#For loop in C Language

[ccoderlearner]

For loop in C Language

I'll talk about the For loop in C language with examples in this article. A repetitive control structure called a for loop. What is for loop? Understand examples and syntax of for loop. Learn about the use of for loop in C programming and how it works in C programming.

[apaise]

[ supportive ] usopp @ nami

wracked with feverish body aches and a throbbing head, nami's thankful as usopp helps her with the blankets, frantically tucking her in but with a sniper's precision yet. before she can utter her thanks, however -- usopp plants a soft kiss on her head, slipped between a slew of instructions to stay put and stay hydrated. ❝ ah -- ❞ normally, nami would scold her -- they have no idea what this fever could be, what if it's contagious?! but she's taken aback for a moment by the gesture, soothed into silence.

no one's comforted her like this since bellemère. the few instances nami was sick in the past years . . . she would either push through it and keep working, or hole up in some inn alone. it was easier than making nojiko fret over nothing, and infinitely better than letting arlong and his men see her as weak.

but as much as she tried to spare her new crew their concerns here . . she at least knows she wouldn't have to worry about the latter. in fact, it'd almost be nice to be cared for if getting vivi home as fast as possible wasn't nami's top priority. and if it didn't hurt so much.

still, she's grateful to have usopp at her side.

. . . sure, usopp had panicked with the rest of them when vivi was diagnosing her, but nami knows she can rely on her to keep sanji and luffy in line. when it comes down to serious situations like this, usopp's always had her back with wrangling the idiots. ❝ thanks, usopp, ❞ nami gives a smile flush and fevered, yet no less genuine. ❝ i'm counting on you. ❞ her arm feels too heavy to even offer a handshake, but she manages to uncurl her fingers from the edge of the comforter, offering a single one in the tiniest of high fives.

❝ don't let vivi worry, okay? it's really not that bad, ❞ she murmurs in a heavy breath, trying to give a chuckle. it's not the most convincing performance -- feeling seconds away from passing out -- but nami knows she can depend on usopp to understand anyway.

[somegrumpynerd]

10 pages super roughly planned out and 4 with more solid sketches, I'm now legally allowed to go do something else \o/ lol

Also here's perhaps the most confused looking Horror I've drawn yet

Me when I get a cool idea for a comic I wanna make: :D

Me when I realise that means I have to draw the whole thing: D:

[trainer-from-unova]

the rule

Ⓢ english ao3 Ⓢ spanish ao3 Ⓢ masterlist Ⓢ

ship: the void x afab!reader x robert reynolds

summary: the rule is simple: a day for bob, the next one for void, over and over again. but void is needy and possessive, and insecure and jealous (even though he would never admit it), so when he decides to not let bob have control of their body you decide to ghost him because he's stealing bob's time with you. huge mistake. if you don't talk to him then he would make you scream.

au: bob and the void are a system

c/w: established poly relationship, poly negotiations, jealousy, arguing, ghosting as a punishment, slight dubcon / cnc (aka consensual sex), makeup sex, unsafe vaginal sex, fingerfucking, finger licking, orgasm delay / edging, implied creampie, praise kink, voice kink, dom/sub undertones, possessive (but in love) void, third person pov

a/n: I'll probably post another version of this, shorter but more angsty like I did with muscle memory and a second, also english isn't my first language and feedback is highly appreciated here or on ao3

word count: 2100

The rule was simple: one day one had control of the body to spend time with their girlfriend, the next day the other one, and so on and so forth. As soon as the alarm went off in the mornings they had to change. It had been five minutes since it went off, and Void was still there.

"Are you so anxious for me to leave?" he asked jokingly when she reminded him that he should hand over control to Bob, provocative as only he knew how but deep down annoyed and jealous.

She looked at him with a grimace as they dressed to leave their bedroom, slightly annoyed but not angry — deep down there was no need to get so upset, it was only a few minutes he had taken from Bob. As long as that was all it was it wouldn't be bad. The problem was that Void wanted to get his way and be the one to enjoy spending time with her on her day off.

"It's Bob's turn to spend the day with me," she said more annoyed when an hour had passed and he was still there instead of him, waiting for the lift to go down and out of the tower.

"I don't care, I want to be with you," he replied, infected by her annoyance. "I don't understand why it bothers you to spend time with me, I'm your boyfriend too."

"I don't mind spending time with you when it's your day, I mind you taking Bob's time," she said as the lift door opened and they stepped inside. "It's unfair and Bob and I have the right to spend time together too," she said pressing the button to go down, not very gently. "I have plans with him today," she said looking straight ahead, staring at the lift door.

"I don't care," he replied, craning his neck in her direction and looking at her the whole time.

"Yeah, of course not," she said sarcastically, crossing her arms, "when have you ever cared about anything?"

The question and especially the tone annoyed Void even more, even offended him. He couldn't believe she was asking him that, and it seemed unbelievable that he had to remind her of it.

"You," he replied, calm but serious at the same time, "I care about you," and as soon as she heard that answer, she closed her eyes and craned her neck in the opposite direction as she grimaced with her mouth — touched and sunken, because as much as it bothered her she knew he wasn't lying and that she was the one who had gone too far with her words. "You're literally the only thing that matters to me, ______. And you're also the only one who cares about me."

That was true too, but still Void kept doing something that was wrong, being selfish like a little kid. She didn't want to repeat herself, she didn't want to get into a loop, but she had to say it again whether she liked it or not, because unlike when Bob was in control of the body and listened to Void in his mind, Bob couldn't do that when he was the one in control. Bob couldn't defend himself, so she had to be his voice.

"...It's Bob's turn to spend the day with me," she said as she opened her eyes, still staring straight ahead as the lift beeped. "Go," she said as the door opened and she stepped out.

"...No," he said seriously as he followed behind her, staring as her back was turned.

He followed her like her shadow all the time, and he thought that her anger would soon pass because he was him and because she was usually a cheerful and positive girl, but he was wrong: she didn't speak to him or look at him, she only let himself hold her hand but for not slapping his hand and for someone to see it, especially some paparazzi. Disadvantages of having become a New Avenger, she had to be careful of absolutely every move she made in public because she had an image to look after and a private life to protect.

In desperation he decided to make her talk in the only way he knew how, to calm her down and make her happy in the quickest way he knew how. When they arrived at the tower, as expected, he followed her and went with her into their bedroom, closing the door behind him with his telekinetic powers — latch included, but apparently she didn't notice, or maybe she decided not to give it any importance as she left her bag on her desk chair.

And apparently she also didn't notice or maybe she also decided not to give it any importance as he unbuttoned his trousers, while she turned her back to him and pulled down her trousers to undress and put on more comfortable clothes to go around the house. She didn't notice how he approached her, grabbing her by the waist to turn her around and grab her, slinging her over his shoulder as if she were a sack that weighed nothing.

"Void! What- What are you doing?" she asked in surprise, but not too confused. It was actually a silly question she asked without thinking. Seeing that he was heading for the bed and that his trousers were starting to fall down around his waist, it wasn't too hard to figure out what he was up to. "Void," she said as he released her onto the bed, "this isn't the best m-," she said as she tried to get out of bed, but he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back down as he settled on top of her.

The door may have been locked, but Void would have let her escape if she really wanted to. She could have easily escaped his grasp, even without being trained to do so. She could also have attacked him or tried to immobilise him. But she did nothing, and let him bring his right hand quickly to her crotch, slipping it inside her panties to start touching her. What he noticed there surprised him as well as pleased him.

"Oh, then why are you so wet?" He asked teasingly as he caressed her lips with his fingers, smiling as she tried to look in another direction, frowning as well as blushing, embarrassed. "How long have you been like this? Is it because of my presence?" he asked craning his neck, a mannerism he always did when he was enjoying humiliating someone. "Look at me," he commanded now, much more serious and threatening. "Answer me."

She nodded silently and slowly, connecting their gazes for a second before turning away again, embarrassed and annoyed. But all that would be short-lived, he would make sure those feelings would disappear. Though deep down he liked her playing hard to get, it made him feel more special when he got what he wanted.

"Use your voice," he ordered as he slipped his fingers inside her.

"Yeah," she said as she nodded her head again, a little faster now.

The moment he had his fingers deep inside her he began to move them up and down at high speed, making her scream and writhe in pleasure. She put her hands to her mouth to try to silence herself while also trying to close her mouth and bite her lip, but even if he hadn't grabbed her wrists and pulled them over her head it would have been impossible — he was fucking her mercilessly.

"You move too much," he said slightly annoyed that he had to restrain her. He would have preferred to lift her shirt with the hand that was pinning her down to see her tits, apart from the fact that she sometimes unintentionally closed her legs a little. Her eyes were also closed. "Look at me," he ordered seriously, and she obeyed, "I'm better than Robert," he said trying to convince her, but deep down he was trying to convince himself. "Say it!"

"You're b-better than Bob! You're the best, at everything!"

"You've got a favourite and that's me, right?"

"Yeah!" she moaned as he arched her back.

"Good girl."

"Please-!"

But soon after that he stopped dead in his tracks. Even if she didn't moan that she was about to cum it was obvious, he could feel her pussy throbbing, clinging to his increasingly wet fingers — he stopped too close, to make her even more desperate. On the one hand he wanted to show her that he was better than Robert, to calm her down and make her happy, but on the other hand he also wanted to punish her, torturing her even if it wasn't in the same way she had tortured him during the day. Besides, watching her writhe in pleasure beneath him as she sobbingly begged him to continue, plus the way she sobbed when she felt him stop at the worst possible moment, were scenes almost as satisfying as his own orgasm.

When he stopped masturbating her he released her and made her lick his fingers clean, sliding his fingers along her tongue careful not to make her gag as he stared hungrily and intently at her. Then, as she caught her breath he ordered her to undress while he did the same, quickly removing his clothes from his upper body and pulling down his boxers to free his erect penis.

"Do you want this?" he asked as he grabbed his cock, pulling him close and settling down to stroke her entrance with his wet tip, mixing her flow with his pre-seminal fluid.

"Yeah please," she moaned eagerly. She needed more, she felt empty without him inside her.

She tried to stifle another moan as he thrust his member in without any gentleness, failing in the attempt and clutching his shoulders tightly with her shaky hands. He didn't flinch, just watched her facial expression. And he had no patience for letting her insides get used to him, but because he knew she didn't need to. She moaned again as he began to move back and forth, keeping her hips firmly gripped.

He began to ram into her, harder and faster, making her moan louder and more frequently. Now you could also hear the springs of the mattress and box spring hitting the wall, and his hips against hers. He loved the sensation of making himself hollow between her throbbing, wet walls, and so did she. But most of all he loved her moans and the things she said, hearing how she confirmed how much she liked it and begged for more. It made him feel wanted, it made him feel loved and accompanied.

"Say you love me more than him," he ordered her.

"I- I love you more- more than him!" she replied.

Her back began to arch against the mattress again, sobbing. Void was ramming into her so hard and fast that her whole body shook with each thrust, and she didn't know how he hadn't broken the bed yet.

"Fill me, please!" she begged, her breath hitching and her voice getting higher and higher. She was about to cum, it was obvious. "Please please please!" she said begging for more and at the same time for mercy as she felt a heat forming in her lower abdomen going down. "I need it, I need you!"

"That's my girl," he said smirking. He gladly complied and grabbed her to keep her from moving or unintentionally separating, feeling her pussy begin to clench against his cock.

"Yes please please, use me, I'm yours!" she cried, and lucky for her, he listened to her: he came inside her at the same time she did, mixing their fluids completely and making her lose her mind as she writhed and screamed with pleasure, while he grunted and ended up lying on top of her, satisfied in many ways. He heard from her lips everything he wanted to hear and got what he wanted again, getting his way.

"I love you, and I swear it..." He said in her ear as he pulled back — as she caught her breath she thought he would pull out of her, pulling out of her to let his cum out. He always loved to see how well he filled her, but when there was just a little left to get his cock all the way out he thrust into her again, making her moan again and cling tightly to him. "Someday you'll be all mine, just mine."

© trainer-from-unova / alicent burton | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[internetdaddy98]

Checkmate

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: The aftermath of the kiss simmers beneath the surface of the ER like a live wire, crackling just out of sight. Dr. Robby and Dr. Sheridan haven’t spoken since the night in the alley, but the silence between them is deafening. Word Count: 1.4 K Content Warning: 18+ MDNI, Explicit Content, Explicit Language, Medical procedures, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times, unresolved tension.

There was an unspoken charge in the air that made everyone sharper, edgier, like a thunderstorm was coiled somewhere in the hallways. And at the center of it were Dr. Sheridan and Dr. Robby, both too quiet, too stiff, and too carefully avoiding each other’s eyes.

They hadn’t spoken since the alleyway.

Since the kiss.

Since the pull of years of restraint finally snapped and Robby had pushed you away, not because he didn’t want you, but because he did.

Now, under the clinical glare of the ER, everything they hadn’t said the night before was screaming in the space between them.

You stood at the workstation, hoodie off, stethoscope looped around your neck, typing through a patient chart. Calm. Focused. Barely a flicker of emotion on your face.

Robby walked past you to grab a tablet, not meeting your eyes.

Dana noticed it before lunch.

She was many things, charge nurse, ER gatekeeper, queen of organized chaos, but above all, Dana was observant. She noticed the way Robby’s voice dropped a degree colder when he addressed you that morning. She noticed the micro-expressions that flickered across your face whenever he gave an order, a clench of your jaw, a tightness in your posture.

And she noticed Robby, usually steady, controlled, slow to anger, snapping at interns and pacing like a caged animal.

At noon, she cornered Langdon.

“Something’s up with those two,” she muttered. Langdon raised a brow. “You think they finally—”

“I don’t know what they did,” Dana said, folding her arms. “But if they keep this up, someone’s going to bleed.”

She wasn’t wrong.

The trauma bay doors flung open, a GSW to the abdomen, male, 20s, hypotensive, intubated in the field. The trauma team mobilized fast. Robby took the lead, you beside him, Santos and Whittaker flanking.

“Prep for laparotomy,” Robby snapped. “He’s actively bleeding out.”

“He’s stable enough for CT,” you pushed, already reviewing vitals. “We need imaging, if we open him without knowing the path, we might waste time.”

“We don’t have time.”

“You’re not listening”

“I said we’re doing the laparotomy,” Robby barked, eyes sharp. His voice cracked across the trauma bay like thunder, silencing everyone in earshot.

You stepped back, stunned silent for a breath.

The patient’s blood dripped onto the floor. Nurses moved faster. Santos shot you a side glance that said do not escalate this here. And you, with your heart hammering, clenched your jaw and stepped back, swallowing the fury that rose like bile in your throat.

It wasn’t about the patient. Not entirely.

It was about you.

About what had happened. About what they’d let happen.

About everything he was trying not to feel. By the end of the shift, you were suffocating. You hadn’t eaten. You hadn’t breathed. You were sick of pretending you were fine.

He waited for you near the ambulance bay, leaning against his car like a shadow waiting to snatch you. You barely had time to process it before Robby caught you by the sleeve just outside his car.

He didn’t blink. “We need to talk. Get in the car.”

You stared at him, arms crossed, defiant. “I don’t take orders off shift.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The car ride was unbearable.

The tension was a noose. His hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly. Your arms were crossed, gaze fixed out the window. Not even the radio dared to play. For ten full minutes, nothing was said. Only the hum of the tires on wet asphalt and the storm churning between them. You sat beside him, arms folded, heart hammering. The air between you was too quiet, too dense. You could feel him there, the nearness of him, the warmth radiating off his body. It burned.

You finally exhaled. “Are you going to pretend forever that nothing happened?”

Robby pulled the car down and parked in the alleyway of a closed flower shop. The street was empty. The only sound was the ticking of the engine.

“I’ve spent three years telling myself I’m your mentor. Your advocate. Someone who’s supposed to keep you safe. And then I—” he stopped, exhaled, ran a hand through his hair. “And then I kissed you like I’ve wanted to do for the past goddamn year.”

You stared at him, throat tight. “So what now? You push me away again? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

“I’m trying to protect you from me.”

“Well, don’t,” you said softly. “Because it’s too late.”

You leaned toward him, voice low. “You think I don’t know? That you look at me like I’m some innocent thing you want to break?”

He swallowed hard.

“You already did,” you whispered. “And I’d let you do it again.”

He leaned into you like a magnet being called home. Your mouths met with bruising force, years of restraint shattering. His hands tangled in your hair, yours clawed at his hoodie. The windows fogged. His breath was ragged against your skin. You gasped when he kissed the space just beneath your ear, and he moaned your name like it was a confession.

Your hand curled around the back of his neck, tugging him to your mouth again. The kiss was messy this time, desperate. His hands found your hips, dragged you across the console like he needed you there, like he couldn’t breathe unless you were closer.

Your mouths moved in sync, raw and full of hunger. You moaned into his mouth when his hands slipped beneath your shirt, palms dragging up the warm skin of your back. His breath stuttered when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his pants.

His mouth trailed down your neck, and you gasped. “Michael…”

The sound of your voice, his name — not Dr. Robinavitch, not Robby, but Michael, it made something break open in him.

He groaned, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath ragged. “We have to stop.”

You froze against him.

He was panting. Torn.

“If we don’t stop now, I won’t,” he said, voice gravel-thick. “And you deserve better than the front seat of my Subaru.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you breathed. “Please. Please. Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

Their clothes were tugged, shifted, pulled aside in desperation. Your breath hitched when his hands slid up to cup your breasts, over your ribs, your chest. His mouth followed, teeth grazing, lips soothing. You clawed at his collar, fingers shaking. Your head fell back when he whispered your name against your throat.

When you reached down and freed him from his waistband, he groaned into your shoulder, hands trembling.

“This is insane,” he panted. “This is, fuck, Y/N—”

“I want you,” you said. “I want you,”

You guided him with a slow grind of your hips and he caught your mouth in his just as he slid inside. The sound you both made was guttural, shock and relief and need colliding all at once.

Robby held you in a tight embrace, had you constricted against him as he rocked into you, as you continued riding him. Your eyes shut and mouth open in a moan, you throw your head back to expose the long column of your throat. The windows fogged. The car rocked. Your gasps filled the small space like a secret song. He kissed you like he wanted to ruin you and worship you all at once, rough and desperate and sacred.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t pretty.

It was honest.

And when you came, buried in his shoulder, biting his neck, he followed seconds later, breaking with a sound he’d never made before. Like something inside him had finally cracked wide open.

When you finally pulled back, lips swollen, hair mussed, breath uneven, you met his gaze and asked quietly, “Now what?”

He rested his forehead against yours, breath shaky.

“Now?” he said softly.

“I try not to fall in love with you.”

Too late.

-------------------------------------------------------------------- Want to join the taglist? shoot me a comment! @rosiepoise88 @nosebeers

[hhaechansmoless]

LIGHTS OUT PT.2

pairing: f1driver!haechan x PRmanager!femreader

genre: fluff, angst, romance

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series. Haechan, bold, aggressive and unrelenting, is back after a narrowly missed opportunity to become the world champion in 2024. This time, he's set his sight on making it all the way to the top. You, as his newly appointed PR representative, are assigned with the task of keeping up with a world of high stakes, unpredictable twists and well, him.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, slowburn, honestly quite f1 heavy

w/c: part 1 - 17.8k part 2 - 15.8k glossary taglist a/n: the last part!! for any errors in descriptions of any of these places, reminder: i've never been there LOL. Writing Haechan in this threw him back into my bias list (very up high too) and it was so fun :)) this is the biggest fic i have ever written and i think that I'd like to be proud of it. I hope you all like it too! (If you do, i may or may not have a ferrari scoups fic in the working to make this into a series for all my caratzens 👀 so please be on the lookout for that as well!) This might have a few typos ngl...proofread this half late at night so excuse them 😔Please feel free to comment or send an ask about your thoughts on this. Feedback is always appreciated <3

COLOGNE, GERMANY

September 12th

You: Haechan you’ve been to Cologne before right? What was the name of that restaurant you said you really liked? In Alstadt. [12:47]

Lee Haechan (RB): Are you in Cologne rn? [12:47]

You: Yeah!!! My sister and I decided to go on a little girls trip since yk there’s a break. She has a college sem break now too so the timing was perfect haha Anyways, what's the name? [12:48]

Lee Haechan (RB): What the hell 😭 omg where are you exactly rn This is INSANE I’m ALSO here with my SISTER ??? [12:48}

You: NO WAY??? We’re walking back from the cathedral rn Old town’s like 2 mins away by walk where are YOU? [12:48]

Lee Haechan (RB): There’s this lock store thing nearby in old town My sister wanted to buy one for her and her boyfriend so we’re going to head there after lunch 🙄 We should eat togetherrrr ask your sister Mine’s fine with it. [12:48]

“Rina,” You call your sister to grab her attention. She hums as she turns one last time to take another photo of the cathedral looming in the distance, “Promise me you won’t freak out.”

She turns to look at you then, furrowing her brows, “Why?”

“So I asked the friend that I told you I’d be asking…” You grimace as she stares at you for a moment before it clicks.

“Ah! The guy you lowkey have a crush on but will not admit it. Yes, why?” She grins, looping her arm through yours as you begin to walk again.

“Shut up,” You roll your eyes, “Coincidentally, he’s here too and he’s wondering if we can catch lunch together. He’s with his sister too.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you can feel the excitement coursing through your sister, a small jump in her next step as her hand tightens around yours.

“Yes! Tell him we’ll come,” Rina giggles, “Oh, I can’t wait to meet this guy!”

You sigh again, regretting your decision already, “Please don’t embarrass me? And don’t say anything I wouldn’t want you to say, okay?”

She nods her head, lips stretching into a smile, “Go on, tell him!” 

You pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

You: We’ll come!! Are you sure your sister is fine w it? [12:50]

To your surprise, your phone buzzes in your hands, Haechan’s profile pic flashing on your screen.

You quickly swipe to answer, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended. “Hello?”

“Hey,” his voice is casual, but you can hear the underlying excitement. “I figured it’d be easier to call. Are you in Alstadt now? My sister is really excited, by the way.”

You take a moment to look around the old town. It’s a charming sight, cobbled roads with colourful, narrow buildings leaning against each other. The air carries a faint scent of fresh pastries from cozy cafes nestled between quaint shops selling handcrafted trinkets and souvenirs. There’s a relaxed and calm energy in the air from the soft murmur of laughter and conversation drifting out of the many breweries in the area. 

“Yep, where do we go?”

“Awesome. Okay, see the fountain in the middle of the square?” Haechan asks, his voice clear through the phone. “We’re at this brewery right behind it. It’s got these big wooden barrels outside and a green sign. You can’t miss it.”

You look up, spotting the fountain just ahead, surrounded by people taking photos and chatting. “Yeah, I see the fountain. We’re heading over now.”

“Cool,” Haechan replies, his voice light. “I’m standing outside so you can spot me.”

You can’t help but smile. “Alright, see you in a bit.”

“See ya,” he says, and the call stays connected, neither of you hanging up.

It’s strange how comfortable it feels, just having him on the other end of the line. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to hang up first or if he’s waiting to spot you. You don’t have the heart to hang up either.

Your sister, on the other hand, has no qualms about your situation. She pokes your shoulder, her voice loud enough for Haechan to probably hear. “Are we going or what?”

You snap out of your thoughts, feeling your face heat up. “Yeah, we’re going.” 

The sun shines bright over the square, but there’s still a chill in the air. It’s pleasant and frankly it’s exactly the weather you love. As you pass the fountain, the sunlight glinting off the water, you promise Rina that you can take photos on your way out. Just beyond it, you spot the brewery Haechan described, the wooden barrels outside and the green sign hanging above the door. And there he is, leaning casually against the wall. 

He’s wearing a slightly oversized beige knit sweater that looks warm and comfortable, the fabric soft and relaxed around his shoulders. It contrasts nicely against his black jeans. His hair falls messily over his forehead, tousled by the breeze, and he looks so put-together that it takes you a second to remember how to breathe.

I see you,” you say softly, your heart doing a little flip.

You see him perk up, his eyes searching the crowd before locking on you. A bright smile spreads across his face, and he waves.

You wave back, suddenly feeling shy before you cut the call.

“Is that him?” Rina whistles. Haechan stands a little awkwardly, hands tucked into his pockets as he waits for the two of you to come over. As you come closer though, Rina gasps.

“What the fuck? That’s Haechan.” She stops in her tracks, hand falling out from yours.

You nod sheepishly, scratching your neck, “Yeah…”

“You have a crush on Lee fucking Haechan, shut up.” Her mouth falls open. You grimace before pulling her along again. 

“Please behave yourself.” 

“Do you think I could ask for an autograph?” She pipes up, “I didn’t want to ask you till now cause I didn’t know if it would be appropriate but holy shit, you like him and by the looks of it, he does too so I think it would be fine.”

“Rina, stop.” You grit out, still smiling.

“Hey, you made it!” Haechan’s smile grows wider when you approach. Without thinking, he moves in closer, his arm slipping around your shoulders for a brief second, a quick, casual side hug as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s barely more than a brush, just enough for you to feel his warmth against your side, his fingers resting lightly on your shoulder before he pulls away just as quickly. 

Rina grins at you, making you narrow your eyes as you turn back to Haechan. 

“Haechan, meet Rina, my sister. Rina,” You point at him, “This is Haechan.”

