#this post would not be the same without them

[crazziforazzi]

Side note on the Pazzi hard launch

Now that Azzi has hard launched their relationship, I want to get ahead of all the posts claiming "it’s one-sided" or that "Azzi is more invested than Paige".

Remember, we are seeing a handful of pictures and videos, not the full story. Azzi has under 500k followers, while Paige has 2.6 million. That makes a huge difference in my opinion. That kind of visibility comes with a whole different level of attention and safety risk.

Azzi’s audience is smaller and more niche for now, her followers are already aware of her closeness to Paige. And even with that knowledge, she eased into this announcement, leaving just enough ambiguity for people to draw their own conclusions if they wanted to.

But Paige doesn’t have that option. I truly believe that Paige staying quiet doesn’t mean she cares less, it means she is being careful and protective of Azzi. She can’t just "claim" Azzi publicly without bringing the whole internet into it, not only her fans. She is now at the point where she has security with her at public events and I am sure that’s for a good reason. And at the moment, she simply cannot offer that same level of protection to Azzi.

Going too public too fast would put them both in a vulnerable position. By holding back a bit herself, she is protecting what they have from mainstream level, while still letting Azzi have the moment and confirm to our community that they are together and happy.

And yes, before someone says, "Well if Azzi confirmed it, people will find out anyway." Sure if people look it up, but the general public isn’t diving into wlw TikTok edits or podcasts of female athletes.

That said… if Paige drops something wild in her next photo dump, I’ll gladly bite my tongue. But after what happened last year, especially with the stalking, I doubt she’s taking any chances.

Finally, Azzi would not be so over the moon if things were not going well between them.

[crescenthistory]

barty and his polar opposite daughter

synopsis: based on this post, barty raises a sweet girl who winds up being the polar opposite of himself – a polite, emphatic, pink-loving, tea-having little princess – and he adores her for it. while walking in the park, they meet a stranger with a dog that infatuates the both of them.

wc: 3.8k

cw: fem!reader, girl dad!barty, kid fic, single parent, modern muggle au, barty pov, ophelia being a whimsical polite sweetheart, meet-cute in the park, fluff, playing fetch, flirting, physical affection, implied that barty’s mum is dead, wider world building that includes reader working at the valkyries welfare community centre and barty being a mechanic

Barty is incredibly proud of two things – the perfect little girl on his shoulders, and his impeccable trapezius keeping her up.

Ophelia is his sweetheart, both in the sense that he adores her more than anything in the world and that she is a literal sweetheart, kind through and through. More often than not, Barty wondered how the two of them could possibly have been cut from the same cloth, although the physical resemblance is undeniable. Her dark brown curls mix with his own from where she sits, his acid green streaks and her pink bows the only way to determine where hers starts and his ends.

There had been many potential last straws for Barty to finally ditch the Crouch family, but only when his uncle Silas birthed yet another illegitimate child and decided to just “dump this one in foster care”, did Barty throw in the towel. At that point he had only seen Ophelia once, sleeping in a bassinet, but he was already enamoured. There was just something about her that screamed for him to finally do something more than just piss his father off. Maybe it was her chubby cheeks, maybe it was how she reminded him of that picture he always treasured of his mother holding him as a baby, but that was enough for him.

He had a secure enough found family by then that he could up and leave and take the kid. He vowed that Ophelia would not have the childhood he did; she would be herself no matter who that may be. His father called him crazy, and Barty called him all sorts of names in return. His friends had their doubts, he’s sure of it, but Pandora and Evan helped him buy a flat in a safe neighbourhood on the outskirts of London, Regulus helped him get legal custody, and Dorcas taught him everything he needed to know about babies to begin with. The rest he learned along the way.

It worked, even as Ophelia quickly became a fierce personality in her own right. At just three, she was an utter angel and his whole world.

If he could say so himself, he thought he had this parent thing under control, believe it or not.

She sits on top of his shoulders as he walks the two of them through Regent’s Park – her favourite in London – while her small hands are buried in his hair to steer him as she called it, grabbing onto the green strands specifically. She’s wearing her Princess Aurora replica dress, pink and fluffy, the excess fabric spilling down his back, covering his Sex Pistols t-shirt.

They look fabulous together, thank you very much.

