hardly hear them, too busy envisioning your latest with large boils all over his face or perhaps vomiting indefinitely. 

Alicia managed to contain herself and shot Fred a sympathetic glance, “I've been trying you know, I keep bringing you up but she seems far more interested in Charlie.” 

“Charlie!” He guffawed, “But he's been gone for ages!”

“Well he seemed to have made quite the impression.” Alicia chuckled. 

“He was captain when she was appointed to the team.” George pointed out. 

“Yeah when she was TWELVE” Fred gasped. 

Alicia couldn’t help it, she had started laughing again, “Relax,” She spoke between breaths, “It’s just a silly school girl crush.” 

Fred looked unconvinced and began to tap his heel incessantly against the floor.

“Take it as a complement!” She continued, “Charlie looks quite a bit like you, I mean you are related after all.” 

Fred was not taking it as pleasantly as she suggested and began to rap his foot on the ground even faster, “We’ve got to do something.” 

“We?” George snorted, “This is all you mate. I’m not the one in love with her.” 

Freds ears grew pink, “I’m not in love with her!” he sputtered. 

“Whatever you say.” Alicia spoke rolling her eyes.

The truth was that if Fred wasn't in love with you, he was so close he may as well have been. At the very least he had been pining after you for years and he had never been particularly quiet about it. In fact he was the opposite of quiet about it. His flirtatious remarks and dazzling complements were quite consistent. Unfortunately so was his coursing jealousy as you paraded around with boy after boy who was not him.  Every year he swore would be the year. The year where you finally realized it was him you needed and all would be right in Fred's world. But time and time again he failed as you walked out the door with a different redhead. He was growing nervous, his seventh year was upon him and this may be his last chance before you were all carted off in different directions never to see each other again. The frustration of it all was turning him bitter.

That night Fred lay awake on his four-poster, staring at the ceiling venomously. What was it? He wondered, What was it that he didn't have that every other ginger you knew seemed to possess? Why was it never him pulling you into broom closets and meeting you after classes? What was he doing wrong? His thoughts spun until he drifted into an uneasy slumber. 

By the time he arrived at the quidditch pitch for practice the next morning, the rest of the team was already changing into their robes as Angilina scribbled vigorously on the chalkboard in front of them, already changed and ready. 

“Fred!” She shouted watching him try to sneak his way into the bustle of the team unnoticed, “What took so long? I was beginning to think I would have to send George back up to wake you.” 

He shrugged, “Sorry Cap, I didn’t get much sleep last night if you know what I mean.” he winked at her and she looked sorely unamused. 

You on the other hand perked up at the insinuation, finally looking at the twin who, in protest of his behavior the day before, you had been ignoring. 

“She gets what I mean,” He smirked nodding towards you, “Up late with Murphy boy last night?” He asked viciously. 

You flushed as the changing room filled with chuckles. 

“Murphy?” Angelina asked, turning to you, “Isn’t he a bit,” She paused, “dim?” 

You scowled at Fred silently before snatching your broom from the rack and marching so quickly out onto the pitch that you hadn’t even noticed you had hit Harry in the temple with its handle. 

As Potter groaned in pain and fixed his askew glasses Fred looked over to Alicia who was shaking her head slightly. As the rest of the team slowly followed you out onto the field she and George made their way towards him. 

“You’re an idiot.” Alicia groaned, “No wonder she won’t go out with you.”  

George chuckled.

Fred glared at the pair, “It’s not my fault she insists on only snogging boys who are 'a bit dim.'" he spoke, mocking Angelina.

“I know that this may be hard to wrap your head around,” Alicia spoke sharply, “But maybe she went out with Murphy because he was, ya know, nice to her.” She then shouldered past the twins leaving Fred gapping at his brother desperately. 

The day was crisp, the heavy licks of winter drawn in by a bitter wind. But the sky was clear and the sun was out, much to everyone’s appreciation. 

Fred mounted his broom still angry, feeling foolish for upsetting you yet again as you stood with your back to him defiantly. 

The whistle blew and the balls were released as the team kicked off, snow flying in all directions as you did so. 

Fred's head was not in practice as it should have been but instead on you, watching you speed towards the goal posts with the quaffle already under your arm. You scored easily on Ron with a feign left.

Fred was so absorbed in you that he had completely forgotten about the bludgers, one of which was hurtling at him with frightening speed. With little time to react he swung his bat wildly and pitched the bludger in the opposite direction, which with a sickening feeling he realized was right at you. 

He tried to shout but you must not have heard him over the howling of wind in your ears. Because when the bludger struck you heavily between the shoulder blades you were completely unprepared. Your vision danced as the air was knocked from your lungs. You were flung from your broom with a shriek and began to plummet.

Fred streamed after you, urging his broom towards the ground with a frightening speed. His Cleansweep shuttered under the immense pressure he suddenly held it in and never before had Fred wished so badly for Potters Firebolt. 

He managed to get beneath you mere feet from the ground. The force at which you hit him knocked you both into the snow with a heavy thud, and there was a sickening sound as his broom snapped in two. 

Neither of you moved for a moment, the snow settling around you and beginning to melt through your robes. 

“Are you alright?” Fred asked and was struck with panic when you did not respond. He sat up quickly pulling you with him, your legs tangled together in the snow. He called your name desperately, hands holding your face as you lay limp in his arms. 

Angelina landed beside the pair followed closely by George and Alicia both of whom were wearing nervous expressions. 

“Y/n!” Fred shouted again, tears stinging his eyes, fear gripping his throat like a vice. He was moments away from shaking you when your eyes slowly peeled open. 

“Fred?” You mumbled, confused. 

The boy let out a barking laugh of relief and then dove into a hug, almost knocking you back to the ground. 

Bewildered, you returned his embrace and realized quite suddenly how much larger than you Fred really was. You practically disappeared into his chest, his broad shoulders shielding you from the wind that whipped across the pitch. You felt frighteningly warm listening to his heart beat quickly beneath his robes. Your cheeks were hot as he pulled away from you and began to search for any look of pain or damage on your face. 

“Are you alright love?” He asked again and was washed with relief when you nodded. 

As you fully realized what was going on around you, you gasped, pulling the handle of Fred's broom out of the snow.

“Your broom!” You looked horrified, “Fred, your broom broke!” 

Fred on the other hand brushed it off helping you to your feet and beginning to pat the snow off your robes, “It’s alright, I’m sure it's fixable.” he shrugged, “Listen, I am so s-”

But before Fred could finish his apology George burst between the two of you, “I am so sorry!” He spoke hurriedly, “The bludger caught me off guard. I swear I wasn’t aiming for you.” 

You chuckled, giving George a pat on the shoulder, “I sure hope not, but 's not me you should be apologizing to anyway.” You said, “It's Fred’s broom that broke.”  

George did not issue his brother any regrets and instead sent him a wink, whipping his wand out of robes and shouting “Repairo!”

The broom snapped back together and Angelina, who was desperate to get back in the air, looked to you, “You alright then?” 

You nodded with a grin and turned back to Fred who was testing the strength of his brother's repair. 

“Thank you so much Fred,” You gushed, looking up at him through your lashes. 

The boy's heart skipped a beat, stomach lurching, “It was no problem really.” He breathed and miraculously found you in his arms for the second time as you lunged towards him.

“Thank you.” You murmured into his robes before disconnecting and swiftly boarding your broom again. 

Fred watched you leave struck for a moment. Alicia shot him a thumbs up and a grin before he was able to clumsily climb onto his own broom and follow you back up into the air. 

By dinner the story of your fall had been told and retold so many times that you were now said to have plummeted upwards of a hundred meters before Fred had heroically scooped you onto his own broom, saving what was sure to be your life. 

In the great hall you kept getting asked if you were okay as down the table Fred got clapped on the shoulder and congratulated for his great save. He seemed to be enjoying the new story a fair bit more than you were. 

Finn had come over to ask about you halfway through dinner but you found suddenly that he was no less than boring and he returned to the Hufflepuff table after a few short minutes with a look of disappointment on his face. 

Fred watched this with such delight he was sure he was glowing. George -who he had been applauding as the best wingman one could ask for all day- poked him hard in the side and pointed down the table to where you sat. Fred turned to catch your eyes already on him. He winked exuberantly and you turned away with a scoff, but your cheeks had taken a rather deep shade of red. 

He grinned so wide at George he thought his lips might split, “I mean this is some real progress!” He cheered, “Did you see that? She was staring at me!” 

Down the hall you turned to Alicia, cheeks still pink, “Have you ever noticed how tall Fred is?” You asked so suddenly she choked on her pumpkin juice. 

You stared at her curiously as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve smiling, “Oh yeah very tall.”

You hummed looking back down the table at the elder twin who was now laughing wildly at something Lee had said, “I guess I never really thought about it before.” 

Angilina shot Alicia a glance as you were distracted and the two of them broke out into giggles. 

“What?” You demanded though you were still smiling. 

“Oh nothing.” Angilina grinned and you huffed turning back to your dinner. 

You found yourself wishing Fred had chosen to sit a bit closer to you as you watched a group of girls across from him break out into giggles at something he said, “There's no way he's that funny.” You muttered knowing he in fact was. 

  Yet you couldn’t find yourself being all that jealous as he kept glancing up at you, as if checking to make sure you were still watching him and much to his delight you always were. His shoulders, you noticed from where you sat picking at plum pudding, were quite wide, his arms toned. It was no wonder that he had engulfed you completely out on the pitch. 

How had I never noticed this before? You found yourself wondering. How had he managed to escape your list of potential suitors when he was so obviously perfect for you?

The thought struck you rather abruptly and while you would have liked to have sat with it for a minute, Alicia was standing and you knew it was time to head back to the common room. 

As students began to flood from the hall you fiddled with the sleeves of your robes, thoughts full of brown eyes and freckles . 

As if summoned, Fred appeared at your side grinning widely, “Hello.”

“Hey Fred,” replied Alicia. 

“Have you guys heard the news?” He asked, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You tried hard not to blush and instead shook your head, staring at the floor. “Apparently, you owe me your life.” He was beaming down at you now and you found it hard to look away. 

“Oh yeah?” You smirked, “And I heard it was actually you who hit me with that bludger.” 

His smile disappeared only momentarily and you were happy to see it recover so quickly. 

“Ah well, I figured Angelina wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.” He shrugged, “Though I swear if I had a choice I would have knocked her off her broom instead.” 

And for the first time that evening jealousy took you strongly, “Oh yeah? I suppose she would have been a bit more fun to catch then?” 

Fred looked startled by your bristly reaction, “Nah,” He responded, “That would have been Georgie’s job.” 

You were satisfied with this answer and felt yourself leaning against him as you began up towards the tower.

George was delighted to see you still tucked beneath his brother's arm when you reached the common room. He called you over to where he sat and you placed yourself in a large squishy armchair as Fred perched himself beside you on an ottoman. 

You spent your evening rather uneventfully, finishing an essay for Snape as the Gryffindors slowly filtered off to bed in pairs. When George rose to take himself to the dormitory you expected Fred to follow but instead he stayed rooted by your feet where he now sat cross legged on the carpet looking over what looked like an extensive order form. 

Hours later you yawned, stretching when you finally finished your work. It was now well past midnight and only a few fifth years remained, cramming for a quiz in transfiguration the next day. You turned to look at Fred who had long since sprawled himself across the couch before the fire and found him snoring softly. 

A jolt of infatuation made your stomach flip. His messy hair glowed shockingly bright in the fire light, his pink lips slightly agape. You gathered your things slowly, sure not to wake him before you stood beside him.

You knew you should wake him, you were the reason he had not retreated to bed after all. But he looked so peaceful like this, so soft. Instead you found yourself slowly counting the freckles that sprawled across his cheeks, leaning close to brush a strand of his bright red hair out of his face. He woke immediately at your touch, large brown eyes locking with your own.

You felt your cheeks go hot, “You should go up to bed.” You mumbled beginning to pull away. 

He snatched your wrist with such haste it took you by surprise, “Do that again.” he spoke.

You furrowed your brow, “What?” 

“With my hair,” It was his turn to blush now, “Touch my hair again.” 

It felt as though the air was sucked from your lungs yet you found yourself obeying, fingers coming to comb through the soft waves that spread across his forehead. 

He hummed, leaning into your touch slowly, gaze still locked with yours. The two of you stayed there for a moment, you kneeling beside him fingers in his hair, his hand still loosely wrapped around your wrist. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmured and you looked at him confused. 

“For what?” 

“Hitting you with a bludger.” he responded remorsefully. 

You laughed softly, your head thrown back, “It's okay Fred.” you grinned. You were close now, so close Fred could feel the tickle of your breath on his cheek, “I forgive you. You made up for it after all.” 

He smirked in spite of himself, “I suppose I did, saving your life and all.” 

You were giggling again and Fred was sure he was in some beautiful dream where all he could ever hear or see was your joy. 

“I wouldn’t push your luck if I were you.” You grinned, “I may just chuck the quaffle at your head when you're not looking.” 

“Only if you catch me when I fall.” Fred whispered, leaning closer still. 

You let him, your lips connecting slowly. You were pleased to find he was a fantastic kisser, his lips soft and plush, eager to please. His free hand cupped your cheek as he pulled you closer still until you were practically on top of him.

One of the alarm clocks the fifth years had been attempting to turn to roosters burst to life and you pulled away abruptly remembering bitterly that you and him were not the only ones in the room. Fred chased after your lips with his own desperate for even a moment more with your mouth.

“You should get to bed.” You repeated standing now, knees a bit shaky. 

Fred was disappointed by your departure but grinned wildly nonetheless as you gathered your books into your arms and turned back to him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Fred.” You yawned and began up the stairs to your dormitory determined not to let him see the childish glee that had spread across your face. 

“Wait!” He called after you, lurching from the couch and stopping at the bottom of the steps. 

You turned back to him taking in the wonderful sight of him staring lovingly up at you. He looked delightfully disheveled, his hair a mess and his lips swollen from your touch. You took two steps down now only one above where he stood on the hardwood floor.

You looked down at him expectantly as his eyes bore into your own. 

He lifted himself onto his toes and grabbed your shoulders forcinging you forward where you connected for a second time. 

This time his breath was hot and heavy on your lips, his earnest intensifying to a level that you could only describe as hunger. Your feet dangled momentarily in the air as he lifted you fervently into his embrace. You were suddenly engulfed in Fred again, he was all you could smell sweet and cinnamon, all you could hear were his pants in your ear, all you could feel was him, his arms around your middle, his thigh pressed between your legs and his lips and tongue working so well together that it was you who chased after him this time, whining in protest when he pulled back.

You stared at him, out of breath and stunned to silence. 

Fred looked as though he had just won something very expensive the way he was grinning with triumph, his eyes dark with lust. 

 “Sweet dreams love.” He murmured leaning down to give you one final kiss, his lips moving sickeningly slow against your own, wet and warm. He hovered inches form your lips for a moment, as if debating diving back in, before he backed away tucking his hands casually into his robes.

“You should go to bed, love.” He smirked, “We’ve got an early practice tomorrow and I do believe you made me a promise about knocking me off my broom.” 

You bit your lip to keep from breaking into girlish giggles. Your heart was still pounding as though you had just run a long race. 

“Only if you swear to catch me though.” He added with a wink.

“I’ll always catch you Freddie.” you assured him before turning and hurrying back up the stairs, grinning so wide your cheeks had begun to ache.

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taglist: @accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-dood13 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @coldlilheart @the-natureofme @trickylittlewitch @layaa-layaaa @sarcasticallywitty @rosieweasley @dracosgoodgirl @inglourious-imagines @princess-jules47 @daedreamss @d22malfoys @evyiione

m.list

#fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley imagines #fred weasly x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter au #harry potter imagine #hp fandom #hp fanfic #hp #weasley twins #harry potter x reader

[mapiforpresident]

Could you please do one with Georgia Stanway where they are just hanging out with the Lionesses and their teammates make fun of them for being so in love? Thank you so much!!!

Lovesick

Georgia Stanway x reader

warnings: none

Summary: You and Georgia are utterly in love with each other.

"Sup, baby cakes," you said to Georgia as you walked into the room with your roommate for this camp, Keira. You plopped onto her lap and leaned in to give her a kiss that lasted too long for your friends' liking as Keira and Leah started to fake gag.

"Please never call me that again, what happened to 'babe'?" Georgia said as she wrapped her arms around you and pulled you further onto her lap, if that was even possible.

"Yeah, please never call her that again. That was just plain disgusting, mate," Lucy said as she sat down on the couch in the lounge next to you and Georgia. Leah and Keira sat in front of you on bean bags. You just stuck your tongue out at Lucy and then turned your head back to keep staring at your girlfriend with a lovesick expression.

"Knock it off with the lovesick eyes, it’s making me nauseous," Leah groaned.

"You’re just mad you’re the only single one again," Georgia quipped back as she finally tore her gaze from yours, in her opinion, the most beautiful eyes in the world.

"It’s not my fault Lucy got with Ona and Keira got with Laura. It was already bad enough having to see you two being all in love or whatever for the last two years."

"Don’t be all grumpy because your charm hasn’t worked on anyone yet," you said to Leah as Georgia kissed your cheek.

"What are you guys on about now?" Tooney said as she and Alessia came into the room and sat on the other couch.

"Just how Leah is always grumpy because she hasn’t gotten any recently," Georgia told her and Alessia with a laugh as Leah had her usual frown on, glaring at Georgia.

"People like my charm just fine, thank you very much," Leah responded back. As they continued talking, you and Georgia sunk back into your own world, your head tucked against hers as she kissed the top of your head.

"Did you have a good day, love?" Georgia asked, back to staring into your eyes as the others' conversation continued in the background.

"Yeah, except for when we were on separate rotations in the gym and I couldn’t stare at your ass in the shorts I like on you." Georgia laughed at your response right as you let out a yawn.

"Tired, baby?"

You nodded into Georgia's neck at her question.

"You want to go watch that new movie we haven’t gotten to watch yet and have some cuddles before Keira kicks me out again?" You nodded again as Georgia helped you stand up, grabbing your hand to lead you back to your room.

"You have one hour, Stanway, and don’t be doing anything nasty on my bed like last time, please," Keira called after you.

"It was faster to get to," Georgia called back just before you both stepped into the elevator.

#woso #leah williamson #georgia stanway #georgia stanway x reader #lionesses #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #keira walsh #lucy bronze

[skzdarlings]

chill | the threesome series ; skz ; hyunjin/reader/jeongin

masterlist.

threesome series part 4/4. long awaited finale lol.

summary: when a lie about a fake boyfriend spirals out of control, your friends take it upon themselves to help.

pairing: hyunjin/reader/jeongin content info: friends to lovers romcom. fake relationship trope. sharing a bed trope. lots of teasing and bickering and indignant exclamations. some bossy dom!hyunjin and sweet jeongin. reader is described with a bigger chest. kissing w people watching. sex toys, dacryphilia, no mention of protection, threesome, explicit sexual content word count: 8440 words.

enjoy <3

-

Your bottom lip is already wobbling when you click call.   You sprawl on your belly, front-down in a frilly pink bed in your childhood bedroom.  You are visiting your parents in the countryside, miles away from your apartment in the city and miles away from your best friends. 

You are calling them now, desperate for their friendly faces.  Your boys are the first ones you call in any crisis.  You don’t know what you would do without them.  Just the thought has you sniffling despondently. 

After a few more rings, Jeongin and Hyunjin answer one right after the other.  Your phone is filled with three little squares of faces, theirs smiling and yours utterly miserable.      

You look at those smiles and promptly burst into tears. 

“Ahh!” Hyunjin wails. 

“Ohh, whoa, what!” Jeongin says.

Both of them look concerned, all scrunched up brows and frowning faces.  At least you think so.  It is hard to see through your tears. 

“Baby, baby,” Hyunjin says.  At the same time, Jeongin asks, “What’s wrong?”

You cry a few more weepy sobs, then you grab the closest teddy bear and wipe your eyes on it.  You sniffle and pout. 

Even though you want their comfort, you can’t bring yourself to look at your friends when you admit, “I’ve been lying to my parents for months.” 

“What?” Hyunjin asks. 

“Huh?”  Jeongin says.

You blink away your tears and look at them properly.  They are the very picture of concern.  They have such striking faces so their emotions are always so plain, their features sharp, with thick dark brows and sloping cheeks and full lips.  Jeongin dyed his hair a fairer auburn a while ago, but Hyunjin is dark, both of them so handsome it makes you hiccup on a caught breath.  

These thoughts make you feel even more pathetic.  Here you are, gawking at your best friends while everything falls apart around you. 

You drop your face and cry some more.  They watch helplessly through their screens, saying your name and trying to calm you down. 

“What happened?” Hyunjin asks when your tears have slowed. 

“Remember a few months ago, when I went out with that guy who works at the coffee shop?”

“Yes, I hated him,” Jeongin says in a clipped tone while Hyunjin scoffs. 

“Me too,” Hyunjin says.  Their sour faces speak volumes. 

“What!”  This distracts you from yours tears for a moment.  “You guys told me you liked him!”

“Yeah, only because you did,” Jeongin says.  He is in his bedroom and he flops back on his bed, his mop of hair forming a charming halo around his head.  He grins that dimpled, mischievous grin at you.  “But now you don’t like him, so we hate him.”

“I always hated him,” Hyunjin says.  He is sitting at his desk, lit so prettily by lamplight that it looks like a dreamy filter.  He props his face in his hand and pouts dramatically.  “You didn’t need him anyway, baby,” he says.  “You’ve always got us.” 

At the same time Hyunjin says this, Jeongin tucks a hand under his head.  He is wearing a sleeveless top and his bicep flexes where his bare arm curves.  Between Hyunjin’s pretty face and prettier words, and Jeongin looking like that, it is no wonder how quickly heat rushes to your face. 

You bury your face in the blankets and shriek, frustrated with everything in your ridiculous life.  They are still looking at you with concern when you surface. 

“Sorry,” you say.  “The point is, my mom would ask about him.  You know what my parents are like and how much they want me to be in a relationship.” 

You love your family, you do.  You do not regret using visiting your parents.  The dinners and tea times and game nights have been a delight.  You have been proud to catch them up on your life in the city.  You are happy with your life, your education and your job and your friends.  Your parents are proud of you. 

They just cannot help but poke that one little detail, snagging like a loose thread on a nail and unravelling your careful composition with their obvious judgement. 

You are not in a relationship.  You have never been in a relationship.

Oh, sure, there have been dates scattered here and there, but nothing serious.  You are fine with this but your parents consider this cause for catastrophic levels of concern. 

You try to show grace.  Your family is only nosy out of misplaced worries, convinced that if you do not have a boyfriend then you must sobbing yourself to sleep every night.  Which is not true.  Well, sometimes it’s true, especially because your two best friends are the ones making your heart race, but most of the time you just eat cheese toast in bed. 

To assuage the worst of their concerns, you maybe exaggerated the truth a teensy tiny bit. 

“Well,” you say, “They were so happy that I went on more than one date, so it got them off my case for a while.  After we went our separate ways, I sort of just… kept telling them… I was still seeing him…”

“Uh oh,” Jeongin says.  Hyunjin grimaces.  Yeah, your friends know you well.  They have never met your family but they know the stories and they can guess where this is going. 

“Yeah, uh oh is right,” you say.  “My mom invited me out here for their summer party.  They throw one every year to start the season.  They invite the whole family and all their friends and their friends’ kids.  It’s huge.  I wasn’t even thinking when I said I would come because I always do.  Only when I agreed did my mom tell me to bring my boyfriend for everyone to meet… at which point I remembered…”

“That you don’t actually have a boyfriend?”  Jeongin asks with a quirked eyebrow.  Hyunjin laughs, covering his mouth with a quick slap of his hand to hide it. 

“Don’t laugh at me!” you say with a miserable whine.  “It’s not funny.  I messed up and now I don’t know what to tell them!”

“What did you tell them so far?” Jeongin asks while Hyunjin tries to get his face under control. 

“I was going to tell them the truth when I got here,” you say.  “But then they were so disappointed that my boyfriend wasn’t with me.  I couldn’t disappoint them even more by saying he didn’t exist at all in the first place!” 

“So you told a bigger lie instead,” Hyunjin says, tilting his head questioningly.  “What did you say exactly?” 

“I just said he was busy with work,” you say.  “And they were really upset about it so I tried to cheer them up.  I said he was going to try and make it to the party at least.” 

“But he’s not real,” Jeongin says. 

“Yes, Jeongin!” you squeal.  “That’s the problem!  And also—”  A flood of tears return, blurring your vision again.  “I know it’s so stupid.  We’re all grown-ups now.  But I was the youngest out of all the kids growing up, so I was always the dumb little tag-along.  My mom has told everyone I have a boyfriend coming and if I make up an excuse tomorrow, they’re all gonna see through it.  They’ll be nice to my face because we aren’t kids anymore but I already know they’re gonna talk about me and how pathetic I am.”  You start crying again, looking around at the bedroom you grew up in, still filled with the books and clothes and toys you left behind after moving.  It makes you feel like that little girl again.  It only worsens your angst.  “Tomorrow is going to be the worst day of my life,” you say. 

“Aw, no, no, it won’t,” Jeongin says. 

“Hey, baby, don’t cry,” Hyunjin also says.  They both speak in the sweetest tones imaginable, gazing so lovingly into their cameras it makes you melt. 

“You know you’re better than that,” Jeongin says.    

“Yeah, who cares what they think?” Hyunjin adds. 

“I care,” you say in a small voice, looking away again because you feel so embarrassed.  “At least a little bit.  I know it’s silly.” 

“It’s not,” Hyunjin says.  At the same Jeongin says, “It is but it’s fine.”  They both scowl at the camera as if frowning at each other.  It makes you laugh through your tears.  You wipe your eyes on the teddy bear again. 

“I guess it doesn’t matter now,” you say.  “I just have to face it.  It’s my own fault.  Maybe if I could just get a boyfriend for real, if I didn’t suck so much—”

“You’re perfect,” they say in unison.  It seems to make all three of you look flustered at once. 

“Seriously,” Hyunjin says while Jeongin clears his throat.  “You’re our girl.”

“Yeah, everyone is else is just stupid,” Jeongin says. 

“You only need to listen to us,” Hyunjin says. 

“Listen to me, not him,” Jeongin teases.  “He’s kinda stupid too.”

“Excuse me,” Hyunjin says in a perfectly catty voice.  Jeongin sticks his tongue out. 

Their antics make you laugh.  You rest your cheek on the teddy bear and kick your legs behind you, smiling into your screen. 

“Okay,” you say.  “In that case, just distract me until I go to bed.  It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.” 

They both smile at you.  They waste no time obliging, launching into stories and playful bickering, making you forget about everyone and everything else.  They are your boys.  They are all you need. 

You go to bed with a smile on your face.

-

That smile is gone the next day.  You are a bundle of raw nerves all morning.  Despite the food being prepared, you cannot imagine eating, so sick to your stomach with anxiety.  Your parents ask about your boyfriend and you answer in vague replies and half-promises.  You claim he is still working but you are optimistic.  You cry your make-up off only once, which is ten times less than you thought you would. 

At least you look pretty.  You bought a new dress for the occasion, a pretty floral piece that sweeps the floor with a delicate swish.  If you are going to suffer, at least you will suffer beautifully. 

You are standing in front of the mirror, practicing lines and excuses and grimacing at all of them.  You are interrupted when your mother calls you downstairs, the first of the guests arriving.

Here goes nothing, you think. 

You take a deep gulp of air and descend the stairs, plastering a big fake smile on your face as you greet the party guests. 

They come in waves.  Cousins, aunts, uncles, neighbours, friends.  You greet everyone pleasantly.  There are so many people and so many conversations that you manage to sink into the background of every discussion, batting queries about your own private life with questions for someone else. 

You start to wonder if you worried for nothing, then someone directly asks about your boyfriend.  Not just someone, but one of the girls in your age group. 

“Your mother didn’t know much, she said you were quite evasive about it!” she says.  She is not being unkind because she currently has no reason to believe you are lying.  It will be later, when everyone realizes this mystery man is not manifesting, then everyone will start to gossip and draw conclusions.  This is just the beginning of a long, agonizing party.  “Is he going to be here?” she asks.  “I can’t wait to meet him!  He’s your first boyfriend, right?” 

You love your mom, but she really is such a blabbermouth. 

You laugh awkwardly, fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. 

“Ha-ha, yeah, I was, um, just waiting for the, uh, right person, you know,” you say. 

Someone else opens their mouth to ask more when the doorbell rings.  

“Oh, I better get that!” you say and leap out of your seat.  You give no one a chance to protest, scampering around bodies to get out of the backyard and into the house.  You run past your father who is ambling to the door, telling him you got it.  You want to let the guest inside then stand in the front yard to catch your breath.  Hopefully, by the time you go back, the conversation will have moved on. 

You swing open the door, a polite greeting on your lips.  It catches when you see who is standing there.

“Jeongin!” you exclaim. 

Your best friend is standing on your porch, grinning that big cheshire cat smile. He is an absurdly sexy vision.  Jeongin is a tech guy but he takes modelling gigs on the side, fashion a personal hobby to him.  His auburn hair is neatly styled around his face, a slash of colour in an otherwise all-black look.  It makes him look long and fit, loose pants and a dress shirt over a sleeveless top, topped with a leather jacket.  A silver chain sparkles around his neck. 

He swoops in and kisses your cheek, giggling to himself. 

“I heard someone needed a boyfriend,” he says. 

You laugh a little hysterically, all the joy returning to your body in a rush.  You slap your hands on your hot cheeks and look him up-and-down. 

“Oh, wow,” you say.  “You shouldn’t have.  But you look really good.”

Your eyes are on the tip of his black boots.  He is looking at you too, his eyebrows lifted as his gaze travels down your body. 

“Yeah,” he says on a breath.  “You too.”

Flustered, you cover yourself then swat at him.  It makes him grin again, cheek dimpled. 

“Stop that,” you say.  “You’re not allowed to say things like that to me.  And I’ve been sweating like a stuck pig under here.  I feel like I should do the grown-up thing and come clean and send you away, but I’m not gonna do that. Come on.”  You loop your arm with his elbow and drag him through the house to the back yard. 

Seconds before joining the party, he leans in to whisper in your ear, “Then as your boyfriend, I’m allowed to tell you that you looking really fucking good.  Okay?” 

You very literally fall into the yard.  Fortunately, Jeongin keeps his balance and yanks you upright.  You stumble into his open arms, your back plastered to his chest.  He is probably smiling that big grin at everyone as he keeps his arms around you.

“Hi,” he finally says and offers a little wave. 

“Ahhh!” your mother screams more gleefully than a clown horn.  She immediately starts hollering for your father. 

“He’s inside getting some food ready, mom,” you say, covering your face in embarrassment as she scuttles up to you. 

“My goodness, my goodness,” your mother says, all but throwing you to the side to get to Jeongin.  “Oh, I’ve heard so much.  No, actually, that’s not true, I haven’t heard anything.  Tsk, crazy girl.  Always with her secrets.  But look at you, oh my, you’re so handsome!  Look at those dimples.”

“Mom!” you wail.  “Stop pinching his cheeks!” 

Someone sitting nearby tugs your skirt.  It is the girl from before and she is grinning.  He’s hot, she mouths very blatantly, winking at you.  You smile an awkward, too-wide grin, still more embarrassed than not.  Everyone is chattering, looking at you and Jeongin.  A couple others smile and give you a thumbs up.  You pretend to be very preoccupied with a speck on your dress, focussed on scratching it off so you do not have to meet any eyes. 

In the midst of all the madness, the doorbell rings again.  You hear your father inside, shouting that he will get it.

“Oh, hurry up!” your mother shouts.  “You have to meet—oh goodness, what is your name?” she asks, even while she has a hand in his hair. 

“Ha, ah, Jeongin,” he says, managing to politely extricate himself.  He takes her hand and pats it affectionately.  “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says, then winks at you.  Your mother looks at you with a delighted smile.  You refrain from smacking your forehead. 

At least things can’t get worse, you think, right before things get worse. 

Your father steps into the yard, smiling a big smile. 

“Ah, my little girl!” he says, waving at you.  “Your boyfriend is here!  Everybody, this is Hyunjin.” 

Your heart was racing with adrenaline a moment ago.  Now, it freezes solid.  It feels like a cement block dropping right into your gut.  You are not sure if the entire party actually goes quiet or if your ears just give up to protect you. 

You are helpless, standing stock still as your other best friend steps onto the deck behind your father.  Coincidentally and preposterously, he is dressed almost identical to Jeongin, all in black with a black leather jacket.  He is wearing sunglasses, though, which he pushes onto the top of his head when he sees Jeongin. 

Jeongin stares back at him, then he looks at you.  Hyunjin looks at you.  Your mother looks at you.  Everyone looks at you.

“Um,” you squeak.  

Wow, that speck on your dress really is so very interesting.  And why is it so hard to swallow?  Where is your tongue again?  Oh, why did you ever have to tell such a stupid lie, just for a few moments of convenience.

You clear your throat and look up.  Your voice comes in a croak when you say, “Hi, Hyunjin.” 

“Hyunjin,” your mother says, looking at him.  He blinks at her.  Jeongin is handsome but Hyunjin is the definitive pretty boy, an artist behind the camera but just as suited to a life in the spotlight.  His artistic soul really shines through in every capacity.  Even his smile is a work of art, delicate and sweet as he looks at your mother.  He would have made a perfect fake boyfriend if you didn’t already have one. 

Somehow you went from no boyfriends to two.  No, not even, because they are fake.  You went from no boyfriends to negative-two boyfriends.  That must be a feat. 

“Ohhhh,” your mother suddenly interrupts the silence.  She starts giggling as she tip-toes to Hyunjin like a panther about to pounce.  “I see what’s happening,” she says, looking slyly between the three of you.  Then she grabs Hyunjin by the cheeks as well, shaking him around like a baby rattle.  “My little girl has TWO handsome boyfriends!” she cries out ecstatically.  “Oh, that’s just like her too.  You know, she was a late bloomer in every respect, but always caught up and surpassed everyone after the fact.  Struggled at school when she was little, then grew up and got herself on the dean’s list at university.  You know she didn’t even grow breasts until she was eighteen then ballooned right up, the biggest you’ve seen!”

“Mom!”

Jeongin and Hyunjin look at your chest at the same time.  You wrap your arms around yourself and frown, making them both clear their throat and look away. 

“Oh, sweetie,” your mother says, finally freeing Hyunjin.  He and Jeongin stand together, rubbing their cheeks.  They watch as your mother takes your hand.  “I understand now why you were to hesitant to give us any details.  But it’s a brave new world.  There’s all sorts of different loves out there.  I’ve been reading books!” 

“Exactly,” your father says, joining you in the middle of the party.  “We would never judge you for who you love.”

“That’s great,” you say.  This conversation would be really sweet if it wasn’t about your negative-two boyfriends and happening in front of fifty people.  “Thanks,” you say. 

Your father is holding barbeque tongs.  He claps them in the air and smiles.

“Great!” he says.  “Who’s hungry!”

-

It isn’t until much later that you get a second alone with Hyunjin and Jeongin.  It is well after dinner when the sun is starting to set and the party has dispersed to different corners of the yard.  Your parents are with some friends, seated around a fire, so you drag your fake boyfriends into the house and upstairs to your bedroom. 

You slam the door shut.   

“Seriously!” you shriek.  “You didn’t think to tell each other you were going to show up to be my fake boyfriend?!” 

They both look chagrined, Jeongin with his arms crossed and Hyunjin rocking on the balls of his feet.  They look at each other with a grimace, then try to smile at you.

“Don’t give me that look,” you say, then groan, leaning against your closed door.  You cover your face with your hands.  “This is insane.  My life is a joke.  Hwang Hyunjin, don’t even think about touching anything.”  You point to Hyunjin even though your eyes are covered.  You don’t need to see him to know he is reaching for something, always sticking his gossipy nose in places it doesn’t belong.  When you drop your hands, you catch him hovering near your head table.  He smiles nervously.  “Sit down,” you say, unamused.   