He holds out his hand for her to shake, which she takes willingly.

“I don’t mean to make this awkward,” Rina begins, “And she’s probably going to kill me for saying it so soon, but I’m a big fan! You were really cool in Austria!”

Haechan laughs, eyes flitting over to you once, “Thank you. She’s really mean about it though, isn’t she? She never tells me that I do well.”

“I just don’t want to inflate your ego,” You roll your eyes defensively, “And hey! I do tell you sometimes.”

He nods, but you see the look he shoots your sister, making her giggle in agreement.

“Anyways, let’s go in, Dahyun’s already caught us a seat.”

—

The plates on the table are mostly empty, remnants of lunch scattered between glasses of half-full beer and water. The lively chatter coming from the other side of the table contrasts the comfortable silence between you and Haechan.

You lean back in your chair, eyes fixed on Rina, who’s explaining something to Dahyun, her hands moving wildly as she talks. Dahyun watches her with rapt attention, nodding along enthusiastically, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“They’ve really hit it off, huh?” Haechan’s voice is low and close, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he leans in.

You smile, nodding. “Yeah. I didn’t expect them to get along so well.”

Haechan hums, “Dahyun’s usually shy around new people, so this is a nice surprise.”

You glance at him, taking in the soft, fond smile on his face, “She’s cute. I was honestly worried that Rina might be a bit too much. She’s—if it’s not obvious already—the extroverted one between the two of us.”

“You talk to a lot of new people, though,” Haechan turns to look at you, “Quite confidently, too.”

“It comes with the job,” You shrug.

“Speaking of, it’s nice to meet outside of work, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you’re probably glad I’m not eating your ear off about saying the right things, no?” You joke, expecting him to laugh and retort. Instead, he looks slightly taken aback.

“No, I don’t mind it.” Haechan tells you, but when you shoot an unsure look, he continues, “I mean, at first it was a bit weird. You were all business, all the time. But then I got used to it... and now...” He trails off, his eyes flicking to yours before quickly looking away. “Now, I like having you around.”

Your pulse quickens, not expecting him to sound so serious. “Oh,” is all you manage to put out.

He seems to want to say something else when a burst of laughter from across the table catches your attention. Dahyun and Rina are completely lost in conversation, their heads bent close over Dahyun’s phone as they snicker at something.

“It’s kind of crazy how we’re both at the same place, if you think about it.” Haechan scoffs, smiling at them, “And crazy how they’re getting along. So random.”

“I’m pretty sure I overheard them exchanging numbers too.” You giggle, “Guess it was just meant to be.” You glance at him.

Haechan’s gaze is already on you, his eyes softening, “Yeah, maybe it was.”

You’re not sure who looks away first when the moment is broken by Dahyun.

“Oh! The love locks!” she exclaims, her eyes bright as she turns to Haechan. “We’re going after this, right?”

Haechan sighs, “Yeah, yeah.”

Dahyun beams, turning to Rina. “There’s this bridge nearby where couples put locks on the railings and throw the key into the river. It’s supposed to be, like, a forever thing. Isn’t that cute?”

Rina’s eyes widen with excitement. “That’s adorable! We should put one too,” She looks at you.

You laugh, “Hey, you can’t get rid of me. We’re already sisters forever, or whatever.”

“Still,” She insists.

“Oh my god,” Dahyun gasps, “We should all put one together! Like... as a memory of today!”

Her words hang in the air. All of you? Together? Your eyes flick to Haechan only to find him already looking at you. His expression is unreadable, his gaze lingering just a little too long before he looks away, a small smile playing on his lips.

Rina claps her hands excitedly. “That’s such a cute idea! And we can write the date on it too!” She turns to you, her eyes sparkling. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

You hesitate, feeling strangely shy. “I mean... yeah, I guess that could be cute.”

Haechan leans back in his chair, his arm resting casually on the back of yours. “You sure? Thought you’d think it's cheesy.”

You scoff but your lips curve up anyways.

It’s just a lock. It’s just a silly little tradition, you try convincing yourself.

But the thought won’t leave your mind. The image of writing on that lock, snapping it in place on the bridge... standing next to Haechan, side by side, surrounded by hundreds of other locks glinting in the sun. You can almost feel the warmth of his shoulder against yours, hear his soft laughter as you fumble with the key. It’s silly. Completely unrealistic. But the thought makes your chest flutter all the same.

“Okay!” Dahyun announces, breaking you out of your thoughts. “It’s settled then. We’re all getting one!”

She looks so excited that you can’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright. I’m in.”

“To be fair,” you turn to Haechan as you get up from your seat, slipping your arms into your coat, “This seems like the kind of thing you’d call cheesy too.”

He shrugs, helping you pull the sleeve as you struggle with your left arm, “Yeah, but it’s different if it’s with you.”

You freeze. His eyes are bright, reflecting the golden afternoon light. You don’t see the playful spark in them that’s present whenever he pulls pranks on his engineers and mechanics. Are you just imagining it, or does he look the most sincere you’ve ever seen him?

You tear your gaze away, clearing your throat, “What is that even supposed to mean?”

He laughs, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “C’mon, let’s catch up before they leave us behind.”

Without a second thought, he holds out his hand to you, palm open and waiting. You try not to stare, hesitating for a moment before slipping your hand into his. 

Haechan’s fingers curl around yours, slowly, maybe a little unsure now that he’s already done it. You lose your breath at the way it feels so right.

For the first time, as he leads the two of you out, you stop trying to convince yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. Right now, it’s starting to feel like everything.

SINGAPORE, MARINA BAY STREET CIRCUIT

Thursday, Media day October 2nd

Haechan walks out of the meeting room with a lot more on his shoulders than he had walking into it an hour ago. There's a sense of finality, excitement in him as he peeps into the corridor, wondering where you are. At the same time, it feels like the biggest burden ever. Six years he's prepared for this, fought for this and now that the weekend is already here, he is overwhelmed beyond words. Even though he's known that it's been coming this entire season, even though he came close to it last year, Haechan realizes that no matter how many times it happens, he might never get used to it.

He sees you walking towards him, turning into the corridor he's in. Your eyes are stuck on your tablet, strides long and in a rush.

He realizes you're the first one he's going to tell. It's electrifying.

You come to a stop in front of him, beginning to greet him when he stops you by putting both his hands on your shoulders. His hand shakes a little and you notice it.

“Are you alright? Do you feel si-”

“They said I could win the championship this weekend.” 

Haechan watches as you smile, like you already knew. Do you?

Your smile grows, “I know! I just got the news. The press will probably ask you about it.” 

He leans against the wall, hand coming up to his heart, “I can't believe it, honestly.”

“You can do this!” You grin, “I'm so happy for you, genuinely. Finishing the championship with like 6 more races left is crazy and you're so close to it.”

“You think I can do it?” Usually Haechan asks such questions when he's completely confident and digging for compliments, but today you know he really means it.

“I believe in you, come on.” You drag him, “You will be fine. Right now, there's a press conference to get to.”

“You're going in with Seungcheol, Doyoung and Jeonghan.” You inform him as you leave the hospitality and head towards the FIA building. “They will definitely ask you about the drivers championship and since Choi is also there, there'll be questions about the constructors too. There's no need to make digs at anyone right now, so be careful.”

“What do I tell them if they ask about the drivers championship? Fuck, I really don't know what to say.” He sighs, shaking his head, “It feels kind of unreal.”

“It's better to play it safe right now. I'm sure that this weekend decides if you're going to be champion, not Jaehyun, right? So even if you don't win here you don't have to be too worried. Don't freak out so much. You only have to tell them that you're focusing on the race here. There's no need to commit to anything beyond that.” You bite your lip, “Honestly Haechan, you'll be fine. Say what comes to your mind, just don't sound overconfident, alright?”

He nods. You give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder as the two of you enter the conference room. You'll be sitting behind the reporters, right there. He has nothing to be worried about.

The moderator begins to speak as Haechan sits down next to Seungcheol, “Good afternoon everyone. Welcome to the FIA driver's press conference ahead of the Singapore Grand Prix. Joining us today, on my right we have Doyoung from Mercedes, Jeonghan from Williams, Seungcheol from Ferrari and Haechan from Red Bull.”

The first few questions from the moderator are directed towards the other three, with Jeonghan answering questions about how it's getting more competitive in the midfield right now, to Doyoung talking about the problems he's been facing with the car as of late. The next question, though, goes to Seungcheol.

“Seungcheol, Ferrari are in contention against Red Bull for both the Driver's and the Constructors’ Championship, and it seems the team’s focus has shifted more towards Jaehyun’s title fight. How are you balancing supporting the team’s goals with pursuing your own results this weekend?” The moderator asks.

Haechan can tell it ticks off the man beside him.

“The team’s goal is to secure the best possible result in the Constructors’ Championship, and I’m fully committed to contributing to that. Jaehyun’s in the title fight, and it makes sense for Ferrari to back him. But that doesn’t mean I’m just here to play support. I’m still a competitor, and I’m racing for myself too. My focus is on maximizing my own performance, and if that helps the team, then that’s a win-win.” Seungcheol asserts before setting his mic down.

“Thank you, Seungcheol. Moving on to our championship contender. Haechan, you have a chance to secure the driver's championship this weekend. How are you managing the pressure of that possibility, especially at a track as challenging as Singapore?”

Haechan clears his throat, “Yeah, I mean I'd be lying if I said there was no pressure. But it's a part of the job. I've learned that the moment you start thinking too ahead, you lose focus of what's in front of you right now. So I'm trying to take this entire weekend one step at a time. Singapore is a tough track, nothing's guaranteed. I'm going to approach it like any other race. Try to give my best. If it happens, it does. Otherwise we keep pushing.”

The moderator nods, “Well, all the very best to you. We'll now open the floor to questions from the media.”

A journalist in the first row stands up, “My question is for Haechan.”

“Hello,” Haechan smiles, earning polite laughter from the journalists.

“Both Seungcheol and Doyoung have been in your position before. Have you sought any advice from them on handling the pressure of a title decider?”

“I mean,” Haechan laughs a little, “Not really? I've seen first hand how they've handled it and that in itself has been sort of a lesson. But at the end of the day, all drivers experience things differently and deal with things differently. But who knows, maybe I should ask them.” He turns to look at the two world champions sitting near him.

Seungcheol throws a small smile, “You'd have to ask nicely.”

Haechan rolls his eyes at this, playfully poking the inside of his mouth with his tongue in mock irritation.

Doyoung laughs along with the rest of the room before speaking, “Honestly, with the way he's been driving this season, I wouldn't say he needs our advice.”

The next journalist stands up with a question for Seungcheol.

“There have been rumors going around since Monza that you might be in the talks of leaving Ferrari. Do you have anything to comment on about that?”

“Rumors are just that—rumors. Nothing is confirmed till you hear it from me. Right now, I'm focused on the constructors. Anything beyond that, we will talk when the time comes.” He says with an air of finality, giving the hint that he will not entertain more questions about this.

—

Lee Haechan (RB): Can you wait for me? I'm almost out of debriefing We're going to the same place anyways, I'll drive you [20:29]

You: stalker much? I'm in front of the Ferrari hospitality. [20:34]

Lee Haechan (RB): More like I saw you leaving in the morning Where are youuuu [20:36]

“Hey,” Haechan greets as he walks up to you.

You take his arrival as an excuse to leave, bidding farewell to Jaehyun's PR manager.

“God, you came at the right time, really.” You groan as the two of you walk into the parking lot.

“Why? She's that bad?”

“Don't even get me started,” You let out, exasperated, “I pity Jaehyun, honestly.”

Haechan lets out an offended noise as he opens the door of his car for you. You slip inside, too preoccupied with your thoughts to notice the gesture. When he gets into the driver's seat, he sighs.

“You can't pity my competitors, come on. Unless it's because of what's coming for them.” He jokes.

You sigh, swatting his arm, “No that's not it. She's weirdly really open with whatever is going on at their team. I think if we’d stayed a few more minutes she would’ve straight up started talking about the contract situations in Ferrari.”

“My first PR manager was like that too. And I think because I was a lot younger, he thought he could just control me and boss me around.” Haechan exhales as he drives out of the gates. 

It makes you bristle. “I hate people like that, honestly. Like you’ve got one job, it’s really not that hard to stick to it while being a nice person too.”

Haechan hums, nodding his head. 

“You know, thinking back on it, she was like that in college too. Never knew how to keep things to herself. She had this grand nickname— The Leaky Faucet.”

It makes him laugh. You can’t help but stare at him while he drives. He looks like he feels better than he did in the morning, his shoulders are more relaxed and his head gently moves to the beat of the song playing on the radio. The soft, dim glow of the dashboard makes his features look softer and more innocent.

You look away before he can catch you gazing. “Is the hotel far from the track? I didn’t really have the time to notice it in the morning.”

“Nah,” Haechan glances at you for a moment before focusing on the road again, “We’ll be there in like five minutes. Come to think of it, this is the first time you’re sitting in a car that I’m driving.”

You gasp, “Wow, it is! I’d give you a 4.8 rating out of 5.”

“Where did the 0.2 go?” He scoffs.

You sigh, sinking back into the seat, gazing outside the window at the Marina Bay Sands hotel outside, forever illuminated. “Nowhere. I need to keep your ego in check.”

“You wound me,” He says, making you laugh at the way it sounds so monotone, “By the way, I called my parents up today and they were so excited, I’m pretty sure they already booked tickets to fly in for tomorrow.”

You coo at that, unable to stop your lips from smiling, “That’s great! It’s insane honestly. I mean, you’ve probably heard it from so many people already, but I’m truly very excited for you.”

He pulls into the hotel entrance, shaking his head towards the valet to let him know that he’ll park the car himself. Looking back at you, he smiles. “Thanks pretty.”

If his words didn’t make your breath hitch, you’d be rolling your eyes right now, fighting the urge to pull him by the ears. Too bad you actually fucking like the stupid guy.

“Dahyun’s coming too, I think,” Haechan mumbles as he backs into a parking spot. He does it with only one hand, the other resting casually on the center console. He does it with so much ease that you have to blink a few times to snap out of your thoughts. The effortless way he controls the car, barely glancing at the mirrors, makes you wonder how many times he’s done this before. There’s something undeniably attractive about how relaxed and composed he is. You remind yourself that he’s a driver, for god sake. It would be concerning if he didn’t know how to park well.

“I honestly think she’s more excited to see you than see me win.” Haechan speaks again as he turns the ignition off, turning his body sideways to look at you.

Although you scoff, your heart warms at the thought of his sister liking you, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Believe what you will,” He shrugs, “I’m telling the truth, though.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you. For a second, you let yourself savour the idea of being more involved in his world.

“You’re exaggerating, Haechan. But do tell her I’ll be happy to see her as well.” You say, getting out of the car. He follows you, gently shutting the door before locking it behind him.

As the elevator doors close, Haechan speaks up again. “I'm glad you two like each other, honestly. Hope your sister doesn't mind me either.”

You're about to laugh it off and tell him that Rina would love him anyways when the first part of his sentence hits you. A part of you wants to ask him why, wants to put a name on this, wants everything cleared up. The other part wants to let everything die down before you address anything.

Tonight, you ask anyway, sure that you'll regret whatever answer you hear from him. Both your rooms are coincidentally on the 25th floor giving you plenty of time to talk if you must.

“Haechan,” You begin, carefully, “Really, what do you mean by that?”

He looks at you properly, turning his entire body towards you. 

Haechan thinks you feel the same way that he does. Although you're professional most of the time, he's noticed the way you blush or look away when he throws something flirty at you. He's noticed the way you've become much more comfortable with him, the way you don't seem to mind how close you've become. The lines between coworkers and friends had been erased a while ago, but the line between friends and a little something more lies there in the space between you two, stretching long and thick. He wants to bend over it, hold your hand and jump onto your side to erase that too. He's just not sure if tonight is the night. So he makes himself, and hopefully you, a promise.

“Sunday,” He finally says, sounding a little short of breath but determined nonetheless, “I promise we’ll talk about this on Sunday, after the race.”

You nod. In a way you are relieved, but now that you know you're going to hear something from him, it keeps you on your toes. 

When the two of you get off the elevator on the 25th floor, Haechan stops you by grabbing your hand. You glance at it for a second and it makes him take his hand off. You wish you could tell him that you would rather him not do that.

“I hope this doesn't make it awkward between us for the next few days.” Haechan admits, looking down as he shuffles from one foot onto the other.

“Of course not,” You furrow your eyebrows, “It won't, don't worry.”

Your rooms are on two different ends of the corridor, so he shyly bids you goodbye and promises to leave only after he sees you go inside. You can't help the butterflies that rise in your stomach as you turn on your heels to go back to your room. You don't dare to turn back. You don't know if you can control yourself if you do.

—

Saturday, qualifying October 4th

“Welcome back to a crucial qualifying session here under the bright lights of the Marina Bay Circuit! We’re in for a tense evening, and one of the biggest stories heading into this weekend is Lee Haechan’s grid penalty. After taking a fresh energy store, the Red Bull driver will drop ten places from wherever he qualifies today.” 

“Yeah, and that’s a big blow for him. He’s got the chance to walk away with the driver’s championship this weekend, and on a track like Singapore, which is notoriously difficult on the drivers, that’s going to be a tough hill to climb on race day.”

Usually, you don’t sit through qualifying. There are more important things to do back at the hospitality. Articles to overview, media obligations to manage, last-minute preparations for whatever chaos might unfold post-session. But tonight is different. The Red Bull garage is packed, not just with the engineers and strategists and mechanics but with most of the crew that usually don’t attend. It’s an important qualifying that leads to an important day for not just Haechan but the entire team. The last time Red Bull had a world champion on their hands was a long time ago. 

His family is here too, in one of the corners of the garage where there are normal televisions to watch the qualifying. You see Dahyun wave at you and smile in return. You can’t walk up to her right now, but you’d already met her earlier in the day when her mother and her had stopped by the hospitality to grab a coffee before heading down to the garage during FP3. 

You turn your attention back to the screen when you see Haechan roll out of the garage for his first run. The RB21 glows under the artificial lights as he leaves the pitlane. 

“Out lap now. Track conditions look stable. Let’s build into it.”

“Copy.” Haechan responds. 

He’s worried. 

This grid penalty just had to fall on the weekend that mattered the most and there’s nothing he can do to even protest against it because it’s the team’s decision, and because it was done to maximise his performance this weekend in the first place.

As Haechan begins his outlap, he pushes the penalty out of his mind. He needs to focus on getting pole. It’s the only way he can lessen the damage. 

On the bright side, the car feels good under him. He approaches the corners confidently and the car is well balanced, taking the high speed straights well. Maybe the new energy stores were a good decision after all.

You watch as the first times come in. Doyoung sets the benchmark, a 1:35.982. Jeno follows, then Seungcheol. The screen flickers as sector times update, and you feel the tension build as Haechan’s name lights up purple in Sector 1. 

He’s faster than Doyoung by a tenth in sector 1. As Haechan approaches Sector 2, you’re on edge. If he can stay ahead here, sector 3 won’t be too hard. The screen flickers, and there it is—another purple. Faster than Doyoung again.

"Yes!" someone mutters under their breath. You can’t help but feel a surge of pride, even though it’s far from over. 

He hits the final stretch, and you watch as the seconds increase. The timing screens update, but this time, it's Haechan’s name that dominates. A 1:34.926. Purple across the board.

The garage erupts. The engineers shout in excitement, high-fiving each other. The team principal gives a nod of approval, but his focus is already on what’s next. Haechan’s provisional pole doesn’t guarantee anything yet, but it’s a damn good start.

The team radio crackles on Haechan’s side, “Mega job, Haechan. Mega. You can head in if you’d like.”

Haechan doesn’t have room to be satisfied with his performance. He will not, until he has a clear lead over the others. He wants to push, see how much more than a second he can go. Plus, Singapore is a track where the grip increases with more rubber lay-down.

“I’ll stay out.”

After a slow, recharge lap, the team watches as he winds up for another flying lap. It’s a gamble, his tires will have lost some of their peak performance, but if he nails the lap, it won’t matter.

“Alright, you’re clear,” his race engineer says. “Push now.”

Haechan’s first sector is clean and precise. He shaves off time where he can and maneuvers through the corners perfectly. Then comes sector 2. The garage watches as he approaches Turn 14, braking even later than before. The car responds sharply. The rear wobbles, side pods almost grazing the wall, so close that for a moment, everyone in the garage holds their breath. It’s the kind of moment where, if he gets it wrong, that’s the lap over.

But Haechan doesn’t lift. Doesn’t hesitate.

“That’s a purple sector 2. Doing good, push harder if possible.”

“I’m trying, man,” Haechan grits out. He’s already wringing every bit of performance out of the car.

He storms through sector 3, showing insane speed on the straights. You think that the people back at the factory who are most definitely watching right now, deserve to be really proud of themselves.

When Haechan crosses the line again, the times update.

1:34:582.

“What’s the gap?”

A beat of silence, then his engineer’s voice,“P1 by 1.4 seconds. You can box, box.”

And that is pole position occupied for the rest of quali, you think, unable to help the grin on your face as you watch his family celebrate.

The pitlane is still buzzing as the final cars complete their laps, but no one comes close. Haechan’s time remains untouchable. One by one, the names shuffle on the board, but his stays on top.

When the session ends, confirmation comes through. “Session over, P1 confirmed,” his engineer tells him. “We’ll start P10 tomorrow. Lots of work to do but good job, you did your best.”

Haechan knows it too. He climbs out of the car, removes his helmet, and though his face is calm, you know him well enough to see the flicker of frustration behind his eyes. Pole position means nothing when you have to give it up.

He barely has a moment to breathe before his family surrounds him, his mother pulling him into a tight hug before he can even react. He stumbles back a step, but his hands come up instinctively, resting on her back as she murmurs something only he can hear. Whatever frustration was lingering in his posture melts just slightly, replaced by something softer. 

Dahyun grins beside them, waiting for their mother to let go before nudging Haechan in the ribs. “Fastest man on track,” she teases. “Shame you’re not starting there.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, but there’s the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he wants to be annoyed but can’t help himself. His father claps him on the shoulder, saying something about how he drove well regardless, and for a moment, the tension of the session is forgotten.

You hesitate a few steps away, watching the scene unfold. You don’t usually get involved in moments like these. They’re personal, belonging to the drivers and their families, not to you. You know when to blend into the background, to let them have their time. But you also know when to step in, because there’s still a job to do.

Still, approaching feels different this time.

Adjusting the collar of your team polo shirt, you take a breath before stepping forward.

“Haechan,” you say, voice level, “we need to head to the media pen soon.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, eyes flicking to you before he gestures for you to come closer. “Oh, right—Dad, Mom, this is my PR rep,” he says casually, “She makes sure I don’t say anything that’ll get me fined.”

His father chuckles, holding out his hand, “Well, that must be a full time job.”

You shake it firmly, offering a small smile, “Some weekends more than the others. But he’s fine.”

“We appreciate it,” his mother says warmly. “This one can be a handful.”

Haechan groans, throwing his head back as he sets his helmet on the table, “Come on, I’m really not that bad, she said it herself!”

He turns to you, “Can we please leave before they say something that would actually look like I’m a PR liability?”

You laugh at that, smiling and nodding at his family before you leave behind him.

The paddock is still alive and will be for a few more hours to come. Mechanics start packing up, Jeno’s side practices a pit-stop, engineers bent over their data. Haechan walks ahead, his pace unhurried. He doesn’t look particularly frustrated, but you can tell the result is still sitting with him.

“You’re quiet,” you say as you catch up.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just thinking.”

“You drove well.”

He hums, “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It could’ve been worse,” You point out, “You’ve done all that you could have.”

He sighs softly. “Yeah. Still feels shit, though.”

You don’t have anything to say to that.

The media pen is bright and waiting. You can see the other drivers and their representatives and trainers hanging around the area, probably waiting for their turn or coming out after finishing. The journalists wait, cameras and mics ready.

Haechan breathes in deeply, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly before falling back to his side. Then, with barely a pause, he steps forward, and you follow.

—

The hotel is quieter than expected when you walk in. It’s a little late, but you did expect to see at least a few people from the team in the lobby. You step into the elevator, pressing your floor number before leaning back against the wall, already half distracted by your phone.

The doors are just about to close when a hand slides in between them.

Haechan.

He steps inside, the doors shutting behind him. You blink, caught off guard. It’s late. Too late for him to just be getting back.

“You’re back now?” you ask, brows furrowing.

He leans against the railing on the glass back-wall, hands stuffed into his hoodie’s pockets, eyes trained on the floor. “Meetings went on forever. The debrief was long and there’s a lot to do tomorrow.”

You nod to yourself. Of course there is.

“What about you though?” Haechan looks up, “Why were you down so late?”

“I went to dinner with a friend,” You shrug.

“How was it?” He hums before looking up at the floor that the elevator stops on. 16. Someone gets on and you step behind, closer to him.

“It was fine,” You reply, a little softer, “Did you eat?”

Haechan nods.

“In your dressing room like a lonely little kid?”

“I didn’t feel like sitting with anyone. Everyone’s just going to talk about strategy and I felt like I was going to lose my mind.”

The person gets off on floor 19.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask softly. He can feel your stare on him, but it doesn’t feel harsh or expecting.

