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The Shape of Your Silence

Max Verstappen x deaf!Reader

Summary: they call you “Charles Leclerc’s little sister,” “the deaf girl,” and “Ferrari’s newest junior engineer” … but Max just calls you the person he decided to learn a whole new language for (he’s totally chill and normal like that), because your silence has a lot to say and it deserves to be heard

The sun is high over Melbourne, heat shimmering off the asphalt like it’s trying to make the circuit dance. You step through the paddock gates, your pass clipped to your red Ferrari polo, heart pounding like it’s racing before the cars even start.

You’ve imagined this moment for years. Every lecture, every late-night study session with race footage playing in the background. Every time your brothers told you to be realistic, every time they hugged you tight and said they were proud , but still kept you wrapped in bubble wrap. Every second of wanting to be more than someone’s little sister.

You’re here now. Not as Charles Leclerc’s sister. Not as Arthur or Lorenzo’s baby sister either.

You’re here as you. Junior engineer. Ferrari. Official.

And you are not going to mess this up.

The paddock is buzzing. People shouting into radios, lugging gear, sprinting in and out of garages. Everyone looks like they know exactly where they’re going. You don’t — not quite yet — but you walk with purpose, tablet in hand, eyes flicking across the names on the motorhomes and hospitality units.

You’re so focused on the screen that you barely register the sudden blur of navy blue until it slams into you.

Hard.

Your tablet goes flying. You stumble backward, your shoulder banging into a column. And then a hand — strong, steady — grabs your elbow.

“Shit, are you okay?” The guy says.

You blink up.

He’s taller than you expect. Messy hair. Sharp jaw. Blue eyes narrowed in concern. It takes a second to register the Red Bull logo on his shirt, the sunglasses hooked into the collar, and the slightly scuffed trainers. The second after that, your brain catches up.

Max Verstappen just ran into you.

You don’t answer him. Not out of rudeness, but because you didn’t hear what he said. The world is a closed, silent room to you. It always has been. And he’s talking, voice moving in a world you don’t live in.

You sign quickly, I’m fine. It’s okay.

Then you kneel to pick up your tablet and turn on your heel, pulse still hammering. You need to find the engineering bay, check in with your supervisor, and double-check the tire compound setup for the weekend. No time for awkward apologies or flustered conversations. Definitely no time to explain your entire existence to Max Verstappen.

Behind you, Max is frozen in place.

He watches you disappear into the crowd, brow furrowed.

“What the hell just happened?” He mutters.

Carlos Sainz appears beside him, eyebrows raised. He has a protein bar in one hand and his phone in the other.

“You alright?” Carlos asks casually, eyeing the scene.

Max blinks. “I just ran into someone. Red shirt. Ferrari. She didn’t say anything. Just … did something with her hands and walked away.”

Carlos follows his gaze. His expression softens. “Ah,” he says, voice lowering. “That’s Y/N.”

“Y/N?”

“Leclerc. Charles’ sister.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up. “That was her? I didn’t even know he had a sister.”

Carlos shrugs, unwrapping his protein bar. “Yeah. She keeps a low profile. Just graduated with an engineering degree. She’s starting as a junior on the team.”

Max squints after you, baffled. “She didn’t say anything. Just kind of-” he waves his hand vaguely, mimicking the motion you made. “Was that sign language?”

Carlos nods. “She’s deaf.”

Max stares at him, then back at where you disappeared.

“She’s what?”

“Deaf. Profoundly, I think. Has been her whole life. Charles is super protective. Don’t take it personally — she probably didn’t hear you. Or didn’t feel like explaining.”

Max doesn’t respond right away.

He’s not sure what he expected, but that explanation hits like an unexpected downshift. His brain races to keep up. Deaf? He’s never met a deaf engineer in the paddock. Never met a deaf person his age, actually. The way you signed — fluid, fast — he had no idea what you were saying. And yet you moved like it was second nature. You looked at him like you were already done with the conversation before he’d even said a word.

It shouldn’t bug him.

But it does.

“You said she’s Charles’ sister?” He asks again.

Carlos nods, taking a bite of his bar. “Yep. Youngest.”

“And she works here now? Like … full time?”

“Junior engineer. Started this weekend. First race.”

Max nods slowly. Then blinks, brows drawing together.

“I think she hates me.”

Carlos laughs. “You collided with her at thirty kilometers per hour in the hospitality zone. Maybe give it a minute.”

Max watches the crowds flow past, still mildly stunned. It wasn’t the way you walked off — not exactly — but something else. The way you didn’t flinch. The way you didn’t wait for his response. The way you carried yourself, like your silence wasn’t something missing, but something deliberate. Controlled.

He’s used to people reacting to him. Good or bad, they usually say something.

You didn’t.

You just signed and left.

Carlos nudges him. “You’re still thinking about it.”

“No, I’m not,” Max says automatically.

“You are.”

“I just didn’t expect-” he gestures vaguely again. “You know. That.”

Carlos eyes him for a beat. “Yeah. Most people don’t.”

Max exhales sharply through his nose. “I didn’t mean it like-”

“I know,” Carlos says. “Look. She’s good. Smart. Tough. But she doesn’t like being treated like she’s fragile. Just talk to her like a normal person. Or-” he grins, “-you know, learn some sign language.”

Max snorts. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just add that to my to-do list.”

Carlos shrugs. “You asked.”

Max watches the crowd one more time, but you’re gone.

You, meanwhile, are at the edge of the Ferrari garage, face still burning from the collision. You’re not embarrassed exactly, but you can still feel the jolt in your bones, and the moment plays on loop in your head like a replay gone wrong.

You’re also annoyed.

Not at him. Not really. But at how fast it happened. At how you didn’t get a chance to explain. At how quickly you had to slip back into the habit of brushing things off before they became complicated.

You scroll through your tablet, grounding yourself in data. Suspension settings. Weather patterns. Tire allocations. There’s comfort in numbers. They don’t expect small talk. They don’t look at you funny when you don’t respond.

Charles appears beside you ten minutes later, sunglasses pushed up on his head, hair windswept and face already faintly sunburnt.

“You okay?” He asks, mouthing the words clearly.

You nod.

He tilts his head. “I heard you ran into Max Verstappen.”

You roll your eyes. He wasn’t watching where he was going.

Charles grins. “He never does.”

You arch an eyebrow. He looked at me like I had three heads.

Charles shrugs, suddenly less amused. “People are idiots.”

You sigh and give a small shrug. It’s fine.

But something about the look Max gave you — surprised, confused, not unkind, just clueless — lingers longer than you’d like.

Charles squeezes your shoulder and gestures toward the engineering bay. “Come on. Practice starts in an hour. Time to show everyone what you can do.”

You follow him, head held high.

You don’t look back toward the Red Bull side of the paddock.

And Max, two motorhomes over, doesn’t stop thinking about the way you signed without waiting for permission.

He doesn’t know what you said. But for some reason, he wants to.

***

The suite smells like garlic and olive oil and something faintly burnt — probably Arthur’s doing. The balcony doors are wide open, letting in the sound of a Melbourne Friday night. Laughter from somewhere below. A street performer’s faint guitar. The deep thrum of traffic.

You slip your shoes off by the door and pad into the open-plan kitchen, still in your red Ferrari jacket, hair up in a messy bun. Your tablet’s in one hand. You haven’t stopped reading telemetry since you left the garage. You’re buzzing — wired from the day, exhausted and electric all at once. Practice went better than anyone expected. And your code — the custom data-cleaning script you finished at 2 a.m. last night — ran flawlessly.

You’re still mentally reviewing downforce numbers when Arthur barrels into the suite like a cannonball.

“Tu rigoles! You’re here before me?” He shouts, arms flailing as he tosses his keys on the table.

You barely glance up before signing, Barely. I beat you by five minutes.

“Still counts,” he huffs, kicking off his sneakers.

Lorenzo arrives next, a plastic bag of wine bottles looped around his fingers. He smells like his cologne and long-haul flights. “Do you ever stop working?” He says, watching as you flick through another screen on your tablet.

You flash him a tight smile, then sign without looking. Telemetry doesn’t analyze itself.

“I brought Pinot,” he says instead. “Don’t say I never support your dreams.”

“You don’t,” Arthur mutters. “You’re just pretending to like wine now to seem sophisticated.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes.

The front door opens again, and you freeze before you even see him.

Charles steps into the room, hair damp from a shower, still wearing his Ferrari polo, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. There’s grease smudged faintly on his wrist. His eyes land on you immediately.

He says nothing for a beat. “You’re still in uniform.”

You sign, So are you.

He sighs, drops his bag on a chair, then walks over and pulls you into a tight hug without warning.

You’re not expecting it.

For a second, you just stand there, his arms around you. Then your tablet lowers, and you press your cheek to his chest.

His hand finds the back of your head, fingers gentle.

You think he’s proud.

But when he pulls back, his expression is complicated.

Dinner takes shape fast — pasta boiling, Arthur chopping vegetables badly, Lorenzo opening wine, Charles strangely quiet. You hover near the kitchen island, half-listening to your brothers argue over whether the sauce needs more salt.

But your eyes flick to Charles. Again and again.

Finally, you sign, Say it.

He looks up from his glass of water. “Say what?”

You narrow your eyes. Whatever you’re thinking.

He hesitates. Then sets the glass down and leans on his elbows. “It’s not a small job.”

I know.

“It’s not a forgiving job.”

You nod. I know.

Charles exhales, rubs his hand over his face. “You’re twenty-two.”

You smile faintly. And you were twenty-one when you started at Ferrari.

“That’s different.”

Why?

His jaw flexes. “Because I wasn’t-”

Arthur throws a handful of basil into the sauce and cuts in. “Because you weren’t deaf?”

Charles doesn’t answer.

Lorenzo steps in smoothly, voice even. “It’s not about that. He’s just worried.”

Arthur scowls. “She’s not fragile.”

“No one said she was,” Lorenzo counters.

“You’re all thinking it.”

You cut in, fingers flying. Stop talking like I’m not here.

They all fall silent.

You press your palms to the countertop. I got this job on my own. I earned it. I’ve spent years watching you live your dreams while pretending I didn’t want the same thing. I’m done pretending.

Arthur’s the first to speak, voice soft. “We never wanted you to pretend. We just-” he breaks off, frowning. “We know what this world is like.”

Charles is staring at the wine bottle label like it holds the answers to the universe. “It’s brutal.”

And I’m ready for that, you sign. You don’t think I haven’t seen it? From the inside? I grew up in garages. I watched you kart before I even had baby teeth.

“You think I don’t remember Le Castellet?” Charles says suddenly, his voice low. “When you were six and someone on my karting team said you’d never survive a race track because you couldn’t hear the engines? You didn’t sleep for a week.”

You feel the memory hit like a punch to the ribs.

Arthur mutters, “I wanted to fight that kid.”

“You did fight that kid,” Lorenzo says dryly.

Charles’s voice goes quieter. “We’ve seen what this world does. We just wanted to protect you from it.”

You don’t get to protect me from my own future.

He flinches.

Lorenzo clears his throat and holds up a wine glass. “To new beginnings,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

Arthur grabs a glass and clinks it with his. “To terrifying little sisters who are smarter than all of us.”

You raise your glass, but Charles doesn’t move at first.

Then, finally, he lifts his and meets your gaze.

“To you.”

You smile.

It’s soft. But real.

***

Meanwhile, two hotels away, Max Verstappen lies on his bed, one arm behind his head, scrolling through YouTube.

A video’s paused on the screen. The thumbnail shows a smiling woman with short hair and bright eyes. The title reads Learn 20 Basic ASL Signs for Beginners!

Lando, lounging on the couch with a bag of chips, looks over. “What are you watching?”

Max doesn’t even glance up. “Sign language.”

Lando snorts. “Since when are you learning that?”

“Since today.”

“… Because of Charles’ sister?”

Max finally looks up. “She ran into me.”

“Actually,” Lando says, mouth full, “you ran into her.”

Max groans. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true?” Lando throws a chip at him. “So? What? She blew you off and now you’re in love?”

Max narrows his eyes. “I’m not in love.”

Lando grins. “You downloaded Duolingo for sign language.”

“No, I didn’t,” Max says. “Duolingo doesn’t have sign language.”

Lando blinks. “How do you know that?”

“I checked.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Lando howls with laughter.

Max scowls and throws a pillow at him. “It’s not funny.”

“It is,” Lando gasps. “You’ve never even looked twice at anyone in the paddock and now you’re watching videos about finger spelling.”

Max shifts, face heating. “She’s just … different.”

Lando raises an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“She didn’t react to me,” Max says. “Not like people usually do.”

“She didn’t hear you.”

“No, but-” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t just that. She didn’t try to be nice. Or awkward. Or pretend she didn’t care who I was. She just signed something and walked away.”

“She probably thinks you’re a dick.”

Max sighs. “Maybe I am.”

“You’re not,” Lando says, surprising him. “You’re just not used to people not treating you like Max Verstappen.”

Max is quiet.

Then he reopens the YouTube app and hits play.

The woman on the screen smiles. “Let’s start with the alphabet!”

***

Back in the Leclerc family suite, you’re doing the dishes.

Charles stands beside you, towel in hand, drying each plate you hand over. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Arthur is on the couch, yelling at the TV. Lorenzo’s on the phone in the bedroom.

Charles breaks the silence.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

You glance over.

The job?

He nods.

I love it.

He nods again, slower this time.

Then he signs, You’re amazing.

Your breath catches. You smile — small, warm.

Thank you.

And for the first time that night, everything feels exactly right.

***

The morning is cool and bright when you step into the paddock, hair still damp from a rushed shower, tablet tucked beneath your arm. The air smells like fuel and fresh asphalt. The kind of smell that most people wrinkle their nose at, but to you, it smells like home.

Ferrari’s garage is already alive, buzzing with the usual symphony of controlled chaos. People moving fast, voices raised, tire blankets being peeled back. The pit wall team is calibrating headsets, and engineers are tapping away at laptops like they’re defusing bombs. But when you walk in, the air shifts just slightly.

One of the senior engineers, Sergio, gives you a nod of acknowledgment as you pass.

Another, Isa, offers you her usual crooked half-smile.

It wasn’t always like this — not even one day ago. But something changed after practice. The moment they saw your data lines. The way you isolated the inconsistent vibration through lap telemetry and flagged it before anyone else noticed. You didn’t say a word in the debrief, but the numbers did.

They’re starting to see you.

Not as someone’s sister. Not as a girl who needs shielding. Just as you.

You're mid-scroll through tire wear stats when someone taps your shoulder. Gently, like they’re afraid you’ll vanish if they push too hard.

You turn.

It’s him.

Max Verstappen, in full Red Bull uniform, cap pulled low, jaw clenched like he’s about to launch into a high-speed corner.

You raise an eyebrow.

His lips press into a tight line. Then he lifts both hands, takes a deep breath, and starts finger-spelling something. Slowly. Carefully. Like every letter might explode.

H … E … L … L … O.

Then he hesitates. His brow furrows. His mouth moves slightly, mouthing the letters along with his hands. His finger flicks toward his chest.

You stare at him.

It takes a second before you realize what he’s trying to do.

And then it hits you.

He’s signing in ASL.

Your nose wrinkles. Not in annoyance, just surprise. Because you don’t use American Sign Language. You never have. You were born in Monaco. Raised in French. Your whole life has been in Langue des Signes Française.

And whatever Max just spelled?

It looked like a painfully slow attempt at ordering coffee in a different country.

You blink.

He looks so serious. Like this is a press conference. Like this is his world championship.

You burst out laughing.

Full-bodied. Loud. A rare kind of laugh that you don’t usually give out in public. It slips out of you before you can stop it.

Max’s face goes completely blank. Mortified. Like he’s just gotten out of the car and realized his fly’s down during a podium.

You hold up a hand, trying to breathe.

Then, still smiling, you reach behind you and grab a napkin off the coffee cart near the hospitality entrance. You scribble something with the pen clipped to your tablet.

You fold the napkin once, then hold it out to him.

He takes it, cautiously.

10/10 effort. 2/10 accuracy.

Wrong language, Verstappen.

Max reads it. Then blinks.

Then groans, tipping his head back toward the sky. “You’re kidding me.”

You shake your head, still grinning.

He rubs his hand over his face. “So what do you use?”

You sign, slow and clear. LSF.

“Is that … French?”

You nod. Then point to yourself, then your badge. Ferrari. Monaco. Surprise.

Max exhales, the tips of his ears pink. “Great. So I’ve been learning the wrong damn language all night.”

You shrug, amused. It’s cute.

He stares at you. “You think that was cute?”

You gesture toward the napkin. The effort. Not the execution.

Max looks at the napkin again, then folds it and stuffs it into his pocket like it’s a race strategy worth saving.

Then, after a beat, “Okay. New plan. I learn French sign language.”

You don’t have to.

“I want to.”

You blink. He says it with such ease. No hesitation. No bravado. Just … honest.

That’s new.

You cock your head. Why?

He shrugs. “Because if I run into you again, I want to say more than ‘hello’ and get laughed at in three seconds.”

You grin. Four seconds. Give yourself some credit.

He actually laughs. It’s short, but genuine.

Then he glances at the garage behind you. “You’re … uh, busy?”

You nod. Always.

He hesitates. Then holds out his hand. “I’ll get out of your way. Just … if I learn it. Will you help me practice?”

You eye his outstretched hand. Then, after a moment, you shake it.

Only if you promise not to run into me again.

He nods solemnly. “Deal.”

***

Later, in the garage, you’re reviewing a line graph on your monitor when Charles slides in behind you like a shadow.

He taps your shoulder.

You turn.

He signs hurriedly. You okay?

You nod. Then sign back, Why?

He tilts his head. “Because I saw Verstappen trying to mime at you and then you laughed so hard I thought you were having a breakdown.”

You roll your eyes. He tried to sign in ASL.

Charles frowns. “Isn’t that … the wrong one?”

You grin. Exactly.

He shakes his head. “This guy.”

He tried. It was sweet.

Charles narrows his eyes. “Max Verstappen is not sweet.”

He spelled hello and then looked like he wanted to cry.

Charles pauses. Then sighs. “Okay. That’s a little sweet.”

You give him a look.

His mouth flattens into a line. “Just … be careful.”

You raise both brows. Of what?

He gestures vaguely. “People like him.”

Confident men?

“Cocky men.”

You mean men like you?

He groans. “That’s not fair.”

You tap your fingers to your temple, smiling. Life isn’t fair.

Behind you, Sergio waves you over. You hold up a finger to Charles, then jog toward the data table.

He watches you go.

Isa sidles up next to him.

“She’s good,” she says.

Charles glances sideways. “She always has been.”

“No, I mean really good,” Isa says. “The sensor override fix she implemented this morning? Saved us thirty minutes in practice. Cleanest code I’ve seen from a junior in years.”

Charles stares at you across the garage.

You’re deep in conversation with two of the engineers. Laughing silently, eyes bright. You’re signing quickly, clearly. They’re following. One even signs back, haltingly, but with visible effort.

You’re not just holding your own.

You’re leading.

Charles lets out a slow breath.

Isa nudges him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He mutters, “That’s not how big brothers work.”

She shrugs. “Then maybe it’s time you learn.”

***

That night, Max sits cross-legged on the hotel bed, hair damp from the shower, eyes locked on his phone. His laptop is open beside him, playing a YouTube video titled Les bases de la langue des signes française – PARTIE 1.

The woman onscreen moves her hands with elegant fluidity. He mimics the signs, stumbling through them, pausing every five seconds to rewind.

Lando walks in, a PlayStation controller in each hand, then stops in the doorway.

“… Mate.”

Max doesn’t look up. “Don’t say it.”

“You switched languages.”

“Yes.”

“You really like her, huh?”

Max’s fingers pause mid-sign. He exhales through his nose.

“I don’t know,” he says. “She’s just … not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

Lando nods, surprisingly serious. “Yeah. I get that.”

Max clicks pause. The screen freezes on a still of the sign for “bonjour.”

He stares at it for a long time.

Then goes back to the beginning.

Again.

***

The rooftop bar is too loud. Too bright. Too many conversations colliding like spinning tires in a wet turn. Laughter ricochets off the concrete walls, neon reflections pooling in half-empty glasses. Somewhere across the rooftop, someone is already dancing on a bench with a Ferrari flag wrapped around their shoulders like a cape.

You stand off to the side, pressed against the railing, fingers curled around a glass of lemonade you haven’t touched. Your tablet is in your bag, and without it, your hands feel oddly empty.

The Ferrari team is celebrating — P3 for Charles, P5 for Lewis — and no one expected that after the struggles in FP2. There’s champagne being passed around like water, and someone has started taking shots off a tire-themed tray.

You’re smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You’re not uncomfortable, exactly. Just … aware. There’s always this moment, at these things, when the conversation starts slipping just beyond your reach.

Not because people are cruel. Not intentionally.

But because laughter doesn’t translate. Lip-reading fails in strobing lights. And the group talk always fractures into side chats you can’t follow unless someone remembers to turn toward you. Remember to include you. Remember that you’re still here.

You’re used to it. You’ve perfected the art of pretending you’re not watching the room, calculating how long before you can politely leave.

And then-

“Hey.”

You turn.

He’s there.

Max. Hands shoved in the pockets of a black jacket, slightly rumpled hair, looking vaguely like he walked into the bar by accident.

Your brow lifts. Coincidence?

He pulls out his phone and types something. Turns the screen toward you.

Total coincidence. I just happened to crash the Ferrari party for no reason at all.

You laugh. Just once, but it’s real.

He grins.

You sign, simple and slow. You came to see me.

He shrugs. Maybe.

You tilt your head. How many signs do you know now?

He pulls a folded napkin from his jacket pocket. On it, scribbled in surprisingly neat handwriting:

Bonjour

Comment ça va?

Travail

Voiture

Toi / Moi / Merci / S’il te plaît / Fatigué / Intéressant

You raise an eyebrow. Then sign, Impressive.

Max looks ridiculously pleased with himself.

You grin. Then grab a pen from your bag, pull a coaster off the bar, and write.

10/10 effort. 6/10 accuracy. Upgraded from last week.

He reads it and chuckles. Then scribbles underneath.

Still failing, though?

You scribble back. Barely passing.

Then, before you can overthink it, you add. You’re getting better.

He pauses. His fingers hover over the edge of the coaster, tracing your handwriting once, then twice. His smile softens.

Max gestures toward the quiet seating in the corner. You nod, and the two of you move over, away from the noise, to a pair of stools by the edge of the railing, facing the skyline. The Shanghai towers blink like circuit lights in the distance.

He pulls out his phone again and types:

Can I ask you something?

You nod.

What exactly is your job? I mean not like, in vague PR terms. But actually.

Your brows rise.

Most people ask about Charles. Or about how hard it is. Or how you “cope.”

Not many ask what you do.

You grab a clean napkin and start writing. It takes a few minutes. He waits.

I write code that analyzes car data in real-time. I help identify irregularities before they become problems. Everything from tire temp curves to ERS discharge rates. Yesterday I found a minor brake imbalance in Lewis’ car before FP3. Probably saved a lock-up.

You pass the napkin over.

Max reads it, lips moving silently as he follows the words. Then, after a beat, he signs — carefully, but clearly — Smart.

You grin. Correct.

He types. So you’re the reason Lewis didn’t spin into Turn 11 today?

You nod. Probably.

He whistles under his breath. Do they treat you like part of the team?

That one takes you off-guard. You blink.

Then pick up the pen and write. Sometimes. Depends on the day. It’s better now. I had to earn it. Twice.

He doesn’t ask what you mean.

But you keep writing anyway. Once as a rookie. Again as the deaf girl.

He reads it. And instead of offering pity — or worse, fake admiration — he just writes. They’re idiots if they can’t see what you bring.

You stare at the napkin.

He taps the pen between his fingers and looks sideways at you. “I’m not always good at saying the right thing,” he says, voice low. “But I mean that.”

You nod. Something tugs in your chest. A thread, long and old and quiet.

People don’t usually talk to you.

They talk over you. Around you. At you.

They smile politely while looking to your brothers for your answers. They ask if you “mind” being here. If it’s “okay” that you have to “struggle” so much.

No one asks about your code.

No one waits to read your words slowly. Pauses between questions. Watches your hands. Listens with their eyes.

Except him.

You sign, slow and clear. Why do you care?

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean, I do. You’re interesting.” He hesitates. “You don’t pretend. You don’t do that thing where you act impressed or unimpressed. You’re just … you.”

You snort. Then write. You’re used to people trying too hard around you.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Or pretending I’m not human at all.”

You nod. I get that.

You both fall quiet for a moment, watching the lights. Somewhere behind you, the Ferrari crew is howling over a game of darts using pitboard numbers as targets.

Max leans forward, resting his arms on the railing. “I looked up how sound works in your car,” he says suddenly.

You turn to him.

“The sensor translation system. It’s cool. I didn’t realize how much it’s tied into the telemetry.”

You blink. You researched it?

He nods. “Yeah. I wanted to know how you experience the car.”

You don’t reply.

Mostly because you don’t know how.

It’s the kind of question no one ever asks. People assume you miss something. Like hearing is the baseline, and everything else is lesser.

But he doesn’t ask what’s missing.

He asks how it feels.

You take the napkin again. Then, carefully, you write. It’s not quiet. Just … different. I read vibration, motion, tone. I can feel a problem in my chest before I see it on a screen.

You hesitate.

When I work in the car, I feel like I’m part of it.

You push it across.

He reads it twice. His jaw flexes like he’s trying not to say something too fast.

Then he leans back and signs. That’s incredible.

Your throat tightens.

You sign back. You don’t think it’s weird?

He shakes his head. “I think it’s probably what makes you better.”

You don’t say anything.

But your smile says enough.

***

It’s well past midnight when the party starts winding down. Someone’s already asleep under the bar, and Charles’ race engineer is trying to organize a very serious group karaoke plan for the following Sunday night.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and glance at Max.

He types something on his phone, then holds it up.

Want to walk back to the hotel? It’s five minutes.

You hesitate. Then nod.

The Shanghai night is soft and humid, the skyline glowing above you like a ceiling of stars. You walk in silence, but it’s not heavy. It’s the kind that feels like a warm hand resting on your shoulder.

When you reach the hotel entrance, you pause.

Max stops beside you.

You pull out a pen one last time and write.

10/10 effort tonight.

He grins. Then signs, 8/10 accuracy?

You shake your head, smile wide.

9/10, at least.

And this time, you’re the one who walks away first.

But not before you look back.

***

The sun dips low behind the Miami skyline, throwing sharp shadows across the paddock as the race trucks rumble to life. The air still hums with the echo of roaring engines, adrenaline not yet burned off. Debriefs wrap, interviews trail off, and slowly the paddock starts to exhale.

You’ve barely had a moment to breathe.

Ferrari finished decently well — Lewis P7, Charles P3 — but the mood in the garage is brittle. The race was messy. Tire strategy misfired. The late safety car scrambled everything.

Still, your data team caught the overheating rear brake sensor just in time. You flagged it at Lap 34, just before it could snowball into a full failure. Sergio clapped your shoulder when the drivers debriefed.

But you haven’t been able to enjoy any of it. Because you’ve felt Charles watching you.

All weekend.

And not in the proud big-brother way.

In the circling hawk way.

You’re mid-step toward the hospitality suite when he corners you. Right outside the motorhome, arms crossed, face unreadable. The same expression he wore at age seventeen when he found you trying to sneak into a karting track at midnight with Arthur.

You sigh.

Charles speaks first. “We need to talk.”

You frown. Now?

He nods. “Now.”

You glance around. The hallway’s mostly empty, save for a Red Bull junior engineer pacing on the phone.

You fold your arms.

Charles rubs the back of his neck. “This thing with Max …”

Your stomach drops.

What thing?

“You’ve been spending time with him.”

So?

“I just-” He takes a sharp breath. “I don’t like it.”

You blink. Then laugh. It’s small and sharp.

That’s not your choice.

Charles flinches like the signs hit harder than your voice ever could.

“I’m just saying, he’s … Max,” he says, exasperated. “He doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t do people. He’s intense and impulsive and he plays mind games-”

He’s not like that with me.

“How do you know that?”

Because I pay attention.

Charles groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand how he is when the pressure builds. He changes. I’ve seen it.”

You sign faster now, sharper.

What, and you think I can’t handle it?

“That’s not-”

You’ve never trusted me. Not really. You think you’re protecting me, but you’re just controlling me.

His jaw tightens.

You shake your head. I’ve earned my place here. And you still treat me like I’m twelve years old.

“That’s not fair-”

No, you sign furiously. What’s not fair is being watched like I’m a problem waiting to happen. What’s not fair is having my choices questioned just because they make you uncomfortable.

Silence stretches between you.

Your fingers are trembling.

Charles’ shoulders sag. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

You stare at him.

Then, quietly, you sign, That’s not your call.

And you walk away before he can answer.

***

The gravel crunches under your sneakers as you find your way behind the paddock, to the far edge where the energy dies off. A line of cargo containers sits in shadow, quiet and cold, forgotten.

You sit on the edge of one, tucking your knees to your chest. The South Florida wind is somehow colder here. Your breaths come sharp and uneven, not from crying, but from holding everything in.

You hate that your hands shook.

You hate that your voice always has to be your fingers.

You hate that people still don’t listen.

You lean your head back against the metal container and close your eyes.

“Hey.”

You don’t look up. You don’t need to.

The voice is quiet. Familiar.

Max.

You turn your head slowly.

He stops a few feet away, hands loose in the pockets of his jacket. No Red Bull entourage. No camera crew. Just him. Looking at you like he already knows you don’t want to be seen but came anyway.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He sits beside you. Careful not to crowd.

For a while, there’s just wind. The low hum of trucks packing down. The distant laughter from a hospitality tent.

Max pulls out his phone. Then sets it on the ground between you, screen facing up.

Are you okay?

You stare at it.

Then shake your head. Once.

He nods.

Slowly, deliberately, he turns his body toward you and lifts his hands.

You. Matter.

Your chest pulls tight.

He signs again, a little slower this time.

You. Matter. To me.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Then reach for his phone. I didn’t know how badly I needed someone to just say that.

He doesn’t smile. Just nods.

Then signs, I mean it.

You reach for your notebook, flipping to a clean page. Your hand shakes as you write.

Charles thinks I’m making a mistake. With you.

He swallows. His jaw ticks.

He thinks I can’t see who you are. But I do.

Max looks at you carefully. Like he’s afraid of breaking something already cracked.

You keep writing.

You’re stubborn. Competitive. Sometimes kind of an ass.

He barks a laugh. Muted and surprised.

You add, But you see me. You listen. You try. And you don’t make me feel like I have to fight to be heard.

He stares at the words. Then at you.

When he signs again, it’s slower than before, but steadier.

I want to learn how to do this better.

You nod.

Then sign back, softer now. So do I.

He looks at your hand for a moment. Then, carefully, threads his fingers through yours.

Your breath catches. The wind shifts.

You don’t need words right now.

You just sit with him in the quiet.

And for the first time in weeks, you feel understood.

***

Later, as the paddock lights flicker off one by one, someone watches from a distance.

Charles, leaning against the back wall of the hospitality suite.

He sees the way Max sits beside you.

Sees the stillness. The peace.

And something in his expression finally starts to change.

***

You’re not a morning person. Never have been. But the email came in at 6:13 a.m. from Ferrari PR, with the red URGENT tag glowing like a warning light on your screen.

Meeting at 8:00. Hospitality office.

No context.

By 7:45, you’re seated in the back of the Ferrari motorhome, legs crossed at the ankle, hair pulled up in a tight knot, tablet in your lap like a shield. You tap your pen once, twice, against the corner, heart drumming a half-beat too fast.

Silvia from PR sits across from you, all sharp lines and tight lips. Beside her is someone you don’t recognize — early forties, pale blue shirt, hair too neat for anyone who’s ever stepped foot on a pit wall.

To her left sits the interpreter.

You nod politely to him. His name is Luc. You’ve worked with him before. He’s kind. Precise. A rare comfort in a setting that so often feels too fast, too loud, too assuming.

Luc signs, They wanted me here to ensure full clarity on what’s being discussed.

You nod once, eyes already narrowing.

Silvia leans forward, elbows on the desk.

“There’s been chatter,” she says in Italian, her words slow but firm.

Luc mirrors them in LSF.

You frown. What kind of chatter?

The man in the pale blue shirt — Vincenzo, you learn — scrolls through his phone and swivels it toward you. It’s a tweet. And then another. And another.

Ferrari’s new engineer sleeping with the enemy?

Guess Verstappen isn’t just fast on track.

Charles Leclerc’s sister caught cozying up to rival.

Pick a struggle: nepotism or pillow talk strategy leaks?

Your stomach turns. Not from the words themselves. But from the way Silvia won’t meet your eye.

Vincenzo speaks again. Luc signs.

We’re not accusing you of anything. But this is … unfortunate. Distracting. The timing is poor. It’s the middle of a championship season.

You stare at them. So your solution is to what? Tell me who I can and can’t speak to?

