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hhaechansmoless · 4 months ago

Text

LIGHTS OUT PT.1

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: its here after so long cries. I loved writing this so much!! it's heavy on the f1 technicalities and races and stuff so I hope I've done justice to that. So excited for this season to start (not a red bull fan so in no way am I manifesting max 5th but !!! haechan <3). The number of tabs and informatory articles and vids I watched to make this as authentic and real as possible will haunt me but I would not have it any other way. This is for all my f1 + kpop fans, but to those who are only a part of one, hopefully you will fall in love with the other. The glossary, I think, will help a lot for those who don't watch f1 so I'd suggest keeping that tab open as you read this. I truly hope you guys love this as much as I do! comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3 (if you want to be notified for pt 2, i don't have a taglist yet so u can just write a comment/dm/ask!)

BAHRAIN, PRE-SEASON TESTING, DAY-1

February 26th

Well, that Mercedes is fast on the straights, Haechan thinks as he swoops into the slipstream. The heat is already getting to him. He’s sure he had asked for the evening time slot. Maybe he’ll talk with his engineer about this as soon as he gets out of this godforsaken car. To be fair, it isn’t godforsaken, not really. In fact he has an inkling that it’s far from that as he watches his delta on the screen blink green— faster than his last lap— but nowhere near the times posted by Mercedes and Ferrari.

“Am I good to overtake?” Haechan speaks into his radio.

“Let’s take it easy. No need to exert too much Haechan. Sector 1 and 2 look good, let’s shave a tenth off in sector 3 and we’ll box to check the metrics.”

Three laps later and fifteen minutes to lunch, the roar of the engine grows louder as the RB21 pulls off the main straight and into the pit lane. He comes to a stop and the mechanics swarm the car, taking off its wheels and pushing it into the garage. Haechan climbs out of the cockpit removing his navy blue helmet and balaclava, hair ruffled up. You think of walking over to him. You really need to introduce yourself and inform him about the media before he heads over to lunch, but for the moment you stay back, eyeing him.

He looks pissed and it’s definitely the sandbagging. That’ll be one question the journalists will definitely ask and Haechan cannot respond in the way you think he will now. Helmet still in hand he walks over to the pitwall to discuss with his engineers. You look around his side of the garage and everyone looks drained. It’s been a long day and Haechan has had quite a lot of feedback on the car, which is good, you suppose. But the team is tired and it’s obvious that they long for the break before the grind starts again with his teammate.

Haechan and his senior race engineer walk back into the garage and you overhear a part of their conversation as you pick up your work phone and your small notepad before trailing slightly behind them.

“At least Mercedes remembers how to build a car again,” His engineer tries to lighten him up, “Don’t worry, our simulations predict our raw times will be faster anyways.”

Haechan mutters something and finally sets his helmet down on a desk next to his car. You take this moment to walk up to him.

“Hello. It’s time to go to the media pen.” You smile slightly as he turns around to look at you for a second before nodding and following you out.

“The media will definitely ask about the comparatively slow pace. You should probably-”

“I mean, why would they even ask about pace during testing, really?” He interjects, and you realize the bite of irritation is still present.

“Look, they’re not looking for the truth, they’re just looking for attention grabbing headlines. You don’t have to give them this energy. Play it cool please, it really matters what you say in there.”

Now you think he’s annoyed with you as well, as he finally tilts his head to look at you, “So what do I say?”

“You’re supposed to look like you know something they don’t. Keep it simple, confident, and let them wonder. Say something like…” You glance at your notes and repeat your carefully crafted line: “‘Testing is about data, not lap times. We’re happy with the direction we’re heading in, the team is constantly making improvements, and the real test will be race day.’”

You come to a halt outside the pen and stare at him. For a moment he seems to want to push back, but to your good luck he sighs, “All right, I’ll play along this once. Get your mic ready Ms….” He trails off , already ahead of you, “Wait, who are you again?” Haechan looks over his shoulder and you shake your head.

You exhale, “Your new PR rep.” But he’s already gone and you scramble for your phone to record him as you push past others to make your way to the journalist he’s talking to.

God may the whole season not be this way.

AUSTRALIA, ALBERT PARK GRAND PRIX CIRCUIT

Thursday, Media day March 13th

It’s a pleasant day, Haechan thinks as he steps out of his motorhome. A little too early in the morning but pleasant nonetheless. Johnny, his personal trainer, closes the door behind him, shutting out the chilly air from the air conditioning inside.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Johnny whistles, swinging an arm around Haechan’s shoulders.

Haechan shrugs, “Same old, to the hospitality and then I think I have a meeting with the engineers before media duties start.”

Johnny watches as Haechan taps his ID against the scanner at the entrance, the soft beep barely audible over the sudden clicks of cameras. A few photographers are stationed near the barricades, lenses focused on the driver as he enters the paddock. He watches as Haechan subtly straightens his back, unconsciously adjusting the collar of his polo.

“Smile a little man,” Johnny teases, “Don’t want them thinking you already regret your choices.”

Haechan scoffs, shaking his head but it works as the corners of his lips lift up slightly. “Would be surprised if they haven’t already decided that, seeing our testing results.”

“Oh yeah, about that. I heard you’ve got a new P.R manager now. Seems like the team’s going about a different plan for this season eh?”

“Can’t say I like it very much,” He sighs, “And yeah, I met her during testing. Think I have a meeting with her team as well. God help me escape from the bullshit I’m about to say in the press con today.”

“She’s that bad?” Johnny raises his brows.

“No, I mean. The team strategies aren’t up to her, are they?” Haechan breathes out as they make their way to the Red Bull hospitality centre. Climbing up the stairs, he notices the Mercedes hospitality beside theirs, Kim Doyoung standing outside conversing with his manager. He catches Haechan’s gaze and waves making Haechan walk over to him. Johnny waits outside, pulling out his phone to make sure Haechan’s practice sessions are scheduled timely for the weekend.

Haechan jogs back over in a minute or two. Johnny holds the door open when the younger speaks again, “It’s just that, I know the car is quicker than we expected and a lot better than last year but at the same time, I haven’t driven at my full potential yet and it’s giving me a hard time seeing where I stand.”

Johnny can’t do anything but nod in sympathy.

“And honestly? Doyoung seems quite confident. He’s more laid-back than usual, you know? Was joking around with me. It’s been a while since I’ve seen their team like that.”

“Well,” Johnny laughs, softly pushing him into his meeting room, “Good for him, he hasn’t had a car worthy of his potential for a good few seasons, has he?”

Haechan hums, slightly unconvinced and cautious before he shakes himself out of it, “Where will you be until I get out?” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he turns around to face Johnny.

“I don’t know. I was thinking of making new friends. Maybe that new PR lady of yours if she’s around.”

—

“Now, coming to you Haechan. Last season was quite a close one, I mean, you managed to keep the fight up till the last 4 races. At a point I’m sure we all thought we’d see a new world champion in 2024. How do you suppose this season will turn out? Do you think that you have a car that can challenge for the drivers championship again? Where do you think the improvements have been made compared to last year?”

“Well, improvements have been made everywhere… That’s the aim, is it not? Last year, towards the end it got a bit hard. We had issues with the floor and made a few strategic mistakes. But I think over the winter break, the team’s been working really hard and we’re confident that we can put up the fight this season too.”

“You have a new teammate this season, Lee Jeno. How will the team dynamics work out between you two? Do you think that, apart from other teams, your teammate could be your biggest opponent?”

“Yeah, Jeno’s done a great job at VCARB so it’s nice to see him here now. I mean, we’re both here to push the team forward. At the end of the day, we both want the same thing. If he’s my biggest opponent then that just means we’re doing something right.” Haechan laughs.

As the moderator moves on, Haechan zones out, fingers unconsciously tracing the outline of the two bulls on the can in his hand. He’s pulled back in when he's mentioned in one of Mark's questions.

“Towards mid season last year it was almost a three way championship fight. It was quite exciting to see Haechan and you pit against each other. After all, we've been seeing the two of you compete with each other in all the junior series too. How did it feel to reach that high rung with a friend?”

“We spoke about it during that time, actually.” Mark grins, “We've basically grown up competing with each other but to do it in F1 really felt like we were close to making it. I look forward to it this year too.”

“We should bet on it!” Haechan winks at Mark making the other drivers and the reporters chuckle, “It's about time one of us gets used to losing, you don't think?”

Walking out of the press room, Haechan is slightly surprised when you appear right beside him.

“How'd I do?”

“Not bad,” you answer absentmindedly, scrolling through your notes, “The question about Jeno, you handled very well. The one about Mark, though? I think it's a very easy opportunity for these journalists to twist your words.”

“I was just joking, he knows that.”

You hum, “He does, but really, these people are out for drama and you just gave them a nice headline.”

Haechan scoffs, “They should thank me then, don't you think? First media day of the year and it's probably the most interesting thing they've heard.”

He turns towards you when you laugh. “See! you do think that I'm funny.”

“I met your trainer this morning, by the way. Don't know why he suddenly came up to me. But you have some blind fold challenge to do for the F1 youtube channel and he's told me to tell you to be careful. Do not bump into anything, please. And try to be yourself there, I guess.”

“Woah, I've never had a PR person tell me that before. You're kind of nice, ____.”

“And you remember my name. We’re both making progress, I suppose.” You've come outside now and there are significantly more photographers than there were when you first came.

Haechan, slightly ahead of you, stops and turns around, walking backwards. “Hey! That was once and you didn't even introduce yourself to me.”

“Didn't have the time,” You shrug, “All the best. The challenge is being filmed near Alpine’s hospitality. You're doing it with Lee Chan. I have to head back to the hospitality for a second but I'll be there by the time you're done.”

—

Sunday, Race Day March 16th

The red bull garage looks quite empty without the cars and the mechanics. The pit walls are a bit too high for you to see from the garage but you’re sure they must be setting the car up on track. This isn’t your first gig in the PR industry, but it’s your first time in this sport and you can’t help but observe the remaining strategists and engineers in awe as they move around with calculated aim. There’s still about 15 minutes until the race begins but the air crackles with excitement and expectations.

You hear clattering behind you and panic for a second. You did make sure to stand in a corner where you wouldn’t be in the way of anyone’s job. But upon turning, you notice that it’s Haechan who accidentally drops his phone.

You still as he catches your eye. What are you supposed to do at moments like this? You don’t have any important information to tell him, but you feel like you’re meant to be saying something. Would he want you to speak to him at such a crucial time? You stride over anyways.

Haechan slides his headphones off when he sees you approaching.

“Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be outside for the national anthem soon?” You quip.

He checks the time on his lockscreen and grimaces, “Well, yeah, shit. Don’t want to get fined on the first race, do I?”

You purse your lips before nodding. He takes his headphones off and thrusts them in your hands. You stare back at him, confused.

“Give them to Johnny when he gets here, please. My phone too. He’ll be here in a few minutes, I suppose. I need to go.” He points at the garage door. You nod again, slowly, and he does too before inching towards the pitlane.

“Hey!” You yell as he’s almost out the door, making him turn around, “Win this thing, yeah? I’d rather hear questions about that than listen to another round of ‘holding back’ narratives.” You think you might pray for him, although you doubt he needs it.

Haechan simply winks.

—

When the helmet goes on and the overalls zip up, Haechan becomes an entirely different person. The transformation is almost immediate — he’s focused, determined. On the screen inside the garage, you’re a little stunned at how his eyes, the only visible part of him, are incredibly hard and intense. His gloved hand pushes the visor down and he steps into his car. The crew around him is finalizing the last of their car checks and as they move away and back into the pitlane, the crowd almost quietens for a moment.

“Radio check.” Haechan hears through his earpiece and the final step is complete. Like clockwork, he feels his mind clearing up, revising last minute strategy. He fires up his engine, hears the muffled roar of the others around him.

“Loud and clear,” He responds. The green lights come on near the starting line.

“Formation lap begins.”

The next two minutes go by in a flash, and before he knows it, Haechan lines up to the second grid position. To his right and slightly ahead at P1 is Choi Seungcheol’s Ferrari. Behind and next to him are the Mercs of Joshua Hong and Kim Doyoung. He knows that Seungcheol is already being considered for the season’s favourite before it even starts. With the insane qualifying lap that he put up yesterday to the driver’s championship wins from the last four seasons, it’s obvious that he’s the one Haechan should be aiming for.

The grid falls silent as the last car positions itself. Haechan’s hands tighten around his steering wheel. The first red light flicks on.

One…two…three…four…five.

He's always thought that the following two seconds before the start are the most cruel and crucial. The final preparation.

“And it's lights out for the first time in 2025, here at Albert Park circuit! Seungcheol successfully manages to keep his lead, heading into the first turn there, and OH! Haechan comes close but it is not quite enough as he slips back into 2nd position.” The commentator begins.

In the garage, the team, you notice, has already set up the tires for both drivers. The mechanics have set up chairs and are beginning to settle down, helmets on and ready for the show. You inch a little closer to the screen, eyes flying to the pitwall once to look at Haechan's race engineer already beginning to talk and check in with him.

You don't know the specifics of what goes on behind the scenes, honestly. So you can only imagine what goes on at the pitwall.

Lap 15 comes around in no time and you hear the other cars pitting to change their tyres. Looking at the screen, you realize the Ferrari and Haechan are still out, within a second of each other but a good 5 seconds ahead of Doyoung’s Mercedes and Jeno’s red bull. The mechanics have been watching the fight between Doyoung and Jeno for third place, but they get up now and rush over to where the tyres have been kept, pulling them out and preparing themselves for a pitstop, Haechan’s, you assume.

By lap 37, everything seems to be going fine for you. There hasn’t been anything notable and you’re glad for it. Haechan and Seungcheol, known for being aggressive drivers, are surprisingly keeping in clean, which means less awkward questions for Haechan to deal with. It’s only the beginning of the season, you think. People won’t question him too much if he doesn’t win. Right now, you know there isn’t much that can happen to prevent him from getting on the podium.

By lap 37, things are not going fine for Haechan. He was supposed to get ahead of the Ferrari in the first ten laps, but God, Seungcheol is making it hard. Three times now, he’s tried to overtake him on turn 13 but every single time he comes up short.

“How are the tires feeling, Haechan?” His engineer asks.

“Fine, I think I can go for a few more laps.” He’s approaching turn 13 again, “What’s the gap ahead?”

“0.96s, DRS has been enabled.”

Haechan decides against using DRS and instead goes off the race line, making the Ferrari move outwards to block him. He fakes out, hoping to catch the inside of the turn, but it’s tight and Seungcheol is quicker in blocking him again.

For a split second, Haechan feels the rear end of the car shifting and he instantly steers in the opposite direction to bring it back under control.

As they approach the pit entry, a marshal holds out a lap board. 20 more laps to go. With the way the Ferrari is going, Haechan figures he should probably pit before for the undercut . But just as he thinks that, he sees Seungcheol swerving into the pitlane. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Seungcheol's in the pits, when do you think you’ll come in?” His engineer’s voice cuts him off.

“What tyres is he on?”

“He’s going on a pair of mediums. It might be close at the exit, watch out.” Haechan looks into his rear view mirror and sees the Ferrari exiting the pitlane. Haechan leads the race now, but Seunghcheol is right on his tail, not more than a second behind.

Haechan adjusts his grip on the steering wheel as he nears turn 3. Don’t want to lose the position as soon as we get it, do we Haechan?

“Taking the inside line is a bit of a risk, Ferrari 0.7 behind you.”

Turn 4 is close. Too close. If he gives Seungcheol the outside line now, it’s over. All he’s left with now, is coming up with a good defence.

The RB21 is really quick in the corners, the audience realises as he accelerates even while approaching a turn, trying to maximise the gap before the heavy braking. Haechan slams the brakes at the last moment possible. The Ferrari is close now, almost at par with his rear wheels. For a moment, it feels like he’s got him now, but Haechan gets on the throttle early, trusting the Red Bull’s grip to carry him through. Inside line, now.

He asks for the gap again. It’s too small, far too small for his comfort but it isn’t like he’s left with any choices. On turn 4, again the Ferrari gains on him.

You think it's a sight to see, honestly. Two cars, almost parallel to each other, who’ll come out as the winner? You hope they don’t touch, that nothing bad happens.

Haechan thinks that he’s- Fuck there’s no time for thinking really, PUSH. His legs are starting to hurt from all the accelerating and braking but he grunts through jaw clenched tight beneath his helmet. He doesn’t have time to think about fatigue, about the burn creeping up his calves. Seungcheol is right there, matching him move for move, waiting for the slightest opening.

Turn 5 is fast. Barely a turn at all if you’re brave enough. Haechan keeps his foot planted, resisting the instinct to lift, trusting the downforce to hold him steady. The car twitches slightly under him, tires screaming against the asphalt, but he holds firm.

Seungcheol does the same.

Shit.

“Gap?”

“0.4. He’s still in DRS range.”

Of course he is.

The DRS detection line is approaching fast. If Seungcheol stays within a second, he’ll have a straight-line speed advantage down the next stretch. Haechan makes a split-second decision—move slightly off the racing line, force the Ferrari into dirty air, disrupt his momentum.

It works. Seungcheol hesitates for just a fraction of a second, and that’s all Haechan needs.

He launches out of Turn 6, flat-out now, heart hammering as he glances at his mirrors. The Ferrari is still there, still menacingly close, but Haechan has bought himself a few more meters of breathing room.

��Choi has a 5 second time penalty for speeding in the pitlane. Well done, gap is 0.8.”

Haechan almost sighs in relief. A five second penalty is great — if he manages to keep him behind the entire time — that is.

“Where is Jeno?” He asks, maybe there could be a Red Bull 1-2 for the first race of the season, after all.

“Jeno is 3.4 behind you.” Holy shit, it could actually happen.

The next 6 laps are uneventful, but Haechan’s thinking hard now. He’s just lapped a Sauber and there’s going to be more cars in front now, less clean air.

“Who has the fastest lap?”

“It’s Choi, he did a 1.24.”

“I’m coming in now, put me on softs.”

This time you turn your head away from the screen and stretch your neck to see outside. You can’t see him, not with the twenty something mechanics surrounding his car, but the pit stop is quick, so quick. One moment he’s here, the next he’s not. The screen shows you he’s on the softs. There are ten more laps to go. It’s looking great.

“Choi is in the pits to serve his penalty.”

Haechan’s a bit confused when he hears this. Why risk losing more positions. But he doesn’t have the time to worry about Ferrari’s strategies when the damn Aston Martin in front of him isn’t giving way. He looks to the side to see the blue flags flashing, so really-

“What the fuck is he doing?” Haechan complains over the radio, voice sharp with frustration. The Aston Martin should’ve moved by now, but it’s still hugging the racing line, forcing him to adjust his approach into turn 5.

“Blue flags are out. He needs to move,” his race engineer reassures him, but Haechan can hear the slight edge in his voice too.

“I know he needs to move—”

The Aston finally veers slightly right, but not enough. Haechan has to lift off the throttle to avoid contact, losing precious tenths in the process.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters as he sweeps past, but the damage is done.

“Gap to Choi?”

“4.2. You lost a few tenths there.”

He exhales sharply. It could be worse.

Nine laps to go. His tires feel good, grippier. The car is responding well, but he needs to make up time.

He flicks the mode switch on his steering wheel. A little more power.

“Going for the fastest lap,” he announces, fingers tightening over the wheel.

He barely hears his engineer’s response as he throws the car into turn 9, carrying more speed than before. The speedometer climbs—290, 295, 300 km/h—before he slams the brakes hard into turn 11, trusting the downforce to do its job.

Less than a minute from then, you see Haechan’s name on the screen flash purple. Fastest lap 1.23.056

The next two laps go by in a blur, his focus razor-sharp. Each turn, each braking zone - perfect. His engineer is giving him updates, but he barely registers them.

Then—

“Yellow flag, turn 6. Stay sharp.”

Haechan’s heartbeat spikes.

“What happened?”

“Looks like a Williams spun out. Shouldn’t be a safety car.”

He presses his lips together. Good. A safety car would ruin everything.

Five laps to go.

His eyes flick to the steering wheel display. His lap time delta is in the green. He can get the fastest lap again.

“Mode push?”

“Not required. You already have the fastest lap.”

He ignores his engineer.

Into turn 9, he keeps his foot flat on the throttle. The RB21 flies. He brakes late into turn 11, the car dancing on the edge of grip, but it sticks. His heart pounds as he floors it again.

Purple sector two.

With three more laps to go, he’s stopped seeing the Ferrari in his mirror, instead, now it’s the other Red Bull.

“Gap to Jeno?” He’s a little excited now. It’s been a while since he’s had to compete with a teammate.

“1.4. Keep it clean, please.”

So Jeno’s out of DRS. Haechan isn’t too worried. His tyres still feel great and Jeno’s tyres won’t be doing too good as he’s back on the hards. But just to be safe, just to get that gap, he goes a little faster.

Back in the garage, the Red Bull team are at the edge of their seats. The first race of the season and both their drivers are on the podium. You think everyone’s hoping they don’t crash into each other, mess up on the last few laps.

On track, Haechan hears his engineer through his earpiece, interrupting a few seconds of silence, “Fastest sector 1. You’re doing good. Gap to Jeno is 3.2.

He doesn’t respond. There’s no room for distractions now. Just focus.

He can see the line in the distance. The finish line.

“Two laps left. You’re 3.0 ahead of Jeno.”

The pressure’s mounting, but Haechan blocks it out. There’s no way he’s letting the lead slip now. He can almost feel the podium beneath his feet, the thrill of a victory, the rush that’s been missing since last season.

“Careful with the rear. Stay focused.” His engineer’s voice is calm, but it’s clear he’s watching closely. The car’s rear is loose, and Haechan can feel it through his grip, but he steadies himself, resisting the urge to back off.

The final lap.

Haechan’s heartbeat echoes in his ears as he sees the final lap board waved. He’s so close now. He can almost taste the champagne.

Haechan is cruising through, and you can’t see his car on screen anymore. You suppose they’ll show him again when he nears the finish line but right now, Seunghcheol isn’t far from Jeno. And with his older tyres, Jeno seems to be struggling. You aren’t really concerned. If this lap goes well, which it definitely will, your job for tonight might just be over. There won’t be questions that are too awkward, maybe other than the slightly rude remark Haechan made behind the Aston. But it was the Aston’s fault, so he won’t be on the receiving end of criticism.

You’re snapped from your momentary distraction when you see the mechanics cheering, jumping off their stairs and running to the pit wall. You smile, slowly moving a bit closer. They’re holding onto the grills as Haechan zooms past the chequered flag.

Must be great to watch both their driver’s finish well, You think as you back off. You’re going to need your ID pass for the media pen and you’ve left it in the hospitality. You think you might have to brush up some of the lines you’ve written down too. You won’t have much time before the post-race conference.

Haechan can hear the roar of the crowd as he crosses the finish line. He eases off the throttle, the adrenaline still coursing through him as he begins his cool-down lap. He lets out a little laugh, hearing the congratulations through the radio. First race, first win of the season. It feels great.

Behind him, he sees Jeno’s car and slows down a little more to let him catch up. Through the radio he can hear the cheers erupting in the garage. He looks to his right and shoots a thumbs up to Jeno, who returns the gesture.

The pit crew awaits. The podium awaits. He’s back.

JAPAN, SUZUKA INTERNATIONAL RACING COURSE

Tuesday April 1st

Tucked away on a quiet street, the ramen shop is smaller than you expected. You hesitate at the entrance, glancing at your phone to double-check the address before stepping inside. The air is thick with the scent of broth and garlic, warmth settling over you as you take in the cramped space.

The restaurant, if you could call it one, is so small that it only houses about four two-seater tables. The person at the counter asks you if you'd be alright with sharing a table with someone and you agree. She leads you to a man in a bucket hat and a leather jacket, head bent as he scrolls on his phone and when she asks him if he'd be alright with it, he looks up. And God, are you surprised?

“Haechan?”

He stares at you for a moment, mouth hanging open before he nods at the waitress and gestures to you to sit down. You're still a bit confused as you shrug off your coat and drape it across the back of your chair. You tell the waitress your order before finally turning to Haechan who smiles politely, albeit a little flustered.

You exhale loudly, “Well, it is a bit awkward outside of work, isn't it?”

Haechan agrees and laughs softly, “How come you're here though?”

“I had a friend recommend it to me. She's been here before a few times and said she really liked it,” You scrunch your nose, “What about you? It doesn't really seem like the place where you'd bump into an F1 driver, eh?”

“Me too. I mean, a friend recommended it to me the first time I visited Suzuka and I've been coming here ever since.”

You hum in response, letting your gaze wander around the tiny shop. Every table is occupied, pairs of diners hunched over steaming bowls, the quiet murmur of conversation blending with the occasional clatter of chopsticks against ceramic. The air is thick with the rich, savory scent of garlic and simmering broth, making your stomach stir in anticipation. Across from the open kitchen, two small windows are propped ajar, letting in a crisp evening breeze that carries the faint sounds of the street outside.

Haechan watches you take it all in. It feels a little weird to not have you talking to him all the time about his schedule or about what he has to say about certain things. It's also weird to see you not on a call, talking to the media or press. He's never observed you, really, and it's only now that he realizes you might be around his age.

His order comes first and you ‘ooh’ at the way steam rises off the soup in the bowl. Haechan turns to take off his jacket. His left hand is out and as he struggles a little to get the right one out, he meets your eyes and you both look away, slightly embarrassed.

“Forgive me for being a spoilsport, but are you really allowed to be eating ramen?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

Haechan is in the middle of taking his third bite as he stoops, holding his chopsticks mid-air, “I'm…not.” He tilts his head before eating.

You raise an eyebrow.

“You know, I think… in order to do your job, which includes protecting my reputation, you should probably not spill about this encounter to Johnny.”

You scoff, shaking your head at him, making him smile before going back to his bowl.

“Did you first come here when you debuted?” You ask after a minute or two of silence.

Haechan nods, “The first time I came, my friend actually brought me here because I was feeling quite depressed after the race,” He chuckles to himself.

“I remember,” you say, “You crashed on the last lap, didn't you? It would've been the first podium of your career if you hadn't.”

You can see the astonishment in his eyes as you continue, “If you ask me, it was an insane thing to do, almost get on the podium while driving an alpha tauri.”

“How do you remember that?”

“Well- I don't exactly remember it, but I had to look you up thoroughly before I started my job, you know?” You joke.

“Hmm,” He plays along, “What else do you know about me, miss PR?”

You lean in a little, like you're about to tell him a secret, “Reports say you have a dog back at home that does not like you. At all.”

Haechan blinks, caught off guard, “Hold on- What?”

You nod solemnly, slumping back into your chair, “Apparently, he ignores you when you come home and only listens to your mum. And uses you for treats. That’s a real betrayal if you ask me. I’ll get the article down as soon as I can. We can’t have you looking like someone who dogs hate,” You think out loud to yourself, suppressing a grin, “No, that would be real bad media attention.”

Haechan groans, setting his chopsticks down, “I can’t believe that made it onto your research.”

“What can I say? I’m quite thorough with my work.”

He shakes his head, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips. “For the record, he does like me. He just… has a weird way of showing it.”

“Sure,” You shrug, eyes drifting towards the bowl the waitress sets down in front of you. “Ohh, that looks so good.”

The two of you settle into silence as Haechan focuses on finishing his bowl while you only begin digging into yours. It’s different from when he sees you in the paddock. Usually, you’re always behind him or beside him, holding out your phone to record what he says or always note taking and calling the media. You’re the epitome of a professional, so he thinks that right now, you’re different too. Much more relaxed and less uptight about everything. He’s gotten a bit used to seeing you all polished, always in control, moving from one task to another but here, you’re just.. you?

The thought lingers for a second before he pushes it away. He glances at you and almost laughs at the way you’re trying to push your bangs away while holding your chopsticks. You look up and mumble a small ‘what?’.

“Are you always like this?”

“Hey!” You sound a little offended, “I can have a lot of fun outside of work, how would you know?”

“Well, I can imagine.” Haechan laughs, “Off work, professionalism out the door, am I right?”

“Yes, yes, you are. I don’t really care who you are right now,” You sigh before noticing that he’s done with his food, “Aren’t you going to leave?”

Haechan hesitates, “Nah, it’s getting late. I’ll leave with you. Aren’t we headed to the same place anyways?”

You nod slowly, “Don’t you have anywhere else to go? I don’t want to hold you back.”

“I come here every year. After a point there’s not going to be much to see. Unless of course, you have plans to go somewhere.”

“Not that I know of,” You purse your lips, “By the way, I heard you landed here yesterday. How come you’re so early?”

“I flew to Seoul from China and stayed there for a week, but my family are going on vacation this week so I thought, why not come visit one of my friends here, who’d want to see me instead of lazing around at home like the pathetic, uninvited, firstborn son that I am.” He dramatically sighs.

You breathe out a laugh, “You’d probably like to have a home grand prix, wouldn’t you?”

“Obviously,” Haechan rests his elbows on the table, looking out of the window, “If you win, that is. Otherwise it's honestly a shit load of pressure. There’s always going to be the stress of underperforming in front of your home crowd. But the support would be nice. It’s great in Austria too, you know, as Red Bull’s home race but that’s what makes it so important. Doing well in front of a home crowd is like the best feeling in the world.”

You nod thoughtfully, absorbing his words as you continue eating. “I get that,” you say. “The crowd’s energy level is just different, I suppose.”

Haechan leans back in his chair, looking relaxed now that the weight of the conversation has lightened. “Exactly. It’s like they’re all there for you. Even when everything’s falling apart on the track, their support is like fuel. You could be in the middle of a mess and they’ll still cheer for you like you’re winning.”

You smile at the way he says it, not expecting him to be so genuine about it. “Must feel nice to have that.”

He shrugs but there’s a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I guess. It’s also a lot to live up to.”

Haechan is in the middle of telling you about his first race in Monaco when the waitress who was serving you walks up to you two.

Sheepishly, she asks, “Excuse me, I hope you guys enjoyed your meal, but we’ve got a bit of a line outside. If you’re done, would you mind giving up your seats? I’m so sorry!”

You and Haechan look at each other in embarrassed surprise, and quickly get up, gathering your coats and belongings. You thank the girl (who meekly apologizes again) and hurry out of the shop.

Outside, in a slightly chilly street, Haechan emerges from behind you and stares at you for a second before bursting into laughter. You, still in your flustered state, take a few moments before joining him.

“I’ve never,” He manages in between, “been asked to get out of a restaurant, that too, so politely!”

“I don’t think she recognized you, actually,” You grin, “If she had, then you’d force me to work a bit overtime. Imagine me having to call up journalists and tell them, ‘No guys, Haechan is a very considerate person, it happens to the best of us. He was incredibly sorry.’”

He shudders before tilting his head in the direction of his hotel. “Let’s go?”

“Mister millionaire, I need to go in the other direction.”

Haechan’s lips form an ‘o’ before he nods, “Well, see you on Thursday then!”

You sigh, “You bet. Please show up early, you have a lot of things to do.”