“It’s been a while since I’ve mentally dreaded a race this much.” Haechan sighs, looking at his shoes again, “It’s going to be really hard. Singapore always is, but with this championship hanging on the line, it’s going to be worse.”

You shift, leaning against the railing beside him. “Yeah,” you say, because what else is there? He already knows what tomorrow is. He doesn’t need you to tell him he’ll be fine, or that he can do it. He just needs to say it out loud.

He exhales, pressing his lips together. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”

“If it makes any difference, I don’t think you will.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You sound confident.”

“Someone has to be.”

That pulls a quiet laugh out of him. His fingers rake through his hair, messing it up worse than it already was. “I’m supposed to sleep properly tonight, but I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open. You step out first, Haechan falling into step beside you. When he doesn’t say anything else, you pause, looking back at him. He’s still stuck in his own head.

Before you can think too much about it, you step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down slightly.

You feel him tense for a second, like he wasn’t expecting it. Then, slowly, he exhales, his shoulders dropping as he leans into you. His hands come up hesitantly, resting against your back before wrapping around your waist. 

He sighs when you gently rub your palms up and down his back and it sends a chill down your spine. Haechan is warm and soft and smells like fabric softener. His grip tightens, just slightly, like he doesn’t want to let go yet. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and for a second, the weight he’s been carrying all weekend seems to melt away. His body molds easily against yours, the space between you completely gone, like this is exactly where he needed to be without realizing it.

“You’re good at this,” he mumbles, voice low and muffled against your shoulder.

You huff out a small laugh. “At what?”

He shifts, his chin grazing your shoulder. “Making things feel less bad.”

—

Sunday, Race Day October 5th

“Welcome to race day here in Singapore,” the commentary plays in the background. “Today, there’s more than just a race win at stake. For the first time in the track’s history, it may see a driver crowned world champion tonight. Red Bull’s Lee Haechan has a chance to clinch the 2025 World Championship at the Marina Bay Circuit.”

A slow pan across the grid shows the top ten, cars lined up in neat formation, waiting. 

“But it won’t be easy,” the commentator continues. “After taking a grid penalty for a new energy store, Haechan starts tenth, meaning he’ll need to fight his way through the field if he wants to leave here as champion.”

“There’s more,” His co-commentator picks up. “He needs to finish in the top two, and Jaehyun who is still mathematically in the fight, must finish P4 or lower. If that happens, the title is his.”

The team is gathered around his car, making final adjustments. His race engineer says something to him, but Haechan only half listens, nodding out of habit. He already knows what he needs to do.

“And let’s not forget—his teammate, Jeno, starts from P3,” the broadcast continues. “He’s not in the championship fight, but he could be a major factor today, whether that’s helping Red Bull control strategy or playing a defensive role later in the race.”

Haechan exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders back as the national anthem begins. He stands among the other drivers, hands clasped in front of him, eyes fixed straight ahead. He barely hears the music. His mind is already in the race.

There’s no point overthinking now. He’s already run through every scenario, every risk, every move he needs to make. All that’s left is to drive.

As the anthem ends, the grid stirs back to life. Mechanics move around him, engineers making last-minute checks. He reaches for his balaclava, adjusting his gloves, but just before he pulls it on, his eyes flick toward the front row.

Jaehyun’s had a bad qualifying, so Haechan thinks that at least he had a little luck on his side as he watches the former get into his Ferrari standing at P6.

Jeno’s car sits in P3, just ahead of the chaos Haechan will have to navigate.

Jeno is already getting ready, helmet on, listening to his engineer. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t have to.

Haechan knows he’ll be there when it counts.

He exhales, pulling his helmet on. The engineer beside him pats his back.

"Let’s do this."

The grid clears. Engineers step back, mechanics rush off, the final checks are done. Haechan is in the car, helmet on, visor down. You put your earplugs back in as the roar of all twenty engines amplifies, getting ready for the formation lap.

You should be thinking about the media responsibilities that will come if he wins, if he loses, if something goes wrong. That’s your job. That’s what you always do.

But right now, none of that matters.

Right now, all you can think about is him.

Everything he’s worked for. The pressure he’s carried. The way he refuses to let himself enjoy the good moments because there’s always something more to chase. The way he overthinks, the way he drives like he’s got something to prove, the way he wants this more than anything.

Your fingers tighten, nails digging into your palm.

You want this for him. So badly it makes your chest ache. 

Dahyun stands next to you, palms pressed together beneath her chin. She doesn’t talk. For all the teasing and affection she shows for her brother, she understands this moment isn’t one for words.

You glance at her briefly, catching the way her eyes stay locked on the screen, unblinking. There’s no joke poised on the tip of her tongue, no playful jab about how dramatic all of this feels. Just quiet, unspoken hope.

The two of you stand there, side by side, a little away from her parents, watching as the cars snake through the final sector. The pit wall is alive with movement, engineers murmuring into headsets, strategists making their final calculations. But none of it feels real. Not the voices murmuring in the garage, not the bustling of the mechanics as they settle down, just the car marked with the number 66, rolling into position on the grid.

Dahyun lets out a breath, barely audible. You don’t realize you’ve been holding yours until you exhale, too.

Haechan pulls into his slot. The rest of the field follows.

The engines rev louder than before. The first light flickers on.

Haechan’s grip on his wheel tightens. His hands stay still, his breathing steady.

Two.

The tension in your chest coils tighter. The grid is motionless, waiting, but the air feels electric, charged with everything that’s about to happen.

Three.

Haechan’s foot hovers over the throttle. The start will make or break his race.

Four.

Your palms feel sweaty. It feels like everything is balancing on the edge of a knife.

Five.

Make it count, Haechan thinks.

The lights hold. For a second, and then another.

Then, they go out.

Haechan gets a start so good it almost doesn’t seem real.

The second the lights go out, he’s moving—reaction time faster than most of the midfield teams, his car shooting forward while others hesitate for a split second too long. Before they even reach Turn 1, he’s already ahead of one, then another, slipping into the gaps before they close.

“He’s off to a flying start, already gaining places down the straight!”

The onboard feed flickers, his hands steady, engine roaring as he picks off another car before the braking zone. The midfield is tight, but he’s making space where there shouldn’t be any.

“He’s up to eighth already!”

The next car ahead is slower, leaving the inside open just enough. Haechan takes it without hesitation, braking later and edging forward as they go side by side through the corner. For a second, it looks like the Alpine will hold him off, but Haechan keeps his car planted, forcing him wide on exit.

“Nicely done! That’s seventh!”

The camera shifts, showing the cars funneling through the first corners, the Red Bull slicing through cleanly.

The field begins to stretch out as the front row cars start pulling away, but the midfield is still clustered together, the gaps tight. Haechan is right in the middle of it, eyes fixed ahead, mind already calculating the next move.

“He’s closing in,” commentary picks up. “He’s looking for another place.”

His Red Bull is practically glued to the car in front, catching on the straights, losing slightly in the slower corners. He needs to be patient. The driver ahead knows he’s there. One wrong move could ruin everything.

Haechan waits. The dirty air makes the car slide slightly through the high-speed turn, but he corrects it instinctively. It doesn’t shake him. He’s done this a hundred times before.

And then it happens. A small mistake, a hesitation on the throttle, a loss of momentum. Haechan doesn’t wait.

“He’s making a move! Down the inside!”

You barely realize you’ve shifted forward, hands pressed together, breath held. The car ahead squeezes him, forcing him tighter to the inside line, but he holds firm, braking just late enough to slip ahead.

“He’s through! That’s P6 for Haechan!”

The cars behind him start to grow smaller in his mirrors.

Haechan doesn’t need confirmation. He can feel it in the clean air stretching ahead. The midfield is behind him now. No more defending. No more fighting for scraps.

Now, he hunts.

His race engineer’s voice crackles through the radio. “Gap to P5, 3.8 seconds. We’re in a good window. Start pushing.”

“Pace is strong,” the engineer comes back. “You’re faster than the cars ahead.”

Good.

The numbers on his wheel flicker, confirming what he already knows. The gap is shrinking.

Another lap. Another sector. Another second gone.

The laps start blending together.

From Haechan’s perspective, the race has settled for now. No fights, no wheel-to-wheel battles, just the steady determination of closing a gap.

“Gap to P5, 1.6 seconds,” his race engineer updates. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Jaehyun is right there.

Haechan doesn’t need an engineer telling him the gap. He can see the Ferrari ahead, steady, controlled, the same way it’s been all season. The same team that spent last year pushing him to the limit, waiting for him to crack.

But not this time.

Mathematically, Jaehyun is still in it. He’s over a hundred points behind, but as long as the title isn’t clinched today, he still has a chance. He’s holding on, dragging this battle out for as long as he can.

But Haechan isn’t interested in waiting.

His grip on the wheel tightens, the tension settling deep in his chest. The car is working under him, the balance just right. He doesn’t have to overthink it. He just has to keep closing.

"Gap to Jaehyun, 1.4 seconds," his race engineer says.

In the garage, your hands are pressed together, fingers locked tight, knuckles stiff. You’re not praying, but it feels close to it.

The energy around you is suffocating. No one is talking, no one is moving. The mechanics are barely breathing, eyes fixed on the monitors. You can’t take your eyes off the screen. The energy is different now. This isn’t just about moving up the order anymore. This is the championship fight, laid out in front of you, two cars, two drivers, one of them about to take everything. He’s the last obstacle, the only thing keeping this title fight alive.

If Haechan doesn’t get past him, it all drags on. Another race. Another chance for Jaehyun to claw his way back.

Jaehyun isn’t making this easy.

Haechan knew he wouldn’t. Even with the championship slipping out of reach, Jaehyun isn’t the type to roll over. He’s still fighting, still defending, still forcing Haechan to work for every inch of track.

"Gap to Jaehyun, 0.8," his engineer calls. "You’re in DRS range."

Finally.

The Ferrari stays planted through the high-speed corners, Jaehyun’s placing the car exactly where it needs to be. No mistakes. No wasted movement. Haechan is faster, but faster isn’t enough.

He closes in on the straight, opens the rear wing, gains a few meters, but Jaehyun moves first, covering the inside, forcing Haechan to think twice.

You hold your breath as the onboard flickers on the screen. He’s close, but not close enough. Not yet.

Haechan tucks in behind him, barely lifting through the next corner, tires screaming for grip.

He waits.

Another straight. Another chance.

This time, he moves first.

A sharp flick to the outside, forcing Jaehyun to react and he does. Just a small shift, a split second of hesitation, enough for Haechan to dive back inside.

Side by side.

You can hear the mechanics shout out in encouragement, elbows on their knees as they bend forward in anticipation, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

They brake late, almost too late, tires locking, fighting for control. Jaehyun holds the line, refusing to back down, squeezing Haechan toward the curb but he doesn’t flinch.

He keeps his foot in. Holds his nerve.

For a second, they’re wheel to wheel, neither giving an inch.

Dahyun reaches out for your hand, her grip tight and lips muttering, “Please, please, please don’t touch.”

Then just before the next turn, Haechan edges ahead.

"He’s through! Haechan takes P5 ahead of the Ferrari! It’s an uphill battle now, to make it to P2 and make sure Jaehyun stays behind him.”

Dahyun jumps a little next to you, letting out a cry of relief. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding too. But it isn’t over yet. Not until Haechan sets a solid gap between him and Jaehyun.

Jaehyun is still there, still in his mirrors, still waiting for a mistake. And for a second, Haechan almost expects him to fight back immediately, to dive into the next braking zone and throw everything at it.

But he doesn’t.

The Ferrari stays close, but not aggressive. Not reckless. He guesses that this is the biggest difference between Jaehyun and his teammate.

The radio crackles. "Nice work. Let’s pull away now. Next car, 3.4 seconds ahead. How are the tyres feeling?"

Haechan exhales slowly, adjusting his grip on the wheel.

“Starting to wear, but I can hang on for a few more laps. Tell me when the Mercs and Ferrari pit.”

"Copy. We’ll keep you updated," his engineer responds.

Haechan doesn’t say anything after that, eyes locked on the road ahead. The Ferrari and Mercedes up front are still running strong, but their tires are wearing just as fast as his. The undercut is coming. He just doesn’t know when.

He settles into his rhythm, stretching the gap behind him little by little. Jaehyun is fading in his mirrors now, not close enough to be a threat but still there, lingering just out of reach. 

The radio comes back a lap later. "Ferrari in the pits."

Haechan exhales sharply, eyes flicking toward the pit lane as Seungcheol peels off early. That’s aggressive. Too early for pure tire strategy.

"He’s playing the team game," his engineer confirms. "Seungcheol could be pitting now to put pressure on Jeno. Joshua might try to hold you up."

Not because Mercedes is helping Ferrari, but because Joshua is racing for himself.

Haechan tightens his grip on the wheel. That’s a problem.

Joshua isn’t just going to let him through. And if he stays out too long, Haechan will get stuck behind him, wasting his tires while Seungcheol gains time on fresh rubber. If Red Bull reacts too late, Haechan could come out of the pits behind both of them.

No. That’s not happening.

"Stay out. We’ll extend and cover the overcut," his engineer tells him. "Let’s push now."

Fine. He can push.

Joshua is just up the road, P3 still in his grasp, but the Mercedes is holding position, taking defensive lines. He knows Haechan is coming. And he’s not going to make it easy.

Haechan exhales slowly. So this is how it’s going to be?

Ahead, Jeno still holds P2 and Doyoung leads the race. The fight up front hasn’t started yet, but the midfield is already shifting. One mistimed stop, one second lost, and everything could flip.

The radio crackles again. "Seungcheol is on hards. Jaehyun’s pit right after him. Jeno and Doyoung are still out."

And every lap spent behind Joshua is a lap lost to Seungcheol.

"Gap to Seungcheol, 19.3 seconds," the engineer calls. "They’re warming up the hards, let’s get past Joshua now."

Yeah. He knows.

The next straight is coming up. He tucks in behind, inching closer, feeling the slipstream pull him forward. DRS open. The Mercedes shifts slightly left, not a full move, just enough to discourage a late lunge.

Haechan lifts. Backs off.

Not yet.

In the garage, you feel the frustration creeping in. He’s fast enough to take the position. But every attempt costs time, and the gap behind is closing.

"Seungcheol is matching our pace," the engineer updates.

You feel a little sick.

Haechan has to go now.

He knows it, too. The moment he brakes into the next corner, his mind is already on the next opportunity. Joshua is covering the inside. Fine.

Haechan sets up wide and gets a better exit. If Joshua wants to defend, he’ll have to do it twice.

The next straight comes up fast.

This time, he doesn’t wait.

A sharp flick to the right, making it look like he’s going for the outside. Joshua shifts, just slightly, just enough—

And Haechan dives left instead.

Inside line. No time to react.

They’re side by side.

Joshua holds his ground, braking as late as he dares, keeping the nose of the Mercedes alongside but Haechan is already there, already committed, tires squealing as he forces the car through the corner.

There’s barely any space, but it’s enough.

Joshua tries to hang on, but the exit is compromised. Haechan is already ahead before the next turn.

"He’s through! Haechan into P3!"

The mechanics start falling into position, wheeling out the tyres. 

"Box, box," the engineer calls immediately. "We cover the undercut now. Let’s go."

It takes Haechan a split second to process it, his hands already moving.

"Understood."

Haechan dives into the pit lane, the speed limiter kicking in as he barrels toward his box.

The Red Bull crew is already waiting. The stop is fast. Clean. The car drops, the mechanics move  and Haechan launches back out onto the track.

"Good stop. You’re rejoining P7, ahead of Jaehyun."

He exhales, gripping the wheel tighter. That was the first hurdle. But Jaehyun is still there, still a threat. If he gets caught behind traffic now, that gap could disappear in seconds.

Back in the garage, the tension is barely contained.

The screens flicker, cameras shifting between pit exits and live timing. You don’t blink, don’t move, don’t realize how shallow your breathing has become until your chest starts to ache.

By the time the pit cycle is completed, the cars ahead disappearing into the pits to get fresher tyres on, Haechan is back to P3. 

“Jeno is pitting ahead of you, that is P2. He’s been told to stay back, so he will not chase you.” His engineer informs him.

Haechan barely acknowledges the call. He sees the Red Bull peeling off to the right, diving into the pit lane just as he flies past, officially taking P2.

But he doesn’t feel any relief.

The heat is suffocating.

His race suit clings to his skin, drenched in sweat. His gloves feel heavier, his grip on the wheel tighter than it should be. His mouth is dry, but drinking won’t help—the liquid in his drink packet is already warm because of the heat of the engine. He presses the drink button anyways, cringing once the warm water hits his tongue. 

He blinks hard, forcing himself to focus.

"Jeno is rejoining now… P3, just ahead of Joshua."

Good. That’s good. Jeno held out just long enough to help, but not long enough to ruin his own race.

But Haechan can’t think about that right now.

His breathing is heavier, his body dragging against the weight of the car. His shoulders burn from holding the wheel steady through every turn and his entire body hurts. So much. The exhaustion from all the pushing he’s done until now hits him as he finally comes up to a safe position.

“Where is Jaehyun?” he asks, voice rough, eyes flicking to the lap board.

Lap 61.

Two more. Just two more and it’s done.

The radio crackles back. “P6. He’s not a threat.”

He exhales sharply, but it doesn’t feel like relief. Not yet.

In the garage, no one talks. No one moves. The only sound is the low hum of the monitors, the voices over the team radios, the distant roar of the cars.

Your nails dig into your palms, but you don’t even feel it anymore. Lap 61. Two more to go.

You glance sideways at Dahyun. Her hands are clasped so tightly together that her knuckles are white. She hasn’t spoken since the last pit stops, her usual excitement replaced with something quieter, more anxious.

She exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but it’s breathless. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

You don’t answer. Because so do you.

Over the course of the race, Haechan’s parents have come to stand near you two. His mother holds onto his dad. You think she’s praying.

The camera flickers to Haechan’s onboard. His hands are stiff on the wheel, no wasted movement, but you can see it now—the exhaustion. The way his shoulders don’t sit as steady. The way his breathing is heavier through the radio.

The commentators pick up on it, too.

"He’s done everything right today, but you can see the toll it’s taking now. The heat, the intensity, the pressure, it’s all hitting at once."

Dahyun shifts beside you, biting her lip. "Come on, Haechan," she mutters under her breath.

Lap 62. The last one

He’s almost there.

The moment the lap board flashes past, Haechan’s breathing quickens.

One more. Just one more.

Everything hurts. His arms feel leaden, his fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tightly, his head is pounding.

But the finish line is right there, only one lap away.

“Final lap, Haechan,” his engineer says, voice measured, but he knows they feel it too.

He barely acknowledges it, eyes locked on the road ahead. Doyoung is too far ahead to catch, and Jeno is holding P3. The positions won’t change. It’s just him and the track now.

The crowd is deafening, even through his helmet. He can see the lights flashing from the grandstands, the energy building as he weaves through the final corners.

In the garage, you can’t breathe.

He hasn’t crossed the line yet, but the mechanics are already getting up from their seats to run to the pitwall. There’s not much to go wrong here.

The numbers on the screens blur together, and everything else—the people around you, the cameras, the noise—fades into the background. It’s just him on the monitor, his car flying through the final sector, the realization slowly, finally sinking in.

Dahyun has stopped fidgeting, but her hands are still clasped so tightly together that it looks painful.

He’s almost there.

The final corners. The final turns.

You remember the moment you were told that you’d be his PR rep for this season. It wasn’t meant to be anything special. Just another job, another person to manage, another year of handling media schedules and press conferences. You weren’t supposed to care.

But then the season started.

And you watched him race. You watched the way he carried himself, the way he fought for every position like it was the only thing that mattered, the way he never let himself get too comfortable, the way he refused to believe it was his until the numbers made it undeniable.

You’ve seen him exhausted, frustrated, drowning under the pressure. You’ve heard him at his most bitter, his most doubtful, when he let the weight of it all slip through the cracks.

And you’ve watched him get back in the car every single time.

Now, he’s almost done it. World Champion.

You don’t even realize your fingers are trembling until the moment his car crosses the line.

“He’s done it! Haechan finishes second with Jaehyun at P5, and with that— Lee Haechan is the 2025 World Champion!” The commentator exclaims.

The garage erupts.

Mechanics leap into each other’s arms, engineers cheering into headsets, the pit wall exploding into celebration. Somewhere behind you, someone is yelling, but all you can do is stare at the monitor, at the car with number 66 rolling past the checkered flag.

Dahyun lets out something between a laugh and a sob, hands flying to her mouth before she hugs you tightly. You swallow hard as you hug her back, unable to hold back the grin on your face. It’s an overwhelming kind of relief, not sharp, not explosive, just deep, sinking into your bones, settling in the way you hadn’t let yourself feel until now.

The crowd outside is deafening.

The cheers flood through Haechan’s radio. His engineer’s voice cracks with emotion. Someone from the pit wall is already yelling his name.

But all Haechan does is exhale.

His hands are still locked on the wheel. His arms are trembling, his body aching in ways he doesn’t have the energy to acknowledge yet.

It’s over.

And all he can think about is how long it’s taken.

Every year, every setback, every time he thought he was close only to watch it slip away. Every grueling season where it felt like no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough.

But this time, it was.

His vision blurs—not from exhaustion, not from sweat—just pure, overwhelming relief.

He breathes in. Breathes out. 

Sees the World Champion board where there should’ve been a P2 in parc fermé. 

When he parks, he finally lets go of the steering wheel, slumping into his seat. 

Jeno is the first to walk over, patting his helmet, his voice muffled but warm. Haechan barely processes it, only catching fragments—"Proud of you, man." Doyoung bends down next, saying something he can’t quite comprehend. The words don’t matter. He knows what they mean.

He nods, hands shaking as he reaches up, pulling off his gloves, his helmet, his balaclava. The rush of cooler air hitting his face is almost dizzying.

The moment he’s free of it, his eyes lift toward the barrier.

His team is there. All of them.

The mechanics, the engineers, the people who have been with him through every season, every late-night debrief, every painful loss. His mother, standing close to his father, hands pressed together as if she can barely believe it. His sister, bouncing on her heels, already reaching over the barrier.

And you.

Haechan doesn’t think. Doesn’t stop.

He moves on instinct, throwing himself out of the cockpit, barely registering his own exhaustion as his legs hit the ground.

And then, he runs.

Straight to them.

The second he reaches the barrier, the arms are already there, grabbing, pulling, holding. Someone ruffles his hair, someone yells his name, but he barely registers who is who. He just knows that this is his team, his people, and they’re all here.

Dahyun is the first to properly reach him, throwing her arms around him, squeezing tight. His mother is next, her hand cradling the side of his face for half a second before she pulls him in. His father’s grip is firm when he hugs him, yelling into his ears that he is proud, so proud.

He barely has time to think before another set of arms wrap around him, yours.

His breath catches for just a second. He can feel how tightly you’re holding on, how solid you feel against him despite how hard everything is still hitting him.

He shuts his eyes for just a moment.

It’s real. It’s over.

And he’s really won.

—

Monday, Post Race October 6th

12:05 AM

The dressing room is quiet.

For the first time in hours, there’s no noise, no cameras, no voices in his ear. Just the hum of the overhead lights and the distant sound of his team still celebrating downstairs.

Haechan sits on the small bench, head tilted back against the lockers, eyes shut. His whole body aches, the exhaustion hitting now that the adrenaline has fully worn off. 

His damp hair sticks to his forehead and he can still smell the champagne on his race suit that he’s abandoned in a corner of the room. The shower did make him feel better, washing away the litres of champagne that he’d been doused in. His clothes, a normal t-shirt and sweats, feel so much lighter on him after hours of being in the sweat-soaked, heavy race suit. 

The door creaks open.

He knows it’s you before you say anything.

You step inside, letting the door click shut behind you. 

“You’re here,” he murmurs after a moment, voice rough with exhaustion.

“Your parents are waiting downstairs,” you say softly. “I told them I’d check on you first.”

His lips twitch slightly, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Checking to see if I passed out in here?”

“Something like that.”

You cross the room without hesitating, sinking down beside him. He doesn’t move, but when you lift a hand and press it gently against his back, you feel him lean into your touch, his shoulders losing the last bit of tension he’d been holding onto.

For a moment, you just sit there, your hand tracing slow, absentminded circles between his shoulder blades. The weight of the day still lingers in the air, but this moment feels different. Quieter, softer, just the two of you.

You let out a small breath, glancing at him. “You did it.”

His eyes flutter open, meeting yours.

“I did,” he says, barely above a whisper, like he hasn’t fully let himself believe it yet.

A small smile tugs at your lips as your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, raking through his hair. He hasn’t cut it since the first day you met him.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

He watches you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“Sunday,” He finally answers. You hum, a little confused.

“I told you we’ll talk on Sunday.”

You still. It had been the last thing on your mind during the race, so you’re a tiny bit surprised when he brings it up. You breathe in deeply before meeting his eyes and letting out a small laugh.

“Well, World Champion, I don’t know if you know, but it’s Monday now.”

Haechan shakes his head, turning his body to face you. “No, I know. But—” He cuts off, throwing his head back before he reaches out for your hands, “Hold on, I’ve kind of rehearsed this, but I’ve never done this before so give me a moment.”