“Good morning, loves!” Ophelia calls and waves enthusiastically, voice melodic as it cuts through the fresh breeze. Barty turns his head ever so slightly to see the elderly couple passing them on the path, just barely catching how the man furrows his brows in surprise while the lady smiles brightly and returns the greeting.

Barty squeezes Ophelia’s plush thighs where he holds her securely, ensuring she can dance and wave on his shoulders without falling off. Her glittery blinking trainers shoot directly into his line of sight as she kicks her feet and giggles when a jogger waves at her as they pass.

“D’you want to run too, Ophie?” he asks, turning his head backwards to grin at her. 

“Yes, yes!” Ophelia wastes no time in agreeing, clutching onto Barty even tighter in preparation. “Run, horsey!”

He has never been above making a fool of himself. Barty holds onto Ophelia with his ringed fingers and begins to run along the path by the lake, keeping his back slightly bent to not jostle her as much.

Ophelia cheers, bending her head to rest it beside Barty’s for protection from the increase in wind – it makes it so that her giggles trickle directly into his ear. Barty can’t help but grin, the two of them a flash of black and pink as he gallops for the little girl.

“Dada, look, it’s a doggy!” She abruptly declares, trying to push his head sideways to look.

Barty slows down, straightening up a little to look in the direction Ophelia is trying to gesture him towards. It takes him a second, but then he spots it.

Though, while Ophelia is already squiggling to get off of his shoulders to run to greet the puppy, Barty finds himself a little preoccupied with its owner. On the open field beside the lake, a lovely, lovely woman is smiling so brightly it almost cuts him apart and compels the pieces to run towards her.

And sure, yes, she has a dog with her.

“Hello, Dada?” Ophelia’s voice pulls him out of his momentary stupor, particularly because it sounds a little softer, her earlier excitement replaced with empathy, as if sensing his distraction.

Her sweet kindness is wasted on him, so Barty squeezes her thighs once more and replies, “Yes baby, that’s a little puppy for sure. Want to go say hi?”

She grins, concern immediately forgotten as she lets go of his hair in favour of clapping her tiny hands together. “Yes please, I would very much like that, I want to say hi to the doggy.”

Barty looks back towards the one who caught his attention earlier – only to see that he had caught hers. Or, a better way of phrasing that statement, would be that Ophelia and her cheers had caught her attention.

You straighten up from where you had been scratching your dog’s head, clearly rewarding her with something, and smile warmly, albeit somewhat cautiously, as you watch the two of them approaching. You pull your dog closer to you by the collar and Barty can just barely catch you giving her a “stay” command. 

He is about to open his mouth to announce themselves, but is cut off by his little wingwoman. “Hi, love, good morning!” Ophelia greets happily. “Can I please pet your beautiful doggy?”

Any apprehension he might have scouted in your expression previously melts away as softness appears in your eyes. It feels like you’re looking at him, but he can tell you’re meeting Ophelia’s eyes.

“Of course, angel, so long as your adult agrees.” Your voice is different than he had expected it to be, your accent engulfing him. Barty finds himself disproportionately intrigued by you, but he has never been one to deny himself of interest.

Dutifully, Ophelia leans sideways to look at her father properly, making him tighten his hold on her lest she fall. Already as she begins to politely inquire if she is allowed, he is crouching down, black jeans constricting around his knees, to let her off. 

“There you go, princess,” he says as he eases her off his shoulders and onto the ground, her trainers immediately blinking in the colours of the rainbow. “Make sure to let the dog smell your hand first, ‘kay?”

He looks up to watch as you follow his movements in crouching down, sitting parallel beside your dog so that you’re on Ophelia’s level. “Hiya darling, what’s your name?” you ask sweetly.

“I am Ophelia, I am three years old,” Ophelia recites as she reaches out her hand for the dog to smell. Barty can’t tell what type of dog it is yet, but it has kind brown eyes. 

“Wow! Three is quite big,” you muse, looking over to catch Barty’s eye, sharing a moment of connection before you look back to her. “This right here is Flora, she’s just a little younger than you at 2 years old.”

Ophelia gasps. “She’s a baby!”

Barty looks down with a grin, leaning his elbows on top of his knees as he watches Flora sniff Ophelia’s hand happily before bending her neck to let his little girl scratch her.

“Oh yes, she is,” you agree in a conspiratory voice. “Who’s the adult you’ve brought with you today?”

