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wwinterwitch · 10 days ago

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casual – johnny storm x fem!reader

summary: as if your relationship with your professor's brother-in-law wasn't complicated enough, you decide to add feelings into the mix (read part 2 here!) pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader word count: 6.4k (i got way too invested) tags: no 4F spoilers, sexual themes (nothing explicit, but it's a very recurrent topic so if that's not your cup of tea i'd keep it in mind before reading), reader is in college and reed is her professor, i know absolutely nothing about science in general (i'm so sorry, i tried), nicknames (baby, good girl), secret situationship (yikes), angst, reader's kinda impulsive, overthinker too, johnny is chaotic and desperate, fluff, not proofread & english is my second language

a comment and/or reblog is always appreciated!

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“Johnny,” you mutter softly. You meant it as a warning, but it comes out as something else entirely.

“I know, baby,” he whispers against your lips after hearing the way his name slips out of your mouth. “I know.”

Hot and intense, his mouth finds yours with a hunger that consumes the two of you. And just like any other time, it's like every rational thought got wiped from your brain. Like even the tiniest amount of self control got stripped away from you the second his hands are on your body and his tongue tangles with your own.

It's a kind of power that Johnny Storm seems to hold over you. You're still not sure if you love it or hate it.

A soft sound escapes you when you bump against the desk behind you and, almost encouraged by it, Johnny gently shoves you backward with his body, practically forcing you to sit on top of the furniture while his lips refuse to leave yours.

You know this isn't right. That you really shouldn't be doing this. Reed trusted you to keep his lab in pristine conditions while you work on your project– the one he was kind enough to help you with when he accepted to be your tutor.

But instead…you're using it for your secret make out sessions with his brother-in-law.

It's even easier for him to get what he wants now that Reed and Sue left for a two-week trip to Europe for their wedding anniversary. No one’s there to keep you busy at the lab. He doesn't have to wait around for you to finally be done at the lab to come looking for you, stealing you away to have a little fun in the privacy of his bedroom.

In all honesty, it’s Johnny’s fault. Or at least he holds most of the blame. Because every time you visit the tower with the intention of working on your project, he follows after you like a lost puppy and turns his charm to a hundred to sneak his way into your schedule. Every single goddamn time. And sometimes you’re too busy to stop by the lab, so he just visits you at your college dorm.

It’s been like that for most of the semester. Ever since you asked Mr. Richards for help. You’ve been hooking up with Johnny behind Reed’s back for months now, and despite knowing how wrong that is, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

Hearing that your professor was going to Europe for two weeks didn’t bother you that much, because it meant spending a lot more time with Johnny. Although at first, it was hard convincing Reed to take a break from his duties, especially after he agreed to help you out.

He just didn’t want to fail you. That project is the final step for you to graduate as a physicist at State University (following Reed's footsteps), so he knows how much it means. It's inevitable for him not to feel connected to you in some strange way, already seeing your tremendous potential. Perhaps he sees a lot of his own ambition and hard work in you, and that's why he immediately agreed to help you.

As soon as you found out that being around to help you was one of the reasons he wouldn't leave New York, you reassured him everything will be okay. That you're more than capable of working by yourself for two weeks. He eventually agreed to pack his bags and travel outside the country for a few days, as long as you send him as many updates as possible and make sure to reach out if you need any help.

So, you’ve been working by yourself on the project, sending him updates, taking care of your other courses, and making time for Johnny without having to jeopardize your academics.

But still, you know you shouldn't be doing this.

You feel Johnny’s lips move to your neck, his hands eagerly exploring your body. You keep your arms around his shoulders, legs dangling from the edge of the desk while he stands between them. It's obvious he's getting increasingly desperate, not having nearly enough of you yet.

For now, you allow him to take full control. To kiss and hold you as he pleases. In a way, it's almost therapeutic. To shut your brain off and let him pamper you with affection, letting go of all the stress from your final semester in college.

That's what got you in this mess in the first place. Sure, if you needed a distraction from your academics, you could've just gone jogging. Or find a new hobby. You didn't necessarily need to get into Johnny Storm’s bed. But he does have a reputation with women and as soon as you first met him, it made perfect sense. You get it. You're not going to pretend like you're immune to his charm. And he was persistent. It was practically impossible for you not to give in at some point.

It works for both of you. He gets to have fun and you get a distraction. And oh, does Johnny enjoy being your little distraction. He takes the role extremely seriously. Whether it's you comfortably straddling his lap or his head buried deep between your legs…whatever chance he gets to have his hands on you, he'll gladly take it. He’s just happy to help you out.

Moving back just enough to look at you, Johnny can't help but smirk when he takes in what you're wearing, eyes immediately landing on the small tag with your name written on it. Just underneath the logo of your University embroidered in your white lab coat.

“I love when you wear this,” he comments, hinting at the piece of clothing, giving it a light tug with his fingers. “It's kinda hot.”

The comment makes you giggle. “Really?”

He nods almost immediately, eyes focused on your swollen lips for a few seconds before they finally meet your eyes. “Really,” he repeats, leaning closer for a quick kiss. “My gorgeous little physicist,” he adds playfully, smirk widening.

“Almost physicist.”

“Yes, always with the technicality,” he mutters sarcastically, rolling his eyes as you giggle again. “But you'll be graduating in a few months so you're practically a physicist by now.”

Then, his demeanor loses a bit of that playfulness he was portraying just now, replaced by something slightly darker. Dangerous.

“And you're gorgeous…” he starts, placing a soft kiss on your lips again. Your heart begins beating even faster when his hand squeezes your thigh. “And you're mine…” he continues, breaking down his previous statement in separate sentences.

His lips find your neck again, hand practically underneath your skirt now. “With that…I can't argue.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Good girl.”

A shiver runs down your spine when he says it, almost wanting to throw caution to the wind and let him have you right there if he wants. However, you manage to lightly shove him away from you, planting your feet on the ground to resume your work.

“You’re evil,” he comments, disappointment evident in his voice as he watches you walk away. “I’m working,” you correct, making him smirk as he simply shakes his head, deciding to leave you to focus on your project for now.

You put out a notebook to start writing a few equations, hearing as Johnny starts playing with a stress ball Reed had on his desk, trying to keep himself entertained while you work, although you know he can’t stay quiet for too long.

“Do I bother you if I talk?” he asks eventually, his attention drifting to you now. He watches as you ditch your notebook to use Reed’s whiteboard instead.

“Not really,” you reply casually, entirely focused on the equations before you.

And so he begins ranting about his week. It’s normal for him to do that when you’re focused on something else and he’s starting to get a little bored. You’d sometimes make a comment or two, genuinely managing to balance mathematics and Johnny’s everyday life almost perfectly in your brain.

You forget about the equations entirely when you hear him talk about this new car exhibition he’s been meaning to go to. “Is that the one near the Square?”

“How would you know that?” he asks, beyond confused. He knows you’re not an automobile fanatic. It’s one of the first topics of conversation the two of you had.

“I just sort of remembered. A fraternity hosted a party in honor of that last weekend. They just wouldn’t shut up about it.”

He completely forgets about the exhibition, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You went to a fraternity-hosted party?”

There’s a brief pause before you turn to look at him. “Am I not supposed to go?”

“No, no. It was probably fun, I just…I can’t really picture you partying at a fraternity house,” he shrugs innocently. “It doesn’t look like your kind of crowd.”

“Well, for your information, I get invited to many fraternity parties.”

“I can imagine,” he mutters, a slight hint of something in his voice that you can’t quite decipher. Or perhaps you do, but you won’t dare to ask him if what you’re thinking it’s correct.

Instead, you try a different approach. Less direct. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

He hesitates, sensing he might be falling into a trap here. All he does is hint at you– all of you, from head to toe, as if that is enough answer. Since you keep standing there waiting for him to say something, he decides to speak. “You’re hot. I can see why those guys would want you at every single party.”

“And that…bothers you?” you ask, a faint smile on your lips.

Johnny rolls his eyes almost immediately, scoffing. “Of course not. I was just pointing it out.” His voice sounds way too defensive now, which makes you smile even wider. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Deciding to spare him, you simply nod your head in agreement with his statement before focusing back on the whiteboard. A pair or arms are wrapping around your waist from behind just seconds later.

“But perhaps skipping a few of those parties wouldn’t hurt.”

You can’t help but laugh out loud, turning around to face him. He’s already smiling when your eyes meet his, and he looks so cute you just can’t help but stare at him.

He looks back at you, moving a hand up to your hair, fingers gently tangling in it. Despite knowing better, you inevitably start feeling butterflies when he uses that same hand to tilt your head just enough, eyes never once leaving your own.

It’s moments like these when you start to get confused about the nature of yours and Johnny’s relationship. It was implicitly agreed that whatever is going on, it’s just casual. A distraction. You’re not his girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend. You don’t do girlfriend-boyfriend stuff, and you definitely do not have girlfriend-boyfriend feelings for each other.

But the line gets dangerously blurry when he starts getting jealous about the idea of you in a frat house. Or when you have breakfast in bed together. Or when you felt compelled to leave him a note on his nightstand with a ‘have a nice day <3’ written on it. Or when you tried to give him back one of his sweatshirts and he refused to accept it so it’s practically yours now. And let’s not even mention the fact that you recently turned down a date because all you could think about was Johnny (even when you know he’s probably not rejecting girls because of some weird ‘loyalty’ towards you).

Despite all that, you’re definitely not girlfriend and boyfriend, because you can go days without knowing much about one another and it’s completely fine. You’ve never said that you like or miss him out loud, and you’ve never expected him to ever say it to you either. And you’ve seen enough on TV to know that Johnny still very much enjoys receiving the attention of his many female admirers.

“What are you thinking?” Johnny asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Of course there’s no scenario where you’d actually share any of what's on your mind with him. “That I should probably get back to work.”

“Should you?” The little pout he makes almost makes you break. Almost.

“I think I should.”

He groans. “Five-minute break?”

“Two minutes.”

Johnny smirks almost immediately. “I can work with that.”

Before you know it, his lips meet yours again in a passionate kiss that takes your breath away. Inevitably, you find yourself moaning into his mouth when you feel the way he pulls at your hair just enough to get a reaction out of you.

“‘Atta girl,” he praises briefly, right before resuming the kiss.

You keep making out for a few seconds before he makes you take a seat, immediately kneeling before you. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks up into your eyes, fingers delicately tracing up your legs before he places one of them over his shoulder.

“Johnny,” you whisper his name as soon as his lips meet your inner thigh, peppering kisses all over your skin. The fact that keeps looking up at you isn’t helping your situation at all.

“I’ll make the most of my two minutes,” he whispers, voice shaky, hurried, desperate. His hands quickly slide your skirt up even more. “I promise.”

Just before things can escalate even further, the main computer in Reed’s lab alerts you of an incoming call. You can only assume it's him wanting to hear about new updates.

Johnny tries to pretend like he doesn't even hear it. Perhaps he genuinely doesn’t, because he’s too focused on your body to care. But you hear it, panicking almost immediately as you hurriedly shove him away to stand up, rushing towards the panel to answer the call.

“Hello, Mr. Richards,” you greet him, trying to control your breathing. Even when he can't see your current state, you can't help but feel beyond embarrassed by the entire situation as you fix your hair and clothing.

“Hey. I just wanted to check on you, see if you maybe needed my assistance with anything.”

Before you can answer, you feel Johnny’s hand sneaking around your waist from behind you, pulling you tight against his body. Afraid that Reed might hear anything, you immediately try to push him away. That only seems to fuel his determination to keep you close, moving your hair out of the way to start kissing your neck.

“I, uh…everything is perfectly fine,” you manage to say, trying to ignore the sensations running through your body due to Johnny’s actions. “I want to test the functionality today, to make sure the artifact is registering the muons correctly before I begin testing it on different latitudes outside the lab.”

“Good. Make sure you calibrate it correctly. Once it's stable, it should work outside the lab just fine.”

You really try to focus only on Reed’s feedback, but it's practically impossible to do that when Johnny finds a particularly sensitive spot near your pulse point, his teeth sinking delicately on your skin, almost making you moan out loud.

He knows exactly what he's doing to you, proceeding to suck on your skin now, holding you close to his body while you try to stay as quiet as possible.

“Hello?” Reed speaks again.

“Yeah…” is all you can say, slightly out of breath. It's impossible to do much when Johnny is giving you a hickey. “Still here…”

“Oh, I thought the call went off.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, giving Johnny a warning look when he finally gives you some space. “I was just checking my notes in case I had any questions written down.”

“Well, if something comes up, you know I’m only one call away.”

“I wouldn't want to disturb your trip, Mr. Richards.”

“Thank you!” you hear his wife’s voice through the line, which inevitably makes you laugh. Her tone lets you know she doesn't appreciate Reed’s insistent need for working.

Much to your horror, you hear Johnny's voice behind you now. “Just go enjoy your vacation, man!”

There’s a brief silence on the other side of the call. You immediately turn to look at Johnny as if he's crazy for opening his mouth, but all he does in return is offer you a quick shrug. Of course he wouldn't care. It's not like he's currently responsible for Reed’s lab while he's away.

“Why are you in the lab?”

You cover your face with both hands, wishing your little device for muons could suddenly become a time machine to avoid this situation entirely. If your professor were to find out what you’ve been up to, he’d not only fail you, but probably refuse to help you out ever again. The last thing you want is one of your greatest idols feeling disappointed in you.

“Oh, I just heard things exploding so I figured I’d stop by to make sure your student doesn't blow this place up,” he says casually, giving you a wink while you keep glaring at him.

“That's not true, Mr. Richards,” you feel the need to say immediately after. “Everything is perfectly fine.”

“Johnny, I just want to remind you that you’re not allowed to touch anything you’re not supposed to when I’m not there. Unless she says you can.”

“Since when do I have a babysitter at my own house?”

“Since I don’t trust you around my things!” Reed insists, his voice becoming even harsher.

Johnny offers you a little smirk, once again pulling you closer to him. “Don’t worry, Reed. I won’t be touching your things,” he replies, the double meaning in his words something only you could decipher, and it makes you immediately roll your eyes.

“Thank you,” he mutters sarcastically. Then, he addresses you. The way he says your name gives you some sense of relief because it lets you know he's not upset. “I’m really excited to see how the device is working once I get back. I’m very impressed with your work so far. Keep it up, alright?”

You can't help but smile after his words of encouragement. It means so much coming from someone you’ve admired for so long. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“You're welcome. I, uh…I have to go now, but please don't hesitate to contact me if you need anything,” he insists. His wife probably wants him off the phone immediately. “And Johnny, get out of my lab!”

“Love you, Johnny!” you hear Sue’s voice right before the call ends.

You let out a sigh of relief, immediately pushing Johnny away from you. The fact that he almost got you in trouble is more than enough reason to focus entirely on your work now. He clearly doesn’t care if he puts your entire future career at risk. Cracking a joke seems a lot more important, apparently.

You refuse to give him any other minute of your time.

Johnny can immediately sense the shift in your demeanor when you walk away from him, back fully turned to him while you worry about your project.

He could leave you alone to focus, but he hates to think that you're angry with him. As he walks closer to you, he watches you angrily write down a few equations on the whiteboard, which is really all he needs to confirm his initial worry. You are upset.

“I think that can wait,” Johnny says softly, testing his luck, hoping you'd at least turn to look at him.

“No, it can't. That's why I’m here in the first place,” you snap back at him, cursing under your breath when you get a few numbers wrong, wiping everything off, having to start your equations all over again.

Johnny is quiet for a few seconds. This is the first time he has ever managed to make you properly upset and it's already killing him. It's like you have managed to build an unbreakable wall between the two of you.

“I’m sorry if I almost got you in trouble,” he insists. You just keep writing. “Although I doubt Reed would get upset with you if I’m in his precious lab without permission– if anything, he'll get mad at me.”

You don't answer him.

“Alright, that's very mature of you,” he mutters. “Did you freak out because of that, or because you didn't want him to find out about us?”

You sigh in frustration, his last comment triggers something deep within you. ‘Us’? Perhaps getting involved with your professor’s brother-in-law is one of the dumbest mistakes you’ve made in your life. Because of course you'll be mortified if he finds out! All of your future could be in danger because of this little secret adventure, and somehow you were willing to ruin everything you’ve worked for a guy you probably won't see again after you're done working with Reed.

That’s the worst part! You were risking everything for a relationship that isn’t even a proper relationship. For a guy who probably has breakfast in bed with plenty of other girls aside from you before sending them home in one of his stupid sweatshirts. What were you thinking? That Johnny Strom wouldn’t know exactly what to say or do to make a girl feel like she’s the one? It’s like you’re some gullible teenager who doesn’t know any better.

It's not worth it. It was never worth it.

“Just say something,” Johnny pleads, not knowing what else to say at this point. “Anything.”

You get the equation wrong again, feeling more frustrated than ever. Perhaps you should try to calm yourself down before doing anything else. You feel completely overwhelmed, unable to focus on the board or Johnny. Much less focus on both at the same time.

But then you hear him call out your name, and that’s when you lose it.

“I want to be alone!” you snap at him, the eraser for the whiteboard falling from your hands before you can prevent it, making a loud noise as it hits the ground. “Could you please leave?”

Johnny is disappointed with your answer. You see it in his eyes. He's frustrated and upset, but you can also tell he’s done trying. “Sure.” ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

After a few hours inside the lab, you manage to find enough time to calm down, focus on the project, and have a much needed reflection about your current situation with Johnny.

It’s clearly taking a toll on you. Perhaps it’s the need of always having to sneak around. Maybe it’s the fear of failing this project and losing Reed’s respect. Or you just don’t do well with casualness. Whatever it is, you know for a fact this would only make you feel worse if you allow it to continue.

As you were gathering your things to leave, you knew your decision was made. And it is definitive. You must prioritize this project.

Still, something doesn't feel right. All the way up the elevator to the moment you're standing in front of his bedroom door, something feels slightly out of place. But you don't have any time to ponder about it when he’s already opening the door and your eyes meet his and the words just come out of your mouth before you know it.

“We need to stop seeing each other.”

You can see your words take him by surprise. Perhaps he wasn't expecting that. Perhaps he's just surprised by how casual you look when you say it. Or maybe it's both. You don't really know, because Johnny has proved himself to be a very difficult person to read when it comes to how he's feeling towards you.

This needs to end it before it backfires on you.

“Okay,” is all you get back. A part of you is disappointed that he doesn't say anything else, but perhaps it's for the best. It's easier that way.

You take one last look at him before heading back towards the elevator, intending to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The situation certainly backfired on you, but not in the way you anticipated.

Ever since that day, Johnny stopped showing up at the lab entirely. You don't see him at all. Sometimes you’d bump into Ben or Sue after she and Reed got back from their trip, but it's like Johnny completely disappears when you’re in the building.

And you also started to notice a few things about yourself now that you’re away from Johnny. How it takes a little longer to focus on what you should be doing or how easily distracted you can get in your own head. How excited you secretly get when you think you're about to run into Johnny, only to encounter another of the Fantastic Four instead (and how disappointing that feels for some reason). How it genuinely feels like something is missing.

It's absolutely ridiculous. You pushed him away thinking it’d make things better, but your life has only gotten worse since you don't have him around anymore.

“Alright, how about we call it a day for now?” you hear Reed suddenly speaking, making you snap out of your thoughts.

“What?”

He offers you a sympathetic smile, taking his glasses off before walking closer to you. “I can see you're a bit distracted. Perhaps you’re not getting enough sleep?”

Oh, if only he knew who's responsible for it…

“I think all the stress before graduating is starting to take a toll on me,” you reply with a soft sigh. “But it's nothing I can't handle.”

“I know you can handle stress just fine, kid, but that doesn't mean you have to. And perhaps I’ve been responsible for that too,” he says the last part in an apologetic tone, knowing he’s probably way too demanding of you.

“Not at all, Mr. Richards. I actually appreciate it because it keeps me constantly improving.”

Reed smiles right after. “I'm glad you see it that way. Alright, here's what we're going to do. You go back to campus and take a much needed nap, and I’ll take the device there tomorrow. We can work there so you don't have to take so many unnecessary trips over here,” he instructs. “We're only about a week away from your presentation anyway.”

You nod in agreement, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach when you realize what that means.

This is your last day here. And the last chance you'll probably have to see Johnny.

That thought crushes you, but perhaps the fact that he never once showed up in the lab or tried looking for you means he already forgot all about you. Perhaps he never had something to even ‘forget’ about.

And so, you grabbed your things and exited Reed’s lab for one last time.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Gathered at dinner, the group starts talking about their individual days like usual. “How about you, babe?” Sue asks her husband as she pours gravy over her mashed potatoes. “How’s the project going?”

“Amazing. I think the kid will do great at her presentation next week,” he says with evident excitement, bringing a smile out of his wife too. “I’ll take her device back to campus tomorrow so we can keep working from there. She seems more and more exhausted these days, I just want her to get as much rest as possible.”

Before anyone could say anything, Johnny looks up at Reed with a confused and somewhat panicked expression. “I thought she was meant to be here until the end of the week?”

The three others stare at him with obvious curiosity. Yes, they all have interacted with her, but only as Reed’s student. The fact that he's asking a question like that– and with that expression, it's a bit strange.

“She was, but I wanted her to stay on campus so she wouldn't have to waste time coming here anymore,” Reed explains.

“Poor girl, she's probably a nervous wreck by now,” Sue sympathizes with her immediately, frowning in concern.

“You haven't been too harsh on her, have you?” Ben half-jokes. He knows his friend enough to know he was probably a nightmare of a tutor.

But Reed can't answer a single thing, because Johnny speaks again. “You mean she's not coming back? Ever?”

“Yes, Johnny, why do you care?”

There's a complete silence at the table, Johnny tries not to panic and Reed stares back at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. Eventually, Johnny just shrugs and continues to eat while the rest resume their conversation.

Immediately after dinner, Johnny is practically rushing outside the building before anyone can ask him where he’s going. They just watch him fly off into the night sky.

“We all know exactly what is going on, right?” Ben asks, standing in front of the large window that leads to the balcony.

“Of course,” Sue replies from the couch.

“Yes,” Reed sighs tiredly next to her, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I’m going to murder him when he gets back.”

“Let me hear all the details first. I’m invested,” Ben replies playfully, finding it hilarious that Johnny managed to get with Reed’s student without him having any idea of it. Sue seems to find it amusing as well, because she can't stop herself from laughing. “Then you can murder him.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You hear insisting tapping from your dorm’s window, which doesn't make any sense because you're on the third floor of a building and the only person who used to do that is definitely gone from your life.

But the tapping-like sound continues, so you have to investigate. Much to your surprise, you meet Johnny there in all of his Human Torch glory as soon as you pull the curtains open. You immediately begin mentally thanking your roommate for staying over at their boyfriend's tonight as you finally open the window for him to get it.

“What are you doing here?” you immediately ask. A part of you is secretly happy to have him here, but another fears things might get even worse than what they already are.

“Reed said you're not coming back.”

“Well, yeah…he thought it’s best to work here this last week.”

“And was it really his own idea?”

You don't appreciate him accusing you of something, but you decide to let that slide for now. “Yes, I had nothing to do with that,” you reply with a shrug. “You still haven't answered my question.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asks, exasperated, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don't know. That's why I’m asking.”

“Holy shit, you're even worse than Reed sometimes,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear him perfectly. “I’m here for you, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously,” you repeat sarcastically. “Sure. I should've known. Obvi–”

He cuts you off before you can finish, grabbing your face in his hands as he pulls you in for a kiss. The type of kiss that needs no further explanation. He could've just done that as soon as he got here and you wouldn’t have asked what was going on.

Now you get why he's here.

Keeping you close, Johnny devours your mouth with that characteristic hunger that makes your mind go blank. But there's something in there too. An unknown longing. It makes you realize just how much he's been wanting to be like this with you again. And his grip on your body lets you know he doesn't want to ever let you go.

It's as non-casual as it gets.

When he finally moves away, barely enough to look into your eyes, you can see his panicked expression. Slightly out of breath, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

You're about to ask him what's on his mind when he suddenly blurts out the answer. “I can't be away from you.”

It comes out in the form of a broken, desperate statement. Almost like a plea for you to have mercy with him and accept him back into your life. Like the chances of you demanding that he leaves your dorm immediately are higher than you ever reciprocating his feelings.

Noticing you're not saying anything, he decides to continue. As if you need any convincing at all. “I tried. I really tried to keep my distance. And I know this isn't fair of me because you should be focusing on your studies and not some dumbass who's too stupid to realize what he wants before it's too late, but…I just really want you. That's all. You’re all I want.”

A part of you wants to spare him already, but another wants his rant to keep going. Of course you weren't expecting any of this. You had your delusions from time to time that he might be feeling something for you, but you never would've imagined that he would fly all the way here in the middle of the night just to say all of this.

You open your mouth to speak, but he's immediately speaking again, afraid you might start asking him to leave already. “I know I should've said something sooner, but I was scared. And when you said we shouldn't be seeing each other anymore, I thought I’d just stop caring eventually. It always takes me like…like an hour, I guess. Maybe less. It doesn’t matter. But each day without you just kept getting worse and worse.”

“Johnny…”

“I wanted to talk to you eventually, of course, but then Reed was talking about you during dinner and he said you wouldn’t come back and I started freaking out because I just thought I lost you for good and I didn’t know what to do. And then I felt so stupid for not doing anything sooner. I just had to come talk to you tonight.”

“Johnny…”

“Please. Even if there’s just the slightest chance that you’d take me back…we can talk about it after your presentation, if that’s more comfortable to you. It’s fine by me, I just…I just can’t be without you.”

The faint smile of your lips somehow eases Johnny's panicked state, but he’s still hoping for the worst. This is probably the most chaotic you’ve ever seen him.

“Can I talk now?” you ask softly, gently pressing your hand against his cheek. He leans almost immediately into the touch, slightly less panicked.

“Sorry. That was too much, wasn’t it?”

“A little.”

“It’s been on my mind for weeks, so…”

“Johnny.”

“Sorry.”

There’s a brief silence between you, and you can’t help but giggle a little when you replay the entire interaction in your head. Laughter is a good sign, so he relaxes considerably. He thought he’d be out of your dorm by now.

“I missed you too.”

“Yeah, I probably should’ve just said something like that,” he mutters, embarrassment starting to sink in once he finally starts to fully process everything he just blurted out in a matter of seconds.

“No, what you said was perfect. I’m not really good with words, so I probably would never be able to say half of what you just said…which is why I decided to end things when I did.”

“I get why you did it. You needed to focus on other things.”

“I think I was just running away from my feelings,” you confess, genuinely regretting how things went down that day. “I’m sorry.”

Johnny shrugs. “I mean, I was doing the same thing, so…I guess we’re even.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “I guess we’re even.”

Johnny smiles at you, unable to stop himself as he pulls you closer again, this time to simply hold you in his arms. He rests his head on your shoulder, sighing in content. “I really missed you.”

“Oh, really? I had a little suspicion, but I wasn’t quite sure just yet.”

“You’re getting clever with your jokes now,” he comments playfully, moving back to look into your eyes. “I thought all this time with Reed might’ve consumed all the fun right out of you.”

“Mr. Richards is fun. Speaking of, does he know you’re here?”

“Most likely. And I hate it when you call him that.”

“He’s going to kill you. And me, probably.”

“Well, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for you, baby.”

You playfully roll your eyes at that. “That was awful.”

He looks immediately offended, which makes you laugh again as you kiss his cheek as a silent apology. “Please, take that back right now. Take it back or I swear–”

“It’s the cutest, most adorable, heart-warming thing you have ever said to me,” you immediately comply, pulling him in for a kiss he gladly returns.

The kiss lasts longer than he anticipated, and for once it’s him the one creating distance between the two of you before things can escalate. You frown, but he immediately starts shaking his head. “Nope. As tempting as make up sex sounds right now, you need to get some rest and work on your presentation.”

“But–”

“Presentation,” he cuts you off, looking very determined. “Besides, I have to get back and talk to Reed.”

“Shit, I have a meeting with him tomorrow,” you suddenly remember, covering your face with both of your hands.

Johnny decides to act fast, not wanting to let your inner turmoil escalate any further, fearing you might explode like last time. He grabs both of your hands in his, kissing each of them as a reassuring gesture. “Trust me, he won’t be mad at you. You’ve been a great student, he has no reason to be. Me on the other hand…this might be the last time you’ll ever see me alive.”

“Don’t say that!” you exclaim, releasing your hands from his grip to slap his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry!” he quickly replies, grabbing your hands again with evident amusement. He stands in silence for a moment, seemingly debating whether or not to say something else before he finally lets you go. “Alright. Get some rest. I’ll come visit you tomorrow, okay?”

“Promise.”

You’re unable to know the way his heart practically melts at that, or how those three little words that he’s definitely not saying out loud manage to make their way into his head again.

“I promise,” he replies, right before giving you one last kiss to finally leave.

next part

#johnny storm x reader #johnny storm x you #johnny storm fic #johnny storm fanfiction #johnny storm fanfic

2K notes · View notes

no-144444 · 1 month ago

Note

hey girl!

I LOVEEEE your writing, you're so talented! i was wondering if you could do a grid post where either the reader, or the driver starts crying during an argument? I'd just love to see how it would play out!

thanks ml :))))

crying during an argument

꩜ featuring: the entire grid, zhou guanyu, paul aron, jack doohan.

꩜ a/n: thank you for requesting and thank you for reading! I loved this idea and lmk if yall want a part 2 to any of them bc i have some ideas... :) also heads up, this is 14k words... my b i got carried away :p

mclaren

Oscar Piastri

Oscar didn’t cry often. Special events required crying; terrible crashes where he genuinely felt scared for his life, his dog dying, missing his sisters’ graduations.

And apparently this.

You were ranting, not even raising your voice, just frustrated. You were so damn understanding too, so aware of the fact that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t control his schedule. You just missed him. You just wanted him there for one of the biggest nights of your life, and he couldn’t be there.

He felt the emotion building in his throat, foreign and clunky. Uncontrollable. He tried to swallow it down, but he just made this weird choked sound, and he felt the tears on his cheeks.

You’d somehow sensed it, like you did with everything else about him. Always, after every race, every tough day, every great day, you always knew just what he needed. You stopped talking. You whipped your head around, and you were already in front of him with wide eyes and more patience than he thought he probably deserved.

A soft hand on his shoulder, a tentative breath. “Oscar?” You practically whispered. He nodded, wiping his tears away, only for more to appear seconds later. “Oscar, it’s ok, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your hand reaching up and running through his hair, coaxing him to lean into you. He did. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his tears soaking your shirt. You didn’t seem to care.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, not entirely sure what he was apologising for. You shook your head as he fisted your shirt, trying to hold onto something so he wouldn’t fully fall apart.

Your voice came soft and soothing. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” you tightened your grip on his waist. “Please don’t apologise.”

“I just-“ hiccup- “I feel bad,” God, he sounded like a child to himself. You didn’t judge. “I want to be there so bad.”