You blink, a laugh escaping you as he stumbles over his words. “Rehearsed it? Haechan, what are you—”

“I just…” He takes a breath, looking at you with a sort of quiet, soft determination. “Okay, here goes.” He squeezes your hands lightly, his fingers warm against yours. “I’m not good with words, you know that. But I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I—I just need you to know…” He hesitates, and for a split second, his confidence falters.

You watch him, waiting. Despite knowing what’s coming, you can’t help the way your heart races. You feel breathless for a moment.

“I like you,” he says finally, his voice steady despite the nervousness in his eyes. “I like you more than I ever meant to. More than I’ve ever let myself admit.”

The simplicity of his confession knocks the breath out of you. He’s not asking for anything, not trying to pressure you, but it’s clear he’s laying everything out there, raw and open.

“I didn’t expect this. Didn’t think it would be this important, but it is. And I need you to know that,” he adds softly, his grip tightening just a little on your hands as though he’s grounding himself in the moment.

He waits for you to say something, but the words get stuck. Your mind races, and all you can do is stare at him.

Haechan’s brow furrows slightly, unsure of your silence. “You don’t have to—”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice soft but steady as you squeeze his hand. “I’m just… surprised. I mean- I’m not, because you’re not very subtle about it. I just didn’t expect you to say it today, you know, after all that’s happened. But I—” You swallow, the truth coming to your lips before you can think. “I like you too.”

You can see the relief flood his face, his shoulders relaxing as though he's been holding his breath. But then, a playful grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Well, I think I knew too,” he jokes, the tension in his voice lifting with the teasing. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly hard to tell…”

You blink, surprised by the shift in his tone. “You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Just a little,” he grins back, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he shifts closer to you. “You know back there, after I got out of the car, I thought you’d go all WAG mode and kiss me on my helmet or something.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands away from him, making him laugh, “Oh, so I’m a WAG now? You know I'm really professional. So I’d never do that. In public too? Forget it.”

“I mean, I’m not complaining ‘cause I wouldn’t mind,” Haechan shrugs, “You should do it sometimes.”

You give him an exaggerated look of disbelief, but the warmth spreading through you makes it harder to stay serious. “You really think I would?”

��I’m just saying, it’d be a really nice surprise,” he says, his voice lowering, the teasing fading into something more sincere.

You hesitate for a moment, the playfulness still hanging in the air. And then, before you even fully process it, you lean forward, your hand finding the back of his neck. Haechan’s eyes widen slightly, but before he can react, you close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his softly, with a tenderness that’s more than just a playful kiss.

You can feel the warmth of him, his body moving ever so slightly toward yours, his hand sliding to your waist, fingers gently curling around you, anchoring you to him. The world outside this little bubble of yours fades into the background. Haechan’s lips slot perfectly between yours. He still tastes like champagne. You’re not particularly fond of it, but for him, you think you could make an exception.

 His hand slides up to your cheek, fingers brushing against the soft skin there as he tilts his head just slightly, deepening the kiss. You feel his pulse against yours, a rhythm that matches the way your heart begins to race, each beat a little faster, a little louder. 

When you finally pull away, your lips still humming from the closeness, Haechan’s forehead rests against yours, his breath a little quicker than before, as though he’s still coming back to reality. You can’t help but smile softly, feeling something in you settle, like a weight being lifted.

“Was that surprising enough for you?” you murmur, your voice just above a whisper.

His smile stretches slowly, like he’s trying to still comprehend. “Definitely.”

The two of you stay silent for a moment, processing and acknowledging whatever just happened when Haechan speaks up again, “But… just for the surprise to hit harder you could do it again.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head, but before you can even think of a reply, he tugs you just a little closer, his lips brushing against yours again—lighter this time, but just as sure.

WINTER BREAK

December 21st

You hadn’t meant to spill the news to your mother this soon. It had just sort of… happened.

You had been on the phone with her one evening, catching up like you always did when you were both too busy to visit in person. She had been asking about work, about life, about whether you were eating properly, when she had casually slipped in, “So, are you seeing anyone?”

And because you hadn’t really been thinking, half-focused on something on your laptop, you had answered honestly.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence. Then a distinct shift in her tone, lighter, curious. “Oh?”

Your stomach had flipped. There had been no taking it back now.

“Yeah,” you had said again, slower this time, as if easing yourself into the reality of this conversation.

“Since when?”

You had hesitated, glancing at the calendar on your desk. “A little while now.”

“And when were you planning on telling me?”

You had exhaled through your nose, already hearing the teasing smile in her voice. “Eventually?”

She laughed. “Eventually. Right.” A pause, then, “Well? Who is he?”

You had bitten your lip, then said, “Haechan.”

Silence.

Then, after a few seconds, a sharp inhale. “As in your Haechan?”

You had winced. “Yeah.”

“As in the same Haechan I see on TV? The same one you’ve been working with this season?”

“Yeah.”

She had let out an incredulous laugh, clearly caught off guard. “And when exactly did this happen?”

You had hesitated, because when had it happened, really? There had been no defining moment, no grand realization, just a steady shift, an unshakable pull toward something you had probably always known was there.

“It wasn’t all at once,” you had admitted. “It just… made sense.”

Your mom had hummed like she was turning that over in her mind. “Well,” she had said eventually, “if it’s serious enough for you to tell me, you should bring him home for dinner.”

Your breath had hitched. “What?”

She had repeated it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Bring him home. If you care about him, we’d like to meet him properly.”

You had swallowed. You hadn’t thought this far ahead, hadn’t considered when or how you’d introduce him to your family. Not because you hadn’t been sure about him—you had, you really had—but because the idea of sitting at that table with him, of merging two parts of your life that had always been separate, had made everything feel so real.

But… wasn’t that the point?

You had let out a slow breath. “I’ll ask him.”

Your mom had chuckled knowingly. “Good. Let me know when.”

You don’t bring it up right away.

It’s not that you’re nervous about his reaction—you know he’ll say yes. But when you finally mention it, just a casual, “My mom wants you to come over for dinner,” he still pauses for half a second longer than usual.

Then he blinks. “Dinner? Like, ‘sit at the table, be on my best behavior, answer your dad’s questions’ dinner?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Haechan leans back, tilting his head at you. “So, just to clarify, there’s no ‘pretend you don’t know me and let me sneak out the back’ option?”

“Nope.”

He exhales dramatically, rubbing his hands over his face. “Alright, then. What do I call them? Should I be formal? Or do I go straight to ‘Mom and Dad’ to establish dominance?”

You snort. “If you do that, my dad might actually kick you out.”

“Got it. Saving that for the second dinner.”

You shake your head, watching as he stretches his arms over his head before finally settling back against the cushions. For all his joking, you can tell he’s actually thinking about it. He’s always been quick to roll with things, but this feels like something he’s mentally preparing himself for.

After a beat, he glances at you again, quieter now. “You want me there?”

“Yeah,” you say, just as soft. “I do.”

He holds your gaze for a second before nodding, more certain now. “Alright.”

—

Dinner passes in a comfortable blur.

Haechan is nervous at first. You can tell by the way he sits up a little too straight, the way his fingers drum lightly against his thigh as if he’s reminding himself to stay composed. But as the meal goes on, the warmth of your home eases him in. Your mom fusses over his plate, your dad throws in the occasional dry joke, and Rina’s teasing keeps him engaged. By the time the table is cleared and your mom waves you both off with a “Go relax, I’ve got this,” Haechan follows you upstairs looking much more at ease.

Your childhood room is just as you left it. Familiar, unchanging, a space to return to whenever you visit. You can hear Rina’s Frank Sinatra album playing through the walls. You remember when Rina was still small enough to curl up beside you on lazy afternoons, insisting you play music for her. You remember the way she’d hum along, her voice soft and uncertain, trying to match the notes, how she’d giggle whenever she stumbled over the lyrics. It takes you back to being seventeen, to the quiet comfort of these walls, the long stretches of time where it felt like nothing would ever really change.

But then your eyes land on Haechan as he steps inside, and the memory settles into something different. Not quite distant, but no longer the world you live in.

Seventeen was a lifetime ago. Before flights and paddocks, before conferences and championship fights. Before Haechan.

And yet, here he is, standing in the middle of it all like he belongs. Like there’s room for him here, too.

Because there is, You think fondly.

You watch as his eyes scan the space, gaze moving from the overstuffed bookshelf to the small collection of stuffed animals still tucked into the corner of your bed. He lingers on the little trinkets lining your desk, a few old keychains, a white dreamcatcher from a school trip years ago, a cup of dried-out gel pens you never threw away. It’s a time capsule, a version of you he never got to know.

But it’s the photos on your wall that really draw him in.

He moves closer, his fingers hovering near them but never quite touching. There’s one of you at five, or six maybe, in a navy blue sweatshirt with your hands cupping your cheeks as you smile so wide your eyes disappear. 

Haechan lets out a quiet laugh, turning towards your figure, flopped on your bed. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You were actually the cutest kid alive.”

You grin. “It’s one of my favourite pictures of me too, honestly.”

He nods, but instead of moving on, he lifts his phone and takes a picture. You don’t notice, too lost in the comfort of your bed, the warmth of the moment.

Haechan doesn’t say anything either. Just tucks his phone away and keeps looking, his gaze flicking over another photo from a class trip, where you and your friends are grinning wildly, arms slung around each other. A few graduation photos, one with your parents standing proudly on either side of you, another with Rina making a face behind your shoulder.

You watch as Haechan’s gaze lingers on the framed family photo that sits on your desk, his fingers hovering over the glass like he’s memorizing every detail. There’s something unreadable in his expression, not quite wistful, not quite sad, but thoughtful in a way that makes you want to say something before he gets lost in it.

“That was taken after dinner at my grandma’s house,” you tell him, shifting so you can see it from where you’re sprawled on the bed. “We almost didn’t get a picture because Rina kept running off to play. My dad had to bribe her with extra dessert to get her to stay still.”

Haechan huffs out a quiet laugh at that, his lips quirking up slightly. “I should’ve guessed.”

You nod toward the frame. “It’s one of my favorites too.”

He tilts his head, still staring at it. “I get why.” Then, after a beat, he exhales and glances at you, hesitating for just a second before saying, “This might be a little forward, but… I kind of wish we knew each other before. Like, what if I could’ve been one of those people in your class photos, or—”

“You would have driven me insane,” you interrupt, glancing at him.

Haechan lets out a laugh, tilting his head. “Oh, really?”

You nod, leaning back against your bed. “Absolutely. You would’ve been the kid who never sat still, who found new ways to annoy me every day, who somehow convinced me to break all the rules.”

He smirks, nudging your knee with his. “Sounds like we would’ve had fun.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe.”

Haechan hums, studying your expression for a moment before murmuring, “Still wish I was there.”

The words settle between you, soft but heavy.

You’d never really thought about before. About how your life would have looked if he had been there earlier.

But now, as he sits beside you, fingers tracing the edge of an old photograph, you can’t help but picture it.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years old. Would he have been the boy who stole your notes in class? The one who passed you secret messages during exams just to make you roll your eyes? The one who always found a way to drag you into trouble, just so he could laugh at how flustered you got?

You exhale, suddenly aware of how fast your heart is beating.

Would you have fallen for him faster?

You sit up properly now, meeting his gaze, searching for something in it that you already know is there.

“I think you would’ve fit right in,” you say quietly.

Haechan’s lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, and he nods once, like he’s tucking the thought away for later. He looks back at the photo as he sits next to you. You take his hand in yours, gently rubbing the back of his palm with your thumb.

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be in one.”

You squeeze his hand, “You will be.”

The two of you settle into an almost comfortable silence when the music from Rina’s room catches your attention.

"There is nothing for me but to love you… and the way you look tonight."

Haechan’s head tilts slightly, a slow, knowing grin creeping onto his lips as he turns to you. “Well, that’s convenient.”

You groan, already feeling the warmth rising to your cheeks. “Oh, come on. Don’t.”

His grin widens. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

He shrugs, leaning just a little closer. “I mean… if the music insists.”

You smack his arm, but he only laughs before resting his head on your shoulder. 

—

December 23rd

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Haechan pauses, one hand still adjusting a silver bauble on the tree. He turns to you with an incredulous look. “How can I possibly be doing it wrong?”

“You’re clustering all the ornaments in one spot,” you say, pointing at the lopsided section he’s been working on. “It’s all too heavy on that side.”

He scoffs. “Excuse me for trying to create a focal point.”

“It’s not a gallery wall, it’s a Christmas tree.”

“Same concept.”

You roll your eyes and get up from his couch, stumbling a little over all the boxes on the floor. He flinches, rushing forward to catch you. You don’t fall, but you end up in his arms anyway. You reach to move one of the ornaments, but he swats your hand away. “Nope, decoration rights revoked,” he declares. 

You stare at him in disbelief, eyes falling on the hand that swatted you away before moving to the one around your waist. “Hello? You can’t do that.”

“I absolutely can. My tree, my artistic vision.”

You give him a deadpan look. “I was the one who convinced you to get a tree in the first place. Otherwise, your house would just be sad and lifeless. I chose the tree too!” rolling your eyes, you continue, “Besides, your artistic vision looks like it got tired halfway through and took a nap.”

Haechan gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve personally offended him. “Okay, that was uncalled for.”

You bite back a grin as you place a red bauble exactly where he had just moved it from, making him groan in protest.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “I let you into my house, I let you touch my Christmas tree, and this is how you treat me?”

“You’re all bark, no bite,” You narrow your eyes at him, “Get your hands off me then!”

Haechan doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” He smirks, fingers curling a little tighter around your waist. “I won’t. What are you gonna do about it?”

You open your mouth, then close it, then sigh in defeat. “Nothing,” you mutter.

“That’s what I thought.” He grins, rocking you both slightly where you stand. The Christmas lights cast a warm glow over his face, and for a moment, neither of you move. He’s looking at you, not in the teasing, smug way he usually does, but in that softer, quieter way that always makes your chest feel too full.

Then you sigh, glancing at the half-decorated tree. “We’re decorating way too late.”

Haechan groans in agreement. “I know. If we started earlier, this wouldn’t be so stressful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, whose fault is that?”

He blinks at you. “Not mine? I won both championships before December. It’s not my fault they don’t let us go until all the races are over. Blame the F1 calendar instead!”

You sigh, relenting. “Okay, fine. It’s the calendar’s fault.”

“Thank you.” He grins, rocking back on his heels. “Finally, some sense.”

You shake your head with a laugh, nudging his shoulder before turning back to the tree. “Still, if we started earlier, we wouldn’t be scrambling to finish before Christmas.”

Haechan hums in agreement, reaching for another ornament. “Guess we just have to get better at this whole off-season thing.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “We?”

Haechan nods, his gaze flickering to you for a moment before he looks back at the tree. “Yeah,” he says simply, looping an ornament onto a branch. “We. We are quite good during the season, don't you think?”

He hooks another ornament onto a branch, “Oh, by the way, there’s fruitcake on the kitchen counter.”

You pause, your hand holding an ornament in mid-air and turn to look at him. “Oh?”

He nods, adjusting a light on the tree. “Yeah.”

You frown slightly. “But… you don’t like fruitcake.”

Haechan shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah, but you do.”

You frown slightly, touched by the gesture, “How do you know that?”

Haechan glances at you, lips curving up. “You’re not as mysterious as you think you are.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please. When have I ever mentioned liking fruitcake?”

He hums, stepping back to take a look at the tree, “I think it was in Budapest. Jeno was talking about how he got sick from eating fruitcake off season.”

You laugh, pleasantly surprised that he remembered that.

“As much as I love fruitcake, it’s definitely not the best thing to have in any month other than December,” You admit, “Also, you really have to get the right ones. Some are loaded with too many spices, some are too greasy… I’d never complain about having too many nuts or fruit but I guess people wouldn’t like that either.”

His laughter is light as he lets his forehead rest against yours, his hands slipping to your waist. The tree lights flicker in the corner of your vision, a warm golden colour. They remind you of Haechan. 

“This is kind of the last thing I expected getting into this year,” he murmurs after a beat.

You blink, the playfulness between you both settling into something more serious and heartfelt. “What? Decorating a tree with me?”

His fingers drum lightly against your hip. “More like all of this. Us.”

You exhale, nudging your nose against his. “Yeah,” you admit. “Me too.”

Haechan hums, thoughtful. “I mean, if you told me at the start of the season that I’d win both championships and have you here at the end of it, I would’ve laughed in your face.”

You tilt your head. “Oh? What part was more unbelievable?”

“The championships, obviously.” He grins, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “You? I think at one point it just became obvious that you were inevitable.”

Your stomach flips, but before you can even think of a response, he reaches past you, placing the star in your hands.

“Go on, then.”

You eye him suspiciously. “No catch?”

He shakes his head. “Never.”

You glance at him again, making sure before standing on your tiptoes to place the star at the top. As you adjust it, Haechan’s hands settle at your waist again, steadying you without a word.

Once you step back, the tree finally completed, he lets out a satisfied hum. “Not bad.”

You turn around to look at him.

He looks back at you, tilting his head, a smile playing on his lips before he leans down

The first time you met Haechan, he barely spared you more than a glance, too caught up in the frustration of strategies and a season that hadn’t even begun. 

Now, Haechan kisses you like it’s second nature, like he’s done it a hundred times before and will do it a hundred times more.

His lips move against yours with a quiet sort of certainty, like he’s memorized exactly how to kiss you. Not rushed, not hesitant, just sure. His hands slide up, fingertips pressing into your back to bring you closer, and when you splay your fingers across the fabric of his sweater, you feel the way his heartbeat kicks up under your touch.

He exhales softly against your lips before kissing you again, deeper this time, slower. The world narrows down to the quiet press of his mouth, the steady warmth of his touch, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering between you. You can feel it in the way he holds you that this isn't something that will slip away.

And then, just for a second, it’s like standing on the grid, the air electric, the whole world holding its breath.

Just before the countdown. Before lights out.

tagging: @yukisroom97 @awktwurtle

[coupsalchemy]

Flowers

prompt: Flowers

summary: your boyfriend picks up flowers before picking you up everyday.

tags: pure fluff, boyfriend! wonwoo, established relationship

word count: 764

Wonwoo looms over the bouquet of daisies, coupled with bright yellow sunflowers. The fresh scent of the flowers subsides his day’s worries, and enhances his light happy mood. He plucks the bouquet out of its water basket, heads to the old lady sitting behind the counter. “Good evening, Grannie.” 

The old lady looks up from her notebook filled with sales numbers, and stops pressing the buttons on the calculator. Her droopy eyes widen in recognition, and her toothless smile melts Wonwoo’s heart. “You came again today.” 

He nods, setting the bouquet on the counter for her to bill it. “How are your knee pains today?” He watches her shaky fingers pressing the keypad of the new billing machine. She gives up after two forceful presses. Wonwoo laughs at her cussing the new technology. 

“It’s 58,328 won.” 

Wonwoo hands over the money, picking up his bouquet, “see you tomorrow, grannie.” He bows in respect. 

She chuckles, “send my love to your lucky girlfriend. Who buys flowers everyday these days.”

He smiles in return, a red tint of color on his cheeks. He looks down at the flowers in his hands only in hopes of his girlfriend liking them. He has been researching the language of flowers, daisies means innocence, loyal love and sunflowers means adoration. Perfect flowers to translate his feelings towards her. 

“I try,” he answers, giving one last bow and exiting the small flower shop. 

He drives to the subway station, constantly checking the status of your subway, and your live location on the maps. You are almost there, he presses on the accelerator, he needs to be at the platform even before you. Your surprised happy expression is all he needs after a long exhausting day. 

Parking the car he hurries among the dry and depressed office workers navigating to their homes. The train will be at the station in five minutes, he runs to platform C, apologising and saying excuse me to the crowd, while protecting the flowers with his entire body. 

He huffs, stabilising his breathing and checks his watch one more minute. He rearranges the flowers, smoothing down the petals, his heart pounding in anticipation and fear. He adjusts his hair, pressing on his gelled hair on the side, to make sure he looks presentable. 

One minute is up, and the train is slowing down to a stop. He holds the flowers to his chest, craning his neck to see you amongst the crowd stepping down from the train. 

He cracks into a big smile, waving at your wandering gaze that’s also searching for him. You spot him, your droopy shoulders squared up, your eyes shining and there it is, the hop in your steps. A man pushes her to the side, losing her balance for two steps, and Wonwoo’s giddiness disappears for a second. 

You shake your head, and Wonwoo stops in his tracks, still glaring at the disappearing man into the crowd. His girl reaches him, holding his arm and tiptoeing to kiss on his cheek. A grin breaks his anger, he looks down at his shoes, biting on his lip. 

He extends the flowers to you. You beam at the flowers, looming over them enjoying their fresh scent among the sweaty, stinky smell of the subway station. You grab the flowers hugging it to your chest, as you brush your cheek over the flowers tenderly. 

Wonwoo grabs your waist, pulling you in, he drops a kiss on your head. “How was your day?” 

“It’s good now,” you loop an arm around him, hiding yourself in his chest, near his armpit. Wonwoo shakes his head at the weird attachment you have with that area. 

He leads the way to his car, as you search for the meaning of the flowers. He briefly glances at your phone, helping you choose the right links. 

“Innocent, loyal love?” You don’t look up from the phone. Wonwoo also drops his head to the floor, his grip on your shoulder tightening. “Adoration?” 

He brushes the pink shade on your cheeks with his forefingers. You stop, bringing him to a stop in the middle of the stairs too. You climb a step to match his height, you cup his cheeks, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I adore you too. And,” you kiss his forehead, “I love you.” 

Wonwoo’s world shakes, his knees buckling at the love he is receiving. It is worth it, driving around and gettin you flowers, if he can convey his love without words and you are proficient in reading his love language. Your love is worth it. 

[chrissturnsfav]

hii! would it be possible for you do to smth with rapper!chris and singer!reader like in an argument? she's being like rlly sassy, and he's not having it.

love your work, xoxo!

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris gives singer!reader an attitude adjustment

the music pulses through the crowded house, a steady thrum that matches the beat of your heart. lil skies’ party is in full swing, packed with people flaunting their best outfits and vibes.

you stick close to chris at first, your hand looped around his arm as you weave through the crowd. he’s glowing tonight—chain sparkling under the neon lights, his grin wide and easy, and that confident air that draws people in like a magnet.

you try not to notice how the room seems to orbit him. it’s always like this. everyone loves chris.

you’ve had a couple of drinks, and he’s been passing a blunt back and forth with his brothers. the triplets are a force of their own, but chris stands out, as he always does. you watch him throw his head back in laughter at some joke nick cracks.

you love that smile. it’s what hooked you in the first place.

but then you notice her.

across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, a girl is staring at chris. no—staring through you, her gaze locked on him like you don’t even exist. her lashes flutter as she tilts her head, a coy smile playing on her lips. she’s doing it on purpose, you can tell. her body language screams it: the way she adjusts her skimpy top, showing just a little more skin, the way she sips her drink slowly, almost tauntingly.

you glance at chris. he hasn’t noticed her—he’s too busy talking to matt about something, his hands gesturing animatedly. but it doesn’t matter. her intentions are clear, and they’re pissing you off.

"really?" you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else. but the irritation simmers, fueled by the alcohol in your system. you can’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind.

chris turns to you, his eyebrows raised. "what’s up?" he asks, that easy smile still on his face.

you bite the inside of your cheek. "nothing," you mumble, even though it’s not nothing.

he gives you a look, the one that says he knows you’re lying. he always knows. "c'mon mama, tell me," he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. "that girl over there has been eye-fucking you."

chris glances around, confused. "what girl?"

"don’t play dumb, chris," you snap, your voice sharper than you intend. "the one in the kitchen."

his expression shifts, his smile faltering as he scoffs, "ma, i didn’t even notice her," he says, his tone honest yet slightly irritated that you're mad at him for something he can't control. "m'not lookin' at anyone but you."

"that’s not the point!" you whine, your voice rising. "she’s staring at you, and you’re just fucking standing here like you don't give a fuck."

chris runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated now. "fuck am i supposed to do 'bout that?"

"you could at least act like you care!" you shoot back, your words slurring slightly from the alcohol.

"i do care ma," he says, his voice tight. "but m'not startin' a scene over sum'n i can't even control."

your chest tightens, the mix of jealousy and alcohol clouding your judgment. "you don’t fucking get it, chris. you never do."

his eyes narrow, the easygoing vibe he’s been carrying all night slipping away. "never?" he repeats, his tone sharp now. "really? that’s what y'think?"

you cross your arms tighter, trying to steady yourself. "yeah, i do," you say, the words coming out harsher than you intend. "you fucking act like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter, but it does."

chris shakes his head, his jaw tightening as he takes a step back, his frustration plain on his face. "wow," he mutters, running a hand over his face. he scoffs, shaking his head as he looks at the floor, "'y'never do,' she said..."

"don’t you fucking twist this on me," you snap. "i’m not the one acting dumb while some girl—"

before you can finish, chris grabs your arm—not hard, but firm enough to stop you mid-sentence. his eyes are dark, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

you open your mouth to protest, but before you can get a word out, he’s tugging you through the crowd. you stumble slightly, his grip steadying you as he weaves through the sea of drunk celebrities. your heart pounds, both from the lingering anger and the sudden shift in his energy.

he doesn’t say a word as he pulls you down a hallway and pushes open the door to a bathroom, ushering you inside before closing and locking the door behind him. the sound of the lock clicking sends a jolt through you, the tension in the small space almost suffocating.