Ophelia lights up and removes one of the hands that were buried deep in Flora’s fur to turn around slightly and point at Barty who’s sat almost directly behind her. “This is my Dada! His name is BeeBee and I’m baby.” She pronounces baby as bay-bee so that it rhymes with BeeBee.

If Barty wasn’t so damn proud of her, he might have been a bit embarrassed by his soft side being exposed to this stranger so soon. Luckily, these past three years with Ophelia has made him both softer and stronger.

“I’m Barty,” he offered, meeting your gaze with his own steady one, taking in the movement of your lips and the shine in your eyes. “I’m her father. And you are…?”

Your voice was almost breathless when you let out your name. It fit you perfectly and he found himself repeating it in a whisper.

Any time spent lingering in the moment was cut off when Ophelia loudly coos at Flora and steps closer to embrace the dog in a slightly awkward but no less adorable hug. You break out into laughter at the sight and at how Flora looks a bit concerned up at you, though making no attempts to push Ophelia away.

Barty shimmies closer to his daughter without standing back up to his full height to pull Ophelia slightly backwards and hoist her onto his knee. “Let’s give Floralita some space, alright baby, hm?” he asks, looking down at her as he makes sure she’s comfortable and still at petting-distance.

“She’s very patient, it’s alright,” you reassure him.

Ophelia seems nonplussed, smiling wildly at Barty. “Alrighty, Dada, kisses,” she declares, pressing a kiss to his cheek and then another to Flora’s head. ” Then, she gestures towards you. “Would you like a kiss too, Missy?”

Your lips part slightly and Barty prepares to protect Ophelia’s heart, but then you just cock your head sideways and nod. “Oh yes please, how kind of you baby.”

Barty finds the corner of his lips quirk upwards and his heart stutters as you lean closer, almost all the way into his and Ophelia’s embrace, so that Ophelia can stamp a sweet kiss to your cheek, making an exaggerated mwah! sound. 

You look between the both of them, warmth only slightly more reserved towards Barty than towards Ophelia. “Do you two angels have somewhere to be, or would you like to play some with Flora? I was about to have her fetch.” You add while looking at Barty, “We’re still training her, but so far she’s very well-behaved and kind.”

“I can tell,” Barty finds himself agreeing readily. He discreetly kisses Ophelia’s temple before popping her off of his knee and back onto the ground. “This angel,” he says, gesturing to Ophelia, “insisted on a park day, so that’s what her poor old man shall provide. You wanna play fetch, don’t you, Ophie?”

Ophelia nod enthusiastically while you laugh and claimc “You’re not old.”

“I’m not?” Barty raises his brow playfully. “How would you know, stranger?”

You level him with a look. “You’re clearly my age, Barty, so watch it.”

Hearing you say his name did something to him. Ophelia quickly turned the atmosphere into a comedic one when she furrows her brows and says, “No, no, Dada is old. But that’s alright! No shame in aging.”

Before either of you can really say anything, just laugh loudly, she runs forward a bit and does a cartwheel. Barty can’t tell for certain, but Flora seems wholly confused at what his little girl was doing.

You’re still laughing, your brows all scrunched up. “She is such a sweet thing, ain’t she?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Barty agrees, standing up at last, his carabiner with his keys and Ophelia’s trinkets clinkering with his movement. 

He holds his hand out to you to help you up from where you’re still sitting on your knees, watching Ophelia spin in circles around you. For a beat, you hold his gaze, watching him tower above you. 

Barty’s heart eases when you reach out and clasp onto his hand, letting him pull you up – and if it allows him to show off all his mechanic muscles, then that was just a win-win. Your fingers linger around his wrist for a moment before you let go, colder than they ought to be on a June morning but a pleasant sensation nonetheless.

“Look at this, Ophelia.” You take off your backpack and balance it on a hiked up knee to sort through it while you’re standing. Wordlessly, Barty reaches out to hold the backpack for you so you can rummage more easily; you glance up at him briefly and mumble your thanks before fishing out the chewtoy you were looking for. You hold it up victoriously and Ophelia makes an audible sound of excitement. “C’mere lovely, let me show you.”

Barty zips the bag up for you and rests it over his shoulder as he watches you hand Flora’s toy to Ophelia. It is bright blue and sturdy, looking ridiculously large in his Ophie’s small hands. You gently explain how to throw it and what commands you will give Flora to get her to drop it once she’s come back with it.