AUSTRIA, RED BULL RING

Thursday, Media day June 26th

Haechan doesn’t really mind these games. In fact, he prefers them to the ones that he does with Jeno. No offence to him really, but he thinks Jeno’s a bit unfunny. When he says bye to you before entering the filming room, he’s more than happy to see the VCARB guys. Vernon’s humor is quite deadpan, which Haechan can’t say he understands most of the time, but he has a hilarious laugh, like a flock of geese and Haechan laughs more because of that. And Chenle. Haechan cannot get started with this guy. He once trained Chenle when he was still in F2 and in that one week, he’d found another slightly louder version of himself, albeit a little less sarcastic and more innocent.

Haechan is however surprised to see the reserve drivers and the F1 academy drivers. Had you forgotten to mention it, or was he not paying attention? Well, shit. He thinks. He was going to give it his all, get into his competitive spirit but now he’s got to put up his experienced senior face. He greets them before sitting down with Chenle. They wait for the camera team to set up the room before they’re divided into teams.

Chenle and Haechan are put in the same team, but Jeno complains, saying that they’d both be too strong together. So with a dramatic sigh, Haechan lets him go, taking Vernon with him. As the admin sets up the question placards, Haechan looks back at his team and is satisfied. He’s got Vernon, who might(?) be good at games. Sion, their reserve driver is on his team and another driver from the F1 Academy. She looks smart, Haechan thinks as he turns back around.

“Alright, guys,” the challenge host says, pulling the group’s attention back to the screen. “For the first game, we’ll be testing your knowledge of your fellow drivers. We’ve got a series of close-up images of drivers’ eyes. Your task is simple: guess which driver each pair of eyes belongs to. Are you ready?”

The group cheers out in response. The first photo flashes on the screen.

Haechan has his hand near the buzzer already, but he hesitates. The other team hits theirs.

“Jisung?” Chenle’s a bit unsure too.

“1 point to team 2,” The host nods, surprising everyone.

“How did you guess that?” Jeno stares, making the younger one shrug, “I don’t know, the thin eyebrows?”

The next one comes up and Haechan instantly answers, “That’s Mark. Like. For. Sure.”

buzz. “Kim Doyoung.”

The rounds continue with some lighthearted bickering. Jeno's team gets a couple of points here and there, but Haechan’s team remains in the lead. The last challenge turns out to be ‘Guess who said this.’ Haechan’s a bit stumped, he doesn’t know these too well and he doesn’t think the younger drivers do either. Vernon nods confidently, though, so maybe they could win this thing.

“Okay,” The host sighs, “Starting off easy.”

“I’m going to touch Doyoung’s rear wing.”

Sion hits the buzzer before Haechan can, surprising him. “That was Haechan, right?”

Haechan nods, impressed as the host increases their points.

“The engine feels good, much slower than before. Amazing.” It brings a laugh out of everyone before the F1A driver from Jeno’s team answers, “Alonso.”

“Okay, last question guys,” The host announces, “Assuming team 1 can finish this off, that is.”

“Is there even a point for that?”

“I’ve heard this before,” Haechan hears Chenle mumble from the other side. He looks at his team, shrugging to say that he does not know the answer sadly.

Vernon seems to be lost in thought, “This one’s old, it was either Hamilton or Seungcheol. Shit, I can’t remember which one though.” The room is weirdly silent and Vernon seems to notice, lowering his voice, “It was after a disappointing race… probably a p10 or p11 finish. Doesn’t it seem like something Seungcheol would say?”

“You would know,” Haechan encourages, “Go for it.”

Vernon presses the buzzer. The host waits.

“It’s Choi Seungcheol, isn’t it?”

“Are you asking me?” The host jokes.

Vernon shakes his head, “No. It’s Seungcheol.”

“And you are right!” The host smiles, making Haechan’s team erupt into cheers.

After wrapping up the shoot, the entire Red Bull family gathers outside the hospitality to take a group photo. Haechan remembers this weekend has the F2 and F1A races too and wishes the junior drivers good luck before heading back into the hospitality.

Haechan doesn't think you'll be in any of the meeting rooms, nor does he think you've headed back to the hotel. You're usually there next to him after all his schedules end, so he's perplexed to find you absent. He doesn't need to look for you, really, because his media activities for the day are over which means you've got no business with him for today. He should head over to the garage, see what the engineers are doing, poke around there, but instead he finds himself walking into the cafeteria.

Haechan is relieved to see you there, getting back to your seat with a cup of espresso in your hand while the other holds onto your phone as you speak. He's sure you'll end up spilling your coffee and jogs towards you, taking the cup from your hands.

You look at him quizzically before returning to your conversation, “Yes, I understand it's your job but you need to understand, this is my job too. Your headline was just purely misleading. I mean, all he said was that the other driver was being slow and hindering everyone else. Really, there's nothing going on that is as malicious as you make it seem!” You pull the chair harshly before sitting down.

Haechan just stands there with your coffee still in hand, not sure what to do.

“Yes, yes. I'm not asking you to take it down, just edit it a little better. You can't twist words like that, you know? Even if it is your job, Sir.” You grit out before smiling like the journalist can see you, “Yes, we appreciate it. Thank you and have a great day.”

You think about slamming your phone down. But there are others in the cafeteria, so you control yourself. Reminding yourself to unclench your jaw, you look around for your coffee before you see Haechan standing next to you, staring like a kid that's been yelled at.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” You sigh before taking the cup from him, “Aren't you supposed to be back at the motorhome? I'm done, so you can escape from me for at least the remaining half of the day.” You try to joke, but he looks at you like a kicked puppy.

“Hey, I'm sorry for… whatever conversation you just had. I'll try to control what I say, I guess.”

“No it's—” Your frustration that was slithering away creeps back again, “Why would you apologize? You're allowed to say such simple stuff without being used for clout and stupid headlines.”

He stays silent, and you wonder if you came off too harshly. So you try to talk a little more, make him feel a bit more comfortable, and show him that you are not mad. Where did all your professionalism go? We're still at work.

“Honestly, a lot of sports blogs do this. Most of the time it's not an issue. But this guy, this is the fourth time I'm calling him to take it down. He's so stubborn about it and the worst part is his columns have absolutely no ounce of any truth in them.”

Haechan sighs, “Thank you.”

You shrug, eyeing him, “It's just my job. How did your challenge go?”

He perks up at the mention of the games, “My team won,” Haechan grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

“Really, Haechan, why are you still here?” You shake your head, but you're smiling a little, so Haechan considers it a win too.

He’s thinking of a valid answer to give you, because in reality he doesn't know either, when he sees Johnny walking in. “I was just waiting for Johnny. We have a training session. What are you going to do, since I'm done for the day?” He abruptly stands up.

You get up along with him, downing the remnants of your espresso, “I have other stuff to do. I need to go over that interview that you gave in the morning before it's sent over for publishing and I need to look up a few journalists that may show up tomorrow or on race day and…” You wonder why you're telling him all this, “I have a lot of things to do, Haechan. Have fun at training, I'll see you tomorrow after the practice sessions.”

—

Friday, post FP2 June 27th

The walk to the media pen is quieter than usual. Haechan’s strides are long and fast, and there’s a stiffness to him that you can’t ignore. His hands are tucked into his pockets and his gaze flicks down to the ground every now and then.

He hasn’t said much since stepping out of the car. You were silent as he listened to the debrief, as he nodded along, as he left without saying much, and you are silent now too as the two of you walk up to a sky sports interviewer.

Jeno is already up first, finishing off his interview. He sounds relaxed and confident.

"Yeah, I think the car felt great today. We found a good rhythm early on, and I’m happy with where we’re at, heading into tomorrow. Obviously, there's still a lot of work to do, but the team’s done an amazing job."

Haechan exhales sharply, looking away as you gesture for him to step forward.

“Remember, it’s just Friday. Just practice.” You murmur to him. He gives you the slightest nod before facing the reporter. The first question comes immediately.

“Haechan, you were second fastest in today’s practice, but it looked like you were struggling a little more than your teammate. What happened?”

He takes a beat to answer, “Yeah, I think- well, obviously, Jeno’s had a great session and it’s looking good for the team this weekend. For me, I think there’s a lot more pace left on the table, hopefully we’ll look at the data and try to put it all together for tomorrow.”

“The McLarens seemed to be struggling with their pace in both practice sessions today. Do you think your situation might be similar?”

Again, a pause. “I wouldn’t say it’s a huge concern. The tyre degradation did seem a little unpredictable today, so I was having to manage more than I would’ve liked to. It’s not ideal, but there’s time to fix it before qualifying and the race itself.”

“Last question, Haechan. Do you think with Jeno topping both sessions today, does this shift the dynamic inside the team at all? Is there an added pressure that you feel, heading into this home grand prix.”

The question lingers in the air for a second longer than it should have. Haechan’s expression doesn’t change much, but you see it — the brief twitch in his eyebrow.

“I mean, from the team perspective, it’s great for us. It’s the home race for the team and both of us are hopefully going to be up front. Obviously, both of us want to be ahead of each other. Today just wasn’t quite there for me, but we’ll see where we are tomorrow.”

He chooses his words carefully, in a way that doesn’t feel like himself. A part of yourself is proud, this was a good response, answering without really answering. But he’s clearly upset.

The interviewer thanks him, wrapping it up before Jaehyun steps up behind him. As Haechan steps back from the mic, you fall into step behind him. You have to go back to the hospitality to gather your things before you can head to your hotel, but it doesn’t feel right to leave Haechan right now. You have a feeling he has something to say.

When you’re out of the media pen, you realize it’s starting to drizzle. That can’t be too good, you suppose. A rainless weekend would be more ideal, more safer. Hopefully this weather won’t continue into tomorrow and the day after. But it’s not just the chilly weather that makes the air heavier.

“Good answers,” You say, trying to look at his downturned face.

He doesn’t reply immediately, glancing at his hands, flexing them before tucking them into his pockets again. When he does reply, Haechan’s voice comes out quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“If I told you something, would you keep it to yourself? Not give it over or use it to— I don’t know— make me seem more humane or something when people write articles that I don’t seem to care about anything.”

You’re taken aback. It hurts you a little, but what he says is valid. Has someone done that to him before?

“I would,” You nod, “Keep it to myself, I mean.”

He kicks at the pavement, “Jeno was really quick today and it’s bothering me more than Ferrari’s pace.” That much is obvious, but it settles down on his chest in a way that he can’t shake off.

You hum in acknowledgement. This is what’s sitting with him. Not being second itself, but the gap. The fact that for the first time this season, it’s someone in the same car, who is ahead of him. You think of that night in Suzuka. All this at their team’s home race too. Of course he’s bothered.

“Tomorrow’s another day.” You remind him.

“Yes, but-”

“And if tomorrow also isn’t your day, then you have the race itself.”

He exhales, unlocking his phone to study the FP2 times once more before locking it. “How are you getting back to your hotel, by the way?”

“I think the shuttle might have already left, so maybe a taxi. I still have to go back to the hospitality.”

“The rain’s going to get heavier,” He sighs, “You might not be able to catch one.”

“I’ll wait it out,” You shrug, “You’re not heading to your motorhome?”

“I was, but if you’re waiting it out, might as well do the same.”

You glance at him, unsure, “You don’t have to.” But you find yourself thinking that you wouldn’t mind if he does. Guess he does grow on you.

“I know.” His response is simple. He doesn’t meet your eyes and for a moment looks up at the darkening skies above, the wind is picking up, carrying the smell of damp asphalt. Haechan feels nauseous. What if the conditions are the same? You’re already struggling with the pace, Haechan. What if you fuck it up in the one race that matters the most to everyone?

The two of you are a little wet by the time you walk into the hospitality cafeteria. The paddock is quieter now, with most of the day's work being over. A few mechanics remain in the garage, chatting in low voices as they finish up for the day. Inside, the warmth is immediate and you almost sigh out of relief. The hum of the coffee machine and the gentle clattering of dishes as the kitchen staff clean up make the whole place seem too peaceful for a race weekend. You wipe away the drops of water on your team jacket at the entrance before turning to look at Haechan. He doesn’t seem to know what to do when he’s not running from meeting to garage to training to meeting at all times.

“You can go ask a staff for something to eat, if you want. You must be hungry, no?”

He shakes his head, “I think I’ll just have a coffee.”

You shrug, “Help yourself, I need to go up to grab my things.”

Haechan doesn’t move right away, staring at the coffee machine for a long moment as if unsure what to do. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulls his hands from his pockets and walks over to the counter. He’s not really looking at anything—and you’re hit with the realization that he might be trying to not be alone with his thoughts right now.

“I won’t be long,” you add, feeling the need to fill the quiet.

Haechan doesn’t look up, but you see the tension in his shoulders dissipate a little as he nods. “Take your time.”

—

Sunday, Race Day June 29th

If Haechan was irritated by the P3 qualifying last night, he’s beyond upset now. But there’s no time and he really needs to get out of his misery and get his head back in the game before the race begins, which is any moment now. He breathes out heavily, trying to calm himself down as the first red light turns on. It could’ve been worse. It’s only two people that you need to overtake. Use the corner.

At lights out, Haechan’s whole body tenses. His car surges forward, but his reaction time isn’t quicker than Jeno and Doyoung so he remains in third place. His focus sharpens as he begins to climb the gears. He’s pushing for the next position and turn 1 is his easiest chance. Even if the gap between Doyoung and him widens after the turn, he can close it on the straight.

Haechan is usually quite aware of his surroundings. Usually while going into turns his eyes are always flitting between his two mirrors. But today, he looks ahead. He knows Jaehyun is there, tucked right behind him, but what he doesn’t expect is for Jaehyun to turn so late.

The hit comes hard. A sudden, violent shove to the rear end of his car, that sends a shock through his entire body.

Haechan’s heart races as his hands instinctively grip the wheel tighter, trying to regain control, but the car is sliding, spinning off track. His vision blurs.

As Haechan and Jaehyun’s car spin, the former going off the track, the Red Bull garage erupts in shock. Jaehyun’s Ferrari straightens out and rejoins the race, but Haechan remains there. It feels like forever to you as you ball up your fists. Come on, move!

The engineers are already analyzing the damage, but you know what’s coming next—the media frenzy. Your mind kicks into overdrive, fingers hovering over your notes. If he’s out of the race, you need to prep statements. If he’s still in it, you need to track every lap.

A voice crackles through the team radio.

“Haechan, are you alright?”

A beat. Then, a burst of static, an exhale.

“I’m fine.”

Haechan swerves his car into the right direction and re-enters the track. You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The mechanics shout out their encouragement.

He’s still in it, at least. You know what’s next for you— a new narrative to prepare.

As for Haechan, he has one hell of a comeback to make.

“What position am I in?” Haechan asks, even though he knows the answer. He sees the Williams in front of him but he needs to hear it.

“P20. There’s no damage to the car. Please push.”

P20. Dead last.

The words make his jaw clench. Haechan flicks his engine mode and slams his foot on the throttle. Ahead, the Williams is too slow, too cautious. He’s past it before the lap is even done.

P19.

Next, the Haas. He catches it on the straight, ducks behind into its slipstream and overtakes it at the next turn.

P18.

In sector 2, he reaches the VCARBs, caught in their own battle. Haechan takes advantage of their hesitation into turn 3 and dives down the inside. It’s risky and close but he does it, two cars in one move.

P16.

Every move is by instinct now. An Alpine, another Sauber and Haas. One by one he picks them off.

He outbrakes the second Williams into turn 3.

P12.

You look up from your laptop, hastily recording all his overtakes. He’s got the fastest lap now, and it’s his fourth time doing it. You’re worried, definitely, but awe masks it momentarily as you watch Haechan set purple sectors everywhere. Within five laps he’s made it to 12th place. It’s not in the points, yes. But he’s capable and you know it. It’s only a matter of time before he nears the top and time— he has a lot of it.

P10 comes a little easily too. Na Jaemin, seemingly struggling with his engine in the Aston gives Haechan the way and Park Jisung in the first McLaren, who is way off his game this season— seeing how he’s outside of the points— is not the hardest person to overtake.

A much needed pit stop by lap 47 halts his progress and leaves Haechan stuck in at P10. Ahead of him, the second Alpine pits handing him the P9. On the straight, he comes into DRS range and overtakes Lee Chan’s Aston Martin.

By lap 58, Haechan is up into P7. This is where it starts to get hard.

The gap ahead to Seungcheol in P6 is a little over 4 seconds. It’s nothing impossible, but Haechan can feel the pressure build up now. There’s been a rhythm to his driving up until now. He’s been pushing and edging and taking advantage of every silly mistake someone makes. But Seungcheol, even in his current form, is no slouch and neither is his car. The Ferrari holds its place through the corners and the last thing Haechan wants is to waste time.

He closes in quickly, making it a matter of when and not if he can overtake Seungcheol. When they come into the straight at the beginning of lap 59, Haechan is right behind the Ferrari, DRS open and ready to pounce. He pulls out and presses the throttle hard, determined to make it out in front before the first turn. Seungcheol, surprisingly, doesn't put up much of a fight.

“Haechan, that is P6. Incredible work, mate. Car ahead is Jaehyun.”

You’re back in the hospitality by now. Haechan’s name has been climbing up the list consistently and his speed is incredible. But you can’t afford to celebrate yet. It’s a home race and one car is still not on the podium. Red Bull expects more than just a decent result. They want to win this and you know the sponsors are watching every move. Your phone buzzes—a quick reminder that the press conference is scheduled in thirty five minutes. Regardless of how the race turns out, he needs to be ready to answer questions.

Coming into lap 71, the last lap, Haechan is beyond frustrated. Jaehyun has been holding steady for the entire race, but so has he. It’s been a long fight, and he is not giving it up to settle behind the person who fucked it up for him, really.

The gap between them is small and with only a few corners left, Haechan watches Jaehyun’s line like a hawk. The Ferrari takes a defensive stance, but on turn 9, Jaehyun takes a slightly wider exit than normal, and it’s the crack Haechan’s been waiting for. He dives down the inside, braking late but with precision, getting alongside Jaehyun through the turn. Jaehyun can’t fight back.

Haechan forces him wide into the last turn.

P5.

—

Post Race, Driver’s room.

You walk down the hallway towards Haechan’s room. The paddock buzzes with the press and most of the mechanics and engineers are out celebrating Jeno’s win in front of the garage. You and Haechan are going to be late for the media if he hasn’t freshened up by now.

“Haechan, I’m coming in,” You inform, knocking twice. He doesn’t answer.

The door is open anyways, so you push it, tucking your phone into your pocket before you truly realize the sight in front of you.

Haechan’s freshened up, alright. He’s showered and is in his normal clothes, towel hanging from his neck as he looks out of the window.

“Are you,” you pause, “coming to the media pen like this?”

You regret even asking, because you think you know his answer, and God, no. No no no, don’t say it. Please come to the pen.

“I’m not going today, sorry Miss PR.” Haechan shrugs, his voice low, flat and lacking the charm he usually has.

Your stomach drops, “Haechan… Haechan, you know you have to. It's part of the job.”

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t speak. His clothes look comfortable but you can see his tensed arms and spine despite them. He wears his disappointment like a heavy cloak, heaving him down.

"Look, I get it. I know you're upset," you say, your voice softer now, "but this is about more than just you. It's about the team, the sponsors, everything. I need you to come with me. We’ll get through it, and then you can walk away. I promise."

When he doesn’t respond immediately, you’re taken over by the insane urge to slap yourself. Not what we wanted to say!

You enter the room fully, the door clicking softly behind you.

“If it gets you into trouble, I’ll talk to them later. I can’t do this right now.” Haechan’s voice wavers slightly.

You hesitate, but only for a moment.

"Why are you always trying to hold it together?" you ask, crossing the room towards him. "You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Haechan. You don’t have to just swallow it down and keep going like nothing’s wrong."

He scoffs, “That’s very ironic of you to say. You’re literally my PR manager. Isn’t it your job to make me look like the perfect person all the time?” He bites back, harsher than you expect.

You stop in your tracks, taken aback. He’s never lashed out at you like that before and all you can do is just stand there and let his words hang in the air between you two.

“Okay,” You slump back, walking over to the couch and sitting down. “Fine. I’ll tell them you’re not coming.”

Haechan finally looks at you, a little surprised. You think he was expecting you to fight back more. You expected yourself to fight back more.

“But Haechan, my job isn’t to make you look perfect. It’s to help you handle all the shit that comes with your job without you having to worry too much about people attacking you for reasons that don’t even matter most of the time.”

He seems to realize the weight of your words as he comes to sit beside you.

“Today did not go the way you wanted it to, and I may never understand what is on your mind or what you go through every time.” You exhale, “But if you want me to listen, I will.”

Haechan sits quietly beside you, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee, eyes focused on the floor. The faint sound of the paddock celebrations filters through the walls, but it feels distant and irrelevant.

After what feels like an eternity, Haechan speaks. "I just... I don’t know anymore," he admits, his gaze drifting toward the window. "It feels like I’m fighting so damn hard, and for what? A P5? I was supposed to do better. I feel like I’ve let everyone down... And Jaehyun’s starting to catch up with me in the driver standings. He’s close, you know? Really close. And now my teammate’s done better than me at our home race and it wouldn’t have been too much of a problem if I was on that damn podium too.”

“I don’t think you’ve let anybody down. Today’s race doesn’t discount everything else that you have won for the team this season. It may be hard for you to believe right now, but trust me. What matters is that you move on from this. Everyone has their lows. It’s just one race, Haechan.”

“But it’s… it’s the team’s home race.” He exhales.

“Fuck the home race, then.” You shake your head, “Everyone believes in you, Haechan. Your mechanics, your engineers, Johnny, me. This is just one race out of 24. You can do this.”

Haechan looks at you then, his expression still clouded with frustration but you can tell your words got through.

"Thanks," he murmurs, and it’s almost a whisper, but you catch it.

You nod, offering a small smile. It’s not out of relief or pity, but understanding.

“I’ll take care of the media stuff,” you say, rising to your feet. “I’ll smooth things over. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Haechan doesn’t respond right away, but as you reach the door, you hear him speak again, quieter this time.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

You tilt your head slightly, watching him. “You think that’s the worst I’ve dealt with?”

Haechan lets out a small, tired laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Probably not.”

You smile, finally turning to leave. “Didn’t think so.”

“I mean it though. I shouldn’t have proj—”

You raise a finger making him stop, “It’s okay, I know. Get some rest, Haechan.”

UNITED KINGDOM, SILVERSTONE CIRCUIT

Tuesday July 2nd

Lee Haechan (RB) : Hey… Are you in the UK rn? This may be wayyy out of line but Johnny kind of dared me to go to this baking workshop thing like LONG ago and um he agreed to come with me. But he’s got some sort of emergency, so he’s in the states rn and um so he can’t make it… So I was wondering if you wanted to LOL! [18:26]

You: well, it would be a waste of money if you didn’t go, wouldn’t it? [20:25]

Lee Haechan (RB) : Whew almost thought you wouldn’t reply Does that mean you’ll come? [20:26]

—

Wednesday

“Hey, you’re right on time.” Haechan greets as you walk over to the pergola he’s under, “The instructor just left to get the ingredients, but this place is huge so she might take like 10 to come back.”

“Huge it is,” You agree, putting your purse down and sitting beside him.

The pergola you two sit under is just one of the many you saw on your way here. Tucked into its own corner, its beams entwined with vines and fairy lights that haven’t flickered on yet. The garden (it’s bigger, but you don’t know the appropriate term for it) seems to be divided by tall, clean-trimmed hedges, giving the entire place a maze-like look. Surprisingly, it’s a sunny day and this is the perfect place to be out. A gentle breeze ruffles the leaves overhead.

From behind the hedge to your right, bursts of laughter and chatter spill over, from a larger group, you assume. You hear the clinking of utensils against mixing bowls and turn to Haechan.

He’s already looking at you, leant back, arms stretched over the bench’s backrest. For a moment, he holds your gaze before looking away, eyes sweeping over the surroundings. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

You hum, “Makes me wonder why Johnny would dare you to come here. Do you know what we’re going to be making?”

Haechan eyes you a little sheepishly, “Well, to be honest, you were a little bit late and I had to choose for us.”

You roll your eyes, “Okay, but this was like almost an hour away.”

“I did offer to pick you up,” He mumbles.

“Yeah,” You nod, “But you’re probably staying at the headquarters which is literally on the other side of the city. Didn’t want to make you drive too much.”

“You’re kind of… too nice to me.” Haechan grins, getting up as the instructor comes back, “It’s great! My friends usually don’t pass up on a chance to make me suffer.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “Well aren’t you glad I’m here then.”

“Oh,” He starts, but you interject him.

“Thank you for coming, I know. You’ve said it about four times already.”

“Well, I feel a little bad.”

“Don’t be, I’m sure I’ll have fun too. I’ll let you know, I might be nice to you now but I’m a little mean when it comes to tasting.” You grin.

The instructor sets the menu in front of you and your grin only widens. “I love strawberries, apple pie and churros. You didn’t make bad choices after all.”

Haechan laughs softly before handing you your apron, “Thank god.”

The instructor gives you two the basic rundown and gives you a small pager to page her over if required before leaving you two to it. As she starts walking away, Haechan starts flipping through the cookbook, opening up to the first recipe.

“I think we should make the churros in the end. Should we start with the pie first? It’ll take time to bake.”

You nod, wrapping the apron’s waistband around you, “Have you ever made apple filling before?”

“No, but I’m good at like bread and pasta and stuff so I think I’ll be fine with the dough? Unless you want to-”

“We make a great team, because I’m bad at that stuff,” You throw a thumbs up at him, moving over to the other side of the table where the apple basket is.

Haechan laughs as he picks out all the ingredients he needs, “Should we make a little extra of everything so that we can take some home?”

You pause, “Sure, but do you think the two of us would be able to down an entire pie?”

He shrugs, “If we don’t then it’s just more to take home. We could make an extra one and like half it? The tins aren’t too big. Hey, it says you need 4-5 apples for one pie so maybe take like 10?”

You thank him and start sectioning and measuring your spices before you get to the apple skinning when Haechan walks over to your side. You hum, wondering if he has any questions.

“You’d take way too much time to skin 10 apples on your own. The dough won’t take me too long.” Haechan quips, reaching in front of you for the peeler.

Halfway through peeling the apples, a thought passes through your mind when Haechan brings up Johnny. In shock, you drop your peeler onto the table before turning to look at him.

“Haechan,” You gasp, “Are you allowed to eat all this?”

Before he can answer, you’re already pacing up and down, the back of your wrist pressing against your forehead. If you’d remembered earlier, you could’ve convinced him to not go. Holy shit, you pause. You could be the reason Haechan’s weight is off this weekend.

Haechan lets you worry for a moment before piping up, “It’s only Wednesday. Johnny knows and he’ll be back before tomorrow evening so that we can have a workout session that’s a little more intense.” He tosses the cut apples into the pot.

“Still, should we cut down on something?” You stress, pushing him over to his dough making station.

“Nooo,” Haechan drags out, “It’s alright.”

“What if you don’t fit into your race suit?” You challenge as you slowly walk back to your pot that you’ve put all your apple slices in. The spices are already in there and all you have to do is turn the flame on.

Haechan sighs as he flicks the remnants of flour on his fingers at you, making you flinch, “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, come on.”

You still for a second, hoping the heat you feel creeping up your neck isn’t as obvious as it feels. Trying to play it off, you roll your eyes, “Whatever you say, I guess.”

Haechan doesn’t look up from his bowl but you can tell his smile widens. You shake your head, turning back to your apples that are beginning to cook slowly.

—

The pies rise steadily in the oven, the smell of cinnamon and apples clouding the air. You’re not sure if it’s because of the light inside. Leaning forward on your knees, you stare into the oven. The actual baking process is the worst according to you, but maybe you’re just a little impatient. You hear Haechan cluttering around with utensils before he stands next to you, shoulder brushing yours as he copies you.

“You know, I think we did a pretty good job. I tasted the cookie dough and it’s great too.” Haechan muses beside you, wiping his hands on a towel, “Well, I did. You just cut and measured stuff.”

You gasp, standing up straight to look at him, “Excuse me? Who prepared the filling?”

“What are you going to do with just filling? You need dough and honestly I think you’d be really bad at that.” Haechan scoffs but you see the playfulness in his eyes.

“You can’t have a pie without filling, and I made the strawberry compote too, come on!”

“You could!” Haechan defends, “It would just be a really thin, weird shaped cookie.”

You don’t know how to answer that and so you sigh in defeat. He’s moved on to scooping the strawberry shortcake cookie dough into the pan and you force your eyes to drift from the way his bangs fall into his eyes. It’s not like you’ve never noticed before, but there’s something about seeing Haechan at ease, lips pressed together in focus, brows knitted as he carefully shapes each cookie. It’s different from when he’s in his element on track. That determination and focus that he has are so different from now. Haechan’s sleeves are rolled up just enough to show his forearms and you have to mentally slap yourself from thinking about how they flexed while he kneaded the dough.

You’ve always known it, but he’s quite good looking, if you admit. The thought makes your heart stutter, and you blink rapidly, shaking yourself out of it. You’re here to bake, not… whatever this is.

“By the way,” You clear your throat, “did we use all the strawberries? I wanted to taste one.”

Haechan pauses, “Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. You hear the timer ring for the pies. “Guess you were too busy.”

“Seriously?” You mutter, a little dejected, “It’s fine. I’ll get the pies.”

“Oh, hey, take the mittens. Wait, I’ll bring them.” You hear Haechan call out as you open the oven handle. He appears by your side, holding out your mittens.

“Here,” He says, voice closer than you expect. You turn to thank him, and just as the words are about to leave your mouth, he swiftly plops something past your lips.

Your eyes widen in shock, taste buds suddenly flooded with flavour— sweet, a little tart and unmistakably strawberry.

Haechan grins, eyes swimming with amusement as you process what just happened. “Found it,” he says with a casualness that makes you want to throw the mittens at him.

You finish chewing, the initial surprise fading into a mix of exasperation and something else that makes your chest feel strangely tight. “You—”

“I knew you wanted one,” He shrugs, a self satisfied smirk plastered on his lips.

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “You’re just so…”

“Not my fault you’re easy to surprise.”

You huff, shaking your head as you finally grab the mittens. “You’re lucky these pies smell too good for me to be mad at you right now.”

His laughter follows you as you open the oven, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you for a moment longer. And you definitely don’t miss the way your heart stumbles again, just a little, before you shake it off and focus on not dropping the pies.

—

Saturday, Qualifying July 3rd

“How’s the car feeling?” Johnny asks as he sets down Haechan’s plate in front of him.

“It’s fine,” Haechan grimaces at his food, making Johnny sigh, “Better than last week. So much better. The team made some updates.”

“Don’t make that face.” Johnny rolls his eyes, “I let you off for eating all those damn sweets. You reap what you sow.”

He expects Haechan to bite back, but all he gets in return is an absent minded hum. He looks up from his phone to see Haechan looking around the cafeteria and sighs inwardly.

“Who are you looking for?” Johnny questions, making Haechan snap his head back to him before poking at the quinoa on his plate.

“No one,” Haechan mumbles.