“It’s alright Osc,” you hushed. “It’s okay. I know you support me,” you said it against his temple like a prayer, and it made him want to believe you. “I know you love me.”

He nodded, pulling his face out of its solace in the crook of your neck. “Okay,” he nodded, breathless. Your eyes were wide, but trusting. Truthful. “Okay.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar cry many times, mostly because he didn’t like to. He knew now, if he needed to, he could come to you.

Lando Norris

It was a dumb argument. Somewhere in your brain, you knew that.

But it’s hard to remember that when you’re that angry, and that frustrated.

You shouldn’t have shouted. You shouldn’t have stopped looking at him. You shouldn’t have let him go quiet. There were a lot of things you shouldn’t have done.

He listened as best he could, truly. He wanted to solve the problem, to make it better, to make being with him easier. He can’t control his schedule though. He can’t control where he’ll be day by day. He can’t leave at a moment's notice. He has people who rely on him, too many people who rely on him. It weighs on him, and somehow, it’s started to weigh on you. You’ve become a background character in your own partner's life, and you couldn’t take it anymore. He feels like more of a roommate than a boyfriend, and he’s hardly ever home. He wanted to fix it, but when so many parts of your life are out of your control, you start to feel helpless. You start to believe the things people say online, the ones online telling him he should just break up with you since he only gets to see you twice a year. The ones who tell him he’s not a good boyfriend. The ones who remind him of his failings, and all the second chances you’ve given him without even thinking about it.

He teared up and just left. The bedroom door locked behind him before you’d even notice he’d fucking left.

Then the guilt settled, right down in your stomach, so deep you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You cupped a hand over your mouth, like it would reverse all the things you’d said. Like it could take it back. It couldn’t. You couldn’t.

Time passed as you stared at that fucking door, debating about what you’d even do if you went in there. You didn’t know, but you knew you had to make it right.

You knocked against the wood. “Lan,” your voice was breaking. “I’m so sorry,” you leaned your head against the door. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Slowly, you heard footsteps, and the door opened. He looked cosy, but the sad kind of cosy. The kind of cosy he looked when he was overwhelmed.

He cleared his throat. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that,” his usual sentiment lacked any conviction, but there was a soft kind of humour in his words. “She’s a genius.”

You shook your head, that guilt clawing at you from the inside out. “I’m not sure I am,” you chuckled out, but it lacked any kind of humour. “I’m sorry,” you looked up at him, his red-rimmed eyes, his soft expression, his sunken shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

He shrugged. “Probably not,” he let out a breath. “But I’ve said a lot worse, and you’ve given me another chance every time without thinking about it,” he admitted. “And I think we’re both exhausted.”

“You’re too nice to me-”

“You’re not nice enough to yourself,” he corrected, wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling you into his chest. “I just needed a minute, I’m sorry I left.”

“I think we both needed a minute,” you admitted, that warm feeling in your chest somehow choking out the feeling of guilt. “I’m sorry again Lan.”

“Thank you,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’ll work through it. We always do.”

mercedes:

George Russell

George argued like he drove; completely controlled until he wasn’t. He liked to think he could keep his cool, that an argument with his girlfriend wouldn’t shake him so much when he could make split-second decisions while driving 300km/ h. He couldn’t. Every word coming out of your mouth seemed to rattle him, make him falter, make him lose his mind.

He didn’t realise he was crying. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t being overwhelmed. He was frustrated. He wanted to be what you needed, he wanted to be there for you, he wanted to always be able to drop everything for you, but he couldn’t. Yes, it was his dream to drive, but sometimes, it left a sour taste in his mouth on the nights you texted him sad and lonely, or exhausted and in need of affection. It made him feel… ashamed. He wanted to be the perfect fiance, be there for you more than anyone else. He couldn’t. And it made him feel like shit.

“George,” your voice pulled him out of his shame-spiral, and he felt your hand on his cheek, wiping away the wetness. “Breathe,” you demanded, your voice full of fear and eyes wide. “You’re going to have a panic attack, George, breathe.”

He did as you asked, grounding himself with his hands on your hips, squeezing your shirt in time with his breaths like you’d made him do several times before. He focused on your eyes. Exploring the colours he knew so well, reminding himself that an argument is just an argument, and you were just frustrated, he was just frustrated. You’d both lie down together tonight, he’d kiss your shoulder, and you’d pretend to hate the way his hand sneaks up your shirt. You’d still be there. You’d still love him.

He nodded. “I’m alright,” he sighed out, the tension finally breaking. You didn’t look convinced, you never did during one of these. “I’m alright,” he spoke slower again, reassuring you.

You nodded, then pressed your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” you let out, soft and small. Like you were scared he'd fall away if you didn’t hold onto him.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there,” he whispered, a humorless chuckle in his lips. “You’re always there to support me and I can’t fucking be there for you. Ever.” He spat out the last word like he was embarrassed, or disgusted with himself.

You looked up and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you back like it could maybe make up for it. Like he could show you how much he cared, how much he wanted to be there. “George,” you were breathless, he tried to kiss you again, and you stopped him. “You’re always there for me,” you smiled softly, the kind of smile that made him see into the future, wrinkles and kids, everything he wanted. “Even when you’re a million miles away, you’re always checking up on me. You care so much it scares my friends sometimes,” you chuckled and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “I’m just…” you couldn’t finish your sentence, you didn’t even know how you felt.

“I know,” he whispered, his forehead against yours. He always knew when it came to you.

Andrea Kimi Antonelli

Kimi hated arguments. He hated making you upset, hated not knowing what to say.

“You can’t say shit like that Kimi, it’s not fair,” you scoffed, fluffing the pillows of your couch. Moving in together had been tumultuous. You both loved it, but it was a long process to figure out the balance between being together all the time, and not ripping the heads off each other. He’d said something stupid, some off-handed comment that made you see red. He sat on the couch as you rage-cleaned the apartment, ranting all the way. He felt too much like a child for his liking, sitting on the couch as you scolded him.

Kimi was an emotional person, and you’d only had so many arguments in your relationship. He hated seeing you upset, and knowing it was his fault just started a guilt pit in his mind, picking apart every single thing he did that upset you.

“I think I just need some time alone,” you sighed, putting down the towel in your hand. “I’m going to go for a walk-“

“Don’t go!” He shot up, the emotion building behind his eyes as panic surged through his chest. You couldn’t leave, not like this. He grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you against his chest. “Please don’t leave, talk to me, scream at me, just don’t leave. Please.” His eyes were wide and pleading, and his grip was practically bruising.

You’d never seen him like this. Begging. Pleading. Like if he didn’t convince you to stay, you’d never come back. You cupped his cheek, the beginnings of tears falling from his eyes as he tried to blink them away. “Kim,” your voice was soft. “I’m not leaving,” you assured him, stroking his cheek as he kept his eyes fixed on your face. “I’m right here.” You took his hand and placed it on your waist, showing him you weren’t leaving.

“I hate it when people leave,” he admitted, breathless. “I don’t-“ hiccup “-want you to leave,” he closed his eyes. “I never want you to leave,” he pressed his forehead against yours, like it could somehow stop you from running.

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered. “I’m not leaving, Kim,” you shook your head.

He tightened his grip on your waist. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was just tired, I didn’t mean it-“

“I know,” you nodded, voice full of warmth and understanding. He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he took it all the same. “You don’t have an angry bone in your body Kimi, I know you didn’t mean it,” you chuckled, and he felt lucky to ever hear the sound. “It just… upset me.”

“I didn’t mean to-“

“I know you didn’t,” you cooed, and his frown relaxed. “Again, I don’t think you have a mean bone in your body either. It just… it was what it was. And it’s done now.”

Forgiveness, it had never tasted so sweet. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you,” he repeated, on his lips like a chant.

williams:

Alex Albon

It’s haunting how strange Alex looks when he cries. That’s what he thinks anyway. He’s almost sure you think it too. He’s just so used to not being upset, that he really doesn’t know what to do with himself when he is. You were there for him, through everything. Through RedBull. You’ve seen him cry. You’ve seen him rise up from it, rise up to Williams, rise up to P5 being a genuine result, a constant result. He’s proud, of course, but there’s always that voice in the back of his head that sounds surprisingly like Will Buxton, telling him that he’s a problem.

Even in his relationships. Even in your relationship.

That’s what this stemmed from. He didn’t feel good enough. He shut you out again. He didn’t text for a full week.

“Alex, you can’t just not text me for a week, alright?” You were exhausted, exasperated, and downright pissed. Frankly, you had every reason to be. He was in the wrong, he knew that, but he just couldn’t help feeling slightly justified. He would’ve caused a fight either way, especially when he got like that. “I want to hear from you, the good, the bad, the ugly, the mundane! I don’t care once it’s coming from you,” your words were raw with emotion, and it almost shocked him. He sometimes forgot the fact that he made a difference in people’s lives.

He didn’t feel the tears falling until one landed on his shirt, and he almost thought it was somehow raining inside. “I know,” his voice broke despite himself. “I’m sorry.”

Your head whipped around and you were beside himin seconds. “Alex,” you whispered out, his name coming out like a secret. “It’s okay,” you wrapped an arm around his neck, your heart breaking as you felt him hiccup against you, trying against his better judgement to stop himself from crying. “You can cry.”

And he did. He wrapped his arms around your back and pulled you into his lap, and cried into your shirt. He didn’t know what to do after carrying this… hurt, for so long. But for some reason being beside you, having you hold him, it didn’t seem so heavy.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered once his crying has subsided. Your expression was full of care, of understanding, of love. He wondered how he’d gotten so lucky.

He shrugged. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes there’s this voice in my head that, no matter what I do, tells me I should still be more,” he admitted, and immediately, he felt out in the open, and not necessarily in a bad way. You nodded your head, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

It took you a few seconds to formulate a response, but it didn’t make him panic like he’d thought it would in the millions of times he’d gone over this very scenario in his head. Your hand smoothed up and down his arm, and he knew you cared. You wouldn’t run away.

“Thank you for telling me,” you smiled softly. “And I always want you to talk to me about these things, because I’m here for you,” you took a deep breath. “I’m going to say something that I know you won’t like, and that’s how you know I genuinely believe it. Alex, I think you should see someone again,” you placed a soft hand on his cheek as he stiffened. “Not right now, maybe not even in the next few months, but I think it would be good for you. I can love you as much as I can, and do, and evidently, I can’t make it go away. Race results don’t make it go away. Progress doesn’t make it go away. Nothing is going to make it happy, and if I’m understanding right, you can’t just turn it off,” you pressed your lips to his cheek again. “I think seeing someone would help.”

He felt like you’d opened his eyes. You were right, nothing would make it go away, other than him. For the first time in his life, he was happy about an argument.

Carlos Sainz

When he argued, he got quiet. Whether he meant to or not, he did. So there was nothing out of the ordinary when it seemed like you were talking to yourself as you listed out the problems. You didn’t want to go to a race when you knew a certain other girlfriend would be there, because she made you feel like shit. Carlos didn’t seem to understand that, and he fought you on it. He called you selfish. You walked off. This was part two of the argument, what you called the reconciliation, but Carlos was silent as he leaned against the counter, his back to you.

“You’re not even fucking listening, are you?” You scoffed, feeling more than dejected. “I don’t know why I try,” you mumbled, starting to walk away again, but a strong hand gripped your waist and pulled you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered out. He hadn’t paid much attention before, when you’d said you didn’t want to go. He just felt rejected, and he ignored your reasoning. He stopped listening. He didn’t know it was because of the group chat you had been added to and humiliated by a girl you thought was your friend. He would’ve never fought you on it. He would’ve just agreed and moved on, asking you to come to the next one. “I didn’t listen, I’m sorry.”

“Carlos-” you reached up and cupped his face in your hands. “What’s wrong? I-I’m sorry-”

He sighed, that hole of guilt in his heart aching with every word out of your mouth. Of course you’d start worrying about him. You should get angry, but of course, you chose to be soft, to care, to love. Sometimes he wished he could do that. He wished he could think like that, instead of going straight for an argument. “You don’t need to apologise,” he shook his head, his big brown eyes dropping with tears as you tenderly wiped them away. “I’m in the wrong,” he reminded you, almost as if he thought you forgot. Maybe you had. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, and I’m sorry I started an argument,” he sniffled. “I love you,” he pressed a kiss to your shocked cheek. “I love you so much, mi cariño.”

“Car,” you were wordless, not even sure how to react. “It’s alright,” you answered, your eyes focused on him, only him. “It was a mistake.”

His heart ached. The world didn’t deserve you, your friends didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve you. You should scream. You should tell him to shove his apology up his ass. But you don’t. You chose to forgive him.

He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but you kissed him like he did, and he couldn’t really complain from there.

redbull racing:

Max Verstappen

Max probably wasn’t the best person to go to about emotions, and you knew that. Not only was he emotionally stunted, he was also Dutch, a nationality famous for being blunt.

But you thought he would see your side and agree. He didn’t. He spent a half hour lecturing you on why your mother was justified in what she said to you. You just agreed, it wasn’t worth the energy to fight with him, he was always so fucking logical. He couldn’t just appeal to the illogical side of you, he couldn’t let you just be upset. He had to solve the problem, he had to explain why the problem wasn’t a problem, he had to make you feel like a helpless kid.

You finished getting ready for dinner in silence. No music playing. No fun dancing he pretended to hate watching (and sometimes joining you for). No bright smile when your hair looked how you wanted it to, or your outfit came together exactly how you’d wanted it to. Just a flat line on your lips. Just a dull gaze in your eyes. He, on the other hand, was completely entranced by you. You looked stunning in that dress, with your hair done the way you had it.

“Ready to go?” You asked him, not even trying to bait him into putting your heels on you. Another thing pretended to hate, but secretly loved.

“Yeah,” he nodded, watching you with a sense of curiosity and confusion. “Are you alright?” He asked, trying to snake a hand around your waist, but you just walked on.

“I’m okay,” you nodded, but there was a stiffness in your actions and words. “Just tired.”

He decided to put it to bed for now, just enjoy the night together, and check back in with you in a while.

You ditched him the second you got on the yacht. Alexandra was there, so you practically ran to her, and Max loitered around the drinks table with Charles.

“Alex is mad at me,” he admitted.

“I think Y/n’s upset with me too,” he admitted. He could blame the loosening of his tongue on the gin in his drink, but he knew it was because of his growing anxiety about the situation. You rarely fought, and it rarely went on this long.

“What did you do?” Charles knocked back the rest of his drink and Max took him in for the first time that night. He looked practically disheveled. A broken man in front of him, because he had an argument with his girlfriend.

“Nothing really, she had an argument with her mom over something stupid, and I told her to get over herself. I have arguments with my folks all the time,” he shrugged, and Charles looked at him like he’d committed several war crimes.

Charles’s jaw dropped even further when he realised Max wasn’t joking. “Are you fucking crazy?” He demanded. “Do you want her to break up with you?”

Now it was Max’s turn to think Charles was crazy. “Obviously not? I love her.”

“You sure?” He scoffed. “If I said that to Alex, I think she’d break up with me-”

“The fragility of your relationship has nothing to do with mine,” he interpreted because he’d finally realised what he sounded like. God, he’d been a fucking asshole, no wonder you were upset.

You slinked into the bedroom with your head low and a tired expression on your face. You slotted into bed beside him, but you didn’t shock him with your feet against his, frozen against warmth. You didn’t turn to him. You didn’t show him the funny tiktoks you’d found that day. He felt something in his heart squeeze.

You turned out the light without a kiss, and the air in the room filled with the atmosphere of a heavy silence, and he genuinely yearned to reach out for you. He didn’t. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

You waited 30 minutes. Max was a good sleeper, and heavy sleeper. You could get away with sleeping on the couch for one night, not because you wanted to hurt him, but because you genuinely couldn’t sleep next to him after he told you to get a grip.

Slowly, you climbed out of bed, pillow in hand.

Something pulled you back. A hand. His hand.

A sniffle. “Stay,” he whispered into the darkness of the room. “Please stay. I know what I said was shitty and wrong, and you can hate me all you want, but please stay.”

You halted in the darkness, his words carrying more weight than you thought he probably meant them to. “I don’t hate you Max,” you answered. “I’ll never hate you.”

“You can, if it means you’ll stay,” he admitted, his voice breaking. You climbed back into bed slowly, but he felt that hole in his chest, the one that had been there since the day his father left him at a petrol station, close up just a little more. The way it always did when he was near you. You climbed into his arms, feeling small droplets of water against your shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

You breathed out. “Alright,” you nodded. “Thank you for apologising.” He practically held his breath. What the fuck was he doing crying when he was one the in the wrong? He could hear his dad now, telling him to stop crying, telling him to grow up, telling him-

“You can cry, y’know,” you whispered. “I like it better when you trust me. Like when we dance or when you put on my heels. You’re less nonchalant than usual. Makes me feel like you really care about me,” you admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Makes me feel like you like me enough to trust me.”

He closed his eyes, tight. Of course you’d say the most heartbreakingly beautiful thing anyone had ever said to him and act like you’re the one inconveniencing him. “I trust you,” he whispered.

And that was the first time you’d ever seen Max cry.

Yuki Tsunoda

Fathers were funny in the way they showed their love. You understood that Yuki probably didn’t have the healthiest relationship with his, especially based on the way he practically shunned him when he came out of the car, another disappointing Sunday. You knew it was already weighing on him with a simple glance.

He clearly couldn’t. He complained the whole way back to the hotel, all throughout dinner, and even on the short walk back to your hotel rooms.

And you couldn’t take it anymore. Yuki was trying his damnedest in one of the shittest cars on the grid, and the only reason it looked so bad for him was the fact that he had Max 4-Time-World-Champion-one-of-the-greatest-of-the-modern-era Verstappen as a teammate.

“He’s trying. How can that not be enough for you? He’s trying,” you shook your head at her before bidding his wife a good night, and walking into your own suite. Yuki had no idea what to do, but his father just brushed by him coldly, his mother behind him offering a sympathetic smile. He felt twelve again, sandwiched between two things he wanted equally. He wanted his father’s approval, he wanted his dad to just say he was proud, just once. And he wanted your support. He liked that you stood up for him, that you were willing to, but it wasn’t that simple. The majority of things never were.

He didn’t even know what to say. It happened in slow-motion. He couldn’t stop it, just watch the chaos unfold and have to deal with the aftermath. He just stormed in and demanded. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Yuki, the way he was talking about you, it was disgusting,” you answered, shocked at his confusion.

“You just disrespected my father, Y/n, you’ve just fucked the both of us,” he scoffed. He paced the floor, his eyes wide, panic surging through him. Tension filled the room, oozing from every corner. “He’s going to hate you now.” He knew it probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but he needed you to understand the level of disrespect, and how his father would hold that grudge.

You shrugged, unbothered, as you pulled your earrings out. Though he could tell, from the stiff and rigid nature of your movements, it bothered you. “Let him hate me,” you sighed. “I’m trying to support you, and hearing about every tiny thing you did wrong isn’t going to make you feel any better, just worse. He needed to shut up.”

He groaned in frustration, his head falling into his hands. Despite the way he wanted to keep his composure, he could feel it crumbling under the weight of the day. He sniffled and looked up again, willing himself not to cry. He failed, and the first tear fell.

You stared at him through the mirror, your eyes locked in on him. You slowly turned around and stood when you saw him. “Yuki,” you breathed out, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” you cooed. “I made it worse, and I know that. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, emotion breaking his voice. “I just- I wanted today to be good. Not like every other fucking race this year. I wanted it to be worth it. Worth their sacrifice. Worth your sacrifices. And it’s not,” he sighed. “I just step into that car feeling like a failure.”

“I know,” you nodded as his hands circled your waist. “But you’re not, baby, you’re not a failure. Christian is. Helmut is. You’re just taking the brunt of the weight because they’re too small to admit their mistakes,” you soothed. He wondered how he’d ever gotten so lucky. “And you’d never fail me.”

Something about the way you said it made him believe you, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t go to bed feeling like a failure.

vcarb:

Liam Lawson

He hated crying. He hated how it made him feel. He hated how it made other people feel. You hated arguing just as much.

The fact that both these things were happening simultaneously was entirely your fault.

He knew you wanted to meet his parents, he really did. You were just busy. The life of a software engineer was busy. You couldn’t change that, even if you wanted to, which you did. You would’ve been there, at that restaurant on 43rd, that gorgeous Italian place you two frequented when you were in New York. Yet you stood him up for a late-night coding session with your team because the contract you were working on was taking longer than expected, and you were contractually obligated to keep on working until you could get as close to done. His texts were just… miserable.

Hey baby, where are you? (18:04)

We’re going to start without you, alright? I’m sure you’re just late (please don’t be too late my dad is already teasing me about you not being real :)) (18:35)

Y/n, where are you? (18:47)

Are you alright? (18:59)

Please text me I’m getting worried. (19:34)

Fucks sake Y/n. I just checked your location. Really?

Work is more important than this? Than me? (19:57)

Congratulations my parents are pissed and I’ve been doing fucking recon all night. I thought you’d actually make it this time. I thought you put the time aside. I thought you fucking cared. (20:07)

Don’t text me. I don’t want to talk to you until tomorrow. (21:49)

I’m staying in my parents' hotel. (21:50)

He was crying on the streets of New York like some bad romcom. He felt pathetic, in more ways than one. How was it that he could fuck everything up, all over again. He trusted you. He relied on you. He was so sure you’d show up for him like you’d done so many times before, and you just didn’t. His parents felt disrespected, fuck, he felt disrespected. He’d planned out the entire dinner, picked a place you loved, briefed his parents on you as a person so they could ask questions, briefed you on them, so you’d have just as many questions.

And you didn’t show.

You walked towards his hotel, shame hanging off you so clearly, you were sure anyone who could see you would know. Fuck, you stood up Liam’s parents. Brilliant first impression, you thought to yourself. You knew him well enough to know that after a night like this, even when you fucked him off so badly, him still wanted you to try. He’d messed up enough for you to know this routine, though you didn’t think it would go as it did regularly. You’d missed dinner with his parents. Possibly the worst first impression you could ever make, especially when you truly planned on marrying him. You loved him, so bad it hurt sometimes.

You dialled his number. You couldn’t wait the 18 minute walk to apologise. You just hoped he’d pick up.

He picked up on the fifth ring.

“I’m so sorry,” you rushed out. “I’m a fucking piece of shit, and you deserve so much better and I’m mortified that I missed it, I’m so sorry Liam.” You waited with bated breath as he just breathed on the line. He was quiet for a minute, so still you thought he almost hung up.

“I can see you,” he answered. You raised an eyebrow, and looked around, seeing a figure that looked a lot like Liam, just across the stream between you.

“What-? Liam-” you started, hearing the thickness of his voice. He’d been crying. The knife twisted in your heart, and you had only yourself to blame.

“Across the water,” he finished. “You look beautiful,” he smiled through his tears. “So fucking pretty.”

Again, that knife got deeper. Of course he’d compliment you even after what you’d done. Of course, because that’s the kind of man he was. Caring. Loving. So fucking sweet it hurt your teeth sometimes. You let out a small humourless chuckle. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“You fucked up tonight,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair as he stared at you from across the water. “Figured a compliment might soften the blow.”

“You don’t need to soften the blow, I was an asshole. I deserve the full consequences,” you breathed out. “I’m so sorry Liam. I’m genuinely so embarrassed and fucking… ashamed. I’m such a fucking idiot,” you played with the ring on your middle finger. He’d given it to you after he noticed that you liked to fidget while you spoke. That's what he did, he noticed.

He let out a teary laugh. “Yeah, you were an asshole,” he agreed, nodding his head. The words felt foreign in his mouth. He hated saying shit like that, but objectively it was true. You were the asshole in the situation. “But I fucking love you,” he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “And for some reason spending a night we could spend together, alone, makes me sick to my stomach. I want to fall asleep next to you and I want to wake up beside you tomorrow before I fuck off to wherever,” he admitted, his vulnerability pulling at every single string of your heart. “And I fucking love you so much I spent all of tonight convincing my parents I got the date wrong. So you owe me.”

You breath caught in your throat at that. Of course he did. Always protecting you. Always caring too much. “Liam, you didn’t have to do that. You should tell them-”

“Just come over here,” his voice was pleading, like he wasn’t above begging for you. “Please,” he added at the end.

Against your better judgement, you walked straight through the shallowest part of the stream, ruining your dress from the knees down, and running right into his arms. “I’ll make it up to you,” you whispered against his lips as he kissed you like he hadn’t seen you for months, not days.

“You fucking better,” he chuckled, wiping away the last of his tears as he pulled away.

Isack Hadjar

Isack had vowed to himself he wouldn’t cry until the end of the season. Was it the healthiest thing on planet earth? No, very much not, but he seemed set on the idea, so you let him. You were just ready to be there if it fell apart, and he needed some comfort.

He did pretty well, up until it started. You came home, quiet. You weren’t humming in the kitchen as you made a snack, you weren’t asking him about his day, it was like you were there physically, but not mentally. And it didn’t change. He’d thought it had been a once-off, but no, the next day you pushed him further and further away, and he had no idea why. You’d always been the better communicator out of the two of you, hell, you’d taught Isack everything he knew about communicating effectively. So getting radio silence from you was not only unusual, it was worrying. He left for the double header, thinking you were just mad and needed time to process it, and then you’d talk. You didn’t. You texted him a few times, small messages wishing luck, or congratulations on a good result, but your regular messages about your day were gone, much like your hours-long facetime calls. He didn’t let it bother him. He gave you space. He didn’t lose his cool, because he knew you loved him, and he loved you. That wouldn’t change.

He walked into the living room with a confused expression when he found you sitting on the couch, the apartment looking more barren than when he’d left. It hit him. His heart stopped in his chest and he dropped his bag. No. He thought. This isn’t real, she’s pranking me, she’s just mad at me, she’s just-

“Isack,” your voice was steady, but anyone could see the way you were breaking inside. “We need to talk.”

Those dreaded words. He nodded and gulped back the emotion building in his throat as he sat beside you, his eyes trained to you like you’d disappear if he looked away for a split-second. Maybe you would. He didn’t reach out and hold your hand or grab your thigh like he usually would, he didn’t know if he was allowed. He held his breath. “What’s wrong?” he asked, all the care in the world in his voice.

You sighed. “I can’t do this anymore,” you admitted out loud for the first time. For months you’d been going over every scenario in your head, trying to work through every possible fix, and none of it left you satisfied. You couldn’t just be someone’s WAG, even if that someone was Isack. You needed a boyfriend who could show up for you, always. And Isack never could. And the worst part was, it was never his fault. He always wanted to, tried to support you from oceans away, sent you message after message, and you’d see how disappointed he was once you came back and you had to recount the whole night to him. He cared so deeply, but it just wasn’t enough. You needed someone to be there, mind, body, and soul. Not in a racecar halfway across the world. “I love you,” you sniffled, a stray tear falling down your face. “But this isn’t working for me anymore. I need someone who’s here, someone who can be there for me all the time. And it’s not your fault. You’ve been nothing but the best to me,” you choked up, unable to continue as more tears fell down your face. He wanted so desperately to reach out and wipe them away, promise you he could be there, that he would be there, but that was unrealistic. He couldn’t be there, no matter how badly he wanted to be, and intentions and text messages after the fact are never as good as actually showing up. He couldn’t give you that. He understood. “You’re so kind,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “And caring, and loving. I just… I need something else right now.”

You finally looked up and saw his face, tear-stained but accepting. He nodded. “That’s alright,” he whispered, though every syllable killed him. “You deserve someone who can be there for you,” there was a small smile on those lips you knew so well, and it hit you that it might be the last time you ever see him in person, you were sure you'd end up seeing him on your TV screen, even long after today, probably winning world championships. Time stopped for a moment and you let yourself remember what it meant to be with Isack, just one last time. “And I’m so sorry I cannot give that to you,” he sighed out a teary, angry sigh. “It is one of my great failings,” he sniffled, but brought a hand up to your cheek and wiped a tear away. “Maybe one day we’ll find each other again?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

“Maybe,” you nodded, but you both knew this was the end of the two of you.

You left the apartment after that. You didn’t look back. You saw him, years on, watching the sport you fell in love with because of the boy you fell in love with, with your family. Your husband and your children loved car number 6, and you didn’t have the heart to tell them you loved it for a different reason. He won world championships, like you always knew he would. He never got married, he just raced. He sent you Christmas cards and thank yous that you hid and cherished forever, because you never really forget your first love.

Years on, you told your granddaughter about the boy with the hazel eyes and fighting spirit, and how some nights, you wished you’d stayed with him. She told you that you should’ve. You told her she was wiser than you were at her age.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you should’ve held on a little bit longer.

ferrari:

Charles LeClerc

Charles notoriously hated fighting. He had no idea what the point was, because he’d just apologise, kiss you, and want everything to go back to normal. That worked for him. He came from a family that didn’t yell, a family so tightly woven together through something so deeply upsetting, that shouting was never an option. He came from a family that took care of each other, no matter what it cost them. Loyalty. Strength in numbers. Unconditional love.

You didn’t. You came from a family that made their children compete for love, made you hate your siblings and them hate you in return, and a family that boarded all that up with their perfect image.

He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have pushed if he did. He wouldn’t have gone behind your back and set up the dinner if he realised it was like this, on your birthday no less.

Those carefully disguised jabs from your mothers, those deliberately placed smirks and sniggers from your siblings and their stuck-up partners, those blatant comments from your father, he saw how they all weighed you down slowly. Over the course of a dinner, he saw you turn from the extroverted, kind, and sweet girl he’d fallen for, to the small, picked-on, and scared child you’d been for half your life. The side of yourself you’d never shared with anyone. The side of yourself you promised you’d never have to. He saw how your eyes watered before you got up to go to the bathroom, another snarky comment about your career choice being ‘unique’, like you weren’t literally changing people’s life with your work. He shook his head as he watched you leave.

“You are all terrible,” the words came out of his mouth before he meant them to, his eyes low as he looked at the table around him. He’d already said it, why not dig the grave deeper? “Get out of my house, now.”

There was a tense stillness that followed. Knives stopped. Chatter died down. Anger pulsed through his veins.

“Pardon?” your father asked, an incredulous smile on his face. He acted as if he didn’t hear Charles, and if he was a better man who wanted to keep a relationship with your family, he would’ve apologised and told everyone to continue eating. He wasn’t a better man, not when it came to you. He would do anything to protect you. He would go to any length to make you happy. He’d do anything if it meant he wouldn’t have to see you with that heartbreaking pout and cloudy eyes.

“I said, get out of my house,” he repeated, standing from the table. “I don’t want to see you here again.” He walked over to the door and opened it wide, waiting for them to step outside. They looked at him dumbfounded. Like he wasn’t being serious. Like he wasn’t seconds away from grabbing your brother, who’d made an awful comment on how you were ‘parading yourself around the paddock like an instagram whore’, when he didn’t understand or know how long it took Charles to convince you to come with him. When he didn’t see the hours you’d spent before walking into that paddock, pacing your hotel room, and nearly backing out at the last minute, but you forced yourself to because you wanted to be there for him.