Jeongin and Hyunjin plop onto the bed at the same time.  They look rather ridiculous in the black and leather, contrasted to all the pink and white lace of your old bedroom.  Ridiculous, yes, and definitely not stupidly sexy.  The contrast between two sexy bad boys and your floral cuteness is absolutely not a turn-on.  It’s not.  No.  No.  You refuse. 

“Sorry,” Jeongin finally says.  “We should have checked first.  With you, at least.”

“Yeah, baby, seriously,” Hyunjin says, shaking his head.  “I feel really embarrassed.  You know we would never want to hurt you, right?”

“You were just crying so much,” Jeongin says. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep at all last night,” Hyunjin says.

They keep speaking in their defense.  You start to pout, feeling guilty, because they are so sincere in their apology.  It is very obvious they did not do this to embarrass you.  The complete opposite.  Your friends love you so much and it is obvious in everything they do.  From the day you met them, Jeongin and Hyunjin have happily dropped everything to help you with anything.  No task has ever been too big or too small.  If it’s for you, they will do it.  You are the exception to every rule and the first call every time.  

They are your boys.  You are their girl.   

“I’m sorry too,” you say.  “In fact, I’m even more sorry.  This whole thing is my fault, after all.  I should have never lied in the first place.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jeongin says.

“Yeah, we all do stupid things,” Hyunjin says. 

“It’s not like you knew it would get this bad,” Jeongin adds. 

“I definitely don’t think she predicted this,” Hyunjin quips, looking at him.  It makes Jeongin snort and Hyunjin grins. 

It makes you laugh as well, though you cover your mouth to hide it. 

It’s no good.  Once the first giggle escape, they are relentless.  The three of you laugh until there are tears in your eyes, doubled over as the silly situation washes over you.  When the laughter has somewhat subdued, Hyunjin holds out a hand in offering. 

“Come here,” he says. 

You take his hand and he tugs you towards them.  You find yourself squished between them, framed between their bodies like a little flower.  Jeongin puts a hand on your lower back and Hyunjin brushes his knuckles over your cheek.  Both touches are innocent but the combination has your face heating.

Not just your face.  Heat rushes everywhere, cascading down your chest, swooping in your belly and lower.  Your toes even curl. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Hyunjin says.  He smiles while holding your gaze. “You know we’ll help you no matter what, okay?” 

Jeongin kisses your shoulder and you cannot hide your shiver.

“Okay,” you say in a small voice.    

There is a moment of tense silence after this.  You look between them and they look at you.

You all jump when there is a knock at your door.  Hyunjin falls right off the bed, sprawling in an ungainly clatter of long limbs on the floor.  Jeongin scoots to the side, less dramatic but still surprised.  You sit straighter.  Hyunjin groans and rubs his head. 

The door opens and your mother pokes her head inside, smiling. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says.  “But sweetie, there will be time to be alone with your boyfriends later, since I assume they’re spending the night.  But right now we have company.  Come spend time with the guests.  Some of the others are using the hot tub and pool.  Do you boys need swim trunks? Yes? I’ll go find some, give me a second.”

No one gets an opportunity to even answer.  She closes the door and disappears as quickly as she came. 

There is another beat of silence, then Jeongin says, “We’re spending the night, I guess?” 

“Ow,” Hyunjin says.  “I think I bruised my elbow.”

“Oh my god,” you say.

-

You putter around the poolside until the sun fully sets.  When it gets dark, the pool lights start to flicker in rainbow patterns so the others gravitate there, splashing through the luminescence.   

You and the boys wander to the hot tub while it is empty.  Jeongin sinks right in like he does not even feel the heat while Hyunjin has to make a dramatic show about every inch of skin that touches it.  You and Jeongin look at each other with matching quirked eyebrows.  You smile affectionately. 

“What? It’s hot,” Hyunjin says, finally sitting. 

“That is how they work,” Jeongin replies.    

You giggle but also drop your gaze.  Your mother managed to find swim clothes that would mostly fit the boys.  Jeongin is shirtless in swim trunks, his wet hair slicked back, that handsome face and all those lean muscles on display.  When did he get so damn fit?  He was always athletic in a subtle, svelte way, but his arms and back ripple with definition now. 

Hyunjin is in a wet suit, one that stops at the knee and elbow.  He is more covered but the solid black swimsuit makes him look so long and lean.  His hair is also damp.  You watch as he rakes his fingers through it, tucking it behind his ears.  He really is absurdly good looking. 

You blame the heat under your skin on the jets. 

“Psst,” Jeongin suddenly whispers.  His foot nudges yours under the water.  “Is that them?” he whispers. 

You try to be subtle, turning your head to see who is there.  A few younger people are sitting in some pool chairs under a torch, chatting and occasionally glancing in your direction.  It is a few of the people you grew up with, the ones you told the boys about. 

You nod at Jeongin, smiling shyly.  You look down at your legs through the rippled distortion of water.  You are wearing a simple one-piece, just as pink and floral as your dress, still a contrast to your boys. 

You look at them in time to catch a mutual nod.  You were spread around the hot tub, a reach of space between your bodies, but they slide until they are pressed up on either side of you.  You look between them, curling your hands in nervous fists on your chest. 

“What is it?” you whisper. 

“We’re your boyfriends,” Hyunjin whispers with a smile.  “Shouldn’t we sit close to you?” 

“Oh,” you squeak.  “I suppose that’s true.”  You swallow, looking at him then at Jeongin.  Your heart is pounding against your hands.  The combination of heat and desire is making you more than a little dizzy.  “Wh-what else should we be doing?” you ask before thinking twice.  Vocalizing your internal thought only intensifies your fantasies, your mind supplying plenty of mental images of what you would be doing in this hot tub if they were really your boyfriends. 

Oh, you are definitely getting dizzy, but it is not just the jets. 

Hyunjin and Jeongin look at each other, both of them surprised by your forward question.  Jeongin laughs because that is his instinct, that dimple never shy.  Hyunjin has more of a smirk than a smile.  He pokes his tongue into his cheek and lifts his eyebrows when you look at him.  It is a teasing expression.  It makes you dissolve into nervous giggles, sinking lower into the water. 

He grabs you before you can disappear under the surface.  And it is a grab.  Between Hyunjin and Jeongin, you always suspected Hyunjin would be a gentle lover.  He is so gushy and romantic while Jeongin tends be more frank about things.  But it is Jeongin who gently strokes a hand down your arm, who laces his fingers with yours and squeezes. 

Hyunjin reaches right under the water, stopping your descent with a hand on the back of your neck.  Your eyes widen as he yanks you up, not choking but certainly in control.  Your mouth falls open with surprise.  Much to your embarrassment, you moan before he even kisses you, the sound escaping of its own volition as he tilts his head and leans in. 

Oh, his mouth is gentle even if he is not.  His hand is on your jaw, firm, holding your face where he wants it, but his lips are so soft and warm.  He kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth and sighing against your lips.  You steal a breath as well, your mouth open against his.  That breath catches when Jeongin kisses the nape of your neck, then your shoulder. 

They both have big hands, long fingers, slender but strong.  You melt between them, all heat and need. 

You turn to Jeongin, breathless with desire.  His eyes are dark, lids heavy.  You have never seen such intensity on his usually smiling face. 

You are ready to kiss him when some playful shouts erupt from the audience you forgot about.  “Get it girl!” someone shouts. 

“Oh my god,” you say.  Distracted, you reach behind you, grasping for nothing in particular when you find something, indeed.  Jeongin is rock hard in his swim trunks and your hand brushes the very decent length of him. 

You snap your hand back to yourself, jaw dropping.

“Why are you hard?” you whisper harshly.

“What do you mean, why am I hard?” he whispers back, just as argumentatively.  “We’re all making out in a hot tub.  Of course I’m hard.” 

“Hyunjin’s not hard!” you hiss. 

You look over your shoulder.  Hyunjin is staring up into the air at nothing, looking a little too inconspicuous.

“Hyunjin!” you cry. 

“What?” he returns, also whispering sharply.  “Are you saying you’re not turned on?” 

“I—hmmph—you—no!”

“No?” he asks with a sharp tilt of his head. 

“So,” Jeongin says, drawing your narrowed gaze back to him.  He just smiles at you.  “If we put our hands somewhere here,” his fingers skim your upper thigh and you jump, “we wouldn’t find…?” 

You sputter helplessly but it does no good; you have no retaliation whatsoever.  You look at Hyunjin but he’s no help, just smirking at you.  He wiggles his fingers in a little wave and you feel flushed again. 

“I’m leaving now,” you say and finally sink under the water while they laugh. 

-

You step into your bedroom at the end of a very long day.  The guests have all gone home.  Your parents, for reasons your mother strangely explained, are staying at the neighbour’s house tonight.   You are very aware of the privacy it offers, the air rife with possibility. 

Your boys are in your bed, wearing boxers and sleeveless shirts and bickering about the size of the quilt.  They stop yanking on the blankets when you appear. 

You did not bring much sleepwear.  You figured you would wear the old shirts left behind in this room.  You have outgrown most of them, but that wasn’t a problem with you were sleeping alone.  Now you are wearing old gym shorts that sit very high up your thighs, a little shirt pulled taut across your ample chest, and your friends are staring at you, their previous conversation completely forgotten. 

You cross your arms and stomp to the bed, feigning indifference.  You crawl over a startled Hyunjin to get to the middle, flopping into the little column of space they left for you.

“Good night,” you say. 

Hyunjin turns off the bedside light.  The three of you are laying on top of the covers, on your backs, stiff as boards.  Your arms are still crossed over your chest in a totally unnatural position.  You refuse to look around, counting every little popcorn freckle in the ceiling design. 

“You kissed him,” Jeongin says, his voice so loud in the silence. 

You feel Hyunjin look over, hear the turn of his head on the pillow.  You cast your eyes to either side but do not turn your head.  There is already a skip in your heartbeat and you cannot encourage it. 

“What?” you ask. 

“You kissed him,” Jeongin says.  You feel him roll onto his side, facing you.  “You didn’t kiss me.”

You brace yourself then turn your head, looking at him with every intention of telling him that you did it in the heat of the moment.  But he is gazing you, his head propped up on his arm, that god-forsaken bicep flexed again. 

You shake your head and look at the ceiling.

“Yes, I did,” you say.  “What should we do about it?”

“Kiss him,” Hyunjin says.  You look at him.  He is also propped up, leaning back on his elbow. He looks at you with an expression that offers a challenge, asking, Well? What are you waiting for?      

“Fine,” you say, then slowly turn to Jeongin.  “Only because that’s fair.” 

Jeongin does not hesitate.  He is not as firm Hyunjin but he does not need to be.  Long, steady fingers slide across your shoulder and cup the back of your head.  He draws you into him, kissing your cheek before your lips. 

You quickly lose yourself.  Your eyes close and it feels like taking flight, or maybe falling.  Yes, falling helplessly head over heels.  You have been for a long time. 

You cannot help but make a few wanting sounds.  Jeongin’s body is so different to yours, all hard planes and firm muscle against your softer spots.  His hand finds your waist and he pulls you even closer, kissing you long and slow like he is pacing himself, like he plans to kiss you for hours. 

That hand wanders from your waist, sliding lower until he is cupping your ass.  Your breath catches and the kiss breaks.  He is quick to dive back in, kissing you deeper the second time, his tongue touching yours. 

You grab his arm, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. When he leans in again, Hyunjin reaches out and shoves his shoulder.  Jeongin blinks up at him, surprised. 

“That was two kisses,” Hyunjin says.  “My turn.” 

Hyunjin grabs your shoulder and pulls you onto your back.  You land with a soft thump, still intoxicated from kissing Jeongin. 

You blink up at Hyunjin, your chest heaving with breath as his eyes roam down your body.  His fingers follow the same trail, knuckles at your chin then the curve of your chest.  You arch your back instinctively.  Everything seems to throb when his fingers brush the front of your shorts.  It is a momentary touch, then he is cupping your cheek and turning your face and kissing you. 

Just last night, you were in this bed alone, fantasizing this very thing.  You ended the phone call but you were wide awake, so you put on some music and grabbed your vibrator and lost yourself to the impossible fantasy now entering reality. 

In your fantasies, one or both of them was on top of you.  But Hyunjin surprises you with the opposite, taking hold of your hips and tugging.  You follow his direction clumsily until you are straddling his lap.  He is hard between your legs, holding you there against him while he cups the back of your head and kisses you. 

You can’t believe you thought Hyunjin was a romantic little angel.  He is an absolute demon, rolling his hips under you with the same unhurried pace Jeongin used.  You are so wet and turned-on, so delirious with need, for a second it feels like there is nothing between you, just the hard shape of him against your softness.  But no, there are thin layers of fabric between you, stretched so tight it is like they are not there. 

Jeongin curves his hand over the shape of your ass.  Your shorts are riding up from your position.  He could get an eye-ful at the right angle. 

“You’re so…” he says, but his breath catches like there is no word to do you justice.  It makes you look at him, your eyes locking in intensity. 

It ends when Hyunjin rolls, laying you onto your back again.  Then he sits back, leaving you there in a breathless pant. 

“What do you think about?” he asks.

You make a noise back at him.  It is supposed to be a question but it comes out garbled.  You shake your head, then manage to ask, “Huh?  Think about?”

He sits up and reaches into your bedside drawer.  You come to coherency when he takes out your vibrator. 

“Hyunjin!”  You cannot help but scold him.  “I told you to stay out of there!” 

“You know I like to investigate,” he argues.  “I can’t help it.” 

“Oh my god,” you say, slapping your forehead.  “I swear to god, it’s like being friends with a crow.”

Jeongin sits up too, laughing so much he has to cover his face.  He shakes his head as he comes up for a breath, pushing his hair out of his face. 

“Stop laughing,” you say, even while a few giggles escape. 

Jeongin just grins at you, then he reaches out and touches traces his thumb across your smile. 

“Are you going to answer?” Hyunjin asks. 

You look at him and snatch the vibrator back, clutching it possessively to your chest. 

“That’s none of your business,” you say.

“It could be,” he says, expression getting darker by the second, a playful smile turning to a dirty smirk.  He runs his teeth across his bottom lip then bats his eyelashes.  “If you think about us,” he finishes. 

“I—no—you—”

“It’s fine,” he says.  “It’s normal.  I think about you.” 

“Hyunjin,” you gasp.  You go to whack him with the vibrator then remember what it is.  You hold it against your chest again, embarrassed.  Hot in the face and everywhere else, you sputter more indignantly than you feel, “There’s nothing to think about with me.”

He looks at you like he can’t believe you are serious, his eyes dropping down your body then back up.  He laughs, covering a hand over his mouth. 

“Last night I thought plenty,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I wondered if you could come so hard it would make you cry.  I bet you’d look pretty.” 

You swallow hard.  Your hands are getting clammy, clutching the toy.  You cannot even fake any indignance, so turned on it is making your head spin. 

“That’s rude,” you say in a rasping voice, “I was crying and you were—”

“I waited to touch myself, thank you,” he teases. 

“Jeongin wouldn’t do that,” you say, looking back at him.  He is staring up at the ceiling, blinking too quickly and too innocently.  “Jeongin!” you exclaim. 

Hyunjin laughs some more, a gleeful little cackle behind his hand.  You huff dramatically, trying and failing to frown at them. 

“My friends are perverts,” you say. 

Hyunjin is reclining in an insouciant slouch.  Jeongin is sitting upright behind you.  You look between them as they look at each other, seemingly conversing through nothing but a series of blinks.  Jeongin smiles first, winking at you when you meet his eye.  He is holding your gaze when Hyunjin moves, smooth and quick.  They crowd you, one on either side, each with a hand on your thigh. 

You make a noise, a surprised little whimper as you spill onto your back.  You clutch the toy for dear life as Jeongin strokes your inner thigh and Hyunjin’s long fingers trace your waistband.  You gasp when Hyunjin slides right in, under your shorts but over your underwear.  You are so turned on that there is no hiding it, the fabric wet under his searching fingers.

“Takes one to know one,” he says with a smile.  “Maybe that’s why we’re friends.” 

“I don’t think we’re just friends,” Jeongin says while sliding the toy out of your hands.  He turns it on and your clit pulses under Hyunjin’s fingers, trained to react to the noise. 

Hyunjin laughs, his breath on your neck.  He moves his hand while Jeongin presses the toy between your legs, over your shorts and panties but nonetheless immediately effective.  You squirm a little.  The onslaught of sensation has your thighs twitching to close. 

The boys shuffle quickly.  You find yourself sitting between Jeongin’s legs, your back against his chest.  Hyunjin kneels in front of you, holding your legs open so you cannot escape the toy’s blissful torture.  You can feel an orgasm winding up ridiculously fast.  You have not had a proper relationship but you have fooled around, but it was never like this.  Even by yourself with a toy, an orgasm would take time.  You have a breath to realize you are going to come, hard, legs spread for your boys.

It hits you quickly but deeply, rolling vibrations of pleasure that have you rearing up.  You start to cry out and Jeongin covers your mouth even though you are alone, catching the sound in his palm.   He holds the toy with his other hand, keeping it in place while Hyunjin holds your legs so you feel every tingling second of aftershocks. 

When you whine into his palm, Jeongin lets you go and turns off the toy. 

The room feels very quiet when the toy stops.  You come to reality, remembering you are in your parents’ house in your old bedroom.  Your parents might not be home but it still seems wrong to get down and dirty with your old teddy bear staring at you.

Hyunjin follows your line of sight.  He grabs the bear and turns it around.

Okay. It’s fine now. 

You twist around and grab Jeongin, kissing him roughly.  He holds you as desperately, kissing back with the same fervour.  Hyunjin gets his hands on your shorts and tugs them down.  They are only off one leg, dangling around your knee, when he dives in and starts kissing your pussy through your underwear. 

You are still sensitive from your orgasm, moaning into Jeongin’s mouth while Hyunjin torments you with his.  When he moves the material out of the way, your legs start shaking again.  Jeongin reaches down to touch you too, his fingers brushing Hyunjin’s lips.  Hyunjin sucks the taste of you off his fingertips then dives back in. 

You are caught by surprise when you come again.  Jeongin catches your cry, covering your mouth again as you shake in his arms.  A tear spills loose just from the sheer sensation of such rapid orgasms.  Your body feels like a live wire, all lightning and electric energy. 

Hyunjin kneels upright, looking at the tear running down your face.  You whimper into Jeongin’s hand when Hyunjin licks it off your cheek. 

“Knew you’d be pretty like that, baby,” he says. 

You pry Jeongin’s hand off your mouth.  It goes easily.  In the end, they follow your lead.  You know your boys.  They would do anything for you.  They would start.  They would stop.  

You do not want them to stop. 

“Fuck me,” you say, so quietly it does not even penetrate the silence.   Even so, Hyunjin slides his hand between your legs and slides two fingers right inside you, so easily because you are so wet.  Jeongin squeezes your breasts in his hands, over your shirt then tugging the fabric up and over to get his hands on your bare skin. 

“What was that?” Hyunjin asks.  He brings those wet fingers to his lips and licks your wetness off them. 

“F-fuck me,” you say, still a whisper but clearer.  “Please.” 

“Well,” Jeongin says, kissing your temple.  He smiles at Hyunjin.  “Since you asked so nicely.” 

You all tumble over, laying on your sides.  Jeongin is nestled behind you, Hyunjin in front of you.  Jeongin lifts your shirt over your head while Hyunjin finally removes everything below your waist.  You slip your hand between your thighs while they whip off their shirts and boxers.

Then it feels like their hands are everywhere.  Yours too, reaching forward for Hyunjin, reaching back for Jeongin.  You hold his hip while he rocks against you, his cock gliding along your backside. 

“I’ll go first,” Hyunjin says, manhandling you onto your back then getting up between your legs. 

“You kissed her first,” Jeongin argues, shoving him.  Hyunjin shoves him back. 

“You’re bigger,” Hyunjin says, nodding to his dick.  “I’ll get her ready.” 

You did not actually get a good look at Hyunjin’s dick before he put it inside you.  If Jeongin is bigger, you are almost worried, because Hyunjin is bigger than anything you have had down there.  You make a keening, high-pitched noise, mouth open as he presses inside you. 

Jeongin lays beside you, reaching down to rub that still-tingling bundle of nerves.  It helps, your eyes closing and head falling back.  Jeongin kisses the exposed line of your throat while Hyunjin starts moving inside you. 

“Ohh—” you say, your hands moving all over his chest.  You clutch one shoulder and reach for Jeongin with your other hand.  He guides it to his dick, helping you find a rhythm, stroking his length while Hyunjin fucks you.

It goes on for a time, then Jeongin curses, squeezing your hand around him.  He nods to Hyunjin.

“Move,” he says.  “My turn.” 

Hyunjin, panting, pushes some hair off his sweaty forehead.  He moves backwards down the bed, stepping right off.  You yelp with surprise when he grabs your legs and yanks you down the bed.  He grabs your hips and flips you over, then gestures to Jeongin. 

“Your turn,” he confirms.  They switch places, Jeongin kneeling behind you while Hyunjin kneels in front of you.  You get up on your elbows, lifting your hips while Jeongin thrusts in.  He wastes no time, evidently already on the brink from your ministrations.  It means your gentle lover is suddenly pounding into you, your fingers forming fists in the bedsheets, yanking the covers everywhere as you pant and moan. 

“Sooo pretty,” Hyunjin says, cupping your face in both hands.  You know what he wants without asking, opening your mouth eagerly.  You doubt it is the best head ever, especially considering half your attention is on Jeongin, your body moving where he wills it.  But you manage, savouring the moment and already imagining every variation of position for the future. 

You look up at Hyunjin, kissing the tip of his dick then saying in a rough voice, “I want both of you one day.”

“Fuck,” Jeongin says and immediately comes, grinding deep inside you.  Hyunjin grabs you by the neck and puts you back on his dick, murmuring a string of expletives just as colourful until he comes. 

You think it is over when Jeongin pulls out.  Cum is dribbling out of your mouth when Hyunjin sits back.  He wipes his thumb over your lips, pushing them closed. 

“You can swallow,” he says.  His touch is a suggestion, not forceful, so you could ignore it.  But you gaze up at him and swallow.

And while you are doing that, Jeongin grabs the toy and puts it back between your legs.  You almost scream, bucking when it comes to life on your dripping pussy.  Hyunjin cups your face in his hands again, stroking your cheeks while you ride the pulsing vibrations.   Another couple tears spill and he wipes them away with his thumbs, cooing sweet nothings at you the entire time. 

They wring three more orgasms out of you before you basically collapse, exerted and sweating and panting. 

“God,” you rasp, laying on your side, still breathing hard.  “I’m gonna need to get in shape for this.  Two boyfriends is no joke.” 

The three of you laugh, then you get to enjoy the spoiled princess treatment that is having one boy to cuddle while the other fetches water and a towel.  When you finally get to sleep, it is nestled safely between your boys, murmuring sweet words at each other in sleepy tones until you fall asleep. 

-

Your parents return at lunch the next day.  While Jeongin helps your father grill and Hyunjin sets the table, you help your mother prepare a side dish.  She is practically beaming at you. 

“Do I want to know why you slept at the neighbour’s last night?” you ask. 

“Oh, my sweet girl,” your mother says.  She kisses your forehead.  “I heard you on the phone the other night.  I know you lied about having a boyfriend.”

“What?!”  You look at her with alarm and surprise.  “But – but you didn’t say anything!  You acted like Jeongin was my boyfriend the second he arrived!”

“Of course!” your mother says.  “Look my dear, anyone can find a boyfriend.  Walk onto the street and throw a rock, there’s one with his head out the car window like a dog.  Easy.  Not everyone can find a man who shows up to a party and pretends to be her lover, expecting nothing in return, and doing it just because he loves her.  And you found two.” 

Your mother wraps you in her arms.  You are still surprised but you hug her back.

“I’m sorry I made you feel so pressured,” she says.  “I just worried about you all alone in the city, but now I see you’re not alone.  But, you know, I am a mother, and I saw how those boys looked at you, so I figured… well…”

“Mom!” you cry, a little mortified she intentionally set you up. 

“Did it work?” she asks with an eyebrow wiggle. 

You are laughing helplessly, shaking your head, which only makes her laugh. 

“I knew it,” she says.  “Sometimes fate just needs a hand.  Maybe two.” 

“We’re not talking about this anymore,” you say, walking away. 

“You are glowing this morning.  Maybe I should get another man too.”

“Mom, please!”  

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #yang jeongin smut #jeongin smut #hyunjin x reader x jeongin #hyunjin x you #jeongin x you #hyunjin x you x jeongin #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader

[rustedhearts]

Raise Hell (Nascar!Steve x fem!reader)

summary: nascar driver steve harrington is a hot mess. literally. but when he keeps coming into your diner, staggeringly drunk and adorable, you can’t help but grow fond of him.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

hot wheels masterlist main masterlist

tags: nascar!steve, reader is referred to as ‘bunny,’ just fluff and flirting.

author’s note: i don’t know much about the mechanics of nascar because i’m more of a formula one fan, so some of the racing terms/descriptions might seem a bit more f1. sorry!

raise hell, praise…harrington?

talladega, alabama, summer 1995

In Talladega, a girl’s got two things to be: a country beauty queen, or stuck at her high school job. Stupid or stuck. You were stuck—specifically, stuck balancing trays of sweet teas and cokes, and burning your palms on the underside of steaming hot burgers and flapjacks. Stuck in the same stupid powder blue uniform and frilly lace apron you’d been swearing since you were seventeen. Sometimes, you started to wonder if you were no longer stuck—just plain stupid.

But two years ago, Nascar saw a new face on the tracks: one Steve Harrington. Donned ‘Pretty Boy’ for his princely good looks and boyish charm, he burned rubber like nobody’s business, and Alabama’s been in an uproar ever since. You normally didn’t welcome midwestern men with such open and loving arms in a place like this, but as the folks say: he’s one of us, honey.

And one of you he became. He even had the slight slur of a southern twang to prove it, and you came to hear it firsthand when he sat at the end of your counter one night last October, bleary-eyed and pink-cheeked.

“What can I get you, Hot Wheels?” You hadn’t meant for the name to slip, but once it was out there, you couldn’t take it back.

Luckily, Steve just laughed. Slumped on his palm, draped over the counter full of old crumbs and sticky syrup, he pointed toward a laminated menu beside him.

“You guys sell fries?”

You gave him a basket of hot, golden french fries fresh out of the fryer, salted to perfection by yours truly. When Steve saw them sitting in front of him, practically overflowing in their red plastic, newspaper-lined confines, his eyes got huge. He devoured the basket in five minutes flat. You turned your back to clean the coffee pot, and when you went to check on him, offer a glass of water to rouse him from drunken stupor, he was gone.

Sitting in his empty, grease-splattered basket were two hundred dollar bills. It’s still the largest tip you’ve ever gotten on such a small bill to date (or…on any bill).

When Steve Harrington stopped by the diner, you went home with a thicker wallet, a swollen heart, and a burning blush on your face.

You always heard his arrival before you saw his face. The smooth, low grumble of his Ferrari engine. His headlights blared through the blinds on the diner windows, whipping with effortless expertise into the front spot near the door. The headlights cut off, and moments later the door chimed as his lean figure stumbled through.

Designer sneakers scuffing the floor, black leather racing jacket with endorsement patches ironed on neat gleaming beneath the white fluorescents of the diner. He smelled like gasoline and boozy cologne—or maybe that was just the booze. Steve's favorite bar was just up the road: a swanky wood-paneled joint with a mechanical bull, and girls just out of college in skimpy denim shorts and leather cowboy boots. He always left with pink-tinged cheeks and a sway in his step, and though you disapproved of getting behind the wheel under the influence, you didn't mind that he raced all the way here just to get to you.

Tonight, like every night, he strode straight toward the counter and took his seat on a squeaky metal stool at the end.

He patted the counter, shot a finger gun at you, and smiled a half-cocked grin. "Hey, pretty girl."

Cheeks blazing, you rolled your eyes as you collected the coffee pot—freshly brewed just for him—and his basket of sizzling, golden fries. You placed the fries in front of him and flipped over a porcelain mug, pouring a steady stream until it pooled around the rim. No room for cream or sugar: how Steve liked it best. He was already five fries in by the time you placed the coffee pot back.

"Hey, Hot Wheels. Catch anythin' good tonight?"

Elbows pressed against the counter, you leaned over the stack of sticky menus and extra ketchup bottles to flash him your sweetest smile. You always laid it on real thick for guys like him. None of 'em tipped like Steve did, and none of 'em were nearly as handsome. None of 'em made you laugh like Steve did. Jesus, how stupid was that?

"Nothin' worth bringin' home, Bun," Steve sighed, head falling to his palm as his fingers made quick work of delivering fries straight to his mouth.

"Better luck next time." You shrugged, though you knew what this game was.

"No," Steve mused, eyes narrowed with a twinkle of mockery, lips coated in shiny grease and flecks of salt. "No, I don't think so. Know who I'd love to take out, though?"

You pulled away from the counter, that familiar flutter in your chest. You reached for the damp rag previously soaked in lemon sanitizing spray, wiping at the crumbs behind the counter. Steve always came in right when you were closing up. The first time he stumbled in, you threatened to kick him out, but something about those stupid puppy dog eyes and that sly, halfway smile made you stop. You always agreed to close on weekends, just to stay back and clean up after the strays and Steve Harrington. The diner was quiet, only the buzz of old lights and the distant whoosh of cars on the road keeping you company until he appeared.

"Who?" you asked, eyes flicking his way as he munched on his fries. The newspaper in his basket crinkled with his eager snatching.

Steve lifted his head, movements slow and bleary, and in your periphery, you could see it follow your every motion. His jacket made his shoulders look broad and big. You could smell the cigarette remnants still on his hands when you moved in front of him again.

"Come on, Bun," he huffed, that poor, sweet attempt at an Alabama drawl clinging to every word. The way he said your given nickname made your heart squeeze.

"Come on, what?" You flashed him a smile, pursed lips and scrunched nose, and he shook his head amusedly at it. He thought you were so beautiful, even in this ridiculous 1950s getup, hair frazzled and face gleaming with heat.

"When are you gonna let me take you out, sweetheart?" he pouted, hand bumping his empty, grease-stained basket when he dropped it to the counter.

Though your insides were stirring and the back of your neck felt like someone was giving it a pinch, you spun on your heel and reached for the coffee pot again, feigning an air of cool ease. You never wanted a man to have the upper hand on you, no matter how pretty that man might be. Your daddy taught you better than that.

Pressing close to the counter, you held the pot midway in the air, hovering, and caught Steve's eye. His were all whiskey brown and muddy green, more hazel than anything. It was only at this moment that you heard the Willie Nelson song humming on the jukebox in the corner. His lips parted when your eyes narrowed, catlike and dreamily charming.

You inched closer, leaning in like you were fixing to whisper a secret. "When you come in sober, Mr. Harrington."

You topped off his untouched coffee, placed the pot back, and sashayed toward the tables to wipe them down (for the second time tonight). Behind you at the counter, Steve gnawed on his lip, head tipping to admire the backs of your thighs where they caught the plump flesh of your ass beneath your shorts. He scoffed to himself, snatching the mug thrumming with heat, slurping at the potent black liquid.

If sober was what you wanted, sober you would get.

♡ ♡

Nascar was always on channel two, and when your manager Rod was working, he insisted on playing it on the tiny television behind the counter. He paced between the office in the sticky kitchen and the space behind the counter, munching on peanuts and sipping a jumbo Pepsi from the morning.

"Rod, maybe you should have somethin' else to eat." You whooshed a platter of burgers and fries over his head as you rushed toward your table.

"Nah, I'm waitin' for that-that Harrin'ton kid to come on," he excused, motioning toward the tv with a salted peanut palm.

You bit back a grin, sliding the plates onto the table for your eager customers. Wiping your hands on your apron, you headed back to the counter and leaned on the other side.

"What, excited to watch his engine crap out again?” you teased, giggling at Rod’s offended expression before flouncing off toward the kitchen for your break.

“That kid might not be from here, but he’s one of us now, Bunny!” Rod called after you, accent thick and slurred loose.

You waved a hand, eyes rolling. “Why d’ you think I give him such a hard time, Rod?”

You heard his hoarse chuckle as you hopped up on the empty steel tabletop in the kitchen, snatching a soggy fry from a half-empty basket. The cooks all murmured about a table that sent back a burger (there’s always one), and asked you about your shift today. The occasional ‘how are the kids,’ and ‘your garden holding up well in this heat?’ ensued, but most of them knew that when you had a moment to yourself back here, you preferred it in silence.

Billy, a line cook a few years older than yourself, whizzed by with a greasy silver spatula and a plate of perfect, crispy grilled cheese. He slipped it onto your lap as he passed, eye dropping in a wink, before he returned to the grill. You grinned in thanks, picking up the warm, shiny sandwich.

You were halfway through the first triangular slice when a holler jolted you on the table. You dropped the slice, rushing to place the plate on the table and skitter into the dining room again. Head whipping around, you searched for some sort of disaster—a hurt child, a choking customer—and found Rod screaming at the television, red-faced and glistening with sweat.

Huffing, you collapsed against the counter. “Rod, what the hell?”

Rod didn’t tear his eyes away from the television as he smacked his hands together. “Aw, come on! His car’s crappin’ out, he’s gon’ have t’ leave the race.”

You shifted toward the television, preparing to scoff at the urgency of Rod’s statement when sparks skidded over the track on the screen. Even in their pixelated form, the sparks were bright and sharp as a firework on independence day. You watched the cherry red car bounce, jostling the driver inside—clear cause for a biting backache. The car veered left, then right, then toward the off track where Steve stopped it.

Rod cursed, slapping his knee and shaking his head.

“Got-damnit,” he shrilled, easing up from the stool. “When’re they gonna put ‘im in a car that actually drives?”

Rolling your eyes and attempting to ignore the ball of worry the size of Texas aching in your chest, you slid away from the counter and headed back toward the kitchen where your food waited.

“When are you gonna get t’ work, Rod?”

“Eh.”

♡ ♡

That night, you soaked the linoleum in lemon cleaner and scrubbed at the vinyl booths, lights dimmed to keep customer count low until you actually closed. Rod left a few hours ago, and only a handful of cooks lingered in the back, shooting the shit and sharing smokes. You liked having the dining room to yourself while you closed up, humming along the radio and watching the road through the windows. You fantasized about a life with enough money to never wipe a table again.

Given the day he had on the track, the last person you expected to see that night was Steve Harrington. So when the door chimed open and shoes squeaked across the freshly-cleaned tile, you whirled around with a customer-approved smile in preparation for a sweet but curt “we’re about to close.” However, the customer service facade dimmed at the sight of that familiar pretty face and those colorful ironed-on insignias.

“Hey, Bun.” He sounded breathless and beat.

"Hey," you squeaked, dumbfounded by the sight of him.

The outline of his helmet still sat on his face: aggravated red lines indented around his eyes, across his cheeks and nose. His hands, Ferrari-red and raw, trembled as they swept through his tousled hair. "Mind if I sit, Bun? Long day."

Which is how he ended up slumped in a clean booth, head of slick locks thumped against the glass. It felt odd to see him in an actual seat instead of his usual at the bar, but he needed the rest. You could only imagine the sort of strain a car going 200 miles an hour while jerking around had on someone.

You slipped into the kitchen, and with a meek and quiet plead, had the cooks make one last batch of fries fresh for Steve before they left. Just enough for the driver to get his strength back up and feel at home again. The fried pile of grease glistened and sizzled in their plastic confinement on the way out of the kitchen, a cold glass of Pepsi fizzing in your other hand.

You brought them to the man still drooped in the furthest booth, head tipping to find his eyes. "Steve?"

"Hmm?" Blearily, the racer sat upright and blinked at you.

Flashing him a fond smile, you pushed the basket of fries closer to him. "Food."

"Oh."

He munched on the crispy golden potatoes for a while in silence. The back door clinked with the absence of cooks. You thought about getting up to flip the sign over to 'sorry we're closed!' but you couldn't find it in yourself to leave the table. Eventually, you slid into the booth across from him and watched him eat. He sucked down the Pepsi through a striped straw like a toddler gulping apple juice.

"Why did you come here tonight? I mean...you're in no shape, Hot Wheels," you remarked, watching him rub his fingers free of salt.