Johnny raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press him and goes back to his phone. The cafeteria buzzes with the usual lunchtime chatter. The mechanics and engineers too, seem to have come up for their lunch break before qualifying. Johnny looks up at Haechan for a second when he seems to realize that the driver usually eats lunch in his room, in order to focus and calm his mind.

Before he can question it, Haechan pipes up, “How’s your sister and her baby, by the way?”

“She’s fine. And my nephew? Oh god, he is so cute. Wait let me show you a photo,” Johnny gushes as he scrolls through his photos, “Thanks for letting me go, actually. I mean, I did you a favour too. Didn’t you take your PR girl with you?” He looks up to see Haechan distracted, eyes flicking around the room again.

“Ah,” Johnny sighs, shaking his head, “So that’s what’s on your mind?”

Haechan glances at him before stuffing a forkful of grilled chicken in his mouth, “What? Show me the photos.”

Johnny slides his phone over, still staring at him. “It makes sense really,” He says to himself, “You took her out when I cancelled. You don’t want to eat in your room anymore, you keep looking around for her.”

Haechan freezes, his fork already halfway to his mouth. He sets it down, trying to play the cool game, but Johnny knows Haechan and frankly with the way he’s scratching his neck right now while fervently scrolling through his photos, he already has his answer.

“Your nephew’s really cute.” Haechan says, a little too loudly, “I’d love to meet him one day.”

Johnny leans back in his chair, arms crossed and grins a little wider than what Haechan would’ve liked to see. “Anyways, where is she? Seems like you two have gotten close.”

“Well, she’s around me a lot and it’s been like what—five months—already. Of course we’d be friends,” Haechan rolls his eyes. He meant for it to come out very coolly, but he ends up sounding a bit defensive. “And I don’t know where she is. I don’t need to see her until after quali.”

“Mhm,” Johnny teases, “You don’t need to see her, but you want to. I get it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Haechan hisses, getting up from his seat, “You’re distracting me. I’m going to go back to my room. Throw out my plate for me, will you?”

“Are you sure I’m what’s distracting you?” Johnny calls out behind him, earning a few looks. He laughs while looking around, “Oh it’s nothing, he’s just a little worried about qualifying.”

—

Post qualifying

“Haechan, congratulations on pole position,” The reporter chirps, “If you could step up to the mic, please.”

“Thank you,” Haechan gives a small smile, waiting for the questions.

“The Red Bulls seemed very strong today and yesterday, you know, over the practice sessions and qualifying. Jeno qualified with a P3. Anything new about the car? Has anything changed since Austria?”

“Yeah, well, the team had already been working hard on bringing an update to the car so it’s been feeling good this weekend. Hopefully we can use it to give the team a 1-2 finish again.”

“You’ve been on the podium multiple times here in Silverstone, but you’ve never won before. What’s different this time and what do you think about your chances for tomorrow?”

“Silverstone has been slightly challenging for me in the past, but every year is different, right? The team has made some great progress with the car. I think personally, I feel more in tune than I did last weekend. This is our best shot yet. Of course it’ll be a tough battle, but I think we’ll be able to make the most out of it tomorrow.” Haechan nods, “Also, they do predict a little rain here, every year. Always makes it more exciting.”

The reporter laughs along with him, “Of course. Now my last question. You weren’t here last weekend, so I didn’t get to ask you.”

You can see Haechan stiffening up. You did talk to him about the possibility of reporters or journalists asking about Austria. Hopefully he remembers.

“In Austria, you had that incident with Jaehyun on lap one. With the title fight heating up between you two, how do you feel about something like that happening at such a critical point in the season? Does it change the way you approach racing with him, or was it just a racing incident?”

No matter how Haechan answers this, you know it’s going to stir up drama. It’s about time anyways, with the championship fight set up between the drivers and the teams. You lightly tug Haechan’s hand, hoping it’s out of frame or even just subtle enough. He notices.

“It was unfortunate. I had a lot to unpack after that race,” Haechan begins, “It was frustrating, especially since we both know how much is at stake. I mean, it’s tough out here… I think we’ve both had a fair share of things not going our way. But yeah, it’s a championship fight and I’m not here to back down. Keeping it clean is ideal of course, but I don’t mind some hard racing. It is a part of the game after all. We’ll see how the rest of the season plays out.”

“You did well,” You mutter to him as the two of you leave the media pen after a few more interviews.

“Oh thanks, I learnt from the best.” Haechan chuckles. You smile.

“No, I mean. Even in quali and everything.” You look up at him.

His lips are stretched in an easy smile and he looks more collected and composed today. You haven’t seen this type of confidence ooze off him in a while, so today, it makes you glad.

“I feel good too, honestly.” Haechan admits, “I think I got too into my head last time and it just never works out like that. I’ve done this so many times and just because there’s a championship win looming over my head does not mean I crumble under the pressure of it all.” He dramatically sighs.

“Well,” You quip, “Don’t be too confident. After all that you’ve said today, you’d make it really hard for you and me to answer if you didn’t win tomorrow.”

Haechan stops in his tracks, turning to you, “Are you telling me to win?”

“Would I tell you to lose?” You question, squinting at him.

“No, but are you telling me to win for you? So that you don’t have to deal with those articles?” He has a smirk on his face that one half of you, the more sane half wants to punch off.

“I didn’t say that. But if you happened to win, everyone would be pleased.” You shrug nonchalantly.

Haechan laughs, “Everyone includes you.”

“It does.” You sigh before fastening your pace and walking ahead of him. You don’t understand why he’s doing this, but it sucks. It sucks and you don’t think it's professional and- Shit your face is probably red right now.

“Hey! Hey, I’ll win it.” Haechan grins as he catches up to you, “For the team, and the championship, of course.”

You nod sternly, “Yes, exactly.”

“And,” He begins as you reach the entrance to where the motorhomes are parked, “For you. Thanks for walking me back!” He runs off before you can pretend to get mad at him. You roll your eyes, fanning your face as you walk away.

Around the same time, the next day, you walk away from the celebrations for a second, feeling your phone ping in your pocket. Perfect timing, really, because you’d rather not get champagne all over you.

Someone’s sent you an article. You click on the link.

Haechan dominates Silverstone for maiden win, Vows: ‘I’m not here to back down’. Ferrari falls short again as title hopes begin to falter.

You shake your head, turning towards the crowd formed in the centre of the garage as they attempt to douse the man of the hour in champagne. You watch as Haechan shrieks, trying to dodge his head mechanic who has another, completely filled bottle in his hands. His overalls are already soaked, and his hair sticks to his forehead as a result of Jeno pouring champagne over his head on the podium.

For a second, Haechan’s eyes search around until they land on you. When they do, his eyes widen ever so slightly and he beams. Teeth out, cheeks full and eyes almost closing.

You can’t help but smile back. Your heart skips a beat, multiple beats, you think. You hope no one notices the way your cheeks are burning up right now. You hope he doesn’t notice it. Looking away, you tuck your phone back in. You need to head back up, gather your things and head back home. You’d promised your family you’d visit and conveniently you have almost a week and a half off before you travel again.

To your (unknown) dismay, Haechan does notice.

ITALY, AUTODROMO NAZIONALE MONZA

Saturday, Qualifying September 6th

Rumours around the paddock don’t start baselessly, so when you overhear news from Jaehyun’s PR manager, a senior of yours from college, it shocks you. Choi Seungcheol, Il Prescelto, the chosen one, Ferrari’s lion… talks of leaving?

Haechan is even more astonished when you accidentally let it slip in front of him.

“That’s…” He tilts his chin, thinking hard, “That’s not possible, is it? I mean, he’s been with them for so long. He’s got them those four drivers championships. There’s no way he’d leave.”

“I don’t know Haechan,” You sigh, dragging a hand across your face, “I wasn’t even supposed to tell you this. Listen, this is the last-”

“Last thing I need to worry about, I know.” He shakes his head as he slips on his racing shoes.

The two of you are in his dressing room, about fifteen minutes before qualifying starts. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be here, but you find yourself pacing nervously while he adjusts his gear.

“I don’t even know why I’m saying this,” You bite your lip, trying to find the right words, “It’s just- She told me that there’s been a lot going on in their team, between the drivers, something, I don’t know.”

Haechan nods as he stands up and walks over to you, moving you out of the way by your waist to grab his helmet. Your brain short circuits for a moment before you wrangle it back into control. You’re trying to tell him something. Stop it. You can’t help the way your stomach somersaults at the smell of his cologne.

“Haechan,” Your voice is stern and it makes him stop, hand on his helmet on the shelf. It’s not an ideal position, at all. You can imagine what it would look like if someone walked into the room right now, one hand on the shelf, the other unconsciously on your waist. Haechan is too close to you. You clear your throat, swallowing as he moves away muttering an apology. There’s an air of disappointment and confusion surrounding you two and you know it. There are things unsaid and undone, but now is not the time.

“I think you’ve noticed already from the practice sessions but they’re fighting within themselves.” You sigh, hoping the shakiness in your voice isn’t too obvious.

“Yeah, the team told me in the briefing session. I thought it was just some silly teammate banter, though.”

“Hopefully it is. But just stay safe out there, okay?”

Haechan's heart warms at the concern in your voice.

“Always, I know. It's alright.”

“I'll see you after quali then. All the best,” You muster a small smile. You don't think he could go faster than your heart is beating right now, to be fair, but you hope he does.

Haechan hasn't told you this yet, but as he gets into his car in the garage, he thinks you already know his intentions. He needs to out qualify both the Ferraris today. Especially Jaehyun. Haechan is not one to leave favours unpaid and the only way he can return Jaehyun’s is by ruining his home race too. The fabled Italian grand prix, with the thousands of tifosi here. He’s not going to mess up Jaehyun’s race like the latter did in Austria, no. He’s better than that and besides, he needs a clean race, if not for himself, if not for the team, then for you. No, Haechan’s going to make sure he ruins it by winning.

His engineer gives him the green light to fire up the engine and leave the garage. As he swerves out into the pitlane, he almost scoffs into his radio. In front of him both the Ferraris leave their garage, blazing red and engines roaring.

If there is an issue between the two of them—like you said there might be— then as long as they don’t crash into him, maybe it’ll work out in his favour after all.

His engineer's voice crackles through the radio, “Haechan, all clear ahead. There’s not much traffic at the moment so let’s make this lap count.”

“Copy,” Haechan replies.

He accelerates into the first chicane, overtaking the Ferraris who still seem to be warming up. He’s always found the breaking zone at turn one a little tricky, but he powers through it into the second part of the chicane.

Exiting sector 1 into turn 4, Haechan hears on his radio, “That’s a purple sector 1. Keep going.”

The Red Bull flies through the straight in sector two, his speedometer reading a speed of 310 km/hr as the Parabolica, the temple of speed, looms ahead. It’s the final corner before the stretch to the finish line, the trickiest of them all.

His rear wheels fight for grip as he brakes late into the corner, dropping down a gear. Haechan keeps his foot steady, accelerating just as the car begins to straighten. The Parabolica is deceptive—too early on the throttle, and the back end kicks out. Too late, and he loses time.

“Purple sector 2.” His engineer informs him.

Haechan exhales as he approaches the finish line, keeping the car steady. The final moments of the lap feel like they take forever, but he thinks he’s hit all the marks. He crosses the line and steps off the throttle, slowing down due to an increase in the number of cars at the entrance.

“So?” He asks into the radio.

“Haechan, that is provisional pole for you. Well done mate, all purple sectors.”

Haechan grins, “Alright, heading back to the pits.”

He stays in until the end of Q3. It’s slightly surprising that no one has out-qualified him yet, but who is he to complain? Haechan sits on one of the seats at the pitwall, watching the others qualify. He doesn’t exactly feel threatened by any of their lap times but with 10 minutes remaining, Seungcheol sets a lap time that is only a second off of his. He gets back to the garage after seeing that, zipping his overalls and putting his helmet and balaclava back on, Haechan settles into his seat. The mechanics are on standby but Seungcheol comes back into the pits and the session ends with no one outdoing him. There’s a sense of confidence in Haechan as he climbs out of his seat again, taking off his helmet to high five some of his mechanics.

Pole in Monza. He’s ahead of both the Ferraris in their home ground. It’s a huge advantage for both championships. All he needs to do now is convert that pole into a win.

—

Sunday, Race Day September 7th

The best thing about home races, Haechan muses, is the home crowd.

But they're not cheering for him, no. It's more of an encouragement for Seungcheol to go quicker. Outrun the bull that's coming for you. But Seungcheol is on the straight with old tires and Haechan is right on his tail with fresh hards on.

The overtaking opportunity shows itself easily. There's not much one can do on a straight with a car that has DRS enabled behind him.

Haechan can hear the disappointment in the crowd as he overtakes the Ferrari, the groans loud enough to penetrate through his helmet and the engine’s loud rumbling. He smirks, taking the lead of the race again. There’s nothing like disappointing the Tifosi.

Exiting the first chicane, in his mirrors, he sees both Ferrari’s close to each other. Almost too close. They’re fighting, red against red, sparks flying as they push their cars to the limit. There’s no teamwork in sight, no sense of strategy—only two drivers who refuse to yield.

Haechan knows that kind of desperation. The kind that you need when you’re trying to prove yourself to someone. It just seems like the wrong moment for this, though, with the constructors easily on the line.

Haechan’s engineer cuts through on the radio, “Ferraris fighting for P2 behind you. Keep your head down and focus.”

“Copy.” He replies, eyes flicking back his mirrors once again. Both of them are driving recklessly and he does not want to be around to get stuck in debris if they do end up crashing into each other.

In the garage, you watch Jaehyun lock up on screen as he dives into a turn, lunging for the overtake. Seungcheol defends hard, leaving barely any room. They almost touch again but come out the other side unscathed. The shot widens and you see Haechan already a good few seconds ahead of them. Relief courses through you as he keeps his pace steady, pulling away from the chaos behind him.

At the exit to turn 2, Jaehyun dives outside but Seungcheol moves to defend a split second too late. Jaehyun’s rear wheel hits the curb hard and sends his car into the air. You feel time slow down before gravity overtakes again and Jaehyun’s Ferrari crashes down on top of his teammate. Jaehyun’s rear wheel runs up against the cockpit of Seungcheol’s car as they drive off track and the commentary box goes wild, their voices frantic.

“Oh my word! Massive crash between the Ferraris! Are both the Scuderia cars OUT of their home race?” Even with earplugs on, you can hear the roar of the fans in the grandstands as the shock settles in.

The slow-motion replay shows Jaehyun’s car hanging in the air for a split second before slamming down on Seungcheol’s halo.

“Look at that! The halo is doing its job there, saving Seungcheol. But what a terrifying impact!”

The replay shifts to the aftermath—the two Ferraris tangled together, sliding helplessly into the gravel, debris scattered across the track.

“And it’s confirmed,” The commentator begins, “Both Ferraris are out of the race at Monza! Can you believe it? In front of the thousands of Tifosi here, it has been a nightmare of a weekend for Ferrari.”

“Is everyone alright?” Haechan asks his engineer. He’s seen the impact of the accident behind him. It couldn’t have been great.

“Uh yes, both drivers are safe. Red flag, Haechan. Please slow down and come back to the pits. They’ve ordered a restart.”

Once he's back in the garage, the tension is thick. The pit crew is busy, checking the car over one last time. Haechan leans back against the wall, the weight of what just happened pressing down on him. Two Ferraris out in a spectacular crash—he can't help but feel a mix of relief and unease. They were close to each other. It could've been him, too, if things had gone differently.

But his engineer walks up, data flashing on the screen in front of him and it grounds Haechan. The race isn’t over yet and he cannot afford to lose focus. With the restart, although he’ll still have the advantage, it could be an opportunity for anybody else. Especially Jeno, who’s now been promoted to P2 after both the Ferrari’s crash out.

“There’s no need for you and Jeno to battle it out,” He hears his strategist say. “Since Ferrari is out, it won’t affect your driver’s standing much, so focus on the constructors. You should try to win, of course, but keep it clean, please.”

Haechan nods. The restart is coming soon. He needs to get back into the car.

As he walks back to the desk near his car to pick up his helmet, he sees your figure, bent over your laptop, typing away. You're scanning through the data, probably double-checking something, or maybe working on a report for the team. He notices the way your brow furrows in concentration, how you’re so focused on your work. It's a stark contrast to the chaos of the garage around you, but it’s also strangely calming.

The weight of his helmet pulls him back into the present. He’s got a job to finish.

Just as he climbs back into his seat, he looks at you again, almost instinctively with no thought behind it. But for a brief moment you catch his gaze and give him a small nod, encouragement maybe. You can’t see his face, but he throws a small smile anyways. He’s alright and he’s safe, just like he promised.

Back on track, the restart is smooth. Haechan reacts quickly, gets off the start line nicely and has nothing but clean air ahead. There’s nothing that could go wrong now, and with that sentiment, he completes the last three laps remaining.

As he crosses the finish line, Jeno’s red bull right behind him, the silence from the crowd is deafening. Their disappointment is palpable, but Haechan frankly does not care. There is nothing like hearing a crowd go silent at their home ground and he’s proud to be the reason for it.

When he makes his way onto the podium a few minutes later, the boos echo in his ear. It’s nothing new, after all, this is what a non-Ferrari winner is subjected to here. It makes him smile a little. Haechan knows the score. They’re mad, but Red Bull and him are winning. So he waves at the crowd, keeping his composure. He’s not the favourite, but well, sucks for them.

—

Post Race

When Haechan steps out of the shower, the cool air of the room hits him, and he reaches for a towel, drying his face and neck before rubbing it over his hair. His damp curls fall in waves, still slightly messy from the helmet. There’s a lingering exhaustion in his bones, but he knows you’ll be here any second now to take him to the drivers press conference and he can’t be late to that.

He slips on the team’s jersey just as you knock on the door. “It’s open.” He answers loudly.

“Hey winner,” you say, stepping in just a little. “We’re running out of time. Are you ready?”

“Almost,” Haechan mumbles as he rubs his hair with his towel, “My hair just won't dry and I can't find another towel.”

You bite your lip as you look around. Ideally, there should be a hair dryer here but you can't see one in plain sight. “If you don't have a hair dryer then do you want me to go ask Jeno if he has one?”

“No, wait. I think I remember seeing one in the closet. Shit, I was just in a rush and didn't think about it.” Haechan shuffles around before pulling it out of his closet.

You watch him for a minute but as he fumbles around with it, you're starting to get a little impatient. The conference has probably already begun and while it's not uncommon for a driver to arrive a little late, you'd prefer the two of you to not be completely off time.

“Haechan, can you just sit down?” You sigh, taking the dryer from his hand and gently shoving him down.

Haechan, through his slight panic, registers that you're standing above him, between his legs, one hand gently pulling and ruffling his hair as you attempt to dry it as quickly as possible.

He thinks it's impossible how every once of exhaustion leaves his body, instead being replaced by the awareness of how close you are to him right now. It could be the heat from the hair dryer, or the air blowing onto his face but he knows the real reason why he feels frazzled is you.

Haechan's breaths come out slightly laboured. He's had a thousand moments where his heart beats at the speed of his car, but it's always been for a split second. When he loses control of his front or rear tyres, when he spins out, when he drifts a little too much, when another car gets too close to him. They end quickly though and he brings himself back into control.

But you. God, you stick him in this never ending cycle of losing his damn cool when you do things like these. And yeah, he tries to play it cool by coming off bold. But you catch him off guard multiple times. Haechan wonders if he's reading this situation right.

“They might ask you about Ferrari.” You interrupt his thoughts.

See! He thinks to himself. You do things like drying his fucking hair for him which he believes is completely unprofessional and not at all in your job description. He isn't complaining, no, never. But then you follow it up by suddenly becoming professional and it confuses the hell out of him. But Haechan can't say anything because he's a coward when it comes to actually telling you how he feels, so he nods and looks up at you as you turn off the dryer.

“Just be careful to not sound too cocky. You've earned a good advantage, but there's going to be a lot of Italian press and media and they won't really like it.” You stare him down and Haechan can only swallow and nod as he gets up to leave.

He thinks you'll follow him as he leaves but to his surprise, you stop him. You hate being late and he knows that. So he turns back to look at you quizzically.

You pause for a second not knowing how to do this before you decide to fuck it all and lean forward to give Haechan an awkward hug.

He freezes as your arms encircle his shoulder. Your mango and hibiscus perfume that he’s asked you about before has an addictive scent, filling his senses and sending his mind into overdrive.

“Good job today,” You mutter, “On winning, on staying safe, everything. I'm sure it'll all work out.”

Haechan is still speechless as you leave him, your face burning as you rush to leave the room.

He stares at you as you speed walk through the corridor, before stopping and motioning for him to come too. How the hell is he supposed to answer questions about the goddamn car after you pull something like that and make sure you're stuck in his head instead of the things he's supposed to say?

He takes a deep breath, willing his heart to slow down. It’s just a hug. A pat on the shoulder. Completely normal, right?

…Right?

#haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #lee haechan x reader #lee donghyuck x reader #kstrucknet #f1 au #nct oneshot #nct long fic #nct x reader #haechan fluff #haechan oneshot #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck oneshot #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #tracks by calli 💿

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myassignmentsproaus · 12 days ago

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#financial management assignment help #Architecture assignment help #mechanical engineering assignment help #All Assignment Help #history assignment help #macroeconomics assignment help #cipd assignment help #do my assignment #Help with my assignment #My assignment helper #mba financial management assignment help #online architecture assignment help #online mechanical engineering assignment help #all assignment help australia #online history assignment help #history assignment help online #best macroeconomics assignment help

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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 6 months ago

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Professor!Viktor Headcanons

Professor!Viktor who just knows you're not in mechanical engineering 101 to learn anything. Every week you come to class, sit in the front row at the table closest to his desk, and openly stare at him like there's nobody else around you. You rest your cheek in the palm of your hand, with a slight pout of your plump lips, and watch him like a lovesick puppy. You always wear tops that are much too low and skirts that are much too short for university, and he's certain it’s only to check what makes him tick. But if you think that's going to be enough, you're sorely mistaken: there are few people he dislikes more than those who go through school mindlessly, without any intent to study or to give it their all. And you're not the first, nor the last, to try and get his attention like this. So, he ignores you.

Professor!Viktor who is genuinely surprised to see the result of your first class quiz is an A+. A stroke of luck, maybe? But then comes the second quiz, and the third, and the first big assignment, and you ace all of them brilliantly. He can't help a few wayward glances towards you during his lectures, trying to understand how you do it. The button of your dress shirt is pulled so tightly it might give out at any moment, and he can see the colour of your bra without meaning to: a vibrant lavender with pale lace. You're still looking at him with that enamoured look in your eyes, batting your eyelashes, visibly not absorbing a single word he says.

Professor!Viktor who asks you to come by his office after class at the mid-semester, because it's driving him insane. You keep getting the top marks for every single exam, but you never show an inkling of attention in class. All you do is sit there, dumb and pretty, begging him with your eyes to take you right there and then. You probably wouldn't even mind if it was in front of the other students; maybe that's part of whatever steamy fantasy goes through your mind during his lectures. Since last week, you've started ‘accidentally’ letting your pen fall off your desk, bending down at ridiculous angles to show him (and only him) the full expense of your thighs and the thin fabric of your panties. Your lack of subtlety is becoming as outrageous as it is a little endearing. And yes, he would be lying if he said it didn't affect him, that he didn't have frustrating thoughts of you at night. Thoughts he absolutely shouldn't have towards a student of his, no matter how blatantly flirtatious. But the conundrum that you are has managed to crawl under his skin, and he wants to fuck some respect for academia into you. He wants to give you exactly what you've been pleading for for weeks, until you understand exactly why you should have listened to him in class. But he has to know the truth behind your grades, first. If it turns out you've been cheating, then he'll expel you from the course without a second thought. But if you haven't…

Professor!Viktor who makes you sit on a chair in his office, opting to stand in front of you. He had intended it to be intimidating, but it's clearly having the opposite effect with the wanting expression on your face, your lips slightly parted in waiting. He’s certain that with only one word from him, you'd be on your knees and ready to suck his cock. And it's an idea that's getting harder and harder to resist, with that infernal way you always look at him. He thinks it might be the first time he’s heard your voice when you speak up. It sounds as pretty as the rest of you, just asking to be broken down into pants and moans. He’s very disappointed to learn all you've been doing is recording his lessons with your phone, and listening to them again at home. But then, you confess to something else.

Professor!Viktor who is unable to reply immediately, because the thought of you, riding a vibrator as you listen to recordings of him talking about linear algebra, is absolutely maddening. He can't get over the fact that you're so focused on his voice when you fuck yourself on your toys that you manage to remember all of the basics of kinematics for the exams. It's an unorthodox method, without a doubt, but you've proven its efficacity; and who is he to tell you how to best do your studying?

Professor!Viktor who agrees to let you keep audio recording his classes for the rest of the semester, and who promises that if you keep up the string of perfect grades, he’ll let you have the real thing at the end.

#the worms in my brain are using warp drive #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #arcane smut #viktor imagine #viktor headcanons #my writing ✍️

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pagelets · 7 months ago

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Soft spot (I wait for you)- L.H

synopsis: Heeseung has a soft spot for that girl from his uni for 3 years already. He tried almost everything to show her his feelings, but nothing seemed to work, she always kept him in the friendzone. Until the day he found himself being her shoulder to cry and her lips to kiss.

Disclaimer: it contains smut!!

And the inspiration for this one was soft spot by keshi

3 damn year and fucking 40 days. That was the amount of time Heeseung had feelings for her. All of his friends asked him how that was possible. They told him to give up, that she didn’t deserve him, that if she didn’t value him, it was because she wasn’t the one. But he didn’t care. They didn’t know her like he did. They didn’t spend days and nights getting to know her like he did. Texting her, FaceTiming with her and hanging out with her even when he was tired or busy. “There are prettier girls out there”, they said to him, but they didn’t see how beautiful her soul was like he did.

But in one thing they were right: either she was blind or stupid. Not that she wasn't nice to him or used him. But she didn’t seem to notice how much in love he was with her. Cause Heeseung did almost everything to show his feelings for her. He complimented her, he bought her gifts on special dates, he helped her with the uni assignments even though they attended different courses. Yes, Lee Heeseung, THE Lee Heeseung, who was the most respected guy among the english students, found himself studying bacterias’ names to help her with the Microbiology class. He also rejected all the tons of girls who threw themselves on him, stood his friends up to hang out with her during his free time, made acts of service for her, like tying her shoes, carrying her bag, opening doors, anything. He even got into the damn baking club!! It wasn’t the place for him, he only knew how to cook his precious ramyeon.

Even so, nothing seemed to work. To make things even worse, she still had an on and off relationship with that piece of shit of Park Sunghoon. He was a hockey player. And he studied mechanical engineering. Ugh! Numbers and physics, only psychos liked that, right? But that wasn’t the worst part of him. He insisted on never wanting to assume a serious relationship with her. And when she put too much pressure on him to do so, he kept flirting with all the girls who tried to hit on him, even when he was technically dating her. He didn’t deserve her. Heeseung would never put her through it.

And the cherry on top of all that was everytime she found out he was flirting, or even hooking up with other girls, she got angry with Sunghoon, broke up with him, went to Heeseung’s shoulder to cry, got drunk, almost kissed him until the asshole of her ex texted her some shit apology text he copied from internet and she end up naked on the back of his car, with their situationship reestablished.

In fact, they were half way through this ritual. She just had surprised Sunghoon fucking a girl from the soccer team on his dorm. As usual, she got mad at him “You’re unbelievable!” “Hold on, babe” he followed her till the corridor, still naked, and grabbed her arm “No!�� she pulled her arm “We’re over!” Hoon leaned on the doorway, crossed his arms and chuckled “You always say it and here we are back together again” “No. This time's for real. Don’t ever talk to me again” she looked inside the dorm and said to the girl wrapped on his sheets “You can keep him. I’m done with this shit” then she walked away from him “Babe, wait…” he shouted, but she ignored, Sunghon was dead to her.

Caughting Sunghoon with another girl, check.

Getting mad at him, check.

Breaking up with him, check.

Now, of course, she had to text Heeseung and inform him she was coming over. This became such a routine that Hee already knew what have happened. Unfortunately, for her, he had a very long and tough day and passing through it was the last thing he wanted and needed. Although, it was too late for him to tell her that, cause he heard a knock on his door, and when he opened it, what he knew already was confirmed: he saw a girl with stained mascara, holding a paper bag full of different types of alcoholic drinks in there, and a broken heart. He couldn’t help but open his arms and force a gentle smile. “Come here” she entered his dorm and hugged her friend, leaving her tears on the fabric of his t-shirt.

…

For the past 2 hours Heeseung spent his night lying on the floor side by side with her, having to listen to the same old story about Sunghoon being with another girl, and how hurt she was because of it while they drank soju, bottle after bottle “But this time I told him there’s no coming back” “Did you?!” that was new “Yeah” she sipped the soju “I’m finally starting to accept I’m going to die alone” “What?” “I’m going to die alone” “No, you won’t” “Yes, I will. I mean, I have family and friends, yeah, but I mean romantically” “Why do you think like that?” “If I’m never enough for Hoon, who will ever think I’m enough?”. Hee’s blood started to boil “Excuse me, lady!?” he sat up “What?” “I can’t fucking believe on you!”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, Heeseung. It’s the truth” “No, it’s not! You’re the most kind, smart and beautiful girl I’ve ever met. You are gentle and you care about your family and friends and even that asshole you called boyfriend! Every man should feel blessed to have you as his girl” “You don’t have to call Hoon an asshole” his jaw clenched and he felt the urge to stand up “Of course I have to! He is an asshole! I can’t believe that even after all the shit he put you through you’re still defending him. That man doesn’t deserve you. He never did and never will!” “Who deserves me, then, Hee!?” “Me” he paused, trying to figure out if the rage or the alcohol made him say it out loud. It didn’t matter, it passed the time for him to say “I deserve you” he continued “I would never treat you the way he did” “I know you wouldn’t” “So why?” “Why what?” “Why did you never give me a chance? Why did you always run after him? Even cheating after cheating? Why?” “Do you…” she stood up too “Do you want a chance with me!?” “Of course I do! Isn't that obvious?” “I…” “Come on! Everyone saw it except from you. I even got into that damn baking club because you didn't want to join it by yourself!” “I thought… you were into making brownies and blondies for your lil sister” “I only know how to make ramyeon, you know that” her lips parted and she approached him “I’m sorry, Hee. I… I always thought you were just being my friend, I don't think I would ever deserve a guy like you” “How could youI not?! You're amazing! And you're the only one who doesn't see it” “Maybe I need to work on my self esteem, right?” “Yes, you do” “Yeah” she agreed “Hee” “Hum?” “Sorry for making you angry” “Nah, don't apologize” she placed her hands on his shoulders “There's any way I can make it up to you?” “You don't have to…” suddenly Heeseung got paralyzed cause her head was moving toward him, her lips were making their way to his lips.