“No,” Silvia says, gently. “But we need you to be aware. The optics aren’t ideal. You’re Charles’ sister. You work for the team. And you’re visibly spending time with someone from a rival camp.”

You exhale sharply. Then start signing quickly, hands snapping the air like a whip.

I’ve worked my ass off. I’ve earned this job. My deafness already made me a question mark to half of this paddock. Now I finally get taken seriously, and suddenly I’m a liability? Because I sat with someone at a bar?

Luc softens the delivery, but the heat still lands.

Silvia clears her throat. “That’s not what we’re saying.”

But it’s exactly what you’re implying.

Vincenzo’s tone turns clipped. “We are asking you to consider how your actions reflect on the team.”

You write a single word on your tablet screen, bold and in capital letters, then turn it toward them.

UNFAIR.

They don’t have a response.

***

You don’t cry.

Not until you’re in the back hallway near the logistics trailers, hidden behind a stack of wheel carts. Then you slide down the cold concrete, bury your face in your arms, and let the frustration roll over you in one silent, aching wave.

You’ve survived harder things.

But this … this feels personal. Because it erases everything. All the hours. The data streams. The quiet respect you’ve built in the garage.

Gone with a headline.

Reduced to someone’s sister. Someone’s rumored girlfriend. Not an engineer. Not a mind.

Just gossip.

***

The press conference is livestreamed.

You watch it from the back hallway of the paddock, standing just out of sight. The words blur together until you read your name cross someone’s lips.

A reporter from a sensationalist racing tabloid starts to ask, “Max, there’s been some speculation about your relationship with a Ferrari engineer — Charles Leclerc’s sister, to be specific. Any comment on the photos and what it could mean-”

Max cuts in. Instantly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do have a comment.”

The room stills.

Max leans into the mic, eyes sharp.

“I think it’s pathetic.”

A murmur ripples through the journalists.

He continues. “She’s a brilliant engineer. She caught a mechanical failure in China that probably saved a race. She works harder than most people in this paddock, and instead of talking about that, you’re writing clickbait about her sitting next to someone?”

The reporter tries to interrupt. Max doesn’t let him.

“If this is the level of journalism you’re going to bring to this sport, I won’t be answering questions from your outlet anymore. Period.”

He sits back. Calm. Dead serious.

The moderator tries to steer the conversation back to tire strategy.

Max answers without looking away from the camera.

And just like that, it’s over.

You watch the video again. And again.

You don’t know what to feel.

Until your phone buzzes.

MAX

You free after debrief?

You reply, Yes. Why?

He replies with a location pin. A quiet hill above the paddock.

And nothing else.

***

You’re sitting on a bench beneath the cypress trees when he arrives.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just holds out a small brown paper bag.

You open it.

Snowdrops.

Not roses. Not some generic red bouquet.

Snowdrops — your favorite. Soft, white, delicate, and defiant. The first flower to push through winter soil. The symbol of beginnings. Of resilience.

Your throat closes.

You sign, slow. How did you know?

He shrugs, awkward. “I asked Arthur.”

That makes you laugh. Wet, shaky, but real.

You touch the petals gently. Then look up.

Why did you do that? At the press conference?

His jaw tightens. “Because they made it sound like you’re some pawn. Like you’re here because of me. Or Charles. Not because you earned it.”

You stare at him.

He breathes out. “And because I hate when people talk about you like you’re not you.”

You stand up. Walk closer. Just enough for him to see your face clearly.

They made me feel small today, you sign. Like all I’ve done didn’t matter. Like I’m just a headline.

“You’re not,” he says.

Then what am I?

He doesn’t answer right away. “You’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. You see things no one else sees. You care more than people deserve. And you still let them in anyway.”

You don’t move.

“You make me want to be better,” he says.

You’re shaking again. Not with anger this time.

With something warmer. Something more terrifying.

Max steps closer. Carefully. Always carefully.

Then signs, as well as he can, one word at a time.

You. Are. Not. Small.

And finally.

You. Matter. To. Me.

You reach for him before you can think.

He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you don’t let go.

Not for a long time.

***

The rain doesn’t fall at Spa. It assaults.

The skies opened just past lunch, and now thunder rolls low across the Ardennes like some ancient god is clearing its throat. The paddock buzzes in disjointed chaos: engineers reworking strategies in damp garages, drivers pacing, fans huddled under ponchos. Visibility on track is nonexistent. Qualifying’s already been delayed twice.

And still, the rain doesn’t stop.

You watch the chaos from inside the Red Bull motorhome, seated awkwardly on the edge of a modular couch in Max’s driver’s room. It smells faintly of eucalyptus and fabric softener. The low hum of the television murmurs in the background, some archive footage of past Spa races looping while the commentators stall for time.

Max is pacing near the window, watching water stream down the glass like it’s personal. You’ve learned he’s always restless before quali, but this is a different kind of tension. One that builds when plans are disrupted and control slips through fingers.

You tap your tablet once to get his attention.

It’s not looking good, you sign, eyes flicking toward the forecast scrolling on the screen.

He huffs. “They’ll probably cancel the whole session. Call it based on FP times.”

Which would leave you starting fourth.

He makes a face. “Behind both Ferraris? That’s tragic.”

You grin. I might be okay with it.

“I’m not.”

You let the silence settle. The storm outside is louder now, wind rattling the motorhome's metal panels. The TV drones on, the voices muffled even to Max. You glance at him. He’s not watching anymore.

Without a word, he picks up the remote and shuts it off.

He turns to face you fully.

Then walks over and sits, close. Closer than usual. His shoulder nearly brushes yours, his thigh just shy of touching.

You glance at him. Okay?

He nods.

Then he takes a breath.

And lifts his hands.

Tu n’es pas du bruit de fond.

You stare.

The signs are slow, a little shaky, but precise. Thought-out. He even pauses between words like you taught him to let the sentence mean something.

You blink hard. Then again.

You are not background noise.

Your throat tightens.

You open your hands, unsure where to begin.

You practiced that?

He nods. “All night.”

Why?

“Because I needed to say it right.”

You look down at your hands, folded in your lap. Then back at him.

People have always talked over me, you sign. Or around me. Or about me.

He nods, not breaking eye contact.

But not you.

“I never want to be that person.”

You exhale, a breath that leaves your chest softer.

It’s terrifying.

“What is?”

Letting someone see me. Like really see me.

He nods, slow. “Yeah. I … I think I’ve been terrified since Melbourne.”

You blink. Why?

“Because I’ve never wanted someone to look at me the way you do. And I’ve never cared this much about getting it right.”

Your chest feels like it’s caving in and expanding at the same time.

The thunder cracks outside again, closer now. The lights flicker just briefly.

You don’t look away from him.

And he doesn’t look away from you.

When he leans in, it’s not a dramatic sweep. It’s tentative. Slow. Like he’s giving you space to move. Space to say no.

You don’t.

His lips brush yours — just barely. A question, not an answer.

Your fingers curl instinctively in the fabric of his shirt.

You kiss him back.

Soft, deliberate, electric in the quiet way storms can be — no flash, no fury. Just the hum of something inevitable finally breaking the surface.

When you part, neither of you speak for a long time.

You touch his cheek once, then sign. You didn’t mess it up.

He grins, forehead resting against yours. “Good.”

Outside, the storm rages on.

Inside, it finally feels like something’s just begun.

***

The sun has barely dipped behind the trees in Monza when Charles finds Max.

The paddock is emptying out, crew members packing up gear with the dull exhaustion of another long race weekend, but Ferrari’s hospitality terrace still buzzes faintly — bottles of prosecco half-empty, leftover canapés untouched.

Max is sitting near the back corner of his own team’s hospitality, talking quietly with one of Red Bull’s engineers, face sun-flushed from the race, eyes sharp and clear despite the heat.

Charles approaches with purpose.

Max sees him and straightens a little, nodding at the engineer, who takes the hint and melts away without a word.

For a beat, it’s just them.

Max doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t challenge. He waits.

Charles folds his arms. His jaw works once before he speaks.

“What are you doing?” He asks. Not angry. Just tired. Guarded.

Max tilts his head. “Right now?”

“You know what I mean.”

Max breathes in slowly. “If you’re here to threaten me, I’ve already heard it from Arthur. And Lorenzo. Twice.”

“This isn’t about them.”

“Then what’s it about, Charles?”

Charles glares. “It’s about Y/N.”

Max meets his eyes, unblinking.

Charles huffs. “She’s not like the rest of us. She doesn’t live for this circus. This pressure. This madness. She’s not-”

“-a driver?” Max finishes. “That’s funny. Because she knows more about these cars than everyone in the grid.”

Charles scowls. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

Max stands, finally. Slowly. Not confrontational. Just level.

“You still see her as the girl who needed you to walk her across busy streets and translate for her at the store,” he says, voice quiet. “You still think she needs your protection.”

“I know what she’s been through.”

“Then maybe you should stop acting like she’s fragile because of it.” Max’s tone is sharper now. “She’s not a child, Charles. She’s a professional. A brilliant one.”

Charles’s fists curl slightly. “I don’t care how brilliant she is. You’re reckless. You’ve got a temper. You shut people out-”

“You think I’d ever take her lightly?”

“You hurt people without meaning to. I’ve seen it.”

Max’s expression doesn’t shift. But something behind his eyes flickers.

“I’m not perfect,” he says. “But I see her.”

Charles doesn’t respond.

“I see someone who moves through the world in silence, and still manages to command every room she walks into.” Max’s voice lowers, almost reverent. “You see a little sister. I see someone who redefines the space around her. Who doesn’t ask to be heard, but is impossible to ignore.”

He steps forward, not aggressively, but close enough that Charles has to listen.

“I care about her. I respect her. And if she wants me in her life, that’s not your decision to make.”

Silence hangs thick between them.

“You don’t get to decide who’s enough for her,” Max finishes. “She decides that herself.”

***

While that storm brews outside, you’re walking into the lion’s den.

The Ferrari senior management team is mid-way through their end-of-weekend debrief. The air is thick with numbers, data, and the faint aroma of burnt espresso. You’ve been invited — not formally, but pointedly. You know what it’s about.

The rumors.

The tension.

The whispers in the garage.

You walk in calmly, dressed in your team gear, hair pulled back, tablet in hand but unused.

Luc sits beside you.

Fred barely looks up.

“Let’s make this quick.”

Luc signs the words, but you already know the tone.

You speak with your hands, composed and clear.

Let’s.

“I think we’ve given you a lot of freedom,” Fred starts, “more than most first-year engineers would get.”

You’ve given me a contract. I earned the rest.

Someone shifts in their seat. Not a challenge, not yet, just discomfort.

“You’re good,” he says. “But optics matter. And lately-”

Optics?

He hesitates. “There’s a perception that your relationship with Verstappen is … unprofessional.”

You don’t flinch.

Would it be unprofessional if I was not Charles’ sister?

He says nothing.

If I were a man?

Still nothing.

You tap your pen once against your tablet, then lean forward.

Let’s talk about what actually matters. My performance. The improvements I helped Lewis make in sector two. The aero feedback I corrected that gave Charles a 0.2 advantage in Q3. The fact that the simulations I ran this morning predicted the tire degradation curve to within 0.3% accuracy. That’s what I do.

A beat.

I don’t trade secrets. I don’t let anyone near my work. I’ve never once compromised this team. Not for Max. Not for anyone.

Your hands are steady. Your voice, through Luc, carries like steel.

If you have concerns, say them. But don’t mask discomfort with sexism or ableism and call it team management.

It’s quiet.

Very quiet.

Finally, Fred leans back.

“Noted,” he says.

That’s it.

But you know it’s more than enough.

You stand, nod once, and walk out.

Luc catches your eye as you reach the hallway. He signs, You okay?

You smile, just a little. Now I am.

***

Charles doesn’t speak to you that night.

You notice his silence at dinner. Notice the way he watches you — carefully, cautiously, like he’s weighing something he doesn’t know how to say. Lorenzo speaks softly about the season. Arthur cracks jokes. But Charles says nothing.

Until later.

You’re walking back toward your room when you notice him behind you.

“Wait.”

You turn.

He’s standing alone in the corridor, hands in his pockets, hair still damp from a post-race shower. His eyes are tired.

You sign, What is it?

“I spoke to Max.”

Your brows lift. Okay?

“I thought he’d be defensive. Or angry.”

You tilt your head. He can be both. But not when it matters.

Charles exhales. “I didn’t expect him to fight for you.”

He didn’t. He stood beside me.

Charles’s eyes soften. “You always say things like that. That make me feel stupid.”

You’re not stupid. Just used to seeing me as someone who needed protecting.

“I know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I remember when you got your first hearing aid. You hated it.”

It hurt. And it made everything too loud.

“And you ripped it off in the middle of school and flushed it down the toilet.”

You smile. That was a proud day.

He chuckles softly. Then his expression shifts.

“I’m not proud of how I’ve treated you. Or how I treated him.”

You pause.

Why did you?

He hesitates. Then shrugs. “Because he reminded me of me. And I didn’t want that for you.”

You take a step closer.

But I’m not you.

He nods.

And Max …

“He’s not who I thought he was,” Charles says quietly. “He’s better.”

That hits harder than you expect.

You smile. Just a little.

So you’re okay with this?

Charles laughs under his breath. “I’m still your brother. I’ll never be okay with any of it. But I trust you.”

You nod. Slowly. That’s all I wanted.

He opens his arms, tentative.

You walk into them.

And for the first time in a long time, your hug is that of equals.

***

Later, as the paddock winds down and the stars emerge over Monza, you find Max leaning against the fence near the parking lot, headphones around his neck, head tilted back toward the sky.

You tap his shoulder.

He turns, and before he can say anything, you sign:

He trusts me now.

Max raises a brow. “Took him long enough.”

You laugh, and he smiles — really smiles. The kind that lights up everything inside you.

He pulls you close.

And under the cooling night, you realize something else.

You didn’t need anyone to fight for your place in this world. But damn, it’s nice having someone who wants to.

***

One Year Later

It rains, as it always does in Belgium.

Not the full-force storm Spa is famous for, but a light, steady drizzle that makes the tarmac slick and the grass smell alive. The clouds hang low and moody over the forested circuit, and the energy is electric in that uniquely race day kind of way — tension, adrenaline, caffeine, too many radios crackling at once.

You walk through the paddock with Max.

You’re both in team gear — Ferrari red for you, Red Bull navy for him — but his jacket sleeve brushes yours every few steps. There’s nothing secretive about it anymore. You’re a fixture. A year in. Public. Steady. Still occasionally shocking to people who never expected Max Verstappen to show up for anyone like this.

But you know the truth.

He doesn’t just show up.

He stays.

You sign, You have a hair sticking up.

He glances at you, amused. “Just one?”

You reach up and flatten it with a smirk. He lets you.

You’re halfway to the Red Bull motorhome when it happens.

A small, insistent tug at the leg of Max’s jeans.

He stops.

Looks down.

And there, standing in the slight drizzle with wide brown eyes and a worn little Red Bull cap, is a boy — no more than six or seven — reaching toward him like he’s trying to touch something he’s only ever seen on screen.

Max immediately crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet to meet the boy’s eye level.

But before he can say anything, a woman rushes over, umbrella in one hand, backpack slipping off her shoulder.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She blurts in French-accented English. “He just ran off. He saw you and — he doesn’t mean to bother, he just — he won’t understand, he’s deaf, so it’s okay, really, you don’t have to-”

Max holds up a hand, gently.

And then switches languages.

Does he use LSF?

The mother freezes. Yes … yes, he uses LSF.

You feel it before you see it — the shift in Max’s posture. The quiet focus. The ease in his shoulders.

Then he signs.

Clear, confident.

Hi, what’s your name?

The boy blinks. And then grins. Wide, startled, toothy.

He signs back, My name is Michel.

Max laughs — genuine, delighted — and nods. He points to himself. Mine is Max.

The mother covers her mouth.

You watch, heart thudding hard, as Max and the boy fall into an easy rhythm. Michel signs fast, little fingers moving with the eagerness of someone who doesn’t often get the chance. Max keeps up, asking questions, repeating signs when Michel stumbles, nodding along like they’ve known each other for years.

Do you like cars?

I love them!

Who is your favorite driver?

The boy points at Max’s chest. You! And I also like Ferrari. Because she’s cool too.

Max glances at you, eyes sparkling. “He says you’re cool.”

You blink rapidly. Try to keep your face still.

The mother is crying now — softly, silently. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears. You know that kind. You’ve seen them before. You’ve cried them before.

You step closer to her, gently touching her arm.

He never gets to talk to anyone, she signs shakily. People always say it’s too hard. That it’s not worth it. She laughs through the tears. But he’s talking to Max Verstappen.

You smile and sign, Of course he is.

Max is laughing at something now — something Michel just signed. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a sharpie. Without hesitation, he takes Michel’s cap, flips the brim, and writes something carefully.

He hands it back with a wink.

Michel clutches it like treasure.

Max signs, Thank you for talking to me. Have a good race?

Michel nods enthusiastically.

Then, with one last beaming look, he runs back to his mother, holding the cap like it’s made of gold.

The mother mouths “thank you” to Max. Then to you. Then wraps her arms around her son and disappears into the crowd.

The paddock noise returns. Radios. Heels on concrete. Someone calling Max’s name from the motorhome entrance.

But the quiet between you two lingers.

He turns to you slowly, suddenly self-conscious. “Was that okay?”

You don’t answer.

Not at first.

You step closer. Press your hand gently to his cheek.

Then sign, I fell in love with you all over again just now.

Max swallows hard. “Yeah?”

You nod.

That was more than okay.

He exhales, eyes soft, posture loose in a way you know means he’s trying not to let it show too much. But you see it. The way his fingers twitch, like he wants to say more.

You give him a moment.

He takes it.

Then signs, a little slower, You once told me silence doesn’t mean nothing. That it has its own shape. Its own voice.

You nod, breath caught in your throat.

Max smiles. Small. Tender.

That’s what I want to be. Someone who knows the shape of your silence.

You don’t kiss him.

Not there, in the middle of the paddock, surrounded by team staff and cameras and noise.

But you do reach out, take his hand, and pull it to your heart.

And when you sign, you already are, he doesn’t look away for a second.

[cotswoldhil]

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MASTERMIND

Lando Norris x reader

SULI: ITS FINALLY HERE I KNOW I KNOW - I love this man so much just look at him. Uhhh not proof read so... If there's any mistakes ignore it! Text messages and a singular Instagram post! Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 tbh idk if I want to make this a series or univers or what because there Is a Series coming soon with lando and all I can think about is them so - let me know!

Based on 'mastermind' by Taylor swift I bow down to you queen - Stream Mastermind!!

Warnings: bestie's a bit crazy here, depressive childhood on readers part, uhhhh none?

You weren’t on the guest list.

You knew that from the moment you slipped out of the cab and took in the scene—a velvet-roped entrance, tall security guards in sleek black suits, the unmistakable pulse of deep house music rolling up from the rooftop of the Monaco hotel like heat waves off asphalt.

But you also knew how to get in.

A friend of a friend had owed you a favor. A whisper here, a mention there, and a little calculated charm had bought you more than access—it bought you control. You didn’t walk in like someone hoping to be noticed. You walked in like someone who had already decided who would notice you.

Inside, the rooftop glowed with warmth—glass lanterns, the shimmer of city lights below, and a skyline sliced by jagged cliffs and moonlight. It was glamorous in that effortless way only Monaco could pull off. Champagne glasses glinted in the hands of people who had never worried about paying rent. Women with glossy hair and gowns that slinked like second skin. Men with sports team money and sharp jawlines. Everyone either wanted something—or someone.

You didn’t smile. Not yet. You walked slowly, the click of your heels barely audible over the music. A silk dress, cut low in the back, clung to you in just the right way. Your hair—undone, deliberately imperfect—caught the wind, strands falling over your shoulder as you made your way toward the balcony.

That’s where you positioned yourself. Strategic. Peripheral. A place with the best lighting, the best view, and most importantly—the best sightlines into the crowd. You didn’t check your phone. Didn’t sip the drink you’d accepted minutes ago. You were too focused.

The room buzzed behind you: the clinking of glass, the pitch of laughter rising, the occasional cheer when someone from a team entered. You knew he wasn’t here yet.

And then—

A shift in energy.

It was subtle at first. The way the volume changed—not louder, but sharper. The kind of silence that hummed just before a chord dropped. You turned your head slightly, only enough to glimpse him without looking eager.

Lando Norris.

A navy suit jacket, sleeves slightly wrinkled, hanging off one shoulder like he’d forgotten to care. A white shirt, just slightly rumpled. Tan skin that shimmered in the lights, curls tousled in a way that could only be natural—or perfectly styled to look that way. His smile was easy. His walk was casual. But people moved for him.

He greeted a few friends with lazy handshakes, leaned into someone’s ear to say something that made them throw their head back in laughter. He was magnetic in the way boys sometimes are before they realize how dangerous they’ve become.

He didn’t see you. Not yet.

That was part of the plan.

You let the moment stretch. You adjusted the strap of your dress with your opposite hand, slow enough to catch the corner of someone’s eye. Not his. Yet. Your profile was lit by candlelight—delicate, composed. Just a girl alone at a rooftop party. Not watching. Not waiting.

And then, as if on cue, you felt it.

The weight of his stare.

You turned, not sharply, but with the softness of someone caught in a passing thought. Your eyes met. And you looked away.

You let a breath slip through your lips. Not a smile, not quite. Then you looked away. Dismissed him like he was just another boy at just another party.

Three seconds. And looked back at him.

His brow twitched. Interest piqued.

You looked away again.

He blinked.

You saw it in your periphery.

He turned to say something to a friend, but his body shifted an inch in your direction.

It had begun.

The fuse was lit—not by touch, not by words, but by calculation.

A gaze, a posture, a silence sharper than speech.

Your fingers ghosted over your untouched drink. You didn’t need to sip it.

Because this party, this crowd, this night—you didn’t crash it.

You orchestrated it.

And Lando Norris had just stepped onto the board.

You didn’t follow him right away.

That would’ve broken the rhythm—no, your rhythm. The entire night was a sequence, a carefully choreographed dance of almosts and maybes. So when Lando turned his back after that first locked glance, laughing again with friends, brushing curls off his forehead like he wasn’t aware of you watching—you didn’t move.

You sipped your drink slowly. Still unsmiling. Still unreadable.

But your eyes tracked him through the crowd, every turn of his shoulder, every lean of his body. He didn’t linger in one place. He wasn’t anchored. He never was. You could tell by the way he kept scanning the room—lively but detached, floating through conversations like they were just enough to keep him occupied until something more interesting came along.

And you knew—you were the something.

Minutes passed. Music pulsed. Laughter sparked and faded. He moved farther into the crowd.

Then, as if fate tipped its hand ever so slightly, the path between you cleared. A gap in the bodies. A breeze from the open sky. And through it—you saw him. Full view. His head tipped slightly, like he’d just heard something intriguing. The side of his face you’d studied from press interviews and podium photos was now just... real. Dimmed by lantern light, sun-kissed from the day's practice laps, brows furrowed not from stress, but curiosity.

You knew the moment he saw you again.

Because this time, he didn’t just look.

He really looked.

There was something different in his eyes now. Not just appreciation—recognition. Like a piece of a puzzle had just clicked in his head.

She’s not just another pretty girl at a Monaco party.

He turned his full body toward you. His expression changed so subtly, so deliberately, you almost missed it.

A smile—lopsided, slow, the kind of smile that starts from the corner of the mouth and rises like the first breath after a long swim.

But it wasn’t a smile that said “come here.”

It was a smile that said “I see you.”

And it knocked the wind right out of you.

Not because it was flirtatious. But because it wasn’t. It was something quieter. Smarter. A knowing curl of his lips that said “So this is how we’re playing it.”

That was the moment you knew he had caught on.

To the rhythm.

To the space between glances.

To the way you hadn’t smiled back—not once. Not even now.

Your heart thudded with quiet, invisible triumph. Because that smile? It wasn’t just a reaction. It was his first move.

You didn’t need him to chase you. You needed him to engage you.

And he had.

You finally turned your body toward him—just a few degrees. Acknowledgment, not invitation. Your eyes met again across the dim-lit rooftop, and this time, you let your lips twitch—barely—a microexpression of amusement. Then you looked away, letting the moment hang in the air like perfume.

Behind you, the party drummed on.

But the game had begun.

A quiet check. Not mate yet. But the board was set.

And all he’d done...

Was smile.

You didn’t go to him.

Of course not.

You returned to the railing, drink in hand, letting the music fold around you like a veil. Behind you, people were laughing louder, the evening deepening, the wine flowing easier. The sky above was violet now, pinpricked with stars. Monaco glittered beneath it, a jeweled tray of secrets and stories. And you—perfectly still in the middle of it all.

You knew he would come to you.

And when he did, it wasn't loud. There was no grand entrance, no purposeful stride. He simply… appeared beside you, like a current that had always been there, now close enough to feel against your skin.

You smelled him before you heard him.

Warm cologne with something sharp underneath—leather maybe, or pine. Clean and expensive, but still like him. You didn’t turn. You let the silence sit, breathing it in like a challenge.

Then:

“So,” he said, soft and amused. “Do you always do that?”

Your heart skipped once. Just once. But your face didn’t change.

“Do what?” you asked, not looking at him. Your voice was velvet wrapped in steel. A soft echo against the music.

“Look at someone like they’re not worth your time,” he replied easily. “Then stand perfectly still so they can’t stop watching you.”

Now you turned. Slowly. Eyes meeting his. Up close, he was more boyish than he looked from across the room. But that boyishness was dangerous. Mischief painted in golden skin and a grin that had probably undone better women than you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that what I did?”

He leaned on the railing, facing you fully now, one arm slung casually over the ledge. “Oh, definitely.” He nodded. “And it worked. Obviously.”

You almost laughed. Almost.

He shrugged. “Not sure I liked being the math problem, though.”

That earned the faintest flicker of amusement from your lips. You still hadn’t smiled, not really. Just the ghost of it. The idea of it.

“Did it bother you?” you asked, turning slightly, shoulder brushing the edge of his jacket. His was tailored—well-fitted, slightly creased from being shrugged off and on all night.

Lando tilted his head. “Not exactly.” He paused. “I think it just threw me. I’m used to different kinds of looks.”

You studied him then. The way his knuckles grazed the edge of the railing. The way his curls curled tighter near his temples in the humid night. There was a flicker of boyish charm in him, but muted—held in check by something more watchful. Like he knew when to perform and when to hold back. Right now, he was doing the latter.

“You didn’t seem thrown,” you replied quietly.

He smiled at that—just a little. “No,” he agreed. “I’m quick on my feet.”

“That’s what they say about drivers.”

“And what do they say about girls like you?”

Now you looked at him fully.

His tone hadn’t been mocking. It hadn’t even been flirtatious, not in the obvious way. It was curious. Almost careful. Like he wasn’t sure if he was touching something sharp.

You didn’t answer right away. Let the question settle in the silence.

“They don’t usually get the chance to say anything,” you said finally. “I don’t stick around long enough to listen.”

Lando nodded slowly, as if filing that away. His eyes dipped to your hand on the railing, where your fingers toyed with the condensation on your glass, and then returned to your face. Noticing things. Reading you. Trying to.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, “I knew you were going to be difficult.”

You raised a brow. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” His expression flickered, a little grin threatening. “I just didn’t expect to enjoy it so much.”

Your breath caught—but not because of the words.

Because he said them without trying to impress you.

Because he meant it.

And for the first time that night, you really looked at him. Past the suit, the fame, the boyish face sharpened by stubble and speed. Past the way everyone else in the room looked at him like he was already theirs.

He was still standing there, waiting for your response.

But you didn’t give him one.

Not yet.

Instead, you picked up your glass again and said only: “Are you staying long?”

He blinked. The question caught him off guard.

“In Monaco?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him.

And eventually, he got it.

“As long as I need to,” he said softly. And then—“Are you?”

This time, you smiled.

Just a little.

And walked away.

With the kind of confidence that doesn’t ask for attention—it simply commands it. Her perfume still lingered faintly in the air, something complicated and cold, like bergamot with a shadow underneath.

Lando stood there for a beat too long, staring at where she’d been. His drink was untouched. His mind, not so much.

He’d had conversations like this before. Witty girls. Sharp-tongued charmers. But this wasn’t that. She wasn’t trying to be liked. She wasn’t performing. If anything, she’d been sizing him up—like a puzzle she’d already mostly solved.

And yet… she smiled like she was holding something back.

He blinked, rolled his shoulders like he could shake off the chill she left behind, then turned on his heel. He scanned the room for the one person who could give him answers—Luca, the host.

He found him by the bar, mid-conversation with someone in a pink blazer. Lando stepped in with an apologetic nod.

“Sorry—mate, quick one,” Lando said low, his voice casual but too precise to be accidental. “The girl I was just talking to. Who is she?”

Luca glanced past him. “Oh, the tall one? Red lipstick, doesn’t smile unless she means it?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s dangerous territory, mate,” Luca said, half-laughing, half-warned. “You sure?”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “What’s her name?”

Luca hesitated, then said it...

It landed in Lando’s chest like something heavier than it should be.

“And?”

Luca shook his head. “She doesn’t usually come to things like this. Barely RSVP’d. I think she knows someone from Red Bull’s strategy team—or maybe Ferrari. I don’t know. She’s not… in this scene. Not really.”

Lando nodded slowly, processing.

“Do you have her number?”

Luca gave him a sharp look.

“What?”

“I’m not gonna do anything weird,” Lando said, lifting his hands. “Just—look, I’ve never seen her before. I just want to talk. Properly.”

A pause.

Then: “You’re serious?”

Lando met his eyes. “Yeah.”

Luca sighed, pulled out his phone, thumbed through contacts. “I’ll text her first. If she’s okay with it, I’ll send you her number.”

“Fair enough.”

Lando gave a nod and turned back toward the balcony. But he didn’t feel triumphant. He felt like something had shifted. Like someone had noticed his move on the board… and let it happen anyway.

She hadn’t told him anything about herself, but somehow, he already knew:

She wasn’t an accident.

And he wasn’t going to let her be a one-night mystery.

...

The car door shut with a soft click, sealing her away from the noise of the party. It was late, the kind of late where the streets were mostly empty and the sky had turned velvet.

She exhaled, leaning back into the leather seat. The interior still smelled faintly of her perfume and the faintest trace of smoke on her coat. One heel was already off, foot tucked beneath her. She had no music playing, no voice navigation, no rush. She just sat there in the silence, eyes catching her own reflection faintly in the rearview mirror.

Then her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

She glanced at it—Luca.

One eyebrow arched before she even picked it up.

She stared at the screen. A heartbeat. Then another.

Her lips curved slowly—not into a smile, not yet. Something smaller. Sharper.

She let the anticipation play out, letting the weight of the moment settle. The silence inside the car made it feel like time had paused just for her.

She didn’t even reply immediately. Instead, she picked up her phone, tilted it slightly in her hand, and let herself feel it—the inevitability. The way he had watched her, curious and cautious. The way he had lingered when she walked away. Like he didn’t want to lose sight of her too fast.

Like she had left him with a question he couldn’t stop trying to answer.

She hit send. Then locked her phone and tossed it gently back onto the seat.

Her smirk bloomed wider now. A quiet, satisfied thing.

Checkmate.

She leaned her head against the headrest, eyes half-lidded. The night wasn’t just a success. It was a confirmation. The fuse had been lit, and the dominoes were already falling, one by one.

And Lando Norris—darling, golden boy of the grid—had no idea what game he’d just walked into.

...

Lando got the message from Luca just past midnight.

He was lying in bed, scrolling through nothing. The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that made him restless.

His phone buzzed again.

He sat up.

There was no hesitation in his fingers—but there was care. A weight. He stared at the name on the screen, his thumb hovering over it.

He could feel the static of her again. The red lipstick, the look in her eyes that didn’t flinch. She didn’t flirt—she calculated. And he kind of liked it.

He opened the message app and typed:

Not sure if this is brave or dumb, but hey—

It’s Lando.

Thanks for not vanishing entirely tonight.

He stared at it.

Deleted “brave or dumb.” Rewrote it.

Hope it’s okay I’m texting.

It’s Lando.

You left before I could finish being intrigued.

Too much?

He deleted that one too.

Started again.

...

He hit send and immediately dropped the phone beside him like it was hot. Pulled the covers over his face.

What are you doing, mate.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Then, across the city, her phone lit up inside her dark apartment.

She was brushing her teeth, her bare feet cold on the tiles. She glanced at the screen. And when she saw his name, that familiar curve returned to her lips.

She dried her hands on a towel, padded barefoot into the living room, phone in hand, unread message glowing on the screen.

She read it once.

Twice.

Then again.

“You made the room quieter after you left.”

That one hit differently.

She curled up on the armrest of her couch, not even bothering with the full seat. The city twinkled behind her windows. Her thumbs hovered, thoughtful.

And then she typed:

Then tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside her.

She didn’t need to wonder if he was smiling.

She knew he was.

...