“W-what’s going on?” you asked, walking out of the bathroom, the tension palpable.

Your father turned to you. “Brilliant question, what is going on?” he demanded, his tone laced with anger. You flinched. Charles knew that was it.

“They’re leaving,” he said, never raising his voice, never arguing. Just assertive and simple. “Say goodbye.”

The fear in your eyes broke his heart. Had this really been how you’d grown up? You looked around the room, panicked. “Charles, they’re not done their-”

“No, we are,” your sister bit out, standing up with her husband beside her. “Thanks for the hospitality, Bunny,” she practically spat at you. You just flinched, those beautiful eyes filling with fresh tears. He wanted nothing more than to go to you, hold you, promise you he was sorry, swear he’ll never let it happen again. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to make sure they left.

“Meg, come on, I’m sorry-” you reached for her, but she slapped your hand away. Like it didn’t even matter. Like you were less than her. Charles couldn’t stop himself. He crossed the room and grabbed her wrist, holding it tight. She gasped. You grabbed his arm and tried to get him to let go, begging in his ear gently, but he had this unbreakable focus and precision. He wanted to scare her, scare them all. He needed to show that you were untouchable now, that he wasn’t going to let this shit slide. By the way your mother’s eyes widened, he guessed she got the gist.

“What did you just do?” he questioned, the terrifying calmness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. She didn’t answer. “Apologise, then leave.”

She mumbled out something, and Charles let her go. It wasn’t that he actually cared about her apology, it was about scaring them. She shuffled out the door with her bitch of a husband behind her, your brother following, shouting about a lawsuit. Your parents were last to go, their eyes on Charles the entire time as you just watched them leave, feeling eight years old again. If you had it in you, you probably would’ve begged them to stay, just because dealing with their teasing is better than the opposite. Silence. For months at a time. Even when you were in the same house. Even when you were a child.

Your hand was wrapped so tightly around Charles arm, he didn’t even notice the pressure until you released it. Your eyes were clouded over, you were shaking, and you just walked over to the table and started cleaning up dishes.

“Y/n-” he started.

“Don’t,” you breathed out, your voice uneven and broken. It squeezed his heart. “Just don’t, Charles.” He held you clean up the table in silence. He dried the dishes after you washed them and he tried to push that terrified look in your eyes out of his mind, but it kept coming back. Your realisation of them leaving, the way you were trying to apologise, and the way you tried to stop him.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, stopping in his tracks as his eyes watered. You just kept washing the dishes. Mindful, like it was a ritual, holding onto it like it was the only thing stopping you from crumbling. “Y/n, please,” he begged, reaching over and turning the tap off. “Talk to me.”

You looked up, a tear already flowing down your cheek. You dried your hands on a towel, then wiped your cheek. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, hsi voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You nodded, tears falling onto his shirt silently. “I know. You didn’t know. It’s alright,” you whispered, that heartbreaking frown on your lips against his neck. “It just sucks.”

“Was it always like that?” he asked in a broken whisper. You didn’t respond, and that was answer enough. He choked back a tear. “It’ll never be like that here, I promise. I swear.”

You nodded. You believed him. Charles made you feel safe. Sure, he made a mistake tonight, but he was already making up for it.

He loved you. That was worth a shitty night.

Lewis Hamilton

The apartment was ground zero for an explosion of toys, arts and crafts, and Lewis was sure there was some mashed up food in there somewhere. And it was quiet. Too quiet. A newborn, two toddlers and a five year old meant there was constant noise, but none tonight. He raised an eyebrow as he expertly stepped through a broken lego set, and moved towards the kids bedrooms.

No one in the nursery, not unusual, since the most time Millie spent there was sleeping.

No one in the boys room, again, also not unusual at this time of night, they usually stayed up with you until about 8, then when he got home, they’d go down without a fight.

No one in Emmy’s room, so they were in your room.

He opened the door as quietly as he possibly could, and found three children sprawled out on the bed, already asleep, and Millie asleep in her crib. He smiled fondly, tucking them in, kissing Millie on the forehead. Moments like these made those shitty days in the car bearable. Just knowing he had his own little fan club back home, made getting into the car just that bit easier.

The light from the bathroom spilled out from under the door, and he froze when he heard a tiny choked sob. He softly opened the door, worry furrowing his brow as you came into view. Red-rimmed eyes, hand over your mouth to stop the sobs from waking the kids, exhausted eyes. His heart ached and he pressed a cautious hand on your shoulder, just a simple ‘I’m here’.

You whipped around and fell into his chest, everything you’d been holding in for weeks finally coming out. Then you did something unexpected, you pushed him away.

You stood up, wiped your eyes, and went back out to the main room, and you started cleaning. He closed the bedroom door and followed you out, a confused brow raised. “Baby?” he questioned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing Lewis,” you spat, picking up toys, as tears fell like you didn’t even notice them. “Nothing’s wrong.” His heart ached. What could possibly be this wrong? Why would you be calling him by his first name?

“Clearly something’s wrong,” he started, approaching you slowly. You stilled and stared, finally looking at him. Ferrari shirt and some jeans, necklaces and rings, hair done perfectly. It made you hate him. He got to go out and live his life every single day, every single weekend, while you were stuck in an apartment in a country hundreds of miles away from your family and friends, and you were just expected to deal. Deal with a newborn. Deal with your toddlers. Deal with the actual important things in your life while he gets to go race, and still be the favourite parent. God, you fucking hated him for it. You weren’t sure when it started. You weren’t sure if it was just your regular case of postpartum depression, or if you genuinely hated his guts, but either way, you didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want him to touch you. You didn’t want him.

Seeing him standing in your living room filled you with so much rage, you actually didn’t know what to do with yourself. “Just fuck off Lewis,” you scoffed, resuming picking up the toys. “Go on the sim or something, leave me alone.”

“Y/n,” his voice was stern, serious. “What’s wrong?” He tried again.

And you broke. Even though you didn’t want to. Even though you’d been holding it together since Millie was born. You dropped the toys to the floor with a loud crash, and you sobbed. Openly. Angrily.

You let yourself rage. You didn’t think about the other people. You didn’t think about the kids asleep inside. You didn’t think about the fact that you’d end up saying things you regretted, because you didn’t care. You just wanted him to hurt, to understand your hurt, and you didn’t know how else to show it. “Fuck you Lewis,” you sniffled. “You’re never here!” you shouted, thanking your past self that you soundproofed the apartment years ago, so hopefully, the kids wouldn’t wake up. “You’re never fucking here. You leave me, all the fucking time. You don’t parent our kids, ever. I do. Every fucking day. Every drop-off, every mess, every spillage, every argument, every fucking day. And I don’t get a moment to myself. Because I have four fucking kids relying on me, alone. Their father is never fucking here. And every time I remember that, I think back to your vows to me, as your wife,” you choked out, sobbing as you shouted. You didn’t even feel like a person anymore, just a mom. Not a functioning human with thoughts and opinions, and needs, and wants. “You promised you’d never leave me.”

He stood there, dumbstruck. He had no idea. Of course you didn’t, you’re never here, a voice in his head shot back. “Baby, I’d never leave you-”

“You already have, Lewis. Clearly you have,” you sighed, letting your arms cross over your chest. “I just… I need to go home.”

“You are home, baby,” his voice which was once soothing, sounded so fucking patronising now. You gritted your teeth.

“I want to go back to my home. With my family, and my friends,” you bit out. “I’m bringing the kids with me. You can visit us there.”

Fuck, that was heavy. You both felt that settle in the room, tension filling the air. He didn’t realise he was crying until it dropped down onto his shirt. “Y/n, you can’t just leave-”

“You do it every damn weekend,” you offered an angry smile. “I hope you’re satisfied by the end of the season, because if you don’t choose our family and me over your career, I’ll be filing for a divorce.”

And the ultimatum was set. Fuck, he probably would’ve fallen over if he wasn’t already leaning against the wall. You didn’t notice. You just continued picking up the toys and putting them away. He felt bile rise in his throat.

Zhou Guanyu

Zhou cried, he was just like that. But, he’d never cried because of you. This had rattled him. He’d never expected you to be so… mean. He knew you didn’t mean it, emotions were high anyway and this was just the cherry on top of a shit week.

You knocked on the door, guilt heavy in your stomach like a bowling ball. “Zhou,” your voice was soft. He held his breath. “Zhou I'm so sorry,” you started choking up yourself. “Fuck,” you mumbled. “I’m being mean to you and I’m the one fucking crying,” you sniffled, leaning against the door. “I’m an asshole.” He felt your weight against the door, and heard the desperation in your voice. He just… wasn’t ready to respond yet. He didn’t have anything to say to you.

You took another deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said that, I-I’m sorry,” God, you felt so small. Taking Zhou down just because you were stressed? Snapping at him like he wouldn’t do anything for you? Like he didn’t love you so much it hurts? You were disgusted with yourself. You honestly thought you didn’t deserve forgiveness. “I was stressed, and I know, that’s not an excuse. I just don’t know how to fucking deal with it. When everyone is breathing down my neck, a-and you’re just trying to love me with, with your fucking love languages and I love it. I swear I do, I don’t ever w-want it to fucking stop, I just… it gets c-crowded in my h-head,” you admitted, hiccups interrupting your explanation. You’d never been good at this, at love. But you were willing to try for Zhou, because you loved him so much you felt like you couldn’t breathe without him. You let out another sob. He felt the tears falling down his cheeks. “I just don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. I’m so bad at this, I just… I’m so scared you’re going to wake up one day and realise that I’m not worth the trouble. And I-I push you away because I already love you so much that losing you w-would break me,” you held in a sob. “And I’m so sorry Zhou. You deserve so much better than that.” You knocked your head against the door lightly, like it could somehow fix the turmoil in your brain. It didn’t.

He sniffled from the other side of the door and it twisted the guilt in your stomach. The door unlocked. You stepped back. Zhou stood in front of you, looking just as broken as you were.

No words were exchanged. He didn’t shout or demand an apology. He did the most Zhou-thing he could’ve done. He forgave you. He hugged you. He kissed you. He promised you he’d stand by you when you felt like this.

He chose to be kind, because of course he did. He was your Zhou.

haas:

Ollie Bearman

He was fucked. Literally, and metaphorically, he was fucked.

Seriously, he’d just fucked someone. And he’d just realised it wasn’t you. After the fact. After it was over.

Dodging calls wasn’t like Ollie. Dodging texts wasn’t like Ollie. But, he’d changed a lot since moving up to F1. He was colder. Less goofy. Less… himself. He walked around like he cared what people thought now, which you guessed he must’ve. You saw it in the way he carried himself. You saw it in the light in his eyes, or lack-there-of.

And you were seeing it in person, right now. He stood in front of you, eyes wide and teary, excuses pouring from his mouth like those tyre strategies he used to rattle off.

“It was a mistake,” he sniffled. “And I’m so sorry.” He let his head drop, eyes falling to the floor. He couldn’t face it, face you. This was the biggest mistake of his life, and he was a Haas driver. He thought back to those nights where you’d hold him when he got like this. Whether it was results or pressure or stress, you always cared. You hugged him and kissed him and told him everything would be alright. Well, right now, he wished you would. He knew you wouldn’t, knew he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t stop him from hoping.

“Alright,” you shrugged, no tone, no hurt, nothing. His head snapped back up, eyes filling with hope. “Pack your shit.”

His world stopped. “Y/n-”

“Fuck you Ollie, I don’t care. I don’t trust you. I can’t love someone I don’t trust,” you laid it out perfectly. Simple. Easy. He broke your trust, so he didn’t have you anymore. “Begging won’t change anything. Just leave with your dignity.”

And even if he didn’t want to, he did. He left with that pit of guilt in his stomach, knowing he made the biggest mistake of his entire life.

Esteban Ocon

Esteban was quiet. You were tense. Your apartment was usually full of laughter and light. It was silent that night. The sun had set on the beautiful city of Geneva, and the chill crept in from the cracked window, or just the cold shoulder your boyfriend was giving you. The bed felt cold. He felt cold. You thought back and noticed how those sweet routine moments you’d cherished for years had slowly started to dwindle in recent months. He wouldn’t join you for a shower anymore. He didn’t bother teasing you while you did your makeup or skincare. He didn’t dance with you in the kitchen anymore. He spoke more French, a language you didn’t quite understand (though in recent months you’d been learning it, for him). He focused on work.

Your heart broke slowly as it hit you. He fell out of love.

“Just say it,” you whispered into the darkness of your shared bedroom. His hands weren’t around your hips like they used to be. His face wasn’t buried in your hair as he slept soundly. No, he stayed to his side of the bed like you had the plague.

“Say what?” he huffed, tired voice and eyes turning over to meet your eyes. “It’s 2am Y/n.”

You stared at him for a moment, and you knew she knew what you were saying. He knew exactly what you were saying, he was just too pussy to do it himself. “You’re seriously going to make me say it?” you scoffed. He shook his head in annoyance and looked at you expectantly. He was a small man. He was pathetic. That's what you reminded yourself as you spoke. Maybe your voice would shake, but at least you spoke. “You’re not in love with me anymore,” your voice sounded so small it was almost like you didn’t recognize it.

He was quiet for a moment, then he broke. Eyes weeping, chest heaving, fully sobbing. You stared in shock. Never in your three years together had he ever done that. Never had he fully broken down in front of you. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I never meant for this to happen.”

And you hated yourself for being right. Of course he fell out of love with you, everyone always did. “Yeah,” you shrugged, sitting up. “I know you didn’t.” There wasn’t much enthusiasm behind your words, but I think anyone could’ve excused you for that. You didn’t reach out for him. You didn’t comfort him. You didn’t care to. Who was he to be crying when he was the one at fault? You’d been the perfect girlfriend, perfect support system, perfect fucking WAG, and he fell out of love. That was his failing, not yours. You told yourself, but it had started to feel like there was something wrong with you. This kept happening. You’d give yourself to someone completely, and they wouldn’t care anymore.

He grabbed your wrist before you could leave the bed. “You’re going to find someone who loves you like I should’ve.”

Fuck, if that didn’t break you more.

aston martin:

Fernando Alonso

Arguments weren’t uncommon in any relationship. People disagree, it’s just humans being humans. But these disagreements were showing up more often, cutting into you a bit more, his words became more harsh. You knew he didn't mean to, but he hurt you. He made you feel like a child, with the way he talked down to you, like you were too fucking stupid to understand the complex inner-workings of his brain.

It made you feel less-than, and you fucking hated that. It made you feel like you weren’t in a partnership, but a mentorship, and you hated that too. He used language that he knew would hurt you, childish, adolescent, a baby. Like you couldn’t understand just how bad life can get because you were 28 instead of his wise age of 43.

So you were quiet. You stayed quiet, shrunk yourself to fit in better. You didn’t take back when his friends made awful comments, you spent more time to yourself, you stopped wanting to come to races, you stopped wanting to dress up and go out, you stopped wanting things. Race weekends passed in a still kind of tension, one that he didn’t seem to notice. He did. He saw every time you made yourself smaller for him. Every time you gave up something you wanted for him. Every time you kept your mouth shut for him. And it broke him. Why would you think he wanted you to be any different? Why would you change yourself for him? Why would he let it go on so long?

So he sat down at the table one day, dinner in front of him, you to his left, and he broke down. It was all too much. The pressure from the sport, the silence in the house, the shrinkage of the only thing good left in his world, you.

You gasped. “Fernando,” you reached out and cupped his cheek, panic filling your eyes. “What’s wrong?” You asked, your food forgotten as you leaned in closer to him. So caring, so kind. It twisted the knife into his heart, but he was always good at persevering.

He shook his head, a sad smile reaching his lips. “You deserve better than me, than this,” he spoke softly and your heart dropped into your stomach. He couldn’t make you miserable a minute longer. He couldn’t watch you shrink. “I think we have to take a step back,” The fear in your eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life, but he knew he needed to do this. He had to set you free, you had to live your life free of him. He pushed your hand off his cheek. “I’m not interested anymore. I want you gone.”

That was all it took. That panic and fear melted away into something darker. Resentment. Anger. Hatred. It killed him to watch, but he knew it was the right thing, even if it felt like his world was falling apart.

Lance Stroll

“Just- shut up!” he groaned, his hands flying around the room uncontrolled. It was quiet for a moment, you were quiet for a moment. Just standing there, still, either in shock or rage, he couldn’t tell. He just knew nothing good could come of this argument since the minute he started it, and he still started it. “I just… I need a minute.” His voice broke and that unforgettable burning sensation began in the back of his throat. You stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his back, soothingly rubbing up and down. He could tell you were still upset, still mad, still raging. But you chose to put it aside for a moment, and calm him down. Fuck, he didn’t deserve you.

You sighed, laying your head on his shoulder and leaning into him. “Lance, you can’t start an argument and leave it once it gets hard, or I get angry. It’s not fair,” you whispered out, your exasperation clear in your tone. “It’s not fair.”

He knew you were right, knew he should apologise, knew he should say something. He didn’t. He just nodded, trying desperately to hold himself together as he felt everything in him beg to be let out. You huffed. “Lance, you can cry, we just need to keep talking after. You have to stay here. Trust me enough to let me comfort you. If you don’t trust me I genuinely don’t understand why we’re still together,” you admitted, your voice raw and tired. You couldn’t do this dance again, you needed him to commit. Feel the fear, and do it anyway. Trust. Love.

He nodded again, stronger this time. He took another shallow breath, and he turned to you. She has you. He told himself. She loves you, this isn’t going to scare her away.

And he let himself go.

sauber:

Nico Hulkenberg

He missed it, even though he’d flown all night. Exhaustion had settled itself in his bones long before he reached his front door, and still, he continued.

But he missed it.

That’s what she would remember. Her dad wasn’t there for her birthday. He didn’t get there in time.

You were waiting in the living room. It was 5am. Too early to get the day started but also too late to go back to sleep. You told yourself you should go for a walk, start breakfast, get ahead on your work, but something anchored you to the couch, watching the sun rise on Monaco. The harbour shone in the sunlight, making it as beautiful as the time you first saw it. When he brought you here for the first time, all those years ago. You sat on a boat beside him, a new exciting talent in the world of F1, a jittery 20-something guy you’d met through mutual friends. Someone had said to you that even then, he looked at you like he saw something else. A future, a loving home, a family. And they were right. You chuckled, remembering those moments where he’d come home to you after a shitty weekend, and he’d just melt into you. Not leave your side for three days. It made you laugh.

“I missed it,” he whispered into the expanse of the dark living room, just brightening up in the new day's light. He didn’t approach you. He didn’t know if he was allowed. “I fucking missed it.” You stood up and walked over to him, hearing the wobble in his voice. It cracked your heart, just like every question from your daughter had, during the day. You wrapped your arms around his neck. You should be mad. You should shout.

“She’s four,” you whispered. “She loves you more than anything. Children are more forgiving than adults. Don’t miss the next one,” you advised with a soft smile on your lips. He squeezed you tighter, the beginning of tears falling onto your hoodie. “You’re not a bad father,” you reminded him, instilling in him that he wouldn’t become his worst fear. “You’re a lot of things Nico, and a bad father will never be one of them.”

He shook his head in the crook of your neck. “I don’t deserve you two.”

Now it was your turn to shake your head. “You do,” you smiled. “We love you so much Nico.”

Gabriel Borteleto

He wasn’t prepared, he didn’t think about it, he just said it, he didn’t realise the implications, didn’t notice the way you stiffened.

Now his apartment was empty. It was his apartment, as he’d so unkindly shouted during that godforsaken argument. It all came back to him clearly, the housing, the tears, his unwillingness to stop. He hadn’t meant to drive you away, he just… he needed you to understand. Understand the pressure. Understand the disappointment. Understand how he felt like he was failing every single time he jumped into that car. But he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Even when you left, he sent you message after message, calling you selfish. Making you out to be the problem, as if you weren’t the only thing holding him up.

The pounding in his head didn’t cease throughout the day. You’d told him to at least wait a day before talking to you, or else you’d never hear him out. It was torture. Counting the minutes down as the time slowly ticked by, never quite close enough for his liking. Then 8pm rolled around, and he was dialling your number as fast as he could. You picked up on the fifth ring.

He spoke first, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry.” He held his breath. He wasn’t expecting you to forgive him immediately. He wasn’t really expecting you to forgive him at all. He was expecting to get scolded, to get told just how bad he’d hurt you.

“Alright,” you shrugged, indifference crept into your tone and it made his blood freeze, his whole body shivering with a scary sense of dread. You didn’t care. Not anymore. Not now. He’d pushed you too far. He’d done it. He’d fucked it. He leant against the bathroom door, a sob ripping out of his throat as the burning sensation of his unshed tears began. You sighed. He held his breath again. “Gabi, what do you want me to say?”

You might as well have stamped on his heart. God, he wanted to scream. Anything that shows you fucking care? He thought. Anything that makes me think this is salvageable? “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just… something. This has to be worth saving, we have to be worth saving.” He choked out through angry tears. Why weren’t you fighting? Why weren’t you angry? Why didn’t you care?

“Is it worth saving?” you asked him, and his world tipped on its side. Of course it is. Was his immediate response. He loved you. You loved him. It made sense. You groaned. “We fight all the fucking time, Gabi. You’re not happy, I’m not happy. We haven’t been for a long time.”

He thought back to those fights and those nights you both spent angry. By morning the problem would be forgotten and you’d make up right? You’d kiss his cheek and make him a coffee, he’d give you some half-assed apology but you’d accept anyway. That’s the way it was, and he never wanted it to change. Maybe she wants it to change, a voice in his head spoke up. She’s getting the short end of the stick. His heart dropped to his stomach when he realised he’d been ignoring all the animosity from you. The burnt coffees. The glares. The subtle and slow retreat back into yourself. He coughed. “It is for me,” He had to fight for you, promise you he’d change. “I’ll change, I swear. I love you.”

“I don’t need you to change. I need to change. I need other things, and you can’t give me them. I’m sorry Gabi, but we’re over.”

alpine:

Pierre Gasly

He hated arguing, really he did. He was just good at it. Weirdly good. Like, he’d been told to become a lawyer on more occasions than one. But he hated arguing with you. And he hated when he took it too far.

You wouldn’t understand. He’d said.

What, like I’m not smart enough now? You were livid, and rightfully so.

I like taking care of you, is that so hard to understand?! He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he had. He just didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, it was just money, a simple thing he had more than enough of, and he wanted to spend it on you. You weren’t having it.

It’s not being taken care of Pierre, it makes me feel gross, like I’m using you or something. And you could use that money to do so much good in someone’s life, God! You were just being kind, but he was frustrated. He just wanted to do something nice and you’d blown it out of proportion. It was a dress. A fucking 5,000$ dress. It made you sick to just look at the price tag, but he didn’t feel the same. That kind of money was cheap change to him.

You’re being dramatic, it’s s dress, I just wanted to congratulate you. You got a promotion, it was a big deal. He was proud.

I’m not trying to sound ungrateful Pierre, but flowers would have sufficed.

And he snapped. He said things he didn’t mean, and you left. You went back home, leaving him in Austria with a race weekend to finish. You told him to sort his shit out. You told him to think before he speaks. God, he’d been thinking of you since you left. He called your phone.

You didn’t pick up the first time. Or the second. Or the third.

Ten times. Then you responded. You picked up the damn phone on his lucky number ten.

“Pierre,” you yawned. “Isn’t it late over there?” you whispered into the phone like you’d wake someone if you weren’t quiet enough. You wouldn’t, you were alone in your hotel room, still sorting out your shit from the argument.

“I missed you already,” he admitted, the first tears falling down his cheeks. He sniffled. “I’m such an idiot sometimes.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, you are.” He chuckled too. Quiet conversation filled both your hotel rooms as you both drifted back off to sleep. You didn’t talk about the fight. You didn’t talk about how he was crying. You just… talked. About your busy schedules, how you were running out of foundation, and how tired he was. Boring things. The in-between things. Monotony. Regular, normal life.

He loved every second of it.

Franco Colapinto

His body ran cold when he looked at the time. 2am. You still weren’t home. He’d pretended it didn’t bother him long enough, he had to text you. Or call you. Make you come home.

He wasn’t a stranger to fucking up, especially with you. He knew what he did was shitty. He knew he should’ve tried harder, worked harder to be there, but duty calls sometimes, and fuck, he has to answer whether he wants to or not. He called your number, his hands shaking.

Pick up. He begged. Pick up, please.

You picked up on the sixth ring. “Franco?” your voice was tense. Like he was annoying you. He didn’t care, he was just happy you were responding to him. Relief surged through his body like a fucking lightning bolt, and suddenly he could breathe again. “Why are you calling me?” You were sick of this, of him, of being a secondary priority. You didn’t even want to fucking fight anymore, you just wanted peace, a boyfriend would could be there, who could show up.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice quiet. Timid. And, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded scared. He was. He felt sick to his stomach that you were walking around Spielberg all alone. You left the hotel 4 hours ago. 4 hours of him burning a hole in the floor pacing the room, 4 hours of genuine fear that it might all be over, 4 hours of shit. Pure and utter shit. He was scared, alright? Fucking terrified. He wanted you back, in the hotel, in his arms, in his bed. He wanted you home, to him. He wanted to make sure he was still home. You were quiet for a moment, debating on whether to tell him. “Come on mi cielo, just… come back,” he let a small sob out, his voice just above a whisper.

You stopped in your tracks. You’d seen him cry a handful of times at most. Over family stuff. Over results. But never was it over you. You didn’t think this had pushed him that far, didn’t think it would. He was so… unbreakable sometimes, you forgot he was just as fragile as you were. He hurt and bled the same, and of course he wouldn’t want you walking out in the dark in a foreign town with your location off, ignoring him. Of course not. “I’m on my way back now, I’ll be there soon.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and held back a relieved sob. He nodded. “Great,” he choked out. “I’ll be here.”

Jack Doohan

It was important to you, he understood. He saw the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about it. He basked in that light, he planned beside you.

Blood is thicker than water. His father’s mantra rang out through his head, taunting him. He’d been the one to fucking say it and the hurt on your face told him everything he needed to know. Not that he hadn’t known it before, he had. He knew you wanted him there more than anything, he knew how much it would mean for him to get on a plane and meet your family. Yet, he flaked. For some fucking family holiday he didn’t even want to go on. But you cried when he left, and you asked him to practically never come back, and even though he felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest, he boarded that plane like he didn’t have another choice. He saw that he did now. He saw the right choice.

Mick saw the changes in Jack. He saw the untouched food, the sluggish walk, the lack of interest. He texted you and got no response and he knew what it meant.

Dinner was too loud, so Jack sought refuge with the sand and the water. His bracelet, the bracelet you gave him was threaded through his fingers as he watched the waves roll out. He was too deep in thought to see Mick sitting beside him.

“What did you do?” he asked, his voice soft, though it startled him all the same. He jumped and turned to him, a slow smile made its way onto his lips, a chuckle leaving Mick’s. “She’s gone for good?”

That smile disappeared quickly. Jack looked back out at the ocean in front of him, so vast and wide. “I fucked it up,” he admitted, his heart aching with every word. “I left her for this.” He gestured to the area around him, but Mick got the gist. He sighed and clapped a hand on his friend's back.

“Did you talk to her?”

“She doesn’t want to hear from me,” he shook his head. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried, he had. You genuinely didn’t want to hear from him. Emotion bubbled deep in his throat, but he tried to swallow it down regardless. He didn’t care if it’d choke him, he didn’t want it. Emotion admits more than words ever would. If he let himself break down he’d be admitting it was over. He wasn’t ready for it to be over. He wasn’t ready to kiss those moments with you goodbye. The way you smiled at him, the way you’d tease him over anything you could, just because you loved it when he’d finally tease back. He couldn’t say goodbye to those nights when you’d stay up until dawn, just talking, making promises about a future you two weren’t guaranteed. He wouldn’t leave those memories of you telling him you loved him in a box in the back of his mind.

He hadn’t realised he’d been crying. Well, there it was.

Over.

Paul Aron

“You can’t fucking do this! You can’t leave for weeks at a time and not talk to me Paul, for fuck’s sake!” you groaned, your eyes wild and angry. It had been like this for 40 minutes, a back and forth that wouldn’t end no matter how much you both wanted it to. He wouldn’t see your side, and you couldn’t see his. He didn’t really have a justification for his actions, just empty promises, and you were sick to death of those. Your hands raked over your face, and you sighed, your eyes meeting his. “Either sort your shit out, or break up with me Paul, because those really seem like our only options right now.” You already knew you were crossing a line, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You just had to say it.

He could’ve pretended that didn’t feel like a punch to the gut, but you knew him too well. You knew the second you said it too, because you stilled. His face faltered, his body twitched and jerked in a weird way. He wanted to recover, to pretend it was normal, act like it didn’t happen maybe. He couldn’t. Not when it was you on the line. Not when you were talking about a universe where he couldn’t come home to you every night and have you kiss his head or let him kiss you silly.

You walked over and wrapped your arms around him. Your face was serious but tender and he cupped your cheek. The low light made him look like an angel, a crying angel, but an angel all the same. “Paul, I’m sorry,” you whispered, tender but timid. Like you were scared you’d make it worse. “I’m tired and you’re tired, and you’ve just had a huge weekend, and we just need… we need each other, right?” you offered and he just nodded, too shocked to really comprehend what was going on. “Let’s just head to bed, yeah?”

He nodded, then dipped his head down and kissed you like it was the last time, like he was trying to put all the love and care and passion he had for you into the kiss. Like that would make you understand him. To an extent, it did.

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

mclaren masterlist (OP81 &LN4)

ferrari masterlist (CL16, LH44 & AL65 )

williams & mercedes masterlist (GR63, KA12, CS55 LS2 &AA23)

redbull & vcarb masterlist (MV1,IH6 & LL40)

alpine masterlist (JD7, PA17, FC43, PG10)

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tw1sters · 2 months ago

Text

Flight Risk

Two years should have been enough for you to move on from a heartbreaking situationship. However, Jake's return to North Island proves that time doesn't necessarily heal all wounds.

▸ PAIRING: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, unprotected sex (she's on the pill), lots of dirty talk, sexual banter, some angst, basically maverick!jake, jealous & possessive!jake (personal fave) ▸ WORD COUNT: 15.1K ▸ A/N: longest work yet and this jake made me frustrated and happy. this is basically if mav and penny started off as fwbs. planning a lot of jake pov scenes from this one because i want to write him as an emotional mess! for now, pls enjoy :)

—

Quiet mornings at The Hard Deck are your favorites. With all the rowdy patrons gone, you’re left in the peace of the bar. It’s just you, the sticky floors, and the sound of waves lapping up against the shore.

It’s been a few years since you took over for Penny. Her retirement with Maverick is well-deserved. The woman has the patience of a saint for dealing with military chaos for years before they chose to settle down somewhere quieter, somewhere less… government. Now, this is your life. Nothing you should be complaining about.