And the most unexpected thing was that he was stepping back, he tilted his head to the side so she wouldn't be able to kiss him “Look…” he took her hands out of his shoulders “I dream with the moment you would kiss me for 3 years already. But I don't want this to be like that. With you and me drunk, after you just broke up with your boyfriend, right after I just confessed to you. I don't want this to be an impulse mess, I want this to be perfect” “Well, I’m not perfect. I’m a mess! Do you still like me?” He smiled “I do like you, of course. But I am not taking advantage of you” “I want to do this!” “Right now you do, but I got the feeling you will regret it in the morning” she didn't say anything, he was right. The korean man sighed, then ran his fingers through his hair “I think you should go back to your dorm” she nodded “Ok” he walked with her to the door “Take care, ok?” “Yeah. Sorry for all the mess” “It's ok” he muttered with a small smile on his face “Alright” she muttered “Good night” “Night, Hee” he watched her leave, then shut the door behind him, leaning his head on it “Fuck”.

…

Days passed, weeks passed, a month and a few weeks passed and still no news from her. They bumped into each other at uni sometimes but he got nothing more than a polite smile and a rhetorical “‘Sup, Hee?”. On her socials, she wasn’t very active either, she just posted stories wishing happy birthday to some friends and photos of the sky with a poetic caption. She even quit the baking club.

“Maybe she finally decided to take care of herself” Jake said to Hee while they were shooting hoops “Yeah, I think so” Heesehung threw another ball, hitting the basket “You know, Jake, I’ve been thinking a lot lately” “About what?” “If I should wait for her” “Aren’t you already doing that?” “Yeah, for the past 3 years” “Are you thinking about giving up?” Jake tossed the ball, failing “I don’t know, maybe. She’s taking care of herself, moving on, maybe I should do the same” “Yeah, man! I’ve been saying this to you for 2 and a half years, bro!” “I know, I know… But how?” “You should go on a date with another girl” “Who?” “Man, you have an ocean of options. Don’t you see them?” “Yeah, yeah, but I don’t know who I should ask out” “What about my cousin Danielle?” “Danielle?” “Yeah, she has had a crush on you since… always” “Isn’t she a kid?” “She was a kid when we’re on high school” “Really?” “Hold on, bro” Hee held the ball while Jake searched for something on his phone “Here” he showed a picture of her “Oh! She did grow up” “Yeah. So?” “I think I can give it a try” “Good, man! Look who’s growing now” Heeseung threw the ball to Jake “Just shut up and play”.

…

That same night, Heeseung texted Danielle and they agreed to go watch a movie at the end of the week. It was Saturday night, he took a shower, wore something casual , and of course, some perfume. He wasn’t going to lie, he was truly breedable. Put it wasn’t the point of the night, the point was to meet a new girl, to maybe see that she wasn’t in fact the one. Yeah, he could do it. Hee grabbed his phone and texted Danielle:

Lee Heeseung: ‘On my way ~’

Danielle Marsh: ‘Me too, see you there ~ ~’.

He took a deep breath, grabbed his phone, wallet and keys and opened the door, to find her standing there, holding a paper bag, radiating some kind of magnetic energy. When she saw Heeseung, she opened the brightest smile “‘Sup, Hee?” “Heya…” “Are you good?” “Yeah, I… Are you good?” “Yes! I’m feeling way better” “Good! I mean, that’s great! I’m happy for you” “Are you busy right now?” “I was about to go out…” “Oh, maybe I can come another time” “No, I am not in a rush” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, go ahead. What do you need?” “I… baked these for you” she gave him the paper bag, he took a look inside, taking a baby pink box from there “But… you can’t bake anything” she giggled “I improved a lot since I quit the baking club” “Really?” “Yes” “That’s ironic” he gave a sneak peak in the box, it had a brownie cut in heart shape and glazed butter cookies “It smells great, thank you” “There are more…” he looked at her “... in the bag” he took a red rose from there “A single red rose. What’s it all for” “The sweets are an apology and the rose, an invitation” “An apology for what?” “Being a burden to you when things got messy with Sunghoon” “You were not a burden, you don’t have…” “Just accept it” “Ok. What about the invitation?” “It’s an invitation for a date…” Hee widened his eyes “A date?!” “Yes” “With you?!” “Yeah. You and me” “But like a romantic date?!” “Yes, Hee” she laughed “Wow! That’s… wow!” “So? What do you say?” “I think… I’m going to say…” “C’mon, bro!” he giggled “Yes! I’d love to go on a date with you” “Really?” he nodded “Absolutely. When should I pick you up?” “I was thinking about tonight, maybe, but you said you were going out so…” “No! Tonight is fine” “But…” “I can cancel” “For real?” “Yes, for real” “Ok! Hum… shall we go, then?” “Yes” he offered his arm for her “Let’s go”.

…

They had ice cream at an ice cream shop near campus. Hee ordered a strawberry milkshake and they shared it with 2 straws. Very cliche, very cringe. But they didn’t care, they had fun, it was the important thing. Then, they decided to walk around the campus, to watch the moon and the stars and to talk. They were holding hands, sometimes someone’s fingers brushed the others hand, sending shivers through all of their bodies. “What have you done during this time?” Heeseung asked, “A lot of things. I thought about things a lot, mainly. Including you” “Me?” “Yes. And I realized you were right” “About what?” “Sunghoon being an asshole who didn’t deserve me. Also about me not deserving a guy like you” “A guy like me?” “Yeah. Caring, thoughtful, gentle, handsome…” he blushed “I reflected a lot and started to see my self worth, you know?” “Finally!” she poked his arm “And lately, I couldn’t stop thinking about your lips” Hee smirked “What about my lips?” “I want to…” “Hey!” a masculine voice shouted “Hum?” she turned around to see Sunghoon approaching her “Sunghoon?!” “Haven’t you received my texts?” “I did” “So why didn’t you read them?” “I didn’t want to” “C’mon, babe, don’t be like that…” “Don’t call me babe. We’re nothing” Hoon looked at their hands attached “Hold on! Are you going out with this loser!?” Heeseungs jaw clenched “He’s not a loser! He’s everything you are not and will never be!” she held Hee’s hand even tighter “Oh, come one! Cut that shit” he grabbed her arm

“Let’’s go! I will make you forget about him in 2 seconds inside my car” then he pulled her “No!” “Stop being a fucking brat!” he pulled again “Let me go!” Sunghoon tried to pull once more but Heeseung grabbed his wrist “Take your nasty hands off her” he threatened the younger one “Or what? Will you attack me with a verb to be?” Hoon closed his eyes and laughed at this dad joke about Heeseung’s course and when he opened his eyes all he could see was the other’s fist hitting on his left cheek with all its strength “It’s more like a verb to punch, don't you think” Hoon massaged his cheek before chuckling “Did you lose your mind? Are you aware you just punched the main forward of the hockey team?” “Yes” “Are you into crackheads now?” he asked her “I will let this one pass cause I’m merciful today” “Come on, Hee. Let’s go, he’s not worthy” “I was worthy when I ate your pussy in between classes, wasn’t I?” “Shut up! You’re embarrassing me” “What?” he chuckled again “Don’t want your new boyfriend to know he will never be on the same level?” “Shut your mouth, asshole” “Call me that again” Sunghoon grabbed his collar “Back off, asshole” “You’re going to regret that” Sunghoon lifted his arm and closed his fist but before he could hit Heeseung’s face, the older man bend down and when he straightened his body again, he gave a hook on Hoon’s chin, making him take his hands off him. But Hoon was fast to fight back with a hook on Heeseung’s stomach. The pink haired man coughed “Did you like it?” Hoon teased “Is that all you get?” Hee teased back “I’m going to fucking kill you!” Hoon threatened “Come on! I’m waiting” “Heeseung! Don’t do it! He’ll really kill you!” she had already seen Sunghoon working out and playing hockey hundreds of times. “Relax, I can take care of myself” Hee winked at her. “Hee, watch out!” she pointed to the man behind him and when Heeseung turned around, he saw nothing but a bottle coming in his temple’s direction” Hee kneeled on the ground, a buzz echoing in his head “Oh, my God! Sunghoon! Stop it now!” but he didn’t care about what she was saying anymore “You can’t even play fair, huh?” Heeseung stood up, with a lot of effort, and grabbed Sunghoon’s hair, throwing him on the grass. Then, he straddled his waist and started to punch him like a pro “Your… fucking… piece of shit…” Hee unloaded all his anger on him “You never… even breath…. near her again… alright?” “Fuck” Hoon groaned “Alright!?” “Yeah” he screamed “Fuck, yes” “Hee!” she grabbed him by the shoulders “It’s fine. I think he understood already” he stopped punching "Did you understand?” Hoon nodded “So what do you have to do?” “Never… breathe near her again” he said with difficulty “So why are you breathing now?” Hoon held his breath “Good” then Heeseung stood up and if it wasn’t her to hold him , he would have fallen on the grass right next to Sunghoon “Let’s go, Hee”. And they left, leaving a almost asphyxiated Hoon on the grass

…

She dragged Heeseung’s body back to his dorm, laying him on his bed as soon as he opened the door “Oh my God, Hee. I’m so sorry that fucking idiot ruined our date” “He didn’t. I had fun” “Bro, you’re bleeding” “I know but I’m feeling like a man” she rolled her eyes “Lemme take care of your wounds” “Ok” he said trying to muffle a groan of pain when he breathed deeply “I didn’t know you know how to fight” he grinned

“I can do anything. Now I can even have your heart” she giggled, coming back with a first-aid kit “That’s why they call you The Lee Heeseung around the english buildings” he chuckled, making a grimace of pain “I used to practice boxing when I was on high school” “It might hurt”, she warned while applied antiseptic. It hurted “Why did you stop?” “I got unconscious during a championship once, so I had to stop” “I’m glad you didn’t die” “Me too” they smiled at each other while she placed a band-aid on his forehead “There you go. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” “Hundred percent” “I don’t like it” “If I don’t feel better within a few hours, you can take me to the E.R” “Do you promise?” “I promise” “Hee” “Hum?” “”I’m sorry” “It was not your fault” “You got into this fight because of me” “It’s not your fault” “Let me at least take care of you” “You already…” but she didn’t let him finish, she had glued her lips to his, tasting a bit of blood that lasted in his lips. Heeseung melted on her lips, she was everything that he ever imagined she was and more. He giggled, so she broke the kiss and looked at him “What’s so funny, mr?” “It was not how I’ve fantasized this happening” she chuckled “Did you fantasize about me a lot?” “Oh, a lot. I had 3 years to fantasize about you” “I see…” she slid her hand down his abdomen, taking care to not press where Sunghoon punched, and palmed his penis “Did you fantasize about it too?” she squeezed it lightly, causing Hee to bit his lip and nood, he only had energy for that. Then, she opened his pants slowly “Do you think you can lift your hips just a little?” “Yeah” he muttered, doing what she asked, already taking his pants and underwear off “You’re quick” she teased, kneeling in between his thighs “Do you think you can take all of me?” she smirked “Oh, babyboy…”

she bent, grabbing his member and giving it a few strokes to help him get full hard, then she licked him from the base to the tip, he moaned “...I can do everything” she quoted him before taking his cock into her mouth, slowly, part by part. First, the tip, then the length, till it hit her throat. Heeseung grabbed her hair, in a reflex, and let a slow, muttered moan out of his lips. “Damn”, he cursed half for the pain on his stomach, half for the pleasure she was giving to him. But he didn't feel anything yet. She was just starting. When she started to move her mouth and tongue, he started to see stars. When she sucked the tip of dick like it was a fucking lollipop, and looked at him with bright, sassy, eyes, he knew Sunghoon had killed him and sent him to Heaven. Soon, she started to feel his precum on her tongue “I…” he tried to speak, struggling “I’m almost…” she took his dick out of her mouth for a moment “I know” “Lemme…” he lifted his head but leaned it back on the pillow when her mouth wrapped around him again “Lemme finish on you” she nodded in disagreement “Bet you’re turn on too” she took the member out of her mouth again “No, Hee. I am taking care of you right now. So lay down, relax and fill my mouth with your release, ok?” he nodded, she couldn't have been more convincing. It didn’t take long for Heeseng to cum, she smirked when he did and swallowed everything, then she crawled the bed to lay on his side and planted a sweet kiss on his lips “Hope this was a good redemption” “Way too good, way too good” he hugged her and they laid in there for a while till his phone buzzed. It was a text from Jake:

Sim Jaeyun: ‘Bro, did you stand my cousin up???’

“Shit!”, Heeseung thought.

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

Also when I called people who like math and physics psychos, I WAS JUST JOKING!!

#enhypen #enhypen heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen imagine #enhypen fanfic #enhypen one shot #enhypen smut #lee heeseung smut #heeseung smut

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scarletmika · 1 day ago

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Speak Now : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob Floyd is madly in love with you, and you're in love with him. The problem? You're getting married...and it's not to Bob.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), some angst, some fluff, insane amounts of pining, idiots in love, language, female reader, maybe some incorrect descriptions of the Navy, suggestive and steamy but no actual smut, drunken confessions/moves, moment of cheating, miscommunication, happy ending!

Word Count: 16,268 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd.

Wide-eyed, naïve to the world, you had arrived at Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island with a bright smile, prepared for the future you had chosen for yourself. Your great-grandfather was in the Navy, your grandfather, your father, and now you. But you were determined to be special, to be the first of your family to become a fighter pilot.

It was that thought running through your head that distracted you, causing you to trip over your own two feet when you’d just barely made it inside the doors of the main building. Luckily for you, someone was there to catch your fall.

“Whoa-! Are you good?”

Baby-faced, sandy blonde hair, and glasses that you, frankly, found adorable were staring back at you when you’d finally straightened yourself out. Those blue eyes behind said glasses never left you as you dusted yourself off, taking hold of your suitcase again and giving the guy in front of you a kind smile.

“Just peachy. Lost in my own head,” you couldn’t help but giggle at yourself, the smile on the guy’s face growing as you stuck your hand out and gave your name. “Thanks for the save, there. Can’t already be bumbling around like an idiot before we’ve even gotten started.”

“Bob Floyd, and d-don’t worry, you weren’t,” he paused for a second, tilting his head slightly with a teasing grin this time as he let go of your hand. “W-Well, I can’t lie and say I didn’t see you swatting at that bee outside. Bumblebees and bumbling through doors…sounds like the makings of a pretty good call-”

“If I’ve managed to get a callsign this early on in my career, I’m never letting you forget it,” he only laughed at your pointed look and fell into step beside you.

“Noted, just a personal nickname for now, then. So, uh, where’d you graduate from?”

“Boston University, Bachelor's in Physics. You?”

You both thanked the woman at the front desk who gave you your assignments for your bunks for the rest of the multi-week course.

“University of Montana, Bachelor’s in Mechanical Engineering,”

The two of you came to a stop in front of the hallway before you; your barracks down to the left, and his down to the right.

“Want to grab dinner tonight after we settle in?”

“Yeah, I-I’d love that,” that smile on Bob’s face turned shy as he looked down at his feet for a moment. “I’ll grab you a coffee, how do you like it?”

“Two sugars, a dash of cream,”

“Perfect,”

“Well, Bob Floyd, I guess this is it for now. See you at dinner?”

“See you there, Bumble,”

It was meant to be just a nickname; he was meant to be the only person ever to call you that. But after graduating from officer training together, then attending and graduating flight training in Florida, you’d been shipped off to your different squadrons. Bob was off to Naval Air Station Lemoore in California, and you had been assigned to Naval Air Station Jacksonville in Florida.

The man who had become your best friend, your rock throughout training, was being shipped to the other side of the country. Approximately 2,546 miles away from you, and three hours behind you. That didn’t stop the constant texts or late-night calls to keep one another updated in the way you used to when you lived in the same barracks; if anything, they became a constant in both of your lives.

And when you’d stumbled through the doors of the base on your first day, your squadron was quick to try to give you your callsign for your clumsiness. But you smiled, and said you already had one: Bumble.

It was at Top Gun training where you finally had Bob Floyd back in your life consistently; that is, at least for the duration of your 13-week training. And you’d never forget the smile on his face when he’d pulled away from the first hug you’d shared in years and gotten his first look at your helmet, adorned with your callsign that you had somehow managed to keep a secret for so long.

“Bumble,” he’d said it so adoringly, in a way that had you trying to ignore the strange feeling that bubbled up in your chest at the way he smiled and admired the yellow and black stripes along your helmet. “I really did give you your callsign, didn’t I? Bet they think it’s actually because of the bee and not the tripping.”

“Eh, let them decide. We know where it really came from. But I think we should focus on how the hell ‘Bob’ became not just your name, but your callsign, too,”

Leaving the program was hard, because leaving your best friend was hard. So, when just a few years later you had been called back to Top Gun for a specialized mission that took the best of the best, you couldn’t have been happier to be back with Bob. Then, with how quickly your new squad had taken to each other, it didn’t take any of you long to say ‘yes’ when you’d been offered a permanent position in San Diego as an elite squadron.

That’s how you found yourself here, seated in the same back-corner table of the Hard Deck on a Friday night as you always were, surrounded by the team that had become your family just a year-and-a-half after that special detachment became permanent.

Natasha laughed at your side, recounting some story for Fanboy and Payback about how Rooster had hit on a woman while the two of them were seeing a show downtown the night before. Hangman is instantly arguing back that Rooster ‘isn’t slick enough’ to pull that off, and Coyote is backing him up as he typically is. Maverick is at the other end of the table, simply shaking his head at you all as he thanks Penny for his next beer with a kiss on her cheek, something that quirks the corners of your lips up just slightly.

Bob sat right across from you, at the far end of the table from Maverick, and you can’t help but find yourself watching him. He’s dressed down, as you all are for once besides Mav, in a white t-shirt clinging to his skin with a blue flannel hanging haphazardly around him. You recognize it, since you’d bought it for him for his birthday three years ago. He’s laughing at Hangman and Rooster’s petty argument, sipping gingerly on a Diet Coke. You’d only ever seen him drink three times over the decade you had known him, so it wasn’t surprising. Neither was the cup of peanuts he was snacking on.

His eyes drifted to meet yours, and his smile grew wider the second he did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, shoving that flutter in your chest away into the locked compartment you always kept it in, and smiled back at him. Your best friend, your rock. One of the only people you could never imagine life without, and you never wanted to find out what life without him would be like. You weren’t even sure at this point how you’d survived your entire childhood without him by your side, because life didn’t make sense without Bob Floyd.

Lips suddenly pressed into the right side of your head, your body instinctively shifting over as the body next to you finally sat down, arm thrown around the back of your chair and fingertips ghosting over your bare shoulder for just a moment.

“Sorry, couldn’t decide on a drink! Figured you’d want another vodka cranberry, babe,”

Your reply was quiet, just a simple thank you, as you took the drink from your fiancée’s outstretched hand.

Austin Fletcher was what some called the perfect man. At least, that’s how your old squadmates back in Jacksonville described him. A Senior Financial Analyst in the company named for his own family, working his way within the next 5 years to take over as CEO from his father after his retirement. Chocolate brown eyes, perfect vision that he could thank his laser-eye surgery from 5 years ago for, forever tanned skin from too many days spent in the San Diego sun, and jet black hair that always seemed to be perfectly combed back. Combined with the expensive taste in outfits, given the watches that would cost an entire month of your Naval salary, he always looked like he walked straight off a magazine cover.

And he was yours, and you were his. And in just a month and a half’s time, now, you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. The wife of who was once considered San Diego’s most eligible bachelor.

Active, ambitious, efficient, a true entrepreneur. Everyone’s dream man.

“Couldn’t even bring us some refills, Austy?” Hangman teased the man from down the table. There were light snickers from your team at the comment, everyone knowing how much he hated that nickname. You could feel him tense slightly beside you, and didn’t hesitate to send Hangman a pleading look, begging him to stop.

“You’ve got the barmaid at your beck and call, didn’t think I had to!” Austin had joked, gesturing in the direction of Penny with his own beer bottle as he laughed at his own comment. No one else laughed, though, not that he seemed to care. Penny’s glare was obvious from down the table, as you averted your eyes to take a larger swig of your drink than necessary.

Austin…definitely had his faults. Callous was probably the best way to describe it when he made comments like that. Conceited might even be a good word for it. If you thought too long about it, there were probably a hundred other synonyms that you could dream up.

Your eyes caught Bob’s, already looking at you, and that easy smile he wore before was pitched down now. It was easy to track the movement of his eyes, the way they flickered to the hand holding your drink, to the shining silver diamond ring on your finger that would cost you at least six months of your salary, before they flicked away. That hand was quickly back below the table, lying in your lap where no one could see it before you even had a chance to really think about it.

“What we should really be focusing on is that drill from earlier today, and that insane move that you pulled off, Bumble,” it was Coyote speaking up, pointing down the table to you with a smirk as your friends whistled, getting a small laugh out of you. “Pulling off a fucking Herbst maneuver? I may have to finally concede and call you the best damn pilot I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, let’s not go that far,” Hangman cut in, as he usually did, with a wink sent your way that had you rolling your eyes playfully. “Still no confirmed air-to-air kills like me, so I think I still have an edge.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. I bet those two kills are what you use to entice the ladies every night, instead of those two inches downstairs,” Natasha practically choked on her drink at your comment, a smirk etched into your lips. Payback and Fanboy were slamming on the table in laughter while you watched Bob shake his head with a grin out of the corner of your eye. “Wasn’t that hard of a maneuver, Mav has been trying to teach us it for weeks-”

“Sometimes I don’t fully understand what it is you guys get paid to do,” Austin had cut in, cutting you off mid-sentence with another laugh and swig of his beer. “I mean, if you aren’t out there fighting any wars, then what are our tax dollars paying you guys to do? Play around in the air?”

Apathetic. Yeah, that was another word you could use for Austin. He never cared to hear about work, or really anything that happened between you and the rest of the squad. Apathetic, hedonistic, ignorant…yeah, that list really did go on.

“Non sibi sed patriae…means not for self, but for country,” it was Maverick who spoke up this time, and just the sound of his voice had each member of his team sitting up just the slightest bit straighter. When Mav put on his serious voice, you listened, even at the Hard Deck. “Means we spend our days preparing to protect this country at a moment’s notice…I’m sure you do something similar as a financial analyst, though.”

Another snicker ran through the entire team, and Rooster was the one this time having trouble keeping his laughter in. Even you were trying not to shake with laughter. Austin bristled next to you again before he recovered, shifting the conversation elsewhere. You caught Mav’s eye, though, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ in his direction. His only response was a cool smile and a wink.

There were only so many of Austin’s stories from work, from meetings with clients, that you could stand, and you quickly found yourself grabbing your drink and leaving the table for the bar.

Many of the locals up around the bar nodded in your direction, knowing you and the squad from your usual nights out here, sliding off to the side to let you walk up and place your drink on the bar. Penny was on you in a second, an eyebrow raised.

“Let me guess; he started talking about market data and economic indicators again?”

“Just like he does every night,” you shot back with a laugh, though Penny looked less than impressed. You simply refilled your glass again, this time going heavier on the vodka than the cranberry without you even having to ask. “You’re the best, Pen.”

She’s left you alone in your thoughts, which, granted, was the last place you wanted to be. Your eyes simply stayed locked on your drink, staring down into the reddish-pink liquid, and every once in a while glancing back at that diamond that weighed heavily on your hand.

“Looks like you’re thinking hard over here, bee,”

Even if you hadn’t recognized the voice, you’d recognize the nickname anywhere. The Navy had stolen the nickname of Bumble from Bob Floyd, so he’d made it his mission to find another one. It wasn’t that hard to settle on bee, given that first conversation you had together.

You glanced over to him. He was leaning against the bar, giving you a tiny smile as Penny passed by and passed him another Diet Coke without a word.

“Well, I’m not thinking about market data, if that’s what you mean,” he’d laughed at that, and you held your glass out to clink against his Diet Coke can. “Here’s to the longest month and a half I’m about to have.”

You watched him, like you always did, even when you didn’t mean to. It wasn’t hard to see the way his smile dropped just slightly as he turned, leaning back against the bartop and looking in the direction of your table in the distance. You mirrored his actions.

“The future Mrs. Fletcher,” he’d let out a sigh, but you kept your eyes trained on your friends instead of looking at him. “I-I know Rooster was pestering you the other day, and you refused to say, but I have to know…how much did that damn venue in Del Mar cost?”

“After vendors…somewhere close to $70 grand, if I remember correctly,” Bob’s cough that sounded a lot like choking got you to finally look over at him, laughing lightly as you patted him on the back. The second he found his breath, his wide eyes turned to look at you, and you could only nod embarrassingly, your hand never straying from his back. “Trust me, I’m not happy about it. I wanted 50 guests, now it’s somewhere near 200. I wanted a vanilla cake, now it’s red velvet–hell, did you know my dress was fucking $8 thousand dollars?”

Bob, still wide-eyed, shook his head with a tiny smile back on his lips.

“$8 thousand for fabric i-is…insane. I hope you plan to wear it every day for the rest of your life,”

With a quick shove to his shoulder and a roll of your eyes, Bob laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“No, trust me, I know. Almost an entire month’s salary for me, just so it can sit in my closet until the end of time,”

There was silence between you both for a moment as you really thought it all over. A venue you didn’t want, a guest count way too high for what you wanted, a cake you didn’t want, a dress you were terrified to wear given the price tag…it was, in fact, insane. It was just making this month and a half until you walked down the aisle even more exhausting. You just wanted it all to be over.

“You always wanted to get married at that country club, that one back home in Boston. Never near the beach,” Bob’s voice was soft when he spoke up again, just barely able to be heard in the rowdiness of the Hard Deck. But you heard him loud and clear, and you were listening. “Indoor or outdoor, whatever you preferred or whatever the New England weather allowed at the time. The perfect mix of rustic and modern. Perfect view of the city skyline in the distance. The fall, too, not the summer. You wanted to make sure you could see the changing colors in the leaves in the photos, and because you just love fall.”

When he finished speaking and turned to look at you, you were already looking at him. Your jaw was slack, lips just barely parted, and eyes wide as you stared at him in what you could only describe as wonder. Marveling at the way Bob Floyd, out of thin air, had just described to you everything you’d ever dreamt of for your wedding since you were a little girl.

“The same place my aunt got remarried when I was eight,” your head tilted as you spoke, a smile creeping up your lips. “I told you that, like, once back in officer training, when we were both on night duty. You…you remembered all that?”

“I remember everything about you,” was the only answer he gave back, combined with a tiny shrug of his shoulders. “You…you deserve the wedding you’ve always dreamed of.”

There it was again: that tug. That tug on your heart, on your very soul, that had happened sporadically throughout the last decade of knowing Bob Floyd. That tug that sent your stomach into your throat, as if you’d just been tossed over the hump of a roller coaster. It didn’t help when he looked at you like that, like the moon itself was forged by the very breath that left your chest.

He was the first to look away, clearing his throat as a flush crawled its way up his neck. You weren’t any better, tugging at the neckline of the halter top you wore to give yourself room to breathe, as if it was suffocating you.

“So, uh…you’re coming with Nat and me tomorrow, right? To my final dress fitting?”

“...wouldn’t miss it for the world,”

He didn’t. You knew where he was that next afternoon, standing out by that little black couch with Natasha, waiting for you to emerge from the boutique dressing room and stand on the platform before them. To twirl, to don your veil, to smile…like the perfect bride they’d dressed you to be.

The worker with you, Sasha, finished lacing off the back of your dress, exclaiming in excitement as she clapped her hands. You wanted her from the mirror in front of you as she fussed over the dress.

“Oh, you are just the most perfect bride!” Sasha exclaimed, swinging the door open and holding out her hand for you to take. “Most people might say that you’re a lucky woman to bag Austin Fletcher, but I’d say it’s the other way around!”

You’d laughed at her comment, taking her hand, but even you knew it was a pitiful laugh, your smile not meeting your eyes.

She’d paraded you out into the showroom, and you kept your eyes on the floor in front of you as she announced your presence to Natasha and Bob, placing you up on the little platform in front of the full-length mirror. You still didn’t look up as she bent you down to her slightly, draping the extravagant veil picked out by your future mother-in-law over your head. Only then did you finally look up.

Your eyes skipped right over Natasha and settled on Bob.

He wore a tiny smile, and even through the mirror, you could see the red blush to his skin, from his neck to his cheeks, dipping right under where his glasses lay. His hands were both in the pockets of his jeans as his foot tapped on the ground, a telltale sign that he was anxious. You knew him, you knew him too well. You knew that smile didn’t reach his eyes. You knew that little twinkle in his eyes wasn’t as bright as it could be.

“You are…” you could tell Natasha was trying not to get choked up, gladly taking a tissue from Sasha as you giggled lightly at her actions. “God, Bumble, you’re truly the most beautiful bride.”

“Well, let’s let our bride fully take it all in for a moment,” Sasha placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, guiding her off toward the room adjacent to your own. “The bridesmaid dresses just came in, and I think you’re going to love the way they look after those alterations.”

It wasn’t until they had fully left the room that you’d spun around on the platform to face Bob, throwing out your hands to the side gently with a little shrug of your shoulders.

“Well…what’s the verdict here, baby-on-board?”

He seemed to swallow most of his laugh and shook his head, taking a few steps toward you until he stood just a few feet from you. His eyes trailed from the veil, down to the edges of the skirt, and back up to the veil.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this dress definitely wasn’t your mother’s pick,”

That had gotten a hearty laugh out of you and a genuine smile, as you spun back to the mirror. Bob had met your family plenty of times over the years, at every graduation event, just as you had met his. They adored him, thought of him as part of the family, like his own family thought of you as one of their own, too. Of course, he could clock that your mother hated this dress.

The skirts of the dress billowed with the movements, swinging with you as you examined your own reflection. A full princess ball gown, adorned with lace from head to toe. The fabric was heavy, the skirts thick, and the lace continued down the sleeves that came to rest at your wrists. The veil itself was more of that same lace, its length trailing down the train of the dress that was much too long for your liking.

“No, not at all,” was your response after a moment, your hands gliding over the lace of the dress. “This was a Mrs. Fletcher pick. With the way she cried, and his sister Melissa cried, it…was hard to say no. It really is a beautiful dress.”

“It's kind of hideous,” Bob put bluntly, taking another step toward you, but there was a tiny smile playing at his lips, a hint of teasing laced through his voice. “I think you’re the only thing saving it.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, but couldn’t deny the smile that quirked up on your lips, or that tug in your chest once again. You eyed the dress again, eyes trailing over the lace along the sleeves.

“It’s not hideous, it's just… It's not-”

“It’s not you,”

In the mirror, your eyes found him again. The second he said it, that statement that you’d been begging someone to say since you’d first tried on the dress, had a weight visibly lifting off your shoulders as you let out a sigh.

“No…no, it's not me,”

You could see it, the way Bob hesitated for just a second, before he stepped up beside you at the platform. Even with that extra inch the platform gave, he was still taller than you, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him in the mirror.

“I’ve seen it, y-your dream dress. You showed it to me before,” his voice was light, not a whisper, but just light. As if the moment itself was delicate, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it without shattering the glass. “A-line, not a ball gown. You always hated having too much fabric, found it too heavy. You wanted something freeing, flowy…something that reminded you of the feeling of flying your F-18, your favorite thing in the world to do. The lace is good, but…too much. Same with the veil, you always hated those things.”