Steve's eyes flickered toward you below his brows, chin tipped toward his food. He straightened up when he saw you watching, giving his shoulders a shrug. He smelled like scorched rubber, gasoline, and a bit of bourbon-whisky.

"Had a shit day," he muttered, eyes returning to his fries with urgency. "Knew seein’ you would cheer me up."

A flutter disrupted the rhythm thumping in your chest. You felt it in your throat, too, settling like indigestion. You swallowed harshly to clear it away, easing the wonderment in your face with a little grin. Steve went back to finishing the thin strips of fry remnants sitting at the bottom of his basket.

Stripped free of liquored charm and that 'pretty boy' suave, Steve Harrington actually seemed...sweet.

"Hey, Hot Wheels?"

Steve looked up, lips glassy with grease. "Yeah?"

"You can take me on that date now."

♡ ♡

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[arcanesea]

sorry i can't say it sober | mingyu x reader | 1.4k w. WARNING: mentions of alcohol ((drink responsibly !!))

It’s not the first time you got a call at 2 in the morning, and it’s not the first time you unconsciously pick it up.

“I am so sorry for bothering you again, but Mingyu drank a lot more than he’s supposed to, and now he’s refusing to leave the bar and kept on asking for you…” A voice talking on the other end of the phone, from the frantic voice, you can tell it’s Seokmin. You could also hear other voices faintly in the background, complete with loud grunting.

You sat on your bed, rubbing your eyes before throwing your blanket away. Sighing, you replied, “Can you give this to him? Or put me on speaker.”

You heard rustling on the other end before a whiny voice calling your name.

“Can you not be a pain in everyone’s asses?” you ask. You went to the bathroom, securing your phone between your shoulder and ear.

“What do you want me to do? I’ll do everything you ask me,” he responded in an instant, making you confused. Usually, he would make you go out there and pick him up. Despite his height which is almost twice yours, you always manage to take him to the front door of his apartment.

“Just go home with your friends, Gyu,” you answered. There are 12 other guys with him right now and everyone can’t be drunk, right? Right?

“Okay…” he whines.

“You’re a real lifesaver, truly,” Seokmin talked to the phone again. “We’ll drive him home and I’ll text you when we arrive, thanks again!” he half-yelled before disconnecting the phone call. You stood there in front of your sink, groaning in frustration.

You walked back to your bed, picking up the blanket before fully covering yourself in it. You don’t know why is it always you that Mingyu asks for when he’s drunk, or why all of his friends immediately call you when something happens to him. It’s not that you’re uncomfortable, you know all of the guys and they’re nice guys, but sometimes, sometimes, thinking that everyone referred to you as Mingyu’s closest friends makes your heart do a backflip.

Obviously, emphasize the words friends. But isn’t it nice that you’re the first person everyone thinks of when they can’t get ahold of Mingyu when you know exactly where he is and it’s never with you?

You groaned again. Now you wished you were out there, driving him back to his apartment so you could hear him talk about how he’s grateful for you, about how pretty you look under the dim streetlight, and how you’re all that he has.

You were half asleep when you heard a knock on your door. You ignored it at first, but then it grew impatient. So once again, you leave your bed, annoyed.

What you saw on the peephole was enough to wake you up. You immediately unlock the door and pull it open.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you ask, voice barely audible with a hint of irritation. You didn’t expect Mingyu to show up here in only his plain black t-shirt.

“Are we not best friends anymore?” he just asks back, pushing his hair back. It’s gotten longer now and he has no intention of cutting it since you said that he looks more charming with that hairstyle. “It’s freezing cold out here, can I get in?” he whines again, cupping his hands in front of his mouth and blowing it. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

You step aside to let Mingyu in. Eyes wide open in disbelief, unable to answer a single question.

He makes his way to the sofa, plopping down instantly, and pulls a piece of fabric in the backrest to cover the upper half of his body. You shook your head, walking over to take a spare blanket.

“Why are you even going out with only a T-shirt at this temperature, stupid,” you mumble to yourself. You move some pillows to make more room for him on the sofa. You tried to take another one from underneath his neck, but clearly, you underestimated his strength without even trying. In return, the pillow pulled you down.

Your hand was quick to support you on the side of his head, but you could feel heat creeping up on your face as you held his gaze. For a second, you stayed there until his eyes shifted to your lips and you felt your throat dry. You stood up abruptly. Throwing the pillow on the floor before getting to the bedroom. 

You close it with force, leaning on the closed door as you try to slow down your heart rate.

A soft knock came after some time. You can hear him sitting down on the floor. He called your name once, then twice when you didn’t respond. Then one more time before you open the door to him sitting cross-legged in front of it.

“Do you need anything?” you ask, trying to steady your voice. He only shakes his head, pouting. 

“I need you,” he answered. His brows knitted as if he’s not sure of his own words. 

You let out a shaky laugh, leaning to the doorframe.

“Why are you even here, Gyu?” you asked. He’s been here plenty of times, but never drunk.

“When Seokmin said he would take me home, my immediate thought was you,” he answered. For someone who’s had too much drink, he articulate his answer pretty well.

“How much did you drink?” you ask again, laughing genuinely this time. He looks at you and then starts counting on his hand.

“I don’t remember, I can’t count,” he said, pressing his hands to his head. “Ow… There are two of you… I feel attacked…”

“You need sleep, c’mon.” You said, helping him stand up. You lead him to the sofa, trying to arrange the pillows before ordering him to lie down. “You came here, try to survive on this sofa because I am so not sharing a bed with you.”

You were about to leave when he called your name once again. He was half-sitting, just looking at you.

“I mean it, you know… I’m sorry I can’t say it sober, but you’re all I ever wanted.”

“And I would gladly respond to that when you are. Good night, Gyu.” 

He would probably forget it in the morning, right? 

You weren’t the one who drowned in liquor the night before, but you got a massive headache from the thoughts of Mingyu in your living room. You suppose he would already leave by the time you step out of your room, leaving you with some kind of sorry notes, and then everything would go back to how it was before. Except you remember every detail from last night clearly and he might not.

So when you saw him in your kitchen, you almost got a second heart attack.

“What are you still doing here?” you ask with a low voice. Mingyu turned around with a wide smile and a pan in his hand.

“I made you breakfast.” He said. The way he said it, was so natural, almost like he didn’t just said all that the night before. You sat down cautiously, trying to get a read on him. He poured half of the scrambled egg on top of the toast he already prepared.

You pour yourself a glass of water and take a sip. 

“I’m starving,” he said. You watched as he started clearing the content of his plate while you took a small bite, pushing the nervousness down.

“I’m also here to wait for your response. I think I’m sober enough,” he said. You choked on your water, making him laugh a little as he pushed a napkin in your direction.

“You… remember?”

“Yeah… It was weird, wasn’t it?” he asks back, eyes squinting. “But I… I actually don’t know how to say it to you, because we’re too comfortable like this, and if I told you how I feel, I’m afraid you will hate me.”

“So, you what? Hook up with other girls, trying to see if it will make me jealous?” you retort.

“Oh my God, is that what you think I was doing?” he quips, standing from his chair. “I was never… Wow… Why would you think that…”

You just rolled your eyes in response. Trying not to smile.

“I’m serious,” he said again. “I can’t… no… I don’t want to stay friends.” 

“Who said we should?” you answer, standing in front of him. You put your hands around his neck, smile blooms on your face as you press your lips to his. He smiles into the kiss before pulling you by the waist. 

“Yeah, we definitely shouldn’t.”

a/n. this is an old writing-

prompt from the lovely @creativepromptsforwriting

#seventeen au #seventeen imagines #seventeen fic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seventeen angst #svt au #svt imagines #svt fic #svt scenarios #svt drabbles #svt angst #mingyu fic #mingyu au #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #mingyu angst

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 4

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: “Take It to the Limit” by The Eagles

Word Count: 6,000 Tags/Warnings: Major fluff alert. Some angst(ish). First date part 2…and a second date?

Part 4: Rocky Road

You enjoyed dinner more than you expected to. Dean was funny, and charming, and deeper than you might’ve expected at first glance.

He also didn’t let you even think of paying any part of the bill. In his view, he’d asked you out, so your purse was staying the hell away from the little black booklet.

The only problem was, the freely flowing conversation you and Dean had all through dinner kind of stalled after you left the restaurant. He’d chosen a spot in downtown, so the two of you walked leisurely down the sidewalk, under rows of soft overhead string lights and a gentle chill on the evening air. 

Dean had his hands in his pockets, and even that casual gait caught your eye. He looked good tonight in his black slacks and jacket. The dark blue buttoned-down worked for him too, just as well as the red plaid and jeans worked for him last night. Just like his gray lieutenant’s polo and navy pants worked for him.

In fact, you didn’t think there was anything that wouldn’t work for him.

“So, what’s next?” you asked. Dean glanced over at your question, looking a bit uncertain.

“Well, I’m gonna be honest. This is as far as I thought things through,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

You hummed and touched your chin. You paused and considered your surroundings. There were little shops, clubs, and restaurants on either side of the street. But then you spotted something nearby: a cart with a pink overhead. You smiled.

“You up for dessert?” you asked, pointing to the ice cream stand.

Dean shot you a slightly disbelieving look.

“Yeah? Ice cream after that fancy shmancy meal?”

You shrugged. “Why not? Come on.”

You looped your arm through his and tugged him along with you. He smiled at your enthusiasm and let you do it.

He later watched you try no less than five flavors of ice cream before you settled on the first one you tried—chocolate chip cookie dough. Which you ordered on a cone, with brownie pieces on top.

“The only way to do business,” you told him sagely. Dean grinned and held a hand to his chest.

“A woman after my own heart,” he said. “Here I thought you were gonna make fun of me for getting rocky road.”

“Why would I? I don’t discriminate when it comes to dessert…and only fun people get rocky road,” you countered.

“Tell that to my brother,” Dean scoffed. “He gets plain-ass chocolate chip. Every time.”

“Oh, you have a brother?” you noted with interest. “Any other siblings?”

“Nope,” he said, and accepted his cone from Steve, the guy operating the kiosk. “Just my giant little brother.”

“Giant?”

“…You’ll understand when you meet him.”

“When, not if. That’s encouraging,” you said with a smile. Dean shot you an amused grin back.

You held your cone with one hand while you rifled through your purse for your wallet with the other, but by the time you looked up, Dean was already handing over his credit card. Your brows furrowed.

“Dean—”

“This is all still part of the date,” he rationalized. His green eyes fairly danced with amusement, which you begrudgingly accepted with a sigh.

You then looked at your cone from all angles, trying to spy the best spot to start. You decided to go at it from the side. Though you tried to be graceful about it, you realized you hadn’t totally succeeded when a brownie piece almost fell off. You yelped and managed to catch it before it fell on your dress.

“Smooth,” Dean remarked. You shrugged and hummed happily while you took another bite.

“I told you. I don’t play when it comes to dessert,” you told him.

“Clearly,” he teased.

You briefly looked up at him through your lashes, making him smile. You really did have a pretty pair of eyes. And when your tongue came out a little to lick your lips, he was drawn to that as well.

And an even prettier mouth, he thought. Damn.

He raised a thumb to wipe away a bit of ice cream left behind on your lower lip. You blinked up at him, your eyes a bit wider, and he saw the bout of shyness in your resulting smile.

You shivered then with a bit of cold, whether from the ice cream or the chill on the air.

Dean’s mouth quirked, and he gave you his cone. “Hold this for a sec.”

You did so for him, but you watched him curiously as he shrugged out of his jacket. He wrapped it around your shoulders, like this was some kind of Hallmark moment.

Heh. Can’t believe Meg had it right, he thought, as he caught your blush.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

“Can’t let you catch cold in this little dress,” Dean reasoned. He tugged you in closer by the ends of his jacket.

Once again, his gaze was drawn to your face, your eyes, and finally your lips. You still held both ice cream cones between you two, but he could be careful enough to sample something else.

He started to lean in…

“Hey, man!” said Steve. “Don’t forget your wallet.”

Hesitating, Dean’s lips pursed as he turned his head to look back. Sure enough, he’d left his wallet on the counter. Letting out a subtle sigh, he glanced down and found you biting your lip in amusement.

He released you to go back and pluck his wallet out of Steve’s hand. The kid looked college age, and chilled out of his mind, like he didn’t realize he’d just interrupted another dude’s flow.

“Thank you,” said Dean, a bit pointedly.

Steve gave him a bored smile.

While you continued walking and finishing off your ice cream, you went with the flow of people coming and going; couples, families, people walking their dogs and with their children for an evening stroll.

You learned that Dean’s brother was a few years younger than him. The two shared an apartment, though Sam had a girlfriend, Eileen.

She worked at a specialty school, specifically with hearing impaired children, as she herself was deaf. Sam had learned a bit of ASL in school and worked on becoming fluent after they met. He was an assistant prosecutor working in the district attorney’s office.

“Wow. They sound like a power couple,” you remarked.

Dean inclined his head. “Yeah, they’re the smartest people I know, to be honest. They’ve been going strong for a few years now.” 

And he learned that you were an only child, raised by your grandparents, and still living in your childhood home with your grandfather.

You admitted to him that after your grandmother passed away a few years ago, you just never found it within yourself to move out and leave George alone. He still needed you…and you probably needed him too, in some ways.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Dean said. "Taking care of your people is number one."

You gave him an appreciative look. He wanted to ask where your parents were in this situation, but he didn’t want to pry if you weren’t up for sharing. It felt like something even more personal.

You then stopped in front of a beautiful French bakery. It was closed, but you could still smell freshly baked bread and sweetness through the glass doors. You leaned against them while you peered inside.

“Ooh, I’ll need to come back here,” you said, before you remembered that you did in fact have company. Dean sidled up next to you and crossed his arms in amusement.

“You want a piece of cake or something?” he teased. “I’ll get my crowbar from the car.”

You grinned. “Not the jaws of life?”

“That’d be a bit extreme for a glass door, don’t you think?” He raised a brow at you.

“Don’t underestimate the lengths I’ll go to for quality cake,” you quipped back.

“All right,” he chuckled. “I like a girl who knows what she wants.”

You’d lost count of how many times you’d blushed tonight, but it had to be a record. You turned to him, but unconsciously kept a hand on the glass door.

“When I was in culinary school, I dreamed of opening up a bakery just like this,” you said. There was the gleam of memory and nostalgia in your eyes, and Dean found himself getting swept up in it.

“What happened to the dream?” he asked.

You sighed, letting your hand fall away from the glass. You hesitated to confide in him, to reveal this much of yourself. But there was something about this man that…well, that made you trust him. Even with this part. You tugged his jacket closer to your body.

“My grandma died about a month before I graduated,” you said. “She and my grandpa raised me…after my mom left.”

Dean’s gaze gentled, while his brows drew together. That just about answered his question about your parents.

“How old were you when she left?” he asked.

“Officially? Six years old,” you replied, sighing heavily. “She didn’t want responsibilities.” 

He acknowledged this with a slow nod. He got the feeling your dad was never in the picture.

“Have you talked to her since?”

“No,” you said. “I lived with my grandparents from the beginning. She’d breeze in and out of town, from what little I remember. But one day, Gram finally asked her: When are you going to realize that you’re a mother?” 

You glanced away for a moment. “Well, after that…I never saw her again.”

You took in a deeper breath to steady yourself. You didn’t often talk about this, let alone with someone you’d just met. Yet again, you felt safe enough with Dean.

“But after Gram passed, my grandfather was already retired,” you continued. “I needed a job, not a pipe dream.” 

Dean had been listening to you with rapt attention. This was the first time he truly frowned. The wind was brushing strays of your hair across your forehead. He reached out and tucked a few strands behind your ear.

“Not all dreams are pipe dreams,” he said.

You flickered at a smile, looking up at him.

“Fair enough,” you replied.

Your eyes roamed his face this time, falling to his lips. You found yourself tilting up your chin when his face began bowing toward yours.

You felt his warm breath on your cheek, his hands grasping your arms, your hands gently resting against his sternum. By now, your heart was tripping up, double timing. And yet, you felt at ease as your eyes closed.

Only to be startled out of your wits when a dog yapped by your feet.

Even Dean jolted. His grip on your arms tightened on reflex. Both of you turned with wide eyes at the little Pomeranian that yanked at its leash. The woman holding it pulled her dog back.

“Sorry!” she called as she passed by. And she was still wrangling with the dog as she made her way down the sidewalk.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. You read the thought across Dean’s frowning face. Though you felt the same way, you still smiled.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek instead.

“Thanks for listening,” you said. “I know that was heavy for a first date. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes were warm when he looked down at you. You seemed to be honest and straightforward, which wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, he liked that a lot. In his experience, it wasn’t something he encountered very often with women.

Or maybe just with the women you’ve gone after, he thought.

“Nah, don’t apologize…but I’m sorry for your loss. I really am,” he said, thumbing at your cheek.

You could see that he meant it too. “Thank you.”

You ducked your head, fighting embarrassment. Not that he'd given to reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed, but you still couldn't believe he'd cracked you open like a book, without even trying. Andréa was sure to tease the hell out of you for that one.

You glanced back up and managed to spy something past Dean's shoulder. You smiled and took his hand. 

“Oh look! There’s a bookstore open,” you said, and led him farther down the path.

Dean later followed you, once again with his hands in his pockets as you browsed through each aisle. He should’ve known you were a reader. But you were cute, he thought, as your fingers brushed across certain spines of books while you scanned their titles and covers.

You glanced over at him. “I’m sorry. This must be really boring for you right now. I’ll come back another time—”

“No, no. I’m along for the ride,” Dean said with a smirk. It earned another amused look from you.

“Well, buckle up then,” you teased. You led him down to the Mystery section—murder mysteries being your favorite, you told him. He raised a brow at that.

“What? Were you expecting romance novels with telenovela-style covers?” you asked. And you draped yourself across the bookshelf, holding the back of your hand up to your forehead, like you were about to “faint.”

Dean shook his head at you, but his eyes were dancing again.

“Nah, give me a juicy mystery,” you said, as you continued to browse. “Clues, evidence, surprise twists, villain reveals…”

“Well, I’ll say that real life Magnum P.I. ain’t all that fun,” Dean remarked. That made you raise your head from the book you were inspecting and look over at him.

“Hmm, that sounds like personal experience,” you said.

He hesitated, but he eventually nodded. “Yeah. My dad’s a cop. A detective, actually, in homicide. Real Law & Order, you could say.”

Your eyes grew comically wide, and Dean had to laugh.

“Now that is interesting,” you said. “How long has he been a cop?”

“Heh. My whole life,” Dean replied. There was something behind his eyes that you didn’t miss.

“Hmm, something tells me being a cop's kid isn't all it’s cracked up to be,” you said. "Bet you couldn't get away with anything, huh?"

He smirked. "Not a damn thing. I coulda sworn my dad had cameras planted all over the house."

But no, his dad was just that good at reading him and Sam. Granted, it wasn't often that they tried to pull one over on the old man, but their teenage years had been...interesting.

You laughed lightly while you continued to browse.

“Your dad was tough growing up?” you asked. Dean considered you, and your question with a tilt of his head.

“My dad’s a good guy,” he said. “The best at his job. And he’s the toughest son of a bitch I know.”

You knew then that there was a story there, or maybe several, but you didn’t want to push it. Dean seemed to be at the edge of what he was willing to get into on the subject.

So you just nodded and chose a couple of books, which you insisted on paying for yourself. Unlike a meal or dessert, he hadn’t participated in this part, you reasoned.

“That’s not how that works,” Dean said, but he begrudgingly let you pay for your own books. You carried the bag out of the store with a satisfied smile on your face.

Dean shook his head with a smile of his own. Though he did take your free hand in his on the way back to the car.

Dean meant to take you back to your house…but maybe you weren’t quite ready for the night to end just yet. He was driving his sleek tank of a car down the main road when you got an idea. 

“Oh, we’re going to drive over the river,” you remembered. “There’s this little spot right before it where you can pull over and park, see the skyline… Have you seen it?”

Dean glanced over at you with a gleam in his eye. “I have. It’s definitely a sight to see.”

“I haven’t seen it in a while,” you said.

A smile curved his lips. “Well, that’s a damn shame. Let’s fix that.”

The Impala soon pulled into a clearing off the side of the road, just before the Kansas River. True to your memory, there was a beautiful view of the city skyline. The half-moon above sprinkled light across the water. The waves were otherwise black and choppy.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen it at night,” Dean said. You turned to him and smiled.

“Thanks for tonight. I had a really good time,” you said.

He raised his brows at you. “We’re not done yet. You’re the one who wanted to sightsee.”

You chuckled and nodded in agreement. You were feeling a bit warm with the heating vents on you, so you unclipped your seatbelt and shrugged off Dean’s coat. You folded it up nicely and draped it across your lap.

You didn’t notice it, but Dean’s gaze drifted over to you when you bared your shoulders again, revealing smooth skin and the tantalizing neckline of your dress. Even in the dim lighting, the vibrant green caught his eye. 

But it wasn’t until the car stopped rumbling so much that you noticed the radio playing hard rock in the background. It sounded like a lot of screaming and guitars to you.

“What the hell are we listening to?” you said.

“Hmm, not an Van Halen fan?” Dean replied, giving you a chiding eye. “Aw, I don’t know if I can trust you if you can’t appreciate Sammy Hagar.”

“Oh no,” you said with a laugh. “He likes mullet rock.”

“Yes, he does,” Dean grinned. “The bigger, crazier hair the better.”

You rolled your eyes. “All right, Hendrix. Mind if we change the station?”

You hand reached for the radio knob, but Dean’s hand batted yours away.

“Ey, ey!” he said, though a smile raised the corners of his lips. “Driver picks the music.”

 You full on laughed then.

“Okay, but can we please listen to something less grating?” you asked.

Dean snorted. “All right, your highness. Let me see what I’ve got…”

You watched him curiously as he reached over on his side and pulled out a few ancient relics.

“Oh my God. You still listen to cassettes?” you asked in disbelief. Dean shot you another grin as he sorted through a handful of them. He considered you for a moment, debating his decision.

He chose a cassette and popped it in. Soon, the rhythmic melody of a guitar filtered through the speakers. You tilted your head.

“The Eagles?” you guessed. The song was familiar…

“All alone at the end of the evening, and the bright lights have faded to blue,” crooned from the speakers. “I was thinking 'bout a woman who might have loved me. I never knew…”

“Wow, all right,” Dean said, grinning. “Guess I haven’t lost you to the Bieber pop masses just yet.”

You gave him an amused look.

“My grandfather is an Eagles fan,” you smirked back. Though you patted the Impala’s dashboard. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve got an old soul.”

“I prefer the term ‘vintage,’” Dean quipped. He noted the way you seemed to be admiring his car. “My dad played this stuff all the time when Sam and I were kids…I guess the car’s another thing he passed down to me.”

You looked over at him then. “Yeah? He give it to you as a graduation gift or something?”

He inclined his head, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Sort of,” he said. You smiled then, shifting towards him in your seat.

“Ooh, that sounds like a story.”

He acknowledged that with a nod, though he hesitated. “You really wanna hear it?”

You rested an elbow on the armrest between his chair and yours, chin in hand, staring up at him encouragingly. Your brows raised in a “go ahead” gesture.

With an amused sigh, Dean nodded.

“Believe it or not, after I graduated high school, I wasn’t sold on the whole college thing.” His lips twisted wryly. “That was more Sam’s beat. So my dad thought it’d be good if I followed in his.”

Your eyes widened. “You were going to be a police officer?”

Dean smiled. “Well, I got into the Academy.”

That was where he met Cas, all those years ago. First, they were sort of silently competing on their scores, each wanting to be the best in the class. For Dean, it was because John Winchester had been the best. To this day, he still held some of the top scores in the region.

Meanwhile, Cas had come from a strict, religious family that drove him to succeed in whatever he put his mind to. Cas hadn’t liked Dean’s casual, joking, surface-level arrogance, thinking he wasn’t taking it seriously.

Dean had thought the guy had a serious pole stuck up his ass.

“I was about halfway through, but I just…my heart wasn’t in it,” Dean said. “Cas could see it. He asked me why the hell I was working so hard if I didn’t really want this.”

“To beat me?” Cas had asked. “To level your dad’s scores? To prove you can be him? Frankly, that sounds idiotic. Not to mention, utterly pathetic.”

Dean hadn’t wanted to face it at first, but he’d known then that his archenemy was right.

“You know…up until then, I don’t think I’d ever considered what the hell it was I wanted,” he admitted. His fingers drummed on the Impala’s steering wheel.

He knew you were listening. Just listening, like you were taking in his every word. He didn’t know why, but your quiet attention made him keep trying to fill the silence.

“So I quit,” he said. “Didn’t tell my dad…but Sam was the one who put the Fire Academy paperwork on my desk. Once I worked up the nerve, I took the firefighter test on the sly.”

“Was your dad mad?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “At first.”

It had also been the first time he felt like he’d truly impressed his father. Namely, by not doing what John expected of him. That was more Sam’s territory.

“But after I made it through the Fire Academy, he gave me Baby,” said Dean.

He laid a fond hand on the steering wheel. It hadn't been the first time John said he was proud of Dean, but that day was still a good one, etched into Dean's memories. Sometimes it blocked out the darker ones.

“Baby?” you asked in bemusement. 

He blinked, looking over at you with a quirk of his lips.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, and swiped a hand over his mouth.

That, and the way his gaze dropped a bit, you thought he seemed a bit embarrassed. Not by his old-ass taste in music, but by the fact that he’d named his car.

What a giant dork, you thought, as your smile grew.

Leveraging a hand on the armrest, you leaned over and kissed his cheek for the second time tonight. This time you lingered a moment, leaving the mark of your lipstick behind. 

“It’s a good name,” you said.

Dean smiled back at you. Right about then, that was about the best thing you could’ve said.

He raised a hand to your cheek, brushing the back of his hand along your jaw. He settled on gently taking your chin between his fingers, before he leaned in and finally kissed you.

It started out slow as his lips moved against yours with purpose. Your eyes closed at the feel of him. Each new touch drew you in further, making your head swim with warmth, and your heart begin to race.

You unconsciously reached out and grasped the collar of his shirt. His hand moved to cradle your cheek and guide your head to the side, so he could deepen the kiss. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and his tongue soon swept across to sooth it. You couldn't help the small, pleasant shudder that ran through you.   

You weren’t sure who stopped first, but when your eyes eventually opened again, it was to those talented lips curving into a smile. 

“Not gonna lie, I’ve been trying to do that all night,” he said, chuckling a bit.

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up into your throat and managed to escape. “I know.”

You leaned against him, with your hand still curled in his shirt. Your eyes briefly lowered.

At the delightfully hair-raising feeling of his thumb brushing back and forth against your cheek, you glanced back up at him. Your smile became more flirtatious, yet still with a bit of nervous energy.

“Want to reenact the moment?” you asked.

Dean grinned and pulled you in again, flush against him this time. All while his music continued to play. You recognized another one from your grandpa’s collection. This time, you didn’t mind. 

This man might’ve been vintage in his tastes, but his touch made you feel brand new.

“What would you say…about doing this again sometime?” Dean asked.

That is, between feverish kisses on your front porch. You’d been trying to say goodnight for a few minutes now, but every time you tried, the two of you kept getting pulled back into the feel of one another.

He held you close against him, his hands molded to the curve up your hip and pressing into your lower back. Your fingers were alternatively tangling and soothing into his hair. You clung to his shoulders as his lips and tongue continued to rob you of your breath, as well as your good sense.

You were making out with this man under the porch light like you were a teenager afraid of getting caught by your grandfather. (He was probably asleep by now anyway.)

And you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been kissed like this, touched like this. The evening chill spread goosebumps across your arms, but your insides were warm and champagne-bubbly. All the while, his lips made slow, sensuous movements against yours. 

When you caught a moment to pull away, just to take in a few needed breaths, your eyes flicked up to his.

“I’d say make an appointment,” you teased. “I’m a busy woman.”

You tapped his chin with a finger, making him smile.

“Oh, yeah? Can you pencil me in…say, tomorrow at 7:00?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.” You raised a brow. “Anxious, are we?”

His smile faltered, just a little. “Too soon?”

“…No,” you admitted. If you were honest, you wanted to see him too. “7:00 is good.”

Dean was about to reply when the porch lights flickered overhead. Your brows furrowing, you turned and spotted your grandfather in the window by the front door. You didn't like the look of his smile, hinting with mischief.

“Oh my God,” you muttered.

“Did I make you miss curfew or something?” Dean joked.

Embarrassment began to heat up your face in record time. You groaned and shook your head as you turned in his arms.

“My grandfather, ladies and gentlemen.” Your lips quirked. “And his incurable wit.”

Dean’s hands fell away from you so you could reach for the door, just as you heard it unlocking from the other side. George cracked the door open a few inches and peeked his head out.

“If you wanna put on a show, you should sell tickets,” he quipped, giving you and Dean a raised brow.

“Grandpa, really?”

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Just kiddin’,” he said. “Hey there. Heard you’re the fireman who saved the cheeky damsel in distress here. How many does that make for ya this week?”

You sighed. And you pleaded with Dean, via your eyes, to be patient here.

“Well, wouldn’t call her a damsel, but she’s certainly the prettiest one so far,” Dean told your grandfather, though he shot you a teasing wink.

You couldn't help a smile. “Yeah, he’s got a caravan of us waiting back at the station.”

Dean chuckled along with George, who then gave him a more appraising look. Dean knew when he was being silently judged. He met the older man’s gaze directly.

“Anyway, sorry for crashing in. Glad to meet you, son. I’m George,” said your grandfather. He stepped out fully to shake Dean’s hand.

Dean took it with a firm, but relaxed grip. He nodded respectfully.

“Good to meet you. I’m Dean.”

“So I’ve heard,” George said, his tone a little enigmatic. “You plannin’ on seeing her again? ‘Cause I think you might be a special one. She had me approve no less than five different outfits before she decided. And I said, ‘Hun, if he’s half a man at all he wouldn’t care if you were dressed in a woolly potato sack and nothin' else—’”

“All right, is that Wheel of Fortune on back there?” you quickly cut in. A wilder blush was taking root down to your neck. You pointed back inside, where you could hear the TV playing. “I think your show’s back on.”

George’s eyes widened like he was catching on to you, reading between your lines. He “apologized” with placating hands.

“Okay, that’s my cue. Though I’ll have you know, it’s Shark Week on the Discovery channel. Wheel of Fortune’s for old people,” he quipped.

Dean smirked. “Hell yeah. Gotta love Shark Week.”

“Right?” George gestured at him as if he’d just found a kindred spirit. “A whole damn week of sharks.”

“Great! Well, sounds like the show’s back from commercial,” you hinted. Actually, you hoped he recorded those episodes. You loved a good nature documentary that made you fear the beach for another six months.

“All right, I got it.” Grinning to himself, George gave Dean one last tip of his imaginary hat. “G’night, you two.”

“Good night,” you and Dean replied, though yours was distinctly tighter, while he was more amused. He glanced down at you after the door clicked shut.

You bit your lip, meeting his eyes. “Sorry. No matter how old I get, that’s still his way of being protective.”

“As he should,” Dean said, chuckling a little. He bucked a gentle fist under your chin. “You’re like a daughter to him, right?”

Your lingering embarrassment began to even out into a smile.

“Yeah, basically.”

“With a sharp shooter like you, I’ll bet he doesn’t have a lot of chances to look out for you,” he remarked.

You inclined your head at that.

“Maybe,” you replied. You reached out to straighten the lines of his jacket. You’d managed to wrinkle him a bit since hanging out in his car by the river earlier.

“So…you said something about 7:00 tomorrow?” you asked tentatively.  

Dean grinned. But it soon faded as reality seemed to interject. “Ah…you know what, let’s do 7:30.”

His hands found your waist, but they soon slid around to hold you securely in his arms. It made a heady feeling rush through you, down to the tips of your fingers. You soothed through the mess you made of his hair and rested your hands on his arms afterwards.

“Are you sure?” you asked. Dean thought about it for a moment.

“Let’s do 8:00, just to be safe. I get off work at 6:30,” he said. He wanted to give plenty of wiggle room, just in case something cropped up.

You agreed, even though this aspect of things had the potential to make you anxious. You knew his job was unpredictable at times, but you were a planner, organized and detail oriented. And you did not like the unknown. Hence your mildly anal tendency to make checklists.

Dean could see the wheels turning in your head though.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. When he gave his word, he fully intended to keep it.

So he kissed away the reservations he saw in your eyes. 

Despite the pure magic that had been last night, today, you had a suspicious feeling.

It was 8:30 in the evening, and Dean still wasn’t knocking at your door. He hadn’t responded to your text either.

You were ready for dinner. This time in a black dress, nice, short, and enticing, as your grandma had long ago impressed on you: every woman should have a little black dress.

At 9:00, you gave into your instincts and tried to call him. It rang for a while, but ultimately went to voicemail. You sat on the living room couch with a glass of wine in one hand, your cell in the other, and you frowned.

You still hadn’t moved the vase of tulips from the coffee table, and you noticed them again. They were starting to open up nicely. 

Grandpa George glanced over at you from his favorite chair, watching your mood begin to sour with both annoyance and worry.

“He’s probably just caught up on a call,” he said, and raised a teasing brow. “Maybe saving another girl from a crapped out elevator.”

You shot him a droll look. “Thanks. But yeah, he probably just got held up at work…not standing me up at all.”

Logically, you knew it was probably the first option, but the less secure part of yourself wondered.

George relented when he saw how pensive you looked, with a tinge of impatience.

“You must really like this guy,” he said.

You looked over at him with a soft frown, but you didn’t answer. It told your grandfather everything he needed to know. Even with the protective walls you tended to put up whenever you were anxious, he knew you better than anyone.

“It may not be what you think. Just relax,” he said. “He’ll call eventually. And when he does, let him actually talk.”

You huffed. But your lips formed a smile as you nodded in agreement. 

Whatever was holding Dean up, you just hoped he was safe.

However, by 10:00 p.m., you were both worried and irritated. You changed out of your dress, but you kept your makeup on in one last ditch effort of hope.

You laid in bed and watched Friends reruns. Even though you knew every joke, it usually still managed to make you laugh.

Not this time, unfortunately.

But, Dean finally called around 10:30. You let it ring a few times before you answered your cell.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” you greeted flatly.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said. His tone was already full of remorse, but you couldn’t help it. You were feeling petty.

“I don’t think you get to ‘sweetheart’ me tonight,” you said.

“Look, uh…I’m sorry I’m not there,” said Dean. “I really am. I wasn’t trying to do this to you.”

…Damn it, you actually believed him. You heard the sincerity in his voice, along with how tired he seemed to be. And that was before he even got to the explanation.

“There was a five-car pileup on the road, and someone got T-boned on either side,” he said. “It took us basically all night to clear it up and get the injured out of there. Was a big mess. I just left the station a few minutes ago.” 

Your irritation soon fizzled into shame. You should’ve known.

“That’s…a really good reason,” you said.

“Just let me shower and I’ll come right out to you.”

You sighed. “It’s okay, Dean. Let’s just try for another time. You must be tired…”

It was his turn to sigh.  

“I know it ain’t okay,” he said eventually. “I can hear you clear as day.”

Your lips quirked wryly.

“How can I complain, Dean? You were literally saving people.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re all dolled up, and I’m not gonna get to see it,” he said. A bit of his usual charm and good humor crept into his voice. It made you smile.

“And I really put some effort into this smokey eye,” you quipped. You also curled a strand of styled hair around your finger absently.

“I’m gonna pretend I know what that means, but it sounds sexy as hell,” he replied.

Your smile deepened. “Okay, what about Tuesday night?”

“Hmm…sorry, that day’s no good. I’ve got a 24-hour shift Tuesday to Wednesday,” he said. “What about Thursday night?”

“Ah…I’ve got an appointment after work,” you said.

Really it was George’s doctor’s appointment, but you wanted to go with him this time to make sure the doctor was doing his best to diagnose George’s persistent cough.

He’d also been more tired lately, you’d noticed, even after a full night’s sleep. He was blaming it on old age, but you knew your grandfather. You knew when he was downplaying to avoid the doctor, or to avoid worrying you.