You like the hands-on work, you like being able to meet new people while also having regulars. The manual labor is almost gratifying. The motions of the day are muscle memory at this point. Restock any necessary bottles behind the bar, ensure you still have sufficient supply in the back, wipe down counters, and do your best to remove the residues from the previous night off the worn wooden floors. The number of people who come this way has increased over the last few months, something about training more and more graduates for air combat. Always preparing for a war that hopefully never comes.

Some faces are more familiar than others, ones that come much too often. Out of all of them, your mind tends to wander to a certain blonde, and your heart pinches at the thought. Even after years of absence, he never fails to remind you of the things you’ve lost.

You shake his face away from your head. Today is not the day. You haven’t thought about him in a couple of months. There are things here on the island that remind you of him, spots you can never scrub free of traces of him, no matter how many memories you try to put in their place.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin was a blessing and a curse. Once upon a time, you might’ve even considered him your best friend. The first time you met, he pulled all of his best lines to charm the pants off you. The only thing he left with was a hefty bar tab after he slid his phone on the bar counter to you, asking for your number. That bell ring is still the most satisfying one you’ve done to date.

He ended up on North Island often, pulled in for special detachments and training. Eventually, he even started training his own batch of recruits. With the amount of confidence and sweet-talking he brought to you, it was no surprise that you ended up in his bed at some point. Well, him in yours mostly because your place had a lot more privacy compared to the apartments he shared with Bradley.

And that one time turned into two and then three. After a while, you lost count of how many times you’ve come apart in his hands. It wasn’t only his witty remarks or playful banter that won you over. It was the quiet nights you shared when he told you about growing up in Texas, when you told him about what it was like growing up with both your parents in the military, when you both shared your secret fears and desires in the darkness of your room.

Jake was all hard edges and sharp lines. He was a shameless flirt and an incorrigible asshole. But he was also a devoted son who visited his parents states away every time he had a weekend off, a good friend who apologized for missing a night with you when he had to comfort Javy after a breakup, a man who squeezed your hand through your nightmares and held you close.

He was a man who was hard to miss in both senses of the phrase. Handsome. Smart. Loud. Loyal.

Falling for him was inevitable. Even now, as you’re trying to distract yourself with chores for the day, the pain from that night still lingers. Your whispered confession, the flare of panic in his eyes.

“I love you.” The words come out easily. They are ones that have been trapped in your chest for the longest time, restricting your heart from beating as freely as it should. You’ve known it for a while, choosing to bury them deeper and deeper until the feelings pile up again to the surface. With nowhere else to go, the only way to release it is to say it out loud. But saying it out loud makes it real and that terrifies you more than anything.

You and Jake are no secret to regulars. No official labels, but when he’s on the island, you’re his. Completely. It isn’t as if you’re sleeping around with anyone else, even when he’s gone. He’s rarely gone long enough for you to crave touch from someone else – not that you do. Jake has replaced the memory of every man before him, and spoiled you for every man after.

The silence speaks volumes. You don’t dare look up, instead opting to withdraw from him in favor of slipping on your shirt. Another barrier between the two of you. A belated protective shield for you.

When you finally chance a glance his way, there’s a storm of emotions clouding his eyes. You can recognize the ones you anticipate: disappointment, resentment, pity. He doesn’t move where he sits on your bed, still naked beneath your sheets. Your name comes out of his mouth like a scold. Your face crumples into a wince.

After the first few times, you both agreed that this is meant to be clean. A no-relationship relationship. Just sex whenever he’s in town. It’s a win-win for him who’s constantly on the road and for you who can’t imagine yourself managing anything else beyond the bar.

But who were you kidding? You never stood a chance with Jake Seresin. Nights with him aren’t just hours spent tangled in each other, chasing the sort of pleasure that only comes from familiar, experienced hands. They are midnight conversations and tender touches. They are your laughs encouraged by his kisses.

“I know” is all you can muster. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Jake doesn’t. He can’t possibly give you a response that would remedy this situation. This relationship.

“Look, forget about it. It was a mistake.”

“You made it complicated, sweetheart. I told you I don’t do complicated.”

“I get it,” you snap back, a little harsher than you intended. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… it came out.”

Jake licks his lips as his hand reaches up to run through his messy hair. Minutes ago, it was your fingers that rumpled through his blonde hair. It feels like a lifetime away now. His frustration is more palpable now. He grits his teeth when he coldly says, “Why did you have to go on and ruin a good thing?”

It’s like driving a stake through a gaping wound. “I fucked up, I’ll admit. But you don’t need to be an asshole about it. There are probably worse things in life than to have someone tell you they love you.”

A hoarse laugh escapes him. “Really? You think so? Because right now, it doesn’t feel like there is.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Well, I’m not the one that decided to fall in love with a fucking asshole.”

On some level, you’re probably aware that he doesn’t mean to be this cruel, throwing your feelings back in your face. It’s the heightened emotions and the exhaustion from a long day. However, you’re also the one who got rejected. The least he could do is be decent about it, be gentler.

“Love isn’t a goddamn decision, prick.”

“Name-calling, darlin’? Not your best attack.” Your humiliation and sorrow are replaced by fury. As someone you once considered a close friend, mocking you in this very moment feels like a bullet straight through you.

You swallow thickly, looking away. Any more from him and you may break down in tears, and the last thing you want to give him is your vulnerability. Clearly, he doesn’t deserve it. Nor did he ever want it.

“I should go.”

Looking at the darkness outside, you feel your heart soften. You’re pissed, but you’re not a complete monster. You won’t resort to being one like he did. “You should stay the night, it’s late. You can leave in the morning. Take the couch.”

A grunt. “You know that’s no longer a good idea. I’ll be fine.” He shrugs on his clothes quickly. The ticking clock on your wall feels like a bomb that’s about to explode. Only, you feel as if you’re already standing in the aftermath of it all.

You walk him out quietly, standing a foot away when he opens the front door. The evening breeze chills your hallway and you immediately rub the goosebumps rising on your arms. Jake looks up at you one more time, those three so-easily identifiable feelings still etched onto the lines of his face.

“I don’t think we should do this again.”

The final nail in the coffin. All you can do is nod in agreement. It hurts. Of course, it fucking hurts. But there’s nothing else you can do – he held up his end of the bargain and you let it fall apart in your hands.

“Be safe,” you say in response. It feels like the only appropriate one.

Jake nods and closes the door behind him. With the roar of his bike, he disappears into the night.

Two years. It’s been two years since that fateful night. Jake hasn’t been back since. It’s not just your bar that he avoids, it’s the entire base altogether. While you see some of his friends on occasion, his face is nowhere to be seen in the crowd. There are murmurs on where he’s located, even if people try to whisper it far away from you. But Jake isn’t one to stay under the radar for too long, his exploits are thoroughly discussed by many who pass through your bar. Last you heard, he is deployed in the Middle East somewhere on a long-term operation.

Part of you is grateful that you don’t have to deal with the awkwardness of being half an ex; it stings even more when you think you’re not even really an ex. However, after months of constant texting and late FaceTime calls even when he’s gone, his absence is noticeable. The ghost of him is apparent in the echo of his laugh by the pool table, the shadow of his broad frame when he leans over your bar and shoots you a wink.

But it’s been two years and you’ve moved on. Somewhat. You’ve seen other people since then – not only sleeping with them but actually going on dates in what hopefully would turn into something more.

No such luck.

The effort is exhausting and you find working at the bar much more rewarding. It’s small talk that is meaningful to you, building new relationships with soon-to-be regulars rather than vetting an unknown man to be your potential boyfriend. At this point, you can almost say for certain that there is not a lot of potential in the crowd you meet.

After two years, the ground beneath your feet is steadier. You hold nothing against Jake. You knew what you signed up for with him and it was neither your fault nor his that you ended up losing someone close to you. You’re thankful that you were able to tell him your feelings before he disappeared; it’s comforting to you that at least he knows, wherever he is, that he has someone who cares about him.

With that said, you also have no interest in reliving one of the worst moments of your life. Your embarrassment lives in the deepest corners of your mind. You’ve thought a lot about what you would do if Jake ever came back.

You would play it cool. You would be friendly. Cordial. But you also have no interest in a fresh start. You and Jake are going to be complete strangers with a lot of mutual friends.

It’ll be fine. It will work.

At least, that is what you tell yourself when you sense that familiar presence. You hate how attuned you still are to him. The sound of his footsteps, the laugh that the wind carries in, and even the way he opens the door. A slight creak that sounds almost thunderous in the sparse bar.

You don’t look up. You don’t need to. You continue wiping down your glasses and chatting with Irene, who probably spends too much time here. However, her company in the present is much appreciated. Your back faces the door and you have an excuse to keep your eyes fixated on the woman in front of you, rather than the blonde who’s getting closer and closer.

Andy – the second bartender you’ve hired since business picked up – is manning the side of the bar closer to the door. He can handle him. Irene’s voice blurs into the background and suddenly your heart is rushing in your ears and the only voice that slices through is Jake Seresin saying your name.

Fuck.

Two years. Two long years without him and you still can’t get yourself together when it comes to him.

Andy taps you on the shoulder, tells you someone is asking for you. You wish Irene weren’t so kind, wish that she would tell Andy to take care of the man himself. Instead, she leaves you to your misery with a comforting smile.

Taking a deep breath, you urge your heart to slow. It’s just Jake. You were friends once. You can be friendly.

You turn around.

Nothing could have prepared you to see how much Jake has changed. He’s still undeniably and objectively handsome, those sharp features and bright eyes could appeal to any man and woman in the vicinity. However, the five o’clock shadow along his jaw and the healthy tan on his skin give him that rougher edge that his boyish self never had. He’s older, grown.

Even so, there’s a softness to his eyes that’s new. His gaze has always been hard when he dials up his flirting game. This tenderness – it feels like the work of a woman.

Could it be? Someone has finally tamed the young and wild Jake Seresin? The thought hurls you with bitterness and annoyance. It’s been a few years. It’s entirely possible that in that time, he’s met someone who changed his mind about love.

Your mouth dries at the thought and you internally curse your body for reacting this way. Be happy, be nice. You inhale a shaky breath as you make your way towards him, a small smile forced onto your face.

“Jake Seresin.” Saying his name feels like a prayer and a curse.

He tips his head and then offers you that blinding grin. One that you’ve grown so used to receiving and have missed immensely. “How are you doing, darlin’?”

“Same old.” Your lips quirk up. “What are you doing back on this side of the planet?”

Jake leans over the bar, his large frame coming up too close to your personal space. The temptation to draw the invisible line that he cannot cross is there, but that would be a little too immature, even for you. His arms fold on top of the counter. “Looking for the prettiest girl on the planet.”

“Hm? Any luck?”

“Yeah, think I got it right on the first try.”

Your heart does a backflip in your chest. Fucking Jake Seresin and his snake charming tendencies. It’s almost painful how easily the two of you fall back into old routines – the banter, the flirting. You neutralize your expression to ensure nothing gives away how difficult this is for you. You’re not giving him the satisfaction of showing him how affected you are by him. Still, even after two goddamn years.

“What do you want, Hangman?”

“Iced tea.” Your eyebrows jump at that.

“Have I entered the twilight zone in which you don’t get drunk off your ass the moment you walk into this bar?”

That was a mistake, because you’re then rewarded by that full-bellied laugh. The one you grew fond of. Your heart does its thing again.

“As much as I would love to clean out your stockpile of IPAs – you probably have a surplus at this point, I do have to head to base after this.”

You take your chance to pull a fresh glass and prepare his drink, your back once again facing him. You run through the list of safe questions in your head. Don’t ask him how long he plans to be here, you’ll sound interested. Don’t ask him what he’s doing here, you’ll sound like you care too much.

You’ve learned the hard way that he hates that.

Instead, you settle for a simple “got it.”

Calm, cool, collected. That’s your motto for however long Jake has his fucking feet on this blasted island.

You turn back around and slide the glass over to him as he hops onto a stool. He tilts it back and takes long gulps, like a parched man in the desert. He cleans out the drink and immediately asks for a refill. You oblige and hand it back to him.

“How’ve you been?”

There are so many ways you can answer this question. Three C’s. Remember the three C’s. “Good, it’s been busy here. A lot of new faces but some familiar ones. Think Coyote was here a couple of weeks ago so you just missed him.”

“Yeah, he told me. The man’s getting married soon.”

Of course, he still talks to Javy. Why wouldn’t he? Unlike the two of you, they’re actually friends.

You mentally chide yourself for being so petty. On the outside, you nod. “Winter wedding. Good thing he’s doing it in Mexico City. That’ll be a fun trip.”

“You’re going then?”

“Yeah, winter is actually pretty slow for the bar so think Andy has it covered.”

Jake nods slowly. You observe his thinking face, another question on the tip of his tongue that he decides not to ask. The serious expression disappears as he flashes you another smile. “I’ll catch you then for sure.”

“Best man?”

“Best best man,” he replies with a wink and you can’t even stop the laugh that comes out of your mouth. His eyes gleam a little brighter. Jake straightens a little, looking almost awkward when he asks, “Are you bringing anyone?”

The implicit questions are there. Are you seeing anyone? Are you dating anyone serious enough to bring to a wedding? A wedding where your ex-situationship is the best man?

You think of the limited number of ways you could avoid answering this question. “Thought it was a small wedding, didn’t think I would get a plus one.”

“Javy would definitely let you bring one if you wanted.”

“That would be nice of him.”

“So are you?”

Stupid Jake and his stupid ability to push. You could lie, but that means you would have to find someone by that time to actually bring to this destination wedding. That feels a little much, even if it’s to teach Jake a lesson.

“Nope,” you shrug and your curiosity wins out, “are you?”

He seems to think about it for a bit, worrying his bottom lip. “No, not right now at least.”

Not right now. It definitely hurts more than it should.

Jake quickly adds, “I’m not seeing anyone. I just – you know, things can change between now and December.”

“Right, yeah, of course.”

When you look at him again, he seems to be contemplating something. The thinking face is back on. “I’ll be here for at least a month,” he starts. You have a bad feeling about where this is going, but you already know your answer. Your resolution stands firm. Thankfully, he keeps it in safe territory. “Teaching a new batch of recruits with Bradshaw, actually.”

“Oh, I haven’t seen him around in a bit so that’ll be nice.”

If you say nice one more time, you may actually choke on how nice you’re trying to be.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “It’s kind of crazy. To think they would trust me to teach other pilots.”

“Is it that crazy?” His eyes flare with surprise. “I mean, you and Bradley are probably the best aviators. You trained under Mav. Plus, you can be a tough teacher, but your confidence is something that gives other people confidence.”

Jake lifts his glass to his lips again, saying nothing.

That’s when you realize– “Are you blushing?”

He immediately scoffs, still hiding behind his drink. The ice clinks against the glass as he jerks it up higher. “I don’t blush.”

“Aw, Jake, you don’t have to be so shy about it.”

The tips of his ears turn a deeper shade of red as he rolls his eyes at you. “I’m not shy. I just… wasn’t expecting that from you.”

“Expecting what?”

“I don’t know, a compliment?”

“Am I really that mean that you don’t think I could compliment you?”

“It’s not that,” he huffs, curling his fingers together around his cup as he stares down into it. “The way we left things off, I didn’t think–” he pauses, “–I wasn’t sure how you would feel about me being here again.”

Oh. You shift a little where you’re standing. “I’m an adult, Jake. I can take care of myself so you don’t have to worry. My feelings are not your responsibility. It’s also been two years, I’ve moved on. It’s fine.”

His eyes flicker with something unknown. “I never apologized for—”

“You really don’t have to,” you interrupt, a coarse laugh slipping past your lips. “You definitely do not have to apologize.”

“No, I do. At least for how I responded. I was a dick. The situation at the time wasn’t ideal, but you deserve better than how I reacted.”

Your smile softens. “Well, thank you. The apology was unnecessary but appreciated.”

Jake returns your expression. “I’ll be around. I have to head to base, just wanted to stop by and say hi.” He drops a few bills on the counter. Before he turns, he looks at you again. Those blue eyes that still spark something inside of you. “It’s good seeing you.”

“You too, Seresin.”

With that, he’s gone and you’ve just survived your first interaction with Jake Seresin.

–

Jake wasn’t kidding when he said he would be “around.” Without fail, every night, he is back at the bar with the trainees. They are a boisterous crowd, reminding you of the Dagger Squad years back, before you even took over for Penny. Most of them are always by the darts or pool table, bickering about who’s the better player, which apparently translates to who’s the better pilot. There are a few that Bradley drags over to the piano, belting out classic rock songs that he and Mav used to bond over.

Even as a cocky pain in the ass, Jake has always been good at building connections. The peals of laughter following whatever story Jake tells reverberate across the bar, catching your attention and momentarily distracting you from whatever customer you were serving.

It’s kind of heart-warming to see Jake with the next generation of fighter pilots. You’ve seen him grow into his skin. From being a thoughtless asshole to a confident, skillful team player, Jake Seresin has created a reputation of his own. Maverick’s name will live on at Top Gun forever, but Jake won’t be too far behind.

Some nights, Jake would saunter over to the bar himself to grab the next round. He could’ve easily sent off one of his students with his credit card, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he likes showing off in front of you and them.

“Next round’s on me, darlin’.”

Before your heart can skyrocket traitorously, you snatch his card and ring him up for two rounds of beers for the entire crew. He doesn’t blink at the doubled amount, signing his check with a wink before whistling them over to grab their drinks. When one of them fails to thank you for the service, Jake will slap them on the back of their head and scold, “Manners.”

Still polite as ever.

“How’s your day going?” Jake asks as he slides onto a stool, taking a slow sip of his beer.

God, you know those eyes. That is a look that is all too familiar. That come-hither that has led you to the back room, his bed, a wall, and whatever remotely accessible surface he can press you against.

“Don’t even think about it,” you hiss.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you really think I wouldn’t know that look on your face after seeing it for years?”

Jake smiles with feigned innocence. “I was actually hoping you would remember.” His eyes drag lazily from your face, down your neck, to your curves, before flying back up. His pupils are blown wide as he wets his lips. You resist the shudder that creeps up on you.

Shaking your head, you hide your smile as you back up towards the bell.

Jake’s expression falters fast as he looks down at his hand, where his phone is. “My phone didn’t even touch the counter,” he argues.

“That look you’re giving me is pretty disrespectful, Seresin,” you smirk as you ring it loud enough for the entire place to hear. His phone clattering to the bar should’ve earned him a second ring but you decide to show mercy.

The room erupts into cheers, people – including his recruits – stopping by to give him a firm pat on the back. Comfort or gratitude, or maybe both. “Rookie mistake,” you pick up his phone and toss it his way.

Even with a tab that’s slowly mounting, Jake doesn’t lose the smile on his face. “Anything to get you more business, sweetheart.”

Shaking your head, you click your tongue. “I hope your credit limit has improved since the last time this happened.” Paying for the entire bar and getting thrown overboard was a memorable experience for him.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I came prepared this time.”

When the night comes to an end and you pull up Jake’s tab, all he can do is offer a sheepish look.

“I’ll get you the remainder tomorrow?”

Even if the bar is closing soon, you max out his credit card on the majority of the tab but still have his recruits toss him out onto the beach. When you look at him splayed out, covered in sand, he still has a dopey smile on his face. “Take an economics class and learn about inflation before you come back tomorrow, Seresin.”

Jake’s magnetism knows no bounds. It’s difficult not to be drawn and trapped into his orbit. Between his chiseled face and toned body (only half of which is visible, mind you), he also has the added appeal of that southern spell. The slight drawl to his syllables and the invisible cowboy hat. And this is all before he starts recounting stories of his adventures in the Navy with an added, “It’s all confidential, of course.”

Once, you were on the receiving end of all of that. Back when he still needed to talk you into going home with him. Now, you can see the full force of his charisma when even some of your regular girls – ones you know are not the type to fall at the feet of the first hot man to walk in – fall at his feet.

Even with all the attention on him, you find that his eyes always come back to you.

There is something incredibly flattering about the way his stare peruses you lazily, the slow stroll of his eyes up your body until your gazes lock. He doesn’t turn away, nor does he even blink. He isn’t awkward about the fact that he has been caught looking. Instead, he flashes you that blinding grin again, the one where his lips stretch wide to reveal his perfect set of pearly whites.

In another world, Jake probably could’ve been a model, like the ones on the cover of Vogue, with an equally attractive female companion. In this one, he’s a purely cocky and insufferable government asshole.

You always break your gaze away first. Sometimes he stares at you so intensely with that look in his eyes. A second longer and you may be one of those people falling at his feet and you certainly cannot have that happening.

Again.

When you close up shop for the day, you find him waiting outside, leaning against your car. His arms are crossed over his chest, emphasizing how thick his biceps have gotten since you last saw him. You didn’t even think that was possible. A toothpick flips between his lips as he smiles at you. “Drive you home?”

“I can drive myself home, thanks.”

“Just want you to be safe, darlin’.” You narrow your eyes at him and he holds his hands up in defense, yet that stupid smile never leaves his face. “I’ll be good, scout’s honor.”

“Woe are your fellow men if you were ever a Boy Scout.”

“Don’t disrespect the organization. For your information, I was an Eagle Scout.” He puffs out his chest proudly. “And I did swear an oath to help other people at all times. Hence, here I am tonight. Looking to help.”

“And how will you get home after?”

Jake’s eyes twinkle with something mischievous that you immediately scowl at. He laughs, “I’ll get Bradshaw to come get me. He’s not too far.”

It’s been a long day and you can feel the exhaustion disintegrating deep into your bones. Rather than argue further, having a driver for the night doesn’t seem like the worst idea. You toss your keys over to him and watch as he swings open the passenger door for you. Once you’re settled in, he jogs over to the other side.

You forget how familiar he is with your car. He knows just the right wiggle to get the old thing to start purring, where all the knobs are, and even to avoid the cupholder on the driver’s side where you constantly spill your hot drink for the day. Before long, he is pulling out of the lot and starting the short drive to your place. You make a mental note that Jake still remembers where you live – admittedly, he has driven there many times before. Perhaps too many times.

Jake always starts the conversation by asking how your day went. With anyone else, you keep it short with a “good” because they usually don’t actually care about your day, they want to get their beer. However, Jake actually does ask follow-up questions. Sometimes he asks you if you’re planning to change your beer selection for the season, or how work with Andy is going, or even if there’s anyone causing you any trouble.

“You let me know and I’ll handle it.”

You shake your head, a smirk tugging on the corners of your lips. “The only trouble in my bar is you, Seresin.”

“Me? Trouble? Never.”

“Isn’t it part of Scout’s honor to never lie?”

He laughs, head tipping back as he does so. “Don’t think they make us swear that oath. How do you think I got away with so much?”

“And again, I say, trouble.”

Jake turns to you for a brief moment, his eyes shrinking as his smile stretches wider. You raise your eyebrow at him in question. He lets out a deep sigh but the delight does not seem to leave his face. “It’s always you,” he murmurs quietly.

You’re not sure if he intends for you to hear, but it might be best to ignore it. Your stomach is already fluttering uncomfortably, and you can feel your pulse racing, pressing against your skin. When your eyes fly over to his one-handed grip on the wheel, you can’t help yourself from studying the veins that run up his large hand. His other hand holds onto the gear shit, clutching tight.

The breeze from the open window carries in the memories you’ve tried to bury deep. Long drives on summer evenings when you don’t feel like going home just yet. His hand on your thigh, large and imposing. Parking on the side of a deserted road where he pulls you onto his lap and has you ride him until you’re a whining mess.

Fuck.

You mentally bat the thoughts away. The last thing you need is to get turned on in Jake’s presence. You can already feel your thighs pressing involuntarily together and you just hope Jake doesn’t notice.

Except, when you look up at him, his gaze is already trained on your legs where they are exposed underneath your shorts. It’s heated. There’s a weight to them that you can’t ignore. It only makes you shift even more. Your gaze shifts to his hands, his knuckles now white from how tightly he’s holding onto the wheel. Your eyes meet for a brief second and he follows the movement of your throat as you swallow the saliva that’s gathered on your tongue.

Luckily, your house is already in sight. You pull your eyes away from him, clearing your throat to look at the road ahead instead. He slows to a stop in front and turns off the engine, leaving you both in the silence, accompanied only by the winds blowing from the shore.

You pull yourself off the leather seat and get out of the car, hearing Jake do the same. Without giving him another glance, you walk up to your door. Your knees feel wobbly and you curse yourself for being so spineless.

Two years without him and you were fine.

Two years and your body still responds to him this way.

As you unlock your front door, Jake calls out, “Not going to invite me in for a drink?”

You stare at him from your front porch. He is again propped up against your car, arms crossed. Only this time, he isn’t smiling. He stares at you with that look. The one that reminds you of sex and regret. He looks like a man straight out of the movies. Good thing he never went into Hollywood.

It’s all too tempting to say yes, tell yourself that one drink can’t hurt.

But you always know where you end up with Jake.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, Commander.”

Jake’s eyes shine with something dangerous. Desire. Want. He loves it when you call him that. He clenches his jaw. “You’re really going to leave me out here after addressing me like that?”

“Thanks for the ride, sweetheart.” You smile and disappear behind your door, breathing in deeply once you’re safe in the confines of your home.

If you were keeping score, you’d guess you’re at least a point ahead of him.

–

It’s a gorgeous day. The kind that feels like a nice break before the chaos that will inevitably occur at the bar tonight. You enjoy quiet afternoons like these. The sun sits high in a cloudless sky, and seagulls soar lazily overhead, caws sounding in the distance. A light breeze drifts in from the ocean, salty and soft, just enough to cool the warmth that kisses your skin.

You’re perched on one of the outdoor tables, your bar ledger in front of you as you’re scribbling down line after line of expenses. Each one makes you wince a little more. A bar is not the most profitable endeavor. While you enjoy the work, you know that you’ll never live a life of luxury running this place. It’s something you’ve come to terms with a long time ago.

Releasing a deep sigh, you reach your arms up in a stretch. The bar is taking a toll on your savings and your back. Aging isn’t a kind process.

While you mourn the numbers on your pages, you do have one good thing going for you.

Namely, the hooting and hollering happening down by the water.

Touch football has become a tradition for the Navy, at least for those who had been part of the Dagger Squad. Maverick’s success lives on through this team bonding activity that the members now pass on to their trainees. It’s become a ritual for them to bring out a new team out here to get more comfortable with each other. You’ve seen a number of them throughout the years and each group is always more enthusiastic than the one before.

You place your hand above your eyes, blocking out the sun so you can get a better look. Jake and Bradley aren’t difficult to spot. Two tall, muscular men running circles around their recruits. They seem to be enjoying the exercise much more than the people they’re supposed to train. The cheers and yells echo down to where you sit and you find your eyes following the silhouettes chasing after the footballs on the beach. Some of them fall over, rolling around in the wet sand, while others are tackled straight into the sea.

You can admit to yourself that you’re really only paying attention to one man. Since he’s been back, you’ve only seen him in uniform or in casual wear like denims and t-shirts. But it’s been a while since you’ve seen him shirtless. Even from this distance, you can see the shadowed lines of his sculpted six pack, his broad shoulders, and the curves of his structured arms.

It’s no wonder Penny enjoyed sitting out here. She got a good look at Maverick while she did her accounting, you just inherited the habit from her. Your work is long forgotten now, pen useless in your hands as your eyes continued to follow his form traveling across the sand.

Biting your lip, you replay all those times you’ve run your hands over that body, how much time you spent watching every muscle flex when he hovers above you. You could practically feel the whisper of his lips against your skin.

Fuck, you really need to get laid. Soon.

Not by him. Definitely not him.

You’re about to bang your head against the table when Jake perks up and waves at you. There’s a shit-eating grin on his face and you can already see that wicked glint in his eyes hidden behind his shades. You force a smile and return the gesture before hunkering down on your work again.

You curse your past self for thinking that manually keeping track of quantity and dollars would be a better idea than running the whole thing on a spreadsheet. Penny always liked the act of holding a pen and writing all of these digits down, said it made it more tangible.

More like tangibly painful. As you wrap up the last of your receipts, you make a mental note that it’s time to join the modern world and dump this entire thing into a software that would make your life infinitely easier.

Just as you’re about to stretch again, a figure steps up and obstructs your exposure to the sweltering sun. The brief reprieve from the afternoon rays is one you welcome, but not when you realize it’s Jake who’s shown up. The sun traces a glow around his figure, an unwelcome ethereal effect that makes him look more than human.

He shifts away and slides into the bench opposite you. A smug smile is still dancing on his lips as his chest and shoulders heave with heavy breaths. “Care to join?”

Your eyes fly to the crowd that’s still running around like headless chickens and back to him. “Absolutely not. Who do you think I am?”

Jake’s eyes begin to dangerously explore you. From your hair pulled away from your neck in a loose bun, strands messily swirling in the wind, to the shape of your smooth, exposed shoulders carrying the thin straps of your tank. His gaze trails down to your chest, where your cleavage peeks out from beneath the flimsy fabric that lifts and falls with the wind. You can’t deny that this top makes your tits look great, and no, of course you didn’t wear this just because you knew Jake was coming to the beach today.

You definitely did not.

That would be ridiculous.

You tell yourself that that’s the truth, and it helps you sleep at night.

Jake looks at you again, but his gaze has darkened. “Wouldn’t mind seeing you running around in a bathing suit,” he smirks. “Or if you prefer to run around wearing nothing at all, I don’t think I would mind, but let’s keep that for the bedroom.”

Scowling, you fling your pen his way and he easily catches it. Stupid Jake and his stupid military reflexes. “The only thing running around here is your imagination. Keep it in your pants, Seresin,” you snap.

“That’s not what you said before.”

“Years ago,” you bite back, “I’ve outgrown you, Hangman. You and all your bravado. We all know why they call you that.”

Jake laughs and you can’t help but drink in his sun-kissed skin. He looks golden. “You know full well I’ve outgrown that definition of my call sign. Now, Hangman just means something else – something you’re intimately familiar with.”

It takes you a second to divert your attention away from his radiant skin. When the realization of his words dawns on you, you involuntarily gag at his comment.

He opens his mouth and you cut him off before he could say a word, “If you even think about dropping a ‘that’s what she said’, I’ll personally ban you from the bar and charge you for every single drink from here on out.”

Jake doesn’t falter. He grins even wider, “Never took you for financial fraud, that’s kind of sexy.”

You sniff, turning away from him and back to your papers. “Orange isn’t really my color so, again, keep it in your pants.”

“Every color is your color, darlin’. We can both agree on that.”

That’s the first compliment he’s given you in a while. You feel your cheeks warm but you blame it on the blistering afternoon sun. Perhaps it’s time to take your work back indoors. Before you do though, you snipe back, “Well, red isn’t really yours so put on more sunscreen.” You gather up your documents and move towards the entrance.

Of course, you don’t miss the last wink he throws at you and the blatant ogling of your ass as you walk away.

Okay, so maybe his staring can be a little flattering.