The bell above the café door chimed softly as Lando stepped inside. It was late morning — warm enough for a hoodie but not enough for sunglasses, though he wore them anyway. The streets of Monaco shimmered in that gentle, curated way: expensive, slow, quiet. He wasn’t looking to be seen.

This place was tucked into a corner near the marina. Not the trendy side. Not the side where people wore designer for attention. It was the other kind — the kind where the older locals read newspapers, where the espresso was sharp and the staff didn’t care about his name.

He walked to the counter, ordered a flat white, and turned around—

—and froze.

She was there.

Perched in the corner booth like she'd been painted into the scene hours ago. One leg tucked beneath her, head bowed over a book with the page held lightly between her fingers. Her hair was pulled back in a lazy bun, but lipstick still painted her mouth in that same unmistakable red. An espresso cup rested beside her hand, only half-drunk. She turned the page with care, as if she had all the time in the world.

She didn’t look up right away. But then—like she sensed him—she slowly lifted her head.

And smiled.

Not surprised. Not even smug. Just amused. Cool, unreadable, familiar.

“Norris,” she said, shutting her book with a quiet snap. “You’re either stalking me… or the universe is starting to play favorites.”

He let out a laugh, walking over with his cup.

“I was gonna say the same thing.”

“Sure you were.”

He slid into the booth across from her without asking, stretching one arm over the back of the bench. She didn’t object. Instead, she tucked her book away in her bag like she was always planning to make space for him.

“You come here often?” he asked.

“When I want to be alone.”

She said it dryly, sipping what was left of her espresso. He raised his brows.

“So this is my fault, then.”

“A little.”

But there was no bite to it. She was… relaxed. At ease. Even as she looked at him like she was still trying to decide if he was worth her time.

“You read?” he asked, nodding at the book.

“I plan.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Doesn’t it?”

He laughed again, setting down his cup. He felt light. Curious. Like something interesting was unfolding and he didn’t know the ending yet — but she did.

They stayed in that booth far too long. Talking about coffee, cities, bad headlines. She never gave too much, and he didn’t push. But by the time she stood, dropping a few coins on the table, he looked at her like he didn’t want her to go.

“So… accident?”

She slid her sunglasses down.

“If it was, it was a beautiful one.”

And then she walked out, leaving behind the scent of her perfume and a knowing curve on her lips.

That night, when his phone buzzed with her message, he reread it three times before answering.

The sun beat down on the paddock in Barcelona — not mercilessly, but sharp. The air buzzed with movement: cameras, team radios, fans screaming at gates. Lando adjusted the sleeves of his fire suit as he made his way past the McLaren garage, nodding briefly to a few familiar faces.

He wasn’t expecting her.

He never was.

And yet — there she was.

Standing just outside the Alfa Romeo hospitality tent, fingers wrapped around a cold bottle of water, oversized sunglasses on, phone in hand, not really using it. Her hair was twisted into a braid today, neat but not soft. Her black blazer cinched at the waist, pinstriped, powerful.

She didn’t smile when she caught his eye. She didn’t wave.

She simply looked.

Long enough to make him stop. Short enough to make him question if she had actually looked at all.

“You good?” his trainer asked.

“Yeah. Thought I saw someone.”

He didn’t explain.

But later, when he passed through media duties and slipped into the shaded side of hospitality for a minute of quiet, he found her again — this time alone, sipping something fizzy, twirling her straw without interest.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, standing in front of her.

“And yet,” she said, not looking up. “Here I am.”

“You always this lucky?”

“Luck,” she murmured, finally glancing up, “is for people who don’t prepare."

He watched her for a long beat.

“Did you come just to watch?”

“Are you worth watching?”

That made him grin.

But she stood before he could answer. Walked past him, deliberately brushing his arm. Not enough to cause a stir — just enough to stay in his mind for the rest of the weekend.

And that night, when he scrolled through his photos, there was one from the paddock. Behind him, blurred in the background, was the unmistakable silhouette of her — standing just out of focus.

Madrid skyline. Rooftop. Someone’s private event for a sponsor he barely remembered signing with. The music was low, the city lights were warm, and everyone was dressed in shades of silk and champagne.

Lando leaned against the balcony railing, watching the glitter of the city below. His glass sweated in his hand. He wasn’t really talking to anyone — not really there.

Until she laughed.

Not loudly. But enough that he felt it.

He turned, and there she was. Walking in like a headline — short black dress, heels that didn’t seem to touch the ground, red lips, a drink already in her hand.

“You’re starting to make this a habit,” he said as she reached him.

She tilted her head.

“You think I knew you’d be here?”

“I know you knew.”

“Mmm.” She sipped her drink, then looked up at him through her lashes. “What gave it away?”

“The perfume. Same one you wore the first night.”

She smiled slowly. Not caught — seen.

“You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

The night stretched around them like silk. They didn’t leave each other’s side. He introduced her to no one. She didn’t ask.

And when the party began to thin out, he followed her down to the car. Held the door open.

She paused before getting in.

...

She hadn’t meant to stay this long.

They were supposed to grab a drink — casual, low-stakes, a passing thing. But now it was nearing midnight, and they were still sitting together on the rooftop of the hotel where some F1 post-event gathering had wrapped hours ago. Most people had already filtered out, the distant hum of engines below replaced by the hush of a sleeping city.

She sat on the stone ledge, her heels abandoned beside her, toes barely brushing the empty air below. Lando was beside her, arms loosely crossed over his knees, watching her more than the skyline.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said.

She gave a soft, half-smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Maybe I just like listening to you.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and shook his head like he didn’t believe her.

“No one just likes listening to me. They usually listen so they can talk.”

“Do you mind that?”

“Not with you.”

That made her chest stutter.

She shouldn’t be affected by him. She reminded herself of that often — every time she caught herself watching him too long, or felt her stomach do a slow, ridiculous turn when he smiled at her like that. This had been her game. Her idea. Her strategy.

She had planned the first meeting.

Planned the second.

Planned the glances and the conversations and the way she leaned just a little too close at dinner, just enough to make him wonder.

But now?

Now he was saying things like that, his voice thick with something soft and careful, and it was her heart that felt like it was spiraling.

The wind picked up. He turned toward her.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head. “You just did.”

He laughed, and then he looked at her — really looked. The kind of look that made her sit up straighter. The kind of look that saw more than she was used to showing.

“Why me?”

That stopped her.

“Why you?” she echoed, buying time.

He nodded, expression unreadable. “You’re… not exactly easy to read. But you’ve stayed. You keep showing up. And I can’t help wondering why.”

She turned her face away, staring out at the water. For the first time, she didn’t have a line ready. No quip. No clever dodge.

“I guess,” she said slowly, “you surprised me.”

“How?”

She hesitated. Then:

“You’re kind.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected that.

“You say that like it’s rare.”

“It is.”

The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Like the edge of something unspoken.

Then, quietly:

“Can I kiss you?”

Her head snapped back toward him. The words hit her like ice and fire at the same time. She was supposed to be in control. She was supposed to decide when this happened — after a few more dates, after she made him fall harder, after she felt less exposed.

But now here he was, asking.

Not claiming. Not assuming.

Asking.

She nodded. Barely.

His hand came up, almost hesitant, brushing her hair behind her ear — his knuckles featherlight against her skin. She watched him the whole time, her breath stuck somewhere in her chest.

He leaned in, slowly, his eyes flicking to hers like he was waiting for any sign she’d pull away.

And then their lips touched.

God.

It was nothing like she imagined — and she had imagined it, many times, in far more calculated ways.

But this…

This kiss was soft. So soft it broke something open inside her.

His lips moved over hers with infinite care, like she was something fragile, precious. His hand cupped the side of her face, grounding her as she melted under his touch. There was no rush, no hunger — just quiet reverence. His other hand brushed her knee, an anchor in the moment.

And all she could think was: He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to me.

Because he was gentle. Too gentle.

And that was the thing she never planned for. That this — his warmth, his sincerity, the safety she felt when he was close — would be what undid her. Not power. Not pride. But kindness.

His lips moved against hers slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth. His hand came to rest gently at her jaw, thumb barely brushing her skin. She melted into him before she even realized it — her hands rising, clutching at the front of his jacket, pulling him closer because God, no one had ever kissed her like that before. No one had ever made her feel like the kiss was about her.

It was tender. It was warm. It was undoing her.

She felt the heat crawl up her spine, the way his breath hitched slightly when she deepened it — the smallest shift, but he followed, like it was instinct. And when he finally pulled away, just an inch, she chased after him without thinking, like gravity had shifted beneath her.

He let out a quiet laugh against her mouth, forehead pressing to hers.

“That okay?” he whispered.

She blinked, dazed. Her lips were tingling. Her whole body felt lit from within.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Too okay.”

He smiled, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, still so close.

...

SIX MONTHS LATER

It was one of those quiet late evenings when the world outside seemed to hold its breath.

The flat they were in wasn’t hers, wasn’t his — a borrowed place in Milan between races. Wide windows, soft lighting, the kind of space that muted everything sharp. Rain had tapped at the glass earlier, and now the streets below were slick and glowing, stretching into the distance like rivers of liquid gold. Inside, it smelled faintly of cedarwood and citrus from the candle burning on the sideboard.

The TV murmured in the background, low and forgotten. Neither of them had been watching it.

Lando was lying across the sofa, his head resting comfortably in her lap. He wore a grey hoodie, soft from years of wear, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He looked unusually still — not in the lazy, teasing way he often did, but heavy, like something was pulling him inward. She could feel it in the silence, in the way his hand barely moved against her knee.

Her fingers trailed lightly through his hair. The gesture had started absentmindedly, but now it felt like something else — something steadying.

“Long week?” she asked softly.

He nodded, his cheek pressed to her thigh. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring at the TV without seeing it.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask. Instead, she kept running her fingers through his hair, combing back soft curls, brushing her nails gently against his scalp. A grounding rhythm. Something quiet and wordless to say I’m here.

Minutes passed like that. No need to fill the space.

Eventually, he sighed. Not the dramatic kind, but a slow release of breath like his body had finally started to uncoil.

“You make it stop,” he murmured.

Her fingers paused for just a moment.

“What?”

“Everything. The noise. The pressure. When I’m with you, I forget to worry.”

She didn’t say anything to that. She couldn’t. Because something in her chest cracked open like a secret she hadn’t meant to keep.

She looked down at him. His lashes curled slightly at the edges, dark against his skin. His lips were parted just a little, brow relaxed now. He looked nothing like the image most people saw — no cameras, no tension, no lights. Just a boy curled into her like she was the safest place on earth.

And all she could think — all she could feel — was how obsessed she was with him.

Not just the way he looked. Though God, he was beautiful. It wasn’t just his laugh or his hands or the way he’d started leaving a toothbrush at her place without ever saying it out loud. It was the way he saw her. The way he leaned in when she talked, even when she was pretending not to say anything important. The way he never pushed but always stayed.

It hit her, in that stillness, that she had done all of this — spun every web, pulled every string, laid every trap — just to have this.

To have him.

She had noticed him before he ever noticed her. Months ago. Maybe even years. Not in a fangirl way, not like the others. She saw something in him — something good. Something soft. Something rare. And she wanted it.

No. She needed it.

So she played the game. Showed up. Set the stage. Built coincidence into destiny.

And now he was lying here, curled into her lap, trusting her with the weight of his world.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, tilting his head enough to see her.

She blinked. Realized she’d gone still. Her hand found its rhythm again in his hair.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?” He asked softly.

She hesitated. For a heartbeat too long.

Then smiled.

“About how this started.”

He smirked faintly, eyes dropping shut again.

“You mean the part where you kept magically running into me?”

“Exactly that.”

“And now look at me,” he mumbled, shifting slightly to nuzzle closer into her leg. “Wrapped around your finger.”

She watched him for a long second.

I planned this, she wanted to say. Every step. Every glance. I built a masterpiece just to be this close to you.

But instead, she whispered, “I like you here.”

He hummed. A low, contented sound. His fingers slid into hers where they rested on his chest, intertwining loosely. A gesture full of trust. Full of home.

She stared at him. At the little freckles near his jaw. At the softness in his mouth when he wasn’t performing. At the way he gave himself to her so easily — when she had spent years clawing control out of chaos.

And suddenly it wasn’t about winning anymore. It wasn’t about strategy or seduction or proving how smart she was.

It was about him.

And how, somehow, she’d fallen in love with the very thing she thought she could control.

Her other hand came up to brush his cheek gently, just once.

He didn’t stir.

“Checkmate,”

But this time, it wasn’t a triumph.

It was a prayer.

...

THREE MONTHS LATER

The night had a quiet sort of heaviness to it. The kind that settles over two people when the world outside has gone still — long after dinner, after the laughter, after the teasing. The soft hum of a movie played in the background, flickering faint blue light across their faces. But neither of them was really watching it.

She was curled up on his couch, legs tucked under her, head tilted just enough to rest against the back cushion. Lando sat next to her, one arm slung comfortably across the back of the couch, his other hand lazily drawing circles over the blanket covering her legs. They weren’t even touching skin to skin, but his presence grounded her.

Until something in her shifted.

It started with the way her eyes stopped flicking toward the screen and instead stared through it. Like something old and rusted had creaked open inside her chest.

Lando noticed. He always did.

"You okay?” he said softly, almost tentative.

She didn’t answer right away.

“yeah I ... I’ve been thinking about something,” she said, her voice low.

“Yeah?”

She took a breath, slow and deliberate. It felt too vulnerable already. She hadn’t meant to let it rise to the surface, not tonight. But something about the stillness — the safety of his company — made it hard to bury again.

“When I was a kid,” she began, carefully, “I didn’t have friends.”

The sentence sat between them, a simple truth, and yet it felt like shattering glass.

Lando’s fingers stopped moving. He didn’t say anything. She was grateful.

“Not in the way people usually mean it,” she continued. “I had classmates, and people who tolerated me when we were assigned to work together. But no one invited me over. No one sat next to me at lunch unless the tables were full.”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. She picked at a loose thread on the blanket.

“There was this spot behind the science building. No one went there. I used to sit on the concrete steps and eat alone. Every day.”

Her voice didn’t crack. It wasn’t sad in tone — just distant. Like she’d gotten used to carrying the memory like a stone in her pocket.

“I remember thinking that if I pretended I was invisible, it would hurt less. Like if I stopped expecting to be seen… it wouldn’t matter that no one saw me.”

Lando’s hand gently moved to cover hers.

She stiffened — not because she didn’t want the comfort, but because it startled her. She wasn’t used to people reaching toward her when she showed the ugliest parts of herself.

“That’s why I plan everything now,” she said, her voice a little faster. “Why I read people, why I control the board. It’s all I’ve ever had. Strategy. Calculation. Making myself useful enough to not be ignored.”

She finally looked up. Her gaze met his.

“That’s what this was, at the beginning,” she admitted. “You weren’t an accident. I noticed you before you saw me. I learned your schedule, knew where you’d be. I… orchestrated everything.”

A pause.

“And now I’m terrified, because I don’t think I can do this if I don’t have control. I’ve never done this before. Not really.”

Her voice softened, broke just slightly at the end.

Lando’s expression didn’t change. There was no shift into discomfort, no flicker of judgment. He just looked at her like she had just told him the most beautiful, heartbreaking thing he’d ever heard.

“You don’t have to plan anything with me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be the smartest person in the room. You don’t have to earn me.”

She looked away. Her throat was tight.

And then he said it.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t dramatic or loud. It wasn’t declared like some cinematic moment. It was real. Gentle. Grounded.

Like it had lived inside him long before he had the words.

She stilled completely.

“You don’t,” she said, breath catching. “You love what I let you see.”

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time. “The you who’s scared. The you who sits behind science buildings. The you who still wonders if anyone really sees her. I see you.”

Her lip trembled, and she turned her face away, angry at herself for letting him in this deep. For needing to believe him. For wanting to.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

He leaned forward, forehead brushing hers, nose to nose, soft and steady.

“I love you.”

She didn’t cry — not then. But she blinked fast, like the weight of his words filled her lungs too full to breathe.

“Don’t say it unless you mean it,” she said, almost as if trying to scare him away.

“I do,” he said. “More than I even understand yet.”

She let her eyes close for a moment, his warmth surrounding her.

“You’re ruining me,” she said with a half-laugh, tears shining in her lashes.

“Or maybe I’m just showing you you were never broken."

landonorris

Liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 1.580.777 others.

lando The Shakespeare twins couldn't describe how much I love you 🧡 my girl.

comments.

maycombcountry: RUE WHEN WAS THIS?

yourusername: Lanlan❤️(Shakespeare was one man)

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lando: 🧡(I'm saying if it were twins know it all🙄 I need to teach you humor)

maxverstappen1: congrats mate👍

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hippogriffcrackk: Babyboys so in love

oscarpiastri: So happy for you both🫶

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carmenmundt: Finally we can go shopping without hiding all the time!

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lando: let me have my girlfriend for a bit please?

alexandrasaintmleux: not a chance brit

lando: @/yourusername they're bullying me

carlossainz55: Mama said she's invited to the dinner on Sunday

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yourusename: oh thank you miss!

charles_lerlerc: My favorite couple❤️

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hamiltonthemusilabvv: Oscar and max sharing energy in the comments

lucatheone: Youry welcome for the photo and for the whole relationship btw

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lando: in depth with you mate

landonoonefan: He looks so happy🧡🧡

See all comments.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Stakeout (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: When a stakeout gets too boring, tensions arise.

Words: 2136

Warnings: SMUT, language, clothed grinding, use of the phrase 'cauldron of sexual tension'.

A/N: I did a thing. You're welcome. Set pre-Ultron I guess? Undefined. Reader is an implied super soldier.

-X-

Head lolling away from your binoculars, you absently stared at Natasha’s profile as she studied the building across from you with a terrifying intensity. Even in the dim light filtering through the dirty windowpane of this half-condemned safehouse, the sharp green of her eyes looked unnaturally vivid—or maybe you were just a sucker for her eyes. That was also a possibility.

They narrowed slightly, reflecting the faint glint of a passing car’s headlights outside—her posture rigid and focused. You’d seen that look a hundred times before in the field and on missions. It usually meant somebody was about to die—but never the wrong person. She was eerily precise in that way…

And fuck, it was so hot.

Her body moved just enough to track the wandering denizens of the city. Legs drawn beneath her like a coiled spring, her shoulder brushing yours every so often when she adjusted her grip on the long-lens scope. Her scent—sharp black coffee, leather, and a hint of cinnamon gum—was starting to live in your sinuses.

Three days. No sleep. No real food. Nowhere to go. Just you and Natasha in a crumbling third-floor room across from an empty brownstone with boarded-up windows and the rumors of something sleazy stirring inside it. Gamma-laced drugs—unstable, mutative, potent. Enough to cook a neighborhood if the wrong hands got hold of it… or, y’know, at the very least turn a bunch of addicts into raging Hulk monsters.

Something the team was hoping to avoid at all costs.

You were supposed to be watching for drop-offs. But instead, you’d been focusing heavily on the woman beside you. The slope of her nose, the curve of her mouth…

She shifted again, the line of her jaw tight even as she glanced at you from the corner of her eye. Her hair was pulled up, messy and haphazardly tossed up into a messy bun, a few crimson strands clinging to her cheek in defiance of whatever attempted discipline she’d tried to wrestle them into earlier during the day.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured, her voice low, husky with boredom and something a little too hot simmering just beneath.

The sound sent a hot twist curling in your stomach before you could kill the thought. You hadn’t even noticed your breath had caught in your throat.

“See something you like, soldier?” Her lips quirked up into a slight smirk.

Footsteps echoed on the street below, loud against the wet asphalt. A pair of dealers, maybe. Possibly a contact but unlikely at this point.

Yet neither of you moved toward the window. Instead, her thigh pressed against yours, firm and steady, like she hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe she had. Because if there was one thing you could say with certainty it was that Natasha was always aware.

Always.

You felt her breath near your cheek, warmer now. Her fingers adjusted the binoculars, though the scope wasn’t trained on anything, more idle movement than actual adjustment as she stared into your eyes.

“You know you’re supposed to be focusing, right, soldier girl?” Natasha teased, her voice like a snake traveling up your spine and embedding itself in the base of your skull.

“I’m very focused,” you breathed, “just not on the dealer.”

The corner of her mouth curled, sharp and slow.

“Thought so,” she whispered, almost smug, but there was a crack in it—just enough to let something else slip through. Hours, days, weeks of unspoken want and thinly veiled flirting bubbling to the top of your cauldron of sexual tension that was only burning hotter with every passing second.

She shifted, each twitch slow and deliberate. Her fingers dragged over the fabric of your tactical pants, lazy and testing. Heat bled through the contact like her touch was wired straight into your bloodstream.

And then she straddled your lap.

Her fingers braced against your shoulders, palms flat, her weight sinking down on your thighs. It was far too intimate for something you’d only ever dreamed of in your loneliest nights, when your hand was buried between your thighs, palm pressed over your mouth so no one would hear you moaning her name like a benediction; a prayer carved into the space between your teeth.

She was still fully dressed—and so were you—but in that moment, it didn’t fucking matter.

Her gaze dropped to your mouth and she wet her bottom lip. Her hand ghosted up to your jaw, thumb brushing against your lip, dragging it down slowly as she exhaled softly. Like the moment was finally settling her bones the way it was in yours. Her thumb lingered, held there like it wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth as she trailed over the soft flesh.

“This is a bad idea,” she muttered, more to herself than you. But her hips rolled, just a fraction. Testing her own control—or yours, or both…

“We really—” she started, but the words tangled and died as her body pressed flush against yours, the drag of her pants catching on the ridge of your thigh, pressing just right on her clit through the material.

And she moaned.

Low, almost too low to catch if not for the silence of the room, as she rocked again, almost involuntarily against the muscles of your thigh.

Her hands tightened on your shoulders, nails biting through the thin fabric of your shirt as she panted, mouth a mere few inches from yours.

“Fuck it,” she muttered—

Before she rocked against you again, slower this time.

Deliberate.

Hands reaching up, you knocked her hair loose from its bun as your fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her mouth to yours hungrily, thigh tensing as she rode your leg like it was granting her the oxygen in her lungs.

Her gasp hit your lips as you claimed her, the sound more instinct than permission, like she’d been waiting for you to cross that line for far too long. Her mouth met yours with ferocity, open and needy, lips parting with surrender. Tongue hot and searching, greedy as yours tangled with hers in a kiss that was more battle than seduction.

You could feel her fingers twist in your shirt like she needed the anchor or she’d come apart at the seams. Her hips rolled again, harder now, grinding down against you with a reckless rhythm that made her whole body tremble against yours. Her breath caught on a whimper—your name half-formed, swallowed by your kiss.

You couldn’t remember when, too caught up in the heat of her, it had begun to rain, the water smearing across the windowpane, pounding down in sheets on the glass behind her like war drums. If you’d been thinking properly, you would’ve suggested going to the roof to watch the brownstone. To keep an eye out for the inevitable drug deal gone bad.

But in here, time was meaningless. It didn’t matter that you were supposed to be searching for a dealer. That you were technically compromising the mission by letting months’ worth of tension snap into something neither of you would come back from. Because here? There was only the slick heat between you, the friction of tactical-on-tactical pants and the pressure of her core dragging over the swell of your thigh in desperate, erratic stutters.

Her hands shot up, fingers threading into your hair like something had finally snapped, like a string yanked too tight. She pulled—not gentle, not sweet—dragging your head back just enough to devour your mouth deeper. The scrape of her teeth on your bottom lip was feral. Sharp and bordering on painful but gods, you didn’t care.

“You feel what you do to me?” she whispered, voice rasping as her forehead pressed to yours. Her hips never stopped moving. Every breath came with a tremble now. “Fucking God…”

Her hands roamed, curling under the hem of your shirt, nails raking your sides like she needed to carve the shape of you into her palms.

A noise escaped your throat, not quite a moan—almost a growl—as your hands dropped to her ass and gripped tight, guiding her movements like you were a woman starved and she was the first taste of food you’d had in months.

A breathless gasp tore from Natasha’s lips the second your hands found her ass, your hold hard enough to draw a choked moan as you ground her down, forcing her to ride the firm line of your thigh. Her nails dug into your shoulders—so fucking painful but it only served to light your nerves ablaze—and she let her head fall back for just a heartbeat.

Her throat, pale and glistening with sweat, was exposed in the dim light, pulsing with every staggered breath. You heard it again—that same raw sound she made when she stopped pretending this wasn’t exactly what she’d been wanting for months.

“Jesus…” she hissed, her voice cracking. Her thighs clenched around your hips, muscles quivering as she rolled harder now. Erratic and desperate and racing towards an end she almost didn’t want to find yet.

“Fuck, Tasha…” you groaned against her jaw, nipping and biting at the soft skin.

Her hands fumbled down to the hem of your shirt, shoving it up with trembling urgency, her palms pressing against the bare skin beneath as she grinded down with renewed need. Every drag of her body over yours sparked something hot and raging in her belly. The seam of her tactical pants—rough, unforgiving—rubbed just right against her clit with every thrust.

“Say it again,” she panted, mouth at your ear, voice ruined and hoarse. “Say my name again like that.” And then her lips were on your neck, biting, sucking, claiming; hips moving with wild, unfiltered need.

Somewhere on the street below, a car door slammed. Footsteps. Muffled shouts in a language you didn’t speak. But she didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t care.

You felt her body start to shudder as her breath caught hard against your throat.

“I’m—fuck, don’t stop—don’t you fucking dare—” she whined. She ground down again, and again, chasing the edge with a fury that was pure need.

She was close and you could feel it.

Unraveling in your lap, falling apart with every grind of her soaked pants against yours, every ragged gasp in your ear.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby… I’ve dreamed about this for months, hearing that pretty voice break as you ride me like this,” you murmured in her ear, nipping at her earlobe.

Natasha let out a broken cry, her whole body jerking at your words like you’d reached inside her and flipped something vital. Her hips stuttered for a breath, overwhelmed, her fingernails biting into your sides. But then she surged forward, mouth crashing into yours, all teeth and tongue and desperation.

“You—fuck—you bitch,” she gasped, half-laughing, half-sobbing, lost somewhere between desperation and rapture as you kissed and licked across her somewhat exposed collarbones and neck, still guiding every motion with your hands firm on her ass. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She ground herself on your thigh with reckless abandon, the fabric soaked between her legs, every rock of her hips a shuddering confession. Her thighs trembled with the effort, sweat slicking her skin beneath her clothes. Her body pulsed with frantic need, and her face—her beautiful face—twisted in something between agony and ecstasy as you guided her through it.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good… keep going.” You barely recognized your own voice anymore, too enraptured by her.

“That’s it…” she echoed faintly, dazed, voice raspy and guttural. “Fuck, that’s it… I-I’m gonna—”

You could feel her thighs clenching tighter, hips stalling on each thrust now, losing rhythm as she got closer—so close—chasing that edge with every drag of her clit over the ridge of your leg. Her breath hitched again, teeth biting into her own lip to keep from screaming.

And then—

Her whole body arched, spasmed—hips bucking wildly against you as the orgasm ripped through her. She bit into your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, as a primal, soul-shattering moan clawed its way out of her throat, muffled but unmistakable even with her teeth sunk deep into your skin.

You held the back of her head gently, helping her slow the rock of her hips as she chased every last white-hot flash of ecstasy before collapsing against you, hips jumping with every minor aftershock as she panted and whimpered against your neck.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dealer. Not SHIELD. Not the Avengers… because Natasha Romanoff had come using your leg…

And you really fucking hoped this wouldn’t be the last time.

[cowboybeepboop]

Dazed

“Princess, we really have to sleep now.”

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut, romantic, friends to lovers

Word count: 6k

Summary: You share a bed with Tyler while on the road.

Warnings: Slow burn????, miscommunication trope, oral: male and fem receiving, p in v, unprotected sex.

a/n: Hope y'all enjoy <3 My requests are open, as always!

The engine of the battered pickup truck rumbled, a steady rhythm that matched the thump of your heart in your chest. Raindrops danced across the windshield, each a brief sparkle before the wipers swept them away. Tyler Owens, your best friend and the internet's favorite Tornado Wrangler, gripped the steering wheel, his eyes glued to the road ahead. The headlights carved a tunnel of light through the dark, storm-soaked night. His profile, silhouetted against the dashboard's glow, was as familiar to you as the back of your own hand.

In the backseat, Boone and Lily were lost in their own world, their voices a low murmur of excitement recounting the day's chase. The electricity of the storms had carried over into their banter, their laughter echoing off the plastic interior. You couldn't help but smile at their boundless energy. They were the yin to your yang, the thrill-seekers to your analytical mind.

The truck's tires crunched over gravel as Tyler steered into the motel parking lot. The neon sign flickered above, casting an eerie glow over the puddles that had formed in the dips of the asphalt. Raindrops tapped a staccato beat on the metal roof as the wind picked up. The motel looked like a tired old warrior that had seen too many battles, but it was home for the night. Tyler put the truck in park and turned off the engine, the sudden silence punctuated only by the distant rumble of thunder.

You grabbed your backpack and climbed out, stretching your legs. Your knees popped from the hours spent in the cramped space. Boone and Lily followed, their excitement not dampened by the rain. You all dashed towards the office, the cold air biting at your skin. Inside, the warmth and the smell of stale coffee greeted you. The clerk, a woman with a beehive hairdo, squinted at you over her glasses. She looked like she'd been there since the dawn of time, her expression a mix of boredom and skepticism.

While Tyler checked in, you pulled out your phone, the screen lighting up your face in the dimly lit room. A flurry of notifications fluttered down, a mix of weather updates and messages from your friends and family worrying about your safety. You quickly typed out a reassuring reply to your mom, promising to stay safe and out of the storm's path, despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You felt a pang of guilt for not calling her sooner.

As Tyler approached, a single key dangled from his calloused fingers, catching the light. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged. The tension in your relationship was as palpable as the storm outside. He smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging upward, and you couldn't help but feel a jolt of attraction.

"Looks like we're bunking together," he said, his voice low and gruff. "They only had one room left." Tyler's smirk widened as he saw the mixture of emotions flash across your face.

The close quarters of a motel room for the night were bound to create a test of boundaries and emotions. "Don't worry," he added, a hint of genuine reassurance in his voice, "I can always sleep on the floor if you're uncomfortable." Although the offer was sincere, a part of him hoped you'd say no.

“Are you sure you won't mind sleeping on the floor?” you were secretly grateful that he suggested it, knowing you wouldn't be able to sleep if he was in the same bed as you. You walk toward the stairs, heading to the room with Tyler hot on your heels.

Tyler chuckled under his breath at your concern. Of course, he didn't want to sleep on the floor, but he could tell you were relieved by the offer. The thought of spending the night so close to you made his heart race, but he'd never admit it.

"Nah, it's no big deal," he replied, trying to sound nonchalant, masking the disappointment as he followed you up the creaking stairs. "I've slept in worse places."

The motel room was small and cramped. The only source of light came from a single, flickering bulb in the ceiling, casting a dim glow across the room. You jump onto the bed, immediately relaxing into the mattress with a sigh.

“Thank you.” you murmur, voice muffled by the bedding. Tyler chuckled again at the sight of you on the bed, your body sinking into the cheap motel mattress. He leaned his tall frame against the closed door, watching you with a mixture of amusement and something deeper.

"No problem." He said, his voice betraying a hint of fondness beneath his typical gruff exterior. "You deserve a comfortable night's sleep after dealing with me and those storms all day."

“Dealing with you is easy,” you turn over on the mattress, stretching out your limbs with a soft moan.

Tyler's eyes traced your form as you shifted on the bed, the soft moan escaping your lips sending a jolt of electricity through him. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the effect your casual movement had on him.

"Easy, huh," he teased, his voice slightly strained. "That's good to hear. Sometimes I think I drive you crazy."

“Nah, not at all.” you sit up, grinning at him. “Don’t tell anyone else but you’re my favorite.” you slip out of your shoes.

Tyler's heart skipped a beat at your words, his rugged exterior faltering momentarily. He quickly regained his composure, a smirk spreading across his handsome face as he crossed his arms across his broad chest.

"Oh, am I your favorite, huh? Sounds like I've grown on you." He teased, leaning a shoulder against the wall, the soft glow from the light highlighting the sharp line of his jaw.

You giggle in response, “Close your eyes, I need to change.” you reach for your bag, pulling a t-shirt out. He groans in protest, but closes them nonetheless. You pull at your wet clothes, slipping out of your shirt and pants.

Tyler's breath hitches in his throat as he peeks through his half-closed eyelid, his gaze raking over your bare back. The air in the room suddenly feels thicker, charged with an undertone of want he can't quite ignore.

He quickly snaps his eyes shut, his heart hammering in his chest. He tries to ignore the images now seared in his mind, the way your skin had appeared in the dim light, the faint curve of your silhouette. You slip your t-shirt on, covering up your damp skin.

“Okay, you're good to open your eyes.” you smile warmly. “We should get your floor bed set up before it gets too much later..” you yawn softly, sitting on the edge of the bed, legs still bare.