"what the fuck, chris?" you snap, crossing your arms, though your voice lacks the bite it had moments ago.

he scoffs, a hint of a smirk on his lips as he shakes his head. he sets his drink down on the counter before he pushes you against the door of the bathroom by your waist, his grip tight.

you gasp, caught completely off guard, confusion yet something else swirling in your slightly lidded eyes, "what're you doing?" you ask as you furrow your brows, keeping up your sassy tone.

"y'clearly need an attitude adjustment baby," he mutters, leaning in closer until his lips are a centimeter away from yours.

you don’t respond—can’t respond—because the next thing you know, his mouth is on yours, claiming you with a heat that leaves no room for argument. his hands slide to your hips, pushing you harder against the door, and any protest you had dies in your throat.

every ounce of jealousy and bitterness is gone by the time chris has you bent over the bathroom sink, fucking you with remaining irritation and force. he has one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass while the other holds your face up by your throat, forcing you to watch yourself fall apart for him in the mirror.

"this what y'needed didn't you?" he snickers through a grunt, smirking at your makeup smudged face in the mirror as he fucks into your puffy pussy harder.

when you try to respond, all that comes out is jumbled and incoherent whines, your mind clouded with intoxication and pure bliss, your hands gripping onto the countertop harshly as tears of pleasure prick the corners of your eyes.

chris chuckles darkly, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he slaps your ass, making you squeal and gasp, "yeah, that's what i thought. fuckin' sassin' me over shit i can't control ten minutes ago, 'n now look at you," he scoffs, hissing in pleasure with a deep grunt before he finishes his sentence, "fuckin' goin' stupid over my cock like always."

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos

@chrissturnsfav ™

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 21

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual content (smut), cheating Wordcount: 6.9K A/C: happy paige hoops day :) happy dallas assketball day... :( anyway enjoy this and please send me reactions again!! they are VERY welcome (btw i will not be working on the next chapter until late next week because i’ll be busy with birthday stuff so don’t ask pls) (DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT CLAIMING IN THIS CHAPTER THAT AMERICA DOESN’T HAVE SQUIRRELS 😭 PLS BE FR the reason paige is like wtf is because the squirrels in hyde park are crazy ok bye)

-

London

My lips still taste like strawberries when my tongue darts out to wet them, nuzzling my nose into the soft cotton of the pale blue pillow underneath my head. Flashes of last night, tongues clashing, starving whimpers and desperate hands spin in my mind - and I can’t help the smile that forms in response. God must be on my side, in fact I know he is. Because last night I got to kiss the lips of the woman I had spent the last nine months hopelessly in love with.

“Mhm, morning beautiful,” I mumble, voice still gravelly with sleep. But there’s no response. Opening my eyes, I find I’m still in Izara’s bed. Good, it wasn’t a dream. The girl, however, is nowhere to be seen.

A panic sets in. A fear. I scared her away. It was too much. I misread the signs.

I stand up faster than my mind can follow when I see it. A note placed on the vanity, with handwriting that curls and loops the way Izara’s does. Pushing my glasses onto my face, I grab it.

Paige,

I didn’t dare to wake you, you looked so beautiful. I’m sure you’re exhausted and I want you to get some more rest. I left you a towel in the bathroom if you want to shower. I’ll be downstairs when you get up x

Izzie

The panic washes away as soon as it arrived, my fingers tracing the cursive letters. I looked beautiful? She seemed to think so. Fuck. I bite my lower lip to kill the grin on my face, sliding the note into my pocket. Checking the time I realise it is indeed almost midday, but I appreciate her concern. I did feel a lot less jetlagged than yesterday.

After a quick shower I get dressed into a matching light lavender Nike set of sweats and sweater - the only clothes I had the sense to pack to bring over. I glance at my reflection, the Tommy Hilfiger boxers peeking out of the sweatpants. I better pull these up, now is not the time to sag.

Finally, with wet hair and glasses, I make my way down the carpeted steps almost giddy to see her again. 

Izara’s laughter echoes all the way to the bottom of the stairs, and my heart nearly bursts. I stop by the last step, holding onto the railing covered with a garland. The corners of my mouth lift at the sound of her giggles. 

“Good morning,” Rohan’s deep voice surprises me, snapping me out of my Izara-induced trance. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, stirring what I assumed was tea.

“Good morning sir,” I answer. The man smiles, lifting his steaming cup. 

“Tea?” He asks,

“Oh, Ion drink tea really,” I admit, itching the back of my neck. He chuckles, nodding more to himself.

“I figured. I had a friend in my university days from America. Would drink a can of Coke instead every morning.”

I chuckle, following him into the living room, Izzie’s voice growing closer and closer. 

“Well, Ion do that either,” I joke. 

We reach the archway to find Kiran and Izara sitting on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper, the pile beside the girl neatly folded. Her green eyes twinkle as her manicured hands feel up the striped cashmere sweater on her lap. She’s still in her pajamas - a rare sight in the early afternoon.

“Ah, good morning Paige,” Mrs. Chopra who’s sitting on the couch already fully ready for the day in a knitted dress smiles politely. “I trust you slept well?”

That second, Izzie’s green eyes flicker up to me and a smile grows on her face.

“Hey,” she hums, biting down on her lower lip. Her voice is soft and smooth, laced with the secret of last night.

“Good morning,” I answer, breaking eye contact to look at Mrs. Chopra instead. “For sure, thanks for lettin’ me sleep.”

“Paige look!” Kiran says, waving a Timberwolves jersey around. I snatch it from his hands.

“You a fan of Ant? I ask, handing it back. He nods. “Let’s go to a game next time you come over.”

“Forreal?” Kiran asks, eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“Yeah, for sure,” I chuckle, glancing at the presents piled next to Izzie. Espresso machine, a black leather wallet, a silver Cartier necklace.

“Woah,” I say surprised, grabbing the jewelry box. I had never seen Izzie wear anything but gold. “Someone dropped some serious cash on this.”

“Jasper always wants to spoil her,” Mrs. Chopra gushes, standing up from her seat. Just hearing his name angered me - until I remembered I made out with his girlfriend last night and suddenly I felt better.

“What a gentleman.”

Rohan inches closer to me, covering his mouth with his hand. “He’s a pompous twat if you ask me,” he murmurs almost silently, loud enough just for me to hear. I try not to laugh, handing the box back.

“It’s pretty,” I smile. Izzie smiles back, but her eyes remain distant and distracted.

“Let me make you some breakfast Paige,” Mrs. Chopra says.

“Oh, that’s fine, I can just grab something myself,” I quickly say. The woman had been working tirelessly since yesterday to cater to everyone’s needs. It wasn’t hard to guess where Izzie got this quality from.

“Nonsense,” she waves me off, already headed to the kitchen. I almost go after her, but Izzie grabs my wrist, pulling me down to sit beside her.

“Just give up, there’s no use in arguing. Trust me,” she chuckles, her touch lingering against my skin. On top of the cashmere sweater, there’s a blue Tiffany box with a silver baby rattle inside.

“What’s this?” I whisper, fingers lifting it. The toy makes a soft clinking noise, singing with a delicate chime like rain tapping against a window.

Izara rolls her eyes and grabs it from me, hiding it underneath every other present. “Don’t ask,” she huffs, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“I won’t ask if you tell me,” I answer, confused.

Her green eyes meet mine as she lets out a frustrated sigh. “My mum,” she starts. “She got it for me. She said it would give me some ‘motivation’.”

I furrow my brows, letting out a chuckle when I realise what she means. “Motivation to get knocked up?”

“I suppose so,” she shakes her head, laughing too. But I can tell it bothers her. And I’m not sure if it’s because she’s reminded of Jasper and what she’ll have to do. Does she even want to do it still? I don’t know.

My worries melt away, however. Because Izzie grabs my hand and squeezes it underneath the cashmere sweater. 

“Here you go, it’s my Christmas morning specialty,” Mrs. Chopra emerges, handing me a plate of leftovers from last night. “And this once I’ll let someone eat in the living room since you are our guest.”

-

I’m staring into my wardrobe, clothes split into neutrals and colours hung up neatly on wooden hangers. Deep in thought, I tighten the silk robe around my body when there’s a gentle knock.

“I’m changing,” I say, but the door slides open anyway, Paige walks in, hand covering her glasses. I laugh, watching her close it behind her. She bumps into the corner of my vanity, hissing in pain.

“Open your eyes stupid,” I tell her with a giggle.

“Well Ion know if you’re naked or sumn,” she mumbles, but drops the hand.

“Like you would mind that,” I roll my eyes, grabbing a pair of flared yoga pants and a white turtleneck. 

Paige doesn’t answer, her eyes glued to me and my body. The white satin clings to my skin, sheer enough to reveal the lingerie underneath.

“Do you think this is a good fit for our walk?” I ask, laying the clothes out on the bed. But it’s dead silent. “Paige?”

Lifting my gaze, I see her watching me up and down, with a stupid blank look on her face. It sends a jolt through me, her flushed cheek and flustered expression.

“Hellooo?” I ask in a singy-songy voice, snapping her back to reality.

“Huh? - Oh what?” She asks dumbfounded. The trembling of her voice makes me want to straddle her and get her how I liked her. Begging.

I chuckle, glancing at the clothes. “Is this good?” I ask.

Mouth dry, Paige wets her lips and walks over to the bed. “Yeah, that’s good,” she murmurs absentmindedly. Oh I missed this.

“Okay,” I answer simply, and with a single tuck pull the robe open right before her eyes. The blonde gulps, covering the lower half of her face as she unashamedly lets her blue eyes travel downwards my body, taking in the thin satin fabric of my underwear and bra.

“Jesus,” she whispers, as I let the robe fall onto the floor.

“I’m just getting dressed,” I tease, turning to grab the clothes. But before I can her lips are already attacking me, hands wasting no time to squeeze and knead my ass. I whimper into her mouth and the girl takes advantage of that, her tongue clashing with mine. Demanding like she already owns me.

Suddenly I’m a puddle, holding onto her to stay upright. Paige runs her hand up and down my body, like she’s been starved of me. Just the mere touch of her hands is enough to have me wanting her.

”You’re so fucking sexy,” she moans into my mouth. God I know we shouldn’t. I should pull back. But I’m so weak and I haven’t felt pleasure like this since I left.

It doesn’t seem to be my choice, however. Footsteps approach the room, causing me to jump back and grab the robe from the floor, tying it in a rush as the doors to my room open.

”Are you girls ready? We’re about to le-” My dad stops mid-sentence, catching Paige hastily wiping her mouth and me still breathless and flushed. His eyes flicker from the blonde to me, back to the blonde again.

”Sorry, I didn’t interrupt someth-”

”No!” I yelp, my voice shrill. ”Not at all, I’m just getting dressed.”

My father clears his throat, lowering his gaze to the ground.

”Well, I’ll expect you downstairs in 20 minutes,” he smiles awkwardly, closing the door.

”I just need five!” I yell after him, but he’s already gone.

-

Hyde Park is covered in a white frost, left noticeably quieter than usual on Christmas Day. The bare trees are growing old, stood witness to generations of people among them - tourists and Londoners alike. Each exhale leaves silver fog behind it, the air crisp and cool. Yet I feel completely warm and nearly giddy. The Christmas spirit was getting to me I guess.

”Uh, Iz,” Paige murmurs and points to a squirrel, standing on a fence beside her and staring. ”Should I be scared?”

I let out a bright laugh that echoes around the desolate park, wrapping my arm around hers. 

”I’ll protect you,” I joke as we walk away from the squirrel that seems to follow after us, expecting a treat.

”Alright, remember that spider when we were in Chicago?” 

I do remember. I came out running from my hotel room, pounding on Paige’s door, screaming so hard an elderly couple came to check on me. Thankfully the blonde took care of that for me.

“Okay but a spider and a squirrel are entirely different,” I huff, watching my parents and Kiran walking 10 feet ahead of us as we trail back.

“Yeah, a squirrel could actually kill me,” she complains, eyeing the one walking behind us. 

“Wait, say squirrel again,” I demand, the word turning to mush in her mouth as she pronounces it. Very wrong, might I add.

“Yo, stop,” she groans. “It’s hard for me to say.”

I laugh. “Like jewelry?” 

Her mouth falls open as she takes offense to my words, nudging my side with her elbow. I let out a giggle and dodge her attack.

“Stop takin’ the piss,” Paige huffs.

“Oh my God, you used it right!” I squeal loud enough for my parents to glance back at the two of us. Bashfully I look down, laughing to myself.

“Yup, I’m a pro English speaker.”

“You weren’t before?” I ask. Paige laughs and pushes me off her side.

“Man, shut up.”

“Are you girls coming or just plan on giggling back there?” My mother’s voice cuts through the crisp winter air, bringing both our attention to how far back we had trailed. Like two misbehaving teenagers we scurry to them, leaving behind our own little bubble. 

As the gravel path crunches and scrapes against our shoes dragging on it, we’re met with a serene body of water - The Serpentine. Swans, geese and ducks alike are plentiful, following the few visitors besides us for a chance of a piece of bread or pastry. To me and every Londoner it was a normal sight, the swans shockingly tall and intimidating spreading their wings and getting a little too close. But not to the group of girls in front of us who squeal and run away. And apparently, not to Paige either.

“So the birds just run… Free?” She asks unsurely, carefully walking on the right side of me and creating a barrier between herself and the winged creatures.

“Yes, they’re quite fascinating. Don’t fear humans one bit,” my dad mutters as he walks on. Kiran squats down to eye-level with the birds, talking to them to catch their attention. But two geese are already keen on scaring the shit out of the blonde beside me, following after her.

“Iz, they gon’ eat me,” she whispers, taking hurried steps with her long legs to get away. It’s no use, the birds are already too fond of her and follow after. “Help me.”

I laugh easily, finding amusement in her fear. I could tell when it was lighthearted and when it was too serious to find funny. That’s how well I knew her.

“Paige, don’t be dramatic,” I complain but at that very moment one of the pair spreads its wings wide and flaps them at the blonde’s direction - and she lets out a squeal that’s loud enough to make my mother give her a dirty look I hope she misses.

“Help!” She yelps, jogging away. It’s no use. The birds follow. She was just as magnetic to them as she was to me.

“Stop running,” I groan and jog after her, shooing the geese away. She hides behind me, peeking over my shoulder until they’re far away for her to act nonchalant again.

“Yeah they obsessed with me,” she grins, dusting off her shoulders jokingly. “Can’t blame ‘em.”

I roll my eyes in response but in reality I want to laugh. “C’mon,” I tell the girl, pushing her forward on our walk. My mind is filling with ideas on the places I might show her here in London once we’re over these family responsibilities.

We walk past the old maple trees and it takes everything in me not to grab her hand. There’s a couple walking with a dog and a stroller and for a fleeting moment I imagine it’s us. I swear I can see it in my head like it’s real.

“You see those benches?” I ask Paige, pointing at the ones underneath a particularly large and tall tree with its bare branches twisting over the seat. She nods, her eyes following my hand. “I love sitting there just to read.”

Paige gives me this look that I can’t quite understand, but her eyes soften with it. 

“Remember when you used to read at our practice?” She asks gently. Somehow we’ve trailed into our own bubble again.

“I tried but you got me distracted. I barely finished a book when I was in Dallas.”

Paige chuckles and I can tell it pains her just as much not to wrap her arm around me and to kiss my forehead. I wish we could. Something about the cold weather and Hyde Park and the smell of the lake and the trees had me wanting her near.

The faint Christmas songs play on the radio as we drive home and I have to bite my lip not to lean on the blonde’s shoulder. We sit in the backseat like children, Paige, Kiran and me in the middle as I was the smallest, all red cheeks and cold hands.

“Hey,” Paige whispers into my ear, and I let her hot breath tickle my cheek. “I have like no boxers left I gotta go get sum clothes from my hotel.”

I nod in response, my stomach flipping at the idea of her spending another night. Leaving her hair, her scent, her weight on my mattress. 

“You wanna come with me?” She asks, and her knee presses into mine. I almost groan.

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. 

Her and I call a cab the moment we get to the house, standing by the front steps and waiting for it to arrive. Something about having Paige here made me feel adolescent again, to see the girl leaning on the front gate like me and my friends used to after school to spend just a moment longer together. Though, I was such an anxious child and an even more anxious teenager. I don’t think adulthood has made me any more calm, but with her around everything felt better. My father's gloves on her hands dusting the frost off the hedges, still covered in white when we sit in the cab.

“I had to get the suite,” Paige murmurs as she taps the keycard against the door to unlock the hotel room with a quiet beep. “It was the only thing that wasn’t taken.”

She opens the door for me, letting me enter first. I could tell it was a suite from the fact that the space was split into multiple different rooms, the bedroom behind double doors and white balmoral panelling decorating the tall walls. It must have cost a fortune and still she had spent the night in my bed under my parents’ roof.

“Why aren’t we spending Christmas here?” I joke, opening the doors to find a large bed covered in white sheets, perfectly made. “Matter of fact, why would we even go back to mine.”

Paige chuckles and walks up behind me, her hand wrapping around my waist and palm pressing into my stomach. It reminds me of something that sends a jolt up my thighs.

“I got a feeling your parents wouldn’t like me stealing their daughter away on Christmas,” she teases into my ear, lips nearly grazing my skin. My breath hitches.

“Who cares, they’d understand if they saw these sheets,” I shake free from her touch, walking to the end of the bed. It was too overwhelming and I don’t know how long I could bear her touch if I had to talk to Jasper first.

The blonde walks to her suitcase, digging something out. “Sit down,” she orders and I do as she says. “Close your eyes.”

I close them, stomach flipping at the thoughts of what might happen. I hated surprises. I hear the blonde digging for something and then the approaching steps and her weight creating a dip in the mattress. She places something in my hands, something flat.

“Open.”

And I do. On my lap there’s a Cadbury chocolate bar, with a little ribbon wrapped around it. My eyes widen as I see it. My heart leaps. It means more than all the expensive rubbish Jasper got me.

“It’s not much I know,” Paige explains anxiously. “But I had to get you something. And I know you can get those everywhere here so it’s probably so dumb that I got that fo-”

Her sentence is interrupted with my lips attacking hers, my hands tucking on her low pony. She’s kissing me back feverishly. Her hands already pull on my jacket, pushing it off me. I let it drop to the ground, sitting up to straddle her. She invites me on her lap and it feels like home when her familiar hands rub up and down my back. At this moment there’s no Jasper, no Dallas or London or Christmas or family waiting. Only us.

The kiss is all tongue and teeth but neither of us seem to mind, too hungry for each other to care. When I pull back Paige’s lips are swollen and bruised, eyes watering behind the glasses. I reach to take them off but she stops me.

“Don’t,” she pants, her voice hoarse and deep. “I wanna see you.”

So I let her. I pull the white turtleneck off as she watches, licking her pink lips. Her hands grab the back of my head and pull me into a kiss. The chocolate bar is somewhere on the floor, only an afterthought. We kiss and kiss and kiss for what feels like hours, my body trembling and underwear dampening as our lips slick with spit glide against each other. I’m getting desperate, grinding my hips down on her. I haven’t wanted anyone this much ever before.

Paige’s hands dip underneath my leggings to knead the skin of my ass as she tries to push them off. I climb off of her, and staring into her hungry eyes I pull them down. We’re far too gone to stop now. I stand before her in a white satin lingerie set, but she is still fully clothed. That’s not right.

“Take your clothes off,” I command, watching the way her cheeks redden in response. It sends chills up and down my spine. She merely nods and scrambles on the bed to get the pale lavender Nike set off, leaving her sitting there in a pair of grey boxers and a sports bra and a stupid look on her face.

“I said take them off,” I murmur, though I’m already salivating at the sight of her like this. Those broad shoulders and a defined but soft stomach, those fucking arms, her thighs. God might never forgive me for the sinful things I have thought about in the last 5 months. Or what I’m about to do now.

“All of them.”

“Yeah, okay,” she mumbles, mouth ajar and eyes growing heavier in those glasses. When she obeys without hesitation, I feel a gush of wetness spilling out of me. I swallow hard. Paige undresses, first the sports bra. Her nipples harden against the chill air of the hotel room, goosebumps rising on her skin. Then, finally, her boxers are kicked off and she’s bare and naked and only herself in front of me. I can’t help but gasp.

I follow suit, not even considering the bright daylight or the open curtains. I don’t care. All I care about is her. I unbuckle my bra, letting it fall off. Paige’s eyes follow, dropping from my face to my breasts. Her mouth falls slack and she takes her hand between her legs. She’s already wet, the sounds coming from the way her fingers rub her pussy telling me so. I know she’s thought those sinful thoughts too.

My green eyes follow the movement of her fingers, suddenly starving. I kick off my damp underwear, leaving them somewhere on the floor. Paige watches, breath hitching in her throat as she rubs sloppy circles on her clit. I gush between my legs.

“C’mere,” she tells me hoarsely and I do as she says. I straddle her again, and Paige grabs my hand and drags it down between my own legs for me. I feel frustrated, hadn’t I done this enough while we were apart? Rubbed myself swollen and soaked just at the thought of her? But it’s a game and she wants to play it. And I want to do whatever she wants me to.

“Oh,” I sigh when my fingers make contact with my clit, and I throw my head back. But with her free hand Paige grabs my hair and forces my gaze back to her. Her brows are arching in pleasure.

“Paige,” I plead.

“Whatchu want mama?” She asks. She already knows, but she wants me to say it.

“You,” I moan, my slick covering my fingers. “Want to ride you.”

With a groan she shuffles back on the bed, and suddenly her glistening fingers are rubbing against my lips. I let my tongue flick over my lower lip. It tastes like her. Just as I remembered. My hand grabs her left leg and pulls it over my shoulder, chest heaving with need. I felt lightheaded, my body working before my mind could catch up.

I spread her pussy apart and slot myself against her, drool nearly dripping out of my mouth as I watch. The blonde watches too, bucking her hips closer. My cunt presses against hers, our clits brushing, and it’s over.

”Oh shit,” she groans, shutting her eyes. I moan too. God I had missed this. The way she shutters underneath me, the sound of her whimpers, how wet she gets - it’s all for me.

”Paige,” I gasp, leaning back for a better angle and holding onto her knee as I grind myself into her. We’re both wet and slick against each other. I’m dripping all over her almost embarrassingly. I forgot how good sex can feel.

”You look so sexy,” she hisses, grabbing onto my hips and pulling my core into her harder. Paige is desperate, already moaning and falling apart. She’s so beautiful, breathless and red in the face.

My tits bounce along with my movements, my clit dragging against hers deliciously. The coil in my abdomen tightens. I had been dreaming of this moment for months and it was so much better than I could ever imagine. I’m drowning in her.

”Fuck keep doing that,” Paige moans. My nails dig into the skin of her legs. ”Keep doing that, ma and I’ma nut.”

”Feel so good my love,” I whimper, eyes rolling back. My legs feel tired, the muscles burning but I don’t care.

”You like ridin’ me?”

I nod desperately. ”I love riding you.” My movements turn rapid and desperate as my high builds bigger and bigger.

”Yeah, ride that shit,” she hisses, other hand dragging from my hip upwards past my breast to my lips. My mouth parts for her and I wrap my lips around her fingers, a faint taste of her still on them.

I moan against her fingers, my tongue circling her digits as I keep grinding harder and faster, our wetness causing loud squelching sounds to emerge. Paige’s eyes roll back and her moans turn high pitched - she’s right there. Which is enough to get me there too.

With gasps and moans we both fall apart, my legs trembling with exhaustion but I keep going and going, riding out our highs. Paige is whimpering and grabbing me everywhere, back aching against the mattress. I can’t look away even when my orgasm hits. I waited far too long for this

”Goddamn,” Paige mutters as I slow down, chest heaving. I push my hair back as the girl pulls her fingers out of my mouth. I let her leg fall off my shoulder back to the mattress, ready to crash on top of her with exhaustion. But the blonde has other plans.

She wraps her hands around both my thighs, pulling me to her mouth. I’ve barely come down from my last climax when I realise what she’s doing.

”Paige, my legs,” I whine but her grip only tightens as I hover over her mouth. In every other setting I would feel embarrassed being this close and exposed to someone. But not her.

”Don’t worry mama,” she moans at the sight of me. Dripping and swollen, still throbbing. ”Just sit down.”

-

It’s heaven to taste her like this, to see her this close. I want to devour her, my tongue circling her clit. But she’s still hovering. Her legs shake around my face. At this point I don’t care if I can’t breathe.

”Baby I’ma need you to sit,” I mumble against her core. She shutters.

”Paige I-”

”I said sit the fuck down,” my voice is full of authority as I pull her down and suddenly her weight is on my face. I could drown in her and I just might. I’m sucking on her clit, hands kneading her perfect ass.

”Baby,” she gasps, her moans suddenly louder as she grabs hold of my hair. It hurts as she yanks it which only makes me buck my hips in the air. She tastes better than I remembered. I wanted to eat this pussy forever.

”Ride my face mama,” I murmur into her, laying my tongue flat. She’s too gone to resist, blindly following every order I give her. Grabbing my hair tighter she begins to grind her pussy against me, her clit nudging against my nose as my tongue dips inside her. She’s gushing all over. I was wrong, this is heaven.