–

Ever since Jake came back, you’ve been a little more than sexually frustrated. When you close your eyes at night, the image of him shirtless above you appears. From the way his blonde hair falls over his eyes, mussed up from a workout, to the way his blue eyes glitter deviously. Your imagination – worse yet, your memory – carries you through the whole scene of Jake’s fingers in your hair, his grip around your thigh, his cock—

Fuck, you barely last more than ten minutes most days.

You end up frustrated with your hands between your legs, pleasured but not completely satiated.

Jake Seresin is a blight you need to purge from your life.

It certainly doesn’t help that he shows his face night after night, flashing that smile at you from across the room. You have to remind yourself that you’ve done that more than enough times, you can’t do it again.

Instead, you focus your energy, including your insatiable libido that keeps growing, on your patrons. It’s not the best idea, especially when you start accepting and returning the flirty remarks you receive from men you usually wouldn’t glance twice at – not because they weren’t attractive (because they were), but because you simply had no interest in a full romantic commitment with any of them.

Being a bartender means you’ve endured a good amount of flattery, some more appropriate than others. You’ve never responded to them. You just take their money and you run with it. If they ever get too disrespectful – well, you know the drill.

Not tonight, though. You’re enjoying the attention you were getting, and the sources of said attention noticed that. When they flirt, you flirt back. You relish in the fact that you still have a little game left in you. It’s supposed to be fun, light. It helps ease some of the sexual tension that has you all wound up.

The bar is particularly busy so you have some regulars who are surprised by how welcoming you are and newcomers who are more than happy to oblige.

This behavior does not go unnoticed by Jake. His eyes are always on you after all.

When you’re bending over particularly low over the counter or giggling more over silly pickup lines, you could feel his gaze burning into you. You don’t acknowledge him. Instead, you flick your hair over your shoulder and smile at whoever you’re talking to.

The tip jar gets some much-needed love that night.

When you do look over at him, his eyes are still stuck on you. He barely pays any mind to whoever’s trying to speak to him. There’s a strange, sick satisfaction in the way his knuckles pale when he grips the cue by the pool table, the way he grits his teeth with a stiff jaw.

You add another point to your scoreboard.

With his eyes on you, maybe you do exaggerate your game a little bit. You sashay your hips a little more when you grab a beer. You brush your fingers against theirs. Even Andy shoots curious looks your way, but thinks better than to question it. There is a ninety percent chance that you’ll regret leading on these people tomorrow, but that’s a problem for future you.

Current you enjoys the suggestive looks these men are throwing your way.

Andy calls your name from the other side and tells you that you’re out of coffee liqueur behind the bar. “I’ll get it, keep these fellas company for me, will you?” You give them one last wink, receiving some excited howls, before heading towards the back.

The stock room is dimly lit by the sun setting outside. The light has been broken for a while and you make your tenth mental note to get that fixed. One day, you’ll get around to it.

When you hear the stock room door close behind you, you don’t need to turn around to know that Jake is standing there. His cologne and familiar footsteps reach you before his question does. “Having fun?” His voice slices through the muted rumbles of the outside.

There’s a heaviness to his question that sends a shiver up your spine. Rather than turn around and look at him, you purposely take your time scanning through the boxes to find the bottle you’re seeking. You bend over low to grip the neck of one before slowly rolling up, pretending to inspect it.

“What ever do you mean?”

Jake steps into your line of sight. His height towers over you, and you back yourself up against the supply. He leans over, palm pressed against the box near your head. He’s so close that you could smell the mix of beer and mint in his breath. You can feel yourself clench tight between your legs. He presses his tongue against his teeth. “I don’t like to share.”

Irritation pricks at your skin. You glare at him. “Newsflash: I am not yours, Hangman.”

“If you want me to take care of your little problem, you are.”

Your lips part in surprise. Frowning, you snap, “What are you talking about?”

A sour laugh bubbles up his throat. The sound isn’t comforting. It feels almost like a warning. “You think I haven’t noticed you sending me those fuck me eyes. How you press your legs together when you look at me.”

As if on cue, you instinctively press your thighs together. God, there’s always something about Jake when he’s more demanding than usual. The dark shadow across his eyes as he takes you in hungrily.

You lick your lips, his eyes dropping to them before darting back up. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you simply say.

“I know you better than you know yourself, sweetheart. You know this. So what is it that you want? Do you want me to take you here in the backroom? Because I could, it wouldn’t be the first time–” you gasped and he continues, “I could bend you over that bar outside, show those guys who you belong to. Who gets you this wet.”

Air refuses to leave your lungs, but you manage to spit out, “I’m not fucking wet.”

Jake laughs, “You’re telling me that if I stick my hand up your dress right now, you’re not wet? I can smell you from here.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, you’d like that.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You refuse to back down but so does he. All your emotions feel heightened in that tiny room. The anger, the wanton need. It feels as if you’re about to combust. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears.

Taking in a faltering breath, you grit your teeth. “I have a bar to run.” You move to pass him with your trembling knees, but not before he catches your arm.

He keeps his message short and simple. “Anyone touches you again, I’ll knock their teeth out.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”

“Maybe, but you’d look good on my cock again.”

Fuck. Your breath hitches, and the sound speaks volumes in the quiet room. The fucking audacity of this man. You yank your arm away from him and march to the door, swinging it open.

“I mean it,” he calls out, “I’ll knock out anyone who even tries with you tonight.”

Jake is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. He does not bluff. His confidence comes from a rightful place of pure experience and skill, both of which he has with you. Rather than risk a brawl, you decide to heed his warning.

You no longer find excitement in how some of the men flirt with you, spending the rest of your night ducking away from their grasp and ignoring their teasing. The disappointment and confusion are clear, but all you can do is offer a sheepish look. They can blame the six-foot blonde keeping his eyes on you.

It’s not the fear of Jake starting a fight per se, but rather the way you revel in the way his gaze prowls over you. Constantly present, clear in your periphery.

When you finally call it a night and shoo the last of your drunk visitors out, you lock up the bar and turn to find him standing there. There’s an air of ease around him, one that’s usually there, but it almost feels like there’s something more brewing. Something a little more sacriligeous. You tense when his eyes pull up from his phone to you. He quickly tucks his phone into his pocket and smiles at you.

“You always were a good listener.”

At that, you scowl. “That wasn’t for you. I just didn’t want to give them the wrong idea.”

His smirk only deepens. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He plucks the keys from your fingers and unlocks the car, swinging open the passenger door before you can protest. “Get in, darlin’. I’m not in the mood to argue with you.”

“That’s a first, you make it seem like it’s your full-time job,” you mutter but slip inside anyway.

He slides into the driver’s seat and turns on the engine. When he backs out of the parking lot, he stretches his arm across the back of your seat and looks over his shoulder, leaning closer towards you. You catch a good whiff of his scent again.

Fuck him.

He knows exactly what that move does to you.

When he finally backs out, there’s a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

There’s a thrum of anticipation in the car. Soft jazz croons from your crackly speakers and the wind whipping through your hair is barely a distraction. Jake is tapping his finger against the wheel in a consistent beat, his other hand on the seat between the two of you. His fingers are so close to your thigh, but they don’t touch. If you shift even a little bit, you could probably feel him on your skin.

However, you would not give him that satisfaction. You know that he wants you to do precisely that. To admit that you are as affected by him as he says you are.

That stupid smile is still on his lips. “Having fun?” You mocked, imitating his question from earlier.

His blue eyes sweep to you. “What ever do you mean?”

A glower mars your features. “You’re such a prick.”

“You fucking love it.”

“Ego the size of goddamn Jupiter, I’m surprised the president hasn’t kicked you off this planet yet.”

Jake chuckles. “Missed that mouth of yours.”

“Give you my fist instead,” you grumble under your breath.

“Not my thing, darlin’. But if you want to try, you know I always aim to please.”

You balk. “Kinky motherfucker.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Jake parks in front of your house, switching the engine off and drenching the two of you in silence.

The ride is short, but the stillness stretches for miles.

A heavy hush coils in the car again, thick with something unspoken. Still, all you can hear is the steady rhythm of Jake’s finger on the wheel, like a clock counting down to what you both know is inevitable. Your heart pounds loudly in your ears, masking all the white noise around you until all you can focus on is him.

Then, his hand shifts. Just an inch. Just enough for the edge of his pinky to brush the hem of your skirt.

You freeze, breath caught halfway in your lungs. Your body wants to lean into the touch, but you hold still. His pinky strokes the bare skin of your thigh – so faint, it could almost be accidental. But it’s not.

You know it. He knows it.

When you don’t pull away, his touch turns deliberate. His entire palm glides over your thigh, slow and steady. You could practically feel his pulse against your skin. The sight of his broad hand on your leg makes your stomach flip, and you swallow hard, trying to resist the whimper clawing its way up your throat.

“Darlin’,” Jake starts, voice rough and low, tinted with a touch of desperation.

You chance a look his way and catch the tension in his jaw, the heat behind his eyes. Your gaze falls to his lap, and you see the length of him pressing against his jeans, clear and thick even through the denim.

The sharp ache between your legs is sudden, insistent. This time, the sound that leaves you is impossible to hold back. A soft whimper that fills the car with heat.

Jake’s tongue swipes across his lips. The movement draws your eyes to them.

This is a bad idea, you remind yourself.

But that voice, one that is all too familiar to you, a voice that is soft, sly, and unmistakably yours, whispers back that this might just be the best one you'vel ever had.

His name is barely out of your mouth before he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and capturing your lips in his. You melt like molten lava into the seat of your car. His hands are fast to slide up your hips to cup your cheek as he presses his lips more insistently against yours. He tastes like bitter beer, sweet mints, and excruciating heartbreak.

But you relish in the flavors. A recognizable mix that belongs to you and only you.

The clouds curl between your thoughts, a delicious haze that has you pliant in his hands. He’s kissing you so intently, a determination and hunger that feels like homecoming. Every moan you let out, he swallows like it’s his last breath.

“Fuck, you taste so good. Missed you,” Jake mumbles against your lips, nipping lightly.

You can’t bring yourself to respond when he begins peppering wet kisses along your jaw and down your neck. His hand slides down to cup your breasts, his thumb dragging lightly over your sensitive nipple over the fabric. “Shit, Jake,” you groan.

“Let me take you inside, sweetheart. Wanna take care of you properly.”

Jake doesn’t wait for your response and hops out of the car. He circles to open your door and practically drags you out, your feet stumbling to keep up with his long strides. He presses you up against your door, one hand on your waist and the other buried in your hair. He tilts your head and slants his lips over yours again, tongue slipping into your mouth to tangle with yours.

His grip on you is firm, holding you up even when you feel your foothold go unsteady. You turn to unlock your door and he’s close behind and you can feel the thickness of his erection against your ass.

The room spins when he finally closes the door behind him and leads you to your bedroom. He scoops you up and tosses you onto the bed before climbing on top of you. He’s shrugging off his shirt in between kisses, flinging it somewhere across the room. Jake kisses you like tomorrow won’t come, like this is the last time he will get to indulge in the taste of you.

He drags his tongue down your neck and sucks lightly on the skin until you feel the bite of a mark. He loves leaving his traces on you, a territorial seal that tells everyone else that you’re his. You forgot how much you love it when he does that.

Jake leans back slightly, thumb against the blooming stain on your skin. “Fuckin’ gorgeous. All mine.”

He crawls down between your legs and hikes up your dress to your waist. He curses under his breath about how short these things are, how he could see your ass so clearly. However, his words taper off when he sees his favorite lace panties.

So sue you, maybe you were expecting something to happen tonight – if not with him, then someone else.

Oh, who were you kidding? There’s no one else. It’s always been him.

His finger slides down the damp line on your underwear and you clamp your legs together, embarrassed by how wet you are. How wet you’ve been the entire tonight. His large hands splay out on your thighs and pry them open again until he can see and smell you. “Shit, honey, your fucking pussy is dripping for me, isn’t it?”

The force of his gaze has you twitching underneath him.

He positions himself on his front between your legs, his mouth huffing hot hair too close to your sensitive skin. You’re so responsive to him, almost too responsive. He knows every little thing that makes you tick, every touch that makes you all too aware of his presence.

His lips rake kisses up your thighs, and he pauses when you squirm in his hold.

“You’ve never been shy,” Jake murmurs as he looks at you more closely, hooking his finger on your panties and slowly pulling them down to carelessly toss them aside.

“It’s been a few years, alright,” you grunt, throwing an arm over your eyes to avoid looking at him in your vulnerable state.

“A few years–” he stops, “Have you not–not since we last…” He trails off, the question dying in his mouth.

You roll your eyes, “Of course, I have. Just–I haven’t had anyone go down on me in a while.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he says it not in pity, but in a way that has your cunt seizing. Like he himself has waited too long for this moment.

The first touch of Jake’s mouth on your pussy has fireworks exploding behind your eyes. There is no hesitance in his movements, not in the languid way his tongue strokes up your folds, not in how his fingers dig into your legs as he pulls you down closer towards him. Your breath jerks in your lungs as he dips his tongue in and drags it up to your clit. His moans vibrate throughout your body until you’re arching off the bed.

God, Jake knows exactly where to put pressure, where to tease you. Your fingers cannot compare to the way his mouth moves on you, slow and anchored. He takes his time appreciating your taste and how you whine needily with every caress. Your hands fly to his head as he buries his tongue deeper into your cunt, collecting your juices and spreading it across your skin as he plants more kisses on your thighs. His mouth hones in on your clit as one finger slides into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, “you’re so fucking tight, darlin’. Like a virgin.”

Your pussy flutters around his fingers as he pushes another one in. It’s been months since your last good fuck.

You tighten around him again when he says, “God knows I’ve been in this pussy enough times before. Can’t wait to fill you up with my cock. Want to stuff you with my come.”

“Jake,” you cry out as your eyes slide shut. An expletive leaves your lips as he begins leisurely sliding his fingers in and out of you while he sucks on the sensitive nub.

It’s been so long. You’re so close. You could practically feel your orgasm clamoring to free itself. It’s so close but Jake doesn’t let you enjoy it that easily.

He pulls his fingers out and climbs up to slip your dress above your head, using the fabric to keep your hands together as he ducks his head to pull your nipple into his mouth. “No bra, darlin’? You’re trying to get me to kill a man out there.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“All that bending over, you probably had people peeking on these pretty tits, sweetheart,” Jake growls, tightening his hold on your wrists. “Is that what you wanted, hm? Tease strangers just to get me jealous?”

Maybe. You turn your face away in lieu of responding.

“You don’t need me jealous. You already have me. I would’ve fucked you if you just asked.”

“Go fuck yourself, Seresin.”

He laughs, “Missed this mouth. The things you say. The things you could do.” He kisses you again, and this time, there’s the tart tang of you on his tongue. His soaked fingers push back inside you and he traps every moan that leaves your lips. “So fucking wet for me. Could’ve had you warming my cock at the bar. Show all those guys who you belong to. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The mewls that escape your mouth are answer enough. The thought of him taking you in front of everyone, sitting on his lap with his cock buried inside you, has you clenching around his fingers again.

“Don’t come yet, darlin’. I want you falling apart on my cock. I’ve waited too long for this.” He drags his fingers out along with another protest from your throat.

Jake finally releases your hands as he moves on top of you again. It’s straight out of your fantasies. This same image has plagued your every thought. When you’re alone at home and all you have are your fingers and this memory of him. You had imagined him pleasuring you so many times before that this feels like a fever dream.

But Jake reassures you that he’s there with another kiss to your lips. The feeling is jarring, a delicious dose of reality.

“Don’t think I can wait any more,” Jake pants, as he shoves off his pants. You tuck away a mental note that he goes commando. That’s new. “I’ve been thinking about this pussy for so long, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You smirk, confidence settling back. “How long?”

“Since I walked back into your bar that day and saw you again. All I could think about was kissing you stupid and bending you over the counter. Imagined how wet your pussy would be for me. Then again and again whenever I saw you at the bar, at the beach, driving you home. I’d stop the car and fuck you by the side of the road if you asked.”

Shit, you bite your lip and stare up at him with hooded eyes. He seems to enjoy that because he drags his tongue across his teeth again.

“But you’re no different, are you? I can still smell you in these sheets. Been touching yourself? Have you been thinking about me?”

A scoff that sits on the tip of your tongue falls when he runs his hand through your hair.

His gaze is loaded, pulling the truth from your lips rather than a poorly concocted lie. “Yes,” you confess, “been thinking about this right here. You on top of me.”

“Shit, honey, I could’ve been here all along taking care of you.” Jake shakes his head. “I’m here now, going to make sure you feel real good. It’s been so long, I don’t know if I’ll even fit inside of you.”

Before you can tell him off for his cockiness, he’s pushing the tip in. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s big. You forgot how big he is. He pushes in slowly, sweat beading his forehead as his biceps flex as he tries to carefully ease into you. You know he’s doing his best not to hurt you, but all you want is to be full of him.

You lift your hips up to meet him, legs curling around his torso. “Fuck, darlin’, don’t do that,” Jake groans. “I’m gonna come too fast.”

“Please, Jake,” you whimper. “Just wanna be full of you.”

Another pleased sound escapes him. He pushes all the way in until he can’t fit anymore of himself inside you. It’s mindblowing how big he is. It takes him a few more thrusts before he can bury himself completely inside of you, your pussy stretching to accomodate his length.

“Fuck, condom,” he pales when he realizes. His cock twitches inside of you.

Oh. Oh, he likes being inside you without it.

“I’m on the pill,” you admit.

“But–”

You cannot have him leave you when it feels this good. “I’m fine. I’m clean, are you?”

“Yeah, there’s been no one else.”

Those words catch you off guard but Jake is too distracted with fucking into you slowly. Your brain shortcircuits when he bends your knee so he can fuck into you deeper and harder. Your groans blend into a symphony in the quiet of your room, bouncing off the walls and echoing to amplify your pleasure.

Jake presses into you, slow at first, like he wants to feel every inch of you around every inch of him. His mouth is everywhere, finding your lips, then trailing hot kisses across your chest. “Fuck, you feel so goddamn good, darlin’. So tight.”

His voice breaks slightly as he tries to restrain himself from fucking too hard, too fast. He wants this to last, wants this to be as good for you as it is for him.

“You were made for me,” Jake breathlessly whispers. It isn’t a question. It’s a prayer he speaks into an honest truth. The kind that you say in confessionals, a secret that only one other person knows.

Your hips meet him greedily, chasing the friction and the stretch. He rocks harder inside of you at an angle that has you curving off the bed, the tip of his cock kissing the deepest parts of you. Every wet, desperate sound between your thighs interweaves with the shared moans and whimpers that fall from both your lips.

You claw at his back, your nails scratching your own territorial lines down his back, red against his tan skin. The sting yanks another deep groan from his throat.

“Do that again, sweetheart. Mark me. I’m yours.”

So you do, harder. Your fingers delving into the muscles of his back. He rewards you by snapping his hips forward, plunging himself so deep into you that you gasp. Everything feels like lightning striking the earth.

“You like that? Like me ruining this pussy? No one else can have you like I do. I’ll ruin you for everyone else.” He says it like a promise, a threat. All you can do is nod, biting his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming.

His hand slips between you, thumb circling your clit again with a precision that reminds you how familiar he is with you. Everything that makes you crumble under his touch.

It’s all too much. You can feel the blood climbing and rushing. His cock is dragging against your walls and his filthy, private thoughts sounding too loud in the cacophony of your moans.

You feel it building fast. Your orgasm curls tight inside of you.

“Come for me, darlin’. Make a mess on me. Let go.”

You obediently listen. Your body trembles, your ass lifting off the mattress in your final chase, as he follows with an urgent groan, hips stuttering with him holding you close. The orgasm crashes over you in waves, dragging you under.

But Jake is quick to breathe more life into you, kissing you deeply as the last of his come paints your insides. You feel the warmth spill into you as he holds you tight, tattered breaths against your lips.

Your chest heaves as you come down from your high. You’re a sticky mess. Your hair is a frazzled nest on top of your head, your skin feels clammy, and your pussy is dripping the evidence of his pleasure. But you’ve never felt more alive.

Jake presses a kiss against the side of your head before he slowly pulls out with a groan. He rolls off your bed and wanders into the bathroom, coming back with a warm, damp cloth. You lie there as he litters kisses all over you, drawing a laugh from your lips, as he wipes you down carefully.

“‘M gonna shower anyway,” you mumble.

“In case you were lazy,” Jake smirks.

You peel yourself off the bed and jump straight into the shower. The hot water cascades down your skin, stripping away the grime from your prior activities. Jake steps in behind you, his lips on the back of your shoulder as he scrubs you down with soap, massaging your tense shoulders and lingering around your breasts.

His moves are purposeful. When his fingers slip between your legs again, you come apart a second time under his touch.

By the time you tuck yourself into bed and Jake slides in to spoon you, your eyelids are heavy with a pleasant, sated sort of weariness, the kind you haven’t experienced in a while. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart” is the last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under.

–

Waking up the next morning is easy. You feel sore in all the right places, but you feel satisfied. A sort of peace that you didn’t even realize you were missing.

However, the regret washes over you all too fast. An overwhelming tide that pulls the rug out from under you. The weight of his arm across your middle and his face nuzzling into your hair as his light snores fill the room are reminders of what transpired. It’s proof of what you’ve just done.

The one thing you told yourself you would never do again.

Not after last time.

You mutter a silent “fuck” to yourself. Calm down. It’s just Jake. This is a one-time thing and it will never happen again. Never. He’s going to leave again and not come back for a while, just like he always does. He’ll disappear from your life just like he did last time.

Only this time, you won’t be pouring your heart out to him. You won’t be professing your love for him like a blind, lovesick fool. No matter how much your heart demands it of you.

When you look down at him again, you observe how his long lashes brush against his cheeks. You run your fingers delicately over the stubble on his jaw. God, he’s fucking beautiful.

The ache that haunts you from two years ago returns in full force. Your heart leaps in your chest as you swallow the realization thickly.

You’re still in love with Jake Seresin.

Two years have done nothing to diminish your feelings. It’s as if you buried them six feet under, only to dig them up again when he comes around. It’s a cycle that erodes the hope within you.

Jake will leave again and you’ll have your bar in this small town. You’ll continue your life as if he never came back. As if you’ll never see him again.

Seeing his smile and hearing his laugh in the bar. The echo of his overjoyed calls across the sand. You have just gotten used to having him around again. Not as yours, but almost adjacent. It’s a gut-wrenching thought. One you don’t let yourself dwell on too much as you painstakingly extract yourself from him,

The loss of his warmth is immediate. Your feet touch your cool floors to bring you back to the real world. Reaching for your t-shirt, you tug it on and pad downstairs to start the coffee. He always needs a cup with sugar and a splash of milk before he heads in to the station.

You go through the motions numbly. Grabbing the instant coffee from the top shelf, filling your kettle with water, and then waiting. Jake never sleeps in too late and the clock on your wall signals that he will likely be up in the next ten to fifteen minutes.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you watch the kettle boil. The slow whistling and the smoke seeping into the air distract your mind from spiraling over what happened last night. You don’t want to think about what’s next for you and him.

In fact, there is no you and him.

You have work to get to. Restocking, ordering more supplies, figuring out bills for the end of the month. Then you have to work on Penny’s boat, which means you have to take it out to the yard and–

“Morning.” His voice is a low rumble behind you. That gravelly, break-of-dawn voice you once started your mornings with but now feels like a distant stranger.

Your eyes flick to the wall again. He’s up earlier than usual.

“Coffee’s almost ready,” you say, opting not to turn around. God knows your resolve will falter the moment you see him.

Jake doesn’t let your decision last for long as he saunters up to you. A strong arm winds around your waist to pull you close. He tucks your face into his chest and his lips find your temple in a tender kiss.

He never plays fair.

He disregards your weak attempt to untangle yourself from him. “Missed you in bed,” he mumbles. Luckily, you’re saved from having to respond when the kettle screeches to completion. He moves to prepare his own cup of coffee. The only problem is that he keeps his arm around you as he navigates through your kitchen with too much familiarity. He finds the mug he gifted you a while back on the shelf above the sink, the sugar in your spice rack by the stove, and pulls the milk you always have in the right side of your fridge.

The entire time, he keeps his hold firmly around you. He maneuvers you around the kitchen with him as he works with one free hand.

“Are you heading to work early?” He asks as he stirs his coffee. “I could drop you off and pick up my bike.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll drop you off at the station, then head to the bar. You can get your bike later.”

You notice that he’s already dressed in the clothes from yesterday. He’s leaving. You know this already but seeing your worst concerns materialize still hurt. It’s mortifying how you’re still so hurt by something you’re already anticipating.

Your eyes are glued to the buttons on his shirt, focusing on the one hanging on to a loose stitch.

“Sweetheart.” There’s that drawl again. You hum in response, your eyes still fixated on his shirt. “Are you going to look at me at all this morning?”

Your throat dries. “Don’t feel like seeing your ugly mug this early,” you mutter with no bite.

Jake laughs and the sound is clear, resonating straight to your core. His chest rises as he does so, stretching the fabric across it even more. “Better sooner than later.”

There is a split second of silence before you feel his fingers on your chin, drawing your face up to look at him. He searches your eyes for a moment, lips tightening at whatever he sees there, then he dips his head and places a soft kiss on your lips.

You sigh into his mouth, tucking yourself closer in his hold. Your mouths move leisurely, soft in the early hours of the morning. There is no hurry in his movements, no agitation, nothing like last night. It’s as if you have all the time in the world to drown in each other’s company, quenching the parchness from two years’ worth of distance. He swallows your little whines and presses his fingers deeper into your hips.

When his phone beeps, it’s like a cold splash of reality. He curses quietly against your mouth, reluctantly drawing away to yank his phone out and look at it. A deep sigh escapes him. “I have to go, darlin’.”

Oh.

It’s bound to happen. You know this. So you nod quietly. “Yeah, let me get dressed and drive you over.”

“Rooster’s picking me up.”

Right. “Oh, okay.”

Of course, he wouldn’t want an awkward drive with you, not after last night. His training is probably coming to an end soon, and he’s going to be deployed elsewhere, far away from the island.

You avoid his eyes as you busy yourself putting things away. You hear him sigh again before he comes creeping back up behind you, his arm slipping around your waist again. There’s the feel of his mouth against the back of your head. “I’ll catch you later at the bar, hm?”

Unlikely. “Yep.”

“We need to talk.”

No, we do not. You do not need to rehash this conversation again. You’re a grown woman and you know when it’s time to let go. This is one of those times. Instead of saying this, you say, “Okay.”

He pauses for a moment, waits for something that never comes. Another sigh. You feel his lips on top of your head before he draws away from you, leaving a chill in his absence. The front door opens and closes, and you hear the crunching of tires on gravel growing distant by the second.

You slump against your kitchen counter, releasing a deep breath. This is fine. You have a lot to do today, so what’s an early start to the day?

Somehow, you keep your mind mostly off that dread that’s sitting in the pit of your stomach. You tell Andy not to come in too early so you have more to do to keep your hands occupied. Your arms are throbbing by the time you finish the prep work, and the real grunt work of running the bar hasn’t even started.

Right as you’re fixing up the final touches on the bar before you open, the door swings open and you’re about to tell whoever it is that you’re not open for another… 5 minutes. It’s been a long day. However, your words vanish when you see it’s Nat by the door.

She pulls her sunglasses up on top of her head as you round the bar to greet her.

“Nat! It’s been too long!” You wrap your arms around her in a deep hug. She laughs and returns the embrace. “What are you doing here? Where have you been? Tell me everything.”

Nat left long before Jake did. It’s been years since you properly saw her. She is your favorite person from the crowd of Top Gun graduates so far. Fierce, fearless, and fucking fabulous.

She grins, “Slow down, crazy. I am here for fun, I have been in a confidential location abroad that I will personally never return to. And yes, I’m doing great, how are you? How was sex with Hangman last night?”

“That’s great! And—” You freeze. “What? How do you—”

“I fucking knew it,” she hisses, laughing and clapping to herself. “I just knew when I saw him and his distracted ass that it was you again. It’s always you, isn’t it?”

You scowl. This reunion is no longer welcome at your bar, at least not with this topic of conversation. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on. I walk into base today and Hangman’s fumbling over a guide he’s been teaching for fucking years? His recruits are convinced that the legendary Hangman is losing it and finally ready to retire.”

You ignore the pinch in your heart at the mention of him. “I don’t want to talk about him, I want to hear about you.”

Nat offers a sympathetic look and it makes you feel shittier. “Alright, fine. Let’s sit and chat if you have time. I know you’ll get your crowd soon.”

That gets your spirits up as you two settle down. “First of all, who comes here for fun?”

–

Nat decides to abandon you when you can barely get two words out to her before a customer is flagging you down at the bar. The evening rush picked up fast and you can only send her apologetic looks that she waves off. She drifts over to the pool table where the recruits she met earlier are hanging around.

Surprisingly, you haven’t yet spotted Jake in the crowd. It’s bitter to realize that, but it also comes as a relief because you’re not ready for the “I have to go and leave you again and cannot commit to you” conversation. This would be the third time – fourth if you include the tragic rejected “I love you” two years ago.

You would think a girl would learn her lesson.

You’re grateful that the groups keep you busy. Plenty of familiar faces – some coming in from out of town for a new assignment or training, and others, like Nat, who are apparently here for “fun.” You’re still not entirely sure what that entails when there’s barely anything to do around here.

By the time the last customers leave and you’re wiping down the last table clean, you’re exhausted down to your bones. It is the kind of exhaustion you needed so you wouldn’t wallow in your self-pitying, woe-is-me thoughts before sleeping tonight. You had even sent Andy home early, preferring to do the grunt work yourself. That man’s been having a great week with your misery.

When you hear the front door creak open, you automatically say, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

“Even for a regular like me?”

Your head whips up to see Jake standing there, weariness evident in the shadows under his eyes. “Oh, you’re here late. What are you doing here?”

“Told you we needed to talk.”

Crap. Your heart drops to your feet at the thought. You drop the dishrag on the counter and cross your arms. It’s a small thing, but you feel more protected. A fence that separates the two of you. “Look, I don’t really want to have this conversation again. It’s fine. I’m an adult, I don’t need you to give me the talk every time you fuck me and leave. I get it.”

He grits his teeth and sighs. “That’s not why I’m here. I mean, that’s not what I was going to say.”

You tilt your head in question.

“Can you just come over here so we can properly talk?”

Chatting with him from this distance when he’s about to “break up” with you again is safe. Chatting with him with zero space for you to break into an escape between you feels like another incoming regret.

“I’m good.”

He closes his eyes for a second, exasperation radiating off him in waves. “Please don’t be difficult tonight. I just want to talk.”

Part of you wants to be difficult, just to show him how hard it is to be with him when all he does is push you away. But you see the desperation in his eyes and you cave. You cave so easily.

You go around the counter, maintaining a good two feet of distance from him. He looks at you, pained again, but lets it slide.

“I’ve been thinking about us.”

Frowning, you look at him in confusion.