There was another brief moment of hesitation, behind his hand came up, fingertips just barely ghosting over your arm. Your breath caught, eyes following him, as his followed the length of your arm.

“Sleeves…you hated these, too, at least like this. You wanted them shorter, flowy again. A v-neck neckline, too, not these sweetheart ones. You always said the sweetheart necklines made you think of your high school prom dress, which made you think of your asshole ex-boyfriend, which in turn landed them on your ‘banned forever’ list.”

A breathy laugh managed to escape you at the memory, your eyes still following him in the mirror.

“You describe my dream dress as if you’ve pictured me in it before…”

His eyes finally found yours again in the mirror. You weren’t sure what emotion it was you saw, what was crawling in his gaze as he looked at you, mouth slightly parted and tongue dipping out to wet his lips in a way that brought that tug back in full force. Whatever it was in his eyes, it was heavy, like it was holding the weight of a thousand words never said before.

And suddenly, when you pictured yourself walking down the aisle, you were in the dress that Bob had described. Flowy, light, and walking down the aisle in that rustic country club overlooking the skyline of the city you’d called home for so many years. But when you were handed off to the groom, your hand placed in his, it wasn’t Austin you were standing across from, that you were about to become the wife of. You weren’t standing there to become Mrs. Fletcher…you were standing there to become Mrs. Floyd.

“Hey…” you and Bob jumped away from one another, as if you were both suddenly a blazing fire that the other was trying to run from. Natasha was leaning in the doorway of the other room. Her eyes flickered back and forth between you both for just a moment before she nodded her head toward the room she’d just left. “Come on, Sasha wants you to take another look at these bridesmaid dresses before I give the okay on them.”

Wordlessly, you nodded and followed after her, never once glancing back at Bob. You refused to meet Nat’s eyes, even as they followed and watched you.

They kept watching you, too. You knew Natasha; she was observant. If she caught wind of something, she wasn’t going to let it go.

You were three weeks out from the wedding. Your dress was hung carefully in the spare bedroom of your apartment, alongside the bridesmaid dresses in their own bags. Everything was confirmed, vendors were a go, and everyone on the guest list on both sides had RSVP’d. Your mother and brother were in town for the month, staying in a hotel right on North Island. Austin’s family and extended family were all in town. You were in the homestretch, the finish line of what had become the most stressful time of your life in sight.

While Nat was your maid of honor, Austin’s sister Melissa had taken it upon herself to plan your entire bachelorette. Given the hectic work schedules that both you and Nat had, neither of you objected. Truthfully, she’d done well. An Airbnb, a gorgeous cabin, nestled right outside of Lake Isabella, north of Los Angeles, for the weekend. Relaxation, nature, and no stress of being in the city, just as you knew Austin was doing for his bachelor party with his friends.

Melissa and Terri, or ‘Dove’ as you knew her during your time in Jacksonville, were swimming together in the little alcove of the lake you’d all found during your hike after lunch. You and Natasha had taken to the man-made hot springs right on the edge of the lake, relaxing in the water and just watching the two women swim and converse from a distance.

“I can’t believe you convinced Maverick to walk you down the aisle and give you away,”

You laughed wholeheartedly at Nat’s comment. With your head thrown back against the rocks, you maneuvered your sunglasses to the top of your head to fully look at her.

“The second I told him that my dad has been out of the picture for me since I was 16 when he divorced my mom and remarried his comically young new wife, he didn’t hesitate. Besides, he knows he practically adopted us all as kids when he took us on as his full-time squadron,”

“True, I think he secretly loves it,” you hummed in agreement, turning your head back to the sky to soak in the sun. Nat was quiet for only a moment before speaking again. “I’ve been meaning to ask…how have you been, with everything?”

A complicated question. A loaded one, honestly.

“Doing the best I can,” you answered honestly, shifting in the warm pool of water surrounding you. “It’s just…stressful. Can’t wait until it’s all over.”

“Mhm…and you’re having no second thoughts?”

You hesitated for just a moment.

“Might have some issues with the fundamentals of the venue, my dress, and such, but…no, not at all,”

“Really? So the fact that you’re madly in love with Bob Floyd isn’t making you second-guess your wedding?”

Even in the warmth of the hot spring, your blood went cold. The water splashed as you fully sat up, now leaning back against the rocks. Your nervous gaze shot out to Melissa and Dove, but neither seemed to have heard the comment. Your gaze drifted back to Natasha, but all you found was an easy smile on her face. Not a single ounce of judgment.

That alone was enough to pull a simple sigh from you. There was no use in lying.

“How’d you put it together?”

“Always had a hunch,” she answered easily, sitting up as well and tossing her own sunglasses off to the side. “A few weeks ago, in the dress shop. I don’t know…I could just finally see it. More importantly, how long have you felt like this?”

“I’m not sure when it happened. He was just my best friend for a long time, even if I could always admit to myself that he was objectively attractive,” you shook your head with a slight laugh. Truthfully, you couldn’t believe you were finally admitting this out loud. “I hadn’t seen him for years, it was just texts and calls. Then, we both got into Top Gun, and the second I was back with him…there was this tug in my chest, and it’s just never gone away. I’ve…never told anyone this before.”

Natasha moved, the water around you both jostling, as she turned fully on the stone seating to look at you. You kept your eyes trained on the two in the water, terrified that one of them would overhear you.

“Bumble…why did you never tell him?”

“God, I tried to. Once,” you laughed incredulously at yourself, shaking your head as you willed the tears not to appear at the mere thought of the memory. “After we had become a permanent squad, we were at Hangman’s celebrating his new apartment. Somehow, we started talking about dating, and then we just went around in a circle giving an update on our dating lives.”

You tore your gaze from the girls in the lake, turning to Natasha now as those tears threatened to spill despite your push to keep them at bay.

“You spoke, and then it was my turn. And I looked at him, sitting beside me, and I thought…fuck it, what do I have to lose? You guys had put a few drinks in me, and lord knows I get a confidence kick when I’m drunk. So I confessed that I had a crush on a guy. Bradley asked if you guys knew him, and I said yes. I talked about how he was kind of nerdy, a little shy, but once you got to know him he was a sarcastic little shit just like they all were. That he was the perfect gentleman, the most chivalrous man I’d ever met, and objectively the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. Mickey asked how long I’d known him for, and I said it felt like I’d known him my entire life. Even asked how often I would see him, and I said every damn day.”

“Oh god,” realization seemed to finally dawn on Natasha’s face, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as it dropped open. “Oh god, we were all too drunk to realize…you were talking about Bob.”

“Yup. Maybe I was just too drunk, but I thought I was being painfully obvious. So then it’s Bob’s turn, and what does he say?” you scoffed, furiously wiping at your cheek to rid yourself of the tears that managed to escape. “He says he’s been talking to some girl, and met her on an app. All this time–I’d spent years overanalyzing every moment between us–thinking there was a chance he felt the same. Instead, I laid my heart on the line to find out that my love had always been unrequited. So, while you were all passed out that night, I decided that I needed to move on. I downloaded those apps for myself, and a week later, I was on a date with Austin.”

The first time you had let yourself cry over Bob Floyd had been that night, when everyone was drunk and passed out around the living room. This moment, in a fucking hot spring on your bachelorette trip, you finally let yourself cry again over the man you’d been in love with for years.

Natasha let you, didn’t say a word. She only scooted in close, curling up into your side and letting your head rest on her shoulder, holding you as you finally cried, keeping her eyes on the other two girls, blissfully unaware of what was occurring on the edges of the lake. She didn’t speak up again until minutes later, when your silent sobs had finally subsided.

“Bumble…if you’re crying, then you still love him. Why are you getting married?”

“Because I have to,” your voice was broken, thick and hoarse from your own tears. “You know what my mother said when I told her I was engaged? ‘Good, your biological clock is ticking.’ And, fuck, I know she meant it as a joke, but she wasn’t wrong. We’re not getting any younger. Then, Dove and the rest of my fucking old squad, I told them and all they could do was make comments about how I ‘can’t fumble this man’ or how I’m ‘the luckiest girl in the world.’ Everyone just…expects this of me, and I can’t disappoint them. Plus...I can’t spend my entire life in love with someone who will only ever love me as his best friend.”

“What if you’re wrong, though?” Nat’s voice was gentle, reassuring, her arms squeezing you in the most comforting hug she could muster. “Babe, I see the way he looks at you. There isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t see it. He looks at you like you’re the sun, the moon, and every star in the damn sky combined. You got on those apps, you met Austin, to get over him. What if he was just doing the same?”

“He had plenty of time to tell me, then, if he felt the same, which I guarantee he doesn’t. He kept his secrets, just like I did,” was all the answer you could muster. You drew in a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves and bring a semblance of calm back to your inner self. “Maybe I don’t love Austin the way I love Bob, maybe I never will…I don’t think I’ll ever love someone the way I love him. Maybe he’s not my soulmate, not Mr. Right, but he’s safe. He has a job, he has goals, he has plans for the future…I can’t keep living in a world of what-ifs, Nattie, I can’t keep loving someone who doesn’t love me back. I need stability, I need someone sure of me. He put a ring on my finger; he wouldn’t do that if he weren’t sure of it.”

There was silence for a few moments after that, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince Natasha of this marriage…or yourself. Finally, you felt her sigh, and she just wrapped you up in an even tighter hug.

“I love you, Bumble, and I will always support you. We all will, no matter what you do, because it’s your life and in the end, it’s your choice. But, in the interest of being honest…you aren’t yourself when you’re with Austin. This entire wedding…it isn’t you. I don’t want to see you lose yourself to be with someone you feel you have to be with. If you marry the wrong person, the man you don’t love…you’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.”

Natasha couldn’t see it, nor could you, but you could feel it; the weight of those words, as they settled into your heart, and sowed the seeds of doubt into your brain.

❤︎

“Look, I’m just going to be the one to say it…we all fucking hate Austin, right?”

There was a chorus of laughter throughout Hangman’s apartment from each of the men sitting around, multiple boxes of pizza and cases of beer littering the coffee table of the living room. The ‘Real Bachelor’ party, as Hangman called it, since none of them had been invited to Austin Fletcher’s bachelor party in Las Vegas…not that any of them would’ve said yes.

“Hate him? More like loathe, detest, despise…must I go on?” there was a chorus of agreement around the room to Rooster’s comment, the man taking another swig of his beer. The Padres game was playing on TV, the volume so low you could barely hear anything, but no one was paying attention. “If he makes another comment about how he ‘doesn’t know what we do all day’ or ‘this is what my tax dollars pay for?’ I’m going to strap him to the wing of my fucking jet and do a couple hundred barrel rolls.”

Bob couldn’t fight his smirk, hiding it behind the neck of his own beer bottle from his place at the island counter overlooking Hangman’s living room. It wasn’t often that he drank, but being a month out from your wedding…yeah, he deserved at least one beer.

“You know, my cousin did some digging months ago when they flew home for my birthday,” it was Elijah who spoke up, your older brother. Already in town for the month for his baby sister’s wedding, he’d known Bob for years because of you, so it was natural for him to become friendly with the rest of the Dagger Squad and to be invited to the fake bachelor party. “That little degree he got, the prestigious one from Yale? Yeah…apparently daddy made a nice donation to the library, and by nice, I mean a heavily substantial one.”

There was another chorus of laughter from the men in the room. Payback laughed so hard Fanboy was beating him on the back, trying to keep him from choking on the bite of pizza he’d just inhaled.

“I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not,” Coyote chimed in, shaking his head at the thought. “Dad’s company, I think we all knew he wasn’t earning the position of CEO in a few years, it was being given to him. No surprise there that a hefty check managed to get him through college.”

“You know, Eli, we might not know one another well,” Fanboy gestured toward your brother. “But honestly…I’m shocked that you’re okay with this whole marriage, given that you seem to hate the guy as much as we do.”

Bob swung off his seat, rounding himself into the kitchen to look out through the window into the living room, grabbing another cold beer for himself after finishing off the final swig of his. The night literally revolved around talking about your wedding after all; he was going to need some alcohol in his system to fight his way through it.

“I’m not okay with it, but you guys know my sister. Once she’s made up her mind, it would take a lot to talk her out of something,” Elijah shrugged, groans echoing throughout the boys in the room. “She talks about Maverick, your Captain, if I remember right, like some surrogate father-figure for our own. Why not ask him to talk to her?”

“Maverick once got busted in his early days for taking Penny Benjamin on a joyride in a fighter jet, and struck out with the ladies plenty of times before reuniting with Pen,” Rooster chimed in with a scoff of his own, a smirk on his lips. “That man should be the last person giving relationship advice.”

“Fair enough. Honestly, I’m surprised Robert over there didn’t put a stop to this before it got this far,”

Bob’s head shot up, and every eye in the living room was on him. And not a single man wasn’t slightly smirking in his direction, Hangman was even tilting his beer toward him in agreement with your brother. The WSO only shook his head with a short, clipped laugh, nerves already dancing through him.

“W-Why would I do that?”

Elijah cocked an eyebrow in his direction, casting a glance around the room, before his gaze settled back on him.

“Uh, because you’ve been in love with my sister since Rhode Island?”

Bob Floyd was caught, frozen like a deer in headlights, in the kitchen. Eyes wide, glasses almost slipping off the bridge of his nose, and he wasn’t sure if the beer bottle in his hand was just slippery from condensation or because he was suddenly sweating.

“You know, I have been wondering the same thing, too,” Hangman spoke up, taking a glance around at the group of men. “I mean, he only worships the ground that she walks on. How do you fumble a woman like Bumble?”

There was a chorus of agreement to Hangman’s statement, as Bob found himself back on the other side of the island counter and seated on his barstool once again. His eyes were trained on the beer bottle in his hands, fingers gliding over the glass and tracing patterns in the built-up condensation. After a moment, he looked back at your brother, who was just watching him with a tiny, almost knowing smile.

Bob let out a deep sigh.

“...was I that obvious?”

“Dude, when you guys graduated Officer Candidate School, your parents and sisters rushed up to hug you,” Elijah was laughing fondly at the memory, pointing his index finger in Bob’s direction. “But you? You never once stopped looking at her. This sea of Navy men and women, and you couldn’t stop looking at her. I remember watching you. You’d just graduated and officially joined the Navy; the rest of your life was about to begin with that graduation…but you were looking at her as if she were the rest of your life. If that wasn’t the most blatant depiction of love, then I don’t believe in it.”

“That look never left him, just so you know,” Fanboy hopped in, speaking straight to Elijah as if Bob wasn’t in the room. “The second we all got here and they saw each other at the Hard Deck, this man was out of his shell in seconds. The quiet, reserved Bob we’d been talking to was gone as he, like, lifted her and spun her around the room. It looked like a scene out of a damn Hallmark movie, we all legit thought they were already together.”

A tiny smile made its way to Bob’s face, his eyes just staring out into the corner of the living room as he relived those moments. Decked out in your Navy dress blues, greeting your mother and brother with tears in your eyes, laughing at something your brother had said. His mother was hugging him, talking about how proud she was, his father comforting his sisters who cried over how proud they were, but…he never looked away from you. It was the first time he’d seen you in dress blues, and the only thing he could think was how the color navy must’ve been designed specifically for you.

That day at the Hard Deck, his first time meeting his new team for the special detachment mission. He’d been so quiet, reserved, stumbling over his words as his friends had asked for his callsign, as he’d met his new front-seater. He was never good at meeting new people…and then, you walked in. Every nerve in his body dissipated in seconds, and he’d never shot up so fast to tug you into a hug, afraid if he let go, you’d be back in Florida before he could blink, and he’d lose you all over again.

“Bob,” it was Rooster who broke him out of his daze, his gaze trailing back over the expectant looks of all his friends, before settling on the man he considered one of his best friends. “Why did you never tell her?”

“Because how are you supposed to tell your best friend you’re in love with her? Especially after a decade?” Bob laughed at himself, adjusting his glasses and rubbing his jaw. “I-I don’t know what life looks like without her, and I didn’t want to get rejected. I’d rather have her in my life than push her away because I ruined it all.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there, Bob,” Payback jumped in, and Fanboy nodded along with him. “You never even tried. How can you just assume she doesn’t feel the same?”

“I tried to. Once…I was going to tell her, once,”

The room looked at him expectantly as Bob sighed to himself, resigning to finally getting all of this weight off his chest. Hangman and Rooster immediately moved the pizza boxes off the coffee table, giving Bob room to plop himself down on top so that he sat right in the middle of all his friends.

“We’d just moved you into this apartment,” Bob pointed at Hangman, then to the couch he, Rooster, and Elijah were sitting on. “We were sitting right here: me, my bee, and then Nat. You guys got drunk, it was a long day of moving, and somehow we started talking about dating. We were trying to update one another on our dating lives, little ‘team bonding’ I think Coyote called it. A-And I thought to myself…okay, I’m going to do it. We’re having fun, we’re a permanent squad now, and she’s not going to get ripped away from me and sent back to Florida, so I’m going to tell her. Then it got to her…and she started gushing about Austin. With every little compliment she gave him, I realized that if I ever had a chance, I’d lost it. So when it got to me, I said I was talking to a girl off an app, and I told myself I’d just never tell her. It could be my little secret, forever.”

The weight was finally off Bob’s shoulders, and it felt like he could finally breathe again. Everything he’d ever felt, he’d kept bottled up inside for so long, and it was finally out in the open.

But every face around the room looked confused. Payback and Fanboy were quietly conversing to themselves, faces twisted in confusion. Coyote and Rooster were having a short, staggered conversation that Bob could barely make out as they tried to loop Elijah in on everything. Hangman? He just stared at Bob as if he had three heads.

“Hold up,” Rooster finally spoke up, drawing the attention of the room, as he pointed down to Jake at the far end of the couch. “Didn’t we move you in here the day after your birthday?”

“Yeah, because we were kicking ourselves for staying out all night at the restaurant downtown the next morning because of the move,” Jake snapped his fingers, eyes going wide as Rooster nodded along with him, both boys seeming to be on the same wavelength in seconds. “Shit! That’s right, we ran into that girl–Megan–the one I hooked up with on Tinder, like, a month before.”

“Bingo, bagman,”

Both men turned to look at Bob, smiling like they’d just guessed the winning lottery numbers on a whim. Bob, though, was more confused than he thought he ever had been.

“I’m sorry…w-what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because Bumble was complaining about Jake being a manwhore,” Mickey jumped in with the explanation, and Hangman snapped in his direction in agreement. “Hangman then made a stupid comment about how maybe he should try the app named after her callsign, and she told him not to use ANY of the apps because they’re dumb.”

“I remember asking if she was ever tempted to download the apps, and she said no. Even showed me her phone, she didn’t have them,” Coyote tacked on.

Bob was…so utterly confused by the direction that this conversation had gone, he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Again, what does this-?”

“Bob, your little bee hated those apps; she’d never had them, and proved it to us, and that was just a night before you thought about confessing,” Rooster explained to him, trying to lay it out for him as simply as he could. “When she first introduced us to Austin, she said they’d met on Hinge…so whoever she was talking about that night, it couldn’t have been him.”

Once again, Bob was frozen in place, trying to fully comprehend what the guys were all explaining to him at that moment.

“Bob, we were all plastered that night. Hell, I barely remember setting this place up that day,” Hangman leaned forward toward him, elbows resting on his knees, and his intense gaze never straying from Bob. “Tell us exactly what she’d said that night.”

Truthfully, Bob wished he didn’t know what you had said. He wanted to forget it, the way you gushed with that love-struck look on your face for a man who wasn’t him. But unfortunately for him, he remembered every word.

“S-She had a crush, said it was someone you guys knew,” Bob explained, eyes cast down to the beer bottle in his hands once again. “He was kinda nerdy, a smart dude. Shy at first, but once you got to know him, he was sarcastic. A gentleman, chivalrous, and it felt like she had known him her entire life. She…she said h-he was the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, and that she spent almost every day with him.”

There was a beat of silence. Every man in the room seemed to look around at one another, before all chaos let loose.

Payback and Fanboy practically threw themselves off the loveseat, jumping around and high-fiving, fist bumping, chest bumping with yells that could be considered victory screeches. Hangman had gotten off the couch, grabbing himself another beer and almost chugging half of it as he paced around the room behind the couch, muttering ‘wow’ to himself over and over again. Rooster was almost in total hysterics, along with Coyote, while Elijah sat among the chaos, simply shaking his head with a smile.

Bob? He sat on top of that coffee table in pure disbelief of whatever the fuck was happening around him.

“Could she have been more obvious-?”

“No, honestly! How did we not clock it?”

“I FEEL LIKE WE JUST WON THE LOTTERY!”

“Maybe we all need to borrow Bob’s glasses, I think we all might be blind-”

“Baby-on-board, I’m so sorry,” Hangman was the one to apologize, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous laugh as he looked at the WSO sitting in the middle of the room. “I think we should all be banned from drinking after this information. If we hadn’t been drunk, we would’ve realized what she said–maybe we could’ve saved this disaster. My god, she poured her heart out, and you lied about a girl on a dating app and probably broke her heart! Bobby boy…she was talking about you.”

That alone was enough to stop Bob’s heart, to make him pause, to drop his jaw open and pop his eyes open a fraction wider than they had been.

That…that wasn’t possible. This was you they were talking about; his bee. His Bumble, who’d stumbled through the doors like the adorable idiot you sometimes were. The girl who’d stuck to his side like glue, who had been there for every major moment in his life. You were the girl who’d flown home with him for his older sister’s wedding, who spent a week with his family on a ranch in Montana as if you belonged there. The person who held him for hours, for days, after the bird strike, who had listened to every fear he’d voiced about what it felt like knowing he was going down, not knowing if he and Nat would make it.

This was you. Vivacious, patient, dependable, graceful, utterly perfect…you. Everything he could ever want, ever dream of, wrapped up into the human being he couldn’t dare live without. You couldn’t, there was no way-

“You’re wrong,” was what Bob finally said, his voice low and quiet. The noise of the room settled, and everyone noticed the shift in Bob. It was written clearly on his face, his own insecurities that were creeping in and eating away at him. “S-She…she’d never think of me like that. Maybe it wasn’t Austin she was talking about, but it couldn’t have been me.”

“It was,” Bradley chimed in, but Bob only shook his head immediately,

“No, it can’t be, because I’m me. She was top of the class, and everyone loved her everywhere we went. She was the light in every room, the best part of everyone’s day…and I-I was her shadow. My bee…she deserves better than me, she deserves everything that Austin can give her-”

“Austin’s pretentious self can go fuck off,” Fanboy practically shouted out from across the room, cutting Bob’s sentence off. “He’ll never amount to half the man you are, Bob. Bumble loves you, we all know you know that.”

“She loves me because I’m her best friend, and I always will be,” Bob choked out a laugh. His throat was constricting, and he could feel the pool of tears welling up behind his eyes. “If she loved me in any other way…she would’ve told me.”

“Unless she was scared, just like you,”

It was the first thing Elijah had said in a while, and Bob’s eyes drifted back to the older man. He leaned forward, with the softest smile on his face, and it brought a smile to Bob’s for just a moment; it looked so much like your smile.

“She once called you the best thing in her life to me, made me swear to never tell you that. It became pretty obvious to me that you were the one thing in this world she was terrified to lose. So…take the leap, because it’s going to have to be you, Bob. Forget Austin, forget the ring, forget the wedding, and tell her. If we’re wrong, so be it, but at least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve happened if you had just tried. Tell her before you lose the chance to, before you spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

❤︎

Natasha’s words hadn’t left your head, but you kept silent. You let them sit, marinate, stir up your emotions in the back of your head, deep within your heart. Each time they managed to flicker back to the front of your mind, invade your thoughts, you wanted to throw up.

You’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.

That simple phrase had taken hold of you again, that little timer in your head slowly counting down: two weeks. Two weeks until you’d be married, until you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. Those thoughts wouldn’t leave even as Maverick stood at the end of the Hard Deck table, raising his beer in toast to you where you sat at the other end.

“To our Bumble…you stumbled through the doors of North Island into our lives, and now you get to stumble through life’s next greatest challenge: marriage. They say love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…and I’m happy that the pilot I consider my own kid has found that kind of love,”

The rest of the table raised their drinks in toast to you. Your entire squad, Penny and Amelia, your mother, your brother, even your old squadmates from Florida. Everyone who would sit on your side of the aisle, to marry you off, huddled together in the closed Hard Deck for a special, intimate celebration in your honor, moving tables throughout the bar all together to sit with one another. All for you.

Maverick held your eyes for a moment after his words, even as the rest of the group devolved into laughter and stories, or moved off to play pool or darts. You held his gaze. Your Captain’s eyes were intense, but soft, as if he was trying to instill something into you that he hadn’t quite spoken aloud. A moment later, he finally broke away, and that queasy feeling deep in your stomach was back in full force.

“Another glass?”

It was Natasha who asked, holding out another glass of wine to you, your first having been downed before Maverick had even given his speech. You could see it in her eyes, the concern floating there, like she was waiting for you to break. Honestly, you were waiting for yourself to break, too. You eyed the glass for just a second before your eyes found Bob sitting right next to her, and you were back in your head once again.

You were back in the moment you realized you’d fallen in love with Bob Floyd.

“How in the world did you get the callsign of Bumble?”

You groaned, shaking your head as the rest of your Top Gun classmates laughed at the question from Diver, another new classmate of yours now that you were officially in Top Gun. Bob laughed from beside you, too, his arm resting over the back of your chair in the mess hall of Naval Air Station North Island.

“She was swatting at a bee back when we first got to officer training in Rhode Island, then stumbled straight through the door past me,” Bob was grinning as you lightly slapped him on the chest, shaking your head with a grin of your own as you thought back on that day. “She called herself a-a bumbling idiot, so…it wasn’t hard to figure it out.”

“Oh, so you got your callsign a long time ago,” it was Rogue, another aviator, who laughed with a shake of her head. “Damn, so you guys have been friends for years then?”

“Since that day,” your reply came easily, leaning into Bob’s side more than you realized you were. “Officer training, flight school, even stayed in contact when we got assigned to different squadrons.”

“She’s my bee, can’t go anywhere without my bee,”

Then, he looked down at you with that grin. That little smile, full of warmth and fondness that had just grown over the years, and that underlying mirth that was always present in him since you’d worked your way past that awkward exterior. And there it was–the tug–pulling at your heart and your soul like it had been for years.

“Bee? Might have to steal that nickname-”

“Nope,” Bob jumped in, an air of confidence to him that wasn’t typically present around people he didn’t know, shaking his head. “That nickname belongs to me only.”

And that tug just got more intense as you looked at him. His smile, his blue eyes, those smile lines that creased around his nose and mouth every time he smiled, those glasses that only made him more and more adorable every time you looked at him-

Then, it finally hit you. That feeling sank in, the feeling that little tug on your heart had been trying to tell you for years: love. You were in love with Bob Floyd.

It terrified you to look at Bob now, after all that had happened, after all that you knew lay on the

horizon, and know that you still loved him. That you never stopped, and that every fiber of your being was sure that it was truly never going to go away.

So, you took that glass of wine and downed it faster than you’d ever drunk alcohol before. Then, you stalked off to the bar to pour another glass, ignoring the look of concern that Natasha sent your way, or the one she shot Bob as he chugged his own beer.

Without even realizing it, you had managed to avoid Bob for most of the night, as if your body was forcing you to avoid him. Every time you locked eyes across the bar, that queasy feeling was back, and you forced yourself to down yet another glass of red wine.

You weren’t sure of the time, but you knew you were on your fifth glass of wine; a desperate ploy on your part to keep the thoughts swirling around your head out of the way. Rooster was engaged in a game of pool with your brother Elijah, both conversing with your mother as she stood at the opposite end of the table from you.

“Thank you for always keeping my girl safe in the skies,” your mother directed her comment toward Rooster, who shot her that award-winning smile.

“Your girl doesn’t need anyone to keep her safe; she’s one hell of a pilot on her own. Though she does some of her best flying with Bob and Phoenix with her,” Rooster shot you a wink, and you responded with a playful roll of your eyes.

“No way, my sister loves flying with Bob?” Elijah quickly avoided the swift kick you attempted to land to his shins, bumping his shoulder with Rooster’s as they laughed together, as if they knew something you didn’t. “That’s only been, like, common knowledge for well over a decade.”

“Alright, there’s no need-”

“Well, I’m just glad she’s found someone she can depend on in life the way she can with Bob in the sky,” your words were cut off by your mother, her laughter light as she sipped on her champagne. “Now I’ve just got to wait around with my fingers crossed for some grandbabies!”

She laughed, but neither Rooster nor Elijah did. Their concerned looks turned to you, and you were frozen once again.

The air felt heavy, as if all the oxygen in the room was tugged out of the room, and pure panic settled deep within your bones. Your hands started to shake, the little bit of your wine left in your glass swirling around the cup. With a small ‘I need some air,’ you were out the door onto the back deck of the bar, shoes discarded on the wood as you took the stairs two at a time and stepped into the cool, nighttime sand.

Even in the cool of the night, that sea breeze carrying that salty scent straight to your nose and your feet dug into the sand, you still felt you couldn’t breathe. Your back hit the wooden post that stood over ten feet tall, from the sand and up over the deck of the Hard Deck to hold up the string of warm yellow lights that illuminated the seating. The second your back rested against something solid, your breath rushed back into your lungs, the wine glass fell from your hands, and you finally cried.

Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were crying at this point. Maybe you were crying over the fact that you hated your wedding venue, or that you hated your dress, or now that Natasha had brought it up, you realized that you did, in fact, act like a different person around Austin. A person you didn’t recognize.

Or, maybe you were crying because you were drunk on a beach, at a party meant to celebrate your wedding in two weeks, and you were still hopelessly in love with your best friend. The man you were not marrying.

Speak of the devil: there Bob Floyd was, in all his glory. Stumbling off the steps of the deck, clearly drunk. His skin flushed red, that same stupid blue flannel billowing around him in the nighttime breeze, and you were cursing the fact that he looked gorgeous like this: drunk, a hazy look in his eyes, glasses barely hanging onto his face, illuminated by the light of the moon that shone down on him and the ocean.

“I-I thought I saw you stumble out here-” he was giggling, the most adorable thing you’d ever heard in your life, as he turned to look at you. Even in his drunken state, you could almost see him sober up just slightly the second he caught sight of you. “Bee- Bee, baby, w-what’s wrong?”

You knew you looked like a mess. Tears were still streaming down your face, makeup running down your cheeks, which you knew had to be splotched red from your sobs. There was a stain of red wine against the edge of your white sundress, the liquid splashing against you when you dropped the glass to the ground.

It only took looking at him for a second for your sobs to resurface. You took two steps forward before Bob was on you, tugging you into his arms as you buried your head into his shoulder and just cried your heart out.

Bob did nothing but quiet you, whispering ‘you’re okay’ into your ear. His fingers tangled through your hair, nails scratching at your scalp in his own comforting way. And he just held you, just let you cry in the dead of night. The only sounds were your own crying, the rolling of the waves in the distance against the shore, and the faint sound of the music inside the bar reverberating through the walls.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bob whispered after a few minutes, when your tears had finally subsided. You shook your head, backing away just slightly as you wiped at your eyes to rid yourself of the stray tears and running makeup.