”It’s my pussy,” I moan against her, my core throbbing just at the taste of her. ”Tell me.”

”It’s your pussy baby,” she whimpers, grinding harder and faster. I can barely breathe. ”It’s all yours.” To hear such sinful things coming out of her sweet mouth causes that familiar knot to build within me. And when I open my eyes the sight only makes me get closer - Izzie, leaning back and hair flowing in the air, breasts perked up and round as she grinds herself onto me. I want her like this forever.

”Fucking love this pussy, gonna be eatin’ this all day you feel me?” I murmur against her, my tongue slipping in her slick folds.

”Mmm baby whatever you want,” Iz cries out. ”Can have whatever you want.”

”That’s my girl,” I groan. My girl.

”It’s your pussy Paige.”

”I own you?” I pant out. I needed to hear it. The confirmation I had been dying for. She might date whoever, but her body and her mind are mine. They’ve always been mine.

She mewls and her body trembles. She wants it so bad. But she’s just so tired. 

”You own me,” she whimpers, her moans impossibly loud. I just hope the walls are soundproof enough - but then again, let everyone hear. Let the whole city know who Izara Chopra belongs to.

I grab hold of her legs to stop the movements that were turning frantic and sloppy. She lets out a moan of relief, holding onto my hair as I do the work for her. My jaw aches and my tongue is tired but I lap her up, her taste and the sounds of her mouth enough to get me moaning.

”Paige, I’m gonna cum,” she cries out, legs trembling around me. Those high pitched whimpers, fuck I forgot how good they sounded. My hand drags down to my clit. I’m soaked again.

”Cum on my face baby,” I murmur against her, having to rub my clit lightly only a few times to get my own climax to build. I never wanted to cum so bad - with her pussy on my face and her taste in my mouth.

”Oh shit, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she moans, tugging harder and harder. I can’t breathe. I don’t care. I feel the knot in my stomach build and build and build.

”Oh fuck,” Izzie cries out, grabbing the wall in front of her as she climaxes, gushing down my face. I drink her up, the taste of her overwhelming me as I cum too, forcing my eyes to stay open so I can watch her.

”Paige,” she sighs and I keep holding her down, lapping her wetness up. Iz squeals and pushes my hands off her with a laugh. ”Paige stop!”

”I dunno if I can,” I admit, not sure if it’s sweat or her that’s dripping down my neck.

She crashes beside me, trying to catch her breath. Her makeup is running down her cheeks and her black hair is knotted at her neck but she’s never looked so beautiful. How I missed seeing her this way.

We both know it’s not right. She’s not all mine really. There’s still Jasper, and a lot for us to figure out. But right now I don’t care. I pull her into me and smell her hair unashamedly.

”You got no idea how much I missed you,” I whisper into her. She meets my words with a kiss and I know she feels the same.

”Wanna lie here forever,” she murmurs into my skin. I almost melt, my heart jolts almost uncomfortably. The things I would give up for her, I hope she knows. I love her. Endlessly. Irrevocably. Forever.

The cruel sound of her phone buzzing on the ground cuts through the air. She scrambles to her feet like a baby deer, still shaking and naked.

”It’s my mom,” she groans. ”She’s asking why we’re taking so long and that Christmas dinner will be done soon.”

”Shit, what time is it?” I ask, getting up to get dressed. Iz watches, amused.

”Oh no, I’m not taking you back till you’ve showered gorgeous,” she tells me, snapping her fingers towards the bathroom. ”Chop chop.”

-

My legs still shake at Christmas dinner, a reminder of the sin shared by me and Paige. It doesn’t help when my father makes her sit right next to me, and her knee presses into me, the heat of her skin against mine only separated by the worn softness of her loose jeans.

A weird silence looms over the table as we eat, until my dad clears her throat.

”How nice to be just with family,” he says, taking a sip of his wine. Kiran laughs.

”Dad, Paige is here,” he points out. Paige and I chuckle too.

”Oh, right,” he says, eyes widening as they turn to her. ”I suppose I meant how nice for Jasper to be elsewhere.”

”Rohan!” My mother gasps, and for a fleeting second I think she might chuck a pig in a blanket at him. I’m surprised too. I knew he wasn’t fond of Jasper but I never realised how much he actually disapproved. Still, his name hits like a wave against the rocks on a shore.

”He’s a nice lad! Just a bit much sometimes,” my father defends. My mom is fuming.

”Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you,” she hisses, putting her cutlery down. ”You’re confusing poor Izzie.”

I put my cutlery down too, suddenly losing my appetite. I hated when they infantilized me, like I was a child so easy to manipulate.

”Could we not talk about this right now?” I ask, keeping a cool tone with effort.

”See,” my dad grins and leans back on his chair. ”She doesn’t want to talk about Jasper either.” He looks smugly at my mother.

It both frustrates and embarrasses me. Why did he have to do this now with Paige sitting beside me. I didn’t want her to see this. I didn’t know anything.

”Stop!” I yelp, making even Kiran put his food down. The silence that falls over is heavy, everyone’s eyes are on me.

I get up clearing my throat. ”Excuse me,” I murmur, my cheeks feeling hot. Ignoring my mother’s refusals, I walk out and straight to the living room, to the grand piano.

Swallowing my frustration, my fingers drag over the white keys, pressing down on each of them. Lazily I play the notes of Clair De Lune still found somewhere deep in my cortex from the piano lessons I took as a kid. I sit there for a while, in the twinkling light of the Christmas tree.

”I didn’t know you play,” Paige’s voice interrupts me, making me stop.

”I used to,” I admit, making space for her on the stool. There barely is any. I remember when Kiran and I were small enough to easily fit both of us.

”Keep playin’,” the blonde murmurs. She knows I’m not in a mood to talk about it. And I’m too upset to feel shy over my rusty skills. My fingers play the notes of Your Song, gently humming the melody. It’s almost impossible to stay focused under the burning gaze of the blonde beside me.

She merely watches as I play, the tension in the dining room a distant memory now. I consider kissing her. Until my father knocks on the archway, making me stop and Paige to drop her gaze.

”She’s some player huh,” he says as he walks closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. ”I always thought she could play professionally.”

”She’s the best,” Paige hums and her tone is so loving and gentle it makes my cheeks flush.

”Would you mind if I talk to my daughter just for a moment,” he asks. ”I’ll have her back to you in no time.”

”’Course,” Paige scrambles onto her feet but checks with me before leaving. I nod, letting her go. I move to the couch with him.

”Great kid,” he points towards the archway where Paige had disappeared just moments ago.

”Yeah,” I hum. ”The best.”

He stares at me with a strange look. Funny, you’d think that you know your parents through and through, every look and sound and their hidden meanings. But I have no idea what this particular gaze means.

”I wanted to apologize for my behaviour,” weird, he wasn’t one to apologize normally.

”It’s okay,” I smile dryly, playing with the hem of my knitted dress.

He scooches a little closer to me, like he’s about to tell me something important. I perk up, watching into his face. 

“You won’t understand until you’re a parent yourself,” he starts. “But all I want for you is happiness. Your mother too, though she has a strange way of showing it.”

I chuckle at his words.

“And if Jasper makes you happy, then I’m happy for you both.”

There’s a but coming.

“But,” there it is. “And maybe I’m wrong, but it doesn’t seem like he does.”

I clear my throat, dropping my gaze to my lap. I feel unsure of what to say. I know he’s right, but it’s different to say it outloud. To finally admit something I’ve known all along.

“That’s all,” he says, realising how flustered I got. “Just think about it,” he waves it off like he didn’t just have me nearly spiraling, grabbing a book from the coffee table and skimming through it. Until he puts it down again, avoiding my gaze.

“I’ve never seen you laugh so much or so loud since Paige came over,” he says with a lighthearted tone. But I have an inkling he means something else, something that makes my stomach churn. “You seem happy.”

Before I can answer, Kiran and mum barge into the room shifting the mood entirely. Of course, my mother ignored what happened in the dining room, like she ignored every problem.

“Love Actually time?” Kiran asks, taking a seat on the chair my father usually sits in.

“What’s Love Actually?” Paige asks as she enters the room too. Suddenly everything feels lighter.

“The best Christmas movie ever,” Kiran says. “We watch it every Christmas.”

“It is a British staple,” my mum chimes in. I make space for Paige in the corner of the couch as the movie starts playing. But my mind is elsewhere, somewhere between Jasper and my father’s words and the way my life might turn out. It’s enough to cause a headache, or maybe it’s the wine.

-

“Why are all these songs bangers?” I whisper to Izzie as we watch the movie. I’m fully invested, and happy to be included in something that felt like such an intimate family activity. A bowl of chocolate is being passed around, Rohan trying to hand it to his daughter mindlessly. But she won’t grab it.

Izzie’s dad leans forward and lets out a gentle laugh. “I think she’s asleep,” he whispers. And in that moment, to confirm his suspicions, her head lulls until it finds its home in the crook of my arm. I pray to God no one notices the way my cheeks turn bright pink.

“Yeah, I think so too,” I laugh, careful not to wake the girl up. Instead, almost instinctively, I wrap my arm around her and pull her in. It’s platonic enough to not seem suspicious. I think. Her scent lingers in the air, mixing with the Christmas tree sitting pretty in a corner. I want to have every Christmas like this.

The couch shifts slightly as Rohan gets up, his usually heavy steps light and careful. Grabbing a blanket from the edge of the chair, he walks over and tugs me and Izara under it. Mrs. Chopra turns, watchful from the opposite corner of the couch. Kiran looks too. But Rohan offers me a warm smile when my eyes meet his, and brushes a strand of Izzie’s hair off her face. She stirs, nuzzling her nose into me. But Rohan only smiles. And in that moment I know that he knows - and it feels like permission.

-

taglist: @lilpaigeyherbo @wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@pb524830@bueckersfive@lupinqs@sierrale8ne@avvwritesstufff@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges1vur@slut4uconnwbb@bueckersbitch@janaelalfysblunt@omgimtumbling@angryflowerwitch@ohbueckers @enchantingesme @ohmybueckers @potatobears-world @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @paigebaby5 @gayflygirl @saverdelrey @xoxosierralane @katemartinsfuturewife @nicebellee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @cowboybueckers

[lunaticli8rarian]

hey-i found another thing that's really interesting.

so like, june is wrong, 8ut more right than ever. and jade is right 8ut more wrong than ever. it is recommended listening that you put on free8ird while reading this, as it is what was listened to on loop while writing this. here i'll even give you a youtu8e link. https://youtu.be/0LwcvjNJTuM ok so like, even though i picked (YOU ARE COMING) first time around, (YOU ARE NOT) is so f8cking interesting. i've read and reread it multiple times solely for the fun of it. i'm a sucker for drama.

let's narrow down this medit8tion to the two characters in question. jade and june. they're the most interesting in this exchange o8viously. jade is staunchly against going to the meat timeline to let the kids go to sgrur8, anti-meat. while june is jazzed a8out the idea of a fun adventure. pro-meat.

8ut there's a hidden feature of this convers8tion. can this adventure 8e good at all. no and yes. reflected 8y jade and june respectively.

jade thinks this adventure's gonna suck. at 8est it'll 8e a fun lil' romp that'll just dump them out 8ack where they started with no real change made. at worst it's gonna 8e damaging, traumatizing, and still spit them 8ack out with the pro8lems they had when they went into it.

and june thinks the adventure is where they all thrive. that domestic life is the worst possi8le thing and it sucks and they kill people if are left to their own devices. "too much freedom is a 8ad thing."

let's start with where jade is right. jade is easily right 8ecause yeah no, june is kind of a directionless dimwit who doesn't really know what she wants. she does not have the tools or language to even define what she wants, much less achieve it. anything she sets her mind to falls apart rapidly. a light flowing 8reeze of a person.

a stark contrast to the rest of the candy cast, who i would say know exactly what they want. jane; genocide. karkat; not genocide. rose; suicide. roxy; keep the peace no matter the cost which includes the cost of a genocide. goals they may not 8e a8le to perfectly vocalize 8ut are a8le to follow and achieve on earth c.

this gets into why june is kind of wrong, 8ut mostly right without realizing it. cuz she's a dummy who can't vocalize what she's thinking properly and will carry these pro8lems with her no matter where she goes. 8UT!

june NEEDS this adventure. she needs it 8ad. she has had 20 f8cking years in domestic life, no change has 8een made. the metaphorical second she chose domestic life, she was shackled into the role of father and hus8and. then divorced hus8and. if she was going to transition in a domestic life, she would've done it already.

domestic life shackles june eg8ert. the home itself is what makes her stuck. it traps her. this LIFE traps her woefully. the circumstances and everyone's expect8tions on her, literally the sh8t jade's talking a8out where she has to "suck it up for the sake of others" is choking the life out of her soul.

do you remem8er the closest june's ever gotten to cracking her egg? cuz i remem8er it clearly.

IT WAS WHEN SHE WAS ON A FUNNY LITTLE GUIDED ADVENTURE WITH VRISKA! where like 80% of our understanding and reading of june comes from. where her NAME comes from!

june is a 8reath player for corns sake! adventure is where she 8elongs. changes and danger are her nature. as an heir she is the literal em8odiment, the inheritor of freedom itself. domestic life is choking her out. f8cking off with vriska on another adventure is enrichment. it's the only hope she has of 8ecoming something 8etter. like she tells jade, she is literally TRYING to change. leaving is her attempt to change. the environment of sgrur8 and the meat timeline incites change.

and we reach why jade is so, so f8cking wrong. with one of the most f8cked lines in the entire upd8, like a knife to my gut and heart it's 8een stuck there.

june's own happiness is not really a factor for her. june's own 8etterment is not a factor to her. and she couches it in language implying it's for the sake of the children. 8ut it's-it's not for the children. the children were never made for their own sake.

vrissy is the poster child of this fact. she was taken in the hopes of 8asically doing vriska 8ut right so she doesn't turn out like vriska (failure, vrissy literally helped vriska realize she can still 8e vriska without all the trauma and catholic guilt hanging over her. it's very o8vious vrissy is a serket like all the rest. you can't take the vriska out of the serket.)

yiffy as karkat seems eager to imply, is the result of jade 8asically making a f8cking ship kid with rose as the ena8ler to this fantasy 8ecause dave didn't actually want a kid.

and she never actually deny's this was a factor for her. and then she is the most a8solute desper8 one to avoid sgrur8 for the sake of her child 8eing "normal" while yiffy as an individual, o8viously doesn't like her mom. was kept a f8cking secret from the world, pro8a8ly never socialize well, and has dog features. i don't think yiffy is the real factor here. i think jade is projecting her desires onto yiffy. i think jade desper8tly wants to vicariously live her life through her daughter. i think

"she'll never 8e normal" stung further than just insulting her daughter. that's just opinion and specul8tion on my part though, 8ased on how she f8cking named her daughter yiffy so she could fantasize/roleplay having a kid with dave.

8UT HEY! let's talk a8out something i can say with 888% certainty!

she's a massive hypocrite. calling out june for not knowing what she wants, when what, jade's plan to unf8ck the timeline is to just stay and never change? cuz it's not a8out changing for the 8etter? it's a8out the children? when these f8ckers haven't even 8een here a century and already have ruined the lives of so many people, including their own!

jade alone has f8cked her daughter up immensely, ena8led the destruction of kanaya and rose's marriage, dave and karkat were misera8le 8eing with her. dave even so much to the point he yeeted himself out of the universe the old fashioned way. and jade herself isn't even happy. to say changing herself, everyone's self, is unimportant, an adult move or not, is just plain dum8.

cuz without changing yourself, it doesn't matter if you go on an adventure or stay in your house all day. you'll end up with the same person who made those mistakes in the first place. and candy is not a land of change.

roxy never transitioned. karkat is still trying to 8e a warhero instead of just living a calm life and going home LIKE HE WANTED TO!. rose is the same self destructive self h8ing girl she was on the meteor. june is the same man she entered the world as. jane ended up the same 8atterwitch she was groomed into 8eing at a young age. why do you think all the ghosts ended up in there?! the 8IGGEST creatures of unchanging nature. NOTHING CAN GET 8ETTER IN A WORLD WHERE NOTHING CAN CHANGE! IT'S JUST A MATTER OF SPINNING OUR WHEELS UNTIL WE DIE! AND IS THAT THE RIGHT OPTION!? IS THAT THE RESPONSI8LE, CORRECT THING TO DO!?

well, like a certain someone once said. i know my lim8s. people who wish to wallow in unchanging misery will do so regardless of what anyone else says or does. the real question is. are they going to drag down the ones who want to change with them?

june may 8e immature, and ungrown up. 8ut that makes her more a8le to change than anyone.

thank you for coming to another one of my vristalks, heed my words or know woes for the rest of your days. let's see if i can pop out another 8anger for the masses!

[magic-shop-stories]

Hiii!!! Could I request Namjoon x f!reader boyfriend head-canons like how you did the Yoongi ones?? Also, preferably with a reader who’s American? But you can totally do whatever!!! Ty!!!

💌 Reply:

I really wanted to write this for all the members, so thank you for requesting it... I hope it's what you wanted, tho I struggled a lot this time, I didnt want it to be too much like Yoongis but I think they wouldn't be THAT different in some points so idk... hope you'll enjoy reading xo - c -

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

↳ NAMJOON (RM) × FEM!READER

~ CONTENT WARNING FOR SECOND PART OF THE POST ~ MATURE THEMES | (extra warning in the post)

Possessive behavior

Suggestive themes

Mild NSFW references (kissing, intimacy)

Jealousy Proceed mindfully!

DAILY RHYTHM

Mornings

Early Riser

Slow Starter

awake by 6:30 AM

not by choice

his brain won’t shut off

you find him sprawled on the couch

hair mussed

he's scribbling poetry in a moleskine

glasses slide down his nose

he mutters

“Do you think Thoreau would’ve liked Spotify playlists?”

Coffee Catastrophe

brews matcha lattes

spills half the whisked foam trying to carry it to you

“It’s… abstract art,” 

wiping green splatters off the counter

leaves a sticky note: 

“Compensation latte en route. Don’t judge me.”

Breakfast Buffet

creates a fusion spread:

avocado toast with gochujang drizzle strawberry Pop-Tarts, sliced persimmons

“It’s a metaphor,”  “Sweet, spicy, existential.”

Post-Wakeup Rituals

Study Sessions

his “studio” is a sunlit corner cluttered with art books, bonsai clippings, and a half-built LEGO Guggenheim

you perch on the arm of his chair

he pulls you into his lap without looking up from his sketchpad

“Your elbow’s on my Hegel annotations,”

grumbles, but lets you stay

Tug-of-War

if you try to leave, he hooks a finger in your belt loop

“Wait; listen to this haiku about cicadas.” 

recites it solemnly

“…It’s about us. Maybe.”

Clumsy Affection

reaches for a high-five

misses, and accidentally knocks over his succulent

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” 

you sigh

he repots it with dirt-smudged hands

“Imperfection is art. Like us.”

Midday Moments

Park Philosopher

drags you to Han River

rambling about “the duality of ducks” 

tossing breadcrumbs grain kernels

you nap under a tree

he sketches you with a pocket watercolor set

“You’re my Starry Night...” 

later showing you a blotchy but earnest portrait

Language Exchange

you teach him your slang

“Yeet is a verb, noun, and lifestyle”

he corrects your Korean tones

"Saranghae isn’t a whisper, it’s a promise...” 

voice low enough to make you drop your iced coffee

Nighttime Nuances

Pre-Bed Brain Dump

reads Walden aloud until 1 AM

pausing to rant about capitalism

“Thoreau was a hypocrite but right... wait, did you just snore?”

Sleeping Style

starfishes across 75% of the bed

one arm slung over your waist

“You’re my… multiverse…” 

snores lightly

you kick his shin = he rolls over

taking the sheets hostage

KEY DIALOGUE

when you nag him to hydrate:

“You’re worse than my ARMY Bomb manual.” 

sighs

handing you a reusable water bottle

catch him nodding off mid-lecture about climate change:

“I’m not… tired. I’m processing.”

mumbles, glasses askew

then faceplanting into his copy of Braiding Sweetgrass

his version of “I miss you”:

“Your absence disrupts my entropy.” 

translates to: “Come cuddle before I combust.”

COMMUNICATION

TEXTING STYLE

7 AM: screenshot of the sunrise

“Thoreau was right. Also, buy almond milk.”

3 PM: voice note of him beatboxing over a Langston Hughes poem

caption: “New mixtape: Existential Crisis & Chill.”

Midnight: 

“The moon’s waxing gibbous. Come stargaze. P.S. I made hot chocolate...”

Notes

scribbles Whitman quotes on museum tickets

leaves one in your coat: 

“We were together. I forget the rest... Or I won’t.”

finds your grocery list

adds “Admiration (1 lifetime supply)” at the bottom

PET NAMES

Public:

“Professor” 

when you out-debate him

“Okay, Professor, explain TikTok to me again.”

“Sunflower” at the farmer’s market

“Because you’re tall, bright, and… rooted.” 

blushes at his own metaphor

Private:

“내 작은 폭풍” (My little storm) 

when you’re angry

“Your rage is… awe-inspiring. Also, please stop throwing socks.” “Moonchild” 

whispered during late-night drives

“You glow even when the world’s dark.”

CURSING

Worried Curses

you come home late?

he’s pacing

wearing mismatched socks

“씨발… I Googled ‘American urban crime rates’ and now you’re here?!” 

crushes you in a hug

“Never do that again. Unless… it’s for tacos.”

sees you struggling with IKEA instructions

“젠장, capitalism wins again.” 

builds the shelf upside-down but insists it’s “postmodern.”

Flustered Curses

wear that dress

he knocks over his bonsai

“…God.” 

avoids eye contact

“It’s not fair. You’re a distraction.”

MUTTERINGS (UNFILTERED & UNBOTTLED)

Annoyed Affection

“Why are you so… effortlessly disruptive?” 

when you reorganize his bookshelves by color

“This is chaos. Beautiful chaos.”

steal his fries

he gasps

“This is why empires fall.” 

slides the plate closer to you

Sleep-Soft Confessions

half-asleep, nuzzling your neck

“Your thoughts taste like honey.” 

next morning: 

“Did I say that out loud? Pretend I didn’t.”

after nightmares: 

“Stay. Please. You’re my… sine qua non.”

doesn’t explain it

doesn’t need to

HIDDEN POETRY (FOR YOUR EARS ONLY)

Lyric Leaks

overhear him humming a melody while washing dishes

later, find a note: 

“Your voice in the morning... key of G, tempo adagio.”

Satoori Slips

stress unlocks rural roots

after a long day, he sighs:

“나 죽겠다… (I’m dying…) But your smile is CPR.”

Artistic Vulnerability

leaves a watercolor of your hands in his studio

caption: “These built my universe.”

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

Overprotective Tendencies

mention a creepy DM?

next day, he gifts you a leather-bound journal titled “Digital Detox: A Poet’s Guide to Privacy.” 

inside, he’s handwritten firewall tips in calligraphy

“Knowledge is armor. Also, I enabled two-factor authentication.”

Passive-Aggressive Love

complain about slow Wi-Fi?

builds a DIY bookshelf router

cites its design in a TED Talk

“It’s a metaphor… for connection.”

Services

you’re sick?

attempts chicken noodle soup but confuses cumin with cinnamon

“It’s… experimental fusion cuisine.” 

orders pho instead and blames the app

“The algorithm chose this. Don’t hate me.”

Jetlag Rescue

after your flight from the U.S., he stocks the fridge with Dr Pepper and kale smoothies

“Balanced electrolytes… or something.”

VULNERABLE MOMENTS (PHILOSOPHER’S EDITION)

When You’re Hurt

sees you crying over homesickness

recites Mary Oliver until you’re laughing through tears

“You don’t have to be good… but you do have to let me hug you.”

Post-Fight Peace Offering

leaves a dog-eared copy of “The Alchemist” on your pillow

highlighted line: 

“Wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.”  sticky note: “You’re my treasure. Even when you’re mad.”

Drunk Truths

tipsy on soju

traces the outline of your face

“Your smile… it’s like a haiku. Simple. Perfect. Destroys me.”

ask him to explain

"Just… let me live here.”

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Period Protocol

tracks your cycle via moon phases

“Lunar energy affects us all.” 

leaves dark chocolate and a hot water bottle shaped like Totoro

“Science and Studio Ghibli. Optimal healing.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over burnt cookies

bakes a “deconstructed s’more” (graham crackers, Hershey’s, lighter)

“It’s abstract. Like Rothko.”

Cultural Comforts

wears your college hoodie for a week (way too small)

“It smells like you. And… ranch dressing?” 

secretly buys a duplicate to avoid giving it back

FIERCE LOVE

Defending Your Honor

Karen mocks your Korean accent?

steps in, voice calm but firm

“Language is a living art. Hers is a masterpiece.” 

later, he rage-paints a canvas

titled “Ignorance in Primary Colors.”

Sacrifices

attends a crowded frat party to meet your friends

smiles through “Beer Pong 101” 

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… but this is hell.”

UNEXPECTED VULNERABILITY

Period Protocol

leaves a care package:

organic tea, a heated blanket, and a handwritten “Period Playlist” (featuring Mitski and BTS’s “Zero O’Clock”)

“Pain is temporary. My love? Thermodynamically infinite.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over a failed work project?

recites “Still I Rise” while kneading your shoulders

“You’re Maya Angelou in Prada. Now let’s rise… to order takeout.”