Jake stops, seeming to mull over his words. “I’ve been thinking about what to say to you, but I don’t think anything I say could make up for all the time I’ve hurt you.” He swallows thickly. “This time—it’s not like last time. I’m not here to fuck around and leave.”

You take a deep breath. “Jake, you really don’t have to. Look, I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”

He quickly interjects, “That’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t want you to take care of yourself. I want you to let me take care of you.”

Uncertainty only sinks deeper into you.

“I’ve left you behind so many times before, sweetheart. It’s been a fucking miserable two years, you know. I’ve been trying to avoid coming here because it feels like all my mistakes are rooted here—”

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’ve always known that he has regrets, but you never thought he’d look at you and see a mistake.

“That came out wrong,” he huffs, running his fingers through his wind-swept hair. “My mistakes are not you. You— you’re the best thing to happen to me. My mistake is that I let you go time and time again. When you told me you loved me two years ago, I ran. When I’m in the air, I feel fucking invincible. But that time, I couldn’t even say the words you wanted me to say back. I was scared shitless. I didn’t want to disappoint you. We had a good thing, I thought that it was the only way I could satisfy you. I couldn’t guarantee that you would be happy with me. So I ran. I ran from what could’ve been a great thing between us.

“And being back here now, it just made me realize how much I miss all this, you. You’re all I ever wanted, and all I did was push you away because I was a coward. I want you to know that I want to try this time. I want to do right by you. I’m not leaving you again. I want to wake up every morning with you and go to sleep knowing you’re the last thing I see. I want to make you smile and laugh, but I also want to challenge you and tease you. Fucking highlight of my day when I get you all red and annoyed.”

You roll your eyes at him but can’t help the smile on your lips. That elation that’s been concealed so far deep is climbing up your chest and curling around your heart.

“When I came back here, I thought you would’ve… found someone else. Someone better. But there you were – same as always. Even after I hurt you all those years ago, you still smiled at me and welcomed me back. I want to say that you’ve always been my better half, but let’s be honest. You’ve always been a whole – you’ve taken up the entirety of my mind all this time.

“I wanted to wait until everything was settled before you know, we slept together again. I wanted to take you out to dinner and treat you right. Court you properly. Then you went ahead and showed me what I was missing, what I could lose when all those guys were flirting with you. God knows I’m a fucking asshole but I’m an asshole that loves you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. It was implied in his words, tucked hidden between the vowels and the consonants. But there’s something about hearing it for the first time. The words that you’ve been waiting for so long, words you didn’t think you would ever hear. Your heart is in your throat as he goes on.

“I confirmed my full-time position as an instructor at the station here. It’ll be mostly for special detachments, and I’ll be mostly here. I might be deployed from time to time, but this will be my home base.”

“You’re saying–”

“I’m saying that I’m staying, darlin’. I’m staying for you.”

All the words you had planned to say remain caught on your tongue. Your mouth is opening and closing, but nothing you say could even begin to express how you feel.

Jake smirks, “Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to give me a kiss? Thank me for all the hard work I did?”

Even in the most romantic moments, he proves to still be an insufferable piece of shit. But you laugh, roll your eyes, and come up to him.

“I’ll give you a kiss and a kick to your ass for putting me through all this. God, you owe me a really nice, expensive dinner. I know a good place in the city for that. Actually, maybe a lot expensive dinners for the years you put me through hell.”

“Whatever your heart desires, sweetheart.”

“You said you love me?”

“That should come as no surprise to you. You’ve always been the smarter one.”

“Yeah, all that time in the air probably sucked all the oxygen out of your brain.”

He laughs, kissing you deeply. “God, fucking love that smart mouth of yours, even better when it’s wrapped around my–”

Let’s end it there and say that you lived happily ever after.

Or at least, as happy as you could be with Jake and that unbearable mouth of his.

The one you love most, of course, when it’s telling you he loves you.

↤ Flight Risk Masterlist

#jake seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman smut #hangman x reader #hangman #jake hangman seresin #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun fandom #top gun smut #glen powell #glen powell fanfic #glen powell x reader #my work

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hoolaand · 2 months ago

Text

Max Verstappen

The things we do for love

💌: toxic ex! max x reader. nosy fans and protective max. overprotective actually and a possessive freak, jealous! max w sprinkles of hot temperedness. suggestive content but not direct smut

💌: the chapter was done after you and your formula one boyfriend had finally broken up but what happens when he wants you back, more than ever and less than never

You and Max had been broken up for 2 years now. That felt like enough time passed for you to be able to come a grand prix without media or fan attention. You weren't an influencer or anything, but when you dated Max, it felt as though everyone knew your business. Papparazzis followed you, fans commented about you, and news kept buzzing.

'Max Verstappen's girlfriend seen walking the streets' / 'Max Verstappen's girlfriend seen on a cafe with a random man. A second fling?' headlines like this trended among fans in social media. At one point, it got annoying. An invasion of your privacy. Hanging out with your friends felt like a chore. You hated people being invested in your business.

However dating Max felt amazing, it was like you had found your dream man. A man who listened to you, made sure your opinions were heard, and cared for you. That's what it felt like. At least at first. You didn't know where it went wrong but gradually, the relationship felt like it was turning into something ugly. The perfect persona of being the perfect boyfriend was cracking slowly. Suddenly Max wasn't the nice sweetheart guy anymore. He turned overprotective and fierce. It wasn't as though being protective was a bad trait, obviously it was something you appreciated but he took it to a whole new level. He wouldn't let anyone come to you or let you go to anyone. He discreetly made sure you were isolated from people.

Fans that tried to approach you? Max hired bodyguards to make sure they couldn't approach you anywhere. Of course, without your knowledge telling you it was merely for your safety. A fan maybe pushing too hard for a picture or autograph, guess who got yanked to the side.

You tried to plan hangouts with your friends? Suddenly, a new event popped up inviting you and Max. And those were the ones you couldn't skip since it helped Redbull get investors because in everyone's eyes, you and Max were the star couple of Formula one.

One time you decided to stay at Max's penthouse on a rainy day. After dinner, you both started talking and suddenly none of you could keep your hands off of each other. His hands kept tracing your body, rough hands slipping under your shirt. You didn't hold back either.

One thing led to another and after a long while, you both were laying down with sheets and legs tangled. Somewhere during those quite moments, you told Max you were craving chocolate ice cream. Like a good boyfriend you thought he was, he wore his clothes, gave you a kiss and took his key cars to bring a tub of chocolate ice cream. While you waited, you decided to take a tour of his house. Wearing one of his old shirts, you walked around until you reached his office. He didn't work from home but he had it built when he attended video meetings from home. His office contained a mahgony desk in the center, with one large window overlooking the city and a sofa that laid out a crazy expensive bottle which might have been more expensive than your entire month's rent. Your eyes focused on something underneath the glass of whiskey. A pile of papers. It was nothing but something about it made you curious. You leaned in to see and your heart stopped beating.

Pictures of you. In every page.

Pictures when you were a teenager.

Pictures of your graduation, your first boyfriend and last boyfriend.

Pictures of your childhood home, dog and parents.

What the fuck.

Your eyes scanned through the papers and they contained probably every information about you. The good, the bad, the ugly.

The awards you own at school.

Your insecurities.

Even the boy you lost your virginity to.

Recent pictures after you started dating Max were also there. A polaroid of you crossing the street last week with your guy friend, mind you he's gay, were also there. The next page contained that friend's information.

You wanted to throw up.

You put the papers down and like a sensible woman - you wore your clothes and left.

You didn't go back to your home, instead you went to a friend's home. At one point, you felt like he would have tracked you here. Because who the fuck does that? It made you sick. He knew every single thing about you, meaning those papers with extensive information would only be obtained thought the help of a professional personal investigator. The fact that he willingly paid money to get those information without informing you made you want to throw up. You couldn't believe you used to trust this man.

At first it started with a text message.

-'Schatje, where are you?'

-'Come on, stop hiding. I bought your ice cream.'

-'Stop playing. Where are you.'

Then he found the papers.

Then came the calls. Not one or two, but a total of 137 calls and 268 messages that night. You were glad you turned your phone off.

Later you got to know from your friends, that he attempted to contact everyone you knew in hopes to reach you. He even contacted your parents whom he never even met before. After a few days had passed, you sent the final message.

The breakup message and blocked his number.

You bought a new phone, a new number and just moved out of your apartment. You didn't bother going back to his house to retrieve your old items. Instead, you decided to move on. Sometimes it felt like even in your new life, someone was following you but I guess what's you got for being so paranoid. Apart from that, you didn't have an update on Max. You decided to notreport him to the police because you knew his lawyers were top notch so going to the court with proof won't do anything.

Now you were standing at the grandstands of the Monacco grand prix. The sun was beating down but not in a humid, scorching way but rather in a gentle way that was enough for you and others to not get heated up. Just because you and Max were over didn't mean that you couldn't watch formula one anymore. You did however watch Max win almost all grand prixs and go onto win two championships after you both had broken up.

Today, you decided to wear a short skirt that reached till your mid thighs pairing it with a fititng black laced tank top. You watched as the scoreboard revealed the same old results. Max won the Monacco Grand Prix with Charles Leclerc in P2 and Lando Norris in p3.

Between your conversation wiht your friend, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and saw a man standing whom you assumed to be part of Redbull because of his team t shirt. He looked young and constantly kept fidgeting with his hands as if he was afraid to even look at you directly in the eyes.

'Um, miss. I-i hope you dont mind but I was asked to take you to the Redbull garage.' He stammered.

You pleasant expression had turned into a frown and the little movement in your facial expressions made him flinch as if you being upset was the worst thing in the world.

'NO, I didn't mean for you to get upset please!' the man pleaded. You and your friend side eyed each other wondering what the hell was even happening.

'May I ask who is asking for me?' you asked him in a gentle tone. Your soft tone made him visibly relax once he came to the conclusion that you were actually not upset.

'I was told by Christian to ask you to come.'

That made you raise an eyebrow. The moment you were about to decline, the man understood and immediately starting stuttering, basically borderline panicking.

'I-i please. You don't understand. If if i dont take you back, then I will be fi-ired. Please ma'am.'

You didn't know who he was but it didn't feel like he was lying. He genuinely looked terrified to be honest. You finally nodded, and his shoulders immediately relaxed. You told your friend to wait and to look for you if you didn't come back by 15 minutes.

You followed the man down the grandstands to the Redbull hospitality. You hesitated to enter but saw Christian leaning against one of the trailers, his eyes lighted up the moment he saw you.

He asked and you replied, having a little talk while you tried to keep your replies short and precise. Suddenly, he lowered his voice.

'So um, how are you and Max now?' He asked as he cleared his voice, trying not to make the conversation awkward but you already knew what was going to happen.

'Why? Did he ask you to call me here?'

'What? No. He doesn't know you're here. If he knew, I wouldn't get to look at you even less, talk to you. Whatever, you know how Max is, he's protective and overbearing. But I have never seen him act like this with anyone else. Before you, he didn't even hug back his girlfriends after winning a race. But when it comes to you, he's the most serious man in the world. I don't know why you both broke up but if you think he has found someone new, you are completely wrong.'

You frowned. You thought Max had already moved on, the rumours on tabloid snf gossip pages. As if sensing your question, he started speaking again.

'What, thinking about gossip pages? They are bullshit. Max made us look for you at every grand prix. We have crew members from redbull with a picture of you standing at different positions in the grandstands hoping to find you. Even before and after the race. I know it sounds bad but he's desperate. He just- he just wants to talk to you. Maybe apologise. I don't know.

And now he's. He's - I don't know how to explain.

He's unstable without you. He has short fits of rage. He gets angry at every little mistake. Doesn't smile. Doesn't do PR. Doesn't attend any event. Nothing. If he has a bad race, no one even dares to look him right in the eye, heck neither do I.'

He paused before sighing.

'I am not asking you to give him a second chance. But just talk to him, sort it out-'

Just then, he paused. And looked down before walking away.

'Christian, what's wron-'

That's when you felt it. You don't know how to even explain it. It was a strange feeling. A pile of emotions pooling at your stomach. The hairs on your body standing up. Your spine immediately straightening up. You looked behind. You knew who it was without even looking at him. The only man who could get a reaction like this out of you.

He called out your name. Softly. Gently. In a low whisper as if he was in a dream and saying it too loud might wake him up.

Max.

He did not look the same as before. Sapphire eyes that used to hold the joy of life, being void of any sparkle. Bags under his eyes. Hair messy and wild with random blonde strands sticking out.

Just like that, his fingers slowly touched your hand as if making sure that you were there. He caressed it before gripping it to remind him that yes, after two full years and 36 days, you were actually in front of him in flesh. Safe and sound. No, it wasn't the picture of you that he used to carry in his wallet, but you in real and in front of him looking as beautiful and radiant as ever.

Without saying anything, he hugged you. Tight. And buried his head in your neck.

You looked around and saw the redbull staff. Engineers and strategists. They looked with wide eyes, amazed but immediately snapped their eyes back to their papers once they noticed you staring.

Because they knew that if something made you upset, it would make Max Verstappen upset too.

You softly patted his back. He was still in his redbull fireproof, hair sweaty most likely cooling off. He hid his face on the crook of your neck. His grip on your waist tightened and his fingers twitched to caress the bare skin of your waist.

You heard the words 'I miss you', low and quiet in a whisper that felt intimate. You gulped, a familiar feeling pooling in your stomach. You had seen him after 2 years and despite the eye bags, he was still handsome as fuck. You came to the conclusion that he hit the gym way too often. His muscles were bulging from the tight fireproof and his hands that griped your waist had somehow grown larger with visible veins appearing. You clenched your thighs.

Okay. Not here. No.

Right then, you felt the harsh flash of a camera followed by a panicked 'shit!'. Before you could even react, Max's head snapped towards the direction. Behind the trailer, was a man of about 5'6, stout with a receding hairline. That's the most you could make out at that moment before Max's back blocked your vision as if he was protecting you out of instinct.

'Fucking hell' Max cursed in a low grumble. You felt the energy shift before the loud footsteps of Christian appeared.

'MAX, HEY MAN DONT LOSE YOUR TEMP-'

But it was already too late. One second, he was holding you and the next second, he stood beside that man. His camera snatched and under his foot, stepping on it and ultimately smashing it into pieces.

'Don't ever fucking take a picture of her. This is not a reminder, it's a threat. Try and your face is going to be next.'

Oh.

Wow.

Before you even realised what was happening, he took your hand and started walking inside before stopping at a isolated hallway.

'Max, you did not have to do that.' You admitted quietly.

A beat of silence passed. He didn't yet respond or even talk.

'Did you forgive me?'

'What?'

'Did you ever forgive me?'

'No.'

A long beat of silence.

He took a step forward and simultaneously you took a step back. Your back hit the wall.

'I'm sorry.' He said in a hoarse whisper, his voice heavy with guilt.

'What I did was wrong and I acknowledge that.

Take me back. Please. I will do anything.'

In simple words, he was desperate.

And for some twisted reason, you liked that.

'Anything?'

'Anything.'

A beat of silence passed.

'What if I ask you to leave Formula one?' You asked testing the waters, seeing what he replies.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his hand twitched. An old habit of his. He didn't anticipate that.

'I would and I will. Only if you ask me to.' He said with a finality in his voice as if he was a hundred percent sure.

'Then get on your knees and apologise.'

A small smirk formed on your face and he didn't have to be told twice. You thought he wouldn't comply because generally from what you had seen, men in formula one had an awful lot of ego, too much for their own good but the moment you said it, in a blink of an eye, he knelt down with his face angled upwards, towards you.

'Eyes down.'

His eyes snapped down and he apologised.

'I am sorry for what I did. It was an invasion of your privacy. I was a dick. Take me back. Please.'

That made you happy, happier you had been these 2 years. Something in the whole interaction between Max kneeling and begging you to take him back satisfied the twisted part of your heart.

'I'll see what I decide. Don't follow me. I am going now.'

He knew better than to interrupt and you left. This is what you deserved and that was what he deserved. He made a mistake, he needed to earn his apology through you and you werent an easy person to please.

(A week later)

It was another lonely night. Well there was another thing keeping you company. Your trusty pink vibrator. Moments like this made you miss Max. Not that you only missed him when you were horny. You missed him more than you'd like to admit. Exes to lover was a trope you didnt appreciate having a comeback in your life but the amount of time your thoughts were consumed by Max was concerning and pretty pathetic.

You lowered the vibrator, thinking about Max. Him getting possessive when he caught the paparazzi taking pictures, his muscles almost bulging from that fucking tight fireproof, the way he listened to every thing you said. You bet he'd let you have your way with him if you asked him to. Maybe he could just slide one of his veiny fingers down your-

RING! RING!

Fucking hell.

You looked at the caller ID. Your friend. You tossed the pink vibrator and picked up the wall.

'Babe, what do you want? You know I was in the middle of something.'

She told you about the club in Monacco. That's right, you were staying at Monacco for a while. Honestly, you missed the posh place and decided to give it a chance. So what, you caught the love of your life being a full time stalker and then maybe tried to give yourself a pathetic orgasm after a 2 year breakup.

You know what. Fuck that. You were a hot, young and a beautiful girl. You jumped up and grabbed open your closet. That red dress that you never dared to wear? The one that was so short that a little bend might dangerously flash your laced panties, but that wasn't something that would bother you tonight. Your confidence sky rocketed and you swayed your hips to the beat of the music in the club. You had been dancing for what maybe 30 to 40 minutes straight before taking a break and sitting down on one of the empty barstools.

The moment you sat down, you felt a shiver down your spine. Was the air conditioning too cold? But then, you remembered this familiar feeling. Your spine straightened and you sat straight. And that's when you looked behind you, to find the only man who could get this reaction out of you only with their presence.

Max Emillian Verstappen.

He sat on the second floor on one of the luxurious navy blue sofas. The second floor was only reserved for the elite meaning that you had to have a membership of this club and boy, you had to work your ass off to get a membership or simply be rich and famous. That's what Max was.

A piercing gaze was how you would describe Max looking at you at that moment. A drink in one hand and simply staring. He didn't even look away when you looked back at him. No expression, nothing. Just a blank face watching you with darkened eyes before his eyes glanced down and took a full scan of you. Your skimpy outfit, the laced gartier, the flash and peek of a little fabric of your lingerie. You looked like you walked straight out of someone's fantasy.

If you did look straight out of someone's fantasy, then why did no one approach you? Everyone seemed to avoid you like you had reincarnated the black plague. Normally guys would hit on you everywhere, workplace, cafes and what not. Hitting on you in the club was the most common and appropriate place. Sometimes your friends would have to pry admirers away but tonight, even the bartender wouldn't make eye contact with you. You frowned at that. Did you look too poor to be here? I mean, you weren't as wealthy as those partying here but you weren't dirt poor either.

Just as you were thinking about it, a man probably in his late 20's sat down beside you. The bartender stilled while pouring you a drink and you missed the way he nervously glanced to the second floor.

The unknown man started small conversation with you. Your name, what you did, what you liked and gave you sweet compliments. You learnt his name was John and so far he seemed graceful and polite. You leaned towards him and gave him small replies. Before long, he started making jokes and you laughed, your fingertips brushing against his arm. But the wholesome interaction was interrupted by a tall man, maybe 6 ft ish, wearing a black blazer suit, he marched right up and grabbed the John's arm, yanking it right up. A little more twist given the angle of view and you were guaranteed that he would have to stay a month in a hospital bed. You gasped, standing up and rushing over to John in an attempt to stop the man. However the guy in the black suit stopped you.

'Ma'am please don't interfere. He is to be escorted out of this club this instant.'

Your eyes widened and so did John's.

'Wh-hat why?'

The man didn't offer you a reply and escorted John out. You tried to ask for help from the people around you but they pretended as if nothing had happened, only giving fake huhs and what. Even the bartender acted as if the scene of an innocent man being dragged out of the club so roughly was unreal and it made you feel like you either had way too many drinks or were currently experiencing a fever dream.

That's when it clicked.

You looked up and saw him.

Peacefully sipping from his drink, from the same position without moving a single muscle. Instead of a blank expression, he sat with a small smirk. You clenched your jaw. You marched straight up the stairs, your fingers gripping your bag tight trying to control your rage. The tall men in black suits who you assumed to be bodyguards did not dare to stop you but rather cleared the way for you. The upper floor was completely empty. Poker tables, gambling rooms, strip poles with seats being empty. Not a single soul except the devil itself was sitting on the center.

'Stop this.' You demanded in a strict voice, laced with anger.

'You think you can just do this and think I won't know? Of course I know it's you. You are the reason no one is looking me in the eye. You are the reason why he was escorted out of this club.'

'You shouldn't have touched him.'

That made you angrier. Who was he to tell you what you should do or not.

'Oh fuck off. We aren't dating anymore. I do what I want. I touch who I want.'

His eyes darkened and his lips pursed in a thin line. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hand twitch. Oh so he was getting angry too.

He stood up and walked to you. Not too fast, not too slow. You couldn't predict what he was about to do and you never did. He walked like a predator circling his prey knowing there was no way out. You didn't take a step back, no you refused to be the prey. Rather you made direct eye contact with him to let him know you werent backing down.

He stopped right in front of you. Him being 6'1 gave him an advantage of hovering over you but you weren't intimated. (maybe a little bit but you tried not to show it)

His hand slowly lifted up and brushed your cheek with his knuckles. His knuckles felt rough and bruised up. He watched as your pretty face turned into a slight frown. God, he wanted to kiss you right then and there. How could someone be so beautiful. If you kicked him in the balls right now, he would thank you. Max was so down bad for you that he was ready to kiss the ground you walked on in front of the whole world.

'You fought with someone?' You asked softly feeling his bruised knuckles, forgetting about your fury.

He smiled. 'Everyone gets on my nerves nowadays.'

You sighed. Your hand grabbing his ones and putting them away. Instead, he just slid them down your waist, pulling you closer.

'Max.' You said with a hint of warning.

'Come back please.' He pleaded, his voice heavy and his eyes now held a shade of melancholy. Hot breath fanned your neck as his grip got tighter. 'I will never stop wanting you. I cannot bear to see you laugh with another man.'

'You need to change Max. What happened before cannot happen again.'

'No it won't. I won't keep things from you I promise.'

You sighed. Who were you kidding, Max was the love of your life. Dating other guys never made you forget him and probably never will. That was something you didn't want to admit, trying to make youself believe that there were other options but it never felt real.

The way your heart raced when you were near him, your eyes lightened up, your body leaned to him involuntarily - was something only he could bring.

'Okay. One chance. Just.. we don't date now. Let's just be as friends.'

Max nodded. God he was happy. He didn't care if he was as a friend to you right now. Just the sight of you made him relax. His eyes scanned your face before dropping to your lips.

Was it a good time to say how fucking ravishing he looked? You clecnced your thighs, you just wished his hands would travel down to your panties to see just how soaked you were. Not a good time to meet your hot formula one ex when you were peak ovaluating. He saw how your eyes darkened and how your hands crept up to his fitting t shirt to grab his biceps as an attempt to stabilise yourself. In response, his grip tightened and you felt him. God, he was hard. Hard was an understatement. It felt like it would literally bulge out. You imagined how it would look like, when he'd just fuck you mercilessly and decorate your delicate body with hickies. Was he thinking the same?

Wait.

This is your ex. The same guy you broke up with after he stalked you, invaded yoru privacy and acted like a possessive beast.

Get your mind together and stop making him think that giving you a good fuck would fix everything.

You tapped on his arm three times and that's all it took. He let go of your waist and straightened. Tapping was a method you both used during sex. Specially during rough sex after Max had a bad race weekend. One tap was a way of saying to go faster. Two taps would be to slow down and three taps meant stop. Usually you used two taps and the rest were very rarely ever used. Guess you both remembered it after all.

'Um, I will go home now. It's uh getting late.'

He nodded. 'Right. I can drop you-'

'NO, I mean no. Its fine.'

If this is how you acted when you guys got a little privacy then imagine what would happen if you both were left alone in a car.

You didn't wait for him to say anything before you walked away. You got into a taxi and it drove you back to your hotel.

What you didn't know was that Max drove his Porsche right behind the taxi, following it till he was sure you reached back to your hotel safe and sound.

Few days passed and guess what awaited outside your hotel door every day. Gifts. Constant gifts for 2 weeks straight. And you don't mean bouquets of flowers and chocolates. They were a staple but you received tons of jewellery, custom made to your likings. Cartier bracelets, Louis vuitton shoes, Hermes bags and what not. He even paid the hotel bills under your name which might have been too much.

What surprised you was the letter that arrived everyday. Tucked in the side of the bouquets. A little letter he wrote.

Schtaje,

I know it looks like I am doing too much but I am not. I am not doing this so you have to reciprocate my feelings. I am doing this to because you are the most important thing to me in the world. I know you think that the first time we met was in the restaurant in Montreal but it was not. The day I first saw you, I had one of the worst bad race days, p11 with an engine failure and furiously, I left everything and just walked out. It was raining heavily l remember and out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone dancing in the rain. Blissfully unaware, twirling their dress and dancing around in the rain. It was you. You had the brightest smile I had ever seen and eyes that glowed so preciously even im the dark. That made my heart race and I fell in love. I fell in love hard. You didn't know I was watching you and you didn't think anyone would but I did. That made me smile that day. I was so intrigued about you, I wanted to approach you but your friend took you away. But I heard your name when she called you. That's why those files were there. I couldn't stop thinking about you. That's how we unofficially met 2 years ago. During those 2 years, I didnt know how to contact you or how to meet you without making it looking obvious or making you think I am a creepy stalker. Then that day in Montreal, in that little restaurant, I saw you. It was like the universe had set us up and I have loved you ever since. I wanted to tell you but I was afraid that you'd think I am some creep and when you found out, it was one of my biggest secrets and my biggest fear had come true - you were convinced I was a creep. I have been a flawed person in the past, what I did was not okay and you were correct to leave me but please, I have reflected and changed. I will do whatever you ask me to. Give me a second chance.

I love you and I will continue to love you even if you say no. Accept these gifts please.

You and Max got closer after that. You lived with your friend in Monacco until you guys figured what to do. In your free time, you both went on dates in little cafes or maybe a picnic day in the parks. You both didn't kiss or lust after one another like before but rather talked. He would stare at you when you would animatedly with a soft smile on his face. About what you liked and dislikes now, how you found cats adorable but hated it when didn't arrive you after saying pspsps. He took his time and reflected on his flaws. And you listened to him. You both would laugh at everything you found silly and when the sun would start to set, you'd stare at each other before saying goodbyes.

Today was different. Today it felt a little heavy like there was something you had to desperately get out.

You looked around, Max sat wearing a navy blue polo t shirt and you wore a long sundress. He rearranged the items you had brought, packing the things up in the little picnic basket and putting your sunscreen and lip gloss in a different bag.

You smiled. This is what you missed. Not the materialistic, flashy love but the quiet admiration shared between each other.

Max was now gentle with you. He didn't rush, didn't act like a possessive fool but rather let you take your time. He waited patiently and tried to express his own feelings, not all the way up there but he was slowly getting there.

You both watched as the sun set and your hand crept to his.

'Max?'

'Yes schatje.'

Your hands slowly wrapped around his neck and you pressed your lips against his. He was shocked for a moment before he wrapped an arm on your waist and kissed you back. You craned your head for better access and kissed him hard until you both gasped for air.

'I love you' you whispered those three words, and he pressed his forehead against yours repeating those words again.

Relationship are never perfect. They are meant to be messy because we both reveal our flaws and insecurities to each other, but what's meant for you will come back to you and your heart finally was at peace knowing that this was right for you.

💌: DOESNT APPLY TO YOU OKAY. GIRLIES DONT GO BACK TO YOUR EX. THAT CHAPTER IS DONE. MAY MY FIC NEVER EVER INSPIRE YOU TO GO BACK. OUT OF A 100 PEOPLE, ONLY 3 HAVE ALREADY DATED THEIR SOULMATES AND YOU ARE NOT ONE OF THEM. MOVE ON AND DONT LOOK BACK OKAY.

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hard-core-super-star · 4 months ago

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(they long to be) close to you [W.Maximoff]

pairing: baker!wanda x college student!reader

summary: after months of pining after the lovely owner of westview's best cafe, you finally get a chance to get to know her better.

warnings: none, just fluff and pining; MILF!wanda because my hand slipped; is cute tension a thing?; gay panic; bad flirting; mentions of stress and tense family dynamics

wordcount: 1.8k

a/n: this idea came from a brief conversation with one of my favorite people [@katehopecore] and i wasn't able to get it out of my head so now it's here! and it'll probably end up as a series because i can't help myself. anyway, hope you enjoy <3 [oh AND, the cranberries version of this song is the best one, you can't change my mind]

part two | part three | part four |

* * * * * * *

Life in Westview had become a weird sort of predictable by now. Same routine, same people, same comfy booth at the best café in town.

Ironically, you didn't even live in said city. At least, not anymore. There was a time in your life when you'd known nothing except that small town in New Jersey and the neighbors you'd seen your whole life. It was easy, familiar, and so comfortable it became uncomfortable.

And so, to your parent's dismay, when you graduated from high school, you'd decided to leave. You chose to go to college in New York, trading the world you knew for a shining, new, incredibly loud, alternative. As overwhelming as the change had been, it was everything you'd wanted and more.

That being said, you still came back home as much as you could, more out of routine than anything else. At first, you'd left your visits reserved for holiday breaks and three-day weekends. When things got busy at school, the last thing you wanted was to be cooped up with your parents, avoiding their questions and listening to them rant about the neighbors.

Things had taken a turn, however, when you'd accidentally stumbled across Wanda Maximoff and her quaint, yet cozy, café. The lovely owner had moved into town right when you were graduating high school, so even though your parents had attended the house-warming party, you'd never met her.

Maybe that was why you were so drawn to the space. Why your feet carried you there instead of your usual hiding spots. Well, they were technically study spots. At least that was what you told yourself, even though most of the time, you were just looking for an excuse to get some fresh air away from your childhood room.

You weren't sure how it happened, but somehow, Wanda's bakery had become your safe heaven. The one place you could always run to for a warm pastry and a comforting smile.

Okay, maybe you were more fond of the beautiful owner than the fantastic coffee and pastries, but that was beside the point.

What truly mattered, at least right now, was the fact that you'd chosen to leave New York for the weekend, swearing you were going to study and prepare for your midterms next week. Of course, that was easier said than done.

Especially when you'd spent most of the morning drooling into your coffee since Wanda was working the counter today. She had no business looking as good as she did in a flannel and suspenders, her lovely red hair falling into soft waves over her shoulders.

It was a little comical how unaware of the effect she had on other people Wanda seemed to be. It was almost like she was in her own little world. One filled with croissant recipes and the weirdest ways to keep an old espresso machine from breaking down.

She was the most enchanting woman you'd ever met and she didn't even know it. Didn't even notice the way all the teenage boys that came in tripped over themselves for a second of her attention.

As much as you wanted to make fun of them, you were just the same.

Except more mature…at least, you hoped.