Tyler opens his eyes, the sight of your bare legs sending another jolt through him. He quickly looks away, trying to regain his composure and focus on the task at hand. "Right," he says, his voice gruff. "Let's get that floor set up."

He grabs an extra blanket from the closet, shaking it out as he walks over to the floor next to the bed. He lays it down, his movements slightly stiff and awkwardly, his mind still occupied with the images of your naked back.

You help him put things together, placing the towels on the floor for some padding and placing a pillow down for him. “You’re sure you don't want me to sleep on the floor?”

Tyler waves away your concern, his usual rough demeanor slipping back into place. "No, it's fine," he reassures you, a hint of stubbornness in his voice. "You take the bed. I've slept in worse places."

He sits down on the makeshift bed, testing the thickness with a hand before laying down and folding his arms behind his head. You turn the light off and slip under the covers, “Okay, Goodnight Ty.” you murmur, voice soft as you cuddle into the sheets.

Tyler watches as you settle into the bed, the dim light casting shadows across your face. He swallows hard, the urge to reach out and touch you almost overwhelming.

"Good night," he replies gruffly, his voice thick. "Get some sleep."

He shifts on the floor, the makeshift bed feeling even more uncomfortable now that you're so close yet so far. He turns over, facing away from you, the silence in the room deafening.

Almost 30 minutes have gone by with you restless and shivering with the coldness of the room. You toss and turn in the bed, mind focused on Tyler laying on the floor, you sigh while biting down on your lip. You move to the edge of the mattress, looking down at his body.

“Tyler?” you whisper his name, reaching down to touch his arm gently. “Are you still awake?” Tyler jolts slightly at the feel of your touch, his senses on high alert. He'd been trying to sleep, his mind stubbornly refusing to quiet down, especially with you in such close proximity.

He turns over, his gaze meeting yours in the dark. The shadows of his face are sharp and defined, his eyes reflecting the scant light. "Yeah," he replies quietly, his voice gruff. "I'm awake. What's wrong?"

“I can't sleep…” you mutter, “I’m too cold...” Tyler's expression softens at your words, his gruff exterior melting away. He can hear the note of vulnerability in your voice, the quiet admission of discomfort sending a pang through his chest.

"You’re cold?" he asks unnecessarily, already knowing the answer. He hesitates for a moment, his mind battling with his body’s need to be close to you. He sits up with a sigh, pushing the blanket off him. "Move over."

You scoot over, giving him space on the bed. Tyler stands and crawls into the bed next to you, the mattress shifting under his weight. The small bed suddenly feels even tinier with his large frame next to you. He lies on his back, keeping a small gap between the two of you.

"You're always so damn cold," he mutters, wrapping an arm behind his head. "You gonna be able to sleep now?" you move to his side, cuddling into his body as you rest your cheek on his chest.

“Mhm,” your legs press into his as you exhale contentedly. Tyler's eyes snap open as you cuddle into his side, your soft body molding against him. A rush of sensations wash over him, the feeling of your skin against his, the weight of your head on his chest. He stiffens slightly as you press your legs into his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through him.

He tries to steady his breathing, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing. He clears his throat, the sound harsh in the quiet of the room. "You're... comfortable like this?" he asks, his voice slightly strained.

“Are you not?” you pull away slightly, looking up at him with widened eyes. Tyler's heart clenches at your question, the sight of your wide, concerned eyes looking up at him sending a pang through his chest.

"No," he replies gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. "I'm not uncomfortable...just..." He pauses, trying to find the words. The truth is, he's struggling to cope with the onslaught of emotions swirling inside him.

The feel of your body against him, your soft scent swirling around him...it's too much, and yet it's not enough. "Don't move.." you cuddle back into his side, breasts pressing into him as your hand rests on his abdomen.

Tyler's breath hitches in his throat as you press into him, the feel of your body against his, sending his mind reeling. He curses internally, his body reacting against his will, the heat in his gut flaring hotter.

He tries to concentrate on breathing, to not give in to the desire coursing through him. "Just... stay like this for a while..."

Tyler watches as you fall asleep, a mixture of relief and disappointment washing over him. He had been fighting the entire time to keep his feelings under control, his body yearning for you in a way he hadn't felt before.

Tyler's eyes are fixed on the ceiling, the silence of the room broken only by your soft breathing. He's hyper-aware of every movement you make, his senses on high alert.

As you shift away from him, turning onto your side, his body instinctively follows, moving closer to yours. Without thinking, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back against his body. You unconsciously press back against him, your ass rubbing against his crotch as you cuddle into his warm grasp.

Tyler clenches his jaw, his breath catching in his throat as you press back against him, your firm backside grinding into his groin. Unbidden, images flood his mind, his body reacting eagerly to the contact.

"Jesus," he mutters, his voice gruff and strained. "You're driving me insane..."

He clenches his fist, the feel of your body against his making his mind spin. He tries to shift away, to give himself some distance, but your warmth is drawing him in, making it impossible to think straight.

His words startle you awake, along with the hardness pressing into your body. Your eyes widen as you realize the position the two of you are in, breathing quickening.

Tyler immediately curses himself as he feels you stir in his arms, realizing he had spoken aloud. He can feel your body stiffen against him, the change in your breathing sending a mixture of desire and panic through him.

He quickly pulls away, disentangling himself from you as best he can. He sits up on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Sorry..." he mutters gruffly, his voice thick with tension. "Didn't mean to wake you.." you turn over looking at his bare back. You feel warmness pooling in your stomach as your eyes flick over his twitching muscles.

You reach out, brushing your fingertips over his spine. “Ty?” Tyler's body tenses as he feels your fingertips brushing against his spine. A shiver runs through him at the contact, his body responding eagerly despite his turmoil.

He's hyper-aware of your presence behind him, your touch sending a jolt through his body. The heat radiating off his skin is almost palpable.

"Yeah?" he replies gruffly, his voice hoarse. His shoulders are taut, muscles bunching under your touch.

You sit up, resting on your knees as you come up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. “Where are you going?” you murmur, cheek pressing into his shoulder.

Tyler's breath catches in his throat as you wrap your arms around his waist, your body pressing into his back. The feel of your skin against his, the gentle warmth of your cheek against his shoulder...it's all he can do not to turn and pull you into his lap.

Tyler's breath hitches as you wrap your arms around his waist, the feel of your body pressed against his back sending a shot of heat straight through him. He's painfully aware of your closeness, your scent filling his senses, your skin warm against his.

He stiffens instinctively, his body struggling to reconcile the overwhelming desire with the need to keep control. "Nowhere," he mutters gruffly, his voice low. "Just need a minute..."

“A minute?” you run a hand down his abs, fingertips brushing over his muscles. “Should I give you some space?” you murmur.

Tyler's breath hitches again, your touch leaving a trail of fire on his skin. He clenches his jaw, every nerve ending in his body screaming for more of your touch.

But he knows he needs to maintain control. He can't give in to the raw desire coursing through him. "Probably.." he manages through gritted teeth, his voice strained. "Need to cool off.."

You reluctantly pull away, laying back on the bed with your back to him once again. Disappointment written on your face as you hug a pillow, cuddling into the sheets.

He turns, watching as you hug a pillow, cuddling into the mattress. He fights the impulse to reach out, to pull you back into his arms. Instead, he clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white.

"Hey..." he murmurs gruffly, his voice softer than before. He reaches out a hand, gently placing it on your shoulder. "Don't... don’t take it the wrong way, okay? It's not you. It's... me."

“It’s okay..” you slip out of bed, heading toward the bathroom. Closing the door you sink down against it, silently cursing yourself for what happened.

Tyler watches as you head into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click. He exhales deeply, scrubbing a hand over his face in frustration. He can’t stand the thought of you closing yourself off from him, the sight of you pulling away feeling like a punch to the gut.

He stands and walks over to the door, gently knocking on it. “Hey... can I come in?” you stay silent, resting your chin on your knees as you move away from the door. Incase he tries to open it.

Tyler hears your silence, the lack of response causing his heart to sink further. He takes a deep breath, his knuckles rapping on the door again.

"C'mon... you're freakin' me out here," he tries to joke, his voice strained. "I just need to see you, to talk to you. Just for a minute. Please..."

“The door is unlocked…” you murmur, voice nearly a whisper.

Tyler's heart skips a beat as he hears your soft voice, the sound like music to his ears despite the circumstances. He slowly turns the handle, pushing open the door. He steps into the bathroom, his gaze immediately falling on your form huddled on the floor. He drops down beside you, keeping a small space between you.

“There you are,” he says quietly, relief flooding through him at the sight of you. You bite your lip, staying curled up seeking comfort in your own body.

“Can..” you begin, voice cracking. “Can we just pretend nothing happened?” You keep your gaze trained on the floor.

Tyler's stomach drops at the sound of your cracked voice, the words sending a pang through him. He knew you were upset, but he hadn't expected your request.

He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "No," he murmurs, his voice firm yet gentle. "I don't want to pretend, not about this. Not with you."

“Tyler..” you murmur, grabbing his wrist gently as you pull his hand away from you. Tyler's hand tingles at the feel of your hand grasping his wrist, the touch sending a jolt through him. Despite your distance, he can't help but crave your touch.

He clenches his jaw, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "No, listen to me," he says firmly, his eyes glued to yours. "We're not just gonna gloss over this like it's nothing. Not after what happened."

“But nothing happened.” you protest, avoiding his gaze. Tyler's frustration flares at your protest, his eyes narrowing.

"Nothing happened?" he echoes, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You're kidding me, right? You were in my arms, pressed against me, and nothing happened?" He huffs in frustration, raking a hand through his hair. "Dammit, you’re pissing me off. Stop acting like this doesn't mean something."

“But *you* don’t want it.” you murmur, turning your back to him once again. Tyler's anger immediately extinguishes at your murmured words, guilt seizing him like a vice.

He reaches out, grabbing your shoulder to turn you back towards him, his grip gentle but firm. "I never said that," he refutes, his tone sharp. "I *do* want you. You have no idea how badly I want you…"

“But you,” you sigh, turning to face him. “Then why did you want me to give you space? I thought..” your eyebrows furrow as you trail off.

"Because, I'm trying to keep my head straight,” he begins, his voice strained. “You drive me crazy, you know that? The way you feel in my arms, your scent, your skin against mine... It's like I'm losing control when I'm near you." you look up at him, eyes vulnerable as you chew on your bottom lip.

Tyler's heart clenches as he looks into your vulnerable eyes, the sight sending a wave of protectiveness through him. He gently brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, stilling your nervous habit.

"Stop biting your lip," he mutters gently, his voice gruff. "You'll make it bleed." you open your mouth to protest, but find your mind clouded with his touch.

Tyler watches as your mouth opens, the sight sending a jolt of heat through him. His thumb rests on your lip, the skin of your mouth unbelievably soft under his touch.

He swallows hard, fighting the mounting tension between you. "Don't tempt me…" he whispers, his voice strained. "You've no clue what you do to me.."

“Tyler..” you move closer to him, eyebrows furrowing. “Please, don't push me away this time..” you cup his cheek, lips hovering over his. A shudder runs through Tyler at your proximity, and he almost gasps aloud as your lips hover millimeters from his. His pulse races, his body begging for more of your touch.

“You're killing me,” he mutters hoarsely, his hand coming up to rest on your wrist. “I'm trying… to be good…” He closes his eyes, fighting against the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you with a kiss.

You press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, hesitating to move any closer until he reacts. Tyler lets out a low, guttural sound as your lips meet his, his mind momentarily shorting out. The sensation of your kiss sparks a fire within him, every nerve ending singing to life.

His hand tightens around your wrist, holding your hand against his face. He responds to the kiss tentatively at first, his lips moving against yours in a feather-light touch. But as the tension mounts, so does the desperation in his movements. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips.

You moan as his tongue fights with yours, settling on his lap, your arms moving to wrap around his neck. Tyler groans as you moan into his mouth, the sound driving him wild. He slides his hands around your waist, settling you on his lap.

He feels like he can't get close enough to you, his hands clutching at your sides as his tongue explores your mouth. He pulls you against him, his body pressed against yours, desperately seeking more contact.

You pull back, gasping for air. Tyler follows your mouth as you pull back, unwilling to let you go. He's breathing heavily, his chest heaving as he gasps for air.

He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes dark and filled with desire. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?" he murmurs huskily, his hands still gripping your hips.

“I want you,” you slip your hands into his hair, pressing your chest against his. Tyler's breath catches in his throat as you tangle your hands in his hair, your body pressing against his. The feel of your chest against his is maddening, his body responding instantly.

"You have me," he murmurs, his words a guttural response. His hands roam your body, desperate to touch every inch of you. "You have me completely, sweetheart."

“That's not what I mean,” you whine, guiding his hands up your shirt as you press kisses to his neck.

Tyler groans as you guide his hands under your shirt, the feel of your skin against his driving him wild. Your kisses on his neck send a shiver through him, his breathing becoming faster and more erratic.

"What... what do you mean then?" he asks, his voice strained as his hands explore the bare skin of your torso. You pull your shirt away, exposing yourself to him fully.

“I want you.. To stop trying to control your desire..” you look at him with a needy gaze.

Tyler's eyes darken as you pull away your shirt, his gaze drinking in every inch of your exposed skin. The sight of you, bare before him, sends a jolt of pure, primal desire through him. He inhales sharply, his hands gripping your hips, his voice strangled. "Are you... are you sure about this?" he manages to ask, resisting the wild urge to claim you right there.

“Please don’t make me beg,” you bring his hands to your breasts, your hips grinding down against his with desperation.

The feel of your hips grinding against his elicits a guttural moan from deep in Tyler's chest, his hands involuntarily squeezing your breasts.

He grits his teeth, his body taut and strained. "You're... damn, you're gonna kill me," he growls, his voice thick with barely-controlled lust. "I need you... but I don't want to hurt you, sweetheart..."

“Ty, please. I need you..” With a feral groan, Tyler scoops you into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He strides out of the bathroom, the urgency in his steps echoing his racing heart. Gently, he sets you down on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight.

Your eyes lock with his, the heat between you threatening to set the room on fire. He leans over you, his hand sliding under the pillow to prop your head up, his gaze never leaving yours. The intensity of his stare sends a thrill down your spine, your breath hitching in anticipation.

Rain continues to pound against the motel window, the rhythm of the drops mirroring the thunder of his heart. Tyler's rough, calloused thumb traces the outline of your panties, the fabric already damp from your arousal. He leans in, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep, claiming you as his own.

You arch your back, pushing your breasts against his chest, the friction causing a delicious ache. He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your neck, and whispers, "You're mine now, understand?" His voice is a mix of demand and passion, leaving no room for doubt.

With a need that seemed to have been building for an eternity, Tyler slides out of his own damp clothes, his eyes never leaving you. His movements are swift and sure, a silent declaration of his intentions. He kneels between your thighs, parting them gently, and your breath catches in your throat as his warm mouth descends on your center.

The sensation of his tongue against your sensitive flesh sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making your toes curl and your back arch. His touch is tender yet insistent, as if he's been craving this moment for just as long as you have. He laps at you with a passionate hunger, exploring every fold and crevice with a finesse that makes your eyes roll back in your head.

You moan, your nails digging into the mattress as he worships you with his mouth, your body responding to his every touch, his every caress. The storm outside seems to echo the tumult within the room, the thunder a backdrop to the symphony of your gasps and his murmurs of satisfaction. As Tyler's tongue works its magic, the only thing that matters is the here and now, the fiery connection that burns brighter than any lightning bolt.

As the storm outside rages on, Tyler continues to taste the sweetness of your release, his tongue lapping at you greedily. Your body shudders and arches off the bed, your nails digging into the mattress as you cry out his name.

He grips your hips tightly, not letting you pull away from the intense pleasure he's giving you. His eyes meet yours, dark with lust and satisfaction as he watches the ecstasy play out on your face. You're lost in the moment, your climax like a powerful tempest crashing over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in its wake.

As the last waves of pleasure subside, Tyler kisses his way up your body, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses along your skin, savoring every inch of you. His strong arms lift you off the bed, cradling you as he stands, his eyes never leaving yours, the heat between you more potent than the electricity in the air outside.

With a renewed sense of urgency, you shift down Tyler's body, your eyes never leaving his. You take his erection in your hand, the heat and firmness of him making your stomach flutter. His eyes widen, his breath catching as your touch sends a shiver through him.

You lean in, placing a gentle kiss on the tip before taking him into your mouth, your hand moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Tyler's hips buck slightly, his eyes squeezing shut as a groan rips from his chest. The sound is like music to your ears, spurring you on as you deepen the kiss, taking him deeper into your mouth.

His hands find their way into your hair, his grip tightening as your tongue swirls around his length. The storm outside seems to crescendo with every stroke, the thunder echoing the beating of your hearts in perfect harmony.

His breathing becomes ragged, his body tensing with each movement of your mouth, each flick of your tongue. It's a dance of passion, a silent conversation of need and want, and Tyler is powerless to resist the siren call of your touch.

You continue to suck him off with an enthusiasm that speaks of a deep-seated desire, your eyes locked on his as the storm outside mirrors the tempest within the room. Tyler's hips stutter, and with a ragged groan, he pulls your lips away, his chest heaving.

He captures your mouth in a desperate kiss, his hands moving to cradle your face as his body tenses. His cock throbs in your hand, and with a few more strokes, he releases a hot, thick rope of cum that you catch in your palm. His grip on your face tightens as he gasps into your mouth, the taste of him mingling with the saltiness of the air between you.

The storm outside seems to hold its breath, the thunder pausing for a moment as if in awe of the power of your shared passion. His body relaxes, and he collapses back onto the bed, pulling you with him.

You lay there, panting, your heart racing as the storm outside slowly begins to abate, leaving in its wake a tension-filled silence filled only with the sound of your intertwined breathing. The room is a cocoon of heat and desire, the air thick with the scent of sex and the promise of more to come.

With the storm outside now a distant rumble, Tyler pulls you closer, the warmth of your bodies melding together as one. His strong arms encircle you, and you feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat against your chest, matching the tempo of your own.

He gently rolls you onto your side, spooning you as he lays his head on the pillow, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "We need to get some rest," he says, his breath warm against your neck. "Tomorrow's another day of chasing storms, and I need you by my side."

His words are a comforting balm to the storm of emotions swirling within you, the passion of the moment giving way to a gentle, post-coital haze. You nod, nestling deeper into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished in his arms. His grip tightens for a brief moment before loosening slightly, allowing you to breathe, to feel the weight of his love surrounding you.

You close your eyes, your body finally relaxing into the welcoming embrace of sleep, the steady beat of Tyler's heart lulling you into a peaceful oblivion. The motel room, once cold and uninviting, now feels like home, the thunder outside a gentle lullaby serenading the beginnings of a love that promises to be as fierce and unpredictable as the storms you chase together.

As your ass brushes against his now hardening cock, Tyler's body stiffens and he groans softly into your ear, his breath hot and shaky. You feel his need, his want, and your own desire stirs once more, a sweet ache blooming in your core.

You reach back, your hand finding him, and guide him to your wet, welcoming entrance. He's thick and heavy in your hand, and the anticipation is almost too much to bear. You lean into him, pressing your back against his chest as you align him with your body, feeling his heat and his need.

With a gentle push, you invite him in, the feeling of him filling you up making you gasp. Tyler's arms tighten around you, his breathing hitching as he sinks into your warmth, the storm outside a distant echo to the tempest of passion within the room. His hips move in a slow, steady rhythm, the sound of rain and thunder mingling with the slap of skin on skin.

You moan, the pleasure of his possession a sweet agony that sends waves of ecstasy through you, your body moving in perfect sync with his, the storm outside a testament to the intensity of your union.

The tender strokes of Tyler's cock inside you elicit moans that grow increasingly needy, the tempo of the storm outside matching the rhythm of your bodies. Each thrust is a declaration of his love, a gentle reminder of the passion that burns between you.

His fingers trace the curve of your hip, his other hand cupping your breast, the softness of your skin a stark contrast to the hardness of his grip. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his breath hot and ragged as he worships your body with his own. The tender love in his touch is a stark contrast to the wildness of your earlier encounter, yet the intensity of your connection remains unchanged.

Your hips rock back to meet his, the slickness of your arousal guiding him deeper with every movement. The storm outside may be fading, but the storm of passion within the room shows no signs of abating, the thunder a constant reminder of the powerful bond that you've forged.

Tyler's rhythm picks up, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that matches the dying storm outside. You feel him swell inside you, his strokes growing more intense as he hits your g-spot with every thrust. The pleasure is so intense, your eyes roll back in your head, and you let out a strangled cry.

The storm's final roar is nothing compared to the thunderous crescendo of your orgasm, your body tightening around him, your muscles clenching him tightly. Tyler grunts, his own release imminent, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you, one last time, burying himself deep.

With a final, guttural groan, he spills inside you, his hot cum filling you up as your walls pulse around him. The room falls still, the only sounds are the steady patter of rain and the rapid thump of your hearts, synchronized in the aftermath of your passionate storm.

He stays inside for a while, kissing your shoulders and neck gently before he pulls out. “Princess, we really have to sleep now.” He sighs softly, laying on his back and pulling you to his chest.

Your cheek presses against his shoulder as you cuddle closer. “Mhm, fine.. Goodnight Ty.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” he kisses the top of your head.

[ssahotchnerr]

okay imagine a reader who’s clumsy asfff, and aaron is always there to stop her from falling flat on her face ahaha

falling for you

cw; clumsy bau!reader, established relationship, aaron's injured and minor blood mentions, angst? if you squint, fluff <3

A rural town surrounded by acres of woods: a serial killer's perfect playing field. Plenty of remote, secluded places to dump victims.

The trail on which you were walking was barely passable; narrow, obstructing hanging branches, the dirt path littered with slippery rocks due to the rainstorm the night prior.

One wrong step, poor footing on an angle, could result in sliding down a steep ledge. It wasn't comparable to a cliff - an eight foot incline at least - but could easily result in injury nonetheless.

Which naturally you of all people were bound to intercept; always moving too quickly for your own good, more focused on the destination rather than the journey - ultimately feeding into your habitual clumsiness.

Aaron took notice of the rock slab before you did, reaching out suddenly to grab at your arm the second your foot took a dive off the side. While you managed to escape unscathed due to his heroism, he wasn't as fortunate.

You had coerced him onto the passenger seat - if it were up to him, the two of you would've continued to the crime scene - cleaning and bandaging the bloody gash on his forehead yourself. He hadn't fallen, but knocked into a firm, solid branch, as well as scraped his arm on another, ripping his sleeve in the process.

"Stop moving so much."

Aaron's chest huffed in a faint laugh, "I'm not even moving."

A subtle glare came from you, "You could be concussed."

"I'm not concussed. Banged up maybe, but not concussed."

"Maybe?" The sight before you tore at your heart, Aaron's pretty face scraped up. "You mean definitely. And prove it."

A clever, amused expression formed on his face, "The United States government consists of-"

"Okay, okay." You surrendered with a playful eye roll, dismissing his impending recitation.

Admittedly you were flustered, solely for the fact that it should've been you - the one bumped up and bleeding. Your bottom lip was sticking out in a pout, cleaning his wound with an alcohol wipe.

He winced briefly at the sting, eyes watching your movements. "I know what you're thinking."

"You should've let me take the fall." As if by clockwork, the bandaid in your hand fell onto the wet asphalt. Annoyedly you reached down to pick it up, hastily tossing it to the SUV's floor before grabbing a fresh one from the first aid kit.

Aaron scoffed lightly, "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious," Your lip jut out even more, pulling your gaze to his exasperatedly. "Or Morgan should've at least accompanied you."

"Sweetheart, you know I'm in better company when you're around."

"He's more coordinated than I am," you insisted, your fingers fumbling together as you peeled the bandaid open, smoothing it over his broken skin. Carefully. You repeated the same for the gash on his forearm. "He can duck and leap from side to side without a second thought, has a much faster reaction time and, well, he's Morgan."

"Sweetheart-"

"He's not clumsy," you huffed out, crumbling the plastic in your fist. Your clumsiness, as incredibly inconvenient as it was, had never 'bothered' you to an extent.

But now that you had caused Aaron to get hurt, everything changed. It was a surprise it hadn't happened sooner, and it was only a matter of time before you caused another incident. One with a larger, more menacing result.

"In a terrain that's damp and woodsy and has twigs and leaves poking out, I should be the farthest person away," you rambled, covered with guilt. "Why they even let me join the field in the first place... I don't know."

"Because you're an outstanding profiler, have a keen eye that catches details the rest of us overlook, never backs down despite heinous barriers. Must I go on? I can, the list is quite extensive."

"Regardless, it doesn't excuse the fact I'm accident prone." You insisted, your sentence ending on a deep sigh.

"You aren't-"

"Aaron," you interrupted, "how many times have you reached out to stop me from flying into a table, or have reminded me to slow down. Look what just happened."

"You didn't fall because you're clumsy, honey. You fell- no, tripped because it rained and your shoes lacked the proper traction."

"But because of me, you're hurt." Your voice wavered the smallest amount, you could cry if pushed.

"And I'd do it again if it meant saving you." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, eyeing the CSI agents not too far away. "And again," Another kiss, this time on your lips, "and again. It's a small price to pay if you're unharmed."

"Kissing me at a crime scene? You must be concussed." You quipped softly, lips itching to smile. Although you wanted to continue sulking, he was making it awfully difficult.

A laugh exited him; the rare laugh of his that minimal people experienced, and one that could lift your spirits in less than a milli-second. "How many times do I need to tell you? I'm not concussed."

You still weren't convinced - your inelegant tendencies not to disappear by morning - but you did feel better compared to how you felt five minutes ago. "Thank you."

Your hand grabbed onto his arm lovingly, a grateful gesture, but produced an immediate flinch from Aaron.

Your eyes widened in horror, heart nearly stopping, "I'm so-"

"You're welcome." Aaron stopped you, grabbing your hand and providing a reassuring squeeze. His expression was kind, compassionate although you should've been the one soothing him.

You exhaled deeply after a moment, readjusting his rolled-up cuff sleeve. "I owe you a new shirt too."

He smiled, his hand lifting to chuck you under your chin gently. "I'll add it to your tab."

[babyjinsu]

thoughts on Passive aggressive Anton?? he is low-key toxic and manipulative but tries to hide on that sweet tone n cute face and fails in the process, please I beg 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

love ur work <3

sarcasm + passive aggressive boyfriends are my cup of teaaaa. so subtly manipulative and mean but hidden under that sweet-boyfriend act mask eeek. hopefully you like this anony <3  i don't think this is EXACTLY like what you wanted but... pls lmk nonetheless <3

cw; manipulative, guilt-tripping, sarcastic boyfriend!anton

“you didn’t have to wait for me…” you say, sliding into the passenger seat. “i texted—”

“you texted you ‘might be late’.” anton’s hands stay steady on the wheel, switching gears and stepping on the gas pedal to start moving. his eyes on the road. “it’s fine. i just figured you’d let me know if you wanted a ride an hour later.” 

you flinch a little, eyebrows furrowed as you glance at him. “it wasn’t on purpose. the talk dragged on a little, that’s why i told you i’ll call you when i’m finished.” 

anton exhales through his nose, not quite a sigh but… “mm.” 

you swallow, shifting awkwardly in your seat. your fingers playing with the hem of your dress. “i… didn’t know you’ve arrived early... i said i might be late.”

“and i said i’d pick you up.” the traffic light turns red. you hear anton’s fingertips tapping absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “it’s okay.” he says, smiling at you. not a big one—just that tight curve of his lips he often does. the kind that really means ‘you should feel bad’. 

the silence that follows is heavy. much like the weight on your heart is. 

you look out the window. “you could’ve gone home…” your murmur, almost like a peace offering, a guilt-ridden one.

“i could’ve,” he echoes sweetly, tilting his head slightly while waiting for the countdown of the traffic light to turn green. “but you’d hate that. what kind of boyfriend would i be if i let my girlfriend get home by herself?” 

the way anton says it… you stare at him, lips parting—then closing again. there’s a tightness in your throat you can’t name. he says it so lovingly but his actions say otherwise. in this car, his hand is gripping the wheel tight, and his other one rests near the gearshirt. his profile lit by the red glow of the traffic light doesn’t help.

“‘m sorry,” you murmur softly, sinking back into the carseat with your arms crossed. you don’t even know what you’re apologising for, but feel the need to without thinking twice. 

maybe an apology for being late… for making him wait.

maybe an apology for making him talk like that—say things like that—with that soft disappointment in his voice that makes you feel bad…

but this isn't about you.

anton doesn’t answer right away. the car hums low and smooth over asphalt. you keep your eyes on the side mirror. then you feel it—his fingers tapping against your knee.

“it’s okay,” he finally says. “i know how you get. you tend to be a little forgetful when you’re having fun with your friends. i don’t mean to make you feel bad.” 

you blink, whipping your head towards him with a slight crease between your brows. what—? what is that supposed to mean? you didn’t mean to have fun while making anton wait… in the car.

“i wasn’t—” you begin, but stop almost immediately. you had just apologised. 

“that’s why i didn’t text again,” he adds casually. “i didn’t wanna interrupt your good time.” 

you freeze—then look away. because arguing would make it worse. and because the last thing you want tonight is for that soft voice to go cold. and that radio silence for days. 

“you’ve eaten there, right?” he asks, like nothing happened. his hand pulls away. “but i bought those dumplings from that restaurant you really like,” he smirks, letting out a soft hum. “we can eat them together—because i sure am hungry after waiting all this time.”

[hxxsxxng]

NEED YOU BADLY p.sh

「pairing 」 : boyfriend!sunghoon x fem!reader

「genre 」 : fluff, literal bare minimum smut

「word count」 : 1.1k

「synopsis」 : after dinner and a night out in the town, you and sunghoon drive up to your favorite spot

「warnings」 : established relationship, making out, pet names, clothed clit stimulation, clothed grinding, stuff done in a car

「authors note」 : i have been loving writing for sunghoon and all of my sunghoon stan followers<3 feedback is appreciated SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING

「taglist 」 : @jakeflvrz

The city lights blurred past us as Sunghoon navigated his sleek black BMW through the streets. I couldn't help but steal glances at him, admiring his sharp profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. His hooded eyes were focused on the road, a slight smile playing on his lips. The soft hum of the engine and the gentle vibration of the car created a comfortable environment.

I shifted in my seat, the fabric of my dress rustling softly. The night air coming through the cracked window carried the scent of rain. contrasting to Sunghoon's cologne that filled the car with notes of sandalwood and citrus.

"Did you enjoy dinner, angel?" Sunghoon asked, his deep voice breaking through my reverie and sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes briefly flicked to me before returning to the road, but even that fleeting glance was enough to make my heart race.

I nodded, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "It was perfect, Sunghoon. Thank you." My voice came out softer than I intended, betraying the depth of my emotions.

He reached over and took my hand, intertwining our fingers. The warmth of his palm against mine sent sparks through my body. "Anything for you, doll," he said, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand.

As we drove further from the heart of the city, the buildings grew sparse and the roads darker. The transition was gradual but noticeable – fewer cars on the road, dimmer streetlights, and an increasing number of trees lining the streets. I knew where we were headed – our special spot on the outskirts of town, secluded and private. My heart raced with anticipation, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling in my stomach.

Sunghoon pulled off the main road onto a hidden dirt path, the car's headlights cutting through the darkness. The subtle bump as we transitioned from asphalt to dirt sent a jolt through me, heightening my senses. The trees parted, revealing a clearing that overlooked the twinkling city below.

He parked the car, the engine's purr fading to silence. The sudden quiet was deafening, broken only by the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of the city. Sunghoon turned to me, his eyes dark and intense, reflecting the starlight that filtered through the windshield.

"You look beautiful tonight, babygirl," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“Thank you” I said, trying to hide my face.

His eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and desire flashing across his face. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across the center console, capturing my lips in a kiss. The passion behind it took my breath away, making my head spin and my heart pound.

I melted into him, my hands finding their way to his soft black hair. My fingers tangled in the silky strands, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, our lips moving in perfect synchrony, a dance we had perfected over the years but one that never lost its magic. Every brush of his lips against mine sent shivers down my spine.

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. Our breaths mingled in the small space between us. He brought his fingers between my legs, over my clothed center. "Are you sure, angel?" he asked, his voice husky with desire but tinged with concern.

I nodded, unable to form words. The intensity of my desire for him overwhelmed me, leaving me breathless and needy. My fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him back to me, our lips meeting again.

He circled his fingers slowly across my covered bud, cause me to quietly whimper in pleasure.

With a swift movement, Sunghoon reclined his seat and pulled me onto his lap. I straddled him, my dress riding up slightly as I settled against him. My hands rested on his broad shoulders, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. The new position brought us impossibly closer, and I could feel the rapid beating of his heart against my chest, as well as his length pressing against my core.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Sunghoon murmured, his hands tracing patterns on my waist. His touch, even through the fabric of my dress, sent sparks of electricity coursing through me. "Every day, I fall more in love with you."

"I love you too, Sunghoon. So much."