“We call this enrichment,” you explain, eyes meeting Ophelia’s with so much patience and kindness that even Barty can feel it. “It’s how Flora relaxes and have fun. Wanna try?”

Ophelia nods, almost gravely, like she has been given a task of utmost importance. Flora sits beside you, tongue hanging out and ears perked up at the sight of her toy. 

Your hand covers Ophelia’s on the toy as you bring it backwards, ready to throw. “Then right before you throw it, you say ‘Flora, go fetch’!”

“Flora, go fetch!” Ophelia’s voice is a bit too soft spoken for the task, but with your help the toy goes flying quite far and Flora gets the gist regardless. The dog goes running at an impressive speed across the open grass and Ophelia loudly cheers and giggles.

You do this a few times, Barty watching with his hip popped sideways and the corners of his mouth perpetually twitching. This sight was more than he expected to be blessed with on their morning walk.

Eventually, Ophelia turns to you and asks, “Missy, can I go fetch as well?”

Barty snorts. You look back at him with a smile, as if asking permission, and he shrugs. “Sure thing darling, but you can’t fetch Flora’s toy or else she’ll be sad. You can go fetch this one, alright?” 

You rummage through your jacket pocket and produce a green squishy heart that looks suspiciously like a stress ball. Ophelia inspects it for less than a second before agreeing.

You get Flora to stay when you throw Ophelia’s ball, so she won’t be confused, and then you issue the same command, this time voice laced with laughter. “Alright, Ophelia, go fetch!” 

The ball goes flying in the opposite direction that Flora was chasing in, and Ophelia immediately goes running after it on her much slower, short legs, giggles flowing through the air as she goes.

Barty moves closer to you then, reaching down to pet Flora consolingly himself – although the dog is as close to smiling as a canine could get, so he’s not very concerned for her.

“Why does she call me Missy?” you ask, almost startling Barty. He turns to find a subdued smile on your face, clearly entertained by the duo you’ve met today.

“Oh, Ophie is very polite,” Barty laughs. “It’s important to her. And she’ll call everyone pet names, I think it’s her auntie’s fault. If you want her to call you something else, you can always just ask. She’s usually happy regardless.”

“She’s definitely a happy kid, yeah,” you agree. “I don’t mind it, I just found it entertaining.”

Barty looks after Ophelia, who’s caught the ball and tucked it into her dress pocket – the ones she had Dorcas sew into all her dresses – and is now cartwheeling her way back. He should get her to stop soon lest she get nauseous, but she looks too cute to intervene just yet.

“Who’s ‘we’?” Barty finds himself asking instead.

“Pardon?”

“When you talk about Flora, you say ‘we’, that ‘we’re training her’. Who’s we?” 

That most certainly was a line of questioning Barty had no business raising, but what are neglected boundaries between a pair of freshly made acquaintances? 

If you thought him inappropriate, you did a good job of concealing it as you looked down at Flora with a smile, no doubt catching sight of Barty’s tattooed knuckles rubbing behind her ear.

“Flora here is an Emotional Support Animal at this community centre I help out at,” you begin to explain, a faraway look entering your eyes, one that is full of pride. “We collaborate with a nearby shelter – you might know it, Kettleburns’? Anyway, we have some puppy love events at the centre every now and again for those who need to destress and use it as an opportunity to find new homes for the pups. And sometimes, when we find very good girls like Flora here, we adopt them ourselves. She’s my colleague Mary’s, actually.”

Barty watches you speak with a rapture that belies him. “I never would have guessed that, that’s bloody beautiful.”

“What, I don’t look like a good contributing citizen to you?” That eyebrow of yours is back up, taunting him in a way he hopes is as humoured as it feels.

“On the contrary, you’re clearly a natural with the little princess,” he says, looking over at Ophelia who stopped to smell the flowers, “I just had no idea the nearby community would mobilise like that. Thought I oughta heard of a centre like yours.”

You cross your arms, looking almost shy. “Yeah, marketing’s not our strong suit, but most of the nearby neighbourhoods know of us at least, which is the most important. You know, local efforts and all of that?”

“Yeah,” Barty breathes out. 

He’s about to ask, but you beat him to it – which makes it all the more promising. “I mean, if you’d like, you and Ophelia would be more than welcome to drop by. Everyone’s welcome. We’re open 8 AM to 8 PM most days.”