COLD FRONT

Silent Treatment

hurt?

he buries himself in Nietzsche

texts: “When you stare into the abyss… it’s just me waiting for you to apologize.”

Playful Insults Gone Wrong

jokes about his “dad sneakers.” 

buys neon Yeezys and wears them to a museum

“Aesthetic rebellion. Now suffer with me.”

NEGLECTED NIGHTS

Overwork Blinders

disappears for days writing his mixtape

returns with a bonsai tree 

“It’s a metaphor. Needs patience… like us.”

Breaking Point:

unplug his laptop mid-session

he fumes: “Art isn’t a hobby...it’s my lungs!” 

returns at dawn with a handwritten poem: 

“Apologies in iambic pentameter. Forgive me?”

GIFTS

Philosophical Pampering

gifts you a first-edition copy of "Leaves of Grass" with annotations in the margins

“Page 32; Whitman’s wrong. You’re the answer to the universe.”

Eco-Warrior Love

buys noise-canceling headphones made from recycled ocean plastic

“Now you can ignore the world and save it.”

PRETENDS TO HATE SHOPPING (BUT LOVES BOOKSTORES)

Reluctant Mule

drag him to a flea market

complains about “consumerist dystopias” 

but buys a vintage globe to “track our future travels”

carries your tote bag like a badge of honor

“This is not a metaphor. My arms hurt.”

Secret Splurges

catches you eyeing a $500 art print of Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Black Iris”

returns with a bootleg version he painted himself

“Mine’s better. It has… soul.”

Fashion Critic (Liar)

try on a prairie dress

“You look like a Laura Ingalls Wilder reboot.” 

later orders it

HATES WHEN YOU GET DRUNK

(BUT LOVES YOUR HONESTY)

Philosophical Guardian

finds you tipsy at a party

debating “the existential merit of TikTok” with Jungkook

sweeps you over his shoulder

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… starting with your liquor intake.”

Morning-After Mercies

wakes you with avocado toast and a "matcha IV drip"

“Electrolytes and antioxidants. Also, I Googled hangover cures in MLA format.”

Secret Worry

texts your college bestie and Jungkook: 

“Keep her at 2 margaritas. Third one turns her into a teen.”

MARRIAGE (POETIC AMBUSH)

Fight

he skips a wedding expo

call him a “commitment-phobe”

snaps: “Marriage is a capitalist construct!” 

you retaliate: “Then why’d you bookmark eco-friendly ring blogs?!”

Ring

minimalist band

engraved with coordinates to the Han River bench where he first said “I love you”

hides it in his Walden copy

find it mid-rant about “transcendentalist proposals”

Proposal

after a fight about his workaholism

projects a poem onto your apartment wall: 

“Forever is a fractal. Let’s get lost in the pattern.” 

“Marry me. Or let’s debate it over kombucha.”

FATHERHOOD

(THE GREAT PHILOSOPHICAL CRISIS)

Panic

mention kids?

he freezes, spilling matcha on his “I Heart NY” shirt

“…We killed a cactus. A cactus.” 

buys a fern named “Baby Freud”

it thrives

he's trying extra hard (bc he secretly really really really wants to)

Test Run

volunteers at an orphanage to read “The Little Prince”

returns with a kid’s crayon drawing

titled “Namjoon Hyung is Weird”

frames it

“Art is truth.”

Revelation

catches you watching a video of him teaching ARMYs to recycle

a toddler comments: “He’s pretty… for a teacher.” 

he mutes it, cheeks pink

“…She’s not wrong.”

ARGUMENTS & FEARS

Fight

you suggest naming your son “Thoreau”

chokes on his kimchi

“We’re not naming a human after a guy who hated people!” 

compromises with “Jun”

“It means truth. And I picked it.”

Fear

finds him researching “How to Raise a Feminist Son” at 3 AM

slams the laptop

“…But what if I’m worse? What if I lecture him about Hegel?”

THE ARRIVAL

Pregnancy

reads “The Giving Tree” to your belly every night

records the kicks as a lo-fi beat titled “Kicks of Hope”.

Birth Day

holds your hand while reciting Rumi

passes out when the doctor says “push”

wakes up sobbing

“You’re my supernova.”

First Night Home

swaddles your daughter in a BTS-themed blanket

texts the group chat:

“She has her eyes. And my inability to shut up.” 

sends a voice memo of her coos over a Miles Davis sample

~ CONTENT WARNING ~

MINORS DNI | NSFW | SPICY INTIMACY/PHYSICALITY AHEAD

contains: possessive themes, sensual language, suggestive scenarios, jealousy, explicit intimacy/kissing,suggestive content, kink mentions (marking, power dynamics), body worship

PHYSICALITY & ARTISTIC AFFECTION

Protective Poise

Public Gestures

his hands are gentle but intentional

but they linger

thumb brushing the nape of your neck 

palm resting on the small of your back at gallery openings

fingers brushing yours as he passes you a book

palm sliding possessively down your spine

whisper: “That Picasso? Overrated. You’re the masterpiece.”

he’s less restrained at home

pulls you into impromptu slow dances in the kitchen

humming off-key to “Trivia: Love” while swaying

pins you against his bookshelf, philosophy tomes digging into your back

“Tell me I’m wrong."

lips grazing your earlobe: "Tell me Rothko’s red isn’t the same shade as your mouth.”

Clumsy Cuddles

tries to lift you for a spin

trips over the rug, and lands you both on the couch/bed

“Gravity’s a social construct anyway.” 

cheeks pink

instead of apologizing, he hovers above you

glasses askew

“Fate intervened. Now...”

Intellectual Rivalry (Jealousy, Joon-Style)

overhears a philosophy major flirting with you at a café

interrupts with a “casual” debate on Kant’s ethics

later, buys you first-edition Thoreau

“Just thought you’d appreciate… deeper conversations.”

Subtle Flex

shows up to your work event in a tailored suit

glasses perched low

“Oh, this old thing? Just felt like… elevating the dress code.”

CONTEMPLATIVE GAZES

Staring (But Make It Deep)

watches you sketch in the park

eyes tracking the way your brow furrows

“Your creativity… it’s like watching a storm form.”  “That’s your third metaphor today.”  he grins “I’m just getting started.”

Staring (But Make It Dangerous)

watches you slip into his oversized Harvard hoodie

eyes darkening as the fabric drapes off one shoulder

rasps: “You’re… violating the dress code.” then closes his laptop: “And I’m failing to care.”

Late-Night Honesty

post-museum date, he traces the curve of your collarbone with a pen cap 

“Your body’s a gallery. Every scar, every freckle... curated perfection.” 

kisses your shoulder

loosens his tie

voice a velvet rumble

“That dress should be illegal. You should be illegal.” traces the strap of your lingerie: "Sylvia Plath wrote about this, didn’t she? I am, I am, I am… yours.”

SECRETLY LOVES YOUR CONFIDENCE (BUT WILL WRITE A SONNET ABOUT IT)

Artful Admiration

Backhanded Praise

wear a bold, avant-garde outfit?

“You’re… a walking Dadaist exhibit.” 

later sketches you in charcoal

captioning it “Chaos Theory: Personified.”

wear a leather trench coat to his speech?

“You’re deconstructing the male gaze. Literally.”

sketches you, nude

Possessive Glances

spots a stranger eyeing you at a poetry slam

slides his arm around your waist

loudly debating “the hegemony of Western canon” until they flee

Possessive Academia

grad student flirts with you at a library?

he accidentally knocks over a stack of Derrida books

pulls you into a secluded aisle

“Let me… re-shelve your priorities.”

BEDROOM PHILOSOPHY

Foreplay (But Make It Existential)

reads Foucault aloud

voice dipping lower with every page

“Power is knowledge… and I know what you’re thinking.” 

slides his glasses off, eyes locked on yours

“Prove me wrong.”

prefers lights dim

Miles Davis on vinyl

whisper-reads Rilke as you straddle his lap

“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.” 

hands grip your hips

“Still… focus, okay?”

Aftercare

braids your hair while dissecting the symbolism in “The Great Gatsby.” 

“Daisy’s voice is full of money… but yours? Full of… everything.”

TOUCH

Electric Prelude

hands speak in sonnets

calloused fingertips skimming your jawline

like a quill drafting verses

thumb brushing your bottom lip as if memorizing its shape for a poem

maps your skin like a cartographer charting undiscovered terrain

lingering at pulse points (wrist, throat, inner thigh) to sync his heartbeat with yours

“Your body’s a library,” “Let me… read you.”

Possessive Anchors

palm splayed against your lower back

pressing you closer until his chest meets yours

fingers tangled in your hair

tugging just enough to tilt your head for a kiss that starts as a whisper and ends as a manifesto

“You’re my magnum opus...”

breathes heavy, lips grazing your earlobe

“And I’m… revising.”

Aftercare Rituals

post-passion, he traces constellations on your hip with a philosopher’s precision

touch lingers on scars, birthmarks, the curve of your waist

pulls you into his chest

reciting Whitman into your hair

“We were together… I forget the rest.”

KISSES

Slow Ignition

starts with closed-mouth presses to your temple, knuckles, the corner of your lips

testing, teasing

when you gasp, he smirks

nipping your lower lip

“Impatient. Inelegant. Perfect.”

he's deep but controlled

Hidden Softness

after fights, his kisses are apologetic

chaste pecks to your eyelids, nose, scars on your knee/elbows

“Sorry… sorry…” - breathed like a prayer

leaves a haiku on your pillow: 

“Pride is a shadow / Your warmth is the sun / Forgive me.”

PACE

Deliberate Crescendo

prefers slow, maddening build-up

undresses you like unwrapping a first-edition novel

mouth exploring every chapter

= collarbones, ribs, the dip of your hips

taking forever before letting you fall apart

“You’ll take what I give you.” 

warns you at every whimper

eyes dark

“And I’ll give you… everything.”

Feral Surges

when jealousy strikes, he’s relentless

pins you against his studio wall

biting your shoulder as his hands roam

“Mine. Say it.” 

you whimper? he gentens

forehead pressed to yours

“Say it… please.”

POSITIONS

Scholar’s Missionary

your legs hooked over his shoulders

hands gripping the headboard for leverage

“Don’t hide,” he orders

he's watching your face unravel

“Let me… study you.”

Cowgirl Command (aka you're his "pro rider")

lets you take control

hands squeezing your hips

“Show me what you need.” 

the moment you falter, he flips you

"Thought so"

PREFERENCES

Lighting

pitch dark or very dim lights

pages of his journal scattered like rose petals

claims he “hates getting interrupted”

Soundtrack

your whimpers = his name gasped like a curse

demands “Louder,” 

then covers your mouth or lightly choked you

“Too loud. Save it for the encore.”

Kinks

Marking

leaves metaphorical bruises

"ink stains" on your inner thigh

“So you remember… I’m your muse.”

Power Play

lets you “bind” him with his own tie

then breaks free

"You really think you can handle me?"

ROUNDS

Quality > Quantity tho if you beg him for more he won't ever stop until you beg fot the opposite

Dawn Encores wakes you with his mouth between your thighs

voice sleep-rough

"You moan in your sleep baby..."

FAVORITE SPOTS

Neck-to-Shoulder Junction bites here to hear you yelp

soothes it with his lips and gentle kisses

“You taste like… victory.”

Behind Your Ear whispers filth in Korean

grinning when you shiver and even wider when you don't understand

Inner Wrists kisses your veins like they’re holy

“Every heartbeat’s… because of me.”

TRIGGERS

Begging

“Please, Joon...” 

he cuts you off with a snarl

“Not yet. Earn it.”

Competence

take charge!

ride him ruthlessly

he lets you

until he can't hold himelf back anymore

“Fuck… okay.” 

flips you mid-stride

then tales you from behind

Vulnerability

tears during aftercare?

crushes you to his chest

voice breaking

“I’ve got you. Always. I'm sorry - tell me what you need honey.”

[santaasi]

no final cut

pairing: film director!james potter x actress!reader

summary: in the quiet glow of a nearly finished film, two souls trade unspoken confessions like delicate frames in a timeless reel

warnings: slow burn, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 2.2k

a/n: wrote this in two hours and got completely obsessed with these two. I've already written their first meeting and a few more scenes. If you like it, I’d love to turn 'muse' into a series of blurbs in the future

ᯓ★ now playing…

new west - those eyes

THE FIRST TIME HE CALLED YOU HIS MUSE, YOU LAUGHED.

Not because it was funny — well, maybe a little — but because it sounded like a line. One of those too-smooth, too-easy things men like James Potter say when they want to make you feel like the center of the universe without actually putting you in orbit.

You’d rolled your eyes and muttered that he was full of shit.

And he’d just smiled. That infuriating, lopsided smile of his — the one that made it feel like he knew something you didn’t. Like the joke was never quite on him.

That’s the thing about James. He always looks at you like there’s a secret strung between you, just out of reach. Some lingering, silent beat you’re missing in the script. You tell yourself it’s annoying. You even almost believe it.

He’s been casting you in his films since college. Back then, he was all caffeine-fueled chaos and wild-eyed ambition — living off instant noodles and half-written screenplays, building worlds out of cigarette smoke and god complexes. His stories bled with feeling. Unapologetically raw. And he’d ask you to break open on camera like it was easy. Like he knew you could.

And you did. Every single time.

Maybe because it felt good to be needed. Or maybe because you liked the challenge. Maybe — if you’re honest — it was something else entirely. Maybe it was the way he watched you through the viewfinder, jaw tense, breath shallow, like you were the only real thing in the shot. Like the whole film might fall apart if you didn’t deliver.

But that was then.

Now it’s years later, and somehow you’re still here. Still the girl in his frame. Still showing up on set with a script he wrote with you in mind — always you, even when the character’s name is something else. Still in his too-small apartment at midnight, with rough cuts playing on loop and the sound of the city bleeding through the cracked window.

You’re standing barefoot on the hardwood, arms crossed, watching the scene flicker across the monitor.

It’s the one he promised to leave in — the rooftop scene. The one that meant something. The one where your character almost says it. Almost confesses what she’s been swallowing for the entire goddamn film.

But in the cut, it’s gone. Vanished like it was never there.

You move closer without a word, wine glass dangling from your fingertips. Then you perch on the edge of his cluttered desk, your legs crossing slow, deliberate — just enough to make his jaw twitch. You’re still in his shirt — threadbare and soft with time — and a denim skirt that rides dangerously high every time you shift. You know exactly what you’re doing. And so does he.

James is hunched over his laptop, elbows deep in tangled cables and crumpled scripts, squinting at the timeline like it personally betrayed him. The glow of the monitor flickers over his cheekbones, and for a moment, he looks more ghost than boy. His curls are a mess. His T-shirt is inside out. And he’s still the most magnetic thing in the room.

“You cut the rooftop scene,” you say at last, voice feather-light. Teasing. Like you’re only just now noticing. You sip the wine, slow and amused.

He doesn’t look at you. Just grunts. “It was too long.”

“It was sexy long. Simmering. Dripping with tension. Very French.”

“You hate French cinema,” he mutters, fingers flying across the trackpad, aggressively color grading like it might save him.

“Exactly,” you say, stretching your legs toward his chair so your toes nudge the wheel. “And I still liked that scene. That has to count for something.”

He finally glances up. His gaze skims over your legs — lingers a half-second too long — before meeting your eyes.

“Nothing ever happens in your scenes,” he says, dry, deflecting.

You tilt your head, slow smile unfurling. “Well, whose fault is that, director?”

James shifts in his seat, jaw tight, pretending to focus on a frame-by-frame splice like it’s the most urgent thing in the world. Like he can’t feel the heat pouring off your skin just inches away.

You lean in slightly, voice warm and close enough to brush his neck.

“I gave you gold, you know. I looked at him like I was about to ruin his life with a kiss.”

His breath catches — barely, but you hear it.

“And that,” he says, still not looking at you, “is exactly why I cut it.”

You laugh — sharp, delighted. “Oh, come on. What is your problem with unresolved sexual tension?”

“I don’t have a problem with it.”

“No?” you tease, swirling the wine lazily. “Then why do you always cut it out like it’s some kind of continuity error?”

That’s when he looks at you. Really looks.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

And there it is again — that maddening thing in the way his eyes trace yours. Not hungry. Not desperate. But intent. Like he’s holding something behind his teeth. Like he’s loved you longer than he’s had the language to explain it.

“You’re too distracting,” he says finally. His voice is low. Measured. Honest.

You blink. Something in your chest catches. Then you grin like it doesn’t shake you.

“Flattery won’t get you out of this critique session, James.”

He huffs a laugh, low and dry, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Behind him, the rooftop scene flickers again on the monitor — muted and golden, the shadows of two people under a too-wide sky. Close enough to fall into each other. Close enough to break something.

Almost.

Always almost.

James doesn’t turn, but you catch the tug at the corner of his mouth. The kind of smile he only lets slip when he’s tired or tipsy or forgetting to be careful around you. The kind you’ve memorized like a scene you’ll never get to shoot again.

You shift, just slightly, your voice soft but laced with a familiar edge. “Let me guess. Afraid the audience might catch on?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Catch on to what?”

“That you’ve been in love with your lead actress for three years.”

The words fall too easily from your mouth — like you’re joking. Like they don’t taste like truth.

James doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just says, quietly, “Longer.”

The silence stretches.

You raise an eyebrow, slow. “Shame she thinks you’re full of shit.”

“Shame she keeps showing up anyway.” He leans back in his chair, gaze skating lazily over your bare legs and wine-stained lips. “Even when she could be anywhere else. With anyone else.”

You take another sip, slow and deliberate. “Maybe she has a soft spot for hopeless directors with martyr complexes.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “I prefer ‘visionary with limited resources.’”

You hum. “You mean the editing kink?”

He chokes on a breath — actual laughter this time. “You’re relentless.”

“I’m observant.” You tilt your head. “I’ve seen how you touch your keyboard like it’s going to break if you press too hard.”

He groans and drags a hand down his face. “Jesus. I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”

“Not a chance.”

And then, the quiet again. The kind that feels heavier than it should.

Because underneath all of it — beneath your teasing and the wine and the god-awful lighting in his apartment — you know why you’re here.

You could charge him. You should. You have an agent now. Offers. A calendar so full it barely leaves time for sleep.

But when James calls, you always say yes.

Because when he casts you, it isn’t out of convenience. He doesn’t shoot around your schedule or your press tours or the latest award buzz.

He shoots you.Like he needs your face in the frame to remember what he’s trying to say. Like you’re the story he keeps trying to tell — but never quite finishes.

And you still remember the first time the camera found you.

A gravel parking lot. Midsummer. The air thick and heat-struck, the kind that sticks to your skin and makes you mean. He’d forgotten extra battery packs, of course — too distracted with lighting setups and shot lists scribbled on crumpled napkins. You were sunburnt, sweating through thrifted lace, ankles screaming in platform boots you regretted the second you stepped out of his car.

And still, he wanted a crying scene.

You were mid-rant — halfway through telling him exactly what you thought of his pretentious Mystery short, about how you weren’t some manic pixie fever dream for his ego — when you caught him staring.

Not at your legs. Not at your cleavage.

At your face.

Like you’d just cracked open the sky.

“Don’t stop,” he said, voice quiet.

You blinked. “What?”

“Whatever you’re doing. The anger. That rawness. God, it’s perfect. That’s exactly what I needed.”

You’d wanted to throw your boot at his head. Instead, you turned back to the camera, swallowed your pride, and gave him the best goddamn scene of his undergrad life.

That was the day he started calling you his muse.

And that was the day you decided he was completely, irrevocably full of shit.

But then you saw the final cut.

And something shifted.

Because for once, someone had seen you — not just the attitude or the sharp tongue or the way you always ruined your own chances in auditions because you refused to soften your edges. He saw all of it and kept the camera rolling. He didn’t ask you to smile. He didn’t trim the fury from your expression.

He framed it. Held it. Let the world look.

Back then, your world was just one university campus and a handful of kids trying too hard to be brilliant. But when that film screened — when your face filled the room, eyes wet, voice shaking — they saw it too.

Even the professor who never remembered your name, who dismissed you every time you spoke in class, called it startling. Honest. Visceral.

For the first time, you weren’t just the difficult girl. You were the lead.

And after that… how could you walk away?

He opened a door you’d been kicking at for years.

Even now — with all the scripts, all the indie directors calling you visionary, with agents and deadlines and strangers saying your name like it matters — you still end up here. On this couch. In his too-big shirt. In the glow of his laptop screen.

Because no matter where you go, no one frames you like James does.

The wine bottle’s empty. The film’s nearly finished. You’re curled on the couch, tipsy and warm, scrolling aimlessly while he clicks through final scenes with that familiar furrow in his brow.

Your voice is lazy, loose: “Still not invoicing you, by the way.”

He glances back at you, distracted. “I told you. I’m paying you this time.”

“You said that last time.”

“I meant it then, too.”

You smile softly, eyes on him. “You really think I show up for the money?”

He doesn’t answer, but something shifts in his expression — quiet and unreadable.

You tilt your head, watching him. “Come here.”

He hesitates, gaze flicking toward you like he’s weighing the air between you, like it’s a line he’s not sure he’s allowed to cross.

But then he moves. Comes to sit on the edge of the couch, close enough that your bare knee brushes his jeans.

You hum, a pleased sound. Then, without asking, you swing your legs up and settle them across his lap, the denim of your skirt sliding higher. You’re warm, soft, loose-limbed. One hand still cradles your phone, the other rests gently on his forearm.

He goes still at first, but then you feel it — that quiet shift as he exhales and lets himself sink just slightly into the cushions.

You run your fingers along the inside of his wrist, featherlight. “See? Isn’t this nicer?”

His voice is quiet. “Dangerous, more like.”

You pretend not to hear it.

Instead, you brush your toes lightly against his ribs, teasing. “You always look like you’re bracing for a car crash when you sit near me.”

“That’s not why,” he murmurs.

You glance up at him. He’s already watching you.

So you shift closer. Let your hand leave his arm, drift up — fingers threading gently through the overgrown waves of his hair.

James shudders, almost imperceptibly. But he doesn’t pull away.

“You ever gonna write me a part where I get to kiss the lead?” you ask softly, eyes half-lidded.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t joke like he usually does.

Then: “You’d hate me if I wrote what I really want.”

You trace your nails gently through his hair. “Try me.”

His eyes fall closed. He leans ever so slightly into your touch.

And you both sit there for a while — just breathing in the quiet. Your legs draped over him. His fingers ghosting up your calf now, slow and thoughtless. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like touching you is as natural as blinking.

Neither of you moves when your phone slips from your hand onto the cushions. Neither speaks when you shift, curl slightly toward him, resting your head against his shoulder like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times.

Eventually, you feel him shift too. An arm snakes around your waist. His fingers settle at your hip, light but steady. You hear him sigh into your hair.

And just like that — without resolution, without answers — you both start to drift.

The laptop screen still glows, casting pale flickers across the room. The scene he was editing loops quietly behind you — your face frozen mid-smile, mid-line, mid-almost.

You, in his arms now. Tucked into the crook of his body, legs tangled in his lap.

Two people caught in a moment neither one of them ever quite finishes.

Still unwritten. Still unreleased. Still his favourite scene.

thankx for reading <3

I hadn’t planned on writing for james this weekend, but here we are. I’ve been battling a bad flu and had a fever, but this plot came to me in a dream, and now I’m completely in love with them. I really hope you want to see more of them in the future! I’d appreciate any feedback, whether in the comments or my inbox. :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“Humans in the loop” must detect the hardest-to-spot errors, at superhuman speed

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

If AI has a future (a big if), it will have to be economically viable. An industry can't spend 1,700% more on Nvidia chips than it earns indefinitely – not even with Nvidia being a principle investor in its largest customers:

https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=39883571

A company that pays 0.36-1 cents/query for electricity and (scarce, fresh) water can't indefinitely give those queries away by the millions to people who are expected to revise those queries dozens of times before eliciting the perfect botshit rendition of "instructions for removing a grilled cheese sandwich from a VCR in the style of the King James Bible":

https://www.semianalysis.com/p/the-inference-cost-of-search-disruption

Eventually, the industry will have to uncover some mix of applications that will cover its operating costs, if only to keep the lights on in the face of investor disillusionment (this isn't optional – investor disillusionment is an inevitable part of every bubble).

Now, there are lots of low-stakes applications for AI that can run just fine on the current AI technology, despite its many – and seemingly inescapable - errors ("hallucinations"). People who use AI to generate illustrations of their D&D characters engaged in epic adventures from their previous gaming session don't care about the odd extra finger. If the chatbot powering a tourist's automatic text-to-translation-to-speech phone tool gets a few words wrong, it's still much better than the alternative of speaking slowly and loudly in your own language while making emphatic hand-gestures.

There are lots of these applications, and many of the people who benefit from them would doubtless pay something for them. The problem – from an AI company's perspective – is that these aren't just low-stakes, they're also low-value. Their users would pay something for them, but not very much.