Our lips met again, this time slower, deeper. Each kiss was a promise, a declaration of love that words couldn't fully express. Sunghoon's hands roamed my back, pulling me closer, as if he couldn't bear even the slightest distance between us. I ran my fingers through his hair, down his neck, across his shoulders, memorizing every plane and curve of his body.

As our kisses grew more heated, I felt myself getting lost in the moment, in the sensations, in Sunghoon. The windows of the car fogged up around us. I subconsciously started to grind my hips against Sunghoon, creating friction for my needy core.

Time seemed to stand still in our bubble. I couldn't tell if minutes or hours had passed. The only measure of time was the steady beat of Sunghoon's heart against mine and the rhythm of our synchronized breaths.

Eventually, we pulled apart, both of us breathing heavily. I rested my forehead against his shoulder, trying to catch my breath. Sunghoon's hands rubbed soothing circles on my back, his touch now comforting rather than igniting.

When I finally looked up, I couldn't help but giggle. Sunghoon's usually perfectly styled hair was now a mess, sticking up in all directions thanks to my wandering hands. His lips were swollen from our kisses, and there was a dazed look in his eyes that I'm sure mirrored my own.

"What's so funny, doll?" he asked, a playful glint replacing the haze in his eyes.

I ran my fingers through his hair, attempting to smooth it down. "Nothing. You just look cute like this." I bit my lip, trying to suppress another giggle.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Cute? I was going for handsome."

I laughed, the sound filling the car and lightening the intense atmosphere. "That too," I conceded, planting a quick kiss on his nose.

Sunghoon's expression softened, his hands coming up to cup my face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he traced the contours of my cheeks with his thumbs. "I love you so much," he said, his voice filled with emotion. The intensity in his eyes took my breath away. "I hope you know that."

[goosewriting]

Hellow, I saw that you open request for joaquin torres 🤩

Like obviously we NEED this man FICS!

So, I am going to request about him please.

You are a civilian and in danger(?) Sorry I have not watched the movie so idk what are the dangers throught the movie. However, I love how joaquin saves you and your little sister maybe. He wants you to pay him in a date.

Additional, your little sister says "My sister is single".

Thank you so much ✨️💖

No Bribe Needed

summary: after getting saved by Joaquín, reader decides to ask him out for coffee.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: mention of blood and small injuries, car accident (no one gets hurt), language, fluff, kisses

word count: 6k

A/N: since bnw kinda happens all in one go, there’s nowhere to insert reader to put them in A Situation, so this one is set somewhere between tfatws and bnw. joaquín doesn’t give me the impression to be the kinda guy who expects to be “paid” with a date as a thank you, so i changed it up a bit. i think i still made it work though ;w; thank you sm for requesting, this one was very cute<3 reader’s sister is a teenager btw, i was thinking somewhere around 15yo maybe. 

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

After parking your car a couple streets over, you and your sister start the short walk to your favourite coffee shop. The barista knows your orders the moment she spots you from the window, and you exchange some smalltalk as you wait for your drinks. Once those have been acquired, your sister taking a big gulp through the straw with a delighted hum, you decide to sit outside at one of the tables. The weather is really nice today; sunny, but with a fresh breeze rustling the leaves in the trees providing shadow above you. 

Your sister is rambling about some gossip from her soccer group; there’s been a huge fight over a boy, apparently. You’re trying your best to keep up with the story and all the names, but a while after her chaotic retelling starts, your eyes drift to the side, where you spot a man sitting a couple tables over. He’s sitting alone, sipping on his cup, looking out to the street. Your eyes move on their own as they roam his features; from where you sit, you see the sharp profile of his nose and jaw, the way his bomber jacket accentuates his shoulders. 

You take a sip from your own drink, when the sudden call of your name brings you back to reality. With a slight flinch of surprise, you set down your cup and look at your sister. You blink a couple of times, and she narrows her eyes at you.

“What are you looking at?” she asks, instantly suspicious. 

“Huh? Nothing,” you say, daring one last glance to the stranger, then focusing back on the person in front of you. “You were saiyng?”

She cranes her neck, roaming the surroundings. Then she spots the man, and turns to you with a disppointed if not slightly disgusted face. 

“You know, you always tell me it’s rude to stare,” she says with a shake of her head like a disappointed mother. “Yet here you are, shamelessly checking him out in broad daylight.”

“I was not–!!” The man turns ever so slightly in your direction at the commotin, and you clear your throat. Once he looks away again, you give sister a pointed look. “I was not checking him out.”

“No, you’re right.” She brings her drink to her lips with a mischievous grin. “You weren’t checking him out, you were eating him right up, ogling even.”

“Oh my god, can you not?” 

Before you can say anything else, you hear tires screeching on asphalt, and both you and your sister turn your attention to the corner of the street. A van is making a turn at both a dangerous angle and speed. Within a split second it’s clear to you that it’s not gonna make it, and you let go of your drink, yelling at your sister to move, and make a run towards the building, grabbing her arm as you go to pull her with you. The van ends up driving full force into the lamp post right next to where you were sitting, the front part of the car bending inwards at the middle, and the structure bending over from the impact.

The door of the van opens and a man stumbles out, a trickle of blood running down his face. You instruct your sister to go inside the shop and wait there, and you’re glad that for once, she listens to you. So you approach the man, asking if he’s okay, already taking your phone out of your pocket to call 911. He holds his head, wincing when he touches his wound. That’s when you hear the police sirens approaching fast. But if the police is here already that means… this was a pursuit, you think, and as realisation hits you, the man notices you’re still there, and he harshly grabs your arm, his other hand producing a gun from under his jacket. 

“Hey!” a voice calls from behind you, and you turn to see another man appraoch you, with a gun of his own, pointed at the driver. Your mind reels as you try to make sense of the situation, and before you know it, two police cars arrive, the officers that step out commanding the man to let you go. But he only tightens his grip, trying to hold you still to point his gun into your side. Your body reacts and you squirm, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the firearm, which takes the driver by surprise. This leaves an opening, and the man from the cafe uses the opportunity to whack the gun out of the other’s hand, followed by a punch right in his face. The driver stumbles backwards, letting you go, and the policemen are quickly all over him, pushing him to the ground to cuff him. 

Trembling, you just stand there, looking at the scene, and your saviour puts away his gun. He carefully holds your shoulders, to guide you a little further away, and gives you a once over.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“Huh?” 

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. Are you hurt?” he reassures you.

“I’m–” You look down at your arm, a bruise forming where the other man had held you. You smooth over it with your fingertips and look up at him. Only then do you realise it’s the guy from before. Now that you can see his face properly, you’re almost breathless at how handsome he is, his eyes so full of genuine concern that you can’t hold his gaze, and look to the side. “I think I’ll live.”

You hear your name being called, and you turn to look. Your sister comes running and tackles you in a hug. 

“Are you okay? What was that?” she asks.

“It’s all good, they arrested him,” You bring your gaze back to the man. “You really saved me there, thank you, …”

“Joaquín. Joaquín Torres,” he responds to your implicit question extending a hand, which you take and shake, introducing yourself and your sister. Somewhere in your brain you register that his hold is warm and comforting.

“So, why do you have a gun? Are you a policeman, too?” your sister asks in a suspicious tone.

“No, I’m in the Air Force, actually. I just happened to be here on my day off,” he explains, looking down at her. Without missing a beat, your sister replies.

“Ah, a man in uniform. He really is your type,” she says, shoving her elbow into your side and shooting you a knowing side-eye. Your eyes open like dinner plates and you say her name through gritted teeth, your hand giving her shoulder a warning squeeze. She goes on to tell him you were totally checking him out earlier, but before she can add anything else, you place your hand over her mouth, finally shutting her up.

“I’m so sorry about her,” you apologise, then grab her face to make her look at you. “Go wait in the car, I’ll be right there.”

Joaquín followed this whole exchange with a suprised but amused smile. Your sister says goodbye to him and starts heading to the car, but turns aorund one last time once she’s out of reach from you.

“He just saved your life, you should totally ask him on a date as a thank you! You’re not getting any younger, you know!”

“I said car!” You shoot her the best glare you can muster, given the embarrassment she just put you through. With a playful shriek she turns on her heels and runs to the car. You run your hand over your face with a sigh, daring to bring your eyes up to meet his. To your surprise he has a bit of a playful glint in them, and isn’t looking in total shock at you like you were expecting.

“She’s got spunk, huh,” he says, looking after where your sister left.

You huff a laugh.

“You have no idea,” you say, raising your brows to underline your point. 

One of the policemen calls Joaquín over, and he gestures he’ll be there in a moment. You fidget with the hem of your shirt, figuring that if your sister laid out the groundwork, you might as well play into it.

“You know. You did save my life back there. Can I get you a coffee sometime? Only of you want to, of course, I don’t want to overstep.”

“Sure, I’ll take you up on that,” he responds, and you swear you felt your heart hiccup. You glance at the time, an apologetic look crossing your face. 

“I have to bring my sister to soccer practice now, but… Are you free tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” he replies with a smile.

You give a short breath of relief, and take out your phone to exchange your contact information, and he enters his number.  

“Great. I’ll text you. See you then.” You smile up at him, and turn to leave, but he adds something else.

“Are civil clothes okay or should I wear something else?” he asks, teasing evident in his voice. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter with a laugh, running your hand over your face. “I’m gonna kill her.”

“Take care,” he says after a chuckle, giving you a short wave.

“You too, bye,” you say, mirroring his gesture. 

As you walk back to the car, your heart skips every other beat at everything that just happened. Once you’re in the driver’s seat, you can feel the prying eyes on you. 

“Soooo..?” your sister asks from the seat next to you. You sigh, your grip tightening around the steering wheel. 

“We’re meeting for coffee tomorrow.”

She triumphantly pumps a fist in the air.

“If you end up dating, I want him to teach me to shoot a gun.”

“Hah! Absolutely not. In fact, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’m telling mom and dad to disinherit you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she ignores your comment with a dismissive hand gesture. “You’re welcome.”

With a shake of your head, you start the car and take off.

“Hm. We never got to finish our drinks,” she adds after a moment. “Can I go with you tomorrow?”

“No, but I’ll bring you something on my way home,” you offer.

“Then pick up some chicken nuggets and fries, too.”

“What am I, your personal food delivery service?”

“If you don’t, I’ll tell dad you fervently made out with an army man at the coffee shop.”

You come to a halt at a red light and narrow your eyes at her. You know she’s 100% serious. You sigh in defeat yet again.

“Fine, deal, you menace” you finally give in. “Sometimes you scare me.”

— — — — —

The next day, you meet up with Joaquín at the coffee shop as planned. After grabbing your drinks, you decide to enjoy the good weather, and take a walk in the nearby park. You tell him about your job and where you grew up, and he does the same. 

He’s just telling you a funny anecdote about one of his deployments when he gets a call.

“Oh, sorry I gotta take this.”

You recognise the screen on his phone to be a video call, and you expect him to walk a little farther away for privacy, but he keeps walking with you.

“Hey, man,” a deep voice says from his phone when he picks up. 

“Hey, Sam.” Joaquín swivels a little on his heels so you’re in the image behind him, and tells his caller your name. You raise your hand to give a little wave as you’re sipping on your drink, and almost choke on it when you see the face on the screen.

“Holy crap, is that Captain America?!” you say between coughs. They both chuckle.

“The one and only,” Joaquín responds, holding his phone in front of him again. 

“I thought you were at HQ for, you know, the thing I needed you to do.” Sam’s tone indicates he knows you’re still there.

“Allready done, amigo. Thumb drive is on my desk. The files were encrypted but, well. You’ll see for yourself. I had a… previous commitment, so I left a little earlier.”

Joaquín shoots you a little side glance with a smile, and you mirror him, heat prickling at your cheeks.

“I see how it is,” Sam says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Have fun kids, but not too much fun.”

You bring your hand to cover your face, muttering “oh my god” under your breath as Joaquín laughs and says his goodbyes, then hangs up. 

You walk in silence for a bit, then you stop, and he halts as well, turning to face you.

“So, who are you really, Joaquín Torres?” you ask, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. You start counting on your fingers. “Charming, handsome, apparently a tech wiz, and you have Captain America on speed dial? You’re not secretly an Avenger, are you?”

“No, not by a long shot,” he retorts, holding up his free hand defensively. “I wish though. I have yet to convince Sam to introduce me to Ant-Man.”

You both laugh and just look at each other for a moment. The breeze moves the trees above and for a second, the sunlight hits Joaquín’s face just right, his eyes shining like honey, the freckles on his cheeks glistening against his skin. Before you can stop youself, you find yourself asking him out. 

“I know this was just to say thank you for yesterday, but I’d actually love to meet again. If that’s okay with you.”

He raises his brows in slight surprise, but it quickly melts into his signature smile which you just can’t get enough of. Scratching the back of his neck, he looks to the side for a moment, then his eyes find yours again.

“You took the words right outta my mouth. I was really hoping I’d get to ask you out first, though.”

“Oh, my bad. You want a do-over?”

“Sure,” he chuckles, then opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out, and he laughs  nervously. Wait, is he really nervous? Because of you? The thought unloads an explosion of butterflies in your stomach. Finally he manages the question, “I was hoping you’d join me for a proper dinner some time?”

“I’d love to.”

“Cool, cool. Great even. Uhm, when are you free?”

You take your phone out to take a look at your calendar, and that’s when you notice the time.

“Ah crap, it’s this late already? I have to go pick up my sister from practice.” You down the rest of your drink and throw the cup into a nearby bin. Without giving it much thought, you place your hand on his arm, and you think you see his breath catch in his throat for a moment. “Today was lovely. Really. I’ll call you later so we can discuss a date and time, okay?”

With a sudden burst of confidence, you lean in to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you for today, Captain,” you say with a little salute. “Catch you later.” You wave at him as you walk towards your car.

“Y-yeah, see ya.” He waves back, a silly smile spreading on his face.  

— — — — —

For your next meeting (dare you call it a date, even?) you decide to go to a restaurant. Joaquín took care of the reservation, telling you he’d pick you up, to which you texted him your address. Shortly before the planned pick-up time, he texts you saying he won’t make it on time, to instead meet at the restaurant, so you drive yourself.

You’re wearing one of your better outfits that you haven’t worn in a while, feeling good about yourself, if a little jittery because of the anticipation. It quickly dies down though, as you sit at the table for over half an hour, snacking on your third breadstick.

Finally he texts you, apologising that today’s mission went on much longer than expected and he won’t make it after all. You understand, but you’re also disappointed. On your way back home, you come to the realisation that being with someone like him, not just in the Army but also working closely with someone like Captain America, these things are bound to happen. You don’t come to a conclusion regarding how you feel about that, though.

Once you’re home, you change back into your lounge clothes. Since you didn’t actually get to eat anything other than some bread, you decide to make some quick ramen, indulging in your favourite toppings. Just as you’re about to pour hot water into the bowl, your phone rings. You see Joaquín’s name on the screen, and for a moment, you consider not picking up. But you’re not that petty, and you actually do want to talk to him, so you swipe over the screen to accept the call. 

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, setting down the kettle.

“Are you home?” Joaquín asks. He sounds out of breath.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m at your door.”

“What?”

You walk to the door and open it, and sure enough, Joaquín stands there, still panting slightly. The first thing you notice is the bouquet of flowers in his hand, and as you look up at him, you see the debris and dried blood on his temple.

“You’re bleeding!” you say, hanging up the phone and ushering him inside.

“I’m fine, I- I’m so sorry,” he apologises intently and you close the door behind him. “The mission didn’t go as planned, I really thought I could make it on time. I came here as soon as I could. I’m really sorry.”

You hold his gaze, full of warmth and guilt and something else you can’t quite place. But you’re sure he means it, so you give in with a sigh. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a small smile. “Have you eaten yet?”

He looks like he wasn’t expecting your question at all, and shakes his head.

“Then go wash your face first, bathroom is to the right.” You gesture towards it with your chin while you take the flowers from his hands. “And thank you for these. I’ll put them in water.”

He leaves to clean himself up and you unwrap the flowers, taking a big glass to serve as a temporary vase. It’s a small and simple bouquet, consisting of multiple tulips in several colours. As you’re filling up the glass, you smile to yourself. When was the last time someone brought you flowers? 

Once Joaquín comes back, he takes off his jacket, placing it over the back of one of the chairs, and you indicate for him to sit down. Standing in front of him, you gingerly hold his face in your hands to inspect the cut on his temple. At least it isn’t bleeding anymore.

“I have something for that, hold on.” He can’t even protest before you’re rummaging in your bag, and you hold up some band-aids with a triumphant “a-ha!”. Taking a closer look at them as you stand before Joaquín, you giggle a bit.

“So, we have dinosaurs or farm animals,” you offer, holding up the two patterned band-aids for him to see, and he laughs. “Let me guess, you’re more of a dinosaur guy?”

“You know me so well already,” he says with a chuckle, turning his head slightly to give you better access. You chuckle, peeling the protective layer off the band-aid, and carefully place it over the cut. Then you lean down, placing a soft kiss on it.

“There, all better,” you smile down at him, and he looks up at you with so much adoration, you think you might faint. His face quickly morphs back to worry though, and he takes your hand in his.

“I really am sorry, I promise I’m better than this,” he says, and you believe him. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you say, walking back towards the kitchen to heat up more water. “You want some ramen?”

“Yes please, I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning, I think.”

You click your tongue in mock disapproval.

“Well, that’s no good. Here.” You bring a second bowl of ramen, utensils and the kettle to the table where you take a seat next to him. After pouring the water, you cover both bowls. “Think you can make it 3 more minutes?”

He leans his head onto his hand, elbow propped on the table, and looks at you from the side.

“I think I’ll live,” he replies with a goofy smile, and he remembers that’s what you told him when he saved you from that one driver when you first met. Joaquín’s eyes travel down your arm to your wrist, where the faintest marks are still visible on your skin. His brows furrow a bit at the memory, but his eyes travel further, and only now does he seem to realise that you’re only wearing an oversized T-shirt and some shorts. He quickly averts his eyes, a blush creeping onto his face as he straightens up in his seat. His travelling eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you squirm sligtly, heat prickling at your cheeks as well. 

“You know, I had picked out a really cute outfit for today,” you say, if only to break the silence, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you.”

Joaquín lets his head hang in defeat for a moment, before bringing his gaze back to yours. 

“Any chance I can convince you to put it on again?” he asks with hopeful eyes, and you tap your chin like you’re thinking it over with a hum.

“Nope,” you conclude, and he looks a little bit dejected for real, so you add, “Next time, though.”

He sighs in relief.

“It’s good to know there’ll be a next time after today, actually.”

“For a moment I wanted to be mad at you but I couldn’t bring myself to be,” you admit. “The flowers were a nice touch, too.”

“Nice,” he mutters under his breath, like commending himself for a job well done. “It was a bit last minute, so they didn’t have much to choose from. I hope tulips are okay?”

You lift your hands to caress the fragile petals, humming in agreement. You do tell him what your favourite flowers are, though.

“Noted. Next time, then, I’ll get you the proper ones.” 

Your heart swells at the thought that he also wants there to be a next time, and he’s already taking note of these things. 

“Alright then, let’s eat before it gets too mushy,” you say, and you’re not sure of you mean the noodles or yourself. 

Over the impromptu dinner, you ask him about the mission he was on, and he tells you about it. Whatever he can tell you, anyways. Much of it is confidential, and he seems to gloss over a lot of details, possibly to keep it palatable to discuss it over food. 

Once you’re done with your meals, the conversation dies down for a moment. 

“So, what now?” you ask, hoping your tone conveys your desire for him to stay a little longer without sounding desperate. He gives a light shrug.

“Hmm, we could watch something?” he proposes, then goes ‘ah’ like he just remembered something, and turns a bit in his seat towards you. “Actually you mentioned something when we were at the park the other day, and it made me think of this one movie, I think you’d like it.”

Another blush creeps up your face at the thought that he paid attention and remembered details of your conversation.

“Sure, what platform is it on though?”

“Netlfix, I think.”

“Oh, I don’t have that one,” you say, considering restarting your subscription if only to watch a movie he recommended.

“We can use my account, no problem,” he proposes, and your face lights up. 

“Alright then, the remote is on the couch,” you say as you rise to your feet. “Go set it up and I’ll load the dishwasher.”

“I can help with that,” Joaquín offers, also standing up. 

“No no, it’s fine. But thank you.”

You pick up everything and bring it to the kitchen. Truth is, you need some distance between you two because you feel like you’re going to explode. Your mind is already filling with images of the two of you cuddling on the couch, one thing leading to the next… and you’re not sure how much more your heart can take. As he sets everything up, you finish cleaning up, doing your best to rid your mind of all the scenarios it’s coming up with at an alarming speed.

“You want dessert?” you ask after you’re done with the dishes, and take something out of the fridge.

“Always,” he says, and his response makes you chuckle.

You cut two slices and bring the plates with you as you walk to the couch, setting it down on the coffee table. 

“Thanks, what’s this?” he asks as he picks up the plate with curiosity, trying to make out what it is in the dim light of your living room.

“Strawberry shortcake,” you say, a sheepish smile spreading on your face. “I actually wanted to perfect the recipe a bit before letting you try it, but since you’re already here… Well, I hope you like it nonetheless.”

“You made this? For me?” he asks, surprise evident in his voice. The fork stops for a moment as it travels up to his mouth when he looks at you. You nod, and he takes a bite. You’ve tasted it, so you know it’s decent, not perfect. But still you hope he’ll like it.

“This is delicious, thanks,” he says, taking another bigger bite. You chuckle.

“Well, glad to hear that.” You take a bite yourself, leaning back a bit. “So what are we watching?”

He clicks onto the movie’s title card, and it seems to be a criminal thriller of some kind, an older one that you haven’t watched yet. He starts the movie, and you’re instantly immersed into the story. 

Joaquín is quick to finish his cake, leaving the plate on the coffee table and leaning back into the seat, sinking into the cushions. You feel him shifting a bit, his arm now outstretched over the back of the couch behind you, and you can feel the warmth coming off him in waves, seeping into your side. 

You take your time to finish the cake, paying attention to the movie but unable to not perceive him right there next to you. Once you’re done eating, you also lean back, but you misjudge your angle as you end up far closer than you intended. You can hear your sister’s voice in the back of your head, telling you to own it, so you do just that, and essentially cuddle into his side, with your head on his chest. He stiffens up only for an instant before bringing his arm over your shoulders, and you further curl yourself into him. 

Joaquín is a trained soldier so it makes sense for him to be fit, but only now does this occur to you, as you can feel his pecs and his bare arm on you. You really hope the TV is loud enough to silence your erratic heartbeat, which echoes in your ears, maybe even the whole room. 

You two stay like that for the remainder of the movie, only shifting every so often when one of your limbs starts going numb, but never separating. If anything, you keep curling more and more into him, until finally you drape your arm around his torso. After that, Joaquín doesn’t move an inch. 

Once the credits start rolling accompanied by some ballad, which you find a strange choice for the tone of the movie, you hear him sigh deeply. 

“You didn’t fall asleep, did you?” you ask him without getting up.

“What? No.” He blinks a couple of times, bringing his free hand up and running it over his face. His other hand is still holding you to him, softly drawing figures onto your bare arm and setting your skin on fire. “At least I don’t think so.”

You hum in acknowledgement, neither of you wanting to be the first to disrupt your position. 

“What time is it?” he asks suddenly, wriggling underneath you, trying to get his phone out of his pocket. With a chuckle, you fully lean back to give him some space. Activating his screen, he curses under his breath.

“It’s really late,” he remarks, leaving all further implications in the air.

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look at him given your inner battle of whether to ask him to stay or not. After a moment he sits up a little straighter.

“I have to be at HQ early tomorrow,” Joaquín says. “I… I should go.”

“Right…”

He motions to stand up, but you hold his hand and he remains seated.

“Wait.”

You immediately have all of his attention.

“A part of me wants to ask you to stay,” you start, and you swear your whole face is surely on fire right now. You avert your gaze from him and look at your hands holding his instead. “To stay the night, I mean. But I also don’t want to rush anything.”

Somehow you manage to bring your eyes back up to his, and he’s looking at you with so much affection and understanding, you fear your heart might burst straight out of your chest.

“I really like you, Joaquín, and I want to do this right,” you finally say.

“Well, that’s actually great to hear.” He brings his other hand up to cup your face. “Because I really like you too.” He pauses for a moment, gaze flickering down to your lips. “I really do have to be up early tomorrow, but I think I still have a couple more minutes.”

“The movie is already over,” you say, barealy above a whisper, your faces starting to inch closer and closer. “What should we do?”

“I can think of several things,” he replies just as softly with a lopsided grin, and your stomach does a summersault. You can feel his breath on your lips. “But right now, I kinda just really wanna kiss you.”

“Then you better hurry up.”

Joaquín’s lips find yours, and everything around you ceases to exist. His kisses are warm and slow, and they taste like strawberries. He kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world, his tongue peeking out to run over your bottom lip, and you gasp. The hand that cupped your face goes to cradle the back of your head, holding you closer as your mouths move together. His other hand runs down the side of your body, slipping underneath your thigh to pull you up sideways into his lap, finally coming to rest over your hip. Your own hands are on his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

When he breaks for air, his lips travel to your throat, peppering it in small kisses, and you giggle at the sensation. You pull back a little and hold his face in your hands, both of you sporting drunk smiles.

“I’ll make you all the cakes you want if you promise to kiss me like that again,” you blurt out, breathless, and he laughs, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a sigh.

“I was planning to anyways, but I’ll take the bribe.” He softly bites down where your neck and shoulder join, then places a kiss over the mark, and you shudder, taking a shaky breath. You gingerly hold his face again to make him pull back and look at you.

“Thank you for coming by after all. I mean it.” You smooth your thumbs over his cheekbones, and his eyes flutter closed a bit at the sensation.

“I just really wanted to see you,” he says, planting a kiss on the tip of your nose, then goes to stand up, lifting you with him. You hold onto his shoulders with a squeak of surprise and he laughs, gently letting you down again to stand on your own legs. “I better get going now, or I might not want to leave at all.”

Taking his hand in yours, you walk him to your door, picking up his jacket on the way.

“Sorry again for today, I’ll make it up to you,” Joaquín says as he puts on his jacket, and you adjust the collar. 

“You already have,” you pull him to you, kissing him one last time, and he melts into you. When he pulls back, he sneaks one more peck to the corner of your mouth. “Now go back to saving the world. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” he remarks, momentarily bringing his hand to yours to give it a squeeze. Before you open the door, you suddenly remember sometihng.

“Oh, wait, before I forget!” you exclaim, hurrying to your bag to find something. Joaquín watches with curious eyes as you step back to him, holding out a card of sorts. He takes it to inspect it, and when he realises it’s a collectible card with Sam’s face on it, labelled ‘Captain America’, he laughs heartily. 

“My sister asked if you could get that signed for her,” you say with a sheepish smile.

He rises a brow at you, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“I told her that the other day Captain America called you,” you remark, bringing your hand to your mouth with a gasp as you realise your mistake. “Oh crap, that wasn’t confidential or anything, right?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have taken the call in front of you if it were,” he says, tilting the card back and forth sideways in his hand, the low light of your apartment shimmering on the holographic pattern; it’s a rare one. He looks up at you again with a boyish smile. “Besides, I kinda wanted to impress you with the call.”

“You don’t need to do that, I already think you’re amazing,” you admit, your face burning up again, and even he can’t hold your gaze at your words, looking to the side momentarily with a smile. You’re quick to add, “It did impress my sister though. In fact she said if you can get that signed, she’ll officially give her blessing for me to date you.”

“Really?” Joaquín says, perking up immediately, and he carefully slips the card into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I’ll make sure to get that ASAP, then. Anything else I can get her?”

You laugh, glad that he’s set on winning over your sister. Not that it would be too hard, anyways. She acts tough (and slightly deranged at times), but you know she’s a kind soul when it counts. 

“Actually, she has a soccer game next weekend,” you tell him. “Bring her the signed card and some chicken nuggets, and she’ll pledge her undying loyalty to you.”

“I see the bribes run in the family,” Joaquín remarks, and you can’t help but laugh. Yeah, you might have been the one to teach her that. He leans in to place one last lingering kiss on your cheek as he opens the door. “Text me the details and I’ll do my best to be there.”

“Will do. Good night, Joaquín,” you say your goodbyes, leaning onto the door frame as he leaves towards the staircase of your apartment bulding.

“G’night.” He winks at you and leaves.

You close the door, leaning back onto it and letting out a sigh. Yeah, you’re positively smitten. A second later, you grimace and laugh at yourself at the realisation that you kind of owe this to your sister and her big mouth. You might have to bake a whole cake just for her as a thank you. 

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @magikdarkholme @f1-tennisgirlie @tsunchani @Chuchu8923 @bitchy-bi-trash @guynamedaurel

[bildgroup]

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[tongue-like-a-razor]

Best of the Bad Boys | Part II

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: You've fallen for the best of the best. Unfortunately, he also happens to be the worst of the worst.

CW: mild angst, swearing, fluff

WC: ~1900

Part I | Masterlist

“Why didn’t you tell me Viper was your father?” Maverick calls, following you out into the lot.

You’re walking briskly ahead of him because you were hoping to postpone this very conversation. You slow your pace a touch and glance back at him over your shoulder. “You didn’t ask.”

Maverick gives you a disgruntled look and slides a pair of aviators over his eyes. “Cute,” he replies curtly, walking past you toward his bike.

“Did you tell my father what you’re giving me a ride in?” you ask, eyeing the motorcycle skeptically.

Maverick pauses briefly as he grabs the handlebar and lowers his head to peek up at you over the rims of his sunglasses. “Your father trusts me to fly jets. I think he’d be okay with the Ninja.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “It’s your ass on the line.”

Maverick exhales sharply and takes a step toward you. “Exactly,” he says moodily. “You could’ve given me a heads up.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” you exclaim in a forceful whisper, very conscious of how close he’s gotten. “I never come here.” You look around anxiously, ensuring that no one is around. “Today was an exception – obviously,” you finish, rubbing the back of your head where your clip had broken against it.

Maverick watches you intently. “Are you okay?” he finally says.

“You already asked me that,” you retort grumpily, lowering your gaze.

“I’m asking again.”

“I’m fine.”

Maverick lets out another sigh and then mounts his bike. He glances over at you. “You coming?”

You hesitate for a moment before climbing onto the back of the seat. Tentatively, you take a hold of his jacket, being careful not to actually touch his body.

But Maverick takes your hand in his and brings it around his torso, pressing it into his abdomen. You hold your breath nervously, trying not to think about the ripple of abs you can feel underneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m not going to be flooring it,” he says, starting the engine. “But I’d still prefer it if you held on.”

You bring your other hand around to his stomach, wondering if riding around on a motorcycle is really the best pastime for someone whose limbs are still feeling like jelly after an – albeit minor – collision. You know that your father would certainly not approve. And yet, you somehow feel like you could trust Maverick to deliver you home safe and sound.

As Maverick pulls out of the lot, he yells to you over the roar of the engine, “You thought you’d never see me again?”

You stare at the back of his neck, wondering how the heck you’re going to reply. Thankfully, the motor is loud enough that you have some time to think about it.

When Maverick slows to a stop at a red light, he turns his head to the side so that you’re graced with the contours of his side profile for several moments. He doesn’t strain to look at you over his shoulder but the pause as he lowers his gaze to the asphalt is enough to confirm that he’s awaiting a response.

“I didn’t know you were planning on staying,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence despite your discomfort.

Maverick revs his engine just before the light turns green and starts rolling through the intersection the moment it changes. He doesn’t say anything else until he parks outside your house and kills the engine. “I wasn’t,” he says evenly and then climbs off the bike. He turns to look at you coolly and offers a hand to help you down.

You ignore his outstretched hand and dismount without his help. “You weren’t going to stay?” you ask casually, pretending that the impending answer is entirely insignificant to you.

Maverick shakes his head. “I turned down the offer last week.”

You gulp anxiously, suddenly severely distraught at the thought of Maverick leaving – even though you apparently ‘never thought you’d see him again.’  “But my dad said – does he know that you turned down the offer?”

Maverick watches you in silence for a second and then nods. He drops his gaze then and mutters, “I called him this morning, told him I was reconsidering my decision.” His eyes meet yours again with a stoic expression.

You blink to break the eye contact and look away uneasily. “How come?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Just felt like sticking around for a bit,” he says.

You glance up at him and, while he’s still not exactly smiling, the crease between his furrowed eyebrows has softened a touch. You realize that his change of heart must have had – at least in part – something to do with you, considering it happened immediately after your encounter. But you’re too afraid of being wrong to voice this theory so, instead, you say, “Even so, I’m hardly ever on base and I don’t exactly hang out at the officer’s club very often. The chances of us running into each other again were pretty slim.”

Maverick narrows his eyes. “You gave me your number.”

“Would you have called?”

Maverick stares at you. “I wouldn’t have asked for it if I wasn’t going to call.”

You shrug. “It was a fake number.”