“Friday?” you posed.

“I’ve got another long shift,” Dean said.

Damn it. It seemed like his schedule and yours wasn’t very compatible. You were starting to get discouraged…

“Oh, wait,” Dean said, his tone perking up. “I forgot. I’ve got this Monday off, during the day…why don’t I take you out to lunch?”

“Lunch?” You considered it with a frown. “It can be hard for me to leave my desk. I have to take a lot of calls.”

Most days you worked straight through your lunch hour. But Dean’s reply was smooth.

“That’s all right,” he said. “How about I bring takeout? Office picnic.”

Slowly, you smiled.

“Okay. I’ll see you on Monday then,” you agreed.

“Yes, you will,” Dean said. His tone was firm. “You can count on it.”

AN: Okay! How did you like part 2 of their first date? (And Dean meeting George for the first time lol.)

Hopefully round two of their second date will go better. Though Dean finally meets the infamous boss...

Next Time:

“Hey, what’s your progress on the Greenway account…oh,” said Nick, pausing where he stood.

He took note of Dean in the room and straightened his posture. His expression changed from its lazy gait, to a more tightened one. You swore you could spot a tinge of annoyance as well, like he was surprised that he hadn’t caught you alone in your office.

“I see I’m interrupting,” he said.

Holding in a sigh, you looked over at Dean and found him similarly assessing Nick.

“This is Dean. You might remember him from last week, when the elevator broke down. He’s one of the firefighters who got me out,” you said.

Your hand fell on your companion's arm. “Dean, this is—”

“Her boss,” Nick said. He seemed to lighten up and give Dean a smile, reaching over to shake the man’s hand. Dean obliged him.

“So I’ve heard,” he said.

Keep Reading: PART 5

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

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#Rocky Road #Smoke Eater #Part 4 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part eleven

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content, mentions of death, scars

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 11.4k

Early Tuesday morning, you opened the door to Alexia who–to your surprise, but not really–had on a pair of training shorts, a plain jersey under an unzipped hoodie, a New Era cap on, her hair left down while a pair of sunglasses completed her look. And just like the other time she came to visit, she had you in her arms the moment she was close enough, pulling you into her for a kiss on your temple and then your lips.

“Hello, you.” You said as you pecked her cheek, smelling the familiar sharpness of sunscreen on her skin. Then you held her at arm’s length so you could look at her better before you asked, “Did you just come from training? I thought you won’t be back until Saturday?” 

Alexia chuckled, clearly amused, raising her brows at you for your shameless display at checking her out. But who could blame you, really, with her looking so damn good in a training jersey. She replied, “No, I’m actually–”

She halted, tilting her head to the side to look over you, and then she switched to English when she spoke again, taking her sunglasses off to place them on top of her cap as she grinned, “Hola, chiquita, you ready?”

When you looked over your shoulder you saw Elisa framed by the archway and the open door that led to the backfield, standing in her favourite Alexia jersey and Barça shorts, cheeks tinted red while her forehead shone with sweat, a football between her hands. 

“Hi, Alexia!” Elisa’s hand fluttered in an eager wave, her grin a brilliant beam, before she began to take off her sneakers and zoomed right up the stairs, shouting over her shoulders. “I’m ready! Lemme just grab my stuff!” 

Ah, now it made sense. 

You wondered why Elisa couldn’t sit still last night and even during the day, she practically buzzed with excitement. Initially, you associated the surge in energy from the promise of another day spent with Alexia, but now you understood that whatever the two of them had planned involved football and that was the reason why Elisa’s enthusiasm for today had increased twofold. 

As if Alexia was your mirror, you found her reflecting your expression when you turned back to her; she had an appraising gaze fixed on Elisa accompanied by an amused smile, and your heart filled with the urge to kiss her so you did. You kept your arms loose around her neck when you parted so you could look into those eyes you found yourself missing every minute that you were apart.

“When did you guys plan this?” You asked as you toyed with the ends of her hair.

“When we were at the Barça store. Elisa asked me for some tips and I offered to train her for the day.” Alexia hummed, fiddling with the hoops of your jeans. Then the inner corners of her brows quirked up, bashful when she asked, “I hope that’s okay?” 

Touched by her thoughtfulness, you traced the line of her brow as you spoke, “More than okay as long as it’s alright with you. And I should be thanking you.”

“It is, don’t worry. I get to spend time with the both of you and play football at the same time. Win-win.” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone and flashed you a radiant half-smile, and it made your chest and cheeks warm, obviously charmed by her, and the lightness in her eyes made those words all the more earnest to you. So you cupped her cheek and pressed a soft kiss against her jaw in gratitude. 

Then you whispered, “Thank you.”

Alexia pulled up at a deserted football pitch, the morning still early enough that the dew had not entirely dissipated from the grass when you got out of the car. The sound of the doors closing echoed from the emptiness of the space, Alexia’s call over the roof of the car sounding louder than it actually was. 

“Chiquita, I’m gonna need your help unloading the equipment at the back.”

Elisa stuck a thumbs up into the air as an answer. 

As you made up your mind that you’d just watch them do their thing, you tinkered with your camera around your neck, following them to the trunk but after Alexia popped it open, the sight both surprised and amused you. When Alexia said equipment, you’d envisioned a bag of balls, several cones, and the like but what you hadn’t considered–when in fact you really should’ve–was Alexia’s disposition for coming prepared, the scene in front of you a testament against your blatant underestimation of her ability. You watched them haul bags upon bags from the trunk–ranging from pop-up goals, agility poles and ladders, rebound boards, and other football paraphernalia–and as you spied the growing pile of things by the side of the car, you snapped a photo before laughter escaped your lips.

Two pairs of eyes darted your way with equal confusion, stopping their busy hands for a moment. You pointed at the pile, “Do you always keep these back here?”

“Why, of course, darling. All the time.” Despite the dryness of her tone, the term of endearment set your cheeks aflame. Then Alexia raised her brows at Elisa, “Elisa, could you please tell your mom to stop being mean and help us?”

“Yeah, Mom, stop laughing at us and come help, please.” Elisa giggled, gladly playing along before she eventually returned back to her task.

You scoffed with no real sting to it, grabbing the water bottle rack and slinging a bag over your shoulder as you whined, “I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me.”

At that, Alexia only scrunched her nose at you, smiling, before she closed the trunk–all the equipment were out finally!–then the three of you began lugging everything to the empty field, happy to follow their lead. After setting down the things you took where Alexia and Elisa were, you went to the sidelines, unfolding the chairs Alexia brought along. When you turned back to the scene, Elisa was already doing some stretches–as per Alexia’s instructions probably–while Alexia set up and, once done, she joined Elisa to warm up as well. But before she started, she waved you over as she called out, “Come join us!”

The desire to join them wasn’t lost to you but so was the weight of your omission to Alexia about what happened while you were gone–what would you say when you pass out from exertion if you joined them?–so you gave her a dismissive wave, lifting your camera as an excuse. Relief filled you when, with a shrug of her shoulders as if to say it was your loss, Alexia patted Elisa’s back before she pointed to the opposite goal line, taking off in a jog right after, their strides in time with each other. You put your camera over your eye and took a photo of them, but even though you busied your hands with the lever and buttons of your camera, your mind remained occupied with another matter.

The past few days were spent in a state of bliss; the ease by which you and Alexia had slipped back into each other’s lives was more than a surprise to you, pleasant in its own right but it was beginning to dim the longer you kept your story to yourself. It wasn’t a deliberate omission. You just hadn’t found the right time to breach the topic because, after all, how could one easily part with such a fact to a lover when even you dare not step to that precipice and stare into that void? But you knew you at least owe Alexia that much; to enlighten her about what she was truly signing up for. 

Today. 

You promised yourself you were going to talk to her about it today.

Returning back to yourself, you regarded the scene before you, took photos, and shouted encouragement every now and then. It continued on for a couple more hours: Alexia, who had occupied the role of the trainer, stood a vigilant watch over her novitiate, guiding Elisa with instructions you couldn’t quite hear but the complementing gestures she made gave you a semblance of what they were, as she exclaimed and clapped her hands to compliment and motivate; and Elisa followed with apt diligence, serious and attentive to every line, every move. By the time their feet had stopped disturbing the grass, the sun neared its highest peak, its warmth and the promise of a good day had already invited more than a handful of people to occupy other parts of the field. 

After they’d finished cooling down, you watched Elisa run off to the restrooms while Alexia trudged her way over to you, bags of equipment on her which she deposited on another growing pile on the sideline, taking a water bottle in hand. She brushed her hand over the nape of your neck for a second before she dropped to the chair next to you with an audible huff, and you patted her knee in response to her apparent exhaustion while she drank from her bottle, just a little out of breath. 

“Damn. Sorry, I forgot to bring the umbrella.” Alexia said as she shielded her eyes to look at you, one eye squinted from the harsh light. She softly grazed a knuckle over your cheek, “Did you put sunblock on?”

You replied in the affirmative as you leaned into her touch, and Alexia nodded in approval before she took her hand away, taking another sip of water. In the silence that followed, you thought, ‘Should I tell her now?’

“Alexia, I–”

Alexia’s lips crinkled around a mouthful of water, raising her brows at you before she jutted her chin forward. Confused, you looked to where she indicated and found Elisa surrounded by a group of kids, some of them taller and looked to be slightly older, who now occupied the once empty space that Elisa and Alexia had just been training on and in a blink of an eye, a small game of football had commenced. Shouts and laughter filled the air as they continued, passing, tackling, shooting; Elisa flew untethered along with her peers, face free from any worries and filled with glee. 

The two of you were a fair distance away from the youngsters that they hadn’t noticed nor recognised that Alexia watched over them with a proud–if not a bit sombre–countenance for the sight, probably, to her, was a validation–proof–of how far women had cemented their place in football compared to when she was of their age. These kids, boys and girls alike, now had their own paragons of light to follow, the names and numbers of their guiding stars shining bold on their backs–the names of women… Alexia’s including. You regarded the woman next to you, chest welling up at the soft gaze you saw there aimed towards the children, a thought clear in your mind that you longed to speak, ‘This is the fruit of your labour, what you and the others had fought–and still fighting–for.’

Alexia’s eyes flitted to meet yours as if magnetised by your volition, the colour of them almost green against the backdrop of the field.

“If Elisa was given the chance to play for Barçelona’s youth team, what would you do?”

You blinked as the question caught you off guard. There was no doubt what you would do but the abruptness by which it was brought up made you squint your eyes at her. Why would she bring that up unless she knew something? Unless she was about to do or already had done something? But as you regarded her with a careful eye, you found nothing in her features that betrayed answers to your questions, her face a blank canvas–perhaps a bit too neutral.

“Alexia, did you do something?”

Alexia shrugged, pulling the corners of her mouth down for good measure before it settled to a smile, then she answered in the negative, “Nothing. It was a question. Purely hypothetical.” 

Her answer did little to convince you but you answered in truth anyway. “Move here, of course.” 

At that, Alexia only hummed but a light twinkled in her eye–one not dissimilar to the one you found in them the night you met–a light that told you she knew something you didn’t. She brushed her thumb over her chin before she tore her gaze away, focusing her attention back to the match in front of her. And before you could question her further, excited screams filled the air and, when Alexia stood right after, you knew she’d been found.

You stood aside as the kids flocked towards Alexia and you captured the scene with a smile while Alexia conversed with the kids, bumping their fists and posing with them when they asked for a photo. You felt a presence beside you and, upon turning your head, saw Elisa with a look of admiration on her face, a mirrored expression among the children there. It went on for a bit and another game of football commenced but now with Alexia in the mix, but half an hour later, you were all packed up with everything back in Alexia’s trunk, and the three of you were off. 

On the way back after lunch, Elisa and Alexia chatted, discussing things about football with equal enthusiasm. The sound of their amusement filled the car, and with the day ending on such a high note, you felt compelled not to say anything about what you planned to tell Alexia as you didn’t have the heart to bring it down. 

And as you laughed at one of Alexia’s dry jokes, you resigned your promise.

Tomorrow. 

You would talk to her about it tomorrow. 

Unlike the day before, Alexia came by early–early enough that Elisa was still asleep while you, yourself, only woke up just about half an hour ago–but that was no surprise. It was rare for Alexia to sleep in; the rigorous conditioning her body had borne throughout the years made her circadian rhythm almost permanent, something that you’d teased her about from your time before–something that you teased her about just then.

“I don’t hear you complaining about it.” She muttered against your ear and, though you couldn’t see it for she had her front pressed against your back with her hands gentle on your hips as you made two sets of coffee, you could practically hear the pout in her voice. 

“I’m not! It’s actually kinda cute.” You laughed before you added, “You’re cute.”

“I’m really not,” Alexia practically whined, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and the feel of her there tickled you, so you tried to angle yourself away but she clung to you as you felt her laugh against your skin.

“Alexia! You’re going to make me spill the coffee!” 

When the both of you finally made it to the couch with no drop of coffee spilt, you tucked in by Alexia’s side, her arm over your shoulder as the both of you revelled in each other’s company, sipping at your beverage, you broached the news to her. 

“Your brother’s coming here?” She asked with surprise and with both brows raised.

At how she posed the question, you couldn’t help but giggle. “I love the way you made it sound like he’s not the one who owns this house. But yes, later today, probably around evening or earlier, depending on when he’ll finish his meeting in Madrid this morning.” 

Alexia blew a puff of air, a bit petulant, as she muttered low–although still deliberately loud enough for you to hear, “It’s kinda easy to forget when he’s never here.”

The both of you broke out laughing. Then a pensive look took over her demeanour, her fingers fiddled with the ends of her hair, something that you noticed she did whenever she felt at peace or whenever she was worrying about something. You had a feeling it was the latter with the way her brows were slightly creased in the middle, but the question that left her lips, which was spoken in a soft tongue, confirmed your inkling to be true.

“What’s he like?”

Ah. 

Seeing Alexia unsure about herself was a rare occurrence, even more than seeing her vulnerable which was saying a lot. So you laid a hand on the nape of her neck, chest warming when she leaned back to seek more of your touch, and you ran your thumb over the skin just below her ear to keep her at ease. 

“He’s… my best friend and the best brother I could ever ask for. He’s funny;  likes to tease me a lot, but he’s protective.” At the mention of the word, Alexia’s frown deepened before you could even finish what you wanted to say, “And trust me when I tell you, he’ll definitely like you.”

But your reassurance seemed to have gone out the other ear for the movement of her finger didn’t cease and her eyes remained clouded with something akin to worry. You allowed her another moment more with her thoughts before you booped her nose and watched as her eyes fluttered, the light of her presence returning in them as she regarded you. And so, with light amusement, you said in the hopes that Alexia would finally listen, “Just give him the same attitude you gave me a minute ago, you’ll get along really well.” 

At that, Alexia let out a small chuckle and, as it trailed off, the smile that graced her lips lingered; what you said hadn’t fully expelled the doubt from her eyes but the fact it was lessened made you feel better. 

Alexia sighed after another lapse in silence. “I just want to make a good impression, you know? And thank him.”

“Thank him for what?”

She shifted so her face was angled more to you and held a gentle finger on your chin to keep you looking into her eyes, soft and earnest.

“For intertwining your fate with mine,” she said, each syllable spoken with the gentlest of air.

Your heart stuttered at her confession, the gravity of it heavier with Alexia’s belief in fate, and words eluded you so you could do nothing but take her hand to reveal her palm, and kissed her there.

Then after another brief pause, Alexia asked, “Does he know about us?”

“I think so. I haven’t told him anything directly but I think he’s put two and two together.” You pushed the memory of how your heart monitor betrayed you back from the forefront of your mind, but your cheeks heated up anyway. As you massaged the spot between Alexia’s brows with your thumb in the hopes of soothing her frown away, you added, “Please, don’t worry about it too much. He’s Derek; as long as I’m happy, he’s happy.”

“And are you? Happy?” The vulnerability that you found in her eyes made you ache, not unpleasant, just a sense of fullness that longed to break free. You pressed a kiss on her temple, then to the corner of her lips.

“More than I could ever put into words. You make me so happy, Alexia. You really do.”

Later that day, just around late afternoon after spending most of the day training–you, of course, only a spectator–the three of you found yourselves walking along the beach after a late lunch. It was a bit further on when, as you conversed with each other, an exclamation made you stop and look over your shoulders.

“Oh, my god.”

Standing a few paces behind you was a young man, tall in frame, cheeks still round with traces of his youth, the stubble along his jaw and chin a direct contrast, making it known to you that he’d probably just recently entered his early twenties. The first thing you noted was the camera that dangled from his neck–you recognised the model, vintage–and you barely schooled your features from showing your surprise; he was a photographer not only for leisure but if he was, well, that was one expensive camera for a hobbyist. 

Habit made you step aside–you’d been out in public with Alexia a handful of times now to know how this would go–but as you did, the young man’s eyes followed you, intent, and that confounded you. 

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt you?” His brown eyes flitted between you, Alexia, then Elisa, his small smile apologetic as the paleness of his cheeks turned rosy.

Alexia waved a careless hand in the air as she spoke in English, “No, you’re okay.”

“How can we help you?” You asked, smiling at him politely. 

The man stepped forward as he patted the pouch of his shirt, then he dug his hands into his jean pockets, then you watched him procure a marker, his hands shaking as he handed it to you. 

“I can’t believe it’s you. I wish I had your book with me but I don’t–I, I’m sorry, can I get a photo and your signature?”

You couldn’t prevent the surprise from showing on your face even if you had the time to try. Your eyes drifted to Alexia, and the question that was clear in your mind that you knew Alexia could probably read on your face. What was happening?

The action of yourself nodding preceded the intention and you watched, still in a state of confusion, as the man handed his phone over to Alexia so she could take a photo of you both. As you posed and looked at Alexia behind the camera, you found a familiar light in her eyes and from the slight upturn of her brows, you knew Alexia was more than slightly amused at the role reversal. When Alexia began to count down, you smiled at the person taking the photo more than for the image itself, and once done, she handed the lad his phone back.

You signed the back of a used plane ticket–the only paper of decent quality, as per his words, that he could find on his person that could house your signature–and after handing it back to him, you said, smiling, “I’m sorry if I looked more than a little confused. This doesn’t happen often, I only ever get asked for photos at events, and it’s usually the other way around!” 

“No, please, don’t be sorry. I–I just truly admire your photojournalistic work,” he stuttered as he tucked the plane ticket in his shirt pocket. “I read your book about your most recent conflict coverage and that photoset… It chilled me to the bone the first time I saw it. I’m sorry you had to see that in person.”

Images tore their way out from the shadows of your mind, their teeth bare and gnashing: vacant eyes from where souls were ripped away, crooked fingers accusatory, and the stench–

You shut your eyes as a malignant chill crept over you, crawling under your skin that left your muscles weak, and even beneath the Barcelona summer sun, you trembled. And the memories flooded back: Elisa with her mother, the shots, and now the scars on your body burnt anew. You took a deep breath and took careful note of where you were: there was a baby crying a few paces away, a large wave just arrived home to the shore, there was a call of a seagull overhead, someone with coffee walked past you, and… there was the familiar warmth and weight of Alexia’s hand on your back.

The moment you opened your eyes, the man was looking at you with concern and regret while, when you turned your head to the side, Alexia and Elisa were obviously distressed.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

You held a hand up before the man could hurt himself. “It’s alright. They come back to me sometimes without being reminded so you don’t need to apologise. And thank you for your concern.”

More than willing to change the topic, you jutted your chin at his camera, “Are you a photojournalist, too?”

“That’s the plan. I’m only working freelance at the moment and I’m not really sure which branch to pursue. I can hear conflict photojournalism calling to me, though.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. In his answer, you sensed a ‘but’ so you asked as much.

He casted his eyes down for a moment before he regarded you again, gaze wary. “But… I’m scared I won’t be able to handle seeing those things in person. And I’m scared of being hurt, of being killed. Just like what you saw and what… what happened to you. I don’t know if I could survive it.”

From the corner of your eyes, you could see and feel the weight of Alexia’s stare–a burning question that branded you–and you clenched your fist as guilt flooded your veins. Foolish! You should’ve told her yesterday. She deserved more than hearing about it like this. But no matter what was done was done–the moment had passed–and the only thing you could do now was to tell her after this. 

Despite your inner turmoil, you focused on the man, and smiled at him softly for you understood what he was going through, the same place you once stood before you answered the call of that very wind.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a difficult choice to make. The camera cannot shield you from the danger and the violence and, well, death, but it can bear witness, and can show the world what’s happening. You have your whole life ahead of you, you don’t need to jump in just yet. And if you hear that call again a bit later and find yourself ready, then, why not?”

At that, the young man’s demeanour brightened. Then his brows scrunched up, now seemingly worried, his question spoken with a light, enquiring air, “You mentioned in your book that this was the closest you’d ever come to dying, do you think you’ll ever get back into conflict photography?”

With the uncouth way it was posed, the question made you flinch with its directness. You had half a mind to reprimand but you recognised this–the journalistic instinct to question, to uncover, even if certain situations shouldn’t warrant such intrusions–so you let it pass because as was the case for every learned skill, interviewing demanded the same amount of practice to develop. He was young, he still had so much to learn and time, as was the case for everything, would be his teacher. 

A shuffling sound drew your attention to Elisa who was standing close to Alexia, clutching your lover’s hand with both of hers in a firm grip, her wide eyes fixed on you upon hearing what the man said, a sombre question reflected in her eyes, ‘Are you going to leave me, too?’ 

Although the call was very much there–the need to be the echo chamber for those who’d lost their voice still strong in your soul–you found yourself now tethered: to love and responsibility, so you shook your head, more so for Elisa’s sake than the man’s.

“It’s selfish, I know, but I have so much more to lose now. But, as I said, the call will always be there and I can’t control what the future brings, so who knows, really?” You shrugged, smiling at the man.

Satisfied, the man retreated but not before you gave him a business card for you and Derek’s firm; with a little bit of guidance and experience, he had potential to do good–although you did warn him that a spot for him wasn’t guaranteed, but he still accepted it gratefully. Once the man finally left, Elisa approached you, her shirt bunched up at the hem from the firm grip of her fists, eyes wide as she gazed up at you.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

You cupped her cheek and brushed a thumb under a glassy eye–Elisa was upset.“I’m alright, honey. How are you feeling?”

Elisa’s chin quivered and a tear ran down her cheek, and when she spoke, her words were whispered in haste. “Are you going to leave? Please, don’t, I don’t want you to get hurt again, I don’t want you to die. I–” 

Oh, Elisa.

Immediately you took her into your arms in the hopes that you could ease her distress and when she clutched at your shirt as her tears soaked through the fabric, your heart began to ache and your eyes burnt as well. 

“I’m not leaving, ladybug. I’m not. I won’t leave you behind, I promise.”

The ride to the house was a silent affair; even the short walk that led up to Alexia’s car was suffused with silence. After getting in the car and putting her seatbelt on Elisa immediately dozed off–from the emotional toll on top of the physical strain she’d endured during the day–and it was relieving. Alexia on the other hand…

Ever since she’d heard the words from Ben–the photojournalist–she completely receded and everything she did, seemed to you, were performed on autopilot; her every movement mechanical, stiff. Her face remained stoic: her brows formed a flat line, the light in her eyes so ineffably dim made it known to you she was somewhere far away; the way that her hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles told you which plane Alexia had found herself in–a hellscape. 

It hurt seeing Alexia like this and you felt like you had to say something but you bit your tongue and instead, you placed a gentle hand on her right knee and applied just enough pressure to hopefully pull her back from her thoughts. It seemed to work for when she glanced at you, her mask of passivity cracked with the way her gaze softened, her lips now pressed into a thin line, almost quivering. The moment only lasted seconds but it left a profound mark in your heart, made all the more indelible when Alexia took your hand in hers–even with the heat from Barcelona’s summer evening, you felt her palm cold as ice–and intertwined your fingers in a firm grip while the other remained to steer the car until you reached the house.

By the time you arrived, the last vestiges of the sun tinged the skies in its sombre purple and pink, the tangerine glow from within the house a stark contrast to the growing darkness. When Alexia parked the car, the front door opened and more of that warm light spilled out and a shadow stretched long in its wake, and at the end of it, the familiar, large frame of Derek.

While Elisa immediately jumped out of the car to greet her uncle, Alexia’s hands remained on the wheel despite the lack of engine, now gripping for a different reason, her eyes trained on the imposing figure of your brother. To be fair, who wouldn’t? With the top of his head nearly grazing the doorframe and the width of his shoulders, just by looking at his stature alone, most wouldn’t even consider the words ‘soft’ and ‘sentimental’ to describe him. So the reflection of anxiety in her eyes was not new to you, but this was different because this was Alexia.

You placed a hand over one of hers on the wheel, coaxing her attention by squeezing her hand. “Alexia?”

She looked at you, blinked. Then a strained, “Yeah?”

“You’re going to be fine.”

Alexia looked at Derek again before she whispered through her teeth, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. Hey,” you brushed your thumb over her cheek before you tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, Alexia’s eyes flicked back to you. Then you took her hand, pressed your lips on the back of it. “Alexia, breathe. You can do this, and I’ll be right here with you.”

True to your words, the moment Alexia gathered the courage to walk up the porch, Derek’s face broke into a grin that thawed the ever-present ice in his demeanour, enveloping Alexia in a hug. Despite Alexia’s tall frame, she looked almost like a child next to Derek, needing to crane her neck to look up when it was usually the other way around with you, as they chatted.

Then Derek finally took note of Alexia’s demeanour now that she was past Derek’s defences, and he voiced with concern, “Are you okay, Alexia? You look a bit pale. Do you need to stay over?” 

The reminder almost made Alexia a ghostly apparition by how much more her colour drained out from her. She pressed her lips in a thin line, dug her hands into her short pockets, while the muscles in her back coiled so much that you could see the planes of her muscles through her jersey. She replied tersely, “I’m alright and no, I’d rather not disturb you.” 

At what she said, you knew what you needed to do. You went to Derek and said in a voice enough for only him to hear.

“Derek, could you help Elisa start packing her things? I need to do something.”

“Okay.” A question was clear in his eyes but like the many times he did before, he didn’t press you for any information, only nodded, squeezed your shoulder, before he went back inside but not before he enveloped Alexia in a farewell hug and told her to get some rest. Then you walked back to where Alexia stood, still as tense as you left her, and you pulled at her arm gently, coaxing her towards her car–to the passenger seat.

“Alexia, give me your keys.”

Alexia looked at you, still pale but her eyes now held confusion, and maybe a hint of defiance, in them. “Why?”

“I’m not about to let you drive home by yourself like this.”

“No. I’m well capable of–”

You fixed her with a stern eye. “Give me your keys. Now.” 

Alexia regarded you with a wary eye but she sighed, finally relenting, and dropped her keys in your open palm. She sat in the passenger seat, an elbow up against the window and chin propped up on her knuckles, quiet apart from the occasional direction to the way to her apartment. The silence was heavy, but you found yourself not entirely too bothered by it for it gave you a chance to gather your own thoughts–to try and find the words to explain–but you couldn’t help but take furtive glances at Alexia, who was looking more and more dejected by the minute as the streetlights casted shadows on her face and made her demeanour excessively morose, the sheen in her eyes prominent in darkness. 

You arrived and Alexia let you in, dropping her keys in a little dish on a cabinet by the door, the air still and silent apart from the clink of metal against porcelain and the soft breath of clothes rustling as the two of you padded into Alexia’s apartment. Briefly, you allowed your eyes to explore the space but as you entered the living room, your palms began to sweat as the nerves began to set in. 

Alexia was hiding behind her stoicism again, sitting on the couch seeming as calm as ever, fixing you with a look that betrayed the placidness of her demeanour. You sat too, opting for the space by Alexia’s side as opposed to the lone loveseat as you knew that the nature of what you were about to reveal required the lost distance between your bodies; for her sake and yours.

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak; you opened your mouth a number of times but you stopped short for fear that the words would fail you. Alexia waited patiently and only when she took your hand in the space between hers did you find the courage to begin, placing your other hand over hers; she was with you, you were with her.

And so, you told her.

From the night you left, when you were about to tell her what you were going to get yourself into, to your arrival and the conflict you needed to cover. About being caught in the middle of fire, about the nature by which you met Elisa. And then, finally, you told her about what happened to you: the shots, the hospital, and your recovery. You watched, as this enfolded, the way Alexia became increasingly tense, she’d taken your hand in a grip at one point, and you felt the warmth in her hand dissipate into cold sweat, could feel the way she trembled. By the end of it, Alexia looked paler than you’d ever seen her before, wide eyes red and glassy; fragile in all sense of the word.

The silence that followed was like a fog, heavy and suffocating, and the words that bounced against the walls made the fog even thicker that your chest began to ache.

“When were you planning to tell me?” Came the even question.

“Yesterday, but I changed my mind. I should’ve just told you.” 

Another pause, her demeanour remained the same. And then, “How bad was it?”

You considered lying; considered telling her that it wasn’t that bad to appease her, to protect her from that knowledge but there was a plea that shone in her eyes that stopped you. So, with a shaky breath, you whispered, “I… they said that my heart stopped. Twice.”

Alexia inhaled sharply and you winced when her next words were spoken in a broken tongue, a lone tear running down her cheek.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Alexia whispered. 

“I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“You nearly died!” Alexia shouted as she stood up suddenly, eyes wide and frantic, while she threw her hands in the air before she dug her fingers into her hair. She must’ve realised how loud her voice was because she spoke her next words in a lower tone but it was restrained all the same, tight and thin as a string on the brink of breaking. 

“There was no other way I’d take it! What if I’d lost you and I didn’t even know?” Then her eyes widened even further, realisation clear in them, and then her breath caught, words coming out in a sob. “No, I did lose you, didn’t I? Your heart stopped! Your heart–”

Alexia’s knees buckled beneath her and you barely caught her in time. The weight of her against you brought the both of you down to the ground, the softness of the rug doing little to lessen the fall, and it left you cradling Alexia’s head in your arms, her ear against your chest, as you tried, to no avail, to ease her pain.

Alexia had always seemed like an immovable mountain to most people, strong and collected in the face of adversities, especially so to her supporters who’d only ever truly seen her display an air of vulnerability a handful of times, so to witness her so broken like this–prone and weak on her knees, spine contorting in an anguished arch under the heaviness that you put in her chest, the weight too much for her to bear–and knowing that it was you who caused her to feel this much misery… Oh, how the pain seared through you like a burning lance! 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You whispered this litany of lamentations against her ear, your voice thick with tears. But, in your mind, you were apologising for more than that; for all the mistakes you’d made, for leaving, for almost leaving into that endless night.

Alexia twisted your shirt in a grip, the fabric now soaked with her tears, gnashing her teeth in a fierce display of guilt. “And I wasn’t even there for you. Fuck, I wasn’t even there. I–”

“You cannot blame yourself for this, darling. I won’t let you.” You said, voice firm despite the gentleness of it. And you proceeded, “And you think you weren’t there but you were, Alexia. You saved me.”

It was the truth that Alexia needed–that you needed her–to hear. She was your light in that darkness: in that sleep and the haze that came after it, and even more so now than ever. You tightened your grip around her, kissed the top of her head, and brushed her tears away.

“You were there, Alexia, always. You just didn’t know it.”

You were drying your hair with a towel on the bed when Alexia entered the bedroom, hair still dripping from her shower that left dark spots around the collar of her grey shirt, the skin around her eyes remained rosy but now faint, her short shorts barely appearing beneath the hem of her shirt, and–

“Is that…?”

Alexia followed your gaze and looked down at the string around her left ankle, the silver of the charm glinting in the low light. “Yes.”

“You kept it…” You whispered as emotions caught in your throat. 

“Of course, I did. It…” Alexia bit her lip, casted her gaze to the side for a moment, before she met your eyes again, eyes so openly sincere you longed to kiss her right then. “It makes me feel more at ease while playing. It makes me feel safe.”

At that, you grazed your thumb over the string around your wrist. “I know the feeling.”

A silence fell over you as Alexia stood just a few paces away from the foot of her bed, feet shifting beneath her as she gnawed on her lower lip. She looked so small like that, so young and unsure. So you shifted your weight, and made space for her as you said softly, “Ale, come here. Let me dry your hair.”

That seemed to be what Alexia was waiting for because she finally shuffled forward, and sat down between your legs with her back turned to you. Gently, you began to dry her hair, loving the way she craned her neck back as you did so. Once it was only damp enough now, you ran your fingers through her hair, carefully untangling the knots between the strands, before you moved your hand lower, to the nape of her neck first then to her shoulders, putting just enough pressure there with the intent to release the tension in her muscles.

Alexia sighed deeply, tilting her head sideways so you could move your hands more freely. And a moment after, she turned and looked up at you, eyes lidded and shining with vulnerability and… something else that you couldn’t quite decipher but your heart ached all the same from the depth of it, and then slowly, she rose, and then the warmth of her breath caressed your cheek, her lips on yours. The kiss was tender and sweet in its lightness and before you knew it, you were eased down to the bed, her warmth washing over you as if her body was the sun and you were the earth being graced by her light.

You cupped her cheek, feeling the line of her jaw, savouring her lips when a wetness burnt against the skin below your eye, tasted salt on your tongue, and felt the stutter in Alexia’s breath. Soon, Alexia broke the kiss entirely, sinking into the crook of your neck where she wept silently, and you could do nothing but wrap your arms around her frame to shelter her, to assure her that you were still here and that, truly, the worst had passed. You held her there until sweet repose, at last, eased her into a place without pain and you waited for sleep to come, while regarding her countenance and relishing the soft caress of her breath on your skin, when not a moment later, you joined Alexia in slumber; your heart finally beating in time with hers.

It was still dark when you woke several hours later with a comforting warmth pressed against your back and the weight of Alexia’s arms around your waist, her breath warm against the nape of your neck. You shifted closer to the source of your comfort and placed your hand over hers. From the way her hold on you tightened, you knew she was awake.

“Can I confess something?” Alexia whispered, voice raw.

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath. 

“I waited for you.” A pause. “Until I saw you at the Olympics, I was still waiting for you. I knew the odds of you coming back to me were against me, but I hoped you’d come back.”

“Thank you for waiting.” You murmured.

“Thank you for coming back.” Alexia choked out, arms tightening around your waist. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

You needed to see her, so you peeled her hands from your waist, turned, and wrapped your arms around her waist.

“I’m here, Alexia. I’m right here with you.” You caressed her cheek, wiping the tear in the corner of her eyes before you whispered against her lips, “If I have to spend my whole life thanking you, so be it.”

Saying goodbye was a difficult affair for everyone–well, except for Derek, of course. Despite Alexia’s offer to drop you, Derek, and Elisa to the airport, you declined, reminding Alexia she needed rest for tomorrow, chuckling lightly at the pout she gave you when you said it, which made you inclined to kiss it away. 

(You ignored Derek’s smirk; you spied him over Alexia’s shoulder looking all too smug for his own good.)

And Elisa, after spending the past few days in Alexia’s company, clung to her waist, lips quivering and eyes glassy with unshed tears, while Alexia tried to appease her. It seemed that Alexia’s celebrity factor had diminished for Elisa and now it dimmed to a newfound word: a friend. You smiled as you watched them chat for a bit longer, before Elisa went inside the car.

When it was your turn to hug Alexia, you sank into her arms, and she in yours, as your heart already longed for her at the thought that in a few minutes, you two would be parted again. It was difficult but you managed to pull away, kissing Alexia on her cheek, then her lips. 

It was your last kiss but as your Uber took you away and as Alexia’s figure shrank in the rearview mirror from the growing distance, this kiss, you felt, held the promise of a future; of something more.

And that, to you, was everything.

You took the call immediately after you saw Alexia’s name on your screen. 

“Alexia, what did you do?”

It was currently late October, over two months since the last time you’d seen her in person, but the both of you–and occasionally Elisa would join the both of you if she was able to catch you after her practice–remained in contact be it through messages, calls, or video calls. So to say that you missed her was more than an understatement and you found that the calls that used to relieve you of your longing for her–although they still very much did–now only served to deepen the growing cavern in your heart that resembled the woman who it belonged to; it was no longer enough, you wanted Alexia. 