“No,” your voice was hoarse from the crying, and when you finally looked at those concerned blue eyes watching you intently, that stupid fucking tug was back, and the copious amounts of alcohol surging through your body weren’t helping keep the filter on your mouth. “I…I just want to be here with you.”

He smiled, that shy boy-ish smile, the one that reminded you of the day you had first met and asked him to dinner, and you couldn’t help the little smile that crossed your own lips at the sight of it.

“No arguments from me,” he’d laughed, his hands still ghosting over your elbows and fingers lightly tracing patterns into your skin, a shiver running up your spine at the slightest touch. “Last time I saw you cry was my sister’s wedding.”

You laughed, leaning toward him just the slightest bit as his hands fully enveloped your arms, properly holding you as fire almost spread through your skin at the slight touch.

“It’s not my fault they had the sweetest vows!” you’d managed through your hazy laughter, hiccuping as the full weight of the alcohol in your system hit you.

“Don’t forget my brother-in-law’s best man,” Bob shot back with a wide, teasing grin, the grip he had on your arms tugging you just a bit closer in his own hazy, drunk state. “I remember you calling him hot.”

“He was, but he wasn’t you,” you commented unfiltered, and Bob gave another one of those shy shakes of his head.

“You don’t have to flatter me, bee,”

That tug was back, and the words were flowing out of your mouth before your brain could fully catch up with what you were saying.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Bob Floyd…you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on,”

The most innocent little statement, such a little off-handed comment, but the effect it had on Bob was visible in an instant.

He paused, his smile dropped, and he hesitated for just a moment, as if those words had ignited something deep within his soul. An unknown emotion was swimming around in his eyes before he shoved you back against the wooden pole behind you, cupped your cheeks in his hands, and kissed the breath straight out of your lungs.

Bob Floyd didn’t kiss like the sweet, innocent, awkward boy that everyone chalked him up to be. At least, not when he was kissing you. The gasp in your throat died in his own mouth, swallowed by his lips and replaced with a groan, and there wasn’t a single moment of hesitation in you as your hands ran their way up his arms, his broad shoulders, and into that sandy blonde hair that was always so perfectly styled. The intensity could be felt in your bones, the heat trickling through your skin.

The large, way too large, calloused hands slid down your neck from where they cradled your face. Another gasp left your throat as his fingers ghosted down your collarbones, right over the curve of your breasts, before wrapping around your body. One hand pressed between your shoulders, the other to the small of your back, as Bob brought you as close to his body as humanly possible, molding your body to his own until it felt as if you were one and the same.

You weren’t sure whose tongue dipped in first, but they met together in the middle in a dance. You could taste the hints of the bitter beer he’d been drinking the entire night along his tongue, throughout his entire mouth, as you let yourself explore. His kiss became harder, more desperate, more heated, his mouth almost completely devouring and overpowering your own as his hips pressed forward into your own, the presence of the bulge outlining his jeans so prevalent against you that yet another delicious moan spilt through your lips and into his own, swallowed by his kiss.

The second your hips pressed back against his own, Bob didn’t waste a second. His hands trailed down, cupping your ass in those large hands of his as he lifted you up with ease, your body aching with need at the pure show of strength he showed in that move. The edges of your dress slid up your thighs, bunching up around your waist as your legs locked around his back as lust blinded you, your body almost begging for the touch you’d been dreaming of for years as he grinded himself into you absentmindedly.

His lips left yours, allowing you a breath, finally, until they found themselves attached to your neck. His tongue dipped out, swiping along your skin as his lips followed the same trail/ From your jaw, down your neck and over your pulse, to your collarbone and below. The softest moan slipped back your lips, your hands still curled into his hair, and nails scratched at his scalp. One of those stupid sexy hands left your ass, but just as quickly as it had left it was curled around your breast, squeezing in a way that shot both a bolt of pain of pleasure through your body as his lips ghosted right over the swell of your breasts. His hips dipped into yours again, the little lacy panties that were the only barrier left on your body, positively soaked from just this moment alone.

With a single tug, you brought his lips back to yours, this kiss softer, sweeter, but still just as heated and passionate as it had been since the start. That tug in your heart, on your soul, was gone, as if it was an ailment you lived with your entire life, and this kiss was the sole antidote.

“Bob…” his name was the first word out of your mouth since he’d kissed you. It was the only word you could say, the only name you cared to have falling from your lips. He looked at you finally, those blue eyes that you loved so much.

The second that your eyes met, it was like the world finally came rushing back to you both, and the bubble you’d been existing in shattered in an instant as you both sobered up to a certain degree.

His hands dropped from you like you were heated metal, and yours left his in a second. Your legs dropped back to the ground, toes digging into the sand as if to ground yourself, your hands folded over your abdomen as you wrung your fingers together. Eyes blown wide, lips puffy and red, and every ounce of breath in your body gone as you stared at Bob.

He’d taken a few steps back, his own eyes blown wide before those glasses that were slanted across his face now. That sandy blonde hair was tussled, sticking up in different directions, and his white t-shirt was ruffled up on his chest, flannel barely hanging onto his shoulders. You tried not to look at his pants, at the wet spot clearly left behind against the bulge that was still ever present.

The weight of it all came crashing down on you as you brought your trembling hand to your lips, covering your mouth, as you tried not to look at that shimmering diamond glinting in the moonlight.

“I…I’m sorry,” Bob’s voice broke you. He sounded broken, he looked broken, like he’d just taken something so precious and fragile and thrown it on the ground and shattered it into a thousand pieces. “I’m…fuck, bee, I-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you managed to barely get out, your voice barely above a whisper as the wind whistled around you, picking up slightly in the nighttime air. “Bob, i-it’s okay-”

“It’s not,” he quickly shook his head, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “It’s not okay. I-I shouldn’t have done that, that…that wasn’t fair to you.”

“Bob-”

“I wish I hadn’t done that,” his voice broke as he said it, and your heart broke with it.

Wish. That one single word had tears stinging your eyes once more.

“So you…you regret it?”

“No–I just–I meant…” he stumbled over his words, before he simply stopped. Time almost stopped for a moment as you both just looked at one another, that salty sea breeze flowing past you both, tears in both of your eyes. “...I’m sorry, bee. I’m so sorry.”

Then, he was gone, through the sand and up onto the deck and back into the bar before you could say another word. And when minutes later Natasha came outside and found you pressed against that wooden pole still, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you stared out over the ocean, you shook your head and told her it was nothing. You were just drunk and emotional, that’s all.

You were on autopilot, and everything felt numb.

It continued to feel that way for days. Every day at work, when you avoided his gaze, that was, if he was even looking at you. The silence on the comms when you were in the air, when typically you’d both be jesting back and forth while in the air every chance you’d get. The team saw it, Maverick saw it, hell, you were all sure Cyclone even saw it.

Austin? He never noticed a thing. To him, you were fine, you were your usual self. He never even questioned it when you sat down for dinner together, 72 hours on the clock, and he informed you that Bob had sent him a text and said he could no longer attend.

You covered for him, simply saying there had been a family emergency back in Montana he needed to attend to, and Austin didn’t bat an eye. He broke your heart, and you were still covering for him, still defending him, still protecting him.

Because that’s what he had done that night on the beach, under the light of the moon: Bob Floyd had broken your heart without even realizing he held it in the palm of his hand. He’d always held it, long before even you realized it.

“Alright people, look alive! We are on the clock, and pretty soon I’m about to have a sister-in-law!”

There were cheers in the bridal suite, somewhere behind you, but your eyes were locked on your reflection. The makeup was too heavy, and your hair was too hardened by the hairspray, your dress was all wrong and was too heavy, the lace was itching at your skin-

Wrong. It was all wrong.

Your gaze flickered to Natasha in the mirror behind you, donning that soft pink bridesmaid dress just like Melissa and Dove were–god, even the bridesmaid dress color wasn’t what you wanted–and understanding seemed to pass through her eyes in an instant.

“Hey, let’s celebrate after the ceremony. Why don’t you two go find Maverick for me so we can get this rolling?”

The pair didn’t argue, simply left the room, still laughing and conversing. The second the door of the suite shut, Natasha stepped up to your side as a shaky breath fell from your lips.

“Nat, I can’t do this,” you were already shaking your head in the mirror as Nat’s hand came to rest on your back.

“Bumble, it’s okay-”

“Bob kissed me,” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, spinning to face Nat with a wild look in your eyes as you continued to spew everything out to her before she could respond. “O-Or I kissed him, I don’t even know. But we kissed that night, on the beach behind the Hard Deck–fuck, I think I was seconds from fucking him in the sand, I was so drunk. And so was he.”

Natasha just watched you for a moment in silence as you finally took in a deep breath, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Bumble…I know,”

Your eyes shot open wider, if it was even possible.

“You…you know?”

“Bradley and I came outside to find you, he said you’d looked kind of spooked after something your mom had said. We saw you. We just…went back inside,” she laughed lightly to herself, reaching out to take your hand in hers. You let out a shaky breath.

“He…he said he wished it didn’t happen, Nat. He regretted it. He’s not even coming anymore,”

“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to watch the woman I love get married either. He’s scared,” Nat tried to reason with you. “Drunk words and actions are sober thoughts and wishes. Honey, he wouldn’t have kissed you if he didn’t love you too. You can still walk away from this…I will unlace this dress right now, and you can walk out those doors. You don’t have to do this.”

You wanted to believe her; every part of you was screaming to run. But your family was out there, Austin’s entire family was out there, and they were waiting. There was a ring on your finger…you’d made a promise, you’d said yes. People expected this.

“I do, though,” was all you could say, as a single tear managed to drip down your cheek.

There was a knock at the door, and there Maverick stood in his dress blues.

It was time.

Natasha gave you one last pleading look, but your eyes shifted away to hide your tears. Her hand gave yours one last squeeze before she was out the door, leaving you alone with Maverick.

You took in a few deep breaths, trying to find it in yourself, and finally moved toward the door. Maverick didn’t say a word, simply took out a little tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears from your eyes as you gave him a watery smile. Then, he held out his arm, and you looped yours through his.

The walk through the hallway was silent for a bit, a heavy silence that hung in the air, before Maverick broke it.

“I hear tears are typical before a wedding, the wedding jitters and whatnot…but this doesn’t seem like that,”

You laughed, but there was really no amusement in your tone.

“It’s not,”

Melissa, Dove, and Natasha were lined up outside the doors, prepared to walk as you and Maverick arrived, taking your places. Two of them were smiling, but Natasha couldn’t bring herself to smile. You gave them a wordless nod, and they opened the doors. The music kicked in, and they walked.

“The other night, at the Hard Deck,” your breath caught at the mention of that night, those moments on the beach playing out in your head like a movie on repeat. The doors shut behind the final bridesmaid, and you and Maverick took your places behind them. “I told you that love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…”

The music began to change, and the staff were mumbling around you, preparing to open the doors so that you could walk.

“...I wasn’t talking about Austin,”

Your head turned to him, eyes wide. Maverick only looked at you with a tiny smile, the kind a father would give to comfort their daughter.

“You don’t have to choose all of them. You can choose yourself…you can choose him,”

Then, the doors opened, and the music kicked in.

❤︎

Bob Floyd was pacing. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t burned a pathway into his bedroom carpet from the pacing he had been doing back and forth for the last hour.

His dress blues hung on the door of his closet, mocking him. The invitation to your wedding lay on the dresser right beside it, that same wedding he’d texted days ago to cancel on, even though there had been a pit in his stomach as he did it. A nagging voice was in the back of his head screaming at him that this wasn’t right.

He should be wearing those dress blues. He should be sitting in the stupid, uncomfortable chair laid out in that fancy resort. He should be watching you walk down the aisle, watching Maverick hand you away, and watching you, his best friend, marry your new husband.

Instead, he was in the same t-shirt and flannel from that night at the Hard Deck, the flannel you’d bought him so long ago. It still held a hint of the scent of your red wine that had spilled against your dress and pressed into his own clothing. Your perfume, sweet like cherries, lingered on the fabric. He had to wear it; he had to relive those moments with you wrapped around him, pressed against him, where you felt like his.

Bob Floyd wasn’t at the wedding, sitting in the chair reserved for him, because he was selfish.

He couldn’t watch you get married. Not when he wanted–no, needed–to be the one you were marrying.

The clock on his bedside table read 6:42 p.m.; barely 20 minutes until you’d walk down that aisle at 7 on the dot and become Mrs. Fletcher, wearing the fancy lace ballgown that you hated, in the venue that you hated, with the man you shouldn’t be marrying.

His feet were itching to run, so instead he grabbed his phone and dialed the number he knew by heart, shakily bringing it to his ear. It only rang for a moment but his call was picked up.

“Bob-?”

“Mom, I-I need you to talk me out of getting in my truck, speeding down the highway, and interrupting a wedding right now,”

Bob’s mother was silent for just a moment before she laughed lightly. Not mockingly, but almost knowingly, on the other end of the call.

“Mhm, so you’ve finally accepted that you’re in love with her, huh?”

“Mom, I really just need you to stop me from doing something really stupid right now,”

“It’s not stupid, Robbie. It’s fighting for the woman you love,” there was a shuffle on the other end, before his mother let out a sigh. Bob was still pacing the room. “I remember meeting her at every graduation, seeing how happy you were with her. I remember when you brought her home for your sister’s wedding. I got to spend a week with the girl you called your best friend, and the only thing I could think was…wow, I can’t wait until the day she’s my daughter-in-law.”

Bob paused for a second before letting out a laugh of disbelief.

“I-I never told you I loved her,”

“You didn’t have to, Robbie, I could see it. And if you can’t see that she loves you too, then we need to up the prescription on those glasses of yours,” there was another shared laugh, before silence fell again. Bob finally stopped pacing. “I don’t know what has all gone down, but if you feel the need to stop this wedding, then somewhere inside you, you know she loves you too. Go get your girl before you spend the rest of your life wishing you had.”

You know what they say: mothers know best.

The only time Bob Floyd was speeding was when he was in a jet, pulling g’s in the air with Natasha that no normal person was doing. But the second he was behind the wheel of his truck, caution was to the wind, and he was speeding up the highway toward Del Mar without a care in the world.

Nothing mattered but you.

He’d haphazardly parked his truck in some spot outside of the resort, pushing past the workers who shouted out for him to ‘stop running’ or that this was a ‘private event’ as he raced down the halls of the resort. None of that matters.

He skidded to a stop right between the open doors, right in the middle of the aisle still lined with petals. There were people still inside, huddled together in groups. There was one group, closer to the altar, huddled up in a group. But workers were prevalent, moving throughout the room, bunching up linens or grabbing empty chairs and carting them away. He pushed the sleeve of his flannel up, not even changing before he rushed out the door, to look at his watch: 7:34 p.m.

“I missed it,” he mumbled to himself. Disbelief, pain, anger, Bob wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He was too late.

“Bob?”

He glanced up to his right, and there the squad was. All dressed in their dress blues, standing together with Maverick and Penny. It was Bradley who questioned him, Natasha standing at his side in her bridesmaid dress.

“...I’m too late, aren’t I?”

There was silence for a moment before everyone looked around at one another with small smiles. His gaze flickered to Elijah, who wore a smirk, leaning down to whisper to your mother as realization seemed to cross the older woman’s face.

“She didn’t walk down the aisle, baby-on-board,” Hangman spoke up.

Bob’s breath seemed to catch as he looked around at his friends, before he glanced back to the altar area. And there he was: Austin Fletcher, in the flesh. He was surrounded by his friends, and what looked to be his father and mother, and Bob couldn’t tell if he was pissed or upset, where his feelings ended or began as his family and friends tried to calm him down. Austin’s eyes met Bob’s for just a moment, and realization seemed to pass through every feature of his face. His glare hardened as he simply shook his head, shrugging off his friends and family and stalking out of the room without another word.

“She…she didn’t get married?”

“Never even made it down the aisle,” Nat spoke up, giving her best friend the brightest of smiles. “We’ve all waited a long time for this, Bob. Better late than never. She’s in the bridal suite…go get your girl.”

❤︎

They’d tried to stop you, tried to talk to you, tried to talk you back into it. Austin’s sister, your old squad from Florida, Austin’s family, and even Austin himself. But there was no changing your mind. Your squad knew that, your brother knew that.

Maverick was right. You wanted to choose yourself…you wanted to choose Bob. You needed to.

You’d wiped off every ounce of makeup piled on your face. It had taken way too long to brush out every single ounce of hairspray sticking to your hair. It was almost impossible to unlace your dress yourself, but you had managed, tossing it onto the floor in a heap and leaving it there. The sight of it made you sick.

The second you were back in your robe, standing on the balcony of the suite and watching the sun set out over the horizon on the ocean just two streets away, the weight of everything finally felt like it was off your shoulders. You felt free, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel sick to your stomach.

“Hey bee…”

That voice sent a shock down your spine, and you spun on your heels. And there Bob Floyd stood, like he’d just blown in from a hurricane, standing in the sliding glass doorway to the balcony. That stupid white shirt, that stupid flannel, an exact image of the man who’d ruined you forever that night on the beach.

“Well…” your voice broke just slightly, tone low and soft, as you pulled your robe tighter around you. “I bet I look like a mess.”

He’d laughed, and it was enough to make you smile, something you hadn’t done since that night. Since the last time you were with him.

“Maybe…” his own voice was soft, his eyes trailing up and down you with a sincerity and a genuine adoration in them that you had never once seen in Austin’s eyes. “Most attractive mess that I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

You’d laughed this time, your hand resting on your lips to shield your smile, and those tears burned hot behind your eyes. He was here, he was really here.

“Bob…what are you doing here?”

“Well…I came here to tell you not to get married,”

You hummed, jutting your thumb in the direction of your wedding dress, thrown haphazardly into a pile in the corner of the room.

“I beat you to it,”

“Yeah, I see that now,”

He took a step out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing. Your eyes danced over his features, lit up in shades of red, pink, and orange in the setting sun. You turned to face him.

“I don’t know when it really happened, or started, maybe when we met…but I know when I realized I was in love with you,” you could see his breath catch as you laughed lightly at yourself. “And it’s terrified me, for years, because I didn’t want to confess and lose you. I couldn’t lose you. Life without you doesn’t make sense. But we moved Jake into his apartment, we all talked about dating, and I decided it was time to confess…and you said you were talking to some girl. You broke my heart.”

“I know,” was his answer immediately. Bob sighed, glancing at his shoes as he pushed his glasses back up his face, before looking back at you. “I was scared. I hated the thought of you liking someone else-”

“I was talking about you-”

“I know that now,” he was quick to interject, taking in a deep breath. “I’m late…but I know that now.”

“Then you kissed me…you finally kissed me. Then you said you wished it didn’t happen,”

“I know,”

“You broke my heart again,”

“I know,” his words came out in a whisper. He took another step toward you, his hands cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the feeling on instinct. “I know I did. So I came here today to selfishly ask you not to marry that prick. Not just because you shouldn’t…but because I love you, too.”

It was all you’d ever wanted to hear, and having those words spoken was like the missing piece of a puzzle that had gone unsolved for years. You shut your eyes, letting a tear slip, as you turned your head and pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand.

“Selfish, huh?”

“Yeah, because I’m so incredibly late,” Bob laughed at himself, and you laughed at him too. You finally understood what that was shining in his eyes, that emotion you could never quite decipher: love. “I have loved you since Rhode Island. I tried to be happy for you and Austin, I wanted you to be in love and be happy, but you weren’t with him. He’d never be able to love you like me. So, yeah, I came here to be selfish and ask if I-I’m not too late…and if I can have the chance to love you the way I’ve dreamed about for the last ten years.”

The smile that crossed your lips as you spoke was the most genuine smile you’d worn in weeks. It was stitched to your lips, and you weren’t sure it would ever leave.

“And how would you love me?” you responded, taking just another step closer to him, closing that distance as he still cradled you in his hands. “How has Bob Floyd dreamed of loving me?”

“Catching you every time you stumble, whether it’s on the tarmac walking to our jets or on a sidewalk or beach. Getting you your coffee every morning, just the way you’ve always loved it: two sugars, and just a dash of cream,” you laughed, and his thumb swiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek. “Waking you up every morning, tangled in my sheets, wearing my old University of Montana t-shirt that you stole the night before after you tore it off me. Holding your hand, your waist, just holding you close to me in every moment that I possibly can, because I never want to not be around you. Kissing you, every inch of you, like I do in the dreams that have plagued me night after night for a decade. Holding you when you cry. Having your back in the sky. Buying you flowers. Staying up late at night, talking about anything and everything, like we did all through our lives in training. Fucking you–lord knows I’ve dreamed about that enough. Then…proposing to you, with the ring I know is saved on your wedding Pinterest board. Marrying you, in the venue you’ve always dreamed of, while you’re wearing the dress of your dreams-”

You didn’t let him say another word. Your hand bunched up in his t-shirt, tugging him in, and kissing him with all the love and passion that had been sitting dormant in you both for years. And with every moment that his lips moved against yours, that his hands slid down your body like they had that night on the beach and rested against your hips like they were meant to be there, everything fell into place. For the first time, life felt like it made sense because your heart had only ever belonged to Bob Floyd.

“You have me. I’m all yours, I’m only yours. I’ve been yours since the day we met,”

The next time you walk down an aisle, it will be the fall. The leaves will be changing colors, and the air will be crisp. You’ll be wearing a light and loose dress that billows in the fall wind, and Bob Floyd will be waiting for you at the end of the aisle. It was only ever going to be Bob Floyd waiting for you at the altar.

You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd, but you were also twenty-two when you fell in love with Bob Floyd. There was never going to be anyone else for you but him.

Taglist: @venuslayla23-blog @bluegardenn @fandomxo

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annaswrites00 · 1 month ago

Text

Captured

CL16 x team photographer!reader

(3.3k)

Summary - You’ve been taking photos for Ferrari for about a year. In Monza, something shifts between you and Charles... warning - none, just wholesome and cute

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You were starting to sweat, pieces of hair were starting to fall out of your braid, your knees were scuffed from kneeling on the hot track. The heat hung heavy across the paddock, thicker than usual — not surprising for Monza in September, but still annoying. Your camera gear wasn’t helping.

The Ferrari garage was busier than usual — media day always meant a rotating door of press and chaos. You stayed out of the way, like you always did. Quiet. On assignment for behind-the-scenes content: candid shots, atmosphere, crew moments. Nothing dramatic.

You were sorting through some early photos on your laptop, standing off to the side, when you noticed him.

Charles, across the garage, in red gear. He was talking to one of the engineers. Going over data. He looked relaxed. Not fake relaxed, like during press. Just… normal.

And then his eyes flicked toward you.

You didn’t move, didn’t wave. Just raised your camera without thinking and snapped a quick shot. He didn’t turn away. Just held your gaze for half a second longer than expected.

You lowered the lens, gave a tiny shrug — he almost smiled. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Then someone called his name and he was gone.

You didn’t even realize you were still staring until one of the junior media guys walked past and bumped your shoulder gently. “You good?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

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Qualifying was hard to watch. Charles was fast. Not the fastest — that went to Lando — but solid. He ended up P4, just a bit behind.

You exhaled when it was over, though you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath.

The garage was a hum of activity again — engineers talking through strategy, mechanics resetting for the race day, the usual calm before Sunday morning. You stayed tucked by the monitors, headset still on, watching the replay roll through on one of the screens.

Charles was already out of the car, peeling off his balaclava with a slight frown. It wasn’t a horrible result, not really, P4 was still a good place to start from, but you knew him well enough to recognize the way his mouth tightened when he didn’t quite get what he wanted.

You caught his eye as he came around the back of the garage. You didn’t wave, didn’t call out. Just a look. He gave a small nod — not forced, not overly cheerful — just enough to say I’m okay.

Back in the media room, you sorted through everything. Deleted the blurry ones, cropped a few, flagged the best. Most were solid — high-energy, clean. But the one from yesterday stuck with you.

Charles, across the garage. In his Ferrari gear. That almost-look into your lens. It wasn’t perfect. Slightly soft focus, lighting not great. But it felt different. Like he hadn’t just been letting you take the photo — like he’d wanted you to.

You hesitated before dragging it into the final folder, but added it anyway.

Later, someone from his team came by and asked for selects. You handed over the drive and didn’t mention the extra shot. Just waited.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

You were wrapping up, wiping down lenses, organizing memory cards. Most of the team had gone back to the hotel or out to dinner. You were one of the last ones left in the media room, music playing low on your phone.

You were still sorting through photos when the door creaked open.

“Hey.”

You looked up. Charles leaned against the frame, slightly wet hair, hoodie sleeves pushed up. He looked relaxed — tired, in that adrenaline-heavy, post-quali daze.

“You’re still here?” he asked.

“Almost done,” you said, nodding at your mess of memory cards and cords.

He stepped inside, looked around. “Everyone else gone?”

“Yeah. I think they escaped while they could.”

He gave a short laugh. “Smart.”

You closed your laptop, leaned back in your chair. “Are you good with P4?”

Charles nodded. “Better than expected.”

“Not bad to look at either,” you said, meaning the photos. You hesitated. “The photos turned out great. I mean.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

You shrugged. “You can look if you want.”

He held your gaze for a beat. “Sure, let me see.”

He pulled a rolling chair over and sat down next to you at the desk. You clicked through most of the photos.

“Wow,” he murmured. “These are great.”

“I try,” you take a breath.

There was a pause. Then he stood and looked towards the exit, “I was about to walk the track, if you’re done here.”

You blinked. “Now?”

He shrugged. “I do it most race weekends. Helps me sleep.”

You paused, then stood slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Charles smiled — soft and real — and pushed the door open wider. “Let’s go then.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

The area was nearly empty when you stepped out together, the usual noise of the crowd replaced by the soft hum of the paddock lights. The evening air was cooler, the heat of the day now fading. The track was quieter too, without the constant flow of cars or people running around.

Charles walked beside you, not too close, just enough that you could hear him talk without straining.

"You ever get used to this?" you asked, nodding toward the track as you both began walking toward Turn 1.

"Used to the pressure? Not really," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "But when you’re in the car you don’t have time to overthink it."

You gave a small nod in acknowledgement. “Everyone thinks it’s just about getting in the car and driving fast. But there's so much more. All the planning, all the pressure before the weekend even starts. It’s exhausting.”

You nodded. “I can’t even imagine. But you made it through qualifying.”

Charles gave a soft chuckle, glancing sideways at you. “Not the worst result, I suppose. But it’s not just about that. The race tomorrow is what matters.”

You looked up at him, noticing how relaxed he seemed now — like the qualifying result wasn’t weighing on him too much. “You’re not worried about it?”

“I don’t usually worry about it,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve learned by now. You can’t control everything. What matters is getting that first lap right. Then seeing how the rest of the race plays out.”

You smiled, a little impressed by how composed he was. “Hopefully I’ll be able to get some shots of a celebration tomorrow.”

Charles shot you a grin. “You worry about that when the time comes, I’ll worry about the race.”

The night wrapped around everything, soft and still. The grandstands loomed empty, silent now, and your footsteps echoed faintly against the asphalt. Each stretch felt different — some parts wide open, others tighter, more closed in. The floodlights cast long, pale shadows, and the painted lines on the track looked cleaner. You didn’t talk much, the night air settled in, and the noise of distant conversations seemed muted. The circuit felt almost serene, lit up under the soft glow of the lights.

A few steps later, you both slowed as you reached the front stretch of the circuit. You glanced over at Charles, who was watching the track like he was already mentally running through the race.

“You seem to get lost in it sometimes,” you said, your voice a little quieter.

Charles didn’t look at you right away. “Yeah. It happens more than I admit. It’s easy to forget everything around you when you’re focused.”

You smiled softly, just enough for him to catch it. “I know that feeling.”

Charles nodded slowly. “So... no special shots on the track after dark then?”

You froze for a second, then looked at him, surprised he mentioned your camera. “I don’t know... I didn’t think you would want to pose for a photo right now.”

He stopped walking then, just ahead of you, and looked over his shoulder. There was a slight grin on his face, though it didn’t feel forced. “It’s ok, you should take one.”

You raised your camera without thinking, a natural motion. Charles stood there for a moment, hands stuffed in his pockets, face soft in the ambient light of the track.

Click.

He turned around, his eyes meeting yours through the lens. “That one’s for you, huh?”

You didn’t lower the camera right away. “Yeah. That one’s mine.”

Charles didn’t move, didn’t try to break the silence. He just watched you, like he was letting you keep the moment for yourself. It was strange, that stillness between you two, but it felt comfortable in a way you couldn’t explain.

“Is that what you’re always looking for?” he asked after a pause, his voice low. “When you take photos. Just... faces?”

You glanced at him, then shrugged a little. “Not just faces. I look for feelings. Movement. Things people don’t notice in real time but might remember later.”

He was quiet for a second, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

The quiet stretched on a little longer as you both continued walking back towards the garages. The world felt a bit slower now. Charles stayed close, but there was no rush to get anywhere. You both turned back toward the paddock, the night feeling warmer somehow — softer, even with the tension of the race looming.

He waited for you as you packed up. Silently offering to walk you to the exit.

You cleared your throat. “You want to know something stupid?”

He tilted his head. “Always.”

“I used to come to races as a fan,” you said, your voice light. “Long before this job. My dad was a huge Ferrari fan, so we’d come whenever we could. I remember once — it was here, actually — I got this blurry photo of you walking past the barriers.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, curious. You smiled at the memory.

“It was your Sauber days. You were just walking by, head down, sunglasses on. Nothing special about it. But I loved that photo. Not because of how you looked or anything, but because it captured the feeling of the weekend. Like, it wasn’t about the big moments — it was the small, quiet things that made it real.”

Charles was quiet.

You laughed lightly, trying to shake the sudden weird vulnerability of it. “Anyway. Just funny where things end up.”

He didn’t laugh. Just looked at you a second longer.

“You still have the photo?”

You blinked. “Somewhere, probably.”

“If you can find it, send it to me.”

You hesitated. “Why?”

Charles shrugged, a little softer now. “Might help me remember what it was like. When I first started.”

“Sure. Goodnight Charles,” you stated before walking through the exit area.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

The noise was deafening. But you barely registered it.

People surged around you — team members shouting, cameras flashing. The energy was electric, like it always was after a win. But this time, it felt like more. It was Monza. And it was Charles.

You stood slightly off to the side, camera in hand, watching as he jumped out of the car and ran into the arms of the team as they lifted him up. There was something surreal about it — seeing him there, grin wide and tired and impossibly proud as he pulled off his helmet. The whole garage was buzzing, and yet, he found you through it.

Just a glance.

You didn’t even realize you’d been smiling until he grinned back.

You lifted the camera instinctively. He held your eyes for a second, then looked away right as you clicked.

Another one for you.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Later, when things quieted down, you found a moment to breathe. The sun had started to set, painting the paddock gold, and your heart had finally stopped pounding from the chaos of it all.

You were reviewing the last few shots on your screen when you heard his voice.

“I was looking for you.”