Maverick raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll see you around then.” He turns back to his bike and swings his leg over to mount it. “Or I guess I won’t,” he adds, turning the key in the ignition.

You panic and take a step toward him, placing your hand over the handlebar and grasping it firmly. “Can you image if I had given you my real number?” you ask. “You would’ve called – maybe” – you add with an eyeroll – “But, if you had and my father picked up? Then what?”

Maverick holds your gaze as your words sink in. Of course, your logic is sound. You couldn’t give him your real number. “You could’ve told me he was your father,” he says levelly, clearly still abundantly vexed. “What else did you lie about?”

You tighten your grip around the handlebar until your knuckles turn white. “Don’t act like you had any intention of seeing me again. And, if you did, how would I know? It’s not like you have a history of committed relationships.”

“What do you know about my history?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow as though you’ve piqued his interest.

You freeze for a moment and press your lips together crossly, annoyed that he’s caught onto the fact that you know more about him than you’d originally let on. “Are you going to take the position?” you ask irritably, completely ignoring his question.

“How can I?” he asks, raising his voice. Then, in a desperate whisper, he adds, “I slept with my superior officer’s daughter!”

You stare at him guiltily. “He doesn’t have to know,” you say.

“I know,” Maverick responds, his eyes boring into yours.

You sigh. “Pretend you don’t.” After a few moments of silence, you let go of the bike and give him a tight smile and a small wave as you start to back away.

Maverick doesn’t wave back. He watches you grimly as you retreat until you finally turn your back to him and ascend the steps of your porch.

You pause at your front door, wondering if you're ever going to see him again. But as you start to dig in your pocket for your house key, you feel a hand graze your upper back, and you whip your head around in surprise. How Maverick managed to scale your porch in under five seconds is beyond you, but you’re far too swept away to ruminate on the details.

Maverick waits a beat, his fingers sliding down your arm as you rotate to face him. His gaze slips momentarily to your lips before he says, “I’m not good at pretending.”

You stare at him in shock as the familiar weakness in your knees – a recurring ailment where Maverick is concerned – threatens to compromise your balance. Standing there, admiring the angles of his face, you suddenly can't think of anything more awe-inspiring. “You should take the job,” you say feebly as he draws ever closer.

Maverick sets his jaw and breathes forcefully out through his nose as though he’s combatting a sentiment he’d rather not express. “Okay,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead. This move destabilizes you further.

You glance up at him and his lips brush softly over the tip of your nose. Your heart springs violently into your throat and then proceeds to bounce around your ribcage like a pinball. He smells like leather and cologne and his light eyes hold your gaze like a magnet. “I’ll stay away from the base,” you say quietly, not daring to believe your own words.

His hands slide up your shoulders and then your neck and then he cradles your head in his palms. “Okay,” he repeats, his face so close to yours that you can almost taste the citrus in his aftershave.

You try to control your breathing, closing your eyes as his thumbs sweep gently over your cheeks. “We can forget all about this,” you whisper very faintly, as though you don’t want to be heard.

Maverick nudges your face with the tip of his nose and mutters, “Okay,” in a warm, humid whisper. His lips move slowly over yours and, languidly, he wraps an entire arm around the back of your neck to bring your closer. He takes a few steps toward you but, since you’re already flush against his body, you’re forced to take a few steps back.

“Thank you for the ride,” you mumble against his lips and you feel him grin at your words.

“My pleasure,” he responds without taking his mouth off yours. He guides you backward until you’re against the front door of your house and suddenly you realize that you’re making out with a Top Gun aviator under your father’s roof.

This thought startles you awake and you brace your hands against Maverick’s chest, giving him a slight push.

Maverick withdraws instantly and drops his head with a heavy sigh before glancing up at you with a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he says, despite the unapologetic grin.

You scoff with an eye roll and shake your head. Not only is this turn of events the complete opposite of your earlier proposition but it’s also very much something you swore you’d never do. Maverick is just about the worst decision you could make and yet, here you are continuing to make it. “My friend told me you’re trouble,” you say, straightening your posture because you’re now addressing something of utmost importance.

Maverick’s mouth tightens slightly as he attempts to keep a straight face. “Susan?”

“Yes, Susan,” you retort mockingly, surprised that he remembers her name.

Maverick purses his lips, shifting his jaw in thought as he squints his eyes at you. “What sort of trouble?”

You give him a flat look. “She wasn’t specific.”

He nods. “How convenient.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re denying this?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Nah, she’s probably right.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Good to know.”

He meets your gaze with a more genuine expression. “Come on,” he says. “It’s not like you haven’t already made up your mind about me.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, ignoring the way his eyes are sparkling in the afternoon sun. You’d love to just be straightforward and ask what his true intentions are, but that seems lame and boring and awkward. And you’re none of those things. So, you say, “Would you like to come in for a minute?”

Maverick gives you a small smile and nods. “Okay,” He responds.

Maverick Tag List:

The rest of the list will be in the comments. Let me know if I missed you! As always, let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my Mav works!

@wandering-wah

@callsign-sunshine

@ghost-heart34

@birdy-bat-writes

@matya4

@wkndwlff

@nyx2021

@bellamy1998

@oliviah-25

@alexxavicry

@army24--7

@thefandomimagines

@dracosluvbot

@smit41

@scenesofobx

@Criminalmindsandmarvel

@lunamoonbby

@malums-trash-can

@malindacath

@karleetakeenan

@callsign-echo

@toothemoonanddback

@broketraveler87

@atarmychick007

@shanimallina87

@creativitybeware

@xoxabs88xox

@Yoyop7

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@rrocky0ah

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@latetedslesetoiles

@Elenavampire21

@starberryhorse

@ginger-gabsq

@sarcastic-sourwolf

@risingtripletaurus

@callsignmaverick5

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@hermaeusmorax

@littlebadariell

@simp-for-fictional-people

@ollyoxenfrees

@iamabeautifulperson18

@living-in-my-imagination88

@wintercap89

@mavrellover91

@gingerbreadandpaper

[n0cturn4]

Restlessness

Character: Jason Todd x Reader Summary:Despite several attempts—on a rooftop, in a secret base, and in the car—their fear always holds them back. Word Count:1039 Music: falling for u (feat. mxmtoon)

“Jason, I…” The words were a whisper in the night air, light, almost swallowed by the wind.

The first time you tried to confess was on a quiet night, with the cold wind cutting through Gotham’s streets, but Jason’s presence beside you warming everything. The two of you were standing atop a building, watching the city below, while the moon hung lonely in the sky. You looked at him, his profile traced by the silver light, and your heart raced, pounding hard, like a storm about to break.

He turned to you, his expression concerned but gentle. “What is it?”

For a moment, you were sure it was the right time. Everything seemed to align — the silence, the city, his gaze. But the fear... the fear was like an invisible hand squeezing your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs. And then, what should have been a confession turned into an empty sigh.

“I… nothing,” you lied, diverting your gaze to the city lights. “I was just thinking how things never change around here.”

And once again, you swallowed the truth, suffocated by the fear of losing what you already had.

The second attempt was even harder. At the secret base, you were taking a break, Jason cleaning his weapons with an almost meticulous focus. The soft sound of the cloth sliding over the metal echoed in the room, while you watched him from a distance. The words were there, so close to the surface, ready to explode.

You took a deep breath, walking towards him. “Jason, I… I need to tell you something.”

He looked up, surprised by your sudden seriousness. “Tell me.”

You wanted to say he was everything. That every look from him disarmed you, that every smile, as rare as it was, lit up your world. But the fear of losing everything you already had was like a constant shadow.

“I… was thinking of ordering pizza. Do you want some?”

Jason shrugged, and you felt the crushing weight of another missed opportunity, once again. The silence that followed was no longer comfortable; it was a bitter reminder of what you didn’t have the courage to say.

The third time was during a training session. You were both exhausted, sweat dripping down your faces, breathing heavily. But in the middle of that physical exhaustion, there was a closeness that made your heart beat even faster. Jason always had an overwhelming presence, but in the moments when he looked at you, unguarded and sincere, you could almost feel the world stop.

Between laughs and exchanged blows, you saw the opportunity. “Jason, I think that…”

He raised an eyebrow, the playful smile he rarely showed lighting up his face. “Are you going to tell me you’re in love with me?” he teased, not knowing how close the joke was to the truth.

Your laugh came out forced, almost painful. “Of course not.” You hid what you felt with another laugh.

Once again, the chance slipped away, like sand through your fingers.

The fourth attempt came on a quiet night, on the way back from patrol. Jason’s car cut through Gotham’s empty streets, the lights flashing quickly past the window, but your mind was racing, thinking of how to say what your heart had been screaming for so long. The sound of the tires on the asphalt, the low hum of the engine, everything seemed to conspire for a perfect moment.

“Jason, I…” The words came, hesitant but with a quiet urgency.

He glanced at you, his eyes attentive but relaxed. “Hm? You hungry? Want to stop for food?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting the sense of impending failure. Once again, fear spoke louder. “No, just… I’m tired.”

And the rest of the ride was made in silence, as you wondered if you would ever have the courage.

The fifth time was the most painful. Jason was lying in a hospital bed, still recovering from a battle that had almost taken him away from you forever. You were by his side, holding his hand, and at that moment, with him so vulnerable, you knew you couldn’t wait any longer. The fear of losing him had become too real, and the weight of everything you felt was about to explode.

When he opened his eyes, weak but conscious, your heart almost stopped. “You stayed here the whole time?” he asked, his voice hoarse but full of gratitude.

“Yes,” you said, without hesitation. “Jason, I… I need to tell you something I’ve been trying for so long. And after all this… I can’t hide anymore.”

You felt tears threatening to fall, but before you could continue, the doctor entered the room, interrupting the moment. You let go of his hand, and all that remained was the heavy silence, like a door closing in slow motion.

 .

.

.

It was a strange night, after another mission. There was something in the air, something you couldn’t explain. Jason was quieter than usual, as if carrying an invisible burden. You were walking together down a deserted street, the silence between you different, almost charged with something unsaid.

Suddenly, he stopped, removed his mask, and ran a hand through his hair, seeming unsure for the first time in a long time. His gaze, usually so firm and confident, was lost.

“I… need to tell you something,” he began, his voice lower than usual, as if each word was a struggle.

Your heart leaped in your chest, but you stayed silent, waiting, the fear present once again, but now mixed with expectation.

“I’m not good at talking about this,” he continued, looking away to the ground. “But… I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it. I… I think I’m in love with you.”

His words were like a shock, a truth you had wanted to hear for so long, but that still took you by surprise. He was vulnerable, more than you had ever seen him. Jason Todd, the man who never showed weakness, was standing there, unarmed before you.

“I know I’m not the right guy for you,” he murmured, almost as if he were apologizing. “But I can’t hide it anymore.”

You felt the world stop, the words you had rehearsed so many times disappearing from your mind. And there, in the charged silence of that unexpected confession, the two of you stood, two broken hearts trying to find a way to fit together.

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #48

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, mature content

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15.5k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

The asphalt smells earthy from the April rain showers you've luckily avoided just in the right time. By the time you've walked out of the donut shop, the very short rain that came in quick bursts has stopped and you've had a good chance to get into your car without your clothes getting wet.

During the day, Jungkook has messaged you Jimin and Taehyung will be joining you tonight – just a casual movie night – so you've decided to buy donuts for all of you. Luckily, you ended your work just in time and surprisingly, you aren't as tired as you usually are after working and you kind of can't wait to hang out with your other two friends.

When you come home, they're already there playing a video game and that's when you can hear the shouting as soon as you open the front door. Jungkook and Taehyung are the ones who barely spare you a glance as you join them in the living room, still wanting to change to more comfortable clothes but at least they quickly greet you before the shouting continues.

Jimin who's standing beside the end of the couch, a bowl of snacks in his hands as he chuckles at your grimace you make once you hear the loud noises coming from those two. He has been watching the game, enjoying the extra curses they spill out so effortlessly while you stand there shaking your head at them.

You and Jimin greet each other, immediately going for a hug as you can't help but notice Jimin's visible muscles and toned chest thanks to the thin and tight long sleeve shirt he's wearing.

"Wow, Jimin," you gasp, grinning as you look at him, finding him giving you a grin as if he already knew what you're about to say. Well, it's not that hard considering your eyes are on his chest as your hands squeeze his biceps. "Have you been working out? Look at you!"

"Oh, shut up," Jimin chuckles as he sees your eyes sparkle with teasing, your hands letting him go. "Yeah, I've been joining Jungkook for a few sessions."

You knew Jungkook was hanging out with Jimin, among his other friends during different days like Namjoon today, but he didn't mention them hanging out at the gym. But knowing Jungkook, it does make sense.

"And how has that been?" you ask, laughing when Jimin dramatically rolls his eyes and sighs.

That catches Jungkook's attention and you notice their game round ended, as he gives Jimin a pointed look which makes you snort. However, it's very short-lived because your expression freezes as you finally notice the change on Jungkook you've failed to notice at first.

Your mouth opens, eyes glued to Jungkook who glances at you and notices your more than clear shock which makes him grin. His raven black hair is gone, trimmed to a short cut with a fresh undercut that shows his side profile perfectly, along with his sharp jawline.

Jimin doesn't notice your current state, continuing with your conversation with a whiny tone.

"He's crazy, he wants to kill me," Jimin complains right away, Taehyung snorting loudly as he takes a big gulp of a coke burping loudly right after which none of you pay attention to – you all are used to it by now. "Seriously, he's a maniac. He just doesn't know when to stop. His work out is so intense, I barely went home and I couldn't feel my legs, no fuck that, my whole body for the next few days."

You laugh, finally averting your eyes to Jungkook frowning but there is an amused smile on his lips.

"That's true, Jimin was close to crying on the phone the other day. I'm not even kidding." Taehyung reveals, Jimin nodding to prove his point as you grin at your friends.

"Well, it looks like it paid out. A few more times and maybe you'll be bigger than Jungkook." you say, teasing as you put the donuts down on the table as Taehyung praises you, jumping at the sight of food.

"Ha!" Jungkook scoffs right away, causing Taehyung to snort once again as you do the same while Jimin just watches amusingly. "He has to have a better work out ethic if he wants to get anywhere as good as me."

You roll your eyes at Jungkook, "Full of himself as usual, Jeon,"

If Jungkook hates anything, it is when you tease him about stuff like this. He takes working out seriously and even though everyone can hear the amusement in his tone, he actually gasps at your words.

"Where's your hair?" you ask, pointing towards his hair with a slight pout. It's been a while since Jungkook had his hair this short. It suddenly brings you to the Jungkook from two years ago – the only difference is he has more tattoos and a piercing decorating his body and face right now.

"Got it trimmed, it started to get annoying," Jungkook shrugs, while Jimin joins them on the couch and sits next to Taehyung. "You don't like it?"

A little perplexed by his question, especially when you notice his smirk and sparkling eyes as his question is set with an amused and challenging tone. Your friends remain unbothered though, Taehyung scolding Jimin for not sharing the snacks with him while you stare at Jungkook with a suspicious gaze.

"I do," you tell him slowly. "It looks great." you hum, aiming your gaze at Jimin instead as he turns around.

"I went with him after our work out, you should've seen the ladies staring at him," Jimin teases, wiggling his eyebrows at Jungkook who rolls his eyes. "There was this one grandma particularly that took interest in our Jungkookie."

Jungkook grabs one of the cushions, throwing it at Jimin while Taehyung bursts in laughter, most likely already hearing the story of the mentioned old lady while you roll your eyes at them, but not without a grin curving on your lips as you excuse yourself to change your clothes.

They barely acknowledge you anyway, bickering and laughing with each other as they tease the hell out of Jungkook who seems to be both amused and annoyed.

You seriously doubt they're older than you sometimes.

"...I'm telling, she's freaky in bed, kinky as hell. Not that I complain." Taehyung rasps out, gulping more of the beer Jungkook so kindly offered them and Taehyung didn't hesitate to accept him on that offer.

To Jimin's luck, he drove Taehyung here today so he refrained from drinking tonight, not letting his mouth on the loose as much as Taehyung is. But then, Taehyung doesn't need alcohol for that. He's not even drunk or anything, it's his second can of beer and tonight isn't about all of you partying and getting drunk. Just a nice hangout with a couple of beers.

"Didn't you say she freaked out when you touched her neck?" Jimin interjects, a little confused frown framing his face.

"Oh god," you whisper under your breath, taking a gulp of your beer to get through this conversation.

"Oh no, that's a different one," Taehyung waves his hand off at Jimin. "This one told me to slap her on her face."

Jungkook sits there, eyes widening at Taehyung's reveal as he stares with doe eyes at his older friend, listening to the conversation while you sit on the opposite side of them in a single chair, legs up and tucked under your butt in a comfortable position. That's probably the only comfortable thing about this conversation.

You've no idea how the topic of sex and Taehyung's sex partners even started. The next minute you know, they're already talking about sex and different things they tried in it.

"Did you do it?" Jungkook asks, tilting his head back as he drinks the rest of the beer, his throat bobbing at the motion as he swallows.

You can't help but stare a little, admiring his still styled and fresh cut hair from the distance. His hair is parted like it usually is, showing off his forehead along with the eyebrow piercing that's now even more eye-catching than before.

"Uhh, I kinda hesitated. Don't get me wrong, I'm into hard stuff but slapping a woman in the face–nah, I don't think it's my thing." Taehyung admits, pursing his bottom lip in thought.

"I don't think I would be able to do it, not even if she wanted me badly to." Jungkook admits this time, deep in thought as if he tries to picture the situation but ends up shaking his head slightly.

"What about you, Y/N?" Taehyung suddenly brings all the attention to you, your presence barely known until now because you stayed out of their conversation, simply listening to them while sipping beer in the meantime.

"What about me?" you shrug, "Has anyone ever asked me to slap their face?" you joke, causing Taehyung to roll eyes at you while Jimin snorts and Jungkook joins him.

"No, you idiot," Taehyung says, causing you to grab one of your slippers and immediately throw it at him. He dodges it with a cackle, grinning at you. "Are you into it?"

"Taehyung, please," Jimin shakes his head and just when you think he's about to tell him to shut up, he actually says; "Can you imagine Y/N wanting somebody to slap her face while having sex? She'd probably cut off the guy's dick if he ever tried to do it."

All of them laugh and you chuckle, shaking your head at them but Jimin is not far away from the truth.

It's no secret to you (and Jungkook) you like spanking but slapping your face? No, you don't think so. That sounds a little bit too much for you.

"True," Taehyung purses his lips, "Or maybe you're the one doing the slapping?" He obviously teases you right now, grinning at you while you stare at him dumbfounded.

"Yes, I'm ten seconds from slapping that grin off your face."

His grin drops, mouth opening in a dramatic gasp while Jimin bursts out laughing and Jungkook covers his mouth with his hand as he silently laughs.

Taehyung's expression doesn't last long though, his lips curving into another grin and you know he's just about to say something stupid.

"Not my cup of tea but we could try it. Didn't know you see me that way, honey."

You widen your eyes, Taehyung laughing at your caught off stare as he got you, clapping his hands.

"Yah," Jungkook interjects, sending a glare to Taehyung who is clearly just making fun and it's not the first time he teases you this way however, it's pretty rare for him. You're like his little sister, so he barely does that.

"Fuck off," you scoff at Taehyung, "You wish." you bite back, his mouth widening for a dramatic act as he grins.

"I mean, you'd have to get in line but–"

"You're disgusting Tae." Jimin muses teasingly, pursuing his lips as Jungkook agrees with a nod.

"What line? Please, I'd rather celibate for the rest of my life."

Taehyung and Jimin start laughing as soon as you say it, your own triumphal grin making it onto your lips while Jungkook amusingly smirks.

Luckily, the timer on your phone that you've set starts to ring, the reminder of a frozen pizza in the oven causing you to stand up as you tap onto your phone screen to turn it off.

"Thankfully, the timer has saved me from this disgusting conversation you guys have going on," you tell him, grinning as you see their scandalized faces while Jungkook just grins behind the can of the beer.

He knows Taehyung can get a little bit too detailed and open most of the time, Jimin following right after but surprisingly, Jimin hasn't been as open as Taehyung tonight even though he jumped into the conversation to talk about stuff you've refrained yourself from.

"I'm looking at you Kim Taehyung." you look at him sternly, trying to hide your smile and the response you get in return is Taehyung sending you flying kisses as you flick him off.

As soon as you're out of the living room, Jimin shoves Taehyung in the shoulder as he laughs.

"What was that?"

"I was just teasing her," Taehyung laughs, "She was quiet most of the time."

"Yeah, she is probably terrified by your gracious sex experiences you graced us with." Jimin snorts, glancing at Jungkook who listens to the two of them while tracing his finger against the rim of the can.

"She never talks about that stuff." Taehyung comments.

"Yeah, not everyone is so open to talk about it like you." Jungkook chirps in, giving Taehyung a pointed look as he shrugs because it's true.

Suddenly, Taehyung's face drops as he thinks of something and a worried look makes it onto his face. This time, it's not him making fun or anything, he looks honest as Jimin raises his brows in question as Jungkook does the same.

"Do you guys think I made her uncomfortable?" He sounds genuinely worried.

"Nah, she handled you pretty well," Jimin assures him, "She joked with you too. Don't worry."

"Jungkook-ah, what do you think?" Jungkook raises his eyebrows in surprise, pointing at himself as Taehyung nods. "Yes, you. You know her the most. Do you think I crossed a line?"

Does Jungkook think he crossed a line? It's Taehyung, he knows he makes inappropriate jokes sometimes and sometimes takes it too far away but all of you know him. You know him and if you genuinely felt as if he crossed a line, you'd tell him.

Was it necessary to joke about implying things? He's not sure. He's protective of you and even if it's Taehyung and his own way of joking, he would tell him off if he took it any further. He's your friend after all. Taehyung is harmless and cares about you too.

"Taehyungie, I think if you crossed a line you'd know it, trust me." Jungkook assures him, placing the can on the table as Taehyung sighs in relief while Jimin teases him, trying to lighten up the mood.

Jungkook stands up, excusing himself to help you with the pizza knowing you hate to cut the frozen pizza that tends to have hard crusts which makes it harder to cut it.

He finds you in the kitchen and just like he assumed, you're already struggling with cutting it while the tip of your tongue pokes out of your mouth and a deep frown adores your glowy skin. He chuckles, your eyes falling onto him for a split second as you return to your own task until Jungkook is next to you and he slightly bumps his side to yours.

"Here, let me do it." he tells you and you don't object, immediately handing him the knife as you move away.

"Fuck, it smells so good. I'm so hungry."

You've eaten some of the leftovers from last night but three hours already passed by. Thank god you remembered the frozen pizza you and Jungkook bought – the emergency food – like you called it.

Jungkook chuckles, still cutting the pizza into small triangles while you stand next to him, salivating at the sight of pizza. If he knew you were that hungry, he'd just order a fresh one. Frozen pizza isn't exactly the healthiest and tastiest food out of all options you have.

"Taehyung is worried he crossed a line with you in there." Jungkook tells you, voice quiet and soft as you look at him, brows lifted up as your mouth opens.

"Really?" you wonder, "He hasn't."

"I think it's the beer, whenever he drinks it he makes different kinds of jokes."

At that you both laugh as you agree with him. "He's an idiot. I know he's just joking. It's Tae, come on, I'm more surprised he is actually worried."

"I think he's getting drunk," Jungkook shrugs and you nod, leaving it at that. "Done." Jungkook sings out, putting away the knife as you pull out the plates for all of you.

"Thanks," you smile, watching Jungkook as he starts serving the pizza.

That's until he glances at you, laughing a little at the attention you suddenly give him. Before he can ask what are you staring at, you're already on your tip-toes patting the top of his head as you feel his short hair. It's still soft and bouncy, despite it's shorter than it has ever been. You run your fingers through his hair, smelling the expensive shampoo they use in the hair salons as you can see there's a slight amount of gel in his hair, holding it back from his face.

One can of beer is just enough to let your mouth on the loose and you spill your first thoughts shamelessly to Jungkook. "I love it, but what am I gonna tug you onto?"

Jungkook almost chokes on his spit, staring at you with big eyes as he sucks his bottom lip in. "Shit, don't say stuff like that."

"It's true," you giggle, adjusting a few strands of his hair that is parted in the middle. "Maybe I'll think about the whole face slapping thing." you joke, causing Jungkook to scoff as he slaps your hand away.

"Guess you'll have to find something else then." he hums and you hum in return, nodding.

"Maybe, or we will make it work." you tease, biting onto your lower lip as Jungkook stares at you with an unreadable gaze, muttering a curse under his breath.

"Don't tempt me, guys are here."

"Oh," you gasp, teasing him. "Now that I think of it, Taehyung might enjoy the show."

Jungkook immediately scrunches his nose and mouth, making you giggle at his grimace.

"I will give you a show," Jungkook mutters, slapping your ass as you jump, not even surprised such a simple act makes your skin and insides tingle. "I don't like the audience."

"Oh, you don't?" you continue teasing him, feeling excitement bubbling in your stomach. "Didn't you want to have sex in the forest?"

Jungkook snorts, "Who would be the audience? Squirrels and owls?"

You laugh, slapping your forehead in the process as your eyes are on him once again.

"Unless you're into that. Would you like to have an audience?" Jungkook asks you, cocking his brow at you as your grin freezes a little but that's until you let out a soft chuckle.

"No," you assure him, "You're enough." you tease, slowly inching towards him.

"Yeah?" he hums, looking down with you with a satisfied smirk as your eyes fall onto his lips. They glisten as he licks them, slowly biting on his lower lip before he lets it curl back into his typical, but never boring, smirk.

God, how much you want to kiss him. The last time you had sex was when Jungkook had decided to torture you by sitting on his cock while you made yourself cum. It didn't turn out bad at all, it was actually very fun and you have to admit, you caught yourself randomly getting flashbacks of it in the most inconvenient times.

It might not have been full on sex, but you enjoyed every second of it. Clearly, you can't have sex right now – not with Taehyung and Jimin in the next room. Just one kiss is all you can do, even though it's risky. It's not going to quench the thirst he sparked inside you but at least it's something. Do you want him to bend you over this counter and fuck you? Probably. No, not probably. Yes, absolutely yes.

"What are you thinking about?" Jungkook asks, although the smirk tells you he probably knows.

"How it's such a shame the guys are in the next room," you reply shamelessly, heart jumping against your ribcage at your own words.

Jungkook's eyes darken and he traces his fingers over your cheek, the softest touch causing you to sigh in content and shiver at the same time.

Even though what you did the last time was something completely new to you and quite adventurous, it still wasn't full on sex. And you miss cumming around his cock, him hitting you from the back while he spanks your ass while he is at it. Fuck, you've got to calm down.

Gulping, you can't look into his eyes and avert your gaze back to his lips.

"I kinda want to at least kiss you but it's risky." you admit, facepalming mentally as soon as you say it.

But Jungkook takes it lightly and you've surely boosted his ego.

You hear the music from the game playing in the distance and you wonder if you could at least steal one kiss, in a desperate hope it will satisfy you enough for now. You know it won't. Kissing with Jungkook barely ends with that – something you have done only during sex this time. That's how it should be. Maybe you could think of this as a foreplay?

"That's a tough decision," Jungkook ponders and you know he is doing this on purpose, making you do the first move as he just stands there and even leans against the counter as if you're having a casual conversation.

And you wish you could find him annoying to the point you would drop it but here you are, salivating at him wearing one of his short-sleeved tight shirts that shows how buff he is.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you wonder if it's worth it or not but before you can decide, Taehyung's voice and footsteps booms from the living room as he approaches the kitchen. You barely have any time to step back and put some distance between you and Jungkook, so it's not suspicious.

Still, Taehyung eyes you suspiciously as soon as he faces you, glancing between you two.

"Where the hell are you guys? Are you cutting it into different shapes?"

"Yes, to the shape of your small dick so it's taking a while." you reply, Jungkook coughing back a laugh before he bursts into laughter while Taehyung laughs at your joke, placing a hand on his chest as he gapes at you.

"You liar, you've seen it and you know it's not small at all!" Taehyung argues, reminding you of that one night two years ago when you both got drunk (actually all of you) but Taehyung was the worst.

The night was wild and you had to spend it at Taehyung's apartment, the two of you shared a bed which Taehyung completely forgot when he started taking off his clothes, accidentally tugging onto his boxers as well as you caught a sight of his penis. It's truly horrifying that you've seen it and you forgot about it, until now.

Everyone had a blast when you told everyone what happened the next morning, poor Taehyung clueless about that happening because he just couldn't remember but he has been smug about it ever since.

"Trust me, I've seen a big dick before and it's not yours." you tease him, using the opportunity to when Taehyung throws his head back as he groans and laughs at the same time, embarrassed by your teasing, you glance at Jungkook as you send him a look with a raise of your brow.

He grins, biting into his lip as he stops himself from reacting any further but you know he loves it.

"Yah! You can be really cruel sometimes!" Taehyung's voice follows behind you as you quickly take some of the plates, Jungkook doing the same as Taehyung doesn't shut up about the size of his dick for a good five minutes.

"Jin wanted us to go in June actually," Jimin informs as you're in the middle of conversation about a camping trip this summer.

Last year's camping trip was definitely interesting. You know this year is going to be different but you're still just as excited. You know everyone was more than down to repeat a good old camping trip the next year. You can't believe months have passed so quickly and it's spring already. Yeah, it's April and it's too soon to be organizing it, but it simply appeared in one of your conversations about everyone's plans for the summer and whether you'll go for a friend's trip. Also, there are more of you than just the four of you, so it's probably safe to ask everyone so they can clear their schedules for a long weekend in the forest.

"Jia will be close to giving birth at that time, so Jin wants to be there with her and June is actually the only summer month he can go."

Ah, you totally forgot Jia is pregnant.

Suddenly, you get flashbacks of the NYE trip where she and Seokjin announced they're expecting a baby. Long before things went downhill for Jungkook. You remember how happy Kiko was for her best friend. You wonder if she felt sad knowing a very similar path was ready for her as well. It had to take a lot of strength for her to be there and share her joy with Jia.

"Won't it be too cold in June?" you interject, shaking off the sad thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm not freezing my ass because of pregnant Jia."

You snort, rolling your eyes at Taehyung who simply just shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't know, June is a warm month. Maybe if we go at the end of it? I mean summer nights in a forest are cold anyway, so you have to pack blankets, sleeping bags and warm clothes for sure." Jungkook says, Jimin nodding along with him.

"Yeah, I think it's possible to sleep in the tents. Maybe we could try to find something with an accommodation nearby? Just in case it's too cold, so we could stay the night or nights there."

"Yeah, I think that could work," Jungkook nods, "In worst scenarios, we'll just sleep in cars."

Which is pretty inconvenient in Jungkook's opinion because you still need to turn on the heating and engine, so the engine can warm up. And even if the car gets heated, the heat won't probably last the whole night. But like he said, in the worst scenarios that can be an option too. Nobody won't let themselves freeze to death.

"Are we going to the same location or did you guys have in mind something different?" Taehyung wonders and you join, looking at Jungkook and Jimin since they're the ones who were organizing it with others last year.

"We don't know yet," Jungkook shrugs, "I think where we were last year was a good spot. We know shops around there and the way as well. But I don't think it would be a problem if we found something else."

"Yeah, I agree," Jimin says with a nod, "Do you guys wanna do something else in the summer?"

"Me and Y/N actually talked about going on a vacation. I think I talked about it with you guys too, right?" Jungkook asks in thought, trying to remember.

"Ah, yes!" Taehyung jumps in, showing obvious excitement at the word of vacation. It definitely sounds bigger than just a trip.

"Do you have any suggestions? I suppose we all want to go overseas." Jimin asks, looking at all of you as you shrug.

"Personally, I'd love to go somewhere where it's warm and there's a beach." you tell them.

"Yes, I'm joining Y/N." Taehyung immediately agrees.

"Yeah, that's what I had in mind too," Jungkook joins and Jimin does too. "But I think it's better to go to such destinations during the end of summer or during fall. The prices are better for everything."

Vacation surely costs a lot of money, especially if you're planning to go overseas and visit a nice country. You're kind of worried because sure, you have some money saved and you can still set some money aside for it, but you know flight tickets are going to be expensive either way. But you tell yourself you deserve to go on a vacation. It's also something all of you have never done together and it's going to be a new experience. Just the thought of it makes you excited because there is no one else you would want to travel with other than your friends.

"That's true," Taehyung nods, "I think fall sounds good. There won't be as many tourists, prices will be cheaper..." Taehyung names it while pointing with his fingers.

"Do you guys prefer a hotel or something different?"

"I think it'd be nice to rent a small house or apartment. You know, somewhere where we can cook for ourselves, I think that's more domestic and comfortable. Plus, hotels are sometimes way more expensives." you tell them while they listen attentively.

It's actually one way to save at least some money – to cook for yourselves a few times instead of eating in the restaurants. Sure, you will do that too for sure but if you cook for yourselves a few nights, you can still save up some money.

"Honestly, I don't care. Both sound good." Taehyung shrugs.