But that was not to be the topic of your conversation right now. 

Alexia’s chuckle met your ears, brows crunching up in amusement. She was in a loose shirt, half of her face glazed over in a low, warm glow. “Is this about Elisa’s trial?” 

“Please, Alexia, if you had something to do with Elisa getting scouted, tell me now.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Alexia said, even and light with laughter, but she enunciated the words with an air of seriousness. “I didn’t do anything. Although I admit I did a little digging that day I went to La Masia when you guys were here, remember? I heard Jona say her name in passing and when I checked the list, Elisa’s name was one of the best candidates. Your daughter has talent and a promising dedication to the club, the scout saw that.”

And as her word sank in–as you believed in your bones that Alexia was speaking truthfully–you let out a sigh, sagging into your open palm. 

“Okay, I believe you. I’m sorry, babe… I just had to make sure.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Alexia waved a dismissive hand, and then, “So, what happened?”

“Well, I picked Elisa up today and her coach handed me a brochure and started talking about Elisa’s eligibility for a trial to get into Barça’s youth team.”

“And how did Elisa take it?”

“She’s unusually calm about all of it and that’s exactly the reason why I wanted to call you.” You sighed, “I’m worried she believes she didn’t get in because she did well and that she got in because of her connection to you.”

A pause and you watched as a pensive look passed over Alexia’s face. “Do you mind if I talk to her?” 

“No, not at all. I think that’s a good idea. Hold on.” 

You muted the call and then padded your way to Elisa’s bedroom, then knocked on her door. 

“Ladybug, Alexia is on the phone.”

A moment later the door opened slightly, and Elisa looked through the tiny gap, her brow scrunched up in confusion before she widened the gap enough that she could step out. 

“Alexia?”

You tucked a strand behind her ear. “Yes, honey. She wants to talk to you, only if you want to.”

Elisa gnawed her bottom lip, casted her gaze down for a moment, before she finally nodded. You gave her your phone, watched her close the door, before you made your way down to the kitchen to check on the food you were cooking. It was nearly half an hour later that Elisa joined you, phone in hand, eyes only just a bit raw, which she handed to you after giving you a hug. And when she pulled back, the smile she gave you was small but radiant, and you felt relief as you let her slip back into her room but not before you reminded her that the food was nearly ready. 

“I don’t know what you said to her, but she looks better. Thank you” 

“She just needed a little pep talk.” Alexia smiled at you, soft, “And anytime, my love.”

Two months later, Elisa’s club topped their respective league, won a major regional and national tournament, and Elisa… Elisa passed the trial.

Elisa was going to Barcelona.

‘Come over when you’re done for the day?’

The message was sent about an hour ago. You ran your fingers through your still damp hair, wiping your clammy palms on the fabric of your jeans, as you sent, ‘I’m coming up.’

Two days after Elisa received the news from Barça, you flew by yourself to Barcelona to sort out some paperworks. Derek already offered for the both of you to remain at his place–insisted even, so you wouldn’t get stressed out, which was sweet of him–and you accepted, but you promised you’d find someplace else after you and Elisa settled into your new routine. Alexia knew about all of this, of course, her schedule was filled today so she wasn’t able to be with you. Well… until now.

Now faced with Alexia’s apartment door, to say that you were nervous would be an understatement; you hadn’t seen your lover in the flesh for months, how could your heart not be in danger of leaping out of your chest at the promise of seeing her again soon?

You knocked on the door and only seconds passed between the moment you saw a shadow through the peephole and the door being flung open, and before you could fully comprehend what was happening, you were being pulled inside by the collar of your cardigan and slammed against the door as warm lips pressed on yours, hungry and full of ardour. 

You moaned at the heat of Alexia’s tongue searing the skin of your lower lip, her teeth napping and pulling, before her tongue swept over the same spot, to soothe and salve and sear all over again. Standing on your toes, you wrapped your arms around her neck while you pushed your chest up, seeking her warmth, and you loved the way Alexia’s arms tightened their hold around your waist, pressing you further into the firmness of her body. Then her hands ventured downwards, setting your skin afire in their wake, and you gasped into her mouth the moment she took your ass in her grip and squeezed, the pleasure turning your blood into an entity of potent desire. 

To your surprise, Alexia suddenly pulled away from the kiss and she ripped her hands away from your body, planting them instead on the door to hold her weight. And you had never hated distance more than the mere centimetres that separated your bodies just then.

Alexia looked down at you with lidded eyes, pupils blown so wide that the hazel in them were covered in black, while her breath came out stuttered.

“Wait–I’m sorry, I know we’re taking it slow but I just missed you so much and I–” 

You let out a sound that was between a moan and a groan as you pulled the collar of her hoodie down, swallowing her next words in a deep kiss. Your hand crept under the fabric of her hoodie, her stomach deliciously taught beneath your fingers and you didn’t fight the urge to drag your nails over her smooth skin to make your intentions clear–an action that made her swear against your lips. You took her lower lip between your teeth and pulled slightly, the sound she made–obscene in every sense of the word���and the curse she let out sent scorching heat straight to your core; nothing turned you on more than the proof of Alexia’s ever-present composure slipping. 

It mattered not how the both of you arrived at the bed; one second you were pressed up against the door, the next you were surrounded by soft sheets with Alexia on top of you, nipping and licking along the column of your neck, while the room filled with pants and gasps that came from either of you. She pressed her knee against the juncture of your thighs and the pressure made you keen Alexia’s name in a wanton cry, which Alexia responded to with an approving hum that you felt on your lips. 

Her teasing continued on until the fabric of your underwear clung to you like a second skin from the slickness of your core but when you felt her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, you surged up and gently pushed Alexia to the side, laying her down on the bed with a deep kiss while you moved to straddle her stomach. 

Then you leant back after a moment to look at her, and the sight you beheld took the breath from you. 

There, she lied: with her light brown hair fanned out wildly on the sheets, a stark contrast against the lightness of the linen; her skin glowed from the incandescent light from her lamp; her hazel eyes beautifully dark and lidded with need; her cheeks graced with a rosy tint of the same shade as her supple lips which were slightly parted; the strong column of her neck, her broad shoulders, her large but gentle hands… there, while she lied and gazed at you, you basked in the radiance of her earthly beauty–her character even more resplendent in nature. And there, your chest crowded with emotions–lust, desire, wonder, amity–but a resonant call from your heart encompassed the immensity of this singular truth. 

You loved Alexia. 

Oh, how you loved her so. 

With reverent hands and eyes that bore the zeal of your affection, you kept your gaze on hers while you dragged your fingers over her clothed ribs down to the firmness of her stomach, admiring the way the strength in them yielded into a softness so inherently familiar, adoring the way her lips parted further, the way her brows rose ever so slightly as the depth in her eyes seemed to stretch into a vastness that called to you. 

She was beautiful. 

So, so beautiful.

All of her exalted you to no end: the sound that she made when you kissed the valley between her breasts after you’d helped her undress; the feel of her skin on your tongue, from her collarbone, to her rib, to her hip, and her thigh; the taste–finally, again–of her need, her pleasure, and her ecstasy. Everything that she was revived you; she stoked the embers of your mortal flame into a star that shone for her, and only her. Every breath, every word, every look… these were the things that–in their divine simplicity–endeared her even more to you; the divine simplicity of her state of being was more than enough to move you, to make you fall deeper into your love for her.

As she came undone beneath your touch, the echoes of your heart longed to be heard, filling your throat with the words of a confession. But instead you whispered, in a cadence similar to that of a litany, that she was beautiful. 

Soon after she came back to herself, she sat up and in a second, Alexia had you in her tender and appraising arms as you remained on her bare lap, kissing along your jaw as her large hands roamed over your still clothed body, her touch both gentle and fervid. But when she grazed the hem of your shirt again, you stilled.

Alexia pulled away, eyes lidded but concern reflected brighter in the darkness of her eyes.

“What is it, darling?” She asked as she brushed a strand behind your ear, gaze intent, searching your countenance for an answer.

Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest. You opened your mouth a few times as you tried to find the right words to say, and then finally, you admitted quietly, “My body… it–I’m not like how you remembered.”

“Darling, your body will always be beautiful. You don’t need to hide yourself from me.” Alexia took one of your hands and pressed a kiss on your knuckles, earnest in the way she spoke and looked at you. Your heart ached.

“I know, it’s just… I don’t think I’m ready,” you trailed off, “And I’m worried you’re not, too.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Alexia squeezed your hand, encouraging.“I’m ready when you are.”

Unbidden, the image of Alexia in anguish after you told her about what you went through flashed through your mind and the same vulnerability–that thinly veiled fear–you’d seen then, you could see now reflected in her eyes. It was one thing to hear the words of injury, and it was another to see the physical proof of it; if the words had profoundly affected her so, how much more would bearing witness to the tangible mark of your narrow escape from death would cause her?

“Alexia…” 

You began to sigh, ready to offer a rejection, but Alexia cupped your cheeks into her palms, making you look into her eyes. Then she whispered, “Please, let me see you. I want to… I want you.”

There was much desire and tenderness in her voice, and you found yourself calming down knowing that you could trust Alexia with this. So you nodded. 

Alexia smiled at you softly before she whispered, “Thank you. Just let me know when you want to stop.”

You nodded again and then, Alexia’s lips were back on yours, sweet and light as her hands returned to your waist. She was gentle, murmuring words of reassurance on your temple, your jaw, your collarbone, as she eased your cardigan off your shoulders. She placed one light kiss on the column of your neck before she laid you down on the sheets, her hair cascading over you like a silk curtain. 

Alexia journeyed down your body, placing butterfly kisses over your clothed sternum, her breath breaching the thin barrier between your skin and heated your blood into a gentle simmer. Then she stopped, her lips on your stomach, and when you looked down at your body she was gazing up at you with imploring eyes, fingers playing at the button of your jeans, a question clear in her eyes. 

Your lips parted at the sight of Alexia’s lips made red from kissing, her blown pupils dark with ardour, her brows tilted up in silent affection. Your heart, for all of its beating, was tranquil under the weight of Alexia’s hands and eyes, and so, you nodded.

Alexia gave you a smile and then she kissed your navel as her fingers unbuttoned your jeans, taking it off slowly. Then her hands skimmed over the newly exposed skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps and heat in their wake, and you gasped when you felt her lips ghosting above your core over the fabric of your underwear. You anticipated more, canting your hips upwards, but Alexia had already moved away by then, a gentle squeeze on your thigh, you perceived, was her form of apology. 

And then her fingers were drawing circles on the exposed skin of your navel, just below the hem of your shirt, as she bent down, capturing your lips in hers, before she rested her forehead against yours.

“Are you ready? Just say the word and I’ll stop.” Alexia whispered on your lips.

You inched away so you could cup Alexia’s face in your palm, grazing your thumb over her cheek, as you replied with absolute certainty. “I’m ready. I trust you, Alexia.” 

She caught your hand in hers as you began to take it back, pressing her cheek into your palm as she said, “Thank you.”

Slowly, Alexia began to take your shirt off and, once it was tossed aside, you waited with bated breath for her reaction upon seeing your scars. Would she turn away just as you tended to do sometimes whenever you saw yourself in the mirror? Would she touch you still–would you sicken her? You probably would, wouldn’t you? You–

A choking sound tore you away from your spiralling thoughts, your vision focusing on Alexia’s face contorting. A part of you screamed, ‘Look how you’ve appalled her!’, but clarity came over you and you recognised then that it was pain that marred her face. Alexia’s lips quivered as she took you in, eyes drifting around the more prominent scars on the right side of your torso–one on the top of your shoulder, on the skin just below your ribcage, and finally, the one just beside your breast–and her brows creased, and when she met your gaze, her eyes had reddened and now held in them, along with the desire–albeit now dimmer from the intensity of the other emotions on her face–a mixture of relief, regret, and agony. 

Then she gathered you in her arms as she leant down, her arms wounding their way around your ribs, her nose brushing against your collarbone, her fingers delicate in the way they splayed on the skin of your shoulder blades, while the strength of her body draped over you and the softness of her breasts–her warmth–offered, even without words, shelter and healing. And you basked in it, arching your back to further feel the press of Alexia’s body, wrapping your arms around her neck and in response, Alexia’s hold on you tightened as she whispered your name in a tone fit for a rhapsody.

Alexia lifted her head and looked into your eyes. You wiped the trail of a tear that ran down her cheek, tucked a loose hair behind her ear, traced the line of her brow, and then the bow of her lips which trembled at your touch.

“You’re here and you’re mine.” She stated softly although the intonation in the end made her sound unsure, as if she didn’t–or couldn’t–believe that the both of you were there together, skin on skin, flesh against flesh, breathing the same air in the same moment in time; alive. 

“I’m with you and I’m yours, Alexia.” You whispered with conviction. “Take me.” 

As you said this, you reached behind you to grab one of her hands so you could kiss her knuckles, watching her as she watched you, before you took her first two fingers into your mouth. You relished the way her lips parted with a gasp while you guided her fingers down to your core, pushing the fabric of your soaked underwear aside so you could press Alexia’s wet fingers against you, sighing when you finally felt her there while Alexia moaned out her desire.

And so, she took you. With one last fervid kiss on your lips that took your breath away, Alexia ventured downwards, brushing her thumb over your clit as she did, while she nipped on the expanse of skin you offered her. And then her lips were on you and you were lost–and found again.

She moved with an air of divinity; with each touch from her supple lips, you felt as though you were closer to grace; and with each swipe of her tongue and thrust of her fingers, you could feel a warm radiance washing over you, simultaneously stripping the strength away from your bones and restoring you to a wholeness you never knew you could feel.

You gathered enough strength to open your eyes to peer down your body and when you did, the sight that greeted you nearly pushed you over the edge. There between your legs, Alexia was looking at you with lidded eyes as she worked on you, catching a glimpse of her tongue every now and then, and the sheen of wetness on her lips and chin. And her eyes… Oh, her eyes had the power to unravel you with one look.

The need to feel her close rose in you as you felt your peak creeping closer. You had meant to say, ‘Come here’, but the words were lost on the way to your mouth and what came out was Alexia’s name. But Alexia understood enough it seemed for she–without so much as losing the pace of her fingers–moved up your body and kissed you, your wetness fresh on her lips and chin, your taste heavy on her tongue.

She kissed your cheek, then your temple, and then you felt her warm breath on your ear. Then she whispered low and dark as sin, “You look so beautiful like this… feel so good. Love the way you’re so wet for me.”

“Ale… Alexia…” You moaned at her words, dragging your nails over her back as you found yourself losing purchase; the edge of euphoria, you could feel, only just a breath away. 

“That’s it. Come for me, darling. Let me feel you come.”

The heat of it all–Alexia’s words and the warmth of her breath, that hot friction from her fingers, and her safe, sheltering weight on you–finally lit the fuse and ecstasy set every nerve in your body afire, and a sense of fullness filled your chest–a state of grace–that called to the woman before you. 

And so, you didn’t stop the words. 

You sighed against her ear, “I love you.” 

Alexia tensed but she didn’t stop until you’d finished, until your cheek was pressed against the sheets, eyes closed from the sheer pleasure that she blessed you with. When she dragged out her fingers from you, you whimpered.

And then you felt her palm on your temple, wiped the sweat away there, before she eased your head away from the pillow as she whispered your name. You opened your eyes to her doting countenance, her brows graced by a hopeful tilt.

“Do you mean it? Truly?” Alexia asked softly.

You felt no fear when you replied in the same soft cadence. “I do.” 

Her breath stuttered, her next words were so light you barely caught them. “Say it again. Please.”

You smoothed her hair, traced the tail of her brow, before you looked deeply into her eyes.

“I love you, Alexia.” 

Her face broke into a small, reverent smile that bore all the warmth in the world before she caught your lips in a kiss so tender you nearly cried.

Then you parted, but Alexia’s forehead remained against yours.

And with tears in her eyes, she whispered. 

“I love you, too.”

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: #to the anon/s in my inbox who’s been so sweet–thank you for your kind messages and words of motivation #i very much appreciate you and im sorry for my lateness but i hope that this makes up for it. #happy holidays everyone and take care of yourselves #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

[suiana]

how about yan senior?? reader have some interest at him but just move on cause she knows that she doesn't have a chance with him since he is a model student. and poof he actually notice reader and obsessed likes her too!

/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ anon

I like your idea anon!

✎ yandere! senior headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― possessiveness, stalking, mild violence etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! oc)

‎

✎ yandere! senior who is one of the most handsome and charming guys in the school, easily stealing hearts left and right. which includes yours as well!

✎ yandere! senior who drowns in the attention of everyone fawning over him. it's just so addictive! the way people would do anything for just a minute of his attention~

✎ yandere! senior who doesn't even bother to remember most of the people who adore him. that was, until he saw you. you're so plain! yet you attract him so much? did you cast a spell on him?

✎ yandere! senior who thinks of you as a cute pet. you fawn over him just like the others but something about you is just so... different?

✎ yandere! senior who makes you do everything for him during school hours. from helping him to throw away his rubbish to helping him carry his books around. you would do anything for him and he's going to make full use of that.

✎ yandere! senior who realises that you're not as enthusiastic about him as you were before. he notices your bored face, the way your face drains of energy as your friends inform you about his presence...

✎ yandere! senior who feels his heart shatter when you tell him that you don't want anything to do with him anymore. your words pierce his heart as you rant about how you hate getting treated like a maid by him, how you used to actually like him because he was the perfect senior.

✎ yandere! senior who can't do anything but watch as you turn your back on him and walk away. he feels his hand clench but he calms himself down. well, he'll just find a new pet then. this is your loss.

✎ yandere! senior who realises that he can't find anyone like you. everyone else is boring. disgusting. absolutely trash! no one is as adorable, obedient and charming as you are. no one is you.

✎ yandere! senior who finds himself inside your room when you're sleeping, taking pictures of you and stealing some small trinkets in your room for safe keeping. don't worry! when you come back to him he'll return them to you! so be a good pet and come back please.

✎ yandere! senior who messes with your test papers and rigs your grades. oh! the teachers need someone to tutor a student who suddenly started flunking all of their tests? he eagerly volunteers, smiling in victory as it means he'll be able to see you with a reason now.

✎ yandere! senior who uses his reputation as a model student to get the teachers to ignore your complaints of him. as if they would believe he tried to strangle your friend when she tried to pull you away from him~

✎ yandere! senior who claims you as his, not allowing anyone else to come near you. you're his. his. he can give you anything you want. so just be a good pet and stay with him, okay?

✎ "my cute pet~ do you need me to go through this part again?"

#tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere blog #yandere hcs #yandere headcanons #yandere drabble #yandere drabbles #yandere senior #yandere senior x reader #yandere senior headcanons

[yyawnjun]

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧ CRUSHES ?! ⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧

ot13 seventeen x reader

a.n. helloo everyone, how are you? First time writing for svt and CARATS I am here for you!! Also I promise I will try to be more active on these days

Let me know your opinions and hcs !! comments, likes, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated. I hope y'all will like it ♡

summary: They as kind of apparently unreachable crushes - some of them are based on my experience but I am pretty sure you could relate too. Often that handsome guy, we only saw once and will probably never see again, that pretty barista, that airport guy....

1.9k wc ; fluff !! ; lil scenario for everyone ; kinda hope y'all can relate my delusional thoughts ; oh and tell me who is ur svt bias that I might start writing more for them <3

~ S.COUPS [에스.쿱스] ~ the airport crush

THE impossible crush for THE leader.

He would be that cool guy who sits in front of you while you wait for the plane, dressed entirely in black, probably wearing a mask and a hat as well. His gaze wanders as he looks around or scrolls on his phone with headphones on.

THE MOMENT when your eyes lock, and only you can see his eyes smiling. No matter if you keep that one eye contact, I'm sure that will happen again.

He might even make an unconscious attempt to get your attention by putting away his mask or moving his hair after putting away his hat to show how attractive he is… Perhaps it's the same for both of you when he nods his head or waves goodbye with his hand as soon as you have to take the plain. Your joy after that eye contact will keep you two awake during the entire journey, wondering if you will meet him again.

~ DINO [디노] ~ the charming waiter

c'mon ik you get me. You are in your favorite cafè and your order is taken by that one charming waiter who is softly smiling and with stunning eyes.

Even though it's your first time meeting him he already caught your attention, even only for how he acts or how he nods and grins while writing down your order (yes, I am aware of how much delusional I am).

Black and white plain clothing, messy hair, and once more, A COMFORTING AND SWEET SMILE. The urge to keep eye contact with him while he is working and serving other tables is clear to everyone.

And I bet he's the kind of guy who would come to your table and make jokes once he felt comfortable around you. Rather than making you feel uncomfortable, he asks about your order how you are doing, or if you will return

..lockey hoping for a yes.

~ DK [도겸] ~ the beach boy

Let me explain. I can't picture him out with no other expressions but SMILING. His big smile, using literally all of the muscles on his face.

On a sunny summer day, DK is on the beach with his friends, and they are all seated in a circle, laughing and enjoying some food.

Then there comes the instant when your eyes lock when his mouth smile slowly disappears and his eyes light up.

A few seconds passed when the two of you first laid eyes on each other, yet it felt like hours. Then, I can picture DK's friends slowly turning around to look at you, as well as your friends, as they begin to move their hands in front of DK's face.

as if to save from the enchantment.

~ THE8 [디에잇] ~ the motorbike's guy

I know it's just a moment but I swear that it is harder than you imagine to forget.

Imagine a young man on a motorcycle who is stopped at a stop sign after slowing down, wearing a dark helmet that matches the color of his eyes and has a clear visor(?), that turns around to look at you. Only a few people were running in the rain, and there weren't many cars in the area.

So you are still watching him watching you as you are under your umbrella. Your eyes locked for less than a second. There were no smiles or any facial gestures.

Under his helmet, he had deep eyes and a charming and veiled smile.

Who knows if he will ever forget that one-eye-staring contact challenge with those eyes of yours?

~ VERNON [버논] ~ the boy in the rain

I can absolutely imagine him forgetting his umbrella every time. Or perhaps it should not have been raining that day, but it was, and you two ended up stuck under a random awning.

His very presence was enough to make you a little nervous—he made no eye contact nor conversation. It occasionally happens that you gaze at his wet jacket or hair and vice versa, you feel his eyes on you one or twice.

But it wasn't a scary presence; quite the contrary. The young man's eyes were partially closed as he moved his feet to the beat of either made-up music or perhaps the sound of raindrops. And with a simple "bye," you wish that curious guy farewell who was so engrossed in his thoughts that he almost failed to notice that it had stopped raining.

~ WOOZI [우지] ~ the idol

Imagine him in a cafe or a library alone, a little while after his debut. Probably writing music or just relaxing on his own.

So you are as well there. Both of you are completely immersed in your work, not paying attention to what you have around you.

As time goes on, you start to become distracted or grow tired and start to look around. You smile as you turn your attention to the boy who is working hard.

Oh, it's time to go! After packing up your things, you see him doing the same. You both proceed to the exit when you unintentionally run into each other. He is the kind of guy that would instantly assist you in gathering your belongings and yourself as well. 

You both say thanks and then part ways before leaving.

Imagine learning who he is only later because he is now a famous idol.. who knows if he wrote something about you on the paper he was working on that day…

~ JEONGHAN [정한] ~ the hallway's boy

I am sure that everyone would have a crush on him if they saw him walking around the school. He is the prettiest boy I have ever seen fr !!

He's beautiful and he knows it…and loves playing with this.

Each time your eyes contact, he maintains the expression and smirks a little. After a few days, and much better if you were in the same classes, he would start saying hello to you all the time.

He would know your name too if you were in the same classes with him or even in the same project group. After that, he will be the one screaming out your name, expecting that you will turn around and look at him as you always do.

So now you won't be the only one who constantly glances at someone

~ MINGYU [민규] ~ your traveling companion

This one is really specific I think.

I thought about that one comforting person that you always see while coming back home or going to school/work every morning.

At first, there are no conversations or greetings. At first, you won't even notice, but eventually you both will. As you begin to feel a little more comfortable, even sit near to each other!

So you become friends when you realize that you've begun to worry when he's not there, or when he's late. Greeting one another and possibly having a brief conversation or trading phone numbers or Instagram!!

The best part is still when he introduces you to one of his friends and it's obvious that the friend knows exactly who you are (YES HE TOLD THEM ABOUT YOU).  

~ JOSHUA [조슈아] ~ the sporty guy

Someone becomes immediately more attractive if they are passionate about their sport. Sorry, I don't make the rules.

He's not just interested in sports; he excels in them as well. He is the athletic student in the class and he's a gentleman, so… Imagine, during class, going for a run together. I think he's competitive yes, but not the type who is obsessed with winning, so I think he would not mind if you two slowed down or stopped whenever you needed to.

He would be the one encouraging you as you tried your best to avoid passing out while jogging for PE, or he would be the one you are staring at while he is competing; the one who appears to look good under the sun and would definitely smile or wink at you if your eyes happened to meet.

~ SEUGKWAN [승관] ~ the saver

Let's talk about how embarrassing it is to ask for directions when you are completely lost…It happened to me a few days ago in my hometown…

I pictured you having to find a building for a class but it's raining and you have no idea where to go. Seugkwan could be that comforting companion who feels just as lost as you, in my opinion. And it's comforting exactly because you're not lost alone; he's with you.

So you two end up together while searching for where to go.

He would ask a worker there for directions while laughing at the bizarre circumstance and lightening the atmosphere. After finding this out, you would walk together and sit next to each other for the rest of the lesson(s)…

~ HOSHI [호시] ~ the concert's guy

the vibe of a concert. immaculate. And it's even better when you really like the singer or the group because you get to meet all those amazing people who have the same passions as you!

Imagine seeing this boy, alone, waiting in line, looking so gorgeous and dressed up for the concert. Literally, the image of the beauty, with an outfit - maybe a crop top with baggy jeans - matched his makeup. So charming that is impossible to stop looking at him

AND SAME FOR U- While your eyes continue to lock and you smile, you are dying inside from happiness. Hoshi might even approach you to compliment you on how lovely you are and ask you how you feel about the concert,

Oh and Imagine singing along with him to your favorite song without caring about anything else.

~ JUN [준] ~ the friend of a friend

Okay, hear me out. That one moment when a friend of a friend that you have met just like one or two times does something kind and looks so attractive while doing it.

He is at the party where you and your friends are attending. only good moments and loud music; but you realize you need a break, so you choose to spend some time in the garden.

Worrying that you were not feeling well he would go out too, bringing some water for you. He did not say much when he sat next to you and gave you a glass of water. Perhaps at first, there was awkward quiet, but soon you two started talking soothingly about nothing that serious but still comforting.

~ WONWOO [원우] ~ the arcade's boy

I immediately thought about him as the arcade crush. Imagine you and your friends at the arcade having to split up into teams or pairs, and you are missing your partner.

Or imagine being in an amusement park and finding yourself alone in a Ferris wheel, roller coaster, or horror house (perhaps precisely as you wanted!). Then, BOOM, he sits next to you. It could be because there were no more places left…right?

He would be that cool guy who would play with you - you probably would have to make the first move tho…

or you might just be mesmerized by how amazing he is as he plays alone. He might feel the pressure of your gaze, but he wouldn't really mind—or maybe he would even kind of like it;)

#k-labels #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x yn #seventeen fanfics #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #scoups x reader #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #dino x reader #lee chan #lee chan x reader #vernon x reader #choi hansol #choi hansol x reader #joshua x reader #joshua #wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #jun x reader #junhi #jun #hong jisoo x reader #svt joshua #svt seunkwan #seungkwan #seungkwan x reader

[writingforatwistedworld]

Hi! If requests are still open, can I request for a Reader who like prince charming in manga or manhwa? Like the reader is such a gentleman(or gentlewoman), treat the TWST guy like a princess, and even when the TWST guys fall the reader just caught them and say "are you ok, princess?"or something similar? For self-aware!Au and Leona/Malleus/Vil if possible? Thank you! Please take time to rest and feel free to delete it if it broke the rule or you are not comfortable making it! 😊

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNING: Yandere themes, neglect, family problems, stalking, taking photos without consent, invasion of privacy, violence, unhealthy relationships

Leona Kingscholar/Vil Schoenheit/Malleus Draconia-Player is like prince charming

Imagine this: Leona tripping over air, a most heinous thing hiding in plain sight, and then suddenly something catches him

If it weren't for your face being so famous he would have thought you were a student from RSA

“Are you alright?” Yeah, I think he is. Other than the fact that he stares at you like the red dot of a laser pointer is on your forehead, he is fine

What he didn't know though was how everyone else in the hallway was just staring at the two of you. Could be the stars and flowers surrounding you two but what do I know?

If Leona wasn't such a loner then he would have started a fan club or something like that

But since he can't he is more on the “silent screeching teenager on the inside” trip

Like, my man is hiding behind corners, snapping pics, trying to smell the slightest bit of your perfume

Ok, maybe he is a bit more intense than an entire fan club usually is but he is just trying to figure out more about his prince char- *ahem* you

And we wouldn't be talking about Leona if there wouldn't be the tiniest bit of that, you know, manipulating others

Ruggie once more gets a chance to make others have “accidents” but if it would be too obvious why he orders him to do that then he can also take care of it himself

You know, roughing up a few students who came too close to you. That kind of stuff

But oh, how much he wishes that you would pay most of your attention on him

Leoan might not seem like it but all the years of neglect back home had made him crave it

So he gifts you a lot of things

From simple things for everyday use to luxurious accessories

But why won't you accept them? Do you dislike him that much? What else does he need to do? Tell him. Tell him!

Dramatic violin chorus, Vil falling backwards from the stairs, heels caught in the carpet, one last desperate look into the air before a chorus of opera singers screams in despair to add even more dramatic flair to the situation

And then, nothing. A soft cello plays a soft tune as arms close around his waist, stars sparkling in Vils eyes as his gaze falls upon his savior

Birds are singing and warm sunlight falls upon the duo... until the two Pomefiore students who carried a mirror start to move again making the reflecting light which fell on the two of you break away once more

Five meters away Epel just stares at you two with an expression that can only be described as “Ugh”

Rook stops the music which played in the background, the piece surprisingly supportive of the situation

As if the moment needed even the slightest bit more to seem like an abridged version of a Disney film you even asked Vil if he was alright

One second later and Epel asked himself what the heck Disney is

But congrats, you have now what Vil would call “a troublesome fan”

Oh no, Vil wouldn't buy merch of you or something like that. He has an even better collection

If you were to push his clothing in his closet to the side you would see its wooden back littered with photos of you

Some are a few selfies the two of you had snapped together (it was just a nice memory. He totally didn't mean to use it in any creepy means) and other photos you were not aware of

Some of them are taken disturbingly in private moments like when you were cooking and somewhere buried even deeper is even one when you were starting to change your clothing...

Vil also starts to hog all your time

No more eating lunch with a group of students you deemed your friends. Oh no, now it's Vil, Epel and ,if our local harassments of overgrown house cats has behaved well, even Rook

Although Vil doesn't trust Rook 100% when something is about you. The queen knows after all that the hunter has his own sights on you and is more than ready to snatch you up at any moment

Should you try to distance yourself though I recommend wearing long sleeves, otherwise the desperate clawing of nails that are way too sharp will rip your skin to shreds, a desperate fan of yours hanging just as desperate as the fairest Queen was on her beauty on your arm

Do you hear that too? What you don't? Did I imagine the wedding bells just now?

When Malleus fell from his broom, most ungraceful, he was surprised when you suddenly caught him (although this tiny bit of hight wouldn't be able to harm him)

Even after he reassured you that he was more than just alright you still insisted to bring him to the school nurse just to be sure and even then you still treated him like he was something easily broken

Is... Is this how normal people feel when someone takes care of them?

The poor school nurse was almost screeching in fear when Malleus suddenly made a sound akin to purring

The situation is kinda as if the prince who fought against Maleficent suddenly apologized after striking her, making sure that she got better and then proposing to her

Ok, maybe he imagined the last part but he is just a lovesick fire spewing lizard in human form. Let him have his fantasies!

Malleus isn't your ordinary Fae though. Oh no. You are courted by royalty here but given his rather... unhealthy interest in you I am not sure if you could consider this a win or a loss

Gold, rubies, diamonds and much, much more is at your disposal. Don't tell anybody. Otherwise there will be break-ins

At this point it's a normal occurrence to see a scene from those clichè romance novels acted out in the hallways of NRC

But since Malleus has “Fae-prince-who-can-end-your-life-with-the-snap-of-a-finger” privileges no one dares to say anything

Malleus wouldn't be a good dragon if he weren't even the lighter bit hoarding

Only that it isn't just “a bit” but rather “hoards all the time” when something concerns you

And suddenly eh invites you to visit the Valley of Thorns

“Visit” haha, funny

Have you heard? There are rumors of Briar Valley soon having a second future ruler. Huh? Who? I don't know? But aren't you close to Malleus? Maybe he knows something

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #self aware au #twst #twisted wonderland #twst leona #twst leona x reader #twst vil #twst vil x reader #twst malleus #twst malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twisted wonderland leona #twisted wonderland vil #yandere leona x reader #leona x reader #yandere leona kingscholar #leona kingsholar x reader #yandere vil x reader #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #yandere malleus x reader #malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus #malleus draconia x reader

[doremimosasol]

𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 - 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ☆

warnings: suggestive, home situation

word count: 2 k

summary: looking for some peace and quiet but interrupted by a thief

@thatdammchickennugget ‘s Hogmarch challenge prompt 2

a/n: thank you thank you so so much @slytherinslut0 and @pizzaapeteer for proofreading this and taking the time to make suggestions!

The Black Lake was a place you often visited after school hours. Most days it was a quiet place, which always confused you — not enough people took advantage of the peace it brought. The majority of them just stayed in the castle. Not you though. It was the great opportunity for some change in scenery, the never ending hallways tiring your brain at certain times.

You loved the lake, all year round. During winter it was a magical place where you could use your skates to dance on the ice, when it transformed into a tapestry of thick glass. It calmed your mind, the scratching sounds of your blades gliding along, making you feel as if you were floating...

The clanking of firewhisky bottles rang out into the night, as they continued to clash together from within the bag you were carrying. Admittedly, this was something that you did often: using an invisibility potion and sneaking into the Three Broomsticks. It wasn't stealing, you always left some money behind for the things you took. It was just a smart way of getting your hands on some alcohol around here.

It was a hot summer day, leaving the evening a light, breezy temperature, the sky painted in beautiful shades of blues, oranges, and purples. You decided to seat yourself on a rock close to where the waters hit the edge, and took off your shoes and socks, dipping your feet into the water. The sensation of the slightly cold water cooling your mind and body.

You emptied the contents of your bag: some cake, 6 bottles of firewhisky, and 2 muffins. like you could possibly devour everything but there was no harm in bringing spare. Who knew... You always hoped some prince charming would appear out of nowhere and decided to join you in your drunken activities. Your hopeless romantic state of mind couldn't help but wander through the possibilities.

"Thank you for that." The sudden voice startled you as someone sat down beside you and opened a bottle of your firewhisky. Of course, it was Mattheo Riddle, that boy had no shame. You couldn't even say something, you just sat there sort of flabbergasted that he even dared to pick up one of the things you 'bought' with your own money.

His eyes never left yours as he chugged down almost half the bottle, trying to hide the clear stinging in his throat. You rolled your eyes at his tough boy facade.

However, it wasn't working on you as you snatched the bottle from his grasp immediately. "Excuse me? What the actual fuck do you think you're doing?" You sent him a glare while chugging down almost all of the remaining liquor.

"Mhmm, you know we just indirectly kissed, right?" He had a smug look on his face, of course, he had to act this way. "Ah come on, y/n, don't be such a party-pooper. Isn't this better than drinking alone? It almost looked pathetic."

Pathetic? He was the one who called you pathetic? The guy who had a bloodied face almost every single day of the week? "Who exactly are you calling pathetic here? Because all I see is a dirty thief."

He raised his brow and just laughed. Pardon? The fucking audacity. "You should drink all of these bottles, maybe that'll get rid of that stick up your ass." He snatched the bottle back and downed everything left in one go. "What else have you brought? Cake?" He took a look at it, it was just a plain vanilla cake with some icing on top. "I'll ask it nicely this time since you seem to care so much about that. So, please dear y/n, can I have a piece of that cake? ...and another bottle?"