A proper smile blooms on his face. “And you?”

“What about me?” you ask, looking almost mischievous.

He turns his body properly towards you. “Are you there most days?”

You shrug, failing at looking noncommittal, what with the wide smile on your face. “Yeah, you’re bound to catch me.”

“That we will,” Barty states, and it’s most certainly a promise. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds it out, so that you can write down the address for him.

When he looks at the phone you returned to him, he sees the address written down beneath the name of the community centre.

“Valkyries Welfare, huh?” He looks up at you, relishing in the scrunching up of your cheeks.

“Hey, I didn’t name it,” you defend, holding up your hands. “I’m just the help!”

“No, no, it’s a good name–” He begins to explain through a laugh.

Before he can, he catches sight of Ophelia’s last cartwheel on her way up to the two of you and acts on his dad-instincts to crouch down and catch her now slightly dizzy body. She giggles heartily as she stumbles into him, her whole chest rumbling in a way that warms Barty’s.

“That was so much fun!” she exclaims through heavy breaths. “We simply must play fetch more often.”

He kisses the side of her head while looking up at you. “Gotcha, sweetheart.”

Ophelia straightens up enough to look up at you with a toothy smile. “Here you go, Missy!” She unfurls your stress ball from her pocket, taking a second to rub some dirt off it with the bottom of her dress skirt. Then, from her other pocket – yes, she insisted on two – she procures a handful of small flowers, just barely long enough to constitute a small bouquet. “For you!”

You let out a sweet sound, dropping down to a crouching position beside them once more, mimicking your earlier meeting. Flora lays down in the grass and begins rolling back and forth happily. “Are these for me?” you ask, almost breathless.

“Of course, love,” Ophelia declares kindly, holding them out more aggressively towards you to ensure you get them.

Gently, you pry them from her fingers, pulling a thin hair tie off your wrist to wrap the stems together and pop them in the breast pocket of your jacket so that the flowers poke out. You smile at them and then at her. “Thank you so much, Ophelia, that was very thoughtful and kind of you.”

Barty rarely sees his daughter grow shy – one thing they have in common is their unabashed, sometimes boisterous portrayals of themselves – but he did notice how pink her cheeks grew when she smiled at your compliment. 

“It was so lovely to meet you both,” you say then, putting your hands on your knees. 

That makes Ophelia’s smile drop. “You’re leaving?”

Barty leans his forehead against the top of her head for a few seconds to quench the emotions she always managed to stir up in him. You pout in a way that signals you may understand his struggle.

“Yes baby, I’m sorry. Flora and I have to get back to work.”

“Darn work,” Ophelia mutters, shaking her head like she is intimately aware of the struggle of labour. It brings a loue bark of laughter from Barty, making him throw his head back and crush his little girl closer to his chest.

You giggle as well, reaching out to pinch Ophelia’s chin to brighten her mood. “You be a good girl to your dad alright, and I’ll hopefully see you soon.”

“Yes please, and I will,” Ophelia agrees readily, nodding her head. “May I hug you goodbye, Missy?”

Barty studies the emotion on your face as you open your arms to his girl and give her a kind hug. It was the kind of compassion he would never expect from a stranger. When you pull back, you meet his gaze and smile a little wider.

He hoists Ophelia back up on his shoulders and hand you your backpack.

“Oh wow, I had forgotten you were holding this,” you laugh.

That makes him feel sweller than he had any right being. He nods at you, holding onto Ophelia’s hand with one of his and waving you goodbye with the other.

“Have fun, Miss Valkyrie, we’ll see you around.”

You stand with one hand on top of Flora and the other holding your elbow, seemingly forcing your grin down into a smile. “Bye Bee-Bee and baby,” you tease in return.

As Ophelia’s chatter turns over onto other subjects and her giggles trail behind the two of them as they walk the rest of Regent’s Park, Barty finds himself itching to look back over his shoulder. The second the two of them got home, he found himself googling Valkyries Welfare.

It was just for Ophie’s sake, of course.

[losvroomvroom]

watching carlos's cafelito episode finally. here's some interesting tidbits. disclaimer: my rusty ass high school spanish + the autotranslate captions. hopefully i haven't misinterpreted anything.

gets along with gaëtan because they're both workaholics who love to be on the phone in their days off

can only be comfortable in a road car when he's not driving if his father is the driver

found out about the lewis -> ferrari move from rumors before ferrari told him and then called fred about it for confirmation (Ferrari When I Get You Round Five Thousand!!!)