"Renting something sounds nice. Like you said, it's more domestic and homey."

"Yeah, I like that too," Jungkook says, giving you a smile and you return it. "Maybe we should start planning it soon while the prices aren't too high up."

"Agreed, we should probably think of the destination and then start planning it."

All of you agree. You're the first one to get to bed, the constant yawning making you realize you stayed up for too long. So you bid goodbye to Jimin and Taehyung, two of them staying for a little bit longer but once they leave, you're already sleeping. You're slightly awakened when Jungkook joins you in the bed at an hour that's uncertain to you, but you quickly fall back asleep.

It's the next day and Jungkook has been busy doing some work in the afternoon while you tidied his apartment and sorting out the laundry, even though there hasn't been that much to do to begin with. Jungkook cleans after himself, barely leaving any mess and the only sort of mess (that could be considered as one) was the full laundry basket.

Around lunchtime, Jungkook informs you he'll work on your bed tonight and you can't lie when you're a little perplexed because Oh, you actually should have your own bed. It's not a big deal and you tend to sprawl out in bed, something Jungkook likes to point out when you wake up and you're glued to Jungkook's side. It wouldn't be that bad, however Jungkook sleeps on the edge, close to falling off the bed. It happens only sometimes, not all the time and mostly you move to the middle but that's it.

Lost for words, you just nod and offer him help even though you've no idea how to assemble it. Jungkook was the one who did it when you first moved into your previous apartment – where you successfully moved out and gave keys to the owner's daughter. She was sweet, almost looking sorry that you had to move out.

You're not much help, Jungkook does the whole work as he tries to figure out how he assembled it since you threw out the manual, something Jungkook scolded you for. You don't remember the bed name and when you offered to look at it online, Jungkook just waved you off and told you he thinks he knows how to do it.

He does the whole thing in his sport shorts and a shirt, so you enjoy the view of focused and hot looking Jungkook with his brows furrowed.

Now that your bed starts to look like a bed, you realize how much you miss it while Jungkook fastens screws on one side.

It's actually better that you will have your own bed back. As much as you never cared about sharing a bed with Jungkook, you never thought of it that much because there were many occasions when you had to stay over and you were literally just sleeping next to each other, both cool with it, you know things feel different. Different in terms that you're not just sleeping next to one another sometimes.

It's good for you to have your own room, not to share a bedroom with Jungkook which seems much more intimate than when you were sleeping over in the past. A boundary is what you need.

"Are you going to just gwak?" Jungkook asks without even looking at you, focusing on the task in front of him before he finishes the screw, glancing at you across his shoulder with a smirk.

"I just might," you shrug, "Come on, take a break. I made lemonade."

Jungkook tends to fully immerse himself in whatever he's doing, wanting to finish everything in one go which is both ambitious and annoying sometimes. He listens to you though, standing up in the middle of your unfinished bed frame that's tilted on one side.

Joining you in the kitchen, you both enjoy the taste of fresh squeezed lemons and mint, Jungkook downed the whole glass in one go.

Looking at the clock, you have your dinner which Jungkook assists you with after you fill your stomachs with roasted chicken and rice. Stomachs full, you both sprawl on the couch while watching television for a good hour or so. When Jungkook insists on finishing your bed tonight, you tell him to do it tomorrow because he looks already tired as it is. He was waking up early, despite today being Saturday, so he could go to the gym in the morning and do some work after.

One more night sleeping in the same bed won't kill anyone and he has no plans for tomorrow.

At the end, he agrees and continues to watch television.

You go to the bathroom early today, wanting to pamper yourself with a good bathtub and some bubbles. You spend a good hour there, borrowing Jungkook's bluetooth speaker as you sing along to your playlist while shaving your body.

Once you make it out of there, Jungkook doesn't miss the opportunity to tease you how long you were in there saying "I thought you drowned". Flicking him off, he follows shortly after and takes a quick shower.

Not wanting to think of tonight too much, you did shave mostly for Jungkook, wanting your exposed legs to be as smooth as possible (even though you don't show them unless they aren't freshly shaved). Finally abandoning your usual fluffy socks you wear to bed (which Jungkook often teases you about), you wear one of your pretty nightgowns that is in soft blue color, satin with lacy edges. It's definitely one of those sexier ones but not one of those that screams "Let's have sex".

Your feet do get cold slightly, hating that as soon as you'll sleep in your own bed, you'll have to wear socks once again. You mostly went to bed without them, which usually ended up with your legs pressed against Jungkook's warm ones, since the man is a walking heater.

Thoughts interrupted with Jungkook coming to the bedroom, your whole mouth salivates when he walks in just in a towel that hangs so lowly on his hips that you fear it's going to drop any second. He notices your stare, looking down for a moment before his eyes are back on you.

"Sorry, forgot my boxers." he mutters, walking to his closet as he pulls them out from a drawer while you keep your eyes on him. He's turned to you with his back anyway, so it's not like he sees you eyeing him like a prey.

"All good," you hum, breath hitching in your throat when Jungkook suddenly drops the towel, exposing you with his perky butt and fine thighs. If you looked closely, you'd be able to see his dick hanging slightly between the gap of his thighs.

Unfortunately, he puts his boxers on, shielding his butt from your hungry eyes while being completely clueless to your stare. Once he turns back and walks out of the bedroom to hang his towel in the bathroom, you lay in the bed with your back leaning against the headboard staring at the spot where he has disappeared.

A minute later he joins you, not even bothering to wear a shirt which makes your skin hot. He grabs his phone, browsing through his social media while you do the same. That's until he puts his phone away once you do, staring at the ceiling.

Making yourself comfortable and laying your head on the soft pillow, you turn your body sideways facing Jungkook. Thanks to the night lamp still turned on on his side, you see his side profile perfectly.

"You know how we spoke about the camping trip yesterday?" He suddenly speaks up, filling up the silence with his soft velvety voice as you hum. "Jimin asked me if he should invite Hoseok as well."

"Oh," You let out, causing Jungkook to nod as he scoffs a little.

"Yeah," he sighs, "I mean... it's not just about me, or about the four of us. Jin and Namjoon are on it too. They most likely will want him there. I don't think it'd be fair of me to say I don't."

"So you don't want him there?" you ask silently, watching as his brows furrow slightly as he shrugs.

"If he doesn't go, I'm fine. If he does, I will try to be fine." he answers simply, your features softening even more.

"What did you tell Jimin?"

"Just that I haven't talked to him ever since he came to pick up... her things," Jungkook sighs once again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jimin and Tae told me I should probably talk to him. Apparently Hoseok is giving me space, so he doesn't want to reach out to me unless he knows I'm ready to talk to him."

"And are you? Ready to talk to him?"

He's quiet for a moment, shrugging. "Will I ever be ready?"

"I don't know, Kook," you mumble, "I think you need to ask yourself if you want him to be your friend or you're okay with him not being it."

"That's the thing. He is, was, my friend and he totally betrayed me. I trusted him, I, it was like a slap to my face when I found out he knew this whole time. He laughed with me while we hung out, we had deep conversations like none of that has ever happened,"

You stare at Jungkook, thinking that he's nowhere near over this and it's pretty understanding. Nothing has ever hurt him like this whole thing.

He feels the biggest sort of betrayal from Hoseok. His older friend that he has known for years. There were times when he was so grateful he introduced him to Kiko. He swore he will be thankful to him for the rest of his life. He knew he looked out for both of them, he was truly their number one fan ever since they started dating.

"Do you think I should talk to him?"

"I think," you take a deep breath, "you should do whatever feels comfortable. If you genuinely think you can't have a friendship with him, maybe that's how it's supposed to be. Or just wait and see how you feel about him in the couple of months. It's still very fresh, there's no need to deal with it if you're not ready."

Jungkook knows but he so desperately searches for an answer, for the right choice so he doesn't have to think about this so much that he gets a headache.

"Well, it's either I face him at some point because I kinda have to or talk to him before that can happen."

"I don't think Hoseok is bad," you confess, Jungkook's eyes fully on you as a slight frown frames his face but he listens to you attentively. "I understand why and how you feel about him. He has hurt you no matter what and you have every right to feel sad, mad and betrayed. But think about it this way... he did it for his best friend. I'm not saying it was right but,"

You give him a look.

"Imagine it's us. Kook, you would do the same thing for me like Hoseok did for her. This doesn't justify what he did, but he clearly wasn't too happy about her decision. But it was her decision and he had her back because he is her best friend. Yes, you guys are close friends but Kiko is his best friend. I just know that if something similar happened to us, we both would have each other's backs. Even if we didn't agree with one another,"

Jungkook looks straight ahead, letting your words ponder in his mind.

He knows you're right. He tried to think about it because it's something similar Hoseok told him too. If Hoseok had decided not to make Kiko tell him the truth, he would probably not know now. And it's like you think the same thing because you say;

"He messed up badly but at least he tried to do the right thing. Even if it meant losing you as his friend."

And it's exactly what a small part of Jungkook's good and empathic heart tries to tell him.

"I just can't see him without being reminded of it all. Reminded of her."

"You're still hurting, Kook. I really think you should talk to someone," He gives you a look. "Someone who isn't your friend."

"I'm fine," he insists and you sigh at his stubbornness, knowing pressuring him will do no good.

He's old enough to ask for help if he truly needs it.

"I think I will talk to him. Not now... but soon." he mutters more to himself, almost as if he makes a promise out loud so he really keeps it.

"Whatever you decide, I'm on your side, Kook." you remind him softly and that's when Jungkook once again realizes.

What an incredible person you are.

And he doesn't know if it's intentional, but it feels as if your words could be taken to Hoseok's situation.

He can imagine Hoseok saying that to Kiko.

Seeing how deep in thoughts Jungkook is (mostly noticing the hurt on his face) you break his thoughts off by tugging off the duvet off your legs. Scooting closer to him, you suddenly show up your leg in the air, fingers brushing against it.

"Try my legs, they're soft."

Jungkook blinks at you, a huge grin suddenly breaking on his lips.

"I trust you." he says with the same grin.

"No, touch them." you insist, Jungkook playfully rolling his eyes at your perseverance as he lets his hand brush along your leg.

You expectedly stare at him, raising your brow sternly as he snorts.

"Hmm, they're super soft," he feigns astonishment as you click your tongue at him and poke your foot into his legs. "What do you want me to say?" he laughs, "They're always this soft."

"Not always," you argue, "I just shave them every day but usually when I'm on my period I don't." you point out, definitely sharing some of the unnecessary information but you don't really find it embarrassing or anything. Quite the opposite. You're comfortable with Jungkook and he doesn't look phased at all either.

"Why do you do it every day?"

"My hair grows super fast and I don't know when we're about to have sex because it's not like we plan it. So I always want to be prepared." you admit, pursing your lips as Jungkook amusingly watches you the entire time.

"You don't have to do that for me or because of me." Jungkook reminds you softly, but your immediate scoff ruins the soft moment.

"You crazy? You want me to have a bush down there?"

Jungkook raises his hand with his palm up, shrugging. "I don't really mind."

You blink at him, wondering whether it's hot of him to not care about that kind of stuff or... what is the other option anyway?

So you raise your brow at him, as if you don't believe him which makes him chuckle.

"I really don't," he emphasizes, "I don't mind hair. If you want to grow a whole bush down there, feel free."

You gasp, cheeks growing hot as you swat his shoulders. "I don't want that. I prefer to be neat down there." you grumble under your breath, kind of hoping Jungkook mishears it but he doesn't.

One of the things you find hot about Jungkook is his pubic hair. He is a man, so it's not like men are judged for it but it's nice to know Junkgook doesn't care about that stuff. It makes you adore him even more and you can't bring yourself to think about whoever will be able to snatch him.

"Whatever you prefer," he hums, sitting up straight as he grabs you gently by your ankle and lifts your leg up to his lips.

He kisses the soft and moisturized skin, giving it a light but long smooch as you swoon over him, heart already picking its pace from the excitement.

He doesn't stop there though, he continues his way up as he tugs onto your leg, bringing you closer to him and angling your body just at the right angle. When his lips stay pressed on your skin, he looks up to check on you and he finds you giving him a light smirk. He chuckles under his breath, the sound silent but deep as he continues. Once he's near the hem of your nightgown, his fingers play with the lacy hem.

"Cute," he comments, suddenly pressing his face between your thighs as he delivers another kiss to the furthest spot the material allows him.

He hikes up your nightgown, expecting to see another barrier but he's completely shocked and welcomed by a sight of your bare pussy. And he looks up, letting you see his sparkling big eyes while you sheepishly grin in return.

"You little minx," he tells you, diving right in as he presses a kiss to your clit. "Were you planning to get fucked?"

You shouldn't be surprised by his language by now, but his words still light up another spark inside your stomach as you can't help but moan once he presses his tongue flat against your clit.

"No, but I hoped to be." you reply breathlessly and honestly, gasping when Jungkook latches his mouth over your soft and wet mound, moving his lips slowly while you clench around nothing.

He pulls away, hovering over you with his big palms spread on each side of your head, holding himself up. You welcome the closeness and trace your fingers over his forearms as you stare at him.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," he says, voice low and raspy as you tilt your head slightly, still slightly dazed at the sight of him shirtless hovering over you.

"Right now?" you ask, emphasizing while you sound impatient which only makes the corner of his lips lift up.

"Mhm," he hums, inching his face closer as his nose suddenly pokes you in your cheek, hot minty breath hovering over you and you're ready to shudder with excitement and impatience.

"A-are you sure right now?" you breathe out, feeling a soft puff leaving his mouth as he chuckles but he doesn't move as he hums against the side of your face.

"I can multitask,"

He sure can because as soon as he says it, he leans himself on his elbow while the other hand sneaks between your thighs and cups you shamelessly, long digits working their way up and down as you gasp once again, holding onto his forearm for a dear life.

"You know how we first talked about our conditions? About me helping you explore more stuff in your sex life while you help me with my part of the deal?"

Eyes prying open at the mention of your sex life, Jungkook keeps moving his fingers up and down your slit while you're trying to focus what he's even saying. You certainly can't multitask while his hands are on you.

But Jungkook makes sure he doesn't go any further, wanting you to be in your full senses.

"You mean the mutual help?" you ask, breathing out a chuckle as you recall him naming it.

He mimics your reaction, a soft chuckle escaping past his lips like a sweet melody.

"Yes."

"What about it?" you ask, voice getting breathless once again as he starts circling your entrance with his middle finger which makes you automatically let out a rushed but quiet curse.

However, he retracts his hand because he wants you to fully pay attention to him and you do, because your frown is immediately decorating your face which makes him fight off a good laugh.

"You told me you wanted to explore more things, right?" You nod. "Our conversation with Jimin and Taehyung made me think... you never actually told me what you like?"

You can't believe he's asking you this at this moment and for some reason, you shift on your spot beneath him as your frown relaxes slightly but it's still present on your face. It's different to actually openly talk about it, which shouldn't be an issue but – why the hell do you suddenly feel shy in front of him?

"You want me to tell you what I want to try?" you ask quietly, meanwhile Jungkook leans on his other elbow as well, his mouth immediately on your jaw as you close your eyes at the sensation those two pillows bring you.

"Mhm," he hums, "I mean I know you enjoy spanking," he says with the same hum as you gulp, feeling the lust bubbling in your stomach while you shift on your spot, desperate to feel some friction.

And just like that, he gives the side of your ass a light spank which makes you bite your lower lip immediately.

He really is multitasking because his lips stay glued to your jaw as he slowly moves it down your neck. Unfortunately, if he knew how hot you look right now with a bottom lip tucked between your teeth, he would surely look.

"I know you like when I wrapped my hand around your neck,"

And then his fingers trace against your skin on your neck, your whole body shuddering as your body naturally spreads your legs. Fuck, can he get his lower body closer? 

But he's not done yet, his hand caressing your neck before it's wrapped around it. But it just lays there, he doesn't put any pressure on it and his whole touch electrifies you. He's still gentle with his touch, showing you he isn't going into his full mode. He's just giving you a demonstration, a little sneak-peek you've experienced in the mentioned full mode.

"You like many things," he continues, dragging his hand off your neck moving it down until it disappears once it touches the top of your collarbones. "But you never told me. So, I'm asking you. Is there a secret desire you want to do?"

And then his face is above you, staring down at you with attentive eyes and for a moment, you have a trouble realizing he's talking about such a topic.

"I–I don't know,"

Liar, you tell yourself.

Everything Jungkook has done with you intimately, you've enjoyed very much and you actually let him lead your own desires while he tried to figure out what you like. That's what you kind of decided to do when you first had a similar conversation about it at the very beginning of your sex life together. Not even once you felt the need to tell him what to do or what to try – not that it would be a problem at all.

It certainly wouldn't. You preferred Jungkook taking the lead while you just enjoyed whatever he had prepared for you – the things you haven't tried before such as spanking, choking and different things you only heard about. Until he changed that.

"I like everything you do."

"Come on, there has to be something." Jungkook says with a little smile.

You're being delusional because in no way he knows there actually is something you've always been curious about but it was never the right time.

With everything that happened to him, you can't possibly confess that you wanted to know what a raw sex feels like. What it feels like when someone cums inside you. Do you feel it? Do you not feel it at all while it's happening? You actually realize it's stupid to ask that of someone who you're not dating with. Surely, there are risks. Lower with your birth control but it's never a hundred percent.

So it's stupid to even risk such a thing with someone who you're not dating and having a relationship with. There is still a big 'what if', a rational thought occurring in your mind and that's why you never actually voiced your interest in that.

Sure, a lot of people who aren't dating have unprotected sex. But you're responsible and never trusted anyone enough to do that. You want to slap yourself when you remind yourself of having that thought of what it would feel like with Jungkook.

It obviously has a lot to do with trust and you trust Jungkook with your whole life. But can Jungkook affect the risks a hundred percent? He can't.

"There isn't." you assure him, but it tastes weird on your tongue and the way Jungkook tilts his head while he studies you with his dark and big orbs, you know he definitely can tell you're not hundred percent honest.

"I don't believe you," he says simply, "You can be honest with me, you know that, right?" he asks, leaning closer to you as he places a soft kiss against your neck once again and you sigh desperately.

"I know," you murmur, "It's just not possible."

He lifts his head up, frowning in a confusion as he suddenly sits up and you can see wheels turning in his head. You slowly sit up, hair volumized from your previous position and even though it's disheveled, you kind of look like an angel – Jungkook would think if he wasn't trying to figure out why you're suddenly so secretive.

Do you think he's going to shame you for anything you have on your mind?

"Why?" he asks confusingly and god, he looks so soft while asking you with the most innocent and confused tone.

"I will explain later." you tell him, shifting on your spot as you're reminded of the wet spot between your thighs.

"Okay," he nods, not before he studies your face some more.

Wanting to get to the action, you move first as you lock your lips together. Arms around his neck, you bring him closer to you as Jungkook lets you, putting a pressure to make you lay back. He hovers over you again, spreading your legs as he makes himself fit there. Once again, he's hovering over you like he did minutes ago, not wasting any time as he slowly starts to grind against you.

The moment you feel his hardening cock, your juices wetting his boxers right away, you gasp and start grinding your own hips.

"Fuck, that feels good," you moan when he thrusts into you, something about the single barrier of his piece of clothing making it even hotter.

"Yeah?" Jungkook breathes out, rolling his hips into yours as you feel your skin getting hotter and hotter, making it burn up all while your hands slip under Jungkook's arms and you let your fingers graze his hot skin on his back. "Think you can cum like this?"

You give Jungkook a look and he laughs at your expression.

"Don't worry, I will still fuck you if you want."

He knows you want that. But Jungkook is perfect at spicing things up and you wonder, where the hell will you find someone equal to his perfect skills and stamina? You can't worry about that right now because it just brings unnecessary thoughts you know you will have to face later anyway. But you just want to enjoy this while it lasts.

Whether it's a matter of days, weeks or months.

Until one of you decides that's enough.

With a perfect roll of his hips, you're too in your own world to even think about the embarrassment of his boxers being soaked by your wetness that gushes out of you each time you clench around nothing, wishing it was Jungkook's cock.

Jungkook can tell you're already close, not close enough to come in a few seconds but you're getting there. Your eyes closed, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and a frown that shows pure ecstasy. He swears you'd be cumming within the next minute if it weren't for the ringbell that makes both of you break from the pleasure.

"You're expecting someone?" you ask breathlessly, Jungkook sitting back on his knees as he runs his fingers through his short hair.

He shakes his head, "Are you?"

You raise your brow at him. As if you would invite to his place – even though it's a knowledge Jungkook wouldn't mind you inviting someone.

"Let me check who it is," Jungkook sighs, glancing around for his sweatpants while you stand up to grab an underwear. "What are you doing? I'm not done with you." He glances at you as he's putting on his sweatpants, standing up at the edge of the bed.

"What if it's someone we know?" you point out, "Look what I'm wearing."

Jungkook doesn't protest, not having enough time with you to argue as he walks out of the bedroom to get to the front door.

You slip your panties on, scrunching your nose because of the discomfort your wetness brings you. Looking for your robe, the thin silky one since you already put away your fluffy pink one for the colder months, you put it on once you find it in the closet.

Peeking out of the door, you hear voices and it takes you five seconds to realize the deep voice that gets closer is actually Taehyung. Just as you realize it, Taehyung comes to the view with Jungkook trailing behind him still shirtless which makes you panic slightly. What if Taehyung suspects something?

"Can you believe it?" Taehyung's deep voice booms again, he sounds frustrated and annoyed which makes you walk out of the bedroom with a concerned face.

"What's wrong?" you ask, earning the attention from the two men as Jungkook sighs behind Taehyung.

"I don't know, I'm still trying to figure it out." Jungkook mutters, obviously confused at the sudden presence of Taehyung at this hour but most importantly, his behavior as he barged in.

"Jimin," Taehyung scoffs, "That idiot has a girlfriend!" he exclaims, and you swear you almost choke on your spit.

Whatever you would think he's about to say, this is definitely not one of those things.

Did you hear him right?

Jimin? The man that loves to hook-up and never showed interest to be in a relationship? Years of knowing him and his choice of life-style, very similar to Taehyung's if not the same, you can't help but be shocked by Taehyung's reveal.

Jungkook looks as equally surprised, widening his eyes as he scratches his chest in thought.

"And... that is a problem because?" Jungkook speaks, filling the silence as Taehyung turns around and scoffs.

"The times he bailed on us was because he had a girlfriend this whole time. He kept it a secret!"

You stand there dumbfounded, sharing a look with Jungkook as you're trying to grasp why it is such a problem.

"Are you mad at him because he chose not to tell us?" you ask slowly, still trying to figure it out as Taehyung frowns and thinks it through.

He stays quiet, his shoulders suddenly dropping as he sighs in defeat. "No, I just can't believe he betrayed me like that."

You stifle a laugh, covering your mouth as Taehyung glares at you. "I'm sorry but... what were you? Were you in a secret relationship we don't know about?"

It's Jungkook's turn to stifle a laugh as he leans against the back of the couch with his front.

"Like you are the one to joke about secret relationships," Taehyung mutters and your face drops, giving him a glare.

For a moment you're worried as if he knows about you and Jungkook, but then you remember he actually talks about you and Jungkook hiding your deal the first time.

"Anyway, he just never told me he likes someone. Or he even thinks about dating someone. Plus he was so secretive and ew, I think he really likes her."

You and Jungkook snort.

"I'm sure you will find someone you will like too, Taehyung-ah." you assure him, coming closer to him as you pat his shoulder.

He scoffs, visibly repulsed by the idea. "I don't want to find someone I like!"

"You're not gonna be single for the rest of your life, Tae." you tell him. Not that it would be something wrong if he ended up single.

Not everyone wants to have a relationship and have a lover in that sense. Taehyung is enjoying this lifestyle but you do believe there will come a time when someone walks into his life and he will like that person. Like them more than someone he just wants to have sex with.

"Nah, I'm gonna be a sugar daddy when I'm old or something." He waves you off and you laugh, shaking your head at him.

"You actually have to be loaded to be a sugar daddy." Jungkook reminds him cheekily.

"There is always a time, Jeon Jungkook," Taehyung narrows his eyes at Jungkook. "Anyway, I'm feeling sick from how in love he sounded so I'm staying over, okay? Hope you lovebirds don't mind having another roommate for the night,"

You stutter over your words, Jungkook equally surprised by Taehyung's own invitation to his home but most importantly – you two have unfinished business and a part of it is in Jungkook's boxers right now, which is hidden from Taehyung's eyes. Oh my god, did he lean against the couch to cover his bulge? 

"I can take the couch, it's fucking comfy anyway," Taehyung turns around and walks to the couch as he makes himself comfortable there.

"Uh, okay?" Jungkook says unsurely, the two of you sharing a look, fully realizing Taehyung just totally cockblocked you.

"Or I can share a bed with you, I can keep you warm. I love to cuddle with something anyway." Taehyung shamelessly says to you, wiggling his brows teasingly as you widen your eyes, not knowing whether you're lost for words or you want to laugh with him. You can't believe he just compared you to something.

"I, uh, I actually don't have my own bed yet."

Taehyung suddenly stares at you, a grin freezing as he slowly looks between you and Jungkook, your heart picking up its pace as you feel you're about to go full in panic mode for some reason.

"Oh," He lets out, "I mean it's not like you both haven't shared a bed anyway. More than that actually." he says, teasing both of you as you feel the heat rushing back to your cheeks while Jungkook straightens and clears his throat.

"It's almost done. I'm planning to finish it tomorrow," Jungkook informs him, but it's not like Taehyung actually cares because he already starts putting some of the extra cushions to the floor.

You realize he's already wearing pajamas which could be mistaken by a pair of grey sweatpants and a matching shirt.

"I will bring you a blanket and a pillow." Jungkook tells him, watching him as Taehyung looks at him.

"Actually make those two, two pillows. No, three if you've got any."

Jungkook purses his lips, "Sure." You see him rolling his eyes in annoyance at Taehyung who doesn't see it because Jungkook is already walking to his bedroom with his back turned to Taehyung.

Standing there for a moment, Taehyung smacks his lips and closes his eyes as if you weren't there, completely ignoring your presence as you snort and follow Jungkook into his bedroom. You find him pulling an extra blanket and actually finding some extra pillows for Taehyung.

"Can you bring it to him?" he asks you, a huge pile of the blanket and pillows on the floor as you stand there dumbfounded.

"Why?"

"Look at me for fucks sake." Jungkook exclaims, whispering loudly at you as he points towards the visible hard bulge in his boxers. Well, at least it's not in its fully hard state because in that way Taehyung would notice for sure.

"Alright, alright, calm down your balls." you mutter, picking up the things which you struggle with but manage to hold it all in your arms.

Jungkook delivers a slap to your ass, the sound echoing in the room as you both freeze, looking at each other. You glare at him but Jungkook just grins at you.

"Calm down your tits, he probably didn't hear."

Groaning, you wish your hands would be free so you could show him your middle finger.

Bringing it to Taehyung, he thanks you and makes himself comfortable, ordering you to turn off the lights which you do with a grumble. He sends you a flying kiss with his eyes already closed and arms crossed over his chest.

What a turn of events for tonight.

It's twenty minutes after and you both just lay on your backs, hands on your own stomachs as you stare at the dark ceiling. It's more than clear Jungkook is awake too, the last time you glanced at him which was approximately around a minute ago, his eyes were wide open. Thanks to the unclosed blinds, there is at least some kind of moonlight present in the room.

The entire apartment is silent, no sounds heard.

"Do you think he's asleep?" Jungkook mutters, quietly with his deep voice which sounds even deeper as he tries to keep quiet.

"He's a fast sleeper, so... probably." you answer with a whisper.

A rustling sound of the sheets comes from Jungkook's side as he turns to you, leaning on his elbow as you see him staring at you. It's too dark to make out his features but you just know he's looking at you because it's quite obvious.

"You still wanna fuck?" he asks, a shocking jolt of excitement and lust filling your body as the thought of having sex with someone in the other room makes you both anxious and excited.

"What if he hears us?" you ask back, voice still coming out as a whisper but you're intrigued, leaning on your elbows too.

"You're gonna have to be quiet then." Jungkook proposes as if you always make every sound.

"It's not just about me, Jeon," you mutter kind of loudly, silencing your voice. "Sex isn't soundless."

And by that you mean, if Jungkook plans to fuck you there's no way the very familiar sounds of your bodies meeting and your wetness around his length every time he thrusts will come out as soundless.

"There's always a way around it. I told you I'm not done with you."

You cock your brow at him, nibbling in your bottom lip as you press your thighs together under the sheets, knowing you know your answer before you even say it.

"Okay,"

You're risking a lot actually. It's not like you desperately want to keep the relationship you currently have with Jungkook away from Taehyung. And that includes Jimin too. But you're just not ready to tell them and first of all, it's not any of their business. What would you say anyway? Just come up to them and announce to them you and Jungkook are hooking up whenever you want to?

You know Taehyung would never judge you, maybe tease the hell out of you and Jungkook. Jimin might not completely judge you but he surely would voice his concerns of your stupid decision based on your hormones, lust and selfishness.

Either way, maybe you will bring it up once you and Jungkook feel comfortable or just won't tell them. Whatever feels right for you and him.

Jungkook scoots closer to you, his body pressed to your right side as he slips his arm under the sheets and finds his place between your thighs once again. You allow him the space, spreading your legs slightly.

"Fuck, you're still wet," he mutters, "I never found Taehyung annoying as much as he just cockblocked me tonight."

You giggle, especially at the annoyance he portrays toward Taehyung, but it dies down as soon as Jungkook starts rubbing you. A moan threatening to escape past your lips, you quickly bite it back and let Jungkook tease you while you shift on your spot impatiently.

"Jungkook," you whine by a whisper, still reminding yourself to keep it quiet. "I need you."

"I'm right here." he teases you and you groan, squeezing his biceps in return as you glare at him in the darkness.

And then he slips a finger inside you, pumping it slowly as you welcome the penetration but it's still not what you're yearning for the most. As much as you feel excited to be doing this, the thrill of someone else in the bedroom, you wouldn't be able to live it up if Taehyung walked on you having sex. He wouldn't let you live. You're also impatient, nervous you'll break and make any louder sounds if Jungkook is going to play with you.

"Jeon," you scold him, but still embarrassingly grinding against his finger as he adds another that makes you gasp silently, mouth falling open. "I'm serious, please just fuck me."

Jungkook sighs in disappointment, or at least that's what you think it is, but allows his fingers to glide out of you. Your body protests immediately, needing his touch but you're momentarily distracted when Jungkook suddenly brings his fingers to your lips. He brushes them against your bottom lip, your wetness smearing across it making it glisten which could be seen if there was any extra lightning. Before you know it, he's putting a slight pressure on them and you know what he wants, so you fulfil his wishes by welcoming his two long digits into your mouth.

Your own taste is present on your taste buds as you wrap your mouth around his fingers, letting your tongue twirl around them as you suck. Cleaning your own juices off his fingers, he pulls them out slowly with a light pop.

"Good girl," he says with a deep, hushed and raspy voice that makes you want to whine in even more impatience.

Luckily, Jungkook turns his upper body towards his nightstand, not even bothering to close it as he pulls out a condom. Ripping the foil package, you can make out him tossing it onto the floor as he kicks off the sheets off his body and pulls down his boxers. Wishing you could see a clear image of him putting the latex down his hard length, you have to settle for the outlines of his body.

Jungkook is quick and expert at this, rolling on the condom perfectly as you clearly see himself giving a few test pumps before he fully disregards his boxers. You already grasp the sheets and pull them off your body, inviting Jungkook which he welcomes naturally and settles between your spreaded legs, just for him. The sheets cover Jungkook's lower body once he takes it from you, draping it over your and his bodies.

"Ready?" he asks quietly, leaning closer to you as you feel his tip brushing against your thigh.

"Yeah," you breathe out, eagerly anticipating the feeling of him entering you which comes in a second.

He props up with his arm by your head while the other is on his length, guiding himself to your entrance which he finds naturally and quickly. You immediately curse at the sudden stretch of his cockhead pushing past your folds, slowly inching deeper and deeper. Nails digging into Jungkook's back, you try to keep your mouth shut but it's hard when the intense stretch makes your eyes tear up.

"Shhh," Jungkook reminds you, face above you as you notice a faint sight of his brows pinched together.

"I'm trying." you tell him through clenched teeth, Jungkook still pushing his hard and thick length into you.

"You're clenching around me, you're not making it any easier," Jungkook scolds you by a whisper and you scoff, grunting right away when he finally slips entirely inside of you.

You both sigh in content, your body relaxing as Jungkook starts to pull out, just to softly push back in. He builds up the pace of his thrusts, which is also based on your body's reaction to him while he attentively watches you (or tries to in the dark to tell apart your reaction). Your soft moans and the way you try to control them, imprisoning them in your mouth by biting harshly into your lower lip, tells him enough to know you're enjoying this as much as being quiet suddenly feels like the hardest task in the world.