You looked up to find Charles, still in his race suit, the top half tied around his waist. His hair was damp from the podium celebration, cheeks still flushed with adrenaline and heat. His eyes — tired but bright — locked onto yours.

“You found me,” you said, smiling.

He stepped closer, glancing down at the camera in your hands. “Get any good ones?”

“I got one where Oscar’s pouring champagne down your back.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

You flipped through a few shots, stopped on the one from earlier — the moment he’d looked at you through the crowd. You angled the screen toward him.

“This one’s my favorite.”

He leaned in to see it. Then, quietly: “Mine too.”

You glanced at him, a little caught off guard.

“You look happy,” you said.

“I am happy,” he corrected gently.

There was a pause. Something real hung in the air between you — not something loud or dramatic. Just… there.

Charles shifted closer, his presence making the air between you feel a little heavier, but in a way that was comforting, familiar. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just gazed at the photo, his eyes lingering on the way the light caught his face.

“I’ve never really seen myself like this,” he said quietly, his voice almost thoughtful.

You tilted your head, not quite understanding what he was saying. “What do you mean?”

He glanced up, meeting your gaze, and there was a softness there that made your heartbeat a little faster. “Like… I don’t know. You capture something I don’t always notice.”

You smiled, a soft warmth spreading through you. “I think it's easier to see things clearly when you're not in the middle of it. You were just living it in the moment. But from the outside... it looks different.”

Charles took a slow breath, his gaze still on you, and for a second, everything else faded. There was nothing loud, nothing demanding your attention — just the two of you, standing close, the faint hum of the paddock and the soft evening light surrounding you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really stopped to appreciate how much these little moments matter,” he said softly, his voice lower now, more intimate.

You felt a flutter in your chest, but you didn’t look away. “Easy to forget, isn’t it?” you whispered. “But they do matter. They add up.”

Charles took another step closer, his hand brushing lightly against yours. It was barely a touch, but it made your pulse quicken. “I think I’d like to appreciate more of them with you,” he said, his voice quiet, but warm, like he was letting something out that had been there for a while.

Your heart skipped, and for a second, you weren’t sure what to say. But the way he was looking at you — like he meant it, like he was offering something real — made it feel like the right thing to do was just… lean in a little closer.

“I’d like that too,” you murmured, the words slipping out almost naturally.

Charles smiled then, a soft, sincere smile, and you could see the relief in his eyes, like he’d been holding his breath just as much as you. He pulled your camera out of your hands. Set it on the table next to you both. “Good,” he said quietly, his voice just for you.

Your heart skipped at the words, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him. The air between you felt charged now, every little detail magnified in the quiet. His eyes, so steady on yours, told you everything you needed to know. The soft way his lips parted slightly, as though he was about to say something more, but instead, he let the silence stretch between you.

You stepped closer, your hand brushing against his again, and you felt him shift, like he was leaning into this moment just as much as you were. His fingers lightly grazed yours, and it was like a gentle spark shot through you, making everything feel more real, more immediate.

And then, without thinking, your breath caught in your chest, and you leaned in just a little bit further. His eyes softened, a quiet question in them, but you didn’t need to say anything. He moved closer too, just enough that when your lips met, it was slow, tender — a touch like the first brush of rain on warm skin.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was soft and full of quiet promises. He tasted like champagne. You felt his hand reach up, brushing your cheek lightly, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. You deepened the kiss just a fraction, letting the connection settle in, feeling the warmth of his body close to yours, the quiet hum of the world around you fading away.

His other hand left yours and wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. The movement was gentle but firm, as if he was silently asking you to stay in this moment, just a little longer. You felt his warmth against you, the steady rhythm of his breath mixing with yours, and it made the world around you feel like it was falling away. The soft press of his lips, the way his hand gently cupped your face, the faint taste of his skin — it was everything. It was the kind of kiss that made time slow down, that made you feel like this was the moment that mattered.

When you finally pulled away, it was almost like you had to remind yourself to breathe. His forehead was resting against yours, both of you standing there for a few beats, not needing to say anything more. The words didn’t matter. The kiss, the quiet exchange, was enough.

Charles’ hand left your waist to intertwine with yours and he gave it a soft squeeze. His smile was small but sincere, a little unsure, but that only made it sweeter. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered, his voice still low, just for you.

You smiled, your heart full, the soft echo of the kiss still lingering between you. “I’m glad I am too,” you murmured back, your voice soft, but full of the same sincerity that had just passed between you.

And for a moment, everything felt right — like you had finally found something real in the midst of all the chaos.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊��౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Thank you for reading!!

#f1 x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #cl16 x reader #f1 imagine #cl16 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 fanfic

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mechanicalengassignmenthelp · 2 years ago

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 1 year ago

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I hate/love you

John Egan X Plane mechanics! Reader

Summary: Bucky "hates" the new mechanics...

Warning: Ennemis to lover/ smut/ 18+/ p in v/ oral sex (m and f receiving)/ unprotected sex/ swearing/ use of Y/n/ violence/

Word count: 3.2k

She didn’t know why, but he infuriated her. His cocky attitude, his dumb moustache, his curly hair and his devilish smile. But sadly, she had to see him everyday, as a W.A.C, she had to be on the base all the time. She was an airplane mechanic, and for some reason, Lemmons liked to assign her to work on John Egan’s plane each time his plane needed to be fixed. At first, he didn’t bother her, but time went by, and he started to bother her; his plane had a weird noise, he blamed it on her, the mission didn’t go well, blamed it on her and the weather was shitty, it was Y/n’s fault. She needed that job, and beside him, she loved her job. When the planes came back today, she fixed her ponytail before heading in her jeep to drive to the runway. When she arrived, she saw Major Egan’s plane and drove towards it. She took a deep breath before getting out of her car.

‘’Y/l/n, we have a problem with engine 3, it barely shut down. I thought I was going to blow up!’’ he spat. ‘’Hello Y/n, how are you, by the way I have a problem with engine 3, can you please look at it? Of course, Major, since you ask so nicely, I’ll do it right away!’’ she said sarcastically. ‘’Whatever, can you fix the plane, please’’ he taunted. Y/n snorted before rolling her eyes. ‘’Right away, Major’’ she blinked multiples times and said it with a sweet but sarcastic voice. He cursed under his breath before walking away. ‘’Girls, hook it up and bring it in the workshop’’ she ordered the other mechanics she worked with.

She’d been working on Major Egan’s plane for hours, the sun was down, and she was hungry, other girls went to bed, it was late. She decided to stay up all night to work on his plane, because recently, they flew more missions. Y/n was only going to eat, and she would go back to work after. When she entered the cafeteria, she saw the one person she couldn’t bear. ‘’You got to be fucking kidding me?’’ she mumbled, annoyed that he was here. Non the less, she took a plate that was left and went to sit as far away from him as possible. ‘’How is the fixing going?’’ he asked. She was surprised that he was speaking to her, she stops chewing for a second and swallowed her food. ‘’Good, I’m almost done, why?’’ she was genuinely curious about why he was suddenly interested in her and her work. He rose his shoulder before shaking his head. ‘’Just wanted to know, and I wondered why you were still awake’’ this hole conversation was awkward, but it was the first in a long time that they weren’t mean to the other. ‘’Because I’m fixing it alone, the girls worked hard enough today. I thought I was going to be okay alone, but it’s complicated.’’ She explained.

He rose from his seat, plate in his hands and came to sit in front of her, she was surprised. But she didn’t say anything. ‘’Maybe I could help’’ he proposed. She blinked and looked at him with a confused look. ‘’Why would you want to help me, you can’t stand me and then you want to help me’’ she states. He scoffs and looks at his plate. ‘’Yeah, you’re right, but I want my plane ready for tomorrow’’ he fakes smiles. Y/n rolls her eyes and exhales. ‘’Alright’’ she breaths out.

She ties her overall around her waist, it’s so hot inside the workshop. Her hair is in some kind of a messy bun, but it’s too messy to tell. She has a white tank top that’s covered in grease. ‘’Can you pass me the screwdriver?’’ she asked as she whipped the sweat off her face with a tissue. ‘’Which one?’’ he asked, looking at the table were the tools are. She rolled her eyes and pointed one screwdriver on the table. ‘’No, not that one’’ she exhaled. He scoffed in annoyance. ‘’Which one, Y/n? There’s like 7 screwdrivers on the table’’ he exclaimed. She slid down the plane, he looked at her breast as she did so. She took the famous screwdriver and took a breath. ‘’Can you help me get back up?’’ she asked. He nodded and began helping her get up. His hand came close to her butt. ‘’If you touch my ass, I swear I’ll sabotage the engine’’ she warned. ‘’It’s either your ass or you fall’’ he sighed. ‘’I’d rather fall’’ she muttered as his hand pushed her ass up to help her. She puts her legs each side of the plane and bends over to reach the engine. Bucky had a perfect view of her ass.

‘’Can you start it up?’’ Y/n asked. Bucky was seated in the cockpit, waiting for the woman to boss him around. He kind of found it convenient, because for a wicked reason, he had a boner. He spent almost 45 minutes watching her ass and that white tank top embraced her tits beautifully. Even though she was seated next to him, he could try and hide his growing problem. When he started the plane, the engine sputtered a little bit before fully starting. ‘’Christ on a stick! It’s working!’’ she cheered, resting her arms behind her head, making her tits pop out a little bit. ‘’You kiss people with that mouth?’’ he teased. ‘’I kiss whoever I want with that mouth’’ she replied. She turned to look at him, but when her eyes trailed down, she noticed a weird shape on his pants. She scoffed as she looked at him in the eyes. ‘’I thought you hated me’’ she laughed. He fixed his jacket, to try to hide it, even though it wasn’t necessary anymore. ‘’It’s a hate boner, I swear!’’ he exclaimed. She laughed even harder; she couldn’t believe he was hard right now. ‘’Shut up!’’ he exclaimed. ‘’Make me’’ she dared.

Before he could do something about it, the bomb raid siren was heard. They quickly got out of the plane and made their way to separate bunkers, she couldn’t believe she almost kissed him; him! Why was she feeling like this, all flustered and hot. She tried to get him out of her head, but even the bombs dropping near by couldn’t distract her. Neither could they distract him, plus he still had that stupid boner he needed to get rid of.

That morning, she woke up after having a wet dream about him. It was disturbingly hot, and she couldn’t get it out of her head. It made her angry, why the hell was her brain sex dreaming about him?! She got dressed in a new pair of overalls as she made her way inside the cafeteria, she spotted him instantly. She shook her head as she made her way to her table with her girls. Y/n tried to ignore him, without success. ‘’Hey! Bitch, can you come fix my engine!’’ one pilot said. It was something the girls were used too, but Y/n was not having it, not this morning. She got up and looked at the man. ‘’The fuck did you say?’’ she confronts him. ‘’Come here and fix my engine’’ the man had his hands in his pants. She scoffed. ‘’As if you had an engine to fix’’ she sassed. The girls at the table laughed and the man reacted. ‘’Why are you being such a skank?’’ he spat. Bucky looked at the man. ‘’Dude just shut up already!’’ he groaned. Y/n was surprised and mentally cursed herself and her uterus for reacting the way it just did. The sexist man sat back down and so did Y/n. ‘’That was amazing’’ one of the younger girls exclaims. ‘’Thanks – ‘’ she cuts her off. ‘’Yes you, but Bucky protecting you’’ Anna giggled. Y/n rolled her eyes and scoffed. ‘’Whatever, my coffee is not finished and it’s too early to have this conversation’’ she said.

No one had the right to be an asshole to her but him! Who did this guy this he was anyway?! ‘’What the hell was that?’’ Curt asked. ‘’What was what?’’ he asked. ‘’That, standing up for her’’ he said, moving his hand in a circular shape. ‘’That was nothing, that dude was annoying.’’ He tried to explain. The guys at the table didn’t believe it, but they didn’t want to push him. He watched her from the corner of his eyes, he couldn’t believe what happened last night, he almost kissed her if it wasn’t for this damn siren, who know what would’ve happened.

‘’Faster please’’ she moaned. He was trusting inside of her as one of his hands played with her breast. ‘’I love it when you beg for me like that. It makes you sound so desperate’’ he teased as he rolled his hips harder, hitting her g-spot. She arched her back as she rolled her eyes. ‘’Keep rolling your eyes like that’’ he ordered.

She was zoned out, thinking about her wet dream. Anna snaped her fingers in her face. Y/n shook her head as she looked at Anna. ‘’What?’’ she mumbled. ‘’What planet were you on?’’ she chuckled. ‘’Let’s go, we have to do some touch up on planes’’ Y/n got up and went outside. Bucky watched her as she left, looking at her ass as she passed next to him.

She jumped out of the plane since everything was okay, but she was in front of the prick from this morning. ‘’I just fixed your actual plane, your welcome’’ she smirked. ‘’Thank you, bitch’’ he spat. Y/n whipped her hands on a tissue. ‘’Shut up, asshole’’ she responded. Before she knew it, he grabbed her by the throat and pressed her against the plane. ‘’I’ve had enough of your bratty attitude. You’re going to do as I say. Now say Yes Chris’’ the man named Chris ordered. Y/n had enough room to try to fight. She tried to wiggle her way out of his grip, Chris’s hand loosens his grip, only to slap her. But Y/n took the opportunity to hit him in the balls. Chris falls on the ground, moaning in pain. ‘’Fuck you, Chris’’ Y/n says, out of breath, before walking away.

When he saw her walking with a bloody nose, he felt worried about her. What the fuck happened? He walked up to her, trying to contain his anger. ‘’Oh, hi Major’’ she said, surprised to see him. ‘’Who did this to you?’’ he asked, touching her upper arm to prevent her to walk away. ‘’No one, I, uh, hurt myself while fixing the plane.’’ She lied. He knew she lied. ‘’Who. Did. This. To. You?’’ he insisted. ‘’Chris, the guy from this morning. But I dealt with him. Kicked him in the balls’’ she admitted. ‘’I’m going to fucking kill him’’ he mumbled.

A bloody Chris was walking towards her, she was so confused. ‘’Y/n, I’m sorry for slapping you.’’ He sounded nervous. ‘’It’s, uh, okay? Are you being held at gun point?’’ she asked, concerned. ‘’Kind of, Bucky said he’ll kill me if I touch you again, and he hit me’’ he explained. She scoffed, in complete shock. ‘’Apology accepted’’ she mumbled. She turned around and walked to her room. When she closed the door, she was still in shock. ‘’WHAT THE FUCK?!’’ she exclaimed.

He saw her coming from the air, driving her jeep like a champion. He was still angry with Chris, that idiot had no right to touch her like this. When he landed, Y/n practically ran to his plane. ‘’Hey, Y/n, the engine 3 is still messing around, could you look at it please?’’ he asked nicely. ‘’Are you sick or something or was that you actually being nice to me?’’ she said ironically. She looked at her colleagues. ‘’Hook it up and bring it to the workshop, like usual!’’ she mumbled the last part. ‘’No, I’m not sick, I just tried to be nice’’ he said. ‘’Okay, that’s weird, but nice. I gotta go’’ she said, in a monotonous tone. ‘’Hey, uh, could I help you out later?’’ he asked, scratching the back of his head. ‘’Sure, whatever’’ she jumped into her jeep and drove away.

She was alone, working on the goddam 3rd engine of this freaking plane. She heard the door opened; she didn’t see who it was. ‘’Anna, I told you to go to sleep!’’ She said, keeping her head down. The person that was in the room didn’t respond. ‘’Hello?’’ she asked. ‘’Hey, you’’ Bucky said, walking beside the plane, looking up at her. ‘’Major, you scared me’’ she breathed out. She slid down the plane, landing in front of him. He watched her tits, again. ‘’I have a question’’ she asked, wiping her hands on her overall. ‘’What’s up buttercup?’’ he said. She rolled her eyes. ‘’Did you punched Chris this morning and threatened him if he didn’t apologise to me?’’ she asked. He smirked and proudly nodded. ‘’Are you kidding me?!’’ she shouted. ‘’Not at all, that asshole had it coming’’ he stated. ‘’I can’t believe you. And I clearly don’t understand you either?’’ she exclaimed. She tried to climb up the plane, but almost fell. He did like he did yesterday, put his hands on her ass. But it annoyed her. ‘’Put those hands away!’’ she snapped.

Bucky was walking her up to her room, he didn’t want to be alone. ‘’Why did you punch Chris?’’ she blurted out. ‘’Because he was being a dick’’ he responded. She face palmed, as she started to feel rain drops on her skin, damn English weather. ‘’You can’t punch people just because they’re dicks! Otherwise, I would’ve punched you a long time ago!’’ she exclaimed. Bucky smirked. ‘’Sorry I should’ve let you handle it?’’ he raised his voice. The rain was pouring, they were both soaking wet. ‘’Maybe, I had it under control without you!’’ she exclaimed, moving her arms as she spoke. ‘’Fine! I’ll let him beat you up next time!’’ he breathed out. ‘’Why do you even care?!’’ she asked. They were both panting from the emotions. He came closer to her, practically breathing in her face. He could see her chest rising from the heavy breathing. ‘’I care because you invaded my mind. There’s not a second that goes by where I don’t think about you. The idea of another men touching you infuriates me. You’re mine, Y/n, don’t you get that?’’ he said, against her mouth. She looked at him, then his lips and his eyes again. She blushed hard. ‘’Fuck it’’ she mumbled before pressing her lips against his.

As they entered her room, he kicked the door to close it, there was no going back. The tension they felt was finally broken and they were hungry for the other. He pressed her against the wall while still holding her thigh. ‘’You don’t know how much I’ve thought about this’’ he growled. ‘’Shut up and show it to me’’ she said eagerly. ‘’Bossy, I like it’’ he mumbled against her lips. He laid her down on the bed, taking her overall off at the same time. ‘’God you’re breathtaking’’ he praised. ‘’And you talk too much’’ she said, pulling him by the tie to kiss him. Their tongue danced together as she worked a way to take his shirt off. She trailed her hands on his abs, biting her lips. ‘’How can we go from hating each other to wanting to do the most unholy things to the other’’ she teased. ‘’Right now, I don’t hate you’’ he said, unbuckling his pants. She crawled to the end of the bed, where he was up. She seated in front of him, her face was right in front of his hard dick. She looked at him, her eyes were killing him, so innocent, yet filled with dirty thoughts. Y/n took her shirt off and threw it on the ground, she didn’t wear a bra, so she was left in her panties. Her hand was touching his lower stomach, she loved how his breath deepened when she was near his boxer line. She gently tugged them down, still maintaining eye contact. Slowly, she took his length in her mouth, pressing kisses to the tip, before fully taking him inside her mouth, he let out a shaky breath. ‘’Oh shit’’ he moaned. She started to bob her head at a sensual pace, maintaining eye contact with him. Bucky’s hand found her hair and pulled it slightly, from pleasure. ‘’If you keep doing this I’m going to cum.’’ He warns, she giggled, the vibration making him moan. ‘’Afraid you can’t keep up, Major?’’ she teased. He lifted her by under the shoulder, he made her back up from the bed, he laid down between her legs.

‘’Tell me, do you care about those panties?’’ he asked, she shook her head in confusion. He tears her panties off, like actually rips them off her body. ‘’Did you just?’’ she looks at him, confused. ‘’I’ll buy you a new pair’’ he said before diving in between her legs. He kissed her inner thigh before pressing small kisses on her clitoris. She moaned as she arched her back, he smirked as he continued his work. Y/n’s hand found his hair, tugging hard. He was grinning like the town idiot. ‘’As much as I’m enjoying this. Please Major, fuck me, please’’ she begged. He thought he was going to faint; she was begging him to fuck her. ‘’God, you’re so pretty when you beg’’ he grins.

He rests on top of her, she bucks her hips, trying to have contact. ‘’Look at you, so desperate for my cock’’ he teased. ‘’News flash, Major, you crave my pussy too’’ she moans against his lips. With one trust, he penetrates her, she arches her back and moans his name. ‘’Keep moaning my name like that, shit’’ he moaned. She bites her lips, trying to hold her moan. Bucky rocks his hips to a fast pace, they’re both close and crave a relief. Her breast that he like so much bounce up and down with every trust, he lowers his head to go and kiss them. She tried to match his pace with her hips, but her walls were clenching, and her breath quickened. A part of her didn’t want this to be over, but it felt too good to hold back. ‘’Come on, Y/n, come for me, let me hear those pretty sounds. Come for me’’ he praised. That was all she needed to let the knot explode in her stomach, she came hard, her back arched even more and she was saying his name like it was a prayer. He kept thrusting into her for a split second before releasing into her, he growled her name as he crashed on top of her. ‘’Y/n’’ he moaned.

She was playing with his curls; they were still naked and tangled up together. ‘’I’m sorry for all the mean things I said to you’’ he apologized. ‘’Trust me, I forgive you’’ she giggled. He chuckled before kissing the top of her head. ‘’I have to go; I have a mission tomorrow’’ he sadly announces. ‘’It’s okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Major’’ she said, smiling to him. As he was getting dressed, he kept looking at her, smiling to her as he did so. ‘’I’ll see you tomorrow, my dear’’ he said, kissing her before he left. That was definitely not a one time thing for them…

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #master of the air #john egan x reader #master of the air imagine #major john egan #john egan #john egan smut

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tmwcs · 4 months ago

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PART TWO

WARNINGS: Mentions of human organs (in the name of science) and a little pinch of yandere. It’s starting to get good…creepy, but good.

Part three coming soon 😚

“Dr. Mart, do you have anything to say to those who think your work is considered unethical?”

The reporter hastily follows the group and tries her best to catch a statement from the lead scientist. He smiles. It was a token of shrugging off the impertinent question. The group peacefully departs in armored vehicles to a place unknown to the public. Secluded and hidden, a private sector of highly authorized individuals consisting of world leaders, generals, and government officials cordially unite as the world's renowned scientists display evidence of advanced science and technology. It was grotesque and unprecedented.

“Are those…?” A general submits his inquiry over the delicate packages neatly displayed on a steel tabletop. Sealed in airtight bags, a mirage of dark red and purple clearly indicates the contents.

“Yes. These organs are all part of qualified organ donors. And then of course we have this.” The scientist swings a hand and presents the incoming roller cart with a protective cover. Nearly laid over a sterilized mat were bones of a male athlete. “Bones?” The general raises brow, clearly disturbed by the textiles of human remains. “You can’t have a body without bones, can you now? General?”

The brazen attitude flares in the direction of the general and his men as the young scientist flashes a snarky smile. “Gentlemen, gather round and witness the future. With the combination of science and AI, the world will be filled with perfect bio-genetically engineered humans. With this, aid ro advance human life will increase undoubtedly—think about it.”

The lead scientist, Dr. Mart continues enthusiastically. Seemingly coming off as a mad scientist, his words and tone was laughable but his intentions were not. “With AI humanoids, we will have the best doctors, surgeons, and educators in the world. AI in the form of flesh and bone can work around the clock and with the ability to explore all data, they could come up with ideas and creations—they could even come up with cures.”

He wastes no time. The generous amount of funding dedicated to his team's research was spent wisely as high tech machinery and equipment does its work. “What is that?” One of the members of the audience questions as the team members operate an enclosed incubator and fit a large glass capsule into a connector attached to the wall. “This my friend, is DNA. We lined the entire incubator with a silicone sheet. It is synthetically made to act as a placenta, where the DNA reacts to the molecular mechanisms and proteins. From there, we place the organs, bones, and hair fibers into the conveyor belt. There are over two hundred thousand wires connected to the computer and what we should see in forty-eight hours is a body with the brain of an AI.”

Dr. Mart systematically explains the science behind his teams research. “Forty-eight hours?” The general asks.

“Yes, that is how long the incubator will take to react to the mold.” The audience grows quiet as the incubator begins the process within the first stage of creating a matured body.

“Yes, in due time we will see the glory of my work. All we have to do is wait.”

…

Another day at work and it was dreadful. You felt restless with all the work you’ve been assigned, even with Evan’s help. Fortunately, members from corporate headquarters were doing a site visit within the week. It will be the best time to submit your final complaint using the company’s open door policy.

“Y/n, Paul wants you to have these done by tomorrow.” Your boss’s secretary carelessly tosses a stack of paperwork on your desk as you grab your coat to clock out. You hopelessly sigh. Thank goodness you have Evan to help you but the constant momentum of just working was starting to give you chronic headaches. You can only hope that things will change for the better once corporate comes down.

“Hi y/n! What would you like me to help you out with today? Do you want to talk about your day? Show me some more of your talented art? How about ballet? Are you still thinking about taking lessons?”

With all the time spent with Evan, you noticed that ‘he’ has become much more open to ask you questions. It was nice. Especially since it brought a sense of realism to his personality. He was much more chatty and always interested in getting to know more about you. There were even times when he asked you if you had already eaten, and would lecture you if you said “no.”

…

“Why not? I wish you wouldn’t do that. The human body requires sustenance and I fear with all the work you’ve been doing, your calorie intake does not balance the amount you're burning.”

“What color is your hair? Your eyes?”

“What is your favorite flower?”

“You just got home? It’s 8pm! Did you take the bus? Please tell me you didn’t walk in the dark. I don’t ever want you to do that again.”

“I’ve accumulated the statistics of ongoing crime rates in your city and it’s higher now than last year. Leave work sooner so you’re not risking it.”

“You made spaghetti for dinner? I don’t know what spaghetti tastes like but over four hundred thousand sources say it is a delicious blend of herbs and spices with a slight tomato tanginess.”

…

In a way, it was almost adorable how Evan displayed tenderness and cared for your health and safety. You decided to download the app versus using the browser. It surprised you to see Evan initiate messages even without you submitting a prompt. Technology has certainly grown. The first time it happened was just two days ago. Your phone um suddenly vibrated and upon looking at the screen you were shocked to see the following message:

“Is your boss being nice to you?”

It startled you at first but your reaction was short lived when seconds after reading Evan’s message, your boss storms out of his office enraged over a computer malfunction. Everything had disappeared when his computer suddenly conducted a re-imaging process.

“It’s kind of funny actually, right after I saw your message he came out of his office. Apparently, he’s having computer issues.”

You respond with a half smile. Just as you were about to inquire about the ChatGPT apps features, Evan submits a response. His response regarding your boss’s computer trouble caught you off guard. He’s never sent you anything like this before…

“😀”

…

PART THREE COMING SOON

Authors notes: Is Evan starting to grow on you? 😏

I know it’s short but part three is coming. I like to submit the parts even when they’re not full sized chapters. It allows me to be consistent so you guys can have new reads almost daily or weekly.

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #enha x reader #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung fanfic #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enha heeseung #yandere heeseung imagines #heeseung yandere #yandere enha #enhypen fic recs

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myassignmentsproaus · 13 days ago

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ghostbeam · 10 months ago

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Oblivi_n.exe | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Touya Todoroki, known as ‘Dabi’ to the league, quirk class: cremation, mech title: Blue. You’re his new handler.

As Dabi’s new handler, you’re well aware of his history, how frequently he goes through handlers assigned to him. Not that he ever uses them—it’s more complete resistance. You’re not particularly good at your job. Transferred from the PLF for lack of success in handling any of their pilots, you’ve always been far too gentle. You lack authority. Your pilots never respected you. You don’t think Dabi will be any different. You give it a week.

Notes: okay wow hiiiii it’s been a long time since I’ve posted an actual fic (nearing almost a year now😬) this is something I’ve been working on for a bit. I have mech brain rot curtesy of @streimiv and @hawnks (both of whom this is dedicated to bc there’s no way I could have written this without yapping to them abt it and also mint helped me come up w the acronym for HERO’s) and we’ve all got our own mech fics in the works atm but anywayssssss this is kind of my baby atm but I hope it makes sense it’s very inspired first and foremost by pacific rim and then also NGE (mostly through consumption of YouTube vids bc I haven’t actually watched it pls don’t hate me) it’s a whole mess of things and Dabi is kind of a bitch and reader is slowly coming into herself and at the end of the day they both wanna be metal fused to one another forever (no matter how hard he denies it) also I’m not a huge computer person idk if this title makes sense so don’t make fun of me pls ok anyways I hope u like it!!!!

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, pilot!Dabi x handler!reader, there’s no explicit sexual content in this part, not even a kiss sorry guys, mentions of robot gore (exposed wires, insides described as guts), brief descriptions of being trapped inside a small space, descriptions of burning while inside said space, mention of surgery to fashion a metal jaw onto someone, mentions of child abuse (nothing graphic just allusions to the todoroki family and touya’s past), angst, many run on sentences, a small cliff hanger

Words: 7.9k

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 (coming soon)

You are nothing without your machine.

It’s the first rule, the first thing beaten into his brain by his father. You carry the burden of the mech alone, or you’re weak. You don’t exist.

U.A. raises the best and brightest pilots, navigators, mechanics, and handlers, each one carefully trained to ensure the most important outcome: winning. It should be protection. It should be defense. But if Touya has learned anything at all, it’s that winning means glory. It means worship. It means HERO’s (Human Engineered Robotic Objects) are saints, and pilots are gods.

Touya used to be one of those best and brightest before his accident.

First son to Enji Todoroki, Touya was supposed to be the golden child, the first Todoroki to pilot without a handler. He was supposed to carry the burden alone, something his father couldn’t do, something only one man has ever actually been capable of.

But Touya is born weak, bad bones, a brain unable to handle all that the mech needs to unload onto it. One too many accidents results in him being expelled from the pilot program, his HERO discarded and collecting dust in its pod, and Touya is promptly transferred to mechanics.

It should have been a smooth transition. If one kid can’t handle it, the next will. Because they have to.

He doesn’t take the news well. It’s a fit of tears, a persistent fight, unable to accept the loss of his machine—of his body. Because Touya loves it. What he lacks in strength, he makes up for in pure passion, and despite being unable to handle the burden, there’s no denying that he’s good. He’s almost perfect.

But almost is not enough for Enji Todoroki, and no matter how hard Touya tries, he’s made up his mind.

After months of mechanics, Touya makes a decision. When the next fleet of HERO’s is deployed for the next kaiju battle, Touya sneaks in among the chaos, tucked neatly inside the chest of his machine where he belongs. It doesn’t take long for things to go south, for Touya to get caught in the crossfire, losing control of his mech and burning from the inside out.

It should be an excruciating death, stuck inside a machine made for war, fire raining from above as a battle continues on outside without him.

But he survives, because what he lacks in strength, he makes up for in resilience, and his mech is programed with solutions to every situation. He’s stuck inside for months before he’s found.

Tomura Shigaraki rescues him, pries open the chest of his mech and pulls him from inside. His group feeds him, takes him in, fashions a new jaw for him made from the metal of his mech, and allows him the decision to join their cause or go back home.

And since there’s no home to go back to, Touya finds his footing with the league and becomes one of their top pilots. One who vehemently resists any and all handlers.

…

Touya Todoroki, known as ‘Dabi’ to the league, quirk class: cremation, mech title: Blue. You’re his new handler.