You couldn't believe this guy, he suddenly came here to join you and acted like all this was his to eat and drink? But who else were you even going to share it with... Maybe you should just give it to him, maybe he'd surprise you for once. "Fine. But 3 bottles each, okay?"

"3 bottles each, deal."

As it seems, Mattheo turned out to not be that bad after all. As more drinks were consumed you watched his demeanor loosen up and his guard drop. To the point he got looser and started to tell you about himself: his friends, his studies, and even his father. You don't know if it was the alcohol or if he just felt comfortable enough to share those things with you.

You found yourself telling him about your own family too, the situation at home, and that most of the time you just stayed at school during the holidays. It sort of felt good, letting it out. Though your situation would never compare to his, it was nice for someone to understand you. Someone who went through the same shit as you.

Even though, you just now kind of started to get to know each other, you promised each other something. A promise to stay at school every holiday, to make it epic as if it were at home. To be each other's home while that home didn't exist for either of you. It would be nice to do something other than reading during those days, but to actually have someone to talk to maybe.

"Did you know it's possible to lead a cow upstairs... but not downstairs?" It just came up to you and you started even laughing before you finished your sentence.

It was obvious that you confused the guy because he just straight-up looked at you with a judgy and confused face. "What?"

"I mean I'm just stating facts here. You can't lead a cow downstairs, you know, like a cow. Moo." It all sounded really slurred, it'd be a wonder if Mattheo even understood one word you were saying.

"Are you speaking parseltongue or am I really that drunk?" He squinted his eyes slightly to even make out your whole form, he was obviously struggling. Both of you were extremely intoxicated.

"What?" You looked at him, maybe you were speaking parseltongue. Could it be? Wait, did he speak parseltongue? "Do you speak it yourself?"

"Ah yes, of course, heir of Slytherin kind of things, you know." He suddenly started sissing and hissing and you weren't even sure if he was being for real or just making some shit up. You just nodded, agreeing with whatever he was saying, hoping he wouldn't wake up any snakes in the bushes behind the two of you.

You averted your gaze to the lake in front of you and got the most ridiculous idea all of a sudden. You didn't even announce your stupid idea but just started undressing until you were left standing in only your underwear.

"Are you stripping for me now? Alright, continue." He leaned his body back on his arms to get a better look, a disgustingly attractive smirk covering his face. Sucks to be him because before he knew it, he got a large splash of water thrown all over him when you hit the surface of the water.

"Are you crazy?!" It was quite the sight, his face was fuming. It almost looked murderous, didn't he like water or something? He couldn't be that much of a pussy, right?

"Come on get in! It's actually still quite warm!" The past warm days warmed up the lake quite a bit and it was a surprisingly comfortable temperature. You were even surprised yourself.

"Absolutely not! You're insane, y/n. I won't save you when you start drowning, you'll just have to die right in front of my eyes then." He looked extremely agitated. He was wet already so what would be the difference in getting in?

"Oh, come on... Please? It's not even that deep, I can still touch the ground with my feet. Don't be a wuss!" His eyes squinted and he got to his feet after all. He took off his clothes and you couldn't deny that you quite liked the sight. The hours of quidditch practice were visible hidden underneath that shirt.

"You're staring, princess." He jumped in after and you almost drowned by the water that splashed right into your face when he hit the surface. The water didn't taste all too pleasant, it could just be the alcohol but it wasn't nice.

"Well if you like staring so much, maybe you should touch it? Touch is better than seeing after all." Before you knew it he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. He took your hand and guided it to his chest, running it downwards. Good thing you were drunk because there's no way you would've ever done this sober.

"Don't be so shy, you weren't shy when you were almost fucking me with your eyes." He pulled you deeper into the water which made you unable to still touch the ground. He was doing this on purpose, he could easily still stand on the ground in the deeper waters. He almost forced you to wrap your legs around him. Silly you, it was his plan all along.

"Kiss me." Excuse me? He did not just ask you that? "Come on, y/n, give me a little kiss." Only one small move and your lips would be touching, he was extremely close to your mouth. He blew on them on purpose just to lure you into his trap. "Kiss me..."

And that's what you did, he wanted a little kiss but he most definitely got more. The whole night had been tense and this was your way of showing him your true desires. It was obvious you weren't alone in those feelings tonight. Because of the way he kissed you back, it was almost magical, like he sent you to another dimension.

He moved his hands lower and squeezed your bottom slightly which made you gasp into the kiss. He took this opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth, exploring it like it was his last meal. It was like both of you were completely in sync, your bodies moving in a rhythm that made your heart almost jump out of your chest.

Just when you were about to lose it, he pulled back to take a deep breath. The both of you were exchanging breaths like it was the oxygen you needed. "Damn, y/n, I didn't know you could kiss like that. Let's try again, shall we?" Those stupid eyes of his, just made you melt into his touch. You shouldn't have folded this fast for him, but you couldn't help it. Everyone would do the same when the Mattheo Riddle would look at them with those chocolate-brown eyes.

Only the moon and the stars could retell the events that went down that night, both your bodies intertwined with the moonlight reflecting on your wet skin. The skin that was meant to be each other canvas, painted by the passion but faded over time.

Mattheo thought about it every night in bed, getting chills when he thought about the kisses and imagining it happening again. His fingers traced the places on his skin that were touched by you, trying to replicate the feeling your fingers gave him.

During normal school weeks, both of you wouldn’t even talk to each other, just the occasional glance. But those looks spoke more than words.

Both of you waiting for the holidays to come to share the same passion like that night once again. Hoping that the other kept their end of the promise to spend them together.

And yes… after the fair sharing of gifts for Christmas, the best gift you could’ve got that night was to be touched by him like that again.

#harry potter #fiction #slytherin #slytherin boys #benjamin wadsworth #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfiction #hogmarch challenge #hogmarch #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheoriddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader

[early2000smovieimagines]

Meeting and Dating Han Lue

(Not my gif)(Requested by @youngcroissantturkeyworribler )

- A part of you feels very lucky that you weren't a member of the underground world that Han typically thrived in when the two of you first met: an insecure, overthinking little part of you which would've ruined a perfectly good thing before it could even begin.

- You'd like to think that you could have been cool about his usual lifestyle. That you could have seen the models who kissed up to him and the boatloads of money that surrounded him and been confident enough to brush off the feelings of envy and inadequacy. But you know, deep down, you probably wouldn't have been able to, and you would have twisted the facts of your relationship until you could; in great detail, reason why you couldn't be with "a guy like Han".

- Being forced to see him as nothing but a charming occasional customer was all for the best. Meeting him as a broke college student working a menial night shift job at a convenience store was all for the best. And allowing yourself to fall for him was all for the best as well.

- For a while, interactions with your future boyfriend was nothing to write home about. You hardly spoke a word to each other besides the usual pleasantries and the exchanging of change, and though you recognized that he was a bit of a regular; and fairly attractive, you didn't feel anything for him besides a mild appreciation; one that came from being able to regard someone with familiarity and the momentary reprieve that it typically provided.

- It wasn't until you suddenly switched shifts with your coworker for a week that your relationship actually began to take off.

- Han hadn't realized how much he looked forward to seeing you until it was taken away from him. He never thought of himself as someone who craved a form of monotony or the guarantee of someone/something being exactly where he left it, so the dejection that he feels upon seeing your coworker at the counter instead of you genuinely takes him by surprise. He'd almost been compelled to stop going to the store the longer your absence dragged on.

- Being there without you just felt …wrong? There's something about the way you usually interact with him that he just sort of craves. The passive yet warm nonchalance that you regard him with is apparently far more addictive than he realized and he finds himself missing the one girl who was just plain nice to him. Not kissing up or flirting; and definitely not judging, just …nice.

- So when he sees you standing behind the counter at the end of the week, he can't help but relax a little; it's like his worries just melt away. He can't help but comment on the fact that you were gone for a while; wanting to know if it's something he should expect in the future and praying that it isn't.

- You don't think much of it when he asks: the two of you are cordial so you blame it on regular customer curiosity. Besides, you're far too distracted with ringing him up to notice the subtle untensing of his shoulders and the way his eyes drag over your features a little too slowly to be deemed as impartial.

- When you hand him his bag, he asks if you'll be there "tomorrow" and you smile a little, assuring him that you will. He teasingly tells you that he's glad, “because your coworker makes the coffee like shit”, and he decides that he likes the little smile you crack at his joke a little too much.

- The two of you gradually grow more friendly after that, conversing about things other than how much he owes you and occasionally sharing some of the snacks he purchases. At some point, he comes in just as you're ending your shift so you ring him up quickly and he walks you out into the parking lot.

“Let me guess,” you’d said and teasingly nodded towards the crappiest car in the lot, purposely ignoring the extremely out of place expensive car sitting in one of the spaces a couple feet away. “That ones yours?”

- He'd grinned and led you over to the Mazda in question, watching you look it over with vague interest before offering to show you how fast it can go. You feel like you know him well enough to take him up on his offer; and you also don't want to miss out on the opportunity to ride in a sports car as someone with about four dollars in their bank account, so you agree and let him blaze down the highway so fast that it leaves you breathless.

- He comes to terms with the fact that he loves you while listening to your tiny noises of excitement, abruptly speeding up or drifting or turning just to hear the small surprised squeaks and laughs that you let out in response. And you come to terms with the fact that it's not just the speed of his car that leaves you feeling weightless when you're gearing up to say goodbye for the night.

"Why don't you give me your number? Driving fast's just the tip of the iceberg. There's a lot more you can see." He offers as you stand outside his car.

"Maybe the fast life isn't for me?" You joke in response.

"Oh I think it is," He teases back, gently reaching out for the phone in your hands, letting you pass it to him; or potentially deny him if it's what you prefer. There's a certain level of self assuredness in the way that he says it, like he just knows that you'll be back in a matter of time. "There, that's my number. Think about it. Decisions yours to make.”

- You do think about it, and you do call him: though admittedly, the first time you contact him, it's with a question about cars because yours is smoking and making weird noises and you’re about 65% sure that it might just blow up on the highway if you're not careful.

- He laughs when you tell him you're "scared" to pop the hood, asking where you are and giving you directions to his shop when he finds out that you're close, telling you that he'll take a look for you. He can't help but smile when he sees you pull in, car smoking just like you said and a sheepish look on your face. Adorable, he thinks to himself, and knows right then and there that he’s really in trouble.

- The car gets fixed and you offer to buy him dinner as a 'thank you', a gesture that earns you a teasing "I fix your car and now you're trying to get in my pants" but an agreement nonetheless. It isn't long after that that your situationship; for lack of a better term, begins.

- The two of you begin hanging out outside of the convenience store: he takes you out to all the places he usually goes and indulges you whenever you offhandedly mention that you'd always "wanted to do that". He buys you all the things you say that you want your future boyfriend/partner to buy you; not a coincidence, and when you're at parties you dance on each other far too intimately for anyone who claims to be "just friends".

- Not to mention the fact that you kiss each other: a trend that's started one night when you're both in his garage, sat on a couch and stealing glances at each other before you both begin to lean in and share a casual makeout session.

- After a while of this, he sort of just says "you know you're my girlfriend, right" while he's in the middle of driving you to a party, sparing you a quick yet casual glance before his eyes focus back on the road. If you had any doubts before you don't anymore and the butterflies in your stomach can attest to that. You tell him that you would "hope so" and mirror the smile that spreads across his face in response.  

- Life's simple, you make choices and you don't look back. He chose you and now he's decided to never look back.

- Being in a relationship with Han means taking it day by day. Somedays, he’ll want to stay by your side without touching you, other days, he’ll want to grind up against you on the dance floor and touch tongues with you in the booths by the wall: there’s really no method to his madness and that��s just something you’ll have to get used to. 

- That being said, he typically prefers simple gestures of affection whenever you’re out in public together: lingering kisses pressed to your lips or temple, a hug from behind while you’re leaned up against one of his cars, an arm wrapped around your shoulders or waist; things like like. He’s not particularly concerned with being polite, he just doesn’t usually feel the need to slobber all over you or overdramatically show you off; unless he’s getting something out of it. 

- Even so, he loves any and all affection that you give him in return. A nice thing about dating Han is that he simply doesn’t give a shit: sure, there’s times where you both need to be serious or he’ll want to put up a more intimidating front, but overall, he honestly couldn’t care less about people thinking that he’s “whipped”; or whatever else they’d like to call him. At the end of the day, you’re his ride or die and they’re insecure little boys who wish they were him. 

- Innocent little kisses are his kryptonite. He loves when you give him a peck for no reason; especially when the two of you are alone and the moment is terribly domestic: like when he’s lounging with his head on the back of the couch and you kiss his forehead from behind it in passing. He gets really used to them: so much so that he’ll occasionally lean towards you in anticipation of one; regardless of whether or not you showed any signs of giving him one in the first place. 

- Slow, passionate kisses. 

- He honestly has a bit of an oral fixation and I think he’d jokingly tell you that it’s “less calories” or that he’s “cutting carbs” whenever he chooses to kiss/makeout with you instead of snacking on something. But nevertheless, he always shares his snacks with you and alternates between putting food to your mouth like a pet and holding out the bag to you normally; depending on how well you take care of yourself and allow him to share. Sometimes he forcibly has to make you join him because he knows you haven’t eaten or drank any water for hours and he’d prefer it if you didn’t kill his girlfriend, thank you very much.

- Speaking of snacking: you keep some on you whenever you go anywhere with him because you know that he’ll be digging around for something in a matter of minutes, eyes still half focused on the road and hands gearing up to stop at a convenience store before you offer him a bag of something that you kept in your purse. Or he’ll be fiddling with something a little too hard and overall getting antsy and you’ll hand something over and watch as he relaxes, giving you a smile and a kiss in return.

- Sitting in his lap. He loves driving around with you lounged across him and will do everything in his power to convince you to try it with him at least once; safety regulations and laws be damned. 

- He’s not big on cuddling but he’s also an indecisive hypocrite. One minute he’ll jokingly sigh and act annoyed with you for being so clingy, and the next minute he’ll ask why you’re “so goddamn far away” and refuse to resume his activities until you’re tucked into his side. I think he just sort of forgets how much he likes it until you’re either in his arms or out of them; depending on the day.

- Honestly, it probably hits harder and makes you more flustered when he chooses to say your real name instead of a pet name since he’s kind of a recovering whore who used to have a bitch on each arm; both of which he would call baby or something of the sort. Either way, his go-to pet names are honey, baby, and angel; or a little nickname if that’s what you prefer. 

- He always has to hide his pleased little smile whenever you call him a pet name. And that’s how you know you’re special to him: because no other person in the world gets that reaction out of him; regardless of how pretty or perfect she may be.

- You’re definitely a weakness of his. From far away, he’ll seem like the coolest person in the world but the minute people look too closely, they’ll see him call you on the phone and apologize for being late, assuring you that he’ll make it up to you when you whine in response. It’s like he’s a cool criminal one minute and your doting boyfriend the next, and the change in demeanor is enough to give Sean whiplash.

- Feeling like you’re living a double life whenever he comes to pick you up in a sleek, expensive sports car: asking how your day was or what you want to get for lunch while the people around you just stop and stare.

- Sometimes, he’ll just randomly toss you his keys and tell you to drive, and the first few times he did it, it nearly gave you a heart attack. You were hypervigilant and on edge; scared to ruin his far too expensive car, and he watched you the entire time with a smile on his face, laughing and calling you cute whenever you whined out a distracted “what?”.

- Teasing praise. He might say it in an unserious way but the sentiment remains the same: the grin on his face tells you that he’s proud, even when he’s saying things like “that’s my girl” and “Look at you. When did you get so smart?”; instead of a normal “good job”. He also makes sure to notice whenever you change something about your appearance and uses it as an excuse to touch and get close to you”: complimenting you a little more seriously so you know that he really means it.

- Eye contact. Han has a tendency to pay really close attention to you; even if you’re not looking at or acknowledging him, and it gives you butterflies every time. It’s sort of like a love language of his.

- Late night talks chocked full of wisdom and enlightenment. The two of you have a lot of deep conversations about what you think of the world and the lessons you’ve learned from life. Oftentimes, he’ll tell you not to let fear control your decisions and you’ll say that's great and all but I’m still not gonna give you head while you drive down the highway.

- Getting to hear all of his crazy stories. He’s a twenty something year old man with dad lore™.

- Sitting with him while he works on his cars. It’s a good idea to learn what different mechanics tools look like because he’s bound to ask you to grab things for him.

- He’s wanted you posed naked on the hood of his car since yesterday. You worriedly say that you’d probably leave an ass imprint and he’d reply with “even better” and refuse to take no for an answer; if that was your only reservation. Either way, he keeps a photo of you with each of his cars in his wallet and insists on taking you out somewhere whenever he gets a new car; “to break it in” he says.

- Driving is basically foreplay for the two of you. He’ll do something he knows you find sexy and smirk to himself, denying it unconvincingly when you accuse him of doing exactly what he was very purposefully doing; as though you couldn't see the expectant way he glanced at you while carrying it out. He tells you he’s “in love” when you drift in front of him, and probably told you that he “creamed his pants” when you did it for the first time; after days of having him try to teach you. Overall …you should probably tease him about having a car kink.

- Taking trips to convenience stores or some random takeout place that he’s in the mood for. You guys have been to just about every restaurant in town at one point or another.

- The two of you play a lot of little games; things like chess and jenga, and a majority of the time he simply lets you win/makes it easy for you to win because he likes seeing you smile and definitely doesn’t need the money he places down for the prize. But if you were to bet a kiss or something of the sort, he would immediately flame you and you’d sit there in shock as you come to realize that he’s been lying to you about his skills the entire time.

- He does a lot of things just to see you smile. It’s his favorite sight and he loves how he can receive it just from a simple gesture or gift. A lot of your experiences are vastly different because you’ll be focused on the moment and he’ll be focused on you: shaking his head fondly and gazing at you with heart eyes as you jump around at a concert or excitedly tug him around a theme park.

- Nothing is lame to him if it has something to do with you. You can show him a picture of a cat you saw on the way home or explain your hyperfixations and he'll just sit there and let you; probably making other people wait to tell him things in the process. He especially loves whenever you tell him gossip: he finds how serious you get over it extremely entertaining.

- You’re the parents of your friend group: he gives rides, gives advice, gives money, etc. He’s very invested in your friends lives to be honest: he likes hearing the drama and putting in his two cents and he’s funded multiple dinner outings with you and your girlfriends just so he can hear the tea.

- He really doesn’t care about spending money so long as it goes to a good place, and he thinks that you’re the best place for it to go, so rest assured that you’ll be spoiled: and the more you hold back or refuse, the more he’ll want to give it to you. Much like his drivers, you’re also representing him now, so he’s not gonna let you run around in a crappy car, wearing cheap clothes and eating cheap food. Just be prepared to kiss him as payment whenever you want his card.  

- He always tells you that you should “just quit your job” whenever you call off plans with him because of work: and even though his tone is fairly teasing, he’s never completely joking.

- He jokes about you “calling your other boyfriends” whenever you don’t pick up your phone or text him back immediately. He likes casually keeping tabs on you and teasing you is just one way that he can do that without sounding all controlling or demanding. He definitely says “hot” and/or asks if you “were kissing her” when you tell him that you were “actually” with a female friend; and you threaten to hang up the phone whenever he does.

- He likes the fast life but he also likes taking things slow and lounging around with you. He enjoys the little things in life; particularly the little things that have to do with you: like arguing about what movie you’re gonna watch because he wants an action movie and you wanna watch sailor moon. You usually get your way, mainly because you make a deal with him or pull a flirty move that shocks him into letting you successfully steal the remote; though he’ll never admit to how much it flustered him.

- Han sort of treats the entire world like his living room: he just sits back and relaxes like he owns the place so regardless of where the two of you are, it’s usually a pretty chill experience. He also just likes watching you have fun so even if he isn’t interested in doing something himself, he’ll hang back and watch you entertain yourself with a smile on his face.

- Sitting out and gazing at the sea or the skyline with him in all of his favorite places and hideouts.

- Mini golfing, ax throwing, bowling, etc. He likes dates that have random activities for the two of you to do.

- Clubbing, partying, etc. A lot of your dates involve going out late at night and as a result, he’s gotten pretty used to taking care of you at the end of them: casually yet clumsily helping you take off your makeup and do your skincare routine and get you to bed, joking around with you and stealing kisses the entire time. You both annoy and amuse him when you’re drunk.

- You always have a warm bed and open arms to come back to whenever you’re with him; regardless of what issues you may or may not be having. He’s always ready to take care of you when it really matters and he enjoys babying you every now and again; guiding you around like a doting parent whenever you’re tired. He definitely purposefully keeps you with him until it’s late enough to insist that you crash with him instead of going home.

- He’s got a pretty fucked up sleeping schedule so don’t be surprised if most of your dates take place at three am or he texts you random shit late at night, telling you that you “better be asleep right now but look at this thing I saw in the morning”. The two of you finds yourselves knocked out together in random places pretty often and he likes to tease you that he keeps you around because you make a better pillow than his cars leather seats.

- You’re the only person who really has a grasp on how he thinks so the two of you usually hang back and shoot each other looks that tell you everything and your company nothing. He loves that little connection that he has with you: it makes him feel less lonely; especially since he’s someone who can sometimes feel alone in a room full of people.

- When the two of you first started dating, he’d hand you some money and urge you to go and have fun whenever he needed to handle something business related, but nowadays, he likes to involve you in everything he does: keeping you seated next to him and occasionally asking for your input. It gave you whiplash the first time he did it, putting a hand on your thigh when you moved to get up and give them privacy; it also probably shocked his business partner as well, but the symbolic trust made you melt and it’s been that way ever since.

- He’s the type of person who sees nothing wrong with committing crimes, so he wouldn’t think twice about inviting you or the people close to you to join him in his illegal endeavors. Just keep that in mind if you have younger siblings; it’s a matter you’ll probably disagree with him on.

- He lowkey just loves women who hate men: he likes the attitude, he likes the exclusivity, he likes knowing that you’re naturally loyal because you simply dislike everyone else. It makes him laugh when you get all argumentative and headstrong with the boys around you, and he’ll defend your decisions till the day he dies, a smitten smile on his face the entire time. He just loves you and your bitchiness so so much.  

- As nonchalant as Han may seem, he’s always paying attention and he has a tendency to know when shits about to hit the fan: whether that be in relation to what's going on in the “outside world” or your own emotions. He picks up on when you’re feeling anxious or angry or so on and he’ll intervene when he thinks it’s necessary in order to keep the peace and keep you happy.

- He had a lot of experiences with other women before the two of you met and though a majority of them weren’t that close to him; and he’d have no problem cutting them off for you when you start to get serious, I don’t think it would be crazy to assume that they’d reappear in his life every now and again. And every time they approach him, he’d just do his best to shrug them off and give you a sort of “what can you do?” glance, hoping that you’re not mad at him for his previous hoe phase. He’s usually extra touchy those nights: wanting to silently reassure you that he’ll always choose you; regardless of who comes near him or who came before you. 

- Han simply isn’t the jealous type and that’s evident in the way he reacts to people showing interest in you. He’s perfectly fine with you throwing your tits around if it benefits either of you and has, on multiple occasions, drank the free drinks that people have sent your way. He likes showing you off and doesn’t think of the people around him as competition; a fact that makes him extremely attractive in your eyes. He’s always confident in himself and even when he has his moments, all it takes is a “you like me most, right?” while you’re stood in his arms and that’ll be that. 

- He always has your back in dangerous situations and is prepared to do just about everything he can to keep you safe. I said before that you’re his partner in crime but rest assured that he’d pull you out of his business the minute he felt you couldn’t handle what was going on. 

- The two of you don’t have a lot of arguments; a result of being able to read each other like a book, but when you do manage to fight about something, he has a tendency to just be quiet and refuse to discuss things. He’s stubborn as all hell when he’s set his mind on something so there’s really no changing his decision/opinion; you’ll just have to accept that and/or wait until he can reevaluate things himself. 

- He doesn’t usually apologize verbally, he’ll just sort of move on from whatever it was that you were bickering about. If he was wrong than he’d take back what he said with a sheepish “I know” when you tell him that that’s exactly what you said when you were fighting: and if you’re lucky, you’ll get a small sorry alongside it. 

- He’s very monotone and simple with his “love you’s”; and they’re usually in response to you saying it first, but he kind of loves when you sing song at him and sweetly ambush him with a ton of them at a time; it makes him smile and always gets him a little shy. 

- He skips town a lot but he’d settle down with you if you asked. There just came a point in your relationship where he knew that you were the end of his line and decided right then and there that he would do whatever it took to stay by your side. You were bigger and better than anything else in his life, and he would have left everything behind with no regrets the minute you asked him to. 

#han lue imagine #han lue imagines #han lue headcanons #han lue headcanon #tokyo drift imagine #tokyo drift imagines #tokyo drift headcanons #tokyo drift headcanon #fast and the furious imagine #the fast and the furious imagines #early 2000s movie imagine #early 2000s movie imagines #early 2000s movie headcanons #early 2000s movie headcanon #the fast and the furious headcanons #fast and the furious headcanons

[skzdarlings]

the heist team | the threesome series ; skz ; minho/reader/changbin

masterlist.

threesome series part 2/4.

pairing: lee minho/reader/seo changbin content info: sexual content. threesome. friends2lovers. very cheesy criminal heist shenanigans (very "we're in" style hacking and some laser grids lol). "fake" kissing, getting sexy as a distraction, giving sex directions, sexual tension that gets resolved. pussy eating, dick sucking, coming inside. purple haired minho bc meow <3

-

The camper van was the best idea you ever had.  It is much easier to enact dastardly schemes while inconspicuously hiding in plain sight. 

On the outside, the van looks like any civilian camper, but the inside is a veritable den of high-tech con-artistry.   It has a place for Minho to hang the get-ups for his grifting gambits, a compartment for Changbin to store his weapons and down-time dumbbells, and it has the sexiest, sleekest, most mouth-watering computer apparatus that has ever existed.  You love it more than anything in this world. 

Every job, you sit in the midst of your beloved computer screens, directing the operation while your boys do the ground work.  Despite knowing of your undying love for this system, your best friends and partners-in-crime are presently trying to separate you from your baby.

“Is she calling the computer her baby again?”  Minho asks from where he is getting dressed behind a curtain. 

“Yes,” Changbin says.  He is sitting in your computer chair with his arms distractingly crossed, his biceps bulging in his tight black shirt.  He is wearing a lot of lycra, having formerly anticipated he would be doing physical work tonight.

That all changed when you realized the nature of tonight’s job. 

You only ever target the obscenely rich, the kind of wealth that is obtained through its own nature of theft and villainy.  Tonight’s targets are a bunch of pompous elites celebrating themselves.  Upstairs is a gala kicking off a week-long set of dinners, auctions, and celebrations.   Downstairs is millions of dollars worth of art and antiquities, set to go up for auction the following day.  

It looked like a typical job, the kind where Minho could sweet-talk some fools while Changbin punched some security guards and you hacked the vault from the van.  The security system around the haul turned out to be far more advanced.  Operating with a form of artificial intelligence, it essentially learns as it goes, meaning hacking it from the outside is incredibly difficult as it will understand and respond to invasion.  It will be easier to outsmart from the inside, where you can reach your hand into its virtual heart and pluck its digital ventricles one by one. 

The boys do not have that kind of computer knowledge.  So now Changbin is in your chair, Minho is doing his make-up, and you are waving around an emergency cocktail dress. 

“Who’s gonna watch my baby if I’m in there!”  

“Yah! Rude woman!  You remember who helped you build this thing?” Changbin pats one of the computer towers to make his point.  “I can do the basic work in here, but I can’t do your complicated nerd things.” 

“I’m not a nerd!”  You definitely are.  You stare at the cocktail dress morosely.  “You’re forgetting something super important. That I am a total weirdo and I panic whenever someone looks at me! There’s a reason I don’t do the people side of things!  That’s what you guys are good at!”

“Technically I just hit them,” Changbin says. 

“You are plenty charming when you want to be and you know it,” you say. 

Changbin folds his hands behind his head, flexing all his muscles while grinning. 

“How charming?” he teases, cocky.  “Describe it to me.” 

“Shut up.”  You hit him with the cocktail dress to hide the fact he got you genuinely flustered.  “I can’t go in there.  People will know I don’t belong the second I walk in the room.  We won’t even get close enough to the computer bank for me to disarm it because they’ll get one look at me and throw me out the window.” 

“That won’t happen,” Minho says.   His changing area is behind you and you hear the metallic slide of the curtain opening.  “Because you won’t be going in there alone.”  

You don’t even have to turn around to know Minho looks devastatingly gorgeous; it is written all over Changbin’s shocked face.  His arms lower from behind his head and his cocksure expression shifts, his lips parting as he stares past you.  

Despite having the benefit of bracing yourself, you are still struck dumb when you turn and look at Minho.  It was always in the plan that Minho would serve as a distraction at the gala.  To stand out accordingly, he dyed his hair with temporary dye this morning.  The vibrant purple was more amusing than sexy when his hair was messy, but now it is neatly styled back, slick and off his handsome face.  He is dressed all in white, his asymmetrical suit partially slit at the side to show some skin.  There is an extra sparkle from his jewelry, plus the lightest dab of glitter in the sharper contours of his face.  He is practically glowing. 

He knows he looks good.  His mouth quirks in a little smirk at your expressions.  You and Changbin are both gawping at him, and it goes on long enough that his eyebrows lift and his smirk puckers with a surprised laugh. 

“What? Really?” he asks, still laughing at you. 

Changbin does an unexpected sign of the cross.  You hit him with the cocktail dress again. 

“Fine,” you say, mostly to have an excuse to duck behind the curtain because you think you might explode from lust and embarrassment and anxiety all at once.  “At least no one will be looking at me.” 

You step behind the curtain and snap it closed, leaving the boys to their banter. 

You like dressing up so this part is no problem.  The problem with parties is other people.  You wholeheartedly admit you are better with zeroes and ones than human beings.   

You try to focus on the fun elements of tonight: the dress, the glamour, and beating a high-tech security system at its own game.  It will be so fun to have a real challenge for once.  You know you can beat it but it will definitely push you more than your usual digital adversaries.

Also, you get to look at Minho looking like that.  Your view of the boys is usually through security cameras, nestled in your van surrounded by your operating system, so the proximity will be a treat. 

You open the curtain, scowling.  You do not enjoy socializing so you seldom have occasion to dress up, so you anticipate the boys will lovingly berate you.  But when you step forward, Changbin looks at you with the same dumbfounded expression he had for Minho.  Minho is sitting on the bench, knees apart and arm slung across the backrest.  His expression gets very serious when he looks at you.  He shimmies his hips, his knees parting further. 

“Turn around,” he says.  

The van feels so tense and quiet that you obey, more confused than anything else. 

Changbin’s gaze drops to your ass immediately, his jaw visibly clenching.  Minho tips his head like he is studying something. 

“Thank you,” Minho says. 

You face them again, hot in the face.  You cross your arms angrily. 

“What was the point of that?” you demand.

Minho lifts a single eyebrow.  “I wanted to see your ass,” he says, like it should be obvious.  “It’s a good one.  You should be proud.” 

You throw your sweatpants at his stupid smirk.  He catches it smoothly. 

“Can we just go already?”  You punctuate this with a stomp of your foot then storm out of your precious van. 

It is very strange being on this side of the operation.  You always have Minho and Changbin nattering in your earpiece, but usually you are sitting at your desk wearing proper headphones.  It is strange wandering around with a tiny bud in your ear, listening to Changbin report from your usual seat. 

You already have control of the hotel security cameras as they work on a separate operating system to the storeroom AI.  You replaced the live feed with a looping reel of empty rooms so the security team inside will not see you moving around.  It also gives Changbin a bird’s eye view of the gala and the rest of the hotel.  You feel anxious at not seeing it for yourself, but you are placated when Changbin whistles and teases, “You two are the best looking there.  You would be second best looking if I was there, so you’re lucky I’m not.” 

You and Minho both smile, your expressions fond.  

Minho gets you in the door with little more than a wink at the doorman.  You stay quiet, hiding your nerves as best you can.  Minho is a competent con-man and Changbin is plenty reliable so you try to focus on your own tasks.  First you need to get to the ground floor network base so you can get the AI to chase your red herring.  Once you are in, the AI will start responding, but with your virus acting as a decoy source within the building, you should be able to buy yourselves time to move onto the next phase of breaking down the system. 

“There’s a lot of muscle at this party,” Changbin says seriously, no doubt taking stock of all the burly security guards.  It is only natural Changbin would be as twitchy as you, also out of his element for the night.  “I don’t like not being there with you,” he says.  

“Easy,” Minho says in a calm voice.  You think it is directed at both you and Changbin.  He puts a hand on your lower back and gives you a knowing look.  “You’re doing fine,” he says.

You feel like terror is written all over your face.  It doesn’t help that Minho draws eyes the second you step into the hotel ballroom, men and women looking at him with the usual desire he draws.  They are equally curious to look at you, their eyes on where his hand rests intimately low on your spine. 

“I’m gonna hurl,” you say.

“Not a bad idea,” he says.  He smiles with so much effortless charm that no one would suspect he is whispering criminal tips.  “The best con,” he says, his lips brushing your ear, “is one that is close to the truth.”  You shiver as his fingertips brush up your spine.  He rests his hand on your nape.  “Look sick,” he says.  “We’ll say we’re looking for a restroom if someone asks.” 

You follow his lead, weaving your way through the party.  Looking sick is the easiest instruction to follow because you feel genuinely ill, your anxiety a toxic twist in your gut.  

Only when you are wandering the empty hotel corridor do you feel at ease.  You feel even more at ease when you find the ground floor network hub.  Your first obstacle is a regular alarm code, twelve digits in length.  It is obviously too long to guess so you physically unscrew the alarm box and start some manual fiddling.  There is no way to fully disarm it without also setting it off, but that’s where your own AI gadget comes into play.  You plug in your cypher scrambler and let it do its thing.  It flickers through numbers, seeking the correct pattern, learning from its errors.  You designed it yourself and though it is always accurate, it takes a while to pull the numbers.  You and Minho are forced to hover in the hallway while it gradually reveals each piece of the code. 

You are up to number seven out of twelve when Changbin inhales sharply. 

“There’s a waiter walking in your direction,” he says.  “It looks like he’s taking a shortcut to somewhere else, but you have less than two minutes until he’s on you.”

 “What!”  You start to panic immediately.  “My decipher machine could take longer than that, what do we—”

“Relax, relax!”  Changbin says at the same time Minho steps behind you and grasps your shoulders.  He makes little shushing noises while massaging you, not that it does much to help. 

“We’re good,” Minho says.  “It’s just a waiter, not security.” 

“I’m gonna get us killed,” you say. 

“By a waiter?”  Minho asks.  He gives your shoulders another squeeze.  “Is he going to beat us with a baguette?  Hey, hey, relax.”

You are a vibrating bundle of nerves.  Minho is not usually the type to dive into a hug but he turns you around and pulls you into his arms.  You wrap your arms around his middle and hug him back, hiding your face in his neck. 

“Yeah, that will work,” Changbin says. 

“Huh?” you say, lifting your head. 

Minho is staring into a security camera as if having a mute exchange with Changbin.  He nods in agreement, though you still don’t understand. 

“What will work?” you ask. 

“Distraction,” Minho says.  You just look at him with confusion. 

“Baby,” Changbin says in a soft tone, “listen to my voice.”

The sudden gentleness of his voice makes you shiver.  Your fingers are shaking when Minho takes your hand and rests it over his heart.  You look up into his dark eyes as he smiles at you with familiar fondness.  You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head, shushing you gently.  His eyes drift to the side in anticipation of an intruder. 

“Baby,” Changbin says, his honeyed tone softening your nerves, “Minho is going to kiss you.  Just do what I say, okay?” 

Your heart skips a beat, your eyes widening.

“You trust us?”  Changbin asks. 

You nod, answering Changbin, gazing at Minho. 