You still have to keep quiet, no matter how many meters and a wall separates you from your sleeping – (hopefully) – friend. Jungkook thrusts are slower than usual but deep and sharp which knocks the breath out of you every time he does it.

It feels so good, it's definitely different compared to the usual rough and wild sex you have. Having to be quiet and careful plays a role in it too, since usually you don't have to be too careful of another person being in the same place as you. It all has its own spark and new feelings to it.

Rolling your hips into Jungkook, your thrusts meet as his pelvis bone presses into yours every time. Bodies on fire, you can't keep your eyes open as you dive into the pure ecstasy of Jungkook's skillful thrusts as you feel your stomach tightening.

It's not hard for Jungkook to tell you're close. Your walls tightening around him would be enough to tell him that. However, Jungkook grows frustrated at the lack of feeling of you. Sure, he feels your walls wrapped around his length but it's so faint he barely feels it, all he feels is a slight pressure that's just not good enough. He still needs to control himself, reminding himself he can't pound into you like there's no tomorrow just because of his desperate need to make himself feel something more.

"Fuck, Kook," you moan, totally oblivious to his inner furstration as he focuses on your moans, face burying into the crook of your neck as he thrusts harder.

His moves are sharper, the sheets covering your bodies barely muting the sounds of your skin meeting. With your hands on his back, nails scratching the skin there, you allow your back to arch as you finally let the knot snap inside you that makes you cum. You cum in a record time, Jungook fucking you through it with the same sharp and deep thrusts.

Growing sensitive and overstimulated, you try to coax Jungkook to cum by rolling your hips into his but that comes in return is Jungkook's frustrated growl which is muffled by your neck and pillow luckily.

"What's wrong?" you ask, knowing Jungkook isn't one to take too long to cum.

Sure, his stamina is great but you can tell there's something wrong.

Jungkook stops, hovering over you as he stays inside you. "Fuck, I think it's the condom."

"What?" you ask in alert, Jungkook quickly shaking his head as if to soothe down your worries.

"I can barely feel you," Jungkook says through clenched teeth, frustrated as he pulls out of you.

Leaning towards his nightstand, you lean on your elbows just to be met with a light of his night lamp being turned on. You squint your eyes at the sudden brightness while Jungkook is looking for the box of condoms, rummaging it with an unnecessary noise but as you're about to scold him, he already finds it and picks it up. Brows furrowed, you watch him read the box as he scoffs.

"Extra thick and extra safe," he reads out loud, scoffing and frustratedly tossing the box of condoms away. "Makes sense."

"You're the one who bought it." you chirp in, annoyingly reminding Jungkook which doesn't make him feel any better and you get a slight glare in return.

"It was the only one they had," he points out, stating matter of factly as you roll your eyes at him. "Fuck, I'm not buying them next time."

"What are we gonna do?" you ask, staring at Jungkook's hard cock that's wrapped in a condom and the sight suddenly makes you giggle, finding his frustration and this situation funny.

It brings only more annoyance and frustration on Jungkook's face as he frustratedly takes the condom off and goes to bin it. He joins you on the bed, hand running through his disheveled hair.

"Fucking extra thick and safe," he mutters and you giggle, trying to keep your voice down. "I'm not buying this brand again."

You sit down, silently giggling to yourself as you scoot closer to him, placing your hands on his tensed shoulders. "Come on, lay down." you urge him, leaning to turn the lights off.

Jungkook obeys, laying back to bed while the bedroom is swallowed in the darkness once again. You hover over him, tossing a leg over his body as you sit back on his thighs. You cringe at the wetness meeting his skin immediately, cursing at yourself for forgetting about your own mess between your thighs.

"Sorry." you whisper, Jungkook's hands coming to your sides.

"No, don't apologize," he tells you as you lean down and place a kiss to his mouth.

You start kissing his neck, your right hand already finding his cock slapped against his stomach as you start pumping it. Jungkook sighs pleasantly, making himself comfortable as he wiggles on his spot, clearly finally getting enough friction and attention. You want to snort but fight against it, continuing to work on his neck with your mouth while you squeeze his shaft, tracing your thumb on top of it.

"Yeah, that feels good," he sighs, voice tight and breathy while his hands make it to your ass.

He pulls your cheeks apart, massaging the flesh as you gasp against his skin. Focus, Y/N, you remind yourself not wanting to feel aroused again and risking the chance of a round two with Taehyung in the next room. But Jungkook makes it hard with his needy and touchy hands.

Suddenly, Jungkook presses onto your ass and you grind against him, a surprised gasp leaving your mouth as your hand leaves his length for a moment.

"Sorry," Jungkook apologizes sheepishly, growing impatient with you just pumping his cock.

You glare at him, gasping when your hips are inched forward and you suddenly feel it. The hard and hot flesh you're currently sitting on, your chest flushed against Jungkook's while you feel your wetness coating Jungkook's cock. Naked, with no barrier.

It feels like your head is about to spin, not believing you feel him like this against you. Quickly bracing yourself, you sit back and get off his length as you choose to sit next to him instead.

Glancing at Jungkook, you find him propped on his elbow, body slightly tensed as you feel his eyes on you even in the darkness. Once you wrap your hand around him, he relaxes and another apology croaks out of his mouth as he lays back and lets you pump his solid length.

"It's fine." you assure him, leaning down to his length as you take him into your mouth.

The rest of the few minutes go with you sucking him off, ignoring the way you clench around nothing when Jungkook lets out even the slightest breathy sound as he's enjoying the warmth of your mouth around him. Your previous plan of not wanting to get all hot and needy failed, Jungkook not helping you at all when his arm stretches to your ass and starts to rub your pussy while you try to make him cum.

You whine, torn between slapping his hand away or letting him rub you. It feels too good to tell him to stop and with you being focused (trying to be) on sucking him off, you just let him feel your wetness. It's in the middle of you drooling all over his cock, both mouth and hand busy, when Jungkook finally cums into your mouth.

You swallow the liquid, not letting it linger in your mouth any longer than it's necessary, the panic of Taehuyng being awake is the main priority at the moment, now that all of your and Jungkook's needs have been dealt with.

As soon as you don't feel his hand on you, you persuade yourself it's for the better because apparently, the condoms aren't good and you don't want to risk doing anything more.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, glancing at Jungkook when you grab your robe and quickly tie it around your frame, seeing him pulling some random sweatpants on.

"I gotta clean up myself." he shrugs as you sigh.

"Wait here, I'm going first."

"What, why?" he whines.

"Because Taehyung might be awake, you idiot." you scold him, pointing out the obvious as Jungkook huffs.

"He is not, or else he would barge in here. But fine, but be quick I can feel your cum drying on my thighs."

He slouches back on the bed, ushering you to move as you roll your eyes.

Luckily, Taehyung is still asleep and not even a sound comes out from the living room as you walk by to the bathroom. You're as fast as possible, finding Jungkook slowly falling asleep in the same position you left him when you come back. You kick him in the shin to wake him up, he stands up with a grumble.

"Suddenly not minding to fall asleep with my dried cum on you?" you sarcastically ask, teasing him a little as you see him showing you his middle finger. You don't see it clearly, just the outline of it is enough to make you bite back a laugh.

"Fuck off," he grumbles under his breath, "You wanted to clean first."

And he is out of the door before you can think of a comeback, sighing because it has no point to do that in the middle of the night.

Hating to admit it, you still wait for Jungkook to come back until you fully allow yourself to fall asleep but in your defense, he doesn't take too long and joins you in a few minutes before your eyes can even flutter shut.

Your last night while sharing a bed with Jungkook is peaceful, just like the previous ones always had been. And it certainly has nothing to do with Jungkook's warm and soft breath hitting the back of your neck.

The morning comes too quickly in your opinion. Maybe it's the sunlight peeking through unclosed blinds you forgot to close last night that makes you painfully squint your barely open eyes. Looking at the clock, it's not as early as you expect it to be and the whole apartment seems to be swallowed in silence, which makes you question where everyone is.

Suddenly being reminded of Taehyung's presence, it's weird that it's still quiet at ten o'clock.

Still wearing your nightgown, it's better to change before Taehyung sees your extremely exposed skin – not that he would care – but you're not in the mood for any early jokes and teasing on your account which would surely involve Jungkook as well.

Changing to your usual morning lazy outfit – a pair of beige sweatpants and a large white shirt – you make it into the bathroom to take care of your appearance and morning hygiene. It doesn't take you long, just enough to open the door and smell the delicious smell of bacon and eggs.

On your way following the smell, you notice Taehyung still cuddled to the pillow and blanket, his butt peeking off the couch as you chuckle but silently make it to the kitchen.

You're not surprised to see Jungkook completely awake, dressed in sport shorts and an oversized black shirt, looking fresh and wide awake as if he has been up for hours now.

"Don't you ever sleep?" you mumble behind him, joining him in the kitchen as he glances over his shoulder with a corner of his lips tilted upwards.

"Do you ever wake up before nine?" he asks in return, cackling when you smack his back when you walk past him.

"Yeah, if i have to," you say dumbfounded, earning another chuckle at the obviousness in your tone. "This smells good. You need help with anything?" you ask, looking around to see if there is anything you could do but you already find everything prepared.

Plates, glasses, sliced bread and a bowl of fruit... Jungkook has already taken care of everything.

"No, just sit down your pretty ass. Breakfast will be served soon,"

You raise your brow at him, earning another grin from him as he turns off the stove, serving the fried bacon on a plate. But you stand there, ignoring the way Jungkook cocks his brow at you and smirks when you haven't listened to him.

Once Jungkook puts away the pan, letting it cool down he turns to you, giving you a look which you return with a cheeky smile, raising your brow at him.

"You never listen, do you?" he chuckles.

"Of course not, you should know that by now Jeon." you tease him, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue as he playfully rolls his eyes at you.

"You're provoking me." he states matter-of-factly, staring into your eyes as you can't help but smirk. He knows.

"Am I?" you cock your head to the side, Jungkook inching closer as you slowly take a step back, playfully smirking at him.

"Was last night not enough for you?"

And the profound confidence and cockiness makes you eye him from head to toe, staring back at his eyes through your eyelashes before you say; "Wasn't it enough for you?"

Jungkook growls, bumping into you as your bodies clash together as his hand makes it to your ass, delivering a slap to it as you laugh, hands on his chest while his both hands squeezes your asscheeks.

"What. The. Fuck."

It's like you've been electrified, both jumped away from each other as you stare at freshly awoken Taehyung with his eyes wide despite the evident sleepiness in them. His hair is disheveled, face puffy as he stares dumbfoundedly at the two of you.

You're screwed. One part of you tries to tell you that it's not a big deal but looking at Taehyung, you feel like your heart is in your throat and you're about to get scolded for some reason.

You're both so stupid. Getting touchy when he could've walked in any time. Which happened. You both were just stupid to let yourself get carried away.

"Taehyung, you are awake?" you manage to ask as if what he saw was nothing, voice too high and light which makes him stare at you even more, blinking slowly.

"Clearly I wasn't supposed to be!" he exclaims, throwing his arms suddenly as he eyes you both suspiciously but you know he knows. He's not stupid to let this go and think of this as nothing happened.

"Tae, this doesn't have to be a drama, okay?" Jungkook speaks up softly, watching his older friend starting to both catch a breath as he lets out a humorous laugh.

"You just were all over Y/N's ass!" he points at Jungkook as if he accused him of something.

Jungkook shrugs, there's no point in denying it when he clearly saw it.

"Hold the fuck on," Taehyung pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing in and out before he walks to the dining table and seats himself.

He stares at you with a firm gaze, the situation kind of wants to make you laugh but you hold yourself back. Somehow, Jungkook's presence and his obvious pose makes you more comfortable because you know he will take care of this.

"You guys are dating too?"

"No." you and Jungkook answer at the same time, both of you looking at each other without turning your heads, giving yourselves a side look.

"No, it's not that." Jungkook adds, cringing at himself since he says it awkwardly and slowly.

"Phew, thank fuck," Taehyung breathes out a sigh of relief, "I mean, don't get me wrong... it's just the situation with Jimin, imagine if y'all dated someone. I would be a fucking outcast!" he exclaims dramatically as you roll your eyes at him and join him at the table, not before taking the bacon with you.

"Calm down, weirdo. We are not dating," you assure him, "With your lifestyle, you're gonna be the only single one at some point."

"Oh, fuck off." Taehyung grumbles and mockingly grimaces at you.

"Oh, fuck off." you mumble back childishly, doing the same grimace.

Sighing, you reach for the glass of orange juice Jungkook has so kindly poured everyone before you even came here.

"So you just casually let your friends slap your ass?" Taehyung suddenly asks, causing you to almost choke but luckily, you haven't taken a sip yet.

You glare at him, Jungkook clearing his throat as a silence follows.

"What? Here I was talking about face slapping the other day and you're–"

"Okay, that's enough." Jungkook butts in, placing a bottle of ketchup on the table.

"I'm just fucking confused right now, I feel like I'm hangover," Taehyung says, clutching the side of his head. "So what is this then? Don't tell me you have another fake dating deal going on. Who are you trying to get back? Don't tell me it's that adolescent douche."

You snort, shaking your head. "Relax, we are not trying to get anyone back."

"We are just hooking up."

"Jungkook!"

"What?" he exclaims back, "He already saw us. What's the point of not going straight to the point?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Taehyung says quickly, digging into the scrambled eggs as he puts it into his mouth, munching on it. "You guys are hooking up?"

"That's what I just said, didn't I?" Jungkook sighs, sitting on the opposite side of you and Taehyung.

"You guys are fucking crazy," Taehyung mutters, "But hey, good for you. At least you have sex again." he tells you, causing Jungkook to hold back a laughter as you nudge your shoulder into Taehyung's.

"Shut up," you grumble, "What do you even know about my sex life?"

"Practically nothing, I thought it was non-existent." Taehyung mutters causing you to glare at him.

"Not everyone fucks everyone with a pair of tits."

"Hey, it's not everyone. Just everyone who's willing to share that pair of tits with me."

All three of you burst into laughter at that, a silence following once you calm down as Taehyung keeps eyeing you while he sips on his juice.

"What is it, Taehyung?" you ask finally, not standing the prying eyes on you for more than a second.

"Nothing, nothing," Taehyung whistles but then he breaks, "Oh my god, I can't believe you two are actually fucking! I knew you just wouldn't go back to being friends!"

"We are friends," you argue immediately, meanwhile Jungkook is stuffing his face with food as if this conversation doesn't involve him. Honestly, it just makes you mentally shake your head at him for not saying anything further, leaving you to handle annoying and teasing Taehyung by yourself. "We went back to just being friends!" you exclaim as you see Taehyung's raised brow, obviously not believing you.

Your frustration rises as Taehyung purses his lips.

"No, really! It just happened... Anyway, we are both single so..." you mumble, not even knowing how to get out of this conversation but with Taehyung, it's impossible.

"Yeah, for how long..." Taehyung mutters quietly under his breath but gives you a teasing grin once your eyes meet. "I'm happy for you, though. I really am."

Jungkook snorts, leaning against the stool as he chews the food while you give Taehyung a weird look.

"Happy for us?" you ask dumbfounded as Taehyung nods.

"Yeah," he nods, shrugging. "Happy you have sex, enjoying your youthful life... with Jungkook out of all people."

"Okay, what is that supposed to mean?" you exclaim, Taehyung almost choking on his food as he bursts into another fit of laughter.

"Okay, I think that's enough," Jungkook says, "Please, Tae. Let us live, okay?"

"Fine, fine, fine." Taehyung waves him off, keeping his mouth shut.

Finally you're about to eat in a peaceful quiet until another topic comes up and you couldn't be happier.

Still, Taehyung keeps amusingly smirking at his plate but you choose to ignore it. Both of you do.

[dollwrites]

ᴊᴏʏʀɪᴅᴇ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʀʏᴏ ᴀsᴜᴋᴀ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, noncon, gun kink ( gun fucking ), depictions of car wrecks / injuries, mild humiliation / degradation, use of the word rape, what a strange encounter lol. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act five [ object stimulation ]

your heart was pounding hard against your ribs. right foot pressing down on the pedal. the engine revs louder, practically roaring in your ears, and the photo-white sports car tore down the dark asphalt. the road was slick, and the windshield wipers worked furiously to clear your few of the rain that seemed to pour endlessly from a hole ripped in the night sky.

this wouldn’t have been your first pick for a low profile— a foreign car that most people could only dream of being able to afford, but it was the only one that was unlocked. the only car with the keys in the visor, that fell quite literally into your lap when you flipped it down. but, you still needed to disappear, and the owner had most definitely reported it stolen already, so you avoided main highways. you kept the headlights off, and sped through the darkness on the least traveled backroad that you could find that would wind its way, lacking streetlights and attention, towards the airport. you knew very well that you’d have to abandon the car about six kilometers from there, and hoof it the rest of the way, but you still had a ways to go. twenty kilometers, maybe.

your mind had been so scrabbled with thoughts of escaping, starting a new life, and putting this one behind you that you hadn’t even turned on the radio. perhaps you should; it probably would’ve eased the stiff tension, but you’re grateful you hadn’t. that way, you were able to hear a low growling. one that was approaching from the rear, gradually growing louder. your eyes flit from the hardly visible road to the rear view, stomach twisting into knots as you saw twin lights behind you. still a ways back, but it seemed as if they’d appeared out of thin air.

sucking your lower lip into your mouth, your brows knit together and you press harder on the gas. RPMs slightly bumping up, the roar of your own engine exploded through the night air and you could see the headlights behind you dimming. you felt a wave of relief wash over you— but such a thing was short lived.

because the vehicle tailing you also snarled and sped up. the headlights grew brighter and brighter the closer it got, as if being reeled closer and closer to your bumper, and you felt your stomach flip over when the headlights flickered brightly, twice.

this was a chase.

the cops!

“Shit, shit, shit!” you hissed to yourself, pressing your foot down further. you could feel the floorboard on the other side. even as you gripped the steering wheel tightly, you could feel the wobble. with the roads so slippery, and the winds from the storm so fierce, Mother Nature threatened you with a crash. you’d never driven a car that would go this fast, either, so experience was not on your side.

still, you were determined to get away, and there’s no way in hell that a squad car could keep up with this speed… was there?

your heart sank to your stomach as your pursuer stays right on your bumper, headlights nearly kissing it, with ease. how was this possible?! with your anxiety turned up to one hundred, and no more pedal to stomp on with it pressed all the way to the floor, you stared back at the pitch blackness before you, trying to keep the car between the ditches at the very least as the wipers pushed a waterfall of diamonds that obstructed your view around the glass. the car moaned and swerved, and your fingers clamped harder around the wheel to attempt to keep her steady, but nothing could compare you for what came next.

speeding by the yellow sign so quickly that you almost didn’t see the hairpin curve warning until the silver guardrails sparkled from the blinding rays in your mirrors. no, no, no! you wanted to scream it out, but you hadn’t the time to form the words before fires were squealing, the unfamiliar car protesting with a stubborn swerve. you took a stupid chance and looked into the rear view once more, in hopes that the hunter on your ass wasn’t able to maneuver. only to find that, instead, the driver had sped into the middle, straddling the divider, with their headlights parallel to your back tires. it took you a moment to realize what the car intended by getting in this position, but by the time you had, you had no time to brace for the impact.

CRUNCH!

in the blink of an eye, you were spinning. your hands slipped from the steering wheel and instead attempted to shield your face. the speed at which the smallest bump sent you spiraling was sickening. your stomach leapt up to the base of your throat. after what seemed like an eternity twirling, the car collided into the silver barrier. the impact slammed your head into the window beside you, you felt it fracture from the force against your temple, and the sudden pain causes a blackout. your vision went dark, and rubies dribbled from the wound by your hairline.

sizzling.

no, hissing. you force your lids to give way, though they feel as if they each weigh a ton. clouds of thick, gray smoke bellows out from beneath a crumpled white hood, marred by thick, black skids. your eyelids droop, and you slump against the window. it wasn’t shattered, but breaks spiderwebbed out from the point of impact where you lay. your breath, albeit labored, is the faintest sound you hear. a car door catches your attention. one that slams. and then slow, steady footsteps. boot soles crunching over broken glass. getting closer. everything within you is screaming to move. to fling the door open and throw yourself out onto the asphalt. to run. crawl if you have to. but you’re too disoriented. nauseous from the spinning. dizzy from hitting your head. you can’t muster enough control over your own body to move it.

and you don’t have to.

the latch on the door clicks, and suddenly, you’re poured from the driver’s seat out of the car. your seatbelt must’ve snapped— or, perhaps, you’d never buckled it when you got in. you couldn’t remember right now. your head swam, and your writhed on the ground, flipping over on to your back. rain splatters cold on your face, and drenches your clothes, sticking your top to your curves, running down your bare legs as you try to pull them up into a bend. “Ggg…gh…” it’s nowhere near a coherent word, but a gurgle as your eyelids flutter. raindrops blurred your vision whenever you attempted to open them completely, but you could see a smear of white looming over you— just the right size to be a person. but not one wearing any sort of uniform. on the contrary, he must’ve been wearing a trench coat. white, because the rain had begun to sink through it, as well. giving it a translucent appearance around his shoulders and biceps. “Ah— are you a cop…?” it was the only thing you could ask, perplexed by his appearance. golden hair, piercing blue eyes, and his lips were in a thin line, unbothered and distant.

“No.” the answer is so abrupt that it catches you off guard, even in your dazed state, and you peer up at him, perplexed, as he slides a slender hand into his coat, fishing around for something.

“Then, why did you—“ your breath catches in your throat when a sleek, black barrel is staring back at you, inches from your face, water careening off it. “Sh— shit…!” you’d never expected a gun, and most certainly not a machine gun. how the hell did he get his hands on one of those?! “Don’t!” your hands fall back against the cold concrete in complete surrender, your body as flush to the ground as you can make it, your hazy gaze trained fully on the gun that hovers just in front of your lips. if you were to try and sit up, you would kiss it, so you stayed still, except for the involuntary tremble that washed over your cold, dripping body.

“You’re a pathetic, quivering excuse for a car thief,” he replies, pushing the barrel close enough to graze across your lips. you whimper and turn your head, closing your eyes tightly, expecting any moment for a bullet to come blazing out from the gun’s depths and tear a hole through your skull. he must be the owner of the car, you deduct, even in your fear-crazed mind. “Aren’t you sorry?” he taunts, the barrel tracing the line of your jaw. “Look at what you did to my car.”

the rain is pounding down on your face so hard that his soft, almost monotone voice is all but inaudible. you squint against the dribbling into your eyes blurring your vision, staring at the crumpled up soda can that was once a dazzling sports car. oh, shit. your stomach churns, your legs shaking as you push your feet on the asphalt. your flip flops slide against your soles, the throng threatening to slip as you try to squirm out from underneath the gun. “Yes!” you chime with a broken mewl, nodding vigorously. “Y—yes, I’m so… so, so sorry! Please, please, I’ll pay for the damages—“

he laughs out loud. throwing a soaking, blond mop back and bellowing out to the crying clouds. “You will, will you?! With what cash??” he was still chuckling when his sapphire gaze falls back upon you, wild and sparkling even in the dark of night. it nearly ceases your heart in your chest at just how… wicked he looked. taking a step closer, his boots crush small pebbles and shards of glass as they plant themselves on either side of your feet. the barrel lingers on your face for only a moment longer before it descends, dragging along the neckline of your dress, tugging it down to expose one of your breasts. his eyes follow the gun’s lead, drinking in the sight of your mound glistening with rain and a pert, stubborn bud. “Are you hiding hundreds of thousands under that dress of yours?” the barrel circles your nipple, causing your back to arch, and you chew on your lower lip, giving a sheepish shake of your head. “Then how will you pay me back?” he asks, his eyes drifting lower than your chest, and settling on the way the rain drenches the bunched up fabric of your skirt on your crotch, outlining your hips and your clenched thighs, creating a pleasant Y.

you weren’t stupid. you knew what he was implying, and you thought you knew what he wanted from you. hell, you would’ve given it to him, too, if that meant he wouldn’t kill you over this damn car. “I— I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want…” he hums, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he considers the offer. careening the barrel of the machine gun lower, it peeks underneath your skirt at the knee, and with a little push, he’s nudged your shuddering thighs apart and pushes the end against your panties— a flimsy resistance. you grunt at the discomfort ( and fear that the slickness of the metal might cause his finger to slip ), but stare up at him with a pleading, helpless gaze. “Do you know what I want from you, little mouse?”

you shook your head, trying to play coy and innocent, which elicits a scoff from the armed man.

“I want to hear you beg for your life.”

your heart drops into your stomach, “W—What?”

“You heard me,” he replies, as if it were the most normal request in the world. “Beg to live. If you sound pathetic enough, I might even grant your wish. After all, I have a soft spot for strays.”

“Please! I want to live,” you start, your heart thumping harder against your rib cage. you still couldn’t move from your back on the ground, and your head was spinning with all the possibilities of how this encounter could end. your voice broke as you pled for him to show you mercy. “Please, please don’t kill me, I will do whatever you want… !” in a deft motion, the barrel slips beneath your wet panties, and runs slow, taunting laps between your netherlips as you speak. you have to swallow the saliva pooling in the floor of your mouth. you wanted to be sick at this unfamiliar sensation of cold metal heating up as he coats it in your slick. “L—let me prove it, please. I will prove it to you. A—anything!!” his eyes flicker up to yours, and a dubious grin etches his lips upwards as he gives the gun a little push, and the barrel slips inside of you. your back arches off the ground, and you clench your teeth with a light hiss, knitting your brows together. “Nn…ghh?”

but he only seems more overjoyed with your discomfort, pumping the first, few inches of the barrel into you with slow, deep thrusts. “Take it,” he ushers, golden tendrils glowing like a dripping halo stuck to his forehead. “If you want to live, you’ll take it just like a cock.”

one of your hands presses against the asphalt, whilst the other starts to reach between your legs, stopping against your belly. you couldn’t pry it out of you without upsetting your assailant, so you clench your fist against the fabric of your skirt, feeling how heavily saturated with water it was. “Fff— fuck…” there was supposed to be a you after the expletive, but you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the insult. though you were scared of angering him, you were also trying to push past how unnatural the hard metal felt sliding in between your spasming, spongy walls, unyielding as it barreled into you at such a steady pace. he didn’t speed up or slow down, keeping the same rhythm, even as your arousal started to build ( much to your dismay ) and you began to squirm and rock into it. he seemed almost… robotic. as if he could fuck you with this gun all night.

“Your cunt’s getting slippery.” he notes, matter of factly. it made you cringe, the way he announced the state of you as simply as if a check engine sign had flashed up on his dashboard during a long drive, and he pushes into you with a little more force, sliding another inch inside in the process. the solid edge punches at a sensitive nerve bundle, and your breath catches in your throat, killing a helpless yowl. “You’re starting to like it. Sick. You must be completely deranged.” but he was grinning like the cheshire cat as he teased you, the strap that would’ve been hooked on his shoulder slapping against his waist as he drills the weapon into your tender sex. “What’s next? Do you want to cum with your pussy stretching around my gun?”

you want to say no. jesus, you want to scream it. however, the look on his face tells you all you need to know. he wants you to. maybe just for the sick thrill of it all, not even for his own gratification. so, begrudgingly, you nod, and he howls with laughter again, like a happy hyena. “Beg for it, then.”

your jaw works, your couplet almost unable to form the words. the fucking he was giving you was numbing your mind to a point, the repetitive, deep prodding of metal into your guts made them twist into knots. “P—please,” you hiss against clenched teeth, your eyes helpless and doelike. “Please can I cum on your…. On your gun?” as much as you didn’t want to, you humped into his movements, driving yourself closer to the edge as you rasp out the plea.

he doesn’t answer, not verbally, but the way he jams the weapon into you with more precision, aiming specifically for that spot that made your muscles clench, you know he’s telling you ‘go on. do it.’

and surprisingly, it doesn’t take long.

a couple of ragged breaths and whimpers later, and you were overcome by an orgasm that seemed more aggressive than any you’d had before. like it wasn’t the making of your own body, but this stranger had created it simply to torment you even more than violating you with a gun could. you trembled and groaned, rolled against the wet ground, smearing dirt and grime across your skin and your clothes before you came to.

meanwhile, he seemed overjoyed. with a pleased sigh, he withdraws the barrel from your sex, and waves it around, admiring the slick coating that makes it gleam. “Deranged and messy,” he murmurs, before aiming it at your face again, but this time, he drags the barrel that smells like your lust across your cheek, tilting your head up to stare at him from your helpless bed of concrete and broken glass. “You like to ruin my toys, don’t you, little mouse?” his voice is dangerously low, and he hisses with a devil’s edge. “Give it a kiss and say ‘thank you, Ryo, for making me a messy, little rapedoll.’”

your lips are moving before your brain catches up, planting a kiss against the barrel. you have to stop yourself from allowing your tongue to loll out and swipe a taste of your pussy from the metal. rain flooding your open mouth as you gurgle out, verbatim, “T—thank you, Ryo. For making me… a messy… little… rapedoll.”

“Mhm.” he hums, slipping the gun back under his drenched trench coat before taking a step back to admire his handiwork. “That snatch of yours will make whoever picks you up off the side of the road a happy man.” that was the last thing Ryo said to you, before he turned on his heels, his boots stomping back to his vehicle. you’d already closed your bleary eyes when he revs the engine. tires bark close enough to you for you to feel the heat and smell the burnt rubber before the vehicle speeds like a bullet into the dark, leaving you alone and broken, replaying what happened to you over and over.

[dearstvckyx]

I’m in the passenger seat, you’re in control - Charles Leclerc

After a high-stakes race, you and Charles sneak away from the chaos and take a quiet drive together. The adrenaline is still in your veins, but his calm presence and gentle touch make you feel exposed in the safest way. As the road stretches ahead, emotions build—neither of you call it love, but it’s undeniable. You’ve always been in control, until him, you realize you don’t mind being ruined by him. - The Neighbourhood , Scary Love

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: Soft angst, slow burn tension, mutual emotional vulnerability,

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The sun had barely started to set when the two of you snuck away.

The paddock was still buzzing from the aftermath of the first practice—cameras flashing, fans screaming, media swarming—but Charles had slipped a hand into yours with a quiet, “Let’s go,” and you didn’t hesitate.

Now, the circuit is far behind. The adrenaline from the practice hasn’t worn off yet; it hums in your veins like a second heartbeat. You’re tucked into the passenger seat of his sleek black car, windows down, the scent of warm asphalt and the ocean creeping in with the wind.

The radio plays something soft in the background. A French indie song, the lyrics fading in and out as the wind toys with the volume. Charles hums along under his breath, his hand lazily resting on the steering wheel.

You glance over, catching the profile of his face—the sharp jawline, the darkened sunglasses sliding slightly down his nose, the way the golden light dances in his hair like it belongs there. There’s something poetic about him in moments like this. Dangerous in how calm he is. How steady he always seems, even when the world around him is chaos.

“How do you do it?” you ask, not even meaning to speak aloud.

He glances at you. “Do what?”

“Stay so composed. Always.” You shrug. “Even after a race like that.”

Charles is quiet for a second, and then he smiles, small and lopsided. “I think I learned how to keep my face still while my heart races.”

You laugh under your breath. “I should learn that trick.”

“You’re better at pretending you’re fine than you think,” he says, softer now. “But I see through it. Always.”

That makes your chest tighten. You look away, out the window, letting the warm wind push your hair back.

You’ve always been in control. Of everything. Of your choices, your body language, your schedule, your silence. Especially your heart.

But Charles—he never asked you to give it. He just looked at you like he already held it in his hands.

“You looked beautiful today,” he says suddenly. “In the paddock. With your pass around your neck and your eyes on me.”

You smirk. “You were supposed to be focused on driving.”

He shrugs, turning the wheel with one hand, the other dropping to your thigh without even thinking. “Hard to focus when you’re right there.”

His touch is natural. Gentle. Like it belongs. And somehow, it makes your pulse race more than the car speeding down the road.

Your hand dangles out the window, fingers brushing the wind. His hand stays on your thigh, steady, grounding.

“I know what this looks like,” you murmur. “Us. This.”

“What does it look like?” he asks, voice low.

“Something casual.” You pause. “But it’s not. Is it?”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he glances at you again, his sunglasses slipping just enough for you to see the glint in his eyes—warm, golden, intense. It’s a look that makes your stomach twist in the best way.

“You’re in the passenger seat,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve never felt more out of control.”

He pulls the car to a quieter road, one surrounded by trees and dusk, where the only sound is the soft roll of tires on pavement and the wind in your ears.

Then he looks at you fully, hand still on your thigh. “I’m in the passenger seat,” you repeat again. “You’re in control.”

He says nothing. Just reaches for your hand, brings it to his lips. The kiss is soft—reverent. It’s a promise wrapped in silence.

“You scare me. This scares me,” you whisper. “But not in a bad way.”

He smiles gently, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “Then let me ruin you in the best way possible.”

And you let yourself fall.

Because in his car, on that road, with his hand holding yours and the weight of every unsaid word between you—

You’ve never felt more exposed.

Or more safe.