You're in the middle of another study session, the most recent drink you'd ordered forgotten on the table among the chaos of notebooks, books and of course, your struggling laptop, when you hear footsteps approaching.

You don't look up from your textbook until you hear the sound of a plate and a glass being placed on the table. A question is on the tip of your tongue when your eyes meet Wanda's. There's a softness in them that speaks volumes.

"You've been here for a while," she says with a small shrug. "I thought you might be hungry."

It's only then that you fully realize what she's placed on the table. A glass of water with a few slices of lemon and a plate with a warm ham and cheese croissant. It's not the most extravagant of meals by any means but, considering the growling of your stomach, it's exactly what you need.

"Thank you," you mumble, your voice coming out slightly hoarse. "This is really nice of you."

"Oh, it's nothing, sweetheart." The warmth that spread across your chest stops you from seeing the blush on her cheeks. "Just a little something to keep your energy up."

You're not sure what compels you but you close your laptop and move your stuff out of the way. "Would you like to sit for a little? You've been working hard all morning too."

A small smile tugs at the corners of the older woman's lips. "I shouldn't but…I'm sure the boys can manage for a few minutes."

You sneak a glance up at the counter, watching as the young boys behind the counter scramble to help the working adults preparing coffee orders. Even though you don't want to pry, a question falls out of your lips once you take in the similarities between the two boys and the woman sitting in front of you. "Are they…your sons?"

Wanda nods before you can think too hard about the embarrassing question you just asked. "Yeah, Billy and Tommy. They come help out on the weekends before going to their father's for a few days."

Thankfully, you were barely reaching for your water when she said that, otherwise…you might have made an even bigger fool of yourself by choking like an idiot. That being said…you still didn't push down the urge to keep asking questions.

"You're married?"

"Was married," she corrects. "Things didn't work out, but we share custody and are still good friends. It makes it easier on the boys, I think."

It's hard to hide the smile that starts spreading across your face. You hate how instantaneous it is, how insensitive it makes you feel, and more importantly…how relieved you feel. You barely know this woman, and yet here you are, wrapped around her finger so tightly that you can't stop yourself from hoping there's a chance.

A chance for what? Only time will tell, you suppose.

"Do they like baking too?" You ask as you dig into the croissant, steering the conversation away from something that might make you gay panic.

Your question makes her laugh, the sound sharp with surprise yet filled with warmth. "Oh no, the second they see flour anywhere, they start throwing it at each other."

"Can't say I blame them. I probably wouldn't be much better."

"That's disappointing," Wanda teases. "I was looking for an apprentice."

You giggle in response and concentrate on not appearing too flustered. You're not sure you succeed, though, considering the way the older woman looks at you. "I would if I could, midterm season doesn't give me much free time."

"An even better reason to give baking a try," she replies. "It's what I do when I'm stressed."

"So you decided to open a bakery? How does that work?"

She shrugs. "Divorce is stressful."

All you can do is shake your head and laugh again, feeling warmth bloom in your chest as she joins you. You're pretty sure you can get used to making her laugh like this.

"I might have to give it a try then," you say once your laughter dies down. "It sounds much better than what I've been doing."

"Which is?"

"Ignoring my problems and drinking too much coffee."

"Oh."

To ignore the soft concern in her features, you go back to eating. Thankfully, she doesn't press you or ask any more questions. She simply sits with you, keeping you company and helping you stay grounded.

It's…nice having her with you, you find. Even though all she's doing is sitting with you, her presence is calming. Comforting.

And maybe you should unpack that, but you'd rather not ruin the peace that's settled over you.

Wanda seems just as comfortable as you, since she doesn't move from her spot until she's sure you've finished eating, and she's coaxed you into finishing the glass of water. Even then, she isn't in much of a rush. At least, until one of the twins (you're still not sure which one is which, since you're too embarrassed to ask) tells her the oven went off and the newest batch of cookies is ready.

The smile on your face falters some at that and the older woman must notice because she turns back to you with a certain sparkle in her eyes. "Would you like to come help? I know you're probably busy but-"

"Yes." You rush the words out before you can second-guess yourself. "I'd love to."

Her surprise turns into glee and before you know it you're putting your things away and following her into the back. Somehow, even though the entire café always smells sweet, the aroma coming from the ovens is magnificent. You're not sure how you're going to help her without eating half of the batch.

She seems to read your mind because she motions for you to sit on a counter while she takes the cookies out of the oven. You're more than happy to watch her work, munching on whatever sweet treat she hands you to keep you from getting bored. You're pretty sure it's impossible to be bored in her presence but you don't mention that.

Some time passes before Wanda speaks again. "Sorry, I'm usually better at multitasking."

You instantly shake your head. "It's okay, I don't mind the quiet. It's nice watching you work."

"You're too sweet," she says, looking up at you with a mock glare.

You stifle a laugh as you notice the faint streak of icing on her face. "Actually, I think you have me beaten."

Her eyebrows furrow, more out of confusion than annoyance, though. "What's so funny?"

Instead of answering, you slide off the counter and reach out to wipe the icing off her face. There's still space between you, but it feels suddenly small…like if you just stepped forward…

The sound of the oven going off again stops you before you can do something truly idiotic.

Your hand drops as Wanda turns. "You should help me decorate this next batch. My hand's a little tired."

You have a feeling she's not at all tired, considering this is her passion, but you see the offer for what it is. A chance to spend more time with her.

"Deal."

It's not until almost an hour later that either of you acknowledge what happened. The soft touch and the even softer looks exchanged.

It's subtle, like the smell of her perfume that starts lingering on your clothes.

"You know, if you want to come back tomorrow, I would appreciate the help."

And you do.

The next morning. And the next Saturday. And the one after that.

You come back each and every weekend until you accidentally carve out a space in her heart reserved just for you.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff fanfiction #elizabeth olsen #avengers fanfiction #marvel fic #mcu imagine #wlw fic #writing

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ggukivrse · 1 month ago

Text

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 06

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, swearing, fluff, angst, arguing :’(, jk’s an asshole in this i’m sorry, (eventual) explicit sexual content ( mdni ! ), ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 4.6k

notes: okay first of all, i’m SO sorry for the wait. second of all, this chapter was meant to be much longer but i split it into two :< anyways, likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are sooo appreciated!! enjoy (?) reading my angels <33 (and pls don’t hate me </3)

⤷ chapter six — tv

“and i’ll be in denial for at least a little while / what about the plans we made.”

The kitchen is quiet, only filled by the soft buzz of the fridge and the distant sound of waves. You take a slow sip from your mug, fingers curled around the ceramic.

The coffee's still warm, just the way you like it — strong, slightly bitter, just enough milk to soften the edge. You’d made Jungkook’s the same way you always have. You didn’t even think about it. Just moved through the motions like you’ve done a hundred mornings before.

But that was nearly half an hour ago.

His mug is still sitting on the counter. Steam long gone, surface barely warm. You glance at it for the third — maybe fourth — time, as if expecting it to have vanished. It hasn’t. It’s still there, untouched.

And so is the space beside you.

You haven’t seen him since waking up.

You’d stirred sometime around eight, alone. No arm slung over your waist, no weight shifting the mattress beside you, no sleepy grumble against your shoulder. Just cold sheets and a quiet room. The fan was still spinning overhead lazily, and the only thing on the nightstand that hadn’t been yours was a single bottle of water.

You’d stared at the ceiling for a few minutes after that.

It would’ve been easier if you hadn’t let yourself get used to waking up like that again. If you hadn’t let it feel like something.

But you did, because you always do, with him. Even now.

So when you eventually got out of bed, you made two cups of coffee. One for you. One for him.

You tell yourself it was just habit. But that’s only half-true.

Because the other half — the part you don’t say out loud — is that you were kind of hoping he’d show up.

That you could sit across from him, trade casual conversation, build your way back into something steady enough to finally ask the things you’ve been swallowing down since the breakup. Finally ask the things you wanted to ignore last night when you kissed him.

What happened?

What changed?

Why did it feel like he was ready to spend the rest of your life with you, and then suddenly, he wasn't?

You’ve been sitting with those questions for weeks. Letting them settle into your bones. Last night had started to smooth out the edges. That kiss, the way he held you, the weight of him tucked against your back — none of it felt like someone who’d let go for good.

But this morning?

This morning feels like the reset button was hit again. Like you’re back at square one.

And it’s starting to scare you.

You take another sip from your mug.

It’s not just that he left. It’s the fact that you have no idea where he went, or why, or when he’s coming back. It’s that your questions are still sitting in your chest, unanswered. It’s that his coffee is still sitting in front of you, lukewarm.

It’s that you keep hoping for something that keeps slipping away.

And sure, it could be nothing. He could walk into the kitchen any minute and prove that all of your overthinking was for nothing and place a kiss against your temple as he silently confirms that you guys are finally okay again. But as you stare down at nothing in specific, eyes unfocused on the ground, you can't ignore the feeling that it's not going to be that easy.

A hand waving in front of your face breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Hello? Earth to ___?"

You blink and turn to find Kiara standing in front of you, one brow raised, one hand waving dramatically in front of your face.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling back a little, caught off guard. “You scared me.”

She grins. “I said your name twice. Thought you died standing up.”

You force a breath through your nose, trying to ease the tension from your shoulders. “Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Clearly,” Kiara says, folding her arms as she leans back against the island across from you. “You were staring at that coffee like you were possessed or something.”

You glance back down at Jungkook’s mug. The coffee inside has gone a dull, murky brown. It's oddly fitting.

“Just thinking,” you murmur.

Kiara gives you a long look, tilting her head slightly. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches.

You expect her to pivot the conversation, maybe ask what time you’re heading to the beach, or what’s for breakfast.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she says, softer now, “Is everything okay with you and Jungkook?”

Your stomach drops, and you're too slow to catch the surprise on your face before it shows.

She doesn’t look accusatory. Just curious. Maybe a little concerned.

You think about what Jungkook said — that your acting sucks.

Clearly, he was more right than you gave him credit for if this is the second time someone has thought that something was off between you two.

You give Kiara a tight smile, trying to play it off. “Of course we’re okay. Why wouldn’t we be?”

Your voice cracks slightly at the end and Kiara’s face shifts. Her eyes narrow, expression flattening just a little.

God. You suck at this.

She doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you.

And when you glance past her, you realise Ari and Yasmine are both in the kitchen now too. You didn’t even hear them come in. They're hovering by the counter, not pretending they didn’t hear the conversation. Yasmine raises her eyebrows at you as if to say, Really? That’s the best you’ve got?

You laugh, the sound a little too loud and a little too fake.

“No, seriously. There’s nothing going on. We’re totally fine,” you insist. You try to make it sound breezy, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But there’s this edge of strain in your tone that even you can hear now.

Yasmine exchanges a quick glance with Ari. Ari raises a single brow.

“____,” Kiara says, and her voice almost sympathetic. “We love you to death. If anything if going on, you can tell us. We will fight that man if needed.”

You snort at the ridiculousness of the offer, trying to ignore the way they're all watching you.

“Okay, maybe don’t plan my best friend’s murder right in front of me,” Jimin says around a half-yawn, wandering into the kitchen. His hair is a mess — flattened on one side and fluffy on the other — and his hoodie is inside out. His expression, though, is amused as hell.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. It’s half a laugh, really — short and quiet, but enough to break the tension hanging over you. Your shoulders drop just slightly.

“No one said murder,” Kiara replies, looking entirely unbothered. “We said ‘fight.’ With fists. Maybe knees.”

“Maybe a little arson,” Yasmine adds, chewing on the edge of a strawberry she pulled from the fridge.

Jimin walks past them and reaches up to grab a granola bar from the top shelf. “You know I’m contractually obligated to defend Jungkook’s honour,” he says through a yawn, unwrapping the bar. “Even if he’s being an idiot. Which, to be fair, is frequent.”

“Then maybe pass that message along,” Ari says, deadpan.

He finally glances toward you then, eyes briefly scanning your face. He doesn’t say anything — and thankfully, he doesn’t ask — but something in his expression softens. Like he can see the way you’re slightly curled in on yourself, even if you’re trying to fake calm.

The semi-circle of concern around you shifts a little to make room for him, and he steps into it without hesitation, granola bar still in hand. It’s oddly comforting, how casually he folds into the space — like maybe if he acts normal, things will be normal.

And you’re grateful for it. The way attention slides off you and onto Jimin’s sudden presence.

You sip your coffee again, and it tastes slightly better now. Or maybe it’s just that your heart’s not pounding against your ribs anymore.

“Actually, I actually need to tell you guys something,” Jimin says once he’s halfway through the bar, mouth still kind of full. “Before everyone disappears into the sand for the rest of the day.”

You tilt your head, turning slightly more in his direction.

Jimin finishes chewing, wipes his hands on the front of his hoodie — inside-out tag flipping up in the process — and leans casually against the counter.

“Okay,” he starts, tone turning slightly serious. “This doesn’t leave this room. At least not yet.”

Immediately, all of you perk up.

“Oh my god,” Kiara says, leaning in. “Are we finally getting the tea?”

“Someone’s pregnant,” Yasmine whispers like it’s a wild theory, eyes wide.

“Wrong group,” Ari deadpans.

You snort.

“No one’s pregnant,” Jimin says. “But something is happening. And it’s big. So, swear you won’t say anything to Haeun.”

You all nod in varying degrees of seriousness. A chorus of “obviously” and “duh”s.

“Seokjin’s proposing.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Not because no one saw it coming — but because even when you expect something, hearing it said out loud hits differently.

“No way,” Ari breathes.

“Finally,” Yasmine grins, clapping once. “She’s going to lose it.”

“I knew it,” Kiara says, not even pretending to be surprised. “He’s been acting weird since we got here.”

“Super obvious,” Ari agrees. “He kept spacing out yesterday during volleyball. I asked him if he was okay and he just said, ‘Just picturing things.’ I thought he meant, like… strategy?”

You set your coffee down, half-smiling. “That man has never strategised a day in his life.”

Jimin nods, serious. “Exactly. So, the plan is— he’s gonna do it tomorrow. Right at sunset. On the back deck. He wants to keep it lowkey but still romantic. Just the group, nothing flashy. He’s got this whole thing with the fairy lights and stuff. It’s very... Jin.”

Yasmine clasps her hands together with a little squeal. “Do we get to be part of it?”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing at her. “Actually, he wants you to take pictures. Nothing major. Just candids. And the rest of us just need to, like, not make it weird.”

“What do you mean not make it weird?” Ari asks.

“I mean like… don’t swarm them,” Jimin says. “Don’t make it a whole scene. Just let it happen and then we can scream after she says yes.”

You all nod.

“God, they’re gonna be so annoying and in love,” Kiara sighs. “Good for them. Can’t wait.”

Jimin’s expression softens as he talks — and you can tell how much this means to him. How long he’s probably been sitting on it. How relieved he is to finally let it out. He’s one of Jin’s closest friends — the fact that Jin looped him in says everything.

“Wait, does Haeun know anything?” Ari asks.

“Not a clue,” Jimin says, grinning. “She thinks she’s just getting a sunset drink on the deck with Jin tomorrow before dinner. Meanwhile, he’s been carrying around the ring like it’s a live bomb.”

“She’s gonna be a mess,” you say quietly, voice warm.

"They're both gonna be a mess," Kiara replies, and you smile.

Honestly, it feels good to think about something else — to imagine someone else’s future for a while. One that's good and certain.

Not murky. Not lukewarm. Not tangled up in old habits and unfinished questions.

And just as that lightness settles in — just as you feel your chest unclench, just a little — the glass doors behind you slide open with a low hiss.

Everyone freezes.

The sliding door clicks back into place, the sound of it too sharp in the sudden stillness. Jimin’s eyes dart past you. Kiara, mid-sip of her drink, lowers her glass. No one says anything.

Your breath catches as you look over Yasmine's shoulder.

Please not Haeun, you think. Pleasepleaseplease.

Jungkook.

Helmet in one hand, motorbike keys hooked around two fingers on the other.

You're heart tugs with relief.

You’re glad he’s here.

Not because things are fine. Not because you know what you’re going to say. But because not knowing where he was all morning had started to eat at you, slow and annoying and persistent. Like something you couldn’t scratch out of your skin.

Jimin’s the first to speak.

“Fuck, man,” he says, twisting toward the door. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were Haeun.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches, the barest hint of a smile. “Sorry.”

He steps further into the kitchen, the door soft-clicking shut behind him, and sets the helmet down on the island with a dull thud. The keys land beside it with a jingle. The whole group relaxes and the conversation starts backs up, but you’re barely tracking it.

Your eyes stay on Jungkook.

And his eyes don’t quite stay on you, but they flicker. Once. Then back down.

He moves to the cabinet and pulls out a mug from the same shelf you used earlier.

You pause, glancing at the mug still sitting beside your own on the counter. You hesitate for a second before you slide it toward him with your fingertips.

“Here,” you say. “I made one for you already.”

He pauses mid-motion, the clean mug in his hand, and his eyes drop to the one you nudged forward, then back up at you.

“I’m fine. Thanks though." He gives you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Oh.

Okay.

Maybe he just wants tea or something. You've never known him to be a tea person, but you don't dwell on it that much.

You're already moving to shrug it off when you catch a glance — just over the rim of your mug — of him moving back toward the coffee pot, and you watch, with a slow-burning disbelief, as he starts making the exact same cup of coffee that’s still sitting in front of him.

Same brand. Same scoop. Same splash of milk from the fridge. He reaches for the sugar and adds the same amount.

You stare.

Seriously?

You don’t say it out loud, but it hovers in your expression. Long enough that Ari, who’s been half-listening while peeling a clementine beside you, gives you the smallest nudge with her elbow.

You don’t even glance at her.

Your eyes are still on Jungkook.

He doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

The air shifts around you and it feels like you’ve suddenly dropped into a scene you weren’t given the script for. Because it’s not about the coffee, really. It’s never just about the coffee.

It’s about how easily he dismissed it. Dismissed you so easily, as if you were nothing more than a stranger.

And maybe it’s petty, but come on. You made that cup for him. It wasn’t some random gesture. You got up, went through the routine, thought about what he’d want, even left it sitting there like a peace offering. And he’d rather go through the whole process again himself than take what you’d already done for him?

Fine.

You sip your own drink again, and try tune back into the conversation.

Jimin is talking about how Seokjin tried to smuggle the ring through airport security without Haeun seeing. Kiara makes a joke about hiding it in his shampoo bottle. Yasmine laughs so hard she nearly drops her bowl of strawberries.

And for a moment, it’s fine.

You even smile a little. Force yourself to pull your eyes away from Jungkook and land somewhere safer — like Jimin’s dramatic re-enactment of Seokjin’s TSA panic face.

But when your gaze flicks back, just for a second, you find Jungkook leaning against the opposite counter, sipping his freshly made coffee like he didn’t just say a whole lot by saying nothing.

And you don’t say anything either. Because what are you going to do — call him out for rejecting your cup of coffee?

So you let the conversation keep moving. You nod along. You laugh in the right places. You keep your expression neutral. Maybe a little too neutral.

But your jaw is just the tiniest bit tight. And your fingers wrap around your mug a little firmer than before.

Guess you weren't just overthinking after all.

The rain starts as a mist before quickly turning into a steady downpour.

You and Haeun are halfway back from the beach by the time it hits properly. She doesn’t bother running, and neither do you. You just glance up once at the thick, grey sky and laugh a little under your breath. She grins beside you, jogging lightly as she shakes water out of her ponytail.

“I told you it was going to rain,” she says, smug.

You’d been adamant about it, insisting that it would be warm as usual when you asked Haeun to come swim with you. She’d shown you her weather app and you’d waved it off with a dramatic, “Those things are never right.” Now, soaked halfway to the bone and blinking through the drizzle, you’re starting to eat your words.

"Yeah yeah, whatever."

By the time you step inside the house through the glass sliding doors, your legs are lightly dusted with sand and your hair is sticking to the sides of your neck, still damp from the ocean, and now slightly tangled from the breeze.

It’s warmer in the house, and for the first time since the trip started, everyone is inside. No one has slipped off to the beach or disappeared with a book to some random corner of the deck.

You brush your fingers through your hair absently as you kick off your flip flops near the threshold. Haeun’s already moved toward the kitchen, mumbling something about tea, leaving you to linger for a second by the open space where the wooden floor transitions into the living room rug.

Jimin and Taehyung are on the floor by the coffee table, throwing popcorn into each other’s mouths with miserable aim and laughing at their failures. Ari’s curled up with Namjoon on one end of the abnormally large couch that takes up almost half of the room, the two of them watching something muted on the TV while Kiara and Yasmine scroll through their phones on the floor beside them, bickering about which photos to post later.

And there's Jungkook.

He's sitting on the other end of the couch, knees propped up, thumbing idly through something on his phone.

He looks calm. Not relaxed, exactly — Jungkook doesn’t really do relaxed when he’s spaced out, but his shoulders aren’t hunched like they were this morning, and his jaw isn’t clenched. He just sits there scrolling.

You hadn’t seen him on the beach. You’re not even sure where he’d gone off to all morning, after the coffee exchange that had been awkward enough to replay itself in your brain on loop.

It’s not that you’re trying to obsess, but it’s hard not to notice when someone you used to know inside out starts moving like a stranger.

You take a slow breath, brushing your hand down your thigh once — a nervous gesture you don’t bother disguising — and cross the rest of the living room, stepping carefully over Taehyung’s outstretched legs as you make your way toward the couch.

There’s an open space beside Jungkook and you decide take it.

But before you can even properly sit down or bring up your knees to get comfortable, Jungkook's already standing.

You watch as he crosses the living room and drops down into the armchair beside Yoongi without a single word, disbelief painting your features for a second before reel your expression back to neutral.

You don’t look at anyone.

You definitely don’t look at Jungkook.

Instead, you keep your gaze pinned to the muted television in front of you — some vaguely familiar movie playing with the subtitles on — and try to ignore the way your heartbeat has picked up in your ears.

It’s not a big deal. Not technically. Maybe he just wanted to sit by Yoongi. Maybe you’re reading too much into it. Again.

But still.

Still.

You cross one leg over the other, trying to breathe through the stiffness now crawling up the back of your neck. You can feel a strand of hair clinging to your collarbone. You reach up and tuck it behind your ear just to do something with your hands.

“Hey,” Jimin says suddenly from the floor, glancing back toward you, “you two get caught in the rain?”

You force your mouth into a small smile. “A little.”

“Dumbasses,” Taehyung says fondly, tossing a kernel of popcorn that smacks Jimin square in the cheek. “Told you it was gonna pour.”

“It’s barely even raining,” Haeun calls from the kitchen, voice slightly muffled from the distance.

You hum in agreement, mostly to say something, but your voice barely makes it out. You don’t think anyone notices.

Except maybe Kiara, who glances at you briefly from the corner of her eye. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s enough to make you shift in your seat.

You try not to look again. At him.

You fail.

Jungkook’s posture hasn’t changed — one arm resting on the armrest, the other slung low in his lap. He’s facing the TV, but his gaze isn’t fixed on anything in particular.

This isn’t normal. Not even close.

Not that anything has been normal since the breakup, but this is different. Cold in a way he’s never been with you — even when you fought. Even when you broke up.

It’s the kind of distance that doesn’t come from anger. It’s more deliberate than that.

And you really don’t know what you did to deserve it.

The rain doesn’t last. It trails off sometime after the movie ends — not that you can remember a single scene of it — and by the time it does, the sky outside is starting to dip in colour.

You keep your eyes on your hands, loosely folded in your lap, while the rest of the group starts to migrate back outside into the pool and the beach. Someone tugs open the back door and lets the salt-heavy breeze rush back in. Kiara walks past and ruffles your hair lightly, says something about joining them soon. You nod, even though you’re not sure you will.

You don’t even register Jungkook until he’s moving past the arm of the couch.

“Jungkook,” you say.

He stops just in front of the door to the front.

He doesn’t turn fully. Just glances over his shoulder, enough to let you know he heard.

You stand before your courage can second-guess you. “Can we talk?”

A beat of silence passes. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but doesn’t look at you.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about.”

It takes you a second to process his words.

“What?” you ask, brows knitting.

“I just—” Jungkook shifts, hand flexing at his side like he’s trying not to clench it. “I think we’re handling things fine. Everyone still believes us, right? That’s the whole point.”

You stare at him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He exhales, but doesn't respond.

“I’m not talking about the deal. I’m talking about you— us— and the fact that you’ve been ignoring me all day.”

“I haven’t—”

“Yes, you have,” you cut in, voice firmer now. “You wouldn’t even look at me this morning. You’ve barely said more than three words since last night.”

“I thought you wanted space,” he says quietly, finally turning around to face you. “I figured, after yesterday, that it’d be easier if I just gave you room.”

“Easier?” you echo. “For who?”

He swallows. His gaze drops. You can see the tension in the way his shoulders pull in slightly, like he’s trying to fold himself smaller.

“I’m just trying not to make this harder than it already is."

Your chest tightens, something sharp rising behind your ribs. There’s a line between being careful and being cowardly, and you don’t know when Jungkook crossed it — only that he’s already miles past it now, still walking away from a conversation he won’t even let you have.

“And moving when I sit beside you— what’s that supposed to be?” you ask. “Because if that’s you being careful, it really fucking sucks.”

His jaw twitches.

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Jungkook? Because you’re not talking to me. You won’t even look at me.”

His lips part like he wants to say something before he stops himself.

You wait, but he doesn’t answer.

He just stands there in silence, eyes unreadable, like he’s scared whatever comes out of his mouth next will be the wrong thing.

And that frustrates you more than anything else.

Because you just want the truth, not silence. Even if it hurts. Even if it means hearing him say that he doesn't love you anymore. Because at least, then you’d know.

You cross your arms slowly, swallowing the lump that has started forming in your throat.

“You can’t just fucking kiss me one day and ignore me the next.”

“Look, I’m—” He exhales harshly. “I’m sorry the kiss didn’t mean anything, okay?

You freeze.

Something inside you falters, buckles under the weight of it. You try to breathe around the burn clawing up your throat, but the room suddenly feels too stuffy.

You press your nails into your palms. You can feel your pulse there — quick, shallow, and it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment. You don't trust yourself to speak, so you don't.

Jungkook's voice is soft when he eventually speaks. “We only have to do this shit for one more day. That’s it. I’ll stay out of your way until then, and when it’s over, we can pack our bags, go home, and you never have to talk to me again.”

You stand there for half a second too long. Long enough for the silence to feel thick again. Long enough to think — maybe he’ll take it back, or stop you. Maybe he’ll say something else.

But he doesn’t, so you turn.

You walk away, footsteps too loud against the hardwood. Your throat is tight, your chest worse. You make your way outside and up the stairs into you room, shutting the door with a quiet click — not because you're calm, but because slamming it would mean he still matters enough to make you angry.

And right now, you're trying not to let him matter at all.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the blank wall, trying to will yourself not to cry.

You don’t win that one. Not completely.

But you wipe away your tears before they can stain your face, because if anyone comes looking, you’ll lie. If he comes looking, you won’t open the door.

Still, you wait for the sound of footsteps outside the room.

None come.

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twinklelilstarkey · 7 days ago

Text

Tutor: Feel-good

Words: 7k+ Summary: Rafe doesn't like how much Sarah wants to hang out with you, while you don't see what the problem is. And if there is anything that defines Rafe Cameron, it is petty. Warnings: Fem!Reader. SMUT {no condom, piv, biting, dirty talk, a bit of dacryphilia}, mention of alcohol consumption, petty silent treatment (because Rafe will always be petty in my fics).

Tutor Masterlist

A/N.: This chapter wasn't exactly planned. So enjoy it as the day off drama for my two babies <3

It is the day before your graduation ceremony, so the days have gone by pretty quickly since you left your parents’ home. You’ve received your results from your last exams, you got the answer back from UNC-Chapel Hill, and your summer is finally starting. Nothing's holding you back now. There are no more secrets. No more drama. Nothing. It’s just you, Rafe, and, of course, Patty.

“I’m starting to think they love you more than me,” Patty says as you two look through the snack aisle.

They, meaning her parents, got home last night with no prior warning and discovered you living in their spare room. You expected to be given at most a week to pack your things and go. Nope, you got invited for dinner and got wine drunk with her mom as you celebrated your high school grand finish with straight A’s.

“You’re exaggerating.” You roll your eyes.

“I wish I were,” She sighs dramatically, “But they’ve literally just texted me after we left the house to make sure that you wear sunscreen.” And you laugh uncontrollably at that.

Maybe you had a magic touch with families. After all, Rafe’s wasn’t much different. You haven’t been to his house to tutor Wheezie ever since she got done with her exams, but he has been telling you how Rose wants you to come over for dinner nearly every night. And Sarah has been nagging him non-stop to finally have your number, since you’re a lost cause when it comes to answering DM's on social media. Also, Wheezie has always loved you, so dating her brother only really made things that much better for her. And Rose and Ward welcomed you, maybe a little too fast, after the party.

With your hands full of your favorite snacks, you decide to abandon not-so-only-child-anymore Patty to go leave them at the register and vacant your hands once more. There, some drinks already wait to be paid for, but you assume Rafe and Kelce are still going to grab some more. You offer the girl working at the register a small smile, which she answers back with one of her own, and the sound of the ringing bell of the door invades the small store.

You look over to find Sarah and her friends soon follow. You’ve never formally met them, but you’re sure many people could recognize them from afar. It’s the usual group of JJ, John B, and Kiara, though Pope is nowhere to be seen. Probably waiting in the van, just like Topper is waiting at the Jeep.

Sarah’s squeal of excitement fills the store when she sees you, and before you can even smile at her, her arms are securely around you, pulling you into a hug.

“Oh my god, I finally get to see you,” She exclaims, “Rafe has been an asshole and refuses to give me your number.”

She pulls away from the hug to look at you, and her excitement is contagious, making you smile at her back.

“I’m not sure why he’s not giving you my number,” You try to justify, “I’ve told him to do it-”

“He's a gatekeeping bitch, that’s why.” She says, probably knowing that he’s somewhere in the store and might hear him. “I only want to go shopping or hang out with you. He acts like I’m trying to steal you away every time.”

You laugh at her frustration, and as you pull your phone out to give it to her - in a silent gesture for her to give you her number and text herself - you notice that her friend group has not moved on with their shopping without her. They’re all looking at you two.

You can tell from some faces that, at least, John B. and JJ don’t recognize you, but Kiara surely does. You went to middle school together, after all. The guys look at you as if they’re not sure about you, whether to like you or not. Sarah surely likes you, but, from the conversation they’ve heard till now, they’re not all that sure about you anymore. Kiara, on the other hand, seems bored with having to wait for Sarah, but her face grew into annoyance pretty quickly.

Sarah grabs your phone from your hands to type in her number, and, as you begin watching her do it, a hand appears from behind you and snatches the phone. You two look up to find none other than the true enemy of this friendship, your boyfriend.

“You are unbelievable,” Sarah tells him, her tone full of frustration and pure hate.