It’s the truth.  You might be scared but you have been scared before and your boys always come through.  Even when the rest of the world left you behind, when you turned to crime to keep yourself alive, Minho and Changbin were there.  They have never let you down.  You trust them with anything and everything. 

Minho slips his hand around your waist, pulling you close to him.  You have been close before, sharing the van, sharing hotel rooms, but this feels different.  He looks at you with intent, his handsome face so close, a strand of dark purple hair curled over his forehead.  Your hand finds that patch of bare skin when you touch his side.  He is familiar and foreign at once, your Minho, and also a character, one who clasps his hand behind your back and ducks down to gently kiss your lips. 

“Take a breath, baby,” Changbin says with a little chuckle.  “You look like you’re going to pass out.” 

“Mmf,” is the noise you make, affirming that observation.   It makes Minho laugh, a breath against your lips. 

“Waiter is thirty seconds away.  You just want to look like a dumb, horny couple that wandered away from the party,” Changbin says.  “Listen to me, I’ll tell you what do.”

You nod, sucking in a breath when Minho kisses you again.  This time his mouth is a little more insistent, his lips coaxing yours open. 

“Close your eyes, baby,” Changbin says.  “Let your shoulders drop.  Minho has you, it’s okay.” 

You didn’t even realize how tense your shoulders were.  You listen to Changbin, letting yourself go lax.  Minho holds you, as promised, his arms sturdy around your waist as he kisses you deeply. 

“Let Minho move you,” Changbin says. “He’s going to lean you against the wall to hide the device, okay?  Put your hands on his shoulders.  Higher, baby, go around his neck.  Just like that.  Let him lead you.” 

Minho walks you backwards, carefully pressing you against the wall, hiding the dangling cypher scrambler with your bodies. 

“We wanna give our intruder a little jump scare, okay?”  Changbin says.  “Minho.”  

That is all the direction he gives Minho, trusting the adept con-man to know exactly what to do.  Minho does, his hands sliding down to your hips to pull them flush against his.  It arches your back.  Your hands are hooked behind his neck and you squeak, your fingers instinctively sinking into his hair. 

“God,” Changbin says.  The sudden dark colour to his voice sends a spark of heat shooting through you.  It clearly surprises Minho too, his lips parting with a caught breath.  “You both look hot.  Fuck.” 

Changbin takes a steadying breath.  You and Minho look at each other.  You get to see his smirk for a split second, then his mouth is on yours and it is no longer gentle and questioning.  It is a demand, hot and wanting, your lips opening with his guidance, your heart skipping beats when he licks in your mouth. 

“Do it back,” Changbin says.  “You want him to fuck you, baby.  Make him believe it.”

You think the him is question is the waiter.  Isn’t it?  You don’t even know where the waiter is anymore, if he’s around the corner or watching.  In the haziness of your kiss, it hardly seems to matter.  You kiss Minho back with the same urgency, pulling him closer, whimpering when he bites your bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” is the gentle whisper that Minho can’t fight.  His brow is crinkled, his eyes closed.  He kisses you again, his hands jumping up to gather yours.  He laces his fingers with yours and presses your hands into the wall on either side of your head. 

“Wrap your leg around his waist,” Changbin says.  “Like that, that’s it, you’re okay.” 

You lift one leg, shaky and unsure.  Minho catches you under the knee and pulls it more certainly around him.  He holds you there, his other hand grasping your throat very gently as he kisses and kisses and kisses you.  Your hands are still splayed open by your head, thoughtlessly awaiting direction.  Your fingers curl into your palm and you moan for real when Minho presses against you. 

Minho is a good actor, but the hard shape in his pants is very real.  When he grinds against you, so open and soft with your leg around his waist, it draws all those guttural sounds right out of you.  Minho makes one back, swivelling his hips in a maddening grind against you.  It is all too easy to imagine him fucking you like this, the effortless back-and-forth of his hips, your sweet sighs as he takes you, imagining Changbin there, his breath also stuttering. 

You do not forget he is watching all this, especially when he lets another low laugh and asks, “She feel good?”

“Yes,” Minho answers without hesitation, breathing the word against your lips. 

“Hold his face, baby,” Changbin says.  “Kiss him like you mean it.  Ask him to fuck you with it.”

You know what he means by that: to kiss Minho with fervency and heat.  You do obey, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him deeply, but the fuzziness of desire mixed with Changbin’s words makes your brain go screwy with want.  Not only does your kiss convey that desire, but words rush past your mouth, crashing into Minho’s lips in a breathless flurry.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please,” you say, your voice pitching up into a little whine as you rock against him.  “Want you to fuck me so bad, baby,” you say, thinking of both of them at the same.   You kiss Minho’s surprised, open mouth, your eyes closed, your voice loud in this hazy space as you say, “I’ve been thinking about it all night.  Need it so bad.  Please.  Want you inside me.  Want my mouth on you.  Come in me.  Come on me.  Take me, please.  I’m so hot and wet, it’ll feel so good, don’t you want to feel how wet I am?  Don’t you want to fuck me too?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Changbin says, followed by a rush of even more inventive curses.

Minho settles on another simple, surprised, “Fuck.” 

Then someone is clearing their throat.  Minho jumps, his hands clamping tighter around you, protective. 

“Oh, right, this clown,” Changbin says.  “I hate that he’s too far away too punch.” 

You giggle in spite of yourself, which is good because you think you might simultaneously die of embarrassment.  You drop your leg and Minho lets you go, pulling himself together faster than you. 

You let him do his thing, sliding a hand through his hair and smirking at the waiter as he saunters over.  He makes his little speech, something-something-something a moment alone with the missus, something-something sorry-sorry-sorry.   He walks the waiter back around the corner, giving you a knowing glance over his shoulder. 

Thank god your cypher scrambler has its act together, even if you are a mess.  It takes you longer to right yourself than it does for the scrambler to finish its job.  Your hands are shaking as you break into the hub, but muscle memory takes over when you have your mini-laptop open. 

Minho joins you a minute later.  Your entire body lights up like a firework when he steps close to you.  Nothing in his expression conveys anything more than professionalism – his queries are about the job and the job alone – but there is an ache between your thighs that won’t subside.  You know he feels the same way as you can see he is still hard despite how much he glares at the wall.  He adjusts his pants several times while standing in that closet of a hub with you.  You keep glancing at each other, your gazes heady, speaking volumes more than your polite conversation.   

When you leave and he puts his hand on your lower back, you shiver.  You think you might double over from the persistent thumping of your easily-distracted pussy. 

Changbin lets out a long sigh and a nervous giggle.  “Good work, team,” he says. 

You have worked enough jobs that you manage to set aside your personal feelings for the time being.  It is easy to lose yourself in your work, especially when you really have to fight the security system.  

You get inside the storeroom.  You know it is filled with more traps and alarms so you sit down beside the door and type away on your laptop.  You nearly break a sweat with the intensity of your work. 

“She’s hot when she’s doing her thing,” Changbin suddenly says. 

You lift your head and catch Minho’s eye.  He smiles at you.  “I agree,” he says. 

Your heart starts skipping beats again.  You look down at your laptop, feeling uncharacteristically shy under his gaze. 

“Don’t distract me,” you say, making both of them laugh a little.  You glare at Minho but there is no real animosity behind it. 

At least they both acquiesce, going silent while you work.  You manage to disarm most of the storeroom.  The best you can do for the remainder of traps is trigger their subsequent lighting rigs so you can see them all.  A labyrinth of blue light brightens the dark entry room, revealing each laser trigger that blocks your path to the locked compartments. 

You look up at Minho whose calculating gaze is already tracing each intricate beam. 

“Got it?”  Changbin asks.

Minho starts unbuttoning his suit.  “Always,” he says, smirking. 

Minho flips the blazer down his arms, revealing just a tight white crop top beneath it.  His jacket, shoes, and jewelry form a pile beside you.   Minho does a few quick stretches before confidently approaching the laser grid. 

Before his criminal life, Minho was a dancer, and a good one.   He draws the same graceful lines with his body now, making each manoeuvre look easy even though you know it is incredibly difficult. 

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” Changbin says.

“Yeah,” you say, biting your lip and watching Minho move.  “Gotta agree.” 

Minho slips over and under each laser, twisting and bending and sliding with ease.  He pops up on the other side with a graceful twirl, throwing you a wink over his shoulder before flipping a switch on the control panel.  It powers down the censors so you can scurry across the room to join him. 

The compartment door unlocks with your final hacked access code, the door swinging open to reveal your loot.  Changbin gives a successful holler into your earpiece, making you and Minho duck with his volume. 

“I’ll bring the car around, baby,” Changbin says while you two roll your eyes but smile. 

You pack your fold out bags with your selections.  One key to success is never being overly greedy.  You walk away with a substantial victory nonetheless.    

You hurry out of the storeroom with your prize haul.  Minho gets dressed again, though he doesn’t button up his jacket.  He takes a second to catch his breath while you restore each alarm so nothing appears out of place.   When you are ready to go, he takes your hand, smiling.  You run hand-in-hand back down the corridor, making a few sharp turns until you find a staff exit.  There is a small drop so Minho jumps down first then holds out his arms for you.  Though you could make the jump easily, you still let yourself fall into his arms.  

He holds you close as he puts you on your feet.  You are riding the high of adrenaline and success, your heart soaring, which might be why you so easily surrender to desire.   You kiss him, sudden and brief but tantalizing.  He blinks back at you with surprise, his face scrunching with that astonished little laugh of his.   

You smile at him.  A line of sweat dots his hairline and you reach up, smoothing some messy strands of purple hair.  The gentle caress changes the whole shape of his face, his eyes heavy-lidded, his breathing harder.  You feel yourself change too, your heart pounding against his chest when he pulls you close. 

You got greedy with that kiss and greediness has consequences.  You are so distracted with each other that you don’t notice the security guards coming at you from the opposite direction. 

“Hey!” one shouts.  “What are you doing out here?” 

You and Minho look over, then at each other.  There is no time for conversation.  You grab each other’s hands and start running, your bags of stolen goods bouncing on your shoulders. 

“Hey!” the security guard shouts again.  You can hear their heavy footsteps thundering after you, fast despite their muscle and bulk. 

You turn the corner onto a backstreet just in time for the camper van to swing into view.  The door slides open and Changbin jumps out.  You pass each other, dropping hands so Changbin can dart between you.  

Panting, you and Minho watch as Changbin effortlessly takes down the guards. 

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” you say, giggling.

Minho laughs, nodding.  “I agree,” he says. 

Minho takes the steering wheel so you can apologize to your baby for abandoning her.  Changbin jumps back in the van and the three of you drive away with another successful haul. 

Later, back at the penthouse, Minho takes the longest shower in an effort to scrub the purple out of his hair.  You are in your bedroom when he finally emerges.  You can hear him and Changbin talking in the living room.  By the sounds of it, the purple is still threaded in his dark brown hair, likely to last a few more days.  You smile to yourself, listening to their playful back-and-forth as Changbin teases him and Minho snarkily retaliates. 

It is tradition after a successful job to have a few drinks and relax.  Contacting your fence and taking care of business can wait until tomorrow. 

You can hear the usual music playing through the speakers, can hear the clink of bottles and glasses, can hear Changbin and Minho laughing and talking. 

You look at your reflection in the mirror.  Though you seldom have occasion to wear pretty luxuries, you have enough money at your disposal to treat yourself.   You have been changing in and out of different lingerie sets since you got home.  You think this one might be just right: a silky black set worn under a lacy black dress that falls to your thighs.  It is suggestive but arguably casual.  You could just be wearing it as pyjamas, right?  Sure.  Sure.  Totally normal pyjamas for a totally normal night.

The best con is one that is close to the truth, Minho had said.  Then he stuck his tongue in your mouth and you begged him to fuck you with Changbin’s help.  Even you, who is terrible at reading and understanding people, know what truth was in that charade. 

You take a deep breath and march to your bedroom door with determination.  You throw it open so hard that it smashes into the wall, startling the boys in the other room.  You ignore the crash and scurry into sight, avoiding eye contact.

“Hello,” you say.

There is a moment of prolonged silence then Changbin says, “Hi.”

You look up.  They are both staring at you, both wide-eyed, both in sweatpants and t-shirts with their hair undone and fluffy.  They look very casual and very surprised.  Minho is clutching a beer bottle and Changbin is holding a bowl of popcorn.  Both of them are frozen.

You smile a very awkward smile.

“Hello,” you say again.  “I am… I am… dressed.  For bed.  My bed.  For being in my bed, like this, as I am dressed right now.  I am going to that bed, now, like this.  You can… join me.  If you want.  If you don’t want, then, okay.  Hello.  And.  Goodbye.  Bye.” 

You run back to your bedroom and slam the door closed. 

Other than the soft music still swirling in the air, the penthouse is quiet.  You cannot hear the boys, not a comment, not a sound, not a breath.

Then you hear the popcorn bowl hit the ground and a bottle smash.  They shove and yell at each other as they stumble on the way to your bedroom.  You are standing awkwardly in the middle of your room, hands folded in front of you, waiting as they crash into your bedroom door and curse at each other. 

Changbin then very casually opens the door and they calmly walk inside. 

“Hello,” you say. 

“Hi,” Changbin replies. 

You wish thoughts could be hacked like a computer.  You cannot think of what to say or do next.  You just stare at them and they stare back, although their gazes are considerably less nervous.  Their stares are thirsty, drinking you in, looking from top to bottom and back again. 

“Turn around,” Minho says, his gaze low. 

You meet Changbin’s eye before obliging, slowly turning.

“Okay,” Minho says after a long moment, giving your heart plenty of time to go crazy in your chest.  “Thank you.” 

You turn back around, just as embarrassed as earlier but not angry at all.  You cross your arms over your chest, flicking your gaze between them. 

Minho reaches out and lightly punches Changbin on the arm.  Changbin looks at him and Minho gives him a look, one you cannot decipher.  You continue to stare at them. 

Changbin nods at Minho then looks at you.  He holds out his hand. 

“Breathe, baby,” he says.  “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

You laugh but nod, taking his hand.  He wastes no time pulling you close, guiding your hand to his heart as Minho did earlier.  He holds your hand there and waits until you make eye contact so he can wink at you. 

“I know I am the best looking man you have ever seen in your life,” he says, making you laugh again, “but I’m me.  You trust us?”

You look at him then at Minho.  His dark hair is still tinted purple, his bare face open and soft as he meets your eye.  You smile and look back at Changbin, nodding. 

“Always,” you say. 

“Good,” Changbin says. 

He cups your face and you lean towards him, anticipating a kiss, but he gently turns your face aside.  You don’t even have time to be confused before Minho is kissing you.  He swiftly draws all those sweet sounds out of you, pulling you towards him.  Changbin steps behind you, holding your hips and kissing his way up your neck to your ear. 

“Baby,” Changbin says while Minho slows his kiss to something gentle but heated, his tongue swiping at yours.  “Listen to my voice, okay?” 

You nod, light-headed but eager. 

“Good,” Changbin says.  “Come sit in my lap.  Over here.” 

Changbin is strong enough to haul you around.  You barely have to move, letting yourself go soft in his arms.  He sits on the edge of the bed and puts you in his lap, spreading your legs over his thighs.   You stare up at Minho, out of breath, your thighs twitching to close for pressure.  Changbin slides a hand down, stroking your inner thigh and making you jump, his other hand tugging down your dress and immediately going for your breast. 

Minho sweeps a hand through his hair, taking a breath before stepping up to you. 

“Still want your mouth on him, baby?”  Changbin asks, reminding you of all the things you whispered in that heated moment.  

You nod, whimpering when Changbin slides his hands into your panties and touches you directly.  He circles and circles the most sensitive cluster of nerves, grunting and pressing his lips to your neck. 

“She’s so fucking wet,” Changbin says.  He slips his hand out of your panties and abruptly grabs Minho by the hand, tugging him closer.   Minho brings that hand to his mouth, licking your wetness off Changbin’s fingertips.  “Touch him baby,” Changbin says.  “You see how hard he is for you?”

You can see.  You can feel Changbin too, hard under you.  Their sweatpants do little to disguise it. 

You do not hesitate obeying, tugging on the waistband of Minho’s sweats.  Everything feels so dreamy and good, surrounded by touch.  It all seems to happen quickly; suddenly Changbin’s hand is in your panties, Minho’s dick is in your mouth, and Minho’s hands are tugging the straps of your dress down.   This ends with you drooling messily all over the end of his dick, sucking on the head and murmuring nonsense while Changbin makes you come on his fingers.  Then Minho kneels in front of you both, your legs end up over his shoulders, and you find yourself hurtling towards another orgasm on his mouth. 

You dress ends up somewhere, the panties too.  The bra is barely on, the straps hanging down your arms.  Changbin finally kisses you when you are on your back in the middle of the bed.  He lays between your open legs, his fingers filling you up as you continue to gush all over his hand.  You grab him, squeezing his biceps as he effortlessly moves that strong hand between your legs.  Minho climbs up too, his shirt somewhere across the room.  He grabs your hands and pulls them over your head, pinning them into the pillows before ducking down to kiss you.   You come for a third time before either of them even fucks you. 

Then they do.  Minho first, with you under him, listening to every direction Changbin murmurs in your ear.  You lift your legs around his waist when Changbin says, then touch yourself when Changbin asks, and shudder when Minho comes inside you like you earlier begged. 

Then Minho is behind you, holding you, touching you, protective and familiar while Changbin fucks you.  Changbin has a surprisingly filthy mouth, continuing to tell you how good you feel and how good you look.  Minho is quiet but fully entranced by you, his hands constantly wandering.  He slides one hand down and rubs you off while Changbin fucks you.  Then he leans over your shoulder and kisses Changbin on the mouth, making Changbin finish too.  

The music is still playing in the next room.   The three of you lay there in various states of undress, you in the middle, sweaty and messy, the boys panting and gently stroking your arms and thighs. 

“I love you guys,” you say.  It is incredibly cliché to make a love confession after several mind-blowing orgasms, but you don’t care.   You don’t need to play games or tell lies or be good at socializing, not with your boys.   You can just be your nerdy self, confessing your feelings even while drifting into sleep. 

You smile when you feel Minho kissing your cheek, Changbin giggling on your other side. 

“It will have to be big,” Changbin says.  “The biggest.”

“Hmm?” you ask, looking at him strangely. 

“The diamond we steal to put on your finger,” Changbin says, holding up your hand and circling your ring finger.  You laugh and try to pull your hand back but Minho catches it, nodding in accord. 

“I agree,” Minho says.  He kisses your temple.  “I know how criminals work,” he adds.  “You’re not getting stolen away from us.” 

He and Changbin exchange an affectionate glance over you, nodding at each other, then they are each kissing a side of your face as you squirm and laugh.  You swipe at Minho’s purple hair and kiss Changbin’s cheek, then nestle into their arms as they wrap around you, protective as always. 

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee minho smut #seo changbin smut #lee minho x reader #seo changbin x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #skz x reader

[kiwisbell]

Whiskey Sour

chapter two: manhattan

Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences. His best friend, for one.

series masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending

word count: ~ 5.9k

chapter 2: manhattan

Furniture-building and bonding.

Two of your housemates are perfectly pleasant. Liam, however, is… peculiar. 

The house itself is just fine. It’s attached to others on the quaint street, a shotgun-style thing with plain grey paint and white trim. It’s situated right near campus, and there haven't been any problems with the landlord nor the house itself, so you're happy. It’s bigger than your studio apartment in New York, and you're paying less, considering you now have others to chip in for the lease. 

You met Leigh and Sonya in the bathroom of a bar downtown while acquainting yourself with the city and deciding to get a little too drunk. In front of the mirror, the three of you became best friends, the way drunk women do in bathrooms, and they mentioned they were looking for a couple roommates over the school year. You greedily accepted. 

You’d like to think they're good judges of character, and Liam isn't terrible. Truly, he's not. He’s a handsome young guy, he’s on the rowing team, and he gets good grades. He knows how to cook, even though he's a bit of a health nut, and the four of you have eaten a few meals together at your little dining table. Still, he sits a little too close when he’s next to you on the couch, and he asks you where you're going every time you leave the house. 

With all of your shifts and classes, you still haven't had time to unpack all your things. Your dad’s offered to help you on his time off, but you refuse to let him work without you. So, your many boxes sit around a mattress on the floor until you find the time to set up. On your way down the stairs to the foyer, your bag on your shoulder, you rifle around for your keys. 

“Where are you going?”

You stop in your tracks and roll your eyes before you turn around to face him. “Class,” you say evenly. 

You're frankly surprised he hasn't memorised your schedule already. “Bio?”

Okay. Maybe he has. “That’s right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll see you later on.”

“Yeah.” He gives you a charming smile and leans against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. “See you later.”

You hurry out the door without making it look like you're hurrying, and slide into your car. It takes two turns of the key to start up, but you’re glad you didn't have to endure a question-and-answer session with a guy who has no business knowing your business. 

Leigh’s already there when you settle into your seat. “How was American Lit?” you ask her. She had a free block just before Biology, and decided—for some reason—to fill it by studying the transcendentalists, free-thinkers, and racists of the world. 

She gives you a good-natured eye roll. “Overrated as always. Hey, did Liam give you a tough time this morning?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Not as much as usual. Why? Did he harass you?”

“He doesn't give a shit what Sonya or I do,” she says with a laugh of mirth. “Maybe because we aren’t single—or into the male of the species. He probably wants to know you're not going to see a boyfriend.”

“Ah. Well, luckily for him, Bio is all the action I can manage to get these days.” You flip open your notebook and eye the clock. Your professor strolls in just on time. “And Liam isn't my caretaker. He shouldn't care if I have a boyfriend.”

“He does if he wants to be the lucky guy.”

You nudge her gently with your elbow. “He should have told me that before he served me plain tofu last week. For breakfast.”

Leigh giggles, stifling it with her hand, and the lecture begins. 

~

Your dad opens the door a few seconds after your soft knock. “Thank God you're here,” he groans. “I was gonna eat this whole steak myself. Joel would've had to fend for himself.”

Oh, that's interesting. “Joel’s here?” you say casually. 

“I hope that's okay.” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Was hoping I could ask you a favour in exchange for food.”

You step inside and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Of course. As long as you don’t make me eat plain tofu.”

He makes a face, but you just shake your head. “Don’t ask. What’s your favour?”

“I want to help you get your new place in order,” he tells you, “and Joel’s volunteered to help.”

“Your favour… is that I let you help me unpack?”

“Uh. Yeah.” He shrugs. “We don’t mind, kiddo. Really. It’ll make things go a lot faster.”

“But…” You know it’s a beautiful deal, and you should take it, but something in your gut twists at the idea of using your new family for manual labour. “I… I can’t let you do that for me. Let me pay you, at least. Let me—”

“No.” He wraps his hands around your arms. “Let me do this for you. I’m your dad. Dads are supposed to help their kids put together furniture and shit.”

You don’t remember being such a teary-eyed person, but you wrap your hands around his middle and blink away the wetness. “Thank you. But I’m not letting you do it for free.”

“I’m sure Joel will have something to say about that, too.”

Sure enough, Joel Miller is in the kitchen, pulling three plates from a cupboard. When he turns around and meets your eye, your stomach turns upside-down. “Hey.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” You give him a smile and take the plates from his hands, since he hasn’t even managed to close the cupboard since you walked in. “I was under the impression you had a bad back, Mr. Miller. Don’t do too much heavy lifting.”

“Where the hell did you hear that?” Joel narrows his eyes at your dad. “You tellin’ your daughter I’m incapable of doin’ my job?”

“Nobody ever said that.” You set out the plates and give Joel a reassuring look. “But if you think I’m letting you both put together my space for free, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“I’m family,” says your dad. “And Joel’s my business partner, so he gets roped into my shit no matter what.”

You stare expectantly at Joel, who just folds his arms over his chest. You look sharply away when you find your eyes catching on the bulge of his biceps. “It’s true,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

When he sees you worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, Joel looks down at the counter and blinks hard. Jesus, he thinks. The fuck am I looking at? Mike’s kid. Mike’s fuckin’ daughter.  

He scratches his jaw and slaps Mike on the back. “You want me to start the barbecue?”

Mike waves a hand. “Nah, man. I’ll get it.” He looks toward you. “Can you cook something other than boxed macaroni?”

You scoff indignantly, pointing at him with a fork from the table. “You listen here, old man—”

Mike lifts his hands in surrender and backs out the kitchen door. “Get the potatoes ready.” 

With that, you're left alone with Joel. 

Shit. 

“You heard the man. Do you know where his masher is?” Moving around the dining table, your hand ghosts over his back to put some distance between you as you shuffle past him to the stove. The gentle touch fuses every knob of his spine together and echoes through his bones. 

Joel stiffens, shutting his eyes, his knuckles white around the counter. “It’s, uh—” Fuck. Where is the masher? He’s been in this kitchen a hundred times. He’s held the masher plenty. “It’s in the…”

He can vaguely hear some rattling in the cupboards behind him, but it’s only when he hears his name that he manages to unstick himself from the counter and move aside. You're on your knees, staring up at him with an apologetic smile. “I need to look in this cupboard.”

Joel staggers backward so suddenly he almost trips over his own feet. “Sorry,” he croaks. Holy shit. He can see your tits perfectly in that little white tank top, the swell of your ass in those godforsaken jeans as you bend over and scour through the cupboard. Joel’s mouth feels dry. He rubs two fingers across his mouth, feeling fucking filthy as he imagines tugging your pretty tits out of that shirt, shucking down your jeans, spreading your thighs and tasting the sweet—

“Found this instead.” You stand up, a little flushed in the face, holding up an electric beater with a huge smile on your face. “Think it still works?”

“Uh—” Joel clears his throat. “Yeah.”

You frown at him, setting the beater aside as you begin to peel the potatoes at the counter. “Are you all right?”

As if you don't know what you're doing. As if every single man who walks by you in the street doesn't do a triple take just to take in that body. Jesus Christ. “Fine,” he says tightly. 

Soft skin. Lips. Teeth. Kind, expectant eyes, peering up at him from—

He’s completely fine. He's never been fucking better. 

Joel doesn't miss the flash of hurt that passes through your eyes before you focus on your task. “I know it's strange,” you say softly, kindly, “having someone else here. In Austin, in this house. I know you're best friends, and I don’t ever want to get in the way of that. I definitely don't want you to resent me. So, if there’s anything I can do”—you draw in a small, shaky breath, and it sounds so fucking sad that his heart cracks down the middle—“just let me know. Okay?”

Oh. You think he doesn't like you? 

“Fuck. Wait.” Joel steps up next to you and places his hand on your arm. You stop your peeling and look up at him, your eyes so fucking buttery and sweet. “Wait. I… I don’t mean to be an asshole. Mike says I do that sometimes.” 

You let out a genuine laugh, and Joel wonders if you're used to having people fall under your spell. If you know that a mere smile from you will make a man walk a tightrope between two mountain peaks. “It ain’t strange,” he tells you. “I’m happy for Mike. I’ve never been happier for him. If you knew how long he's been talkin’ about you…” He scoffs, his hand falling from your arm, even though he indulges a little when he lets his fingers lift goosebumps on your skin along the way. “Don’t… Please don't think for a second that anyone couldn't like you.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and his heart spikes in panic that he's said something wrong. You quickly swipe your thumbs under your watery eyes and sniffle. “I’ve been crying a lot,” you tell him with a weepy laugh. “It’s not you, Joel. Fuck, I think—I think I really needed to hear that.”

“I’ll say it again,” he says, “if you want.” 

The sight of that crooked smirk imbues your knees with a unique weakness. “I’ll let you know the next time I need it.”

His fingers linger a little too close to yours, but he backs away, flexing his hand to shake the imprint of your softness under his palm. The perfume you wear is fucking intoxicating—his nostrils flare when you shift your attention back to the potatoes and the subtle turn of your head makes him inhale the smell of your flowery shampoo. “What can I do?” he asks you, his voice coming out a little rougher than he intended. 

You give him that wicked smile again, and it strikes him hard. “It’s about time you asked. Use those big muscles and fill this pot with water for me.”

Big muscles, huh? He'll fuckin’ show you. He doesn’t give a fuck about his back if it means carrying boxes and putting together furniture will make you happy. Joel does what you tell him, filling the pot, draining it again, then refilling, poking the potatoes when you ask him to, adding milk and butter. You work quietly together apart from the guiding hand of your soft voice, and thank God the beater works, because he cannot handle seeing you bent over in Mike’s kitchen one more time. 

“This is so fucking good.” 

Across the table, Joel watches you cover your mouth as you chew, a little moan rumbling in your throat, and he immediately returns his attention to his own cut of medium-rare, ordering his hand to manually unclench around his knife. 

“I told you,” laughs Mike. “No more eating that shitty boxed macaroni. Or plain tofu, whatever the fuck that is.”

Plain tofu? What the hell are you eating at home? “Liam thinks he’s allergic to sugar. It’s the only explanation.”

Both Joel and Mike speak at the same time. “Who the hell is Liam?”

They share a glance, but you interrupt the brief silence. “My housemate,” you reply. Neither of them miss the distasteful tone in your voice. 

“Is Liam… nice to you?” asks Mike. It’s a careful question, tediously making sure he doesn't overstep too fast, even though Joel wants to know the same thing. 

You, of course, see right through him. “Liam is perfectly fine,” you tell him, taking another cube of steak between your teeth. 

Yeah, Joel’s not convinced. Neither is Mike, judging from the look he sends Joel’s way. But they both drop the subject, for now. It’s one thing to find his long-lost daughter and welcome her into his home—it’s another to inadvertently scare her away with overbearing questions. You're independent. You're used to caring for yourself. 

Though, judging from how you devour your steak and potatoes, Joel’s not particularly convinced you’re taking enough care of yourself, either. 

“So, this Daily Texan thing.” Mike swallows a mouthful of cooked carrots and looks at you expectantly. “Did it pan out?”

Your eyes glint with excitement. “Yes! God, I forgot to tell you—I’ll be starting next week.” 

Mike grins, and you try, truly and deeply, to stop yourself from crying again. “That’s my girl.”

“Congratulations,” says Joel, lifting his beer in toast. 

Your flushed cheeks are so damn cute. “Thank you.” You hide your growing smile behind a bite of steak. “So, what's your next job?”

“Client is looking to fill in their pool,” says Mike. “Wants a gazebo over it.”

Your mouth drops open. “So you're pouring concrete and filling holes?”

Joel snorts. “Ain't always like that. Finished the scaffolding on a house last week. Sooner than we expected.”

He doesn't know why he cares about sounding better at his job than he is, or more exciting. It’s not like carpentry is thrilling. Not to a young, pretty, smart girl like you. Still, you beam like it’s as much of an accomplishment as being elected president. “Looks like a tight ship you both run. Does it ever get difficult?”

“It’s difficult every goddamn day,” says Mike, “especially with this asshole.”

Joel smacks him upside the head as you take a passive sip of water. When all the plates are cleared, and you practically race your dad to the kitchen to clean up, Joel decides he doesn't want to go home yet. It’s rude to dine and dash, after all. It's what his momma told him. 

So, he helps you wash the dishes while Mike decides to walk two blocks over to the closest variety store for a six-pack. “Wet or dry?” you ask Joel. 

He’s already fixing himself in front of the sink and scrubbing the first plate clean. You huff, nudging him playfully with your elbow. He gives you a mock-injured look with those big brown eyes, like a kicked puppy. “Ow.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.” You blink up at him and pout, and the air, unfailingly and familiarly, flees through the open window. His blood surges down to his cock, which twitches, deeply interested, in his jeans. “I’ll kiss it better once you're done,” you tease. 

Jesus Christ. No wonder your roommate wants in your goddamn pants. Joel’s never wanted to fight a college boy until now. “Looks like you're already fallin’ behind,” he manages to tease back, indicating the two plates he's stacked up next to the sink. 

You grab a clean cloth and begin to dry the dishes in silence, accomplishing your tasks at the same speed he does, entering a plain and effective routine. There’s no push or pull. It’s easy. It isn't awkward. The wind whistles gently outside, but Joel still feels hot around the collar, and wonders if you’re checking him out as often as he’s raking his eyes up and down your body. 

He’s going to hell. 

“I don't know much about him,” Joel says gruffly, “but this Liam kid is bad news.”

You laugh mirthlessly. “I could’ve told you that. You know he asks me where I’m going every single time I leave the house? He might think he's coming up with the same clever excuse to talk to me, but he’s embarrassing himself. I…” You press your lips together then part them again, and Joel swallows at the sight. “I can’t ever seem to find luck with guys. I mean, uh… guys my age. They all feel too much like boys.”

It strikes him like a slap to the face. He knows it's not pointed, he knows, and yet his mouth curves up in a smile he can't suppress. He feels something like vindication. That scrap of a college kid doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve the same fucking air as you. But they're all entitled. They don't earn what they get. You’ve earned every victory you've won. 

And you like men. You like men who will show you how you deserve to be appreciated. 

“Joel.” Your soft voice wriggles from his ear to his brain and sticks firm to the grey matter. “You’re the one falling behind now.”

You're right. He rips his gaze away from your face and focuses on washing the dishes. And like that, the pair of you dissolve into a pleasurable silence once again. 

The next time it breaks, you're the one who speaks first. 

“Are you happy?”

He’s working a particularly tedious spatula, one filled with holes, so he can stall a little while he meets your gaze again. The look in your eyes gives him pause: it's like you're afraid of what he has to say. 

He shifts his body to face you better, and you do the same. “What kind of answer are you lookin’ to hear?”

It's a gentle question, but it makes you frown. “I don't want you to change your answer to please me.”

He knows that. He also knows there are plenty of things he'd do to please you. “I don’t think I know what happiness is.”

“Good,” you sigh, “because I don't either.”

“What's wrong with that?” Joel wants to brush aside that stray piece of hair hanging in your eye. He doesn't. “You're young. You've got a lot of life left to figure that out.”

“You’re not old, Joel,” you scold. “And sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes, I think I missed my window.”

At some point, he stopped washing the spatula. “Why?”

“Because I made a lot of sacrifices.” Your voice breaks, and he’s overcome with the need to help, to pull you in and ground your body with his hands. But he doesn't. It will cross a hundred lines. He will not. “And I feel terrible for wanting that. Happiness. I just feel selfish.”

“You know, I was almost married.” Your brows lift at the admission, and Joel chuckles. “Yeah. I know. Proposed and everything. But somewhere along the road, we both realised we wanted lives that didn't mesh. She wanted the life of a world traveller, and I was just ready to settle down. Maybe even have a kid.” He shrugs. “Wouldn’t have worked. Not with each other, at least.”

“You don't regret it?”

“Maybe…” He clears his throat, backing away just a step and focusing on the godforsaken spatula. “Maybe it's okay to be selfish sometimes.”

A hand, soft and small, is on his upper arm. It’s the simplest touch in the world. But to Joel, it’s a match that lights up his whole body from hand to gut to feet. It’s a pair of shackles that lock him in place. He refuses to breathe for fear that the slightest movement will shrug your hand away. 

“It’s not my place,” you say, “but I’m glad you made that decision. I’d hate to ever see you unhappy, Joel Miller.” Your lips quirk up into that smile again, and his nerves twinge like violin strings. “Might have to start running for the hills.”

~

You can tell Joel and your dad are carefully scanning their surroundings when they enter your home on Sunday night for any sight of Liam Baker. “He’s at work,” you reassure them. “Sonya and Leigh are out for date night. Thank you both. Seriously. I can’t repay—”

“You don’t need to,” says your dad, kissing the top of your head. “Let's see the damage.”

You lead them to your room, and Joel focuses his gaze on the creaking wood under his boots so he doesn't have to look at your ass in those tight fucking yoga pants. Do you do yoga? 

Jesus, he's losing it. You let them into your room, your face a little flushed. There’s a yoga mat unrolled on the floor, and Joel’s got his answer. He tries very hard not to imagine you with your ass up in the air, grabbing a handful of your flesh as he gets up close and—

“You don't have a bed frame.” 

You try to wave off Mike’s gentle scolding. “I needed another person to help put it together. It's been perfectly fine—”

“—sleeping on the floor?” 