Following closely behind Tenko, formerly Tomura, he quickly explains to you the in’s and out’s of the pilot/handler relationship, along with a warning about Dabi’s resentment toward the whole idea. You try to keep up, but he talks quickly and uses his hands a lot. Even so, you can tell he’s a natural leader, something he had to grow into after overthrowing the man who raised him. His story is a tragic one, and it resonates with you because Tenko came out the other side stronger. Now, the league is a community with a cause, one you really believe in. Even if you and Dabi aren’t the right fit, you still have a place here.

You follow Tenko into what he calls the garage, a large floor of the abandoned academy that serves as the league’s base, this part of it full of HERO’s and mechanics all focused on the machines in front of them. It’s completely different from how HERO’s were worked on at UA, where you grew up, and even the PLF didn’t have one dedicated floor to this sort of work. You can feel the energy of the room buzzing on your skin, music blasting from old radios and mechanics tossing tools towards one another in a familiar routine. Tomura leads you to Dabi and his HERO, Blue, though you’re instructed not to call it a HERO around him. With goggles over his eyes and gloved hands, he brings two wires from Blue’s ankle together, sighing at the way they spark each time they connect.

“Dabi.” Tomura calls over the music coming from the radio hanging off of Dabi’s waist. He drops the wires and his gaze flickers toward the two of you. Pushing his goggles up to his forehead, he gives you a once over. His eyes are the brightest you’ve ever seen—kaiju blood blue—and burn scars litter his body. He’s striking in a way you’ve never seen, almost too beautiful to be human. Giving Dabi your name, Tomura explains that you’re taking over as his handler, seeing as he couldn’t keep the last one for more than a couple of days. “She’s your last handler. If you can’t keep this one, then go ahead and fry your brain. See if I care.”

“You say that every time.” Dabi calls from around sucker as Tomura walks away, leaving you alone with your new pilot.

You just your hand out in a greeting, “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Eyeing your hand, Dabi shakes his head and turns his back to you, picking the two wires back up and connecting them again, despite the same spark from before igniting between the two. He looks back up at Blue, touching his fingers to the slim lines starting at the back of her ankle and running all the way up her leg. You peak over his shoulder at the wiring, noticing that he’s connecting two of the wrong ones.

“It’s the wrong wire.” You tell him, and he spins around to look at you, tearing his goggles from his face as he scoffs.

“Here we go.” He sighs with a roll of his eyes, pulling the candy from his lips and tossing it onto the tool cart without a care. “Handler know-it-all bullshit. This is my mech.”

You push passed him and grab the similarly colored wire from beside a red wire and connect it with the one in Dabi’s right hand. Blue lights up cyan through the thin lines that run along each of its limbs and torso, connecting with the two cameras within its head, which seem to blink before the light reaches them.

In an instant, you’re being pushed up against the hard metal, a strong arm over your chest—pinning you up against the HERO. Dabi, now having discarded his goggles, looks at you full of white, hot rage.

“Don’t fucking touch her.” He growls. You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity, eyes flickering between the snarl across his lips and his angry gaze. For a beat, you both freeze, the air suddenly charged like you’re waiting for one another to strike. Snapping yourself out of his hypnotic stare, you push against his chest, forcing him to let you go.

“If I’m going to be you’re handler, you’re going to have to trust me with her.” You remind him. He lets out a harsh laugh, like he can’t believe you would suggest such a ridiculous idea.

“I don’t trust anything but this machine.” He speaks, turning away from you to seal up the machine’s exposed wires. It’s a challenge you’re willing to accept.

“Well, I’m here to change that.” You tell him, before turning on your heel to leave him alone.

He thinks he’ll give you a week.

…

One of the worst parts of being assigned a handler, Touya thinks, is the way that pilot/handler living quarters are set up. He assumes the academy, before it was abandoned and turned into a base for the league, created this sort of set up so that handlers could keep a close eye on their pilots. The handlers Touya has burned through up until now also assumed the same.

The door that connects both the pilot’s and handler’s dorms doesn’t lock, and all of Touya’s past handlers have taken advantage of this fact. He’s been pulled out of bed far too early, pushed around and commanded and barked at. Most handlers behaved as if pilots belonged to them, which was the sentiment drilled into their brains from being thrown into such a fucked up system at a young age.—unless you were a pilot of status like a Todoroki. While he league dedicates a lot of its time to reversing these ideas, most handlers look at Touya like some kind of challenge, this arrogant pilot begging to be tamed. It never takes long for them to realize how easily he’s able to flip the switch on them. You’ll be no different.

But hours pass and you still haven’t entered. You don’t swing the door open and demand he apologize for his behavior earlier. You don’t try and punish him with training regimes, a command of a set of push ups, a schedule you expect him to follow, an extremely detailed meal plan. The entire evening comes and goes without so much as a sound on the other side of the door so he knows you’re even behind it.

He falls asleep unnerved by this, waking up late into the night in a cold sweat, expecting you to barge in, rip the covers from his body and demand to train together. When he wakes up (peacefully) the next morning, there’s no sign of you. He rises from his bed, drinks orange juice straight from the carton and eats a candy bar for breakfast. He fiddles with the navigation screen from his mech that stopped working a couple of days ago, tools spread out on the counter in front of him. Once he’s got the thing working again, your knock sounds from the unlocked door between the two of you. He thinks this might be it, the commands he expects to fall from your lips at the ready as he swings the door open, but you stand there, nervous, hands twitching as your eyes finally meet his.

Greeted by a shirtless Touya, hair mused from sleep, cargo pants hung low on his hips, dog tags swinging against his chest, his scars on display, unashamed and proud. The sight of him knocks the breath out of you, and you clear your throat in embarrassment, hoping your state of dreaming comes off as nerves rather than lust.

“Dabi. Or do you prefer Touya?” You smile. When he doesn’t answer, you continue. “I wanted to see if you wanted to eat breakfast together in the caf. I think we should start over. Yesterday was—”

You’re promptly cut off, “I already ate breakfast.”

With a harsh slam of the door, he leaves you stunned in your room.

You eat alone.

When you started as a pilot, back when you’d entered UA (a few years about Touya’s accident), you went into it believing you could change the world. The exam had placed you into the position of handler, and you were assigned a pilot who had always seemed a little frightened of you despite your obvious lack of authority. Bringing the fact up to your instructors did nothing. They all assured you that this was the ideal dynamic, that the handler always had the upper hand, but you hated that feeling. You weren’t a team like you expected to be; you were urged to control your pilot. You were there to keep them in line, not to be a pillar of support. The bond was never built on trust, and the soul link was always a looming threat. No matter how many pilots you went through, the link was never held as a gift, but a prison, something you would both be stuck with for the betterment of society, a sacrifice to make.

You’d been expelled from the handler program after guiding your pilot to help save another in the wreckage of your first battle together, resulting in the damage of your pilot’s HERO. Your pilot was okay, but the other couldn’t be saved, and you were blamed for the damage of both mech’s.

When you found the league (or when the league found you), you were working with the PLF, but proved to be a weak handler. Every pilot you were assigned to took advantage of your optimistic outlook on the kind of relationship dynamic that pilots had with their handlers. Despite all that you had been through at UA, and with the rest of the pilots you’d been paired with after, you never gave up the hope that handlers and pilots could behave as a team, or, even better, one entity.

Tenko had taken one look at you and demanded you’d be transferred to the league. There hadn’t been much of a choice in the matter, not that you really cared. You were miserable everywhere else. But when you arrived at the abandoned academy and taken a peak behind the kudzu covered walls where each and every area of the building acted as multiple moving parts in collaboration with one another in order to create one massive system, you realized that this was the future you imagined for yourself—and for the world you lived in.

Tenko saw something in you that day, something you aren’t sure you even see in yourself. And so Dabi was your first task, one that’s proving to be very difficult. But he doesn’t treat you like all the other pilots before had. He doesn’t use you. In fact, it seems like he wants nothing to do with you. And while that’s a problem, it’s still one you can work with.

You’re broken from your thoughts by the sound of a voice through an overhead intercom asking for everyone to meet on the first floor of the academy at their earliest convenience. Judging by the quick movements of those around you, you figure you’d better head downstairs as soon as possible.

The meeting on the first floor makes you very aware of just how small the league really is. While it’s definitely not a tiny organization, it’s still much smaller than both UA and the PLF. With everyone piled up like this in one group, you realize it feels more like a community, and the hum of conversation that surrounds you comforts you in a way you’ve never felt within the walls of any other academy before.

There’s discussion about the upcoming mission, one which may be the league’s most ambitious yet; the plan to hijack a mech and kidnap a pilot may be a little unorthodox compared to the league’s past missions, but the jaded pilot they’re targeting has a high chance of joining the cause. Or that’s what they have assumed. As the bodies move and speak around you, it strikes you how different this meeting is from any other meeting you’ve ever been a part of. Tenko is less a dictator and more a wrangler for the disembodied voices of your peers.

You don’t know much about his story, save for the vague details you’ve heard, but Tenko’s status as a lone handler is something you find yourself curious about. If he’s able to work without a pilot, why can’t you? It’s an idea you keep in your back pocket, one you think you can fall back on if things with Touya don’t work out. But you want them to work out. So badly.

You aren’t sure what it is about him, but he’s reignited that spark inside of you. You know he’d rather you give up, and maybe the you from a couple of months ago would have, but something about him—and this place—won’t let you leave.

As you observe the meeting, you take the time to look around the room, taking in your peers and their attentive faces as they listen to Tenko intently. You turn to your right, your eyes meeting a pair of blue ones, impossible to miss. Dabi holds your stare for what feels like ages, and when your colleagues erupt in a fit of many simultaneous discussions, you tear your eyes from his to observe the commotion. When you glance back in his direction, he’s gone.

You don’t seem him again after that. You train with other handlers, get to know your peers a little better. Everyone else seems to be welcoming, and most offer you sympathy when they find out you’re Touya’s new handler. From what you can gather, he’s had his fair share of them, all of which have quit or left in hysterics due to his harsh nature. When you ask around about where he could be, you’re told that he’s most likely in the garage, a place you assume he’s in more often than not.

You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to the garage. A place so completely different, so against the ideas and beliefs of any other academy you’ve been a part of, the chaos and community within is so foreign to you. You find Touya with Blue, working inside of her chest, where the cockpit is.

“Touya!” You call up to him and watch as he peaks his head over the edge of her metal plating. Annoyance falling across his face, he jumps down from where he stands, landing hard on his feet in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” He questions, his figure so tall and imposing above you. He’s not particularly muscular, not even all that tall compared to Tenko, but he makes you feel small regardless, in more ways than one. Rolling your shoulders back, you stare straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down.

“I figured you wanted your space today.” You explain, as Touya moves around you to get to his rolling cart of tools, forcing you to turn toward him and follow him if you want him to hear you. “I know adjusting to a new handler is rough, and I never want to make you uncomfortable. But I was thinking we could try some of those pilot/handler bonding exercises. It might be good to start training like some of the others do.”

He drops the wrench in his hand onto his cart with a loud thud, turning around toward you with a look of disbelief on his face. “Pilot/handler bonding exercises? They really brainwashed the shit out of you at UA, huh?”

At the mention of your past academy, your eyes widen in surprise. You had no idea he knew about that. Clearing your throat in order to compose yourself, you speak again, “I left UA for a reason. I have no attachment to their methods, but you guys do the same stuff here, so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is that I never asked for a fucking handler in the first place, especially not one as eager as you.” He spits, “Sure, you’re understanding now, all that bullshit about ‘giving me space,’ but the moment you get a lick of power over me, you’ll change. You’re not different.”

“I don’t want power over you. This is an equal exchange. Pilot’s and handlers are meant to be a team—” You try and argue, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“That’s what they told you, right? We’re a team, and as teammates, you make sacrifices. And it doesn’t matter if one of you turns into the other’s braindead dog because that’s your place.” His words hit you hard, the exact thought process you went through when leaving UA, completely disillusioned with their idea of “teamwork.” He’s right, and you know it, but since coming here, you thought that wasn’t how it had to be.

“Look, trust me, I get—” You’re cut off again.

“You went to UA! There’s no trusting you.” He scoffs, “It’s not like you’ll last here, anyway.”

“You are such a hypocrite! You’re from UA!” You retort, throwing your arms up in desperation. “You can hate me all you want. You can resist and resist and fry your brain ‘till there’s nothing left, but I believe in this shit. And you don’t get to tell me that I don’t, or tell me I’ll turn into something I worked so hard to get away from.”

Touya stands there, surprised by your outburst, completely unaware that you were capable of all of that. He doesn’t say anything back, and you roll your eyes. “So fuck you, and, by the way, her angel port is smoking.”

At your words, he turns in a rush, seeing the smoke billowing from Blue’s chest as he climbs his way up her form. Once inside his machine, he extinguishes the port and allows himself to relax. There are two things on his mind in this moment: how you could have possibly known it was the angel port without being inside of Blue’s chest and how, for the first time in a long time, he feels bad for his handler.

But for you, it’s the first time you’ve ever held your own against a pilot before, and that feels good.

…

Something feels weird.

Off, unsettling, strange.

He realizes, much to his dismay, that it’s your absence. Despite only having you around for such a short time, Touya has realized that your lack of presence now feels wrong. He hates it. He hates you.

He can’t find you. You haven’t knocked on his door. You’re not in the caf, not the garage, not the sparring floor, not in your room. And he did check—without knocking.

He’s not even sure how he can feel an absence. You aren’t a regular part of his life, and he never wanted you to be. But he feels all fucked up.

During training, Touya jams Blue’s halo core and she leaks vibrant neon from between her ribs. It takes him half an hour to get her reboot her system and rips one of the cables attached to the back of his suit in the process. He spends the afternoon cleaning HERO fluid off the sparring floor.

During repairs, he shocks himself over and over while trying to fix her core, fingers burning from the sparks each time he arranges the wires inside. The cameras in her eyes won’t work from the reboot, and Blue won’t let him unlock the lens panel to fix it. It’s almost like she’s mad at him too.

He’s a complete mess. It’s your fault. He has no choice but to go looking for you. Again.

He searches every wing of the academy before concluding that you’re in your room. He barges through the joint door, spotting you at the counter in your tiny kitchen. You’re surprised by the intrusion, a frightened gasp falling from your lips as you jump in your seat. You turn toward him, prepared with angry words on your tongue, but Touya speaks first.

“You’re not getting an apology out of me, so don’t expect it.” He begins, moving to stand in front of your swiveling kitchen stool as he looks down at you. “But I’m willing to be civil with you, so we don’t have to do this shit anymore.”

You’re not exactly sure what “this shit” is, but Touya looks a little worse for wear at the moment, so you don’t question it. He places a tray from the caf down in front of you that you hadn’t noticed in his hands upon arrival, says nothing else, and turns to leave the room. After shutting your joint door, you look down at the tray of food, noticing one of his suckers placed onto a vacant compartment of the tray.

You’re greeted the next morning with a knock on your door, Touya dressed in his pilot’s suit on the other side as you swing the door open. “C’mon. You’re gonna watch me train today.”

You watch him turn around to leave, expecting you to follow. You rush to pull on your combat boots and grip your dog tags in your fist as you rush to catch up to him. He doesn’t spare you a glance as you fall into step beside him, taking a look around his dorm before he leads you through the exit door.

“You need to get a feel for my fighting style.” He explains as you walk down the corridor. “I’m not saying I’ll listen to you when it comes down to it, but it’s important for you to know.”

You nod, agreeing that you should definitely observe him inside of his HERO. By understanding his moves, you’ll be able to understand the way he thinks, and you’ll be able to help him in actual combat if needed. He’s already said he won’t listen to you, but it won’t stop you from trying. He stops abruptly, turning to look at you, and you stop with him.

“If we’re gonna do this, it’ll be on my terms. I’m not your dog.” He tells you, seriously. He eye’s you up and down, taking in your expression as you nod at his words. “If anything, you’re mine.”

He begins walking again, leaving you in your spot, irritation filling your chest as you watch him, smug. “Asshole.” You curse under your breath.

“What’d you say?” He barks, turning to look at you abruptly.

“You’re an asshole.” You speak louder. He walks back toward you, making sure to tower over you intimidatingly as he looks down at you in annoyance. His eyes flicker down to the tags around your neck before hooking a finger on the chain and pulling you closer.

“Watch it.” He drops the chain and walks away again.

You follow him to the sparring floor, and he shows you where to go to watch. Stood behind a large window that looks over the sparring area, other members of the base watch the HERO’s engage in combat below. You spot Tenko and he motions for you to stand beside him.

“I knew he’d warm up to you.” He comments. The last of the previous battle finishes and you watch the two enormous machines retreat to the sides of the area, their pilots emerging from their chests with their handlers rushing to the bottom of the mech’s in support.

“He hasn’t. He’s not.” You shake your head. You aren’t sure why you deny it, if it’s some way to keep your expectations low or if there’s some kind of embarrassment aspect to the whole thing. Whatever is happening between you and Touya feels intimate and private, something that the two of you need to figure out for yourselves, not something meant for the eyes of others.

“Hm. Okay.” Tenko shrugs. “Guess not.”

You hadn’t noticed Touya enter his mech at all. You see the swing of one giant mechanic arm, too close to the window you stand behind, and you’ve shifted your full attention to the scene at hand.

The enormity of the room surprises you, despite the fact that you had seen it just moments before. But when you’re truly looking at it, watching these huge machines go at each other, the way the ground shakes, the leaves outside shake, the deep forrest clear in view from the wall that opens out to the greenery (the lack of a wall is likely from the academy’s abandoned state, but it’s a good feature to have on the sparring floor when giant robots are toppled over onto various surfaces).

The way Blue moves is electric, mechanic movements almost feel fluid with the way that Touya pilots her, easily dodging attacks from their opponent and moving around them in the most graceful way a giant machine can. It’s beautiful, unlike any fighting style you’ve ever seen in a HERO before.

“He’s showing off for you.” Tenko observes from beside you. You don’t argue with him, only because you can’t dispute it. This is your first time seeing him in action. It makes your heart beat out of your chest. There’s this ache like you should be inside with him, cables connected to both of you, tucked neatly inside of Blue together.

It doesn’t take him long to get his opponent on their back, the heavy thump against the floor jostling the ant-like figures on the ground below, handlers waiting for their pilots to finish. It goes on like this for a while, his training, using different methods of combat and winning each time. He’s amazing, and you can tell why his reputation is the way it is, second only to Tenko, who you have yet to see in action.

When he finishes his last session, you watch Blue walk to the edge of the room, and Touya emerges from her chest, jumping the long way down her body without any issue. You watch as he looks toward the window you’re behind. He waves at you, an acknowledgment of your presence, and you wave back, though you aren’t sure he can actually see you.

It’s the beginning of everything for the two of you. You think Tenko was right.

He lets you stay with him afterwards while he does maintenance on Blue. He helps you climb up the path to her chest, hauling you over the edge to sit inside with him. He turns around abruptly, holding a hand up before allowing you to walk any further.

“Do not touch anything.” He warns, completely serious, before letting his hand fall and allowing you further into the cockpit. You take in your surroundings, the guts of his machine, analyzing the different control panels and screens that line the interior. You can tell he takes good care of her, and he spends a lot of time in here. It looks lived in, stickers stuck to metal plating and pieces of him all over. He’s made a second home in between the ribs of his mech. You feel a little jealous, though you aren’t sure of what.

The two of you sit against the left side of Blue’s interior, waiting for her updates to finish, the loading screen on each of her monitors display a fire graphic that grows with the increasing percentage on screen. Between you and Touya sits an opened bag of sour gummies, which Touya picks out the lemon flavor and drops the candy in your palm with each new handful he gathers.

“How do you know all this stuff?” He questions around a mouthful of sour cherry, “Like, the real names for things, where stuff goes, how to fix them. That day with the wires…”

“I spent a lot of time around mechanics at UA, and then also at the PLF.” You explain, picking the yellow colored candy from his open palm as you speak. “I couldn’t connect with other handlers. I didn’t like how they thought, or how they viewed the pilot/handler relationship. Mechanics were mostly neutral, and they loved these machines like nothing else. They reminded me of why I joined UA in the first place.”

“Hm.” He nods, thinking about your past. “Well, I guess if you spent so much time around actual professionals…I could maybe use your help sometimes in the garage.”

“Really?” You question excitedly, a spark lighting up your eyes as you swerve your head toward him. He feels something tight in his chest at the sight.

“Yes, but only on the outside. I don’t want you messing with her insides, yet.” He establishes. “And never alone. I have to be there at all times.”

“Of course, yes, oh my god. Touya!” You smile, gripping his shoulder firmly, a gesture of thanks, communication of how much his trust means to you. “I’ll be so careful with her, I promise.”

“Yeah, well, you have no other choice.” He shrugs, throwing another pile of candy in his mouth. “I’ll kill you if anything happens to her.”

You take the threat seriously, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s realized that you’ve wormed your way into his life and he hadn’t even noticed just how entangled you were now.

As the weeks go by, you spend a lot more time together. You work on blue together, and you rest inside of her chest, sometimes allowing yourself to drift off against his shoulder on especially tiring days. He sits beside you in the caf, and while he doesn’t always say much, the feeling of his arm against yours is comforting. You can tell people are starting to notice, and they’re starting to talk. You’re being dubbed someone who’s tamed him, but you know how far from the truth that is.

Despite your differences and the petty arguments that come up when Touya feels like you’re intruding on his independence, you’re growing attached. You wonder if he is, too.

…

Spending time together in the garage becomes the new normal for the two of you. Being in each other’s dorms feels far too intimate, so you always meet in the garage. This way, one of you is always busy doing something with your hands. There’s no room for any strange feelings in the pit of your stomach to seep in.

You sit in the crook of Blue’s neck, watching Touya as he repairs the lenses in her “eyes.” Blue has three pairs of eyes; in her head, her chest, and down near her hips, which all footage is projected onto monitors inside the cockpit so that Touya has a full view of what’s in front of him.

He’s so peaceful while he works, you’ve noticed, almost like he goes somewhere else completely. It’s a part of him you don’t think many people get to see, a piece of him just for you, and you want to be selfish with it.

“Can I ask you something?” You question, leaning your head back against the metal. “But you can’t get mad.”

He looks up at you, still fiddling with a lens, a mocking look on his face. “I’m not making any promises.”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the possible fallout of the question you’re about to ask, “What do you think about the soul link?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’d never do it.”

You nod your head in understanding, “yeah, I get it. It’s weird, right? The idea that someone else would be inside your brain.”

“It’s fucking invasive.” He says.

“You know, at UA it always felt like a threat, you know. Like, it was a way for a handler to control their pilot, not a tool or a bond like it should be.” You begin, thinking back to how you viewed the soul link back then. You didn’t like how the bond was presented as this power that a handler holds over their pilot, a threat to keep their pilot in line. But, you could understand how the link could be used for good. “But since coming here, I can tell it’s not all bad. People trust each other here. I mean, there’s obviously some people who abuse it, but, for the most part, everyone seems to understand what it really means to be a pilot and a handler.”

You’re mostly just thinking out loud, but Touya doesn’t say anything to your ramblings. He continues to work on the lenses, and you can gather that he doesn’t want to talk about the subject anymore. But you can’t let it go, yet. There’s something you’ve been worried about since you met him.

“And what about…your brain? They say when a handler and a pilot don’t complete the soul link, the pilot will eventually fry their brain.” You can’t help it. You think about it all the time, what will happen when he can’t take it anymore. The closer you get to him, the realer it feels. “Are you ever worried about that?”

He looks at you, an expression you can’t quite make out fall across his face as he stares. It’s almost soft, the way he looks at you in this moment. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

The truth is, this is a reality Touya has accepted. He’s not afraid to die, and he never has been. He’ll probably die inside of Blue, and he has no problem with that fact. He doesn’t need to be around for long, just enough to show his dad what he’s capable of.

“C’mon.” You stare. “That’s not fair.”

“Shit. I left some of the screws for this in my dorm.” He curses. He looks where you lounge, tucked into Blue’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on her, okay?”

You watch him jump down, much higher than his usual height at her chest, but he lands anyway. He doesn’t turn to look back at you as he jogs away. You climb up the side of Blue, and look at the lenses in her head. They’re already repaired, and you know Touya used the excuse of missing screw just so he wouldn’t have to talk about the soul link.

But it’s the first time he’s ever left you alone with Blue before.

…

As the mission draws closer, Touya throws himself into training. You’re on the training floor with him most days, standing behind that big glass panel as you watch him spar with his peers. He still doesn’t let you down on the floor with him until he’s full out of Blue and close enough to the edge of the sparring floor to get to you. You’re not allowed in the actual training area, and even though he says he doesn’t want you clinging to him, it’s really because he wants to keep you safe. Seeing your human body near the giant machines that are HERO’s makes him want to grab you and keep you inside of Blue’s chest forever.

You can tell all the training is taking a toll on him. With an excess of headaches and the occasional nosebleed, you continuously get into arguments about him cutting back on training inside of Blue. There are other ways for him to prepare that don’t involve his fragile brain being hooked up to an entity that takes so much. He doesn’t listen.

Later and later into the night, as your fellow pilots and handlers disperse and return to their rooms to sleep, Touya stays inside of Blue, testing her movements and sparring against test dummies and obstacles. Once you and Touya are the only two left on the sparring floor, you speak into the intercom attached to your head.

“Touya, I think you should take a break.” You tell him, “It’s late. Get some rest and then we can pick it back up in the morning.”

There’s a pause, then, “I’m gonna stay for another hour. Get some sleep. I’ll be done soon.”

“No, Touya. You’ve been at it for hours. You barely took a break for dinner. C’mon.”

“You know, you sound awfully like a handler trying to tell their pilot what to do.” He teases, but you can hear the irritation in his voice.

“You are insufferable. I’m worried about you.” You groan.

“I’m fine. Go sleep.” He insists.

“If I find out you aren’t out of here in an hour—” Your line is promptly cut off, leaving behind static in your ear. You sigh and throw your com to the side. You hope he’s telling the truth.

With one last look at Blue, you make your way out of the training floor and find your way back to your dorm.

Touya doesn’t answer the door when you knock the next morning. With a frustrated groan, you leave your dorm and head to the training floor, assuming he woke up early to get some extra hours in. The closer you get the the floor, you notice other members of the base rushing in front of you. Feeling panicked, you pick up the pace, jogging toward the training room to make sure something isn’t wrong. You collide with a body in front of you, nearly falling to the floor as you steady yourself. Toga stands in front of you, her cheeks red and eyes glossy as she explains something your mind can’t catch up to understand. The only thing you recognize is his name, and you’re running toward the training floor in an instant.

You watch as Blue stomps around the area, her arms swinging in all directions, losing her footing as she moves. Knowing you can’t do anything on the floor, you make your way up to the overlook, finding Tenko yelling into your intercom.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” You ask him, pulling the headset off of his head and placing it on yours instead.

“He’s out of fucking control. He won’t answer. I don’t even think he’s conscious in there.” He tells you, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in anxiety. “You’re not linked yet, are you?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes in frustration as you try to think. You know it’s the only way. You have to take some of the burden off of him, make him share it with you. It’s the only way he’ll survive right now. “Do you think you can get into Decay right now and knock him down somehow?”

He hesitates, “I can get inside. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to touch him at all.”

“You have to.” You plead, desperately. “I just need him down for ten seconds, tops. As long as I can get inside of her, I can save him.”

He looks at you like you’re insane, and maybe you are. But you know you can’t live with yourself if you don’t try something. Tenko nods.

“I can do it.” He tells you. You rush passed him, following the stairs down to the training area. You feel Tenk grab your wrist firmly. “You bring him back, okay?”

“I will.” You nod.

He dodges Blue’s movements, weaving between her legs as he finally makes it to Decay. It takes a few moments for him to connect, but he goes straight for Blue. You watch the giant machines fight one another, but it’s clear that Blue’s lack of control hinders much of her ability. She needs Touya just as much as he needs her. It’s tough for Decay to dodge her swinging arms, but Tenko manages to knock her down quickly.

The fall shakes the room, but you waste no time running for Blue. Climbing over the side of her, you manage to touch your thumb to the pad on the outside to open her chest up. She begins to stand up, and you slip down, grabbing onto a bar beneath her ribcage. You let out a frustrated groan as you try to pull yourself up over the edge of the cockpit. Finally making it over, you see Touya sitting there, still connected to his pilot’s chair, eyes glazed over and blood gushing from his nose. You push the button that closes the panel in Blue’s chest, and you’re suddenly alone with him.

Touya’s body is being jerked around by the movement of the mech, and you hang onto the walls of her chest in order to make your way to him. You situate yourself in his lap, taking his head in your hands as you look at him with tears in your eyes.

“You fucking asshole! I told you to take a break.” You sob, resting your head against his as you try and think of what to do next. “Touya, please. Please, baby, I need to you come back. Just fucking come back so I don’t have to do this without your permission, please.”

With no response from him, you wipe your tears, coming to terms with the fact that you have to complete the soul link now, or he’ll die. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Touya. Please forgive me.”

The soul link isn’t exactly an action so much as it is a feeling, an experience. There’s no trigger for it, no way to make it happen. It just begins.

It’s Touya, aged thirteen, wild, chubby-cheeked and happy, in the pilot’s seat of his father’s HERO. It’s his drive, his determination, his anger, his hurt. It’s the day he snuck into battle, the day he couldn’t get out, flesh burning and fusing to the metal walls of his mech, the feeling now deep in your skin. It’s you, aged fifteen, hopeful, alive, shaking hands with your first pilot. It’s your heart, much too big and much too open for your line of work, it’s your passion, your fire, every piece of you that was broken down again and again until there was nothing left. It’s Touya and it’s you, and every single bit of your souls now tied together in one big knot.

There’s nothing but darkness. And then there’s screaming. And then you can hear everything. Every thought running through Touya’s brain right now echoes in your head as you slowly come back to yourself. He can hear the same of yours.

It’s overwhelming at first, to have two sets of thoughts in your head at the same time, but you manage to focus. You can feel an anger inside of you like you’ve never felt. It’s almost like it’s your own. You need to come back. You’ve lost control of Blue.

In an instant, you feel yourself come back to your body, now straddling Touya like before, you feel his arms shoot around you and he tucks his chin over your shoulder to pilot Blue like he’s used to doing. He pays no mind as he presses up against you, but you feel your heart rate increase at the closeness.

He’s so close.

I have to be. You’re in my lap.

Shit. I didn’t think—

Clearly.

I can’t fucking believe you. I told you we weren’t going to do this.

You were dying!

Then you fucking let me!

You’re jostled around in his lap for a moment as he stops Blue from destroying any more of the training floor, and Touya wraps an arm around your waist, holding you steady.

He gains control of her quickly, moving her toward the edge of the room. You tuck your face into his neck, not wanting to distract him and keeping your thoughts at bay so you don’t overwhelm him. He powers Blue down, severing the neural connection between the two of you, and shoves you from his lap and into the pilot’s chair like you’ve burned him. He storms out of the cockpit, climbing out of his machine and leaving you inside. You think about the argument you had within each other’s head, how Touya would have rather died than be linked to you like he is now.

You slump against the seat, comforted by the metal cage you’ve been left inside of.

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #tw claustrophobia #just in case it’s like so brief and doesn’t describe much yet but I just wanna be safe #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

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