“Leave my girl alone, Sarah.” He tells her, serious as all hell. “If you have something to say to her, say it to me first and I’ll pass on the message.”

You scoff at his behaviour and smack him on the stomach. He looks down at you in response.

“Give her my phone, Rafe.” You tell him, and he’s unmoving. “We just want to hang out, what’s so bad about that?”

“I don’t trust her,” He motions at his sister, “She’ll convert you into her little tribe there-”

And that’s enough to startle the thin peace among the Pogues. Kiara, who had stayed back and been silent, now scoffs at the loudest volume she could muster, and JJ takes his cap off his head in utter disbelief. You notice that Rafe’s mouth twists up in amusement, and you only shake your head at him.

“My phone.” You outstretch your hand at him, “Please.”

“Please, nothing.” Sarah interrupts, “Give me her phone, dofus. You have no right. It’s her phone, she doesn’t have to ask you for anything…” She keeps going.

You sigh as they start to fully argue in the most sibling way possible, and you can’t help but share a look with the girl at the register. Even she is dumbfounded.

Sarah and Rafe continue to call each other the most outrageous names while also fighting for their right to either spend time with you or 'look out for your safety,' as ridiculous as that sounds. You think about walking away, but you’re literally the only person on Sarah’s side, and you don’t want her to lose this battle.

Halfway through Rafe’s sentence, you put your hand in his pocket and grab his own phone. Sarah and Rafe are too distracted in their argument to notice you at first, but then Sarah’s phone dings loudly.

They pause mid-sentence, and you lock Rafe’s phone.

Sarah reaches and looks down at her phone, reading the just-received text from her brother, with your number on it. Rafe doesn’t have to read it to understand what just happened, so his eyes go to you, disappointed, as you return his phone to his pocket. You look up at him after. A little startled to already find his eyes on you, you give him a small smile, and it’s enough for Rafe to calm down his staring and lose his previous deadly look.

His sister then starts laughing in his face, and you can’t help but smile a little. Rafe rolls his eyes and decides to take his brooding self elsewhere. You watch him disappear into the cold section of the small store, back to grab more drinks with Kelce.

John B. and JJ decide they’ve seen enough and go look through the store to find what they need, but Kiara stays back with Sarah, which intrigues you. Is she also 'looking out' for Sarah? Just like Rafe had with you?

“... Wheezie needs to come with us too, she has been telling me how much she misses you.” Sarah continues telling you about your plans together. “We could have a sleepover!”

You smile at her, “Sure!”

“Do you want to come with us, Kie?” Sarah asks, turning her body to face her friend. Your eyes go to her too, and she stares back, unstartled from being, all of a sudden, included in your conversation.

“Nah, I think I’m good,” she says directly to you, which confuses you. It’s as if you’re the reason for her answer, even if you two haven’t spoken in years.

Sarah doesn’t accept that, “Oh, come on. It’d be so fun!” Her volume rises in excitement, “I haven’t had a girls' night in so long. You have to come!”

Patty appears beside you with a lot of chips and other savory snacks and lays them on the counter beside you. She doesn’t say anything yet, but she studies you and Sarah for a bit, almost as if waiting for something. You can’t help but chuckle.

“Do you want to come too, Patty?” You invite her, only raising Sarah’s excitement by a million, because: more girls!

“Kiara, now you have to come with us,” Sarah tells her friend, but Kie is unmoving. “Why not?”

“Not exactly my crowd,” She answers with a shrug. Her eyes stay on you and on Patty as if to appoint the crowd in question with her eyes.

“Okay…” You say in a low voice, only for Patty’s ears to hear. You turn to her and then to Sarah, not enjoying the vibe that has been laid out between all the girls after that. “I’ll go help Rafe with the drinks.”

Kiara’s slight reaction to your words gives you a good enough justification for her tone towards you. Her problem with you begins and ends with your association with Rafe. Good to know. She’s not the only one.

You send both your friends a short smile and disappear into the closest aisle to get out of Kiara’s sight. You walk by JJ and John B, who go silent when you walk beside them, and then finally reach the fridge section.

Rafe is with his back to you, staring at the open fridge as Kelce does most of the work to find the drink they want, and, when you reach him, you playfully nip at the skin of his arm. Rafe doesn’t even react. You frown and move to stand beside him, looking up at his face, but he doesn’t meet your eyes.

Rafe Cameron is sulking, people.

He shares some words with Kelce while you just stand there for a bit, and he continues to ignore you, even when Kelce includes you in the conversation too. You move closer to him, and, thankfully, his sulking doesn’t extend to avoidance because he doesn’t distance himself from you. With that information, you wrap your arms around his waist, as you always do, and kiss his chest. No response, so you smile and keep your body wrapped around his anyway.

Kelce disappears with the rest of the drinks to finally pay for everything, and Rafe leans away from the fridge door to follow him. But it’s difficult for him to do so when you’re still hugging him.

He struggles to walk, but he doesn’t move you out of the way. He’s petty enough to prefer to struggle rather than lose his silent protest against your actions. You don’t take it to heart, and he knows you wouldn’t. You just laugh into his shirt and let him go, before saying, “Fine. Be moody!”

You walk back to the register with a giddiness nevertheless present in your heart, and go help Kelce and Patty put all your purchases in bags. Rafe only shows up to swipe his card and pay for everything. And, after that, you all leave for the Jeep outside. You say your farewells to Sarah, and she smiles widely as she waves you goodbye.

(...)

It’s been a few good hours since the store, all of you have been in Rafe’s family’s boat ever since you’ve bought everything you needed, and, since then, all you’ve done is drink, swim, and lie in the sun. The, finally, good enough start of your summer.

Rafe… is still sulking, but not in the traditional way. Everyone has noticed his silent pity party to himself, but he talks and interacts with everyone else but you. That’s why they caught on so early. You still take everything he’s doing as a joke and continue on with your life. You still love him as if he’s reciprocating it, and, though he’s ignoring you, he doesn’t seem to hate it all that much.

After baking in the sun for enough time, your bikini is already mostly dry again, and you’re on your way to find a drink. You’ve been talking to Patty while in the sun for most of the time, so you have no idea what the guys have been doing ever since you left them in the water.

You go down a few steps after leaving the front deck, and you can already hear Topper and Kelce’s voices on the other side of the boat, probably still by the water. You grab Rafe’s shirt from the couch in the aft deck and pull it over your head, tying it at your stomach due to the heat.

You enter the dining area of the boat by pushing open the door, and your eyes fall on the half-naked man. “Hey, grumpy,” you say as you walk towards him. No answer. You kiss his hot skin as you walk past and go grab a glass.

You look around for the water bottle that you guys bought and see it in front of Rafe. You scootch in closer and try to reach the bottle as you say, “Excuse me” in a whisper. He does respond to you this time, not moving out of the way like you asked, but by grabbing the bottle and pulling it closer to you so you can reach it. And, just to get on his nerves: “Thank you, baby. I love you so much!” You enthusiastically say.

Still no response, but you can’t exactly see his face as he looks down at his phone, so you drink your water and lean against the cold stone of the counter. Rafe’s attention continues to be on his phone, so you lean in close until your bodies are touching. Rafe stops typing, and you see it as an opportunity to spy on what he’s doing.

You never felt so disappointed in your life. He’s, quite literally, answering emails.

“You’re no fun,” you whisper into the skin of his tanned and naked arm, “I don’t even think I recognize you.”

No response, so you do the second-best thing and start touching him more. Alcohol is already well a part of your system, so you welcome it with all your might. You lean in closer to Rafe and kiss his arm and shoulder. The room you’re in isolates all noise from the outside, so you two can practically hear your lips on his skin.

You leave your glass on the counter and go behind Rafe, wrapping your arms around him to have your chest glued to his smooth back and kissing his spine. But, right before your hands can even begin to explore, the door slides open and disrupts your peace.

You squint at the light behind whoever comes in, and, to your surprise, it’s everybody. You don’t separate from Rafe, given that they were the ones who came in during your love session, and lean your head against him. Rafe looks at them, too, and speaks, as if he doesn't have you glued to him.

“I checked it,” He says to Topper, making his torso vibrate with his voice, “they didn’t talk about any collaborations in the email. Just something about…” and you zoned out.

Patty, having her priorities straight, walks over to the food on the opposite counter and starts making herself her lunch. You eye her as she works in silence, thinking about what you could put on your own sandwich, but Rafe starts moving, disrupting your peace of scanning the imaginary list of ingredients that you brought into the boat.

You begin to let go of him, thinking he’s planning on leaving the room or whatever, but he simply turns around to lean his back on the counter, and, consequently, faces you. Kelce and Topper start another uninteresting conversation, and you look up at Rafe, who is looking and listening to them attentively.

Your eyes eye him with much annoyance, and you pull away before your drunken mind decides to really test his ability to ignore you. Aka, twist his nipple.

Moving over to Patty, you look at everything in front of you and decide on your lunch.

“Still ignoring you?” Patty asks with a smile.

You look up at her and shrug. “Guess so”.

“Men…” She says as she shakes her head and resumes her stacking of her ingredients, and you can’t help but laugh.

You grab two pieces of bread and join her in the stacking. You two decide to go eat elsewhere, and you don’t even spare Rafe a look. Yet, if you had, you would’ve seen his eyes on you as you left.

(...)

Hours and many drinks later, everyone gave up swimming for the day. Topper grilled hamburgers for dinner on the above deck, and, with a stomach full of food and alcohol still pumping through everyone’s systems, some retired directly into their beds. The only ones remaining are you, Rafe, and Topper.

You scroll through your phone’s gallery while they talk, still not being affected by the need for sleep, unlike Topper, who has yawned endlessly for the past 10 minutes. You’re entertained and happy while looking at your screen.

Now that you and Rafe have no one to hide your relationship from, posting on social media has become a thing. You two aren’t posting anything crazy, like endless pictures of each other's faces or collages of you two kissing – of course not. But things like the same locations in your stories, the same parties, or, in this case, the same boat. Or even other photos, like ones with the entire group – tendency of Patty to force everybody in a group photo spontaneously – or just canon pictures of you or your friends.

It’s maybe dumb that something as small as that makes you happy, but showing off Rafe had been the privilege you had been deprived of ever since the beginning of your relationship. So, you bet your monthly photo-dumps or random groups of photos get to include him and his friends. Your boyfriend’s hot, damnit, god forbid you let the entire world see that.

You’re lying over the couch, mostly hidden by the table in front of you, while Rafe and Topper sit at the head and foot of the table, leaving you more than enough space to just lie down on your phone and roll in whatever direction you might like to.

After a good few moments of scrolling through your gallery, Topper announces his wish to go to bed. They might think that you’re asleep by now, since they both start cleaning up the table without you, so you decide to come out of hiding.

You stretch and sit up, letting Rafe’s shirt, now untied, fall to your lap, and see them talking with the door slid completely open as they throw everything in the trash. You get up, grab the remaining trash, and walk over to them. Topper looks up at you, giving you a sleepy smile to acknowledge your presence, and you give him one of yours, too.

“Good night, love birds.” He says as he turns around to go downstairs to the bedrooms.

“Good night,” the two of you say, almost in sync.

Rafe closes the trash once you throw in your stuff, and you go back outside to grab your phone, tying the shirt back up as you walk. Surprisingly, Rafe follows you and takes back his seat at the head of the table. You watch him as he grabs his phone and just continues to be in his own world.

You stand there, just a meter away from him, watching him, and the man just keeps on scrolling.

“Want to go to sleep?” You try to ask him.

No response.

You groan out of frustration and throw your phone back on the table. You’re not going to sleep until he talks to you and stops being his petty self. So, you try to be annoying.

You poke his head, flick his forehead, play with the buzz cut, pinch his neck… Literally nothing.

As you watch him, Rafe leans back on the couch on his phone, and you, with a lack of patience, snatch the phone from his hands. You stare at the screen and sigh. At least he’s not checking emails, but he was just scrolling through social media. You look over at him, and he is still not meeting your eyes.

You throw the phone in the direction of yours, and it falls perfectly in the middle of the table. You take a seat next to him and face him.

You tell him, “All of this because I gave Sarah my number?”

You expected to be ignored, but he, dead serious, turns his head to face you like you hit the nail right on the head. You sit still for a second, shamelessly enjoying his attention on you for starters, and then laughing in his face for how petty this entire afternoon has been. You move, with his eyes still on you, to sit on his lap, facing him, and Rafe doesn’t look away at that.

“Why?” You ask him, looking down at him.

He doesn’t answer, and you roll your eyes.

“How am I supposed to not want to hang out with your sister, when you don’t even tell me what’s so bad about her?” He gives you a look that it’s comical, but you continue, “I’ve known her for as long as I've known you. She seems as normal as any other person in your family.”

That gets him talking, “What is that supposed to mean?”

You laugh at the baffled look on his face, and lay your hands on his shoulders. “You’re still not answering me.”

“She’s annoying,” he tells you.

“That’s it?” You frown, lifting your hands off his shoulder to lay them on your thighs. “Everyone can be annoying, and I still hang out with them.”

Rafe gives you a look of ‘you better not be talking about me’, making you smile, and you look over at the closed glass door everyone had gone through to go to sleep.

“So…” You start again, looking over at Rafe to already find him looking at you, of course. “I can’t hang out with her?”

He shrugs. Like a complete toddler. “You do what you want, babe.”

You groan out of frustration for him and smack his chest, making him sit up and hold back a grin of his own. You two are now much closer to one another, though you still have an advantage in height for sitting over his legs. Your hands move upwards, and your fingers begin to play with his buzzcut.

“What’s so bad about Sarah?” You ask again, looking at him dead in the eyes.

“She is annoying.”

“To you, maybe. Because you’re her brother.” You shrug, “I’ve never found her to be annoying.”

“That’s because you don’t hang with her enough.”

“And you do?” You pause your hands, knowing damn well that Rafe does not spend time with his family unless he is forced/coerced to. He leans back on his hands while looking at you. “Why is she annoying?”

“Babe,” Rafe starts, letting out a dry laugh, “Hang out with her, if you want. You can be friends with whoever-”

“But you’re sulking,” you tell him.

“I’m not.”

“Rafe,” You say seriously, “You’ve been sulking all day.” He makes a face as if you’re the wrong one, “You have to be kidding me.”

He doesn’t answer, and you huff out a breath. You use his shoulders as something to hold as you stand up. His eyes, in return, only watch you as you move.

“I’m going to bed. I’m done talking to you.” You tell him, only meaning those words half-heartedly, and Rafe knows it.

“Why?”

“Because you’re being annoying,” You tell him. “You ignored me all day. I have a right to be mad at you.”

Rafe smiles at your words, and you begin to walk towards the glass doors. You hear him moving behind you, but you’re quicker. You slide the door open and get in, closing and locking it behind you. Rafe, on the other hand, stands there, on the other side of the glass, hands on his hips like he expected you to do this. His hand doesn’t even reach for the door to know that you locked it.

“Open the door,” his voice is muffled, making you smile.

“What?” You lean in closer to the glass, “Can’t hear you.”

Rafe doesn't say anything, just to add suspense.

“There are other doors,” Your eyes widen, “you know that, right?”

First, your brain thinks that surely the other doors would be locked, given that time has begun to reach AM, and all of you have to be safe out here... But, if they're not, can you even run that fast to close everything up before he gets in?

“And where is the fun in that?” You shrug.

“So what? You want me to stand here and-”

“And think about what you did, yes.”

Rafe looks at you as if expecting you to laugh and unlock the door, but you’re unmovable. You cross your arms and lean against the kitchen counter, watching him. He looks over his shoulder as he sighs, and then a smile appears on his face.

“You left your phone out here.” Damn it.

“That’s fine, I’ll get it after.”

Rafe makes a face that makes you lean away from the counter, “I don’t know. He might fall in the water during the night.” He takes a step back, towards the table, making you smile in panic.

“Rafe,” you try to sound serious, but fail miserably.

“What?” He pretends to not hear you, mimicking you, and keeps walking towards the table. You watch as he grabs his phone first, putting it into his pocket, and then yours. You don’t fold just yet, but keep watching his every move.

Rafe looks down at your phone, acting as if he’s messing with it, and then, suddenly, starts moving away from the table and the view of the glass. You call out his name, no answer. Gosh, will you actually have to fall for his bluff?

“You’re not going to throw my phone in the water.”

“It’s outdated anyway,” You hear him a little far away already. “I’ll get you a new one.”

You try to be strong and hold yourself together. You can’t fall for his tricks this easily, but blame it on the alcohol, which is minimal at this point, to make you more gullible. You have too many things in that phone to lose it in the waves because of locking your boyfriend out.

“Okay, fine!” You exclaim, unlocking the door.

You step out, expecting to see him just by the door, with a stupid smile on his face about how he tricked you. But you don’t see him anywhere. “Rafe?” You call out, still no answer. You leave the door open behind you and keep walking.

You check the front deck first, empty. You go down and keep calling out his name. Still nothing. You look around, trying to not spook yourself with something so dumb.

The waters surrounding the boat are dark, and so is everything all around it. The darkest you’ve ever seen the night be. The boat, of course, is well illuminated, but it still leaves you uneasy.

As you keep walking, now nearly by the back of the boat that leads to the water, you’re silent, not calling out for Rafe anymore. Maybe he went around and is now locking the door to keep you out? Should you go back? And then, when you least expect it, he just comes out of nowhere and grabs you.

The scream that comes out of you is inhumane, which makes you laugh as soon as you come to your senses - hopefully, not waking up anyone. Rafe is laughing at you, and you smack his head.

“You’re such an asshole!” You ask him, “Why weren’t you answering me?”

He mimicks you again, now putting on a squeaky voice, “Where’s the fun in that?” You smack his head again, making him laugh more.

“I was scared, you ass.” You say, admitting it outright, as you look up at him while being glued to his chest. “What if I’d fallen in the water?” You point to the water right next to you.

“You think I’d let that happen?”

“Yes!” You say a little too loudly, making him smile brightly at you. “Yes, I do. You’re an ass, and that would be an ass thing to do. So, yes!”

“I would never.” He tells you, making you give him a death stare.

Rafe kisses your lips anyway, but you don’t budge. He deserves to have you be the one to sulk now. After this entire day, and now this? He deserves worse.

Rafe seems to notice what you’re doing right as you start it, which makes him chuckle, but, of course, the way Rafe deals with you is much different than the way you are with him. He begins kissing your cheek, holding you close to him, and then he lands a kiss on your neck... right before throwing you over his shoulder.

You hold in any sound of surprise, and he starts walking upstairs again. You don’t move. You act dead, letting yourself swing on his shoulder as he moves.

When upstairs, he grabs the phones from his pocket and throws them on the table again, confusing you, as you expected to be brought to your bedroom. Rafe takes you off his shoulder and sits you down on the table, too. You stare up at him, with no reaction, and then his lips go directly on yours.

You kiss back, but you make sure to lay your hands on the table, refusing to touch him as you usually do. Rafe’s hands hold onto your waist, pulling you closer to him, and then move over to your hips. You ignore it at first, but it’s hard to when he starts untying the bows at the sides of your pink bikini.

Still, you give him no reaction.

Your lips don’t separate, but your bikini lies now open, making a warmth travel and burn at the bottom of your stomach. One of Rafe’s hands, previously lying over one of your thighs, moves between your legs, and you hold yourself together when you feel his fingers touch your pussy. He groans into your kiss when he drags his fingers in between your lips down towards the entrance, to already find you wet. You concentrate on your silence and on the kiss, but his fingers move up to your clit again, making you lose almost all hope in yourself.

Rafe breaks the kiss to look down at his wet hand, and so do you. His fingers work slow circles over your clit, and you let out a breath, making Rafe smile and look up at you. Your eyes meet, and his hand stops, making you want to protest, but you stay put. Rafe lays his hand on your stomach, laying you down over the table, and he goes down on his knees.

With one of your legs over his shoulder and one of his hands on the other, Rafe’s mouth starts working as soon as it can. You lift your hand over your mouth almost instantly, feeling the warmth of his hand against you, his tongue on your clit, and his breathing on your skin. Your eyes stay trained on the white roof over the table, and you focus on your breathing.

Rafe’s mouth licks, sucks, and kisses your pussy like he’s a man starved. He knows what you’re trying to do, but he also knows that you’re near failing. You’re trying to control your breathing, your sounds, your hands, and your legs to not let out any reaction, and it’s getting to be too much.

His mouth abandons your clit to move down to your entrance, and his nose touches your clit almost by accident. You bite your tongue, but Rafe catches the feeling of your thigh twitching once on his shoulder. He smiles into you and brings up one of his hands to start playing with your clit while he slides his tongue inside you.

His thumb moves faster in circles on your clit, and you can’t help but let out a small whimper. Your eyes sting a little, as tears are wanting to escape from the corner of your eyes, and you blink them away. Rafe slides his tongue out of you and moves upwards to your clit, moving his hand away for now. The warmth of his mouth is almost too much for you, but then his tongue starts moving, and you feel two of his fingers slide into you with almost no warning.

You cough out a moan, but your hand doesn’t move away from your mouth. Rafe wraps his lips around your clit and sucks on it while his fingers begin to move back and forth inside of you, knowing exactly where to hit every time.

As always, his knowledge of your body is beginning to be a little too much for you.

And then, what feels like seconds after, his mouth pulls away, and so do his fingers. When you see him stand up, you take your hand off your mouth and try to ignore the cold between your legs as you pull yourself up on your elbows.

“Turn around,” Rafe tells you, with his hands on your hips, but you don’t move, both for still trying to catch your breath and for your promise to not give up that easily.

Without any delay, Rafe flips you easily to lie on your stomach, and you huff out a breath of annoyance when you almost face plant into the table. Your bikini bottoms now fall to the ground, but you ignore them as you feel Rafe grab onto your hips from behind you. And, just in a few seconds, your annoyance evaporates when you feel Rafe’s dick slide into you. It’s slow. Torturing. And without any pause. But you almost forget your anger the moment it happens.

You two stay like that for a bit, but then Rafe begins to move. You try to concentrate, of course you do. You repeat the words, you got this, over and over in your brain, but it’s way harder than you think it is. The pleasure that had gone dormant from Rafe’s pause of his initial attack on you resumes exactly where it left off, and you almost lose it.

Your entire body feels warm, your pussy feels soaked, and your back naturally arches as soon as Rafe keeps moving. You hear him chuckle behind you, but you try to ignore it so as to not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. His dick slides easily back and forth inside of you at a pace that, though it isn’t the slowest he has punished you with, it’s nowhere near the pace you wish you could be at. It’s almost anxiety-inducing because Rafe knows what he’s doing. And he’s just telling you, without using any words, that though he almost has you breaking, he hasn’t even started yet.

And then, finally, he speeds up to a normal pace, and you lean your head onto the table. You focus on your breathing, knowing that it is already shaking, and at the beginning of a moan, but you know that Rafe can’t hear it. So, you let yourself indulge in that alone.

You close your eyes, concentrating further as pleasure continues to burn at the end of your tummy and travels down to your legs, and Rafe doesn’t seem to like how silent you are.

Out of nowhere, Rafe grabs you by your torso and pulls you up, making you arch into him and almost lean your head back on his shoulder.

“Why are you doing that?” He asks you in a mumble just below your ear, “Uhm?” He questions you.

You don’t respond, but your hands lie on the table to hold you better. His hands hold onto your waist, and you try to ignore the sounds coming from both of you. Rafe knows it right away.

“You think you’re winning, uhm?” He continues, “But you're so fucking wet that the whole boat could hear you if they were awake.”

The sound of the wet smack of skin and squelching of your pussy, makes you unconsciously squeeze Rafe’s dick, and he laughs into your ear.

“Look at you,” He kisses your neck between words, “Holding yourself together so well.” He nips at your skin, and then all you feel is his lips and tongue over your skin.

Rafe’s hands undo the tie of his shirt on you, and his hands disappear under the fabric. Your hands lift off the table as Rafe pulls you in closer and closer to his chest, and the angle worsens your entire situation. His hands find your chest and pull your tits out of the tight bikini, and, as soon as you feel his mouth on your skin again while his fingers pinch at one of your nipples, you let out a loud and shaky sigh that Rafe can now definitely hear.

“You got it, you got it.” He pokes fun at you. He kisses your cheek and the corner of your lips, “But I got to say… I already miss your whining.”

You intake air harshly through your nose as Rafe thrusts into you with a little more force, and you open your eyes. He kisses your jaw and pulls you in closer to his chest, making his warmth familiarly engulf you.

Rafe looks down at you, his head just beside yours, and you force yourself to not meet his eye. “You know what, baby?” He asks, “I’m being way too nice with you… And I really shouldn’t.”

You stay silent, biting your tongue to try and distract yourself with the slight pain of it. Rafe’s hands move away from under the shirt, and he pauses his thrusts. You breathe in and out slowly, and he grabs one of your legs, lifting it to the table and opening space for his hand. His thrusts resume with that, and his fingers return to your clit.

Rafe kisses up your neck and lets go of your waist to force your head to face him. You strengthen your back to hold yourself up as his hips continue to meet yours - his movements at the same pace as before - and Rafe looks you right in the eye as if nothing is affecting him. His poker face is surely better than yours, but you try to not lose hope in yourself.

“Am I being mean to you?” He asks you, the sound of his thrusts invading your ears and making you hold in your breath. “Uhm? Am I?” He kisses your lips with a peck, and you look down at his mouth when he pulls away, “You can tell me, baby, and I promise that I’ll take better care of you.”

He kisses you again, and a little sound escapes your mouth when Rafe’s tongue meets yours. Your hands itch to touch him. To grab his head to force him closer to you. Or his arm to hold yourself up. The kiss is wet and messy, but Rafe intends for it to be so. You squeeze his dick harder and harder, and smaller sounds escape you as you get more drunk off of him.

Rafe then decides to put some more force into his thrusts, and, with your mouths open into a kiss, an actual moan breaks out of you. Rafe smiles and pulls away from your lips, victorious and proud. You try to go back down to the table, trying to get yourself back together by distancing yourself from him and his warmth, smell, and lips, but Rafe doesn’t let you. He roughly pulls you back to his chest by wrapping his arm around your waist as he thrusts, and a shaky breath comes out of your mouth.

“Are you going to cry?” He asks you, his tone so heavy with humor, that you find it evil when directed at you. You close your eyes and force down the urge to cry out your pleasure, and Rafe just keeps making it worse. His fingers pause on the small circles on your clit and pinch it softly as he leans his head onto the crook of your neck. He bites your skin and moves away to look down at your face. Rafe looks as he speeds up his pace and thrusts fully into you. He reads your face like a book. And though you’re silent, you couldn’t make it more obvious to him. “You can cry. I got you. I always do.”

You’re getting distracted. Your pleasure is getting higher and higher, and Rafe does not shut up. He keeps talking in your ear, knowing that if he does, your pleasure just gets worse as your pussy squeezes him like a vice. He calls you his crybaby, his baby, his pretty girl. All of it to get in your head. And he succeeds.

Your hand lifts off the table and moves towards his on your waist. You grab it to try and get some strength back into you, but Rafe sees it as a slip-up and starts moving his fingers quicker against your poor clit to only make it worse. Your eyes open, and Rafe bites at your neck. Your other hand lifts up to his nape, scratching his skin, and he grunts at your touch.

“You want to come?” Rafe asks you against the skin of your cheek, and you find yourself nodding. His chuckle hits your face, and he forcibly kisses you. “You do, yeah?” You nod again when he pulls away, “Ask me, then.”

You sob out loud as the pleasure intensifies and a tear escapes. Rafe smiles at you, prouder than he’s ever been of himself, but you don’t ask him for anything. He kisses you again, with bruising force, and that just makes you whimper against his lips. His fingers move faster and faster, and your hands hold onto him like a lifeline. Your sounds start getting louder and louder, still not yet being their usual volume, but Rafe takes them in like medals. Every single one of them.

“I’ll stop.” He warns you, making you look at him in surprise. “If you don’t ask for it, I’ll stop, and we’ll go to sleep.”

And the look you give him… Rafe could’ve melted right there and then. You plead with your teary eyes, small sobs of pleasure leaving your mouth, as you almost pout at him. Rafe was ready to give you the orgasm and more. Anything in the world could be yours if you kept it up. But you decide to shake your head.

“No?” He asks you, “No, you don’t want to come?” He tests you, “Or no, you don’t want me to stop?”

He pinches your clit when you don’t answer, and you, finally, let out a real moan. He can tell that you’re getting closer. Your pussy is impossibly wet, your breathing is irregular, you're holding onto him as if he’ll let you fall to the ground at any second, and then you tense up. Rafe, though it pains him to, stops moving right away.

“I guess we’ll go to sleep, then.”

“No, no, no…” You whisper at him, pulling at him with your hands as if scared that he’ll disappear. Rafe leans in as you pull him by his nape, and you peck his lips. Rafe kisses you for more time, and you start to feel everything. His naked chest against you, his tight hold on your waist, his lips on yours, his dick entirely inside you, and his other hand paused at your clit. He pulls away, and you sigh.

“Say it, then.” Rafe encourages.

“P… Please make me come.” You whisper against his lips, so low that Rafe’s ear almost doesn’t register, but he takes it as enough.

“Of course, baby.” He kisses you at the end of the sentence, “Anything for my pretty girl, yeah?”

You nod at him, and he starts slowly at first. As soon as the speed and force come back, you’re too aware of every single thing and come incredibly fast. Rafe holds you as he keeps going, thrusting into you deeply as he forces you to ride out your orgasm as he finds his, and, the second you start making your overstimulated whines, Rafe is done for. He thrusts a final time and comes inside you, and he grunts against the skin of your shoulder.

His breathing takes some time to calm down, and you relax your hold on him. Rafe takes his hand away from your pussy and lays it over the table to stand up straight. Your hand falls from his head as he does so, and you grab his wrist from that same arm. You lean your head back onto his shoulder, and the wind of the sea hits your wet face. Gosh, what a mess.

You two don’t talk for a bit, but Rafe doesn’t take long to feel himself get back to normal. He is careful when he pulls out of you and pulls his shorts back up. He’s slow to let you go, making sure that you can stand on your own already, and he grabs the bottoms of your bikini from the floor. He hands it to you, and when he goes to pick you up, you stop him.

“Rafe, the table.” You tell him, looking at it.

“What?”

You laugh and point at the table you just had sex on, “We got to clean the table. We have every meal on that thing”. Rafe sighs as he looks at it.

You put your bikini back on while Rafe trusts you to stand by yourself, and he cleans the table very well, to your request (also known as orders). Once he’s done, he goes to wash his hands, and you move towards the inside of the boat. You close the door and lock it behind you, and look over to find Rafe drying his hands on the kitchen cloth.

“Don't forget the other doors,” you tell him.

“What other doors?” He asks, making you frown.

“You said they were unloc-” And he smiles at you.

Asshole.

Rafe throws the now clean, once again, cloth onto the counter, and you kiss his arm. “Let’s go,” you whisper at him, and he nods.

Both of you are about to get the best night of sleep in your lives.

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