Joel can tell you're getting uncomfortable with all the focus on you, so he smacks Mike on the back and asks, “What do you want done first?”

Mike gets it, backing off and letting you take the lead. The three of you make quick work of assembling the bed frame and lifting your mattress onto it. When you crawl onto the bed to test that it won't collapse, your limbs resembling a starfish and that tight shirt and those tight pants, Joel looks away. 

Next is your dresser. It’s a fucking breeze for two carpenters, who have it assembled and placed precisely where you want in a half-hour, without looking at the instructions (“Men,” Joel hears you scoff under your breath). You busy yourself with putting together your bedside table and, afterward, folding your clothes neatly in the drawers of the dresser. Sitting on the floor cross-legged, you fold up all your pairs of jeans and your goddamn yoga pants in such clean piles that Joel wants to ask you to help reorganise his closet. “The track work okay?” he asks you.

“Like a greased wheel.” You grin at him when he kneels to test the drawer himself. “I trust you, you know. You do work with wood for a living.”

“Can’t have this fallin’ on you as you walk by.” He matches your smile, deciding that the track works just fine. It’ll do you good. His chest feels a little bigger for knowing he’s helped you out. 

“Where’s my dad?” 

Joel gestured with his chin toward the window, which looks out on the driveway. “Lookin’ at your car,” he replies. “Apparently, he doesn’t trust it.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you say nonchalantly, folding your pairs of socks as fast as lightning. “The guy I bought it from only snorted two lines while I was there.”

“All right, smartass.” His smile drops when he sees what’s in the bag you haven’t yet unpacked: a haphazard pile of panties. Lace. Jesus Christ, there’s so much lace. Pink, blue, white. Joel’s jaw ticks. There’s a black fucking thong in there, and he hasn’t had enough time to put up a shield. All he’s doing is picturing that pathetic scrap of black lace as you get on your hands and knees, as he bites into the flesh of your ass, as he sucks bruises into your thighs that will smart for days, as he shucks down that fucking thong and fits himself—

Joel’s back pinches a little when he stands up so abruptly, and you’re the first to notice his wince. 

“Hey,” you say with a furrowed brow, standing up to close the distance between you, “you need to go home? You’ve done enough.”

Joel cocks his head at you and opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of the door opening downstairs diverts both your gazes. It isn’t your father’s voice calling out to you; it’s Liam’s. You glance at the clock and curse. He’s done his shift.

“Hey,” he says, slapping his palm above the doorway of your bedroom to signal his entrance. His gaze finds you immediately, but when it flickers to the other man in the room, his eyes narrow. “Who’s this?”

Joel puts his body in front of yours instinctively. Doesn’t this asshole know how to knock? “This is Joel,” you say politely, keeping things nice and civil, “my dad’s friend. Joel, this is Liam—my housemate.”

Liam stretches his hand out, but Joel sizes him up first. He’s clean-cut and clean-shaven and looks like he hits the gym, but he’s scrawny compared to Joel. He could knock the kid clean out if he wanted to. He sort of wants to. He reaches forward to shake his hand and squeezes a little harder than usual.

“Good to meet you, Joel,” says Liam. 

“Yeah,” is all Joel says in reply. 

You clear your throat and step out from behind Joel’s broad shoulders. “Is there something you needed to talk about before I call it a night?” you ask Liam.

“Actually”—Liam eyes Joel warily—“I was wondering if you wanted to go out. Hit a bar or something.”

Oh, this kid is bold. Joel lifts his brows, folding his arms over his chest. Who the fuck goes bar-hopping on a Sunday night? You’re visibly uncomfortable at the proposal, your eyes darting between the two men in the room. “No,” you finally say, “not tonight, sorry. I have class pretty early tomorrow before my shift.”

“Right,” says Liam, shaking off the invitation just as easily as he offered it. “No worries. Maybe next weekend.”

“Yeah,” you say, and Joel hears a sigh of relief threaded between the letters. “Anyways, we’re all done here, so…”

Something like panic settles in for a restless sleep in Joel’s chest. He can’t just… leave you here. He can’t, on good conscience, walk out the front door knowing you’re a couple doors down from this asshole. There isn’t a lock on your door. He could—

“Joel.” Your hand, again, gently squeezing his bicep. “I’ll walk you down.”

Liam only leaves when you do, and it pisses Joel off even more. He doesn’t follow you downstairs, thank Christ, but it still means Joel has to leave. You keep holding onto his arm as you guide him outside to the front porch. “No fuckin’ way,” seethes Joel, finally letting himself speak far out of earshot, “can you live with him.”

“I never had a choice, Joel,” you reply, calm as ever, your hand doing all the heavy lifting—seeping into his bones, helping his shoulders relax a little. 

“You haven’t seen how this asshole looks at you—”

“Joel,” you cut in. “I’ll be fine.”

Joel’s fingers flex into fists and uncurl repeatedly. “Has this kid tried anything on you?”

“No. He hasn’t touched me, said anything out of line, or done a single thing that warrants this.” You smooth out the tension in his brow with your thumb, and Joel’s heart kicks up five notches. “I’ll be okay. Can you trust that?”

It feels illicit to have you touch him like this. You’re strictly off-limits. You’re not his. You’re not here for him. Joel scolds himself for all the pretty pictures he conjures in his head when you smile and laugh and show off that fucking body. He scolds himself a little harder for not caring enough to stop. 

“Yeah,” he says with a pout you want to bite right off his pretty mouth. He’s gorgeous in the light of dusk, softened around the edges and still grumpy as hell. He’ll never touch you like this, like you’ve imagined in your nicest little daydreams. 

“But if he does…” That muscle in his jaw feathers like it tends to do, and all you want is to climb onto him and suck all that tension away. 

“If he does…” Your voice sounds like midnight, velvety soft. “I’ll run to you.”

He still can’t decide, hours later when he’s staring at the ceiling and feeling anything but sleepy, if you were joking.

~

He’s trying to be careful about the time he spends alone with you. It’s just that you make it very difficult.

He’s in Sandy’s Bar again. Without Mike. When he walks in, you’re chatting up with an elderly couple who are both drinking strawberry gin and tonics. Joel can’t help but smile. You’re so fucking sweet, leaning in close to hear them properly and being patient with their repetitive questions whenever it seems their memories aren’t availing them. They’re asking you about school, it seems, when he gets close and sidles up at the bar. 

Your eyes meet his, and they glimmer when you smile. Joel’s chest feels tight. “Hi,” you say, your voice a little breathy when you finally get away. It’s such a sexy fucking sound that his head goes a little fuzzy. “Sorry about that.”

“Charming the locals?” he asks. 

“Apparently so.” You give him a humble shrug. “Complain about the current state of politics or the economy and you can charm the pants off anyone over fifty.”

Joel chuckles. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You drinking?”

“Just coffee, if you have it,” he replies. “I’m… here alone.”

You don’t frown for very long. In fact, he isn’t certain you were ever frowning at all when that wicked smile is twisting your mouth again. Cloying, black, filthy heat courses through his bloodstream. “So you came to see me. Whatever did I do to deserve the attention of Joel Miller?”

Fuck if I know. God forbid he get a restful goddamn sleep since he met you, since he mostly spends his time imagining your tight, soft body underneath him. He pictures sweat and sighs and wet, gasping moans that jerk him awake even when he manages to fall asleep for a moment. 

He needs to get laid. He needs to bury himself in a woman’s body. It’s been too fucking long. That’s all. 

It’s not you. 

“I came for the discount,” he says instead, holding up the chipped mug of coffee you’ve handed him. 

You give him a challenging glare. “What discount?”

You've got him there. “How's the car?” he tries instead. 

“Dad thinks I need a new alternator.” You blow out a breath as you shift to pour a beer for another patron. “Another thing I can’t afford. I’ll pick up a couple extra shifts next week. And here I go, complaining again. I’m sorry, Joel.”

He wants to shake his head and tell you to complain all you fucking want. It means you like talking, confiding, untangling your brain from those knots it gets itself in, and giving him little bits of your life. 

“Alternators ain’t cheap, but I know a guy,” he says. Ken will fix up your piece-of-junk ride if Joel has anything to say with it. “I can give him your number if you want. Tell him you’re Joel’s friend.”

“Sure that won't make him hang up on me?”

Smartass. “Almost sure.”

The gratitude in your eyes is an addictive substance. “I’ve accepted way too much help from you already,” you say, “but God, I need that car.” 

Joel scratches his beard and laughs. “If your car guy only snorted one line of coke, you might not have had that problem.”

“I may have to give him a piece of my mind.”

He’d certainly like to see that. 

“Listen.” You lean forward. Joel can see the winding shapes in your irises and the curve of your upper lip, the way your tits press together in that shirt. “My shift will be over at eleven, and I have a paper to write. But I have something to show you.”

Joel lifts his brows. “I can’t edit papers for shit. I can barely read ‘em.”

“No!” You wave your hand, your cheeks flushing a bit. “I… I know you like the stars, out in the country. I was wondering if you'd like to take a drive.”

A drive. 

A drive? You want to go stargazing with him? You want to drive out, alone in a car together, out of the city, and watch the night sky? Joel is momentarily dumbstruck; he can't fathom that a girl like you would want to spend her Friday night with an old, grumpy asshole. You should be out at a club in a tight little dress, conning free drinks from idiot college boys and dancing with your friends. You shouldn't want… him. This.  

“It was stupid,” you blurt out, casting your eyes down at the bar top. “If I crossed a line, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Joel shakes his head. “Hey, look at me.” Your eyes lift, wide and sad, and he’s going to slap himself for being the one to make you look like that. “What will your dad say?”

You blink slowly, catlike. “Dad won't complain about me spending time with his best friend.”

“He will if his best friend’s much older than you.”

“Joel.” Your syrupy voice makes him want to reach out and wrap his hand around your hair just to hear what kind of noises he can get you to make. “You’re a family friend. If Dad has a problem, I’ll make sure he takes it up with me.” You squeeze his shoulder. “You’ve known him a lot longer than he’s known me. I wouldn't do anything to screw up your friendship, or make him angry with you. You know that, right?”

His heart aches a little for your compassion, how you're willing to take the fall for him. He doesn't want you to have to make another sacrifice, ever again. 

“I know,” he says softly. 

Your tongue wets your bottom lip, a pleasurable hum in your head at the sound of his gentle voice—like a hand at the nape of your neck, holding you firm. “How d’you know I like stars?” asks Joel. 

“Just…” You watch his eyes flit down to your mouth. “Just don't laugh.”

“I won't laugh.”

“Promise me.”

“Baby, I’m not gonna laugh.”

You take a deep breath. “I asked my dad what he gave you for your birthday last year, and he told me you really loved the telescope.”

You watch his brows curve upward in the middle, his warm eyes glimmering as his face softens. “This is my birthday present?”

“This is your pre-birthday present.” You poke him square in the chest with a finger. “Don’t think you aren't getting a gift after everything you've done to help me.”

“I don’t need—” 

You cut his protest short. “I get off at eleven.”

Joel, of course, goes with you. 

#kiwisbell's fics #whiskey sour #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Hello! I love your writing style!! It's just so on spot, and I wanted to request some headcanons for the mercs with a gn! reader who doesn't really speak but they can communicate through sign language or paper for whatever reason, the thing is, the Merc and the reader find themselves in a really critical situation or just an incredibly intimate and comforting moment, blurting out for the first time something serious or stupid like "y'know when I first met you I thought you're really stupid...(affectionate)" IDK OF THIS MAKES SENSE OR IT'S WEIRD SORRY LMAOOA

(if you don't wanna do all of them you could do your faves & I hope there's a chance to add miss Pauling if possible😔) but anyway, too much to read,, sorry again!! Take care♡♡

Y/N with communication anxiety admits their feelings to the Mercs

Scout:

- He’s very chill and nonchalant about it. Although have fun hearing him talk his mouth off all the time and rant about random things. He takes a liking to you pretty quickly when you join his team and leans on the wall next to you tossing his ball from hand to hand and blowing bubbles with his bubblegum. “Heeey there slugger. What‘s your name? You look like a total nightmare today.” He says. When you don’t answer him and nervously gesture to your throat that you’d prefer staying quiet he pauses for a moment. “Not a talker, eh?”

- Literally will not shut the fuck up. Will talk to you for hours on end. Venting or just saying plain stupid shit to impress you. You find his personality rather charming and in exchange he seems to appreciate your content silence and preference to listen to him. Something that the other Mercs don’t really do.

- “Y’know, Y/N. I know this sounds fuckin’ weird but like— Thank you I guess? For listening to my nonstop ramblin. I mean.. Not many people stop to consider what I have to say.” He says this to you while you sit in Tuefort’s gazebo with him on a cold desert morning. “They just think i’m annoying I guess..”

- “Annoying yet charming and handsome nonetheless, Scout.” You finally work up the courage to mutter to him. Your voice is rasp and you smile.

- Scout pauses, then looks at you in complete disbelief. Did Y/N just speak? Atop of that it seemed to have been a flirtatious compliment. He takes a moment to process the situation and then sort of chortles. He runs his hand through his own hair and acts chill about it but on the inside he’s absolutely mad with feelings. “Wow.. That’s.. Yeah, OK.” he says, failing to find words. Face flushed with heat.

——————————————————————

Soldier:

- He was the first person to approach you in the base. Like ever. When he found out there was a new mercenary he needed to lay the ground rules to them as soon as possible. Instead of giving him a “Yes sir!” like he had hoped, you stared at him blankly. (I’d probably be rethinking this job offer.) Wondering why you hadn’t spoken up to him, he got close to your face and looked up and down you. “I’D LIKE TO HEAR A YES SIR PRIVATE!” Still nothing. You were too busy admiring his muscles. You’ve just met this man but you’d let him throw you off a bridge in an instant.

- When he still doesn’t get a response, he backs up and angrily fixes his helmet “Insubordination I see.. Heh. Okay.” He mutters and prepares to plan a punishment later. You are oddly charmed by his stupid greeting and you head to the nearest chalkboard and explain in writing why you can’t respond back. He lifts his helmet up to read it and then looks back at you. (The other Mercs are kind of stunned that Soldier even knows how to read in the first place.)

- “Ah, I see.. Strange tactical decision but not unheard of.” He responds, then straightens his posture apologetically. You two become close friends from then on. Medic has to explain to him later that you just have “mild” communication issues. For the first few months of your guys’ friendship the dumbass thought you were doing this to gain an upper hand.

- After a match one day you catch him smoking a cigar on a huge pile of bodies in the pouring rain. You step up the horrific mess of blood and guts to meet him. He doesn’t look too happy. Although Soldier never really opens up about anything to anyone. He’s way too deep in his little military fantasy. You sit next to him and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Whatever the hell he was upset about you knew it wasn’t good. After a bout of silence you whisper “You’re a wonderful strategist, Soldier.”

- You can’t see his expression underneath his helmet but you can certainly hear his heartbeat quicken because of how close you are. His mouth nearly twitches up into a grin. He doesn’t respond to your compliment but he’s relieved to hear one nonetheless after all this time.

————————————————————————-

Demoman:

- You find him making bombs in his quarters when you meet him for the first time. He doesn’t look too friendly but as you decide to walk by he immediately calls out to you. “Ayeee! New blood. Get ova’ here a second. Wee lil monster.” He beckons his hand aggressively.

- You walk over to him and he puts an arm around your shoulder. Patting you reassuringly. “Aye.. So It’s not gonna be easy livin’ here just so you know. We’re all a wee bit mad. Don’t take the others’ too seriously when dey bother ye.” He takes the responsibility upon himself to let you know as an older Merc it’ll be okay. He slaps you friendlily on the back after his conversation and sends you off. He doesn’t really question the fact you aren’t speaking.

- You immediately take a liking to him though. Mainly due to his explosive personality on the battlefield (pun intended.) He gets horribly drunk before doing any Mercenary work and acts goofy the entire time. His charisma pulls you in like a magnet. You want to speak to him but it’s so hard…

- After months of simping for this guy from afar, you slip a note under his doorframe professing your feelings to him. You hear him pick it up. The next thing you know, he barges into your quarters the next day after a match and grabs you by the shoulders. Asking you in complete disbelief if you actually meant everything you said.

- “Yes, I just think you’re really attractive!” you blurt out instinctively. Alarmed by his behavior. He lets you go; having heard your voice for the first time. The shock of the revelation and the sound of your voice, atop of the alcohol seemed to have done it for him. He immediately kissed you on the lips without warning. You’re the first person in years to say this to him.

- “I… Er.. “ He walks away after that. You have no fucking idea what the hell even happened.

——————————————————————-

Engineer:

- You hear the sweet melody of a guitar echoing off the intel room. Despite its clearly southern origins you are drawn to it. As if it was some sort of hypnosis. You’d recognize that melody anywhere. The year was 1967 and you were no stranger to your own childhood. That was clearly “El Paso.” You’ve heard that song on the radio a million times already. But somehow this was different. The soothing voice it came from was singing it as if it were his own lullaby to the multiple sentries around him. The ones of his own creation of course.

- Next thing you know, you’re sitting next to him on the intel desk, sleepy as all shit from the melody and the white noise from the patrolling sentries. You wake up an hour later to embarrassingly finding yourself on this stranger’s lap. You want to profusely apologize to your colleague but nothing comes out.

- He doesn’t even seem phased. For some reason he was stroking your hair as he gazed off into the distance.

- Ever since that day you became close to Engineer. He was completely unbothered by your communication issues and actually kind of appreciates the silent times he has with you. He rarely speaks to you while hanging out either, out of respect for your boundaries. Only the occasional conversation here and there. You are both existing together.

- “I love you, Dell.” You finally say, after a night of drinking in his workshop with him. You are perched up on his lap as always and he’s petting you. At first he misunderstands this as platonic. “Aww..” He cooes. “No, I mean it. I’ve always found you so —“ You bury your face into his chest. Muffling the last part of your sentence “Safe to be around.”

- He’s unbelievably boiling with hormones on the inside. He tips his hardhat forward to hide his flustered face. Holding his own chin. “Dammit..” He mutters in an incredibly positive way. You’ve successfully won this man over.

—————————————————————-

Heavy:

- He’s already met you before the job. Accidentally caught you in a coffee shop in Tuefort being yelled at by an ableist Karen and he took it upon himself to nearly strangle her for you. Heavy doesn’t tolerate behavior like that. You need to insult people with style or nothing at all. Don’t pick on their disabilities. Aim for the most stereotypical high school bully route possible. Come on, you gotta be an asshole skillfully.

- He could tell you were different the moment you joined the team. But that’s fine. He was quite misunderstood too. Heavy wasn’t a dumb himbo. He was a GIANT man with a lust for blood. Although he enjoyed chaos as much as any Merc, Heavy also valued silence. Something that you provided him with your presence. You catch him deliberately body shielding you on the battlefield because he knows this communication issue didn’t come out of nowhere. You’re distressed. This was his subtle attempt to let you know he cared.

- He catches you unable to sleep one night. He opens your door and notes the fact your light was still visible through the cracks. You’re sitting on the bed in an uncomfortable fetal position.

- “Little thing will not sleep?” He asks you. Although he has his typical hardened expression the question suggested he cared. “Hm. Stay here. Heavy will grab bedtime story.”

- He reads you an old Russian classic. Although depending on who you are you might not understand it. Regardless the soft sounds are alluring sleep. It’s clear he’s read people stories many times before because his whispers hit all the right places.

- You mumble to him a thank you. Which makes him pause mid sentence. He doesn’t know how the ever living fuck to process what he’s feeling right now. It’s a mixture of affection and the pang of what is typically the start of romantic attraction. Ew gross he’s feeling soft and fuzzy emotions.

- You pull him under the covers with you eagerly. He grumpily obeys but he doesn’t know why. He nearly destroys your bed with his weight and has to put you on his chest to cuddle. You can hear the sound of the ubercharged baboon heart inside him. Still pumping away and working to keep him going. You slip into slumber easily.

————————————————————————

Pyro:

- Talking is overrated anyway. Nobody really understands Pyro when they speak under the mask. Trying to say something simple like “There’s a spy behind you.” is often met with a confused expression. When Pyro meets you, it’s when he’s allured by your skills on the battlefield. In their point of view you are a glorious unicorn prancing around a field of pollen. (More like debris from the enemy soldiers’ rockets but that’s besides the point.)

- There are rare moments where Pyro is completely lucid and self aware of the fact they’re a mercenary for hire though. They compliment you on your abilities after a match and it takes you a while to understand but you nod.

- They won’t. stop. complimenting. you. You are dragged to his tea parties and childish shenanigans and you find over time it’s surprisingly pleasant to escape from the bloodshed once and a while. Cuddling sessions ensue as time goes on.

- You catch their face without their suit while they’re getting changed. That is vulnerability that Pyro wasn’t ready for yet. They break down sobbing and self depreciating and you feel heartbroken. Who the hell taught them to hate themselves so fucking much? You’re having a bit of empathy overload right now as they squeal and choke up. Finding no other alternative but to speak blissful things about their appearance and personality. Hearing you speak for the first time makes them cry more. (In an incredibly positive way luckily.)

———————————————————————

Sniper:

- Oh shit. Another person whose super quiet for some reason?! Except your situation is different. You’d like to socialize but it’s difficult. Sniper doesn’t want to socialize and he hates basically everybody. But he has that “grumpy older brother who teases you” energy. He’s well aware you’re younger than the other Mercs and therefore a tad easier on you.

- He’s scoping out a crack in the window when he feels your presence behind him. His shoulders stiffen and that’s how you know he senses you. “Blimey. You’d make a terrible Spy.” he mutters. Bringing his gun away from the hole to put it down and face you. His hypersensitivity to noise is no doubt from being stabbed a million times.

- You wonder how he’s able to tell it’s even you in the first place. He’s possibly grown accustomed to how each Mercenary sounds when they approach his nest. You can smell the scent of strong cologne mixed in with bond fire lingering off him. Couple that with the fact that he’s so unbelievably hot? You came to bring him some morning coffee but you end up setting it down to spontaneously hug him.

- “Wh— fuck.” He growls. Both caught off guard and swaying a bit. Trying to adjust to extra weight. He hesitantly hugs you back. Wondering if you were sick or something and needed soothing. He doesn’t understand why anybody would want this from him. It takes him a minute to put his arms around you and pat you.

- “What’s wrong mate?” he says, in your ear. This man might be giving you a voice kink if you don’t already have one. Holy shit. You don’t want to be humiliated by your own voice in front of him and your lips quiver. Incapable of finding the words you’re thinking of. “You’re cute.” you finally say. In a last ditch effort when no other words came to mind. To say you desperately wanted this man was an understatement.

- You hear him take a sharp breath in. He stifles a groan from the amount of energy you just shot into his godamn stomach. Not only was it a pleasure to hear your voice for the first time but it felt intimate. He was very sensitive to things like this. You swore you could hear this man purring in your ear like a cat. He was evidentially as touch starved as you were.

—————————————————————

Medic:

- No speaking?! Oh! this man has to study you like right fucking now. What a curiosity. He’s never met somebody who had issues speaking like this before. He hates to admit —and won’t admit for that matter — that he might be doing this out of emotion as well. Believe it or not Medic can be an incredibly emotion driven person. Not just for the pleasures of harming people but the unwanted sympathy that comes with being human. He hates the idea he might care for you. Why does he even feel that way? It’s not like you’re different from any other Merc..

- Except you are. You’re you. That’s the problem. You’re lovable in every way and no amount of rumination will ever explain why.

- His first instinct upon discovering this about you is to ask you questions about how bad it is. Obviously quickly realizing how stupid that is — he hands you his clipboard and a fresh piece of paper to communicate. “Do you speak if at all?” “Do you experience this in the presence of certain stressors?” “Did you have traumatic experiences that led to this?” “Is this perhaps a case of selective mutism?”

- You scramble to write down incredibly passive aggressive and sarcastic answers but they are answers nonetheless. He seems pleased with the results. Under normal circumstances you’d hate being treated like a guinea pig but his excited smile was charming. The fact that somebody wanted to understand your situation so badly was a bit riveting. He was hungry for information about the human existence. “Danke!”

- You catch something you’d never suspect in a mad scientist such as himself. While he’s drawing mathematical equations on his chalkboard one night he periodically looks over his shoulder to frown at you while he thinks you’re not paying attention.

- He’s doing a terrible job at hiding his human nature. There was a bout of emotion in his eyes about your health. As much as the doctor tried to remove this from his work, it kept rearing its ugly head in certain situations. “I love you, Doctor.” You tell him.

- SNAP. His fingers break the chalk in half. Just like his crumbling facade. You could see his eye twitch as he accesses ten thousand possible answers he could give you in his mind. “Aheh, could you give me a moment, bitte?” He tells you. Waltzing into the other room. You could hear muffled screaming coming from his bedroom. He regrets taking this job and wished he died in police custody.

———————————————————————-

Spy:

- YES! FINALLY SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T MAKE HIM WANT TO PULL HIS HAIR OUT AND BACKFLIP OFF A CLIFF

- Spy elegantly invites you to his quarters one night after weeks of avoiding you the first time you come here. He pours you some wine and hands you a glass. (adjusting your hand in the process because you’re holding the glass wrong.)

- “Do you know why I brought you here?” He asks. Pacing around the room and lighting himself a cigarette from his disguise kit. In all honesty you have no idea why but the sight of such a handsome older man doing this for you was distracting. “It is your performance as of late. You are throughly calculated I must say.” You couldn’t agree with this, but you wondered if he had some sort of thing for competent people. (Your assumptions are correct.)

- …. “Not to mention quieter than me when I scope out prey.” He mentions. Waving the cigarette between two fingers. He was a Spy and you had no doubt he was trying to read you like a book but having difficulties. He was especially accustomed to having small talk with the other Mercs to better fake their counterparts when disguised as them. You couldn’t help but feel a little flattered over the fact that not even a Spy could properly look through you.

- He looked at you rather frustratingly once he realizes you’re still not speaking. “Not even the slightest bit of speaking. Do you realize how much harder you make my job?” He complains sarcastically. You can’t help but crack a humored grin at this. He isn’t being ableist in this situation, rather he’s angry he can’t psychoanalyze somebody. You knew it was within’ a Spy’s nature to instinctively do this.

- He responded positively to your grin. Moving away and dragging his cigarette. Trying to hide a bit of his own amusement. “Yes, yes. You find my suffering to be equivalent to the entire circus.” He says. “But in in all honesty your silence is preferred.” Spy moves in and lifts your chin up with his pointer finger.

- “Tu es agréable à côtoyer..” He hisses. His voice sounding like a hungry cat as he draws closer to you. Spy has a very distinct look in his eye. One that basically screams thoughtful and mysterious. You nearly passed out at the unintentionally romantic gesture.

- “Please throw me off a fucking building.” You say.

- “What?”

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #medic x reader #spy x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #pyro x reader #sniper x reader #I FORGOT TO DO MISS PAULING IM SORRY

[writingstoraes]

someday 🌅

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine/drabble (angst)

notes: was in the mood for some angst so... lmk what u guys think!

warnings: none that i know! plain angst, unrequited feelings, mutual pining (??) and all that

about: charles has loved you since he was 18.

Charles has done many stupid things in his life. Emphasis on the many — he's lost count, and doesn't even bother to recall which foolish decisions had made its way to his list.

But if he had to name one, if he had a gun to his head and his life depended on it, he has one extremely stupid decision he regrets every single day: not telling you how he felt from day one.

You would think that the Charles Leclerc had the greatest moves of all time, swaying people with his words and charming personality, wrapping people around his finger effortlessly. But when it came to you, he stops in his tracks and forgets the entire English, French, and Italian vocabulary. It was the exact opposite: he was absolutely smitten for you, you've got him completely wrapped around your finger to the point that he'd cancel his plans when you call.

But you were his friend. His greatest friend. More than great, because you've been with each other since you were children, and he'd be damned if he risks losing you by telling you how he really felt. It's stupid, he knows. It's been what, 7 years? He has the courage to drive around a racetrack in a car that goes 300 kilometers per hour yet telling you the three aching words he's been keeping to himself for so long seems to be harder than driving a car with no steering wheel. It's the typical book trope of slowburn and pining, except he thinks he's all alone in this battle.

The moment he met you, he knew he wanted you in his life for a long time. You were his first friend, you even came before Pierre, before any teammate he has ever had. You've witnessed his highest highs and lowest lows, the days he cried over losing a karting competition and even the day he knew he had a spot in the Formula 1 grid. You knew each other better than you know yourselves. Sometimes, no words need to be spoken for you to know what the other needed.

The first day he realized he liked you was a day of intense denial. You had just started dating someone from your high school and it was fair to say he didn't like the guy very much. He'd tell you he thinks the guy was bad news and you should stay away, jokingly might he add. He would get unfamiliar and displeasing twists and turns in his stomach when you mentioned someone else's name. Sooner or later his brother Lorenzo would notice the dagger of a look he sent your "premature" boyfriend, and would make Charles realize that he was just jealous. He didn't want to believe it — you were his best friend, and he can't like his best friend. He tells himself it's just an unwritten rule.

He was in F2 when he realized he loved you. More than a best friend, not just platonic. He had lost a race that was crucial to his chase for the F2 championship and the unrelenting expectations were piling on his shoulders. He runs away, far from the track, ensuring no one else finds him. His family was looking for him, team principal and engineers ringing his phone without halting. But you, you refuse to let Charles wander around alone. Sooner or later you find him, and you don't say anything just yet. You sit down beside him, letting his head rest on your shoulder as he silently let the tears fall down from his eyes. He was craving comfort that day. He wanted someone to just listen, to make him feel that he was still human, capable of mistakes and it's okay — and you did just that. You did more than that.

Ultimately, he decides to never tell you how he felt. He hopes it'll pass, because he was sure you didn't feel the same. But it didn't, it just grew more each day he spent with you.

There was a day he realized his love for you pained him. You knock on his door, tears laced with mascara ink running down your cheeks. In your hands was a torn-up present you were supposed to give your boyfriend. At the time, Charles has made his peace letting you go, to someone you loved, if it meant seeing you happy. He sends you smiles when you run into him and you're with someone else, he helps you pick your outfit for dates, what gift to buy for your boyfriend because you needed a guy's opinion. He tells himself he's okay with it, as long as you're happy, as long as you're in love — even if it's not with him, as long as he gets to keep you in his life. But all that comes crashing down when you face him at his door completely heartbroken. It shatters him to see you this hurt, and he realizes it pains him, greatly, to let you go and be with someone else. He's furious at him for ever hurting you, furious at himself for letting it happen, when he's right here and he could treat you so right and so well.

Charles has loved you for as long as he can remember. He's loved you since he was 18, back when he hasn't grasped the entire concept of love yet. But he knew what it was, and it was you.

He still loved you when he was 20, when he saw you laugh from across the table during family dinner. He's captivated by your smile, eyes almost disappearing as you laugh at Arthur's not-so-funny joke.

He's loved you when he turned 21, the day you flew out to surprise him on his birthday, cake in hand with a cheesy smile on your face, after having stuck only 20 candles on it because you dropped the other one.

Even when he was 23, he loved you still. He finds you at your hotel room in Abu Dhabi, desperately trying to stay awake because you made dinner plans. You greeted him with a smile, even though he was kept late by a team meeting.

He's loved you in every scenario, in every which way. Even now, especially now.

He'd be lying if there weren't times he thought you'd finally reciprocated. The longing stares, touches that radiated comfort yet felt like sparks, he felt it all. Just when he thinks he can come out and say it, he remembers you're just a really good friend. Charles was just merely too afraid to give in to his assumption and face you. Even if he's contemplated about it a hundred times, he chooses to stash his feelings for you in a box and stow it away it in a little compartment in his head. He thinks it's better to just be your best friend, because losing you is something he can never handle. He thinks someday this will pass, but it never has. He doesn't think it ever will.

Charles looks at you — he gets reminders of why he's immensely in love with you. To him, you were his person. His soulmate, his peace in human form. You were his favorite place to go to when he searches for comfort or peace, or even when he's mad, frustrated or sad; being with you just makes it all better. He gets to be his truest self with you, a version of himself separate from the car and behind the whole world who watches him like a hawk, and you love him for it still. His heart swells every single time he sees you in the crowd, looking up at him proudly as he celebrates with champagne and a trophy on the podium. But he loves it even more when you stay with him at his worst races, when his car suddenly stops or he delivers a terrible lap time. You stay amidst the chaos. In the middle of all of it — there you were, with no plans of ever leaving him.

He looks at you — and it shatters him that he cannot love you the way he wants to. So he reminds himself, what's love without a little pain, right? He's willing to go through it, as long as he doesn't lose you. Just as long as he does not lose one of the biggest reasons why he chooses to keep going every single day.

It's not like he hasn't tried to move forward himself. There were desperate tries to get over you. He's opened himself to dating other women, but every time his relationship with someone else progresses, he feels like he's committing infidelity. He had went on dates and dated some, but it never worked. He feels tethered, like there was something pulling him back, and it was you. No matter how much he's tried to move forward, he will always choose to come back to you. Even if it aches him to do so. What a martyr, right?

If he had to take a shot every time a reporter has asked him why he's still single, he would be passed out on the sidewalk for three days. There were conspiracies, theories; complex ones at that. They wonder how can someone so deluriously handsome like Charles Leclerc be single? He's got it all, so how the hell does he not have a girlfriend? Charles Leclerc has definitely not got it all, he thinks. He's got the looks, the talent, all good things except for one — the woman he loves does not love him back. Charles often sends them a laugh, a light chuckle. Their theories were so complicated as to why he was single but the answer was simple. The answer was seated in the motorhome of Ferrari, red headphones on, silently cheering for him.

The thing is, Charles can be a good pretender. But not to the people dear to him. His brothers, Carlos, even Fred, all see the way his gaze lingers on you. They all see the small smile that forms in Charles' lips when you're around or how he laughs at the corniest jokes you tell. They were all thinking the same thing. Charles, was not a good liar. So they wonder, why couldn't you see it?

They wonder to themselves, because not only do they see Charles, they also see you. How your body tenses when Charles seem to get a little to close to a girl, how your eyes sparkle when you look up at Charles on a podium, how relaxed you seem to be when you're in Charles' embrace.

Were the two of you such good friends that the thought of being something more becomes negligible, just so you don't lose each other? Or were you just plain oblivious? Was Charles just wrong?

Charles blinks. He spaced out, yet again. He faces the interviewer, giving her a smile as he adjusts himself on his seat.

"Are we ready?" The interviewer sends a nod to the camera man.

"For the first question of the day, and I am pretty sure you are sick and tired but I will ask you anyway - why is Charles Leclerc still single?"

And there it is. The dreaded, over-asked question. Why was he single? Ah, because there's a small part in him that believes that maybe someday, the two of you could be something more. He hates to admit it, but a part of him hopes, and hopes a little bit more each day.

He lightly laughs, and he looks at you once again. You were a few meters beside the cameraman, watching him be interviewed.

"Ah well, I am proudly single, thank you for asking." He chuckles.

He smiles.

"Maybe when the timing is right. Someday."

He shifts his gaze to you again, smiling small, eyes sparkling. The look of love. Painted on his face was the exact portrayal of love in movies, in books, and in songs. He does not realize it, but maybe he loves you more than he thinks he does. As long as it was you, he does not mind waiting for the right time, even if there's a possibility it won't come.

You send him a smile back, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You tell yourself to snap out of it, to stop looking at him like he hung the stars and invented love itself. He was just your best friend. He probably does not feel the same way. You can't feel this way. It's an unwritten rule.

But there's a reason why you've stopped dating other people for the past 3 years. There's a reason why you look at him ever so dearly and why you were out of reach and out of it when he dated other people. You just haven't realized it yet.

Maybe, Charles was right. All you needed was time.

Someday, you'll realize it. That's when the time aligns, that's when timing becomes just right.

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tagging: @slytherheign mwah ily! this is dedicated to her bc not only do i love her but she LIVES for angst so 🫣

notes: my first charles angst? i think? let me know what u guys think! this idea did not stop pestering me so i had to write it before i study, anyway, thanks for reading 🤍

#writtenbyrae #charles leclerc #formula 1 #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc drabble #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 angst #charles leclerc one shot