For AI to keep its servers on through the coming trough of disillusionment, it will have to locate high-value applications, too. Economically speaking, the function of low-value applications is to soak up excess capacity and produce value at the margins after the high-value applications pay the bills. Low-value applications are a side-dish, like the coach seats on an airplane whose total operating expenses are paid by the business class passengers up front. Without the principle income from high-value applications, the servers shut down, and the low-value applications disappear:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Now, there are lots of high-value applications the AI industry has identified for its products. Broadly speaking, these high-value applications share the same problem: they are all high-stakes, which means they are very sensitive to errors. Mistakes made by apps that produce code, drive cars, or identify cancerous masses on chest X-rays are extremely consequential.

Some businesses may be insensitive to those consequences. Air Canada replaced its human customer service staff with chatbots that just lied to passengers, stealing hundreds of dollars from them in the process. But the process for getting your money back after you are defrauded by Air Canada's chatbot is so onerous that only one passenger has bothered to go through it, spending ten weeks exhausting all of Air Canada's internal review mechanisms before fighting his case for weeks more at the regulator:

https://bc.ctvnews.ca/air-canada-s-chatbot-gave-a-b-c-man-the-wrong-information-now-the-airline-has-to-pay-for-the-mistake-1.6769454

There's never just one ant. If this guy was defrauded by an AC chatbot, so were hundreds or thousands of other fliers. Air Canada doesn't have to pay them back. Air Canada is tacitly asserting that, as the country's flagship carrier and near-monopolist, it is too big to fail and too big to jail, which means it's too big to care.

Air Canada shows that for some business customers, AI doesn't need to be able to do a worker's job in order to be a smart purchase: a chatbot can replace a worker, fail to their worker's job, and still save the company money on balance.

I can't predict whether the world's sociopathic monopolists are numerous and powerful enough to keep the lights on for AI companies through leases for automation systems that let them commit consequence-free free fraud by replacing workers with chatbots that serve as moral crumple-zones for furious customers:

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0747563219304029

But even stipulating that this is sufficient, it's intrinsically unstable. Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops, and the mass replacement of humans with high-speed fraud software seems likely to stoke the already blazing furnace of modern antitrust:

https://www.eff.org/de/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

Of course, the AI companies have their own answer to this conundrum. A high-stakes/high-value customer can still fire workers and replace them with AI – they just need to hire fewer, cheaper workers to supervise the AI and monitor it for "hallucinations." This is called the "human in the loop" solution.

The human in the loop story has some glaring holes. From a worker's perspective, serving as the human in the loop in a scheme that cuts wage bills through AI is a nightmare – the worst possible kind of automation.

Let's pause for a little detour through automation theory here. Automation can augment a worker. We can call this a "centaur" – the worker offloads a repetitive task, or one that requires a high degree of vigilance, or (worst of all) both. They're a human head on a robot body (hence "centaur"). Think of the sensor/vision system in your car that beeps if you activate your turn-signal while a car is in your blind spot. You're in charge, but you're getting a second opinion from the robot.

Likewise, consider an AI tool that double-checks a radiologist's diagnosis of your chest X-ray and suggests a second look when its assessment doesn't match the radiologist's. Again, the human is in charge, but the robot is serving as a backstop and helpmeet, using its inexhaustible robotic vigilance to augment human skill.

That's centaurs. They're the good automation. Then there's the bad automation: the reverse-centaur, when the human is used to augment the robot.

Amazon warehouse pickers stand in one place while robotic shelving units trundle up to them at speed; then, the haptic bracelets shackled around their wrists buzz at them, directing them pick up specific items and move them to a basket, while a third automation system penalizes them for taking toilet breaks or even just walking around and shaking out their limbs to avoid a repetitive strain injury. This is a robotic head using a human body – and destroying it in the process.

An AI-assisted radiologist processes fewer chest X-rays every day, costing their employer more, on top of the cost of the AI. That's not what AI companies are selling. They're offering hospitals the power to create reverse centaurs: radiologist-assisted AIs. That's what "human in the loop" means.

This is a problem for workers, but it's also a problem for their bosses (assuming those bosses actually care about correcting AI hallucinations, rather than providing a figleaf that lets them commit fraud or kill people and shift the blame to an unpunishable AI).

Humans are good at a lot of things, but they're not good at eternal, perfect vigilance. Writing code is hard, but performing code-review (where you check someone else's code for errors) is much harder – and it gets even harder if the code you're reviewing is usually fine, because this requires that you maintain your vigilance for something that only occurs at rare and unpredictable intervals:

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773779967521780169

But for a coding shop to make the cost of an AI pencil out, the human in the loop needs to be able to process a lot of AI-generated code. Replacing a human with an AI doesn't produce any savings if you need to hire two more humans to take turns doing close reads of the AI's code.

This is the fatal flaw in robo-taxi schemes. The "human in the loop" who is supposed to keep the murderbot from smashing into other cars, steering into oncoming traffic, or running down pedestrians isn't a driver, they're a driving instructor. This is a much harder job than being a driver, even when the student driver you're monitoring is a human, making human mistakes at human speed. It's even harder when the student driver is a robot, making errors at computer speed:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/01/human-in-the-loop/#monkey-in-the-middle

This is why the doomed robo-taxi company Cruise had to deploy 1.5 skilled, high-paid human monitors to oversee each of its murderbots, while traditional taxis operate at a fraction of the cost with a single, precaratized, low-paid human driver:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

The vigilance problem is pretty fatal for the human-in-the-loop gambit, but there's another problem that is, if anything, even more fatal: the kinds of errors that AIs make.

Foundationally, AI is applied statistics. An AI company trains its AI by feeding it a lot of data about the real world. The program processes this data, looking for statistical correlations in that data, and makes a model of the world based on those correlations. A chatbot is a next-word-guessing program, and an AI "art" generator is a next-pixel-guessing program. They're drawing on billions of documents to find the most statistically likely way of finishing a sentence or a line of pixels in a bitmap:

https://dl.acm.org/doi/10.1145/3442188.3445922

This means that AI doesn't just make errors – it makes subtle errors, the kinds of errors that are the hardest for a human in the loop to spot, because they are the most statistically probable ways of being wrong. Sure, we notice the gross errors in AI output, like confidently claiming that a living human is dead:

https://www.tomsguide.com/opinion/according-to-chatgpt-im-dead

But the most common errors that AIs make are the ones we don't notice, because they're perfectly camouflaged as the truth. Think of the recurring AI programming error that inserts a call to a nonexistent library called "huggingface-cli," which is what the library would be called if developers reliably followed naming conventions. But due to a human inconsistency, the real library has a slightly different name. The fact that AIs repeatedly inserted references to the nonexistent library opened up a vulnerability – a security researcher created a (inert) malicious library with that name and tricked numerous companies into compiling it into their code because their human reviewers missed the chatbot's (statistically indistinguishable from the the truth) lie:

https://www.theregister.com/2024/03/28/ai_bots_hallucinate_software_packages/

For a driving instructor or a code reviewer overseeing a human subject, the majority of errors are comparatively easy to spot, because they're the kinds of errors that lead to inconsistent library naming – places where a human behaved erratically or irregularly. But when reality is irregular or erratic, the AI will make errors by presuming that things are statistically normal.

These are the hardest kinds of errors to spot. They couldn't be harder for a human to detect if they were specifically designed to go undetected. The human in the loop isn't just being asked to spot mistakes – they're being actively deceived. The AI isn't merely wrong, it's constructing a subtle "what's wrong with this picture"-style puzzle. Not just one such puzzle, either: millions of them, at speed, which must be solved by the human in the loop, who must remain perfectly vigilant for things that are, by definition, almost totally unnoticeable.

This is a special new torment for reverse centaurs – and a significant problem for AI companies hoping to accumulate and keep enough high-value, high-stakes customers on their books to weather the coming trough of disillusionment.

This is pretty grim, but it gets grimmer. AI companies have argued that they have a third line of business, a way to make money for their customers beyond automation's gifts to their payrolls: they claim that they can perform difficult scientific tasks at superhuman speed, producing billion-dollar insights (new materials, new drugs, new proteins) at unimaginable speed.

However, these claims – credulously amplified by the non-technical press – keep on shattering when they are tested by experts who understand the esoteric domains in which AI is said to have an unbeatable advantage. For example, Google claimed that its Deepmind AI had discovered "millions of new materials," "equivalent to nearly 800 years’ worth of knowledge," constituting "an order-of-magnitude expansion in stable materials known to humanity":

https://deepmind.google/discover/blog/millions-of-new-materials-discovered-with-deep-learning/

It was a hoax. When independent material scientists reviewed representative samples of these "new materials," they concluded that "no new materials have been discovered" and that not one of these materials was "credible, useful and novel":

https://www.404media.co/google-says-it-discovered-millions-of-new-materials-with-ai-human-researchers/

As Brian Merchant writes, AI claims are eerily similar to "smoke and mirrors" – the dazzling reality-distortion field thrown up by 17th century magic lantern technology, which millions of people ascribed wild capabilities to, thanks to the outlandish claims of the technology's promoters:

https://www.bloodinthemachine.com/p/ai-really-is-smoke-and-mirrors

The fact that we have a four-hundred-year-old name for this phenomenon, and yet we're still falling prey to it is frankly a little depressing. And, unlucky for us, it turns out that AI therapybots can't help us with this – rather, they're apt to literally convince us to kill ourselves:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/pkadgm/man-dies-by-suicide-after-talking-with-ai-chatbot-widow-says

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[sturnmeovr]

Pierced II - Chris Sturniolo

Part One Based off this request Pairings - bfb!Chris x fem!Reader Warnings - MDNI, smut, masturbation, oral fem receiving, oral male receiving, unprotected sex, p in v, titty play, pet names (baby), praise kink, strong language. (comment if I missed any!) Summary - After Matt catches you and Chris in the hallway, Chris dismisses him, and takes you to his room, easily giving you the best fuck of your life. W/c - 2896?? A/n - With Pierced being one of my top liked post, I had some requests for a part two! This is my first smut and I'm not too experienced writing smut sooo 🫣 Posting this before I clock in lol. I haven't proofread this yet so please forgive me if there's typos/mistakes!! Tags - @lvrsturniolo @thepubeburgler @unknvhx @m11rx @ribread03 @emely9274 (let me know if anyone else wants on my tag list!) Masterlist Current series - City of Love

Chris keeps you under his trance as Matt shuts his bedroom door. The anticipation of his next words has your heart in your stomach. Chris always had a flirty personality but something was different about tonight. The look he had in his eyes told you he was standing on business, “my room?” His voice breaks you of your train of never-ending thoughts. 

You nod eagerly, not letting your mouth form the words. A smirk pulls at Chris lips and he reaches out, looping his finger around the drawstring of pajama pants once again. You follow close behind as he leads you down the hall and to his bedroom. You watch as Chris kicks the door open with his foot, pulling the string tighter and making your bottoms bunch up at your waist. Your heart thumps as you enter his room, closing the door behind you. Chris leads you to his bed, sitting down, and guiding you between his legs. He looks up at you, a seductive smirk stretched across his lips, “I can still see, right?” 

Now that he has you up close and personal, he wanted to take advantage of it. Chris never hooked up with a girl with pierced nipples and seeing that photo earlier in the night not only sparked his curiosity, it revealed some sort of new found kink for him. All he knew was he wanted to pay as much attention to your breasts as you’d let him. 

You fight with your own brain that’s telling you not to do anything stupid but when Chris places his hands on your hips, running them down your thighs like he’s admiring the curves he always knew you had, all those logical thoughts go out the window. “Mhm,” you muffle out, locking your eyes on his. His eyes are filled with nothing but lust and passion as he tightens his grips around your thighs, and pulls you closer to him. You take the hint, straddling him before he scoots back on the bed to make the position more comfortable. His hands travel from your waist and up to your neck, pulling you down so he can press his lips to your. Your lips move against his like they’re in sync with each other. His kiss is a lot more gentle and patient than you expected. So many thoughts wander through your mind while Chris runs his hands up your shirt, groping your breasts through your bralette. Let's be honest, you weren’t expecting a hookup tonight, so you weren’t prepared in any way. You had hello kitty pajama pants on with a white tank top, a white lacy bralette and a pair of cute strawberry printed boyshorts underneath. The slight stubble down below being the main give away, tonight took you by surprise. Your outfit was not screaming ‘fuck me’ but your body definitely was. 

Deciding against your logical thoughts, you slip your shirt over your head. Within seconds, Chris is attacking your chest and stomach with wet sloppy kisses, the warmth of his lips against your skin makes you shiver. “That picture was so sexy,” he muffles, dragging his lips against your skin. “You don’t know how long I've been wanting to do this,” Chris looks up, the lust never leaving his eyes. His hands find their way underneath your bralette and he massages you gently. His fingers glide over your nipples lightly, hitting the cold metal each time. A small whimper rolls off your tongue, making him look up at you, “take this off for me.” 

You tug at each side of your bralette, sliding it over your head and letting it his the mattress next you, “fuck y/n.” Chris couldn't help himself, both of his hands immediately cup your breasts. “So fucking pretty,” he compliments before snaking an arm around your waist and attaching his mouth to your left breast. Your mouth forms an O-shape at the sudden contact, and you run your hand through his hair as flicks his tongue against your pierced nipple. His unoccupied hand travels up to your right breast, trailing lightly around your areola before pinching at your sensitive nub a little too hard. You suck in a sharp, Chris notices very quickly, parting himself with a barely noticeable popping noise when he pulls away, “too much?” 

“N-no it’s fine,” you tell him. It’s almost like you feared he’d stop, and that was the last thing you wanted. In the back of your mind, you knew he wasn’t going to, and you knew you’d be getting fucked sensless by him tonight at the rate it was going. Pushing your sane thoughts to the back of your head, “here. Lay down,” his voice raspier than before. You do exactly as you're told, scooting off his lap and onto his bed, laying back on the pillow as Chris hovers over you. Engulfing you in a heated kiss once again, he lets his hands wander all over your body, paying attention to the only naked part of you the most. Needing more of him, you roll your body against his as he slips his tongue in your mouth, letting it dance with yours. Before it gets too heated he pulls away, pressing his forehead against yours, “you wanna stop?” 

His question taking you off guard, “what, no, why?” you ask, trying to catch your breath he sucked out of you. “I don’t want to,” you blurt out in a whiny tone. You were desperate for him at this point, and he’s barely even done anything. Chris raises his eyebrows at you, awe etched across his face, “no?” You shake your head almost immediately, “not now,” pushing your hips against his. His tongue darts across his lips, and his eyes trail down to your breasts, his hand following quickly after, “you sure, Y/n?” His bright blue orbs locking you in for the millionth time tonight, his gaze was hypnotic, making it impossible to say no to, not that you planned on it. You let out an impatient huff, “Chrisss,” stretching his name out, making Chris smirk. Little did you know, your pleas only turned him on more. He wanted to hear you whine his name while his cock was buried deep inside on you, hitting spots you didn’t even know were there.

“Then take these off,” he commands, tugging at your hello kitty pajama pants. You lift your hips up, letting him slide your pants down your legs. You watch as he tosses them over his shoulder, not caring where they land. Chris runs a finger over your clothed heat, making you squirm under his touch. You had been in his room less than ten minutes and he already had a pool of wetness collecting in your panties. It was nothing you had experienced before. His touch was too gentle for you - too caring. 

You watch as Chris takes the outside of his index finger, dragging it along your slit, applying just enough pressure to make a moan slip from your lips. “Quiet baby,” he looks up at you, “don’t want to wake anyone, do we?” 

The way Chris is rubbing you has your head spinning circles. You barely process what he’s saying before you reply, “mmm- no,” you manage to get out. “Good, stay real quiet for me, mmkay?” he tells you before hooking his fingers in the sides of your panties and pulling them down quickly, and discarding them much like your pajama pants. Redness finds its way to your cheeks, remembering you hadn’t shaved the last couple days. Normally, you’d come prepared and look pretty but you weren’t expecting a random hookup with your best friend's brother.

The passion in Chris’ eyes only intensifies when he sees you exposed and under his control. Crouching down until he’s eye level with your heat, placing a light kiss on your bundle of nerves, earning another whimper from you. He didn’t care about the little hair poking and prodding at his lips, he wanted as much of you as you’d give him. His eyes lock themselves on yours, keeping you in a trance as he uses his tongue to his, and your, advantage. Your mouth forms the same O-shape as earlier, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better view of the beautiful man lapping at your folds. A smile pulls at his lips but quickly disappears when he wraps his hand around your thigh, pulling you closer, so he can can as much of you as possible. His mouth never leaves your heat as he pulls you closer, making his teeth rub against your clit. Unexpectedly, the impact felt really fucking good. “Fuck Chris,” you moan out before throwing your head back. 

“M’sorry” his voice comes out muffled since his mouth is still pressed against you. His immediate thought was that he was too rough. “Please keep going,” you tell him, tugging a hand through his hair once again. Chris grants your wish, flicking his tongue against your faster than before. You bury your bottom lip between your teeth as an attempt to bite back your moans, but once Chris pushes his middle finger inside you, you can’t hold back anymore. “Chrisss,” you stretch out. Your back arches off of the bed at the feeling of something finally penetrating you. Your last senseless hookup being weeks ago, you were dying to get yours off. Not that you couldn’t do it yourself, it wasn’t the same as having a male presence. Chris easily before your favorite fuck after tonight. Before you can adjust to his middle finger, he adds his ring finger too. You buck your hips at him as your way of telling him you were enjoying it. You watch Chris as he gently pushes his fingers in and out of you, flicking his tongue against your clit. The warm sensation of his tongue against you and his fingers roughly sliding in and out becomes too hard to hold back, so you reach for a pillow to drown out your cries of pleasure. 

“Fuck fuck, oh my god. Chris!” your moans come out muffled by the pillow but Chris can still hear you. Hearing you call his name only gives him more confidence to go crazy, darting his tongue against your folds while pumping his fingers at a fast pace. Repetitive little ‘uh’s fall from lips as your legs quiver, and your hands fist the pillow as he builds you up to your climax. Right as you’re about to let go, he pulls away. The ghost of his lips making you whine at him, throwing the pillow off of your face, “Chris,” you groan at the loss of contact, only wanting needing more of him.

“Tell me baby,” Chris sounds as he rubs a hand down inside of your thigh, “tell me what you want,” brushing his lips against your knee and leaving a soft kiss. 

“Fuck me,” you whimper, “I need you to fuck me,” pulling your body up from the mattress, and smashing your lips into his. “Please,” you practically beg after pulling away, letting your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips, “I need you right now.”

Whatever magic spell Chris had you under was extremely impressive - and hard to get away from. No man had ever made you feel the way he did and he hadn’t even been inside you yet. Chris nods with urgency, stepping off of the bed to undress himself. Almost like an instinct, your hand makes its way between your thighs to pleasure yourself while you wait for him to undress. Your free hand finds its way to your breast, lightly clamping your nipple between your index finger and thumb. After Chris undresses, he hovers over you, taking in the amazing view of having the girl he’s wanted for the longest, masterbating in his bed. Dragging a thumb across your bottom lip and trailing it down to the breast you aren’t fondling. He pinches lightly at your nipple, “can’t wait for me, huh?” his voice stays hoarse from the groans he had been swallowing all night, “doesn’t look like you need me.”

His words make you stop abruptly, your hand flying from your swollen clit to his erection in one quick movement. He jumps at the contact, squeezing his eyes shut. “I told you I need you, so c’mere,” you bat your eyelashes at him, not letting him go as he takes a step forward. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m leaving and we’re never mentioning this again,” the words come out a bit more domineering than normal but you were tired of waiting. 

Chris’s mouth drops, mimicking the same O-shape that was stuck on your face when he had his head buried between your thighs. You couldn’t tell if he was turned on or taken back, knowing him he was probably both. You watch him as he sinks down next to you, letting his hands roam your body until they reach your heat once again. “Fuck,” he goans as he rubs you. You take it as the perfect opportunity to wrap your lips around his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking as much of him as you can in your mouth. “S-so fucking wet. So go-od, fuck,” he groans, the warm sensation of your head bobbing on his cock makes it hard for him to focus on pleasuring you. You felt like it was only right if you gave him amazing head just like he did to you. Chris’s hand rubs your back each time you pull back and push forwards like he’s giving you silent support, letting you know he enjoys it. As soon as he starts bucking his hips, indicating he’s close to finishing, you make sure to pull away, leaving him the same way he left you - needing you. 

A wild smirk stretches across his face and he opens his mouth to speak, “ahh fuck you,” he groans, earning a giggle from you. Chris positions himself between your legs. Chris rubs a few circles along your clit as he lines himself up with your opening. He applies pressure, pushing through your fold and into your body slowly. A loud moan escapes your lips making him look at you. His bottom lip clamped between his teeth, “Shhh I know, baby,” his voice soothes you in a way and you close your eyes. Chris lets his body hover over you closely, leaning down to your ear as he lets you adjust to his size, and trailing sloppy kisses from your ear to your neck. You buck against him, signaling him to move. Chris takes initiative, slowly pulling back and pushing deeper into you, earning a gasp from you. 

Chris rocks his hips back and forth, catching a rhythmic pattern, and hitting that certain spot inside of you. Your eyes widen at the feeling of your g-spot finally getting plowed into, something you’ve been needing for so long. “F-fuckk Chris,” you manage to get out, your voice getting stuck in your throat at first. In one swift motion, he pushes both of your legs to your chest so he can get better access to your dripping pussy. His other hand falls to your clit, rubbing it vigorously until your legs start to shake uncontrollably. He lets out a low chuckle, “already?” 

“Ahh- I can’t,” you whimper as fucks you into a blissful state, “please, please, Chris.” Your begging only gives him the motivation to go harder, pulling all the way out, and thrusting into you until you’re on the base of his cock. He continues the same motions, making your body shake against your own will. He props your legs up on his shoulders, letting them part slightly so he can cower down down to you. Chris peppers wet kisses all over your chest, pressing a few to your lips. As he fucks you into an incoherent state, your vision becomes fuzzy and clouded with white spots. Finally giving in to the warm tingling sensation in your stomach, you let your eyes roll back, “oh my- Chrisss!” 

Hearing you moan his name gives him the same familiar urge to fuck you to an obliterate state of mind. Small moans and cries fall from your lips while Chris plows deep inside you, filling you up right after you climax. He pulls out, earning a hiss from you, the loss of contact only makes you want him more. He lets his body collapse on top of you, laying a head on your chest, and planting another sloppy kiss against your right breast. 

“That was crazy good,” he pants before looking up at you. A smile spread across your lips as you come down from the high he just gave you, “crazy fucking good,” you tell him. A chuckle falls from his lips, earning a giggle from yours. 

Chris’s touch was too attentive, and you knew you’d be back for more. He gave you the best fuck of your life, easily. You felt pampered while he was fucking you, like you were the only thing that mattered to him, and for the moment you weren’t wrong. After seeing your love faces and cries of pleasure, he was head over heels for you, and he didn’t give a fuck what anyone had to say about it. He was determined to make you his.

[gcc-official]

Fixed!

Picking the "learn to program" idea back up:

I'm actually doing the practice now, and

The merging leaves something to be desired.

[inthelibrarybtw]

get to know college!student!reader

college!student!reader who is naturally smart, and loves studying, it can get a little too much because she hates to get less than a B in her classes, in high school she got a C once and almost cried her eyes out (no one knows about this) she’s not a party girl, she’s more into staying in watching a movie with her friends, baking and if she’s alone reading a book. baking usually is like a coping mechanism that shows up around finals and midterms because it becomes stress baking, but sometimes she does it for fun or to have a nice little detail for someone she cares about. 

college!student!reader who is very kind, just don’t provoke her,  hates confrontations but always sets her limits. her anxiety and overthinking can get the best of her, her friends know that and always reassure her when she’s having a bad day which is not that often but when it hits it hits hard. she has a hard time asking for help unless it’s her best friend from high school who sadly doesn’t go to the same college as her or kelce since they know each other since they were practically kids. she tends to cry when stressed, angry or when she’s exhausted and drained. 

college!student!reader who loves taylor swift and everything that anyone could classify as basic but she loves it, picking flowers, reading romance books, watching 90s and early 2000s shows. passionate for art and music, loves to go on walks while listening to music, you can catch her going to museums on her own, usually very independent but loves to spend time with her friends and people she loves, quality time is her number one love language and physical touch is the second even if she doesn’t like to admit it. who barely understands sports but when her friends invite her to football or basketball games, she goes to spend time with them and because they always go out for food afterward. 

college!student!reader who is an only child which has allowed her to have a good relationship with her parents, her high school best friend is like her sister, she loves her friends and respects them a lot. she’s really hard on herself, even if she knows she has people who will be there for her no matter what sometimes she shuts down and doesn’t speak to anyone about what she’s going through, shields herself with reading, and externalizes her emotions on playlists or listening one song on a loop as longs as it fits to how she’s feeling.

college!student!reader who loves to take pictures of everything and share them on her social media, it’s like her digital diary. her major suits her for that reason, digital marketing with a minor in graphic design, to in her words “make everything look pretty”. who is bilingual, her mom taught her Spanish since she was little and she uses it a lot when talking to her family and some friends. who is also very sarcastic, always has a smile on her face and most of the time she won’t verbally say stuff but her face sure will let you know everything before she even thinks about saying it.

authors note: thank you so much for all the love this fic is already receiving!! college!student!reader (aka Avery) is very dear to my heart, she has a lot of bits and pieces that I took from my life and put them into who she is. I hope you guys like her and get more excited to read about her.

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :)

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*