BIG eye roll about the whole concept of red bull god bless

pleased little chuckle when the interviewer brings up how much jv likes working with him god bless

very optimistic about williams' prospects for the 2026 car, not thrilled about the 2026 engines but is reserving judgement on the cars themselves

talking again about how his mother managed the father-son relationship, telling sr when he was too harsh, reinforcing sr's advice when jr was sick of listening to him, etc

very excited to be a double uncle (both of his sisters have kids)

has realized that you have to celebrate a good moment in motorsport when you reach it, they may not happen very often due to the number of things that have to go perfectly

listens to podcasts about team building and leadership... he had some trouble expressing what he meant in spanish (presumably bc the podcasts are in english) but he was talking about the importance of no-blame culture within a team

likes to start post-race engineering meetings by listing all the things he did wrong during a weekend before criticizing the team or the car or whatever, which helps other team members admit mistakes without fear

he's a very shy guy and really likes his privacy. the interviewer said something like "i like that you're famous, i like that everyone knows you" and he was like "it's getting worse." and then implies that he should be less famous than instagram influencers. go-to example of "a celebrity" justin bieber. wishes he could drive his nice road cars in peace. embarrassed to talk about his billion nice road cars and drive them around. drives his golf so he won't be noticed.

he and pogacar are neighbors actually. carlos's push days on the bike are pogacar's recovery days

lists swimming, cycling, and synchronized swimming as the sports that require the most dedication

re his father retiring -- "if the stopwatch says you're fast, why would you retire?"

interesting stretch where he talks about when he has to battle fernando (says fernando's always very clever) and also about navigating the teammate relationship (says it's hardest one to manage)

always goes over races with his father, the evening of or the day after

signed his first ferrari contract at 9am in his pyjamas during lockdown

respects nadal & jon rahm (golf) a lot in terms of their attitude and approach toward sport. extremely tough on the field but respectful & humble, which he thinks is the ideal

says he comes across as an affable guy in interviews because he's become calloused to them but he is still shy & pretty reserved except when he's with his 3-4 closest people. tries to maintain a distance to people he thinks might be less trustworthy ("pirates", he calls them)

loves madrid SO much (not a new fact)

loves to talk about his karting program for kids 6-8 (his "minions"), says it's important to support the grassroots of the sport, wants to make it as affordable as possible

says his best friends now are the same as his best friends when he was like three years old. he doesn't make new friends easily and he's very closed off to new people. very important to him that he's kept the same friends his whole life and doesn't get why everyone doesn't do that. (adding this to the "carlos has strong and somewhat unusual views about the concept of friendship" evidence folder)

rapid fire questions segment. cerebral or passionate?--cerebral. what are you missing in your life?--more time for golf, i'm losing my swing. best driver in f1 history?--senna. who would win in the same car? alonso, sainz, verstappen?--sainz. advice from your mom?--be respectful, behave, smile more. what f1 drivers would you go to dinner with?--lando norris & charles leclerc. any advice?--smile more. the whole world needs to smile more. will you be a world champion one day?--someday, but I hope soon.

[xylatox]

reasons to (hate) love you || lhs

Saw this come up in my feed and I just knew I had to read it. I love that the genre is academic rivals to loves with class dynamics in the mix; which fits the entire theme of them being law students as that is often present in that environment as well! Anyways unto my thoughts :) 

What I immediately love about the beginning is the way Hee talks about the system and the fact that is flawed and then pivots to the hypocrisy of it all and just tying it to the mc’s behaviour—it just shows how much he actually thinks about her because despite him not really caring about her presence, hes very attentive of her and plays it off with just her drawing attention.

I think too because the class dynamic is obvious its easier for Hee to lean in a bit more to thinking she is hypocritic because not only is it easy considering shes from an upper middle class but also because of the way she seems to carry about her self (i assume with confidence and a “i dont care” kind of attitude) would in fact make sense to irritate Hee and make him dislike her to the extent that he does.

He couldn't put it into words, but you triggered specific emotions in his brain — and the main one was agitation.

I love that he’s just agitated at her existence honestly. Also love that immediately from MC’s perspective, you can tell what her family dynamic is like just from her college options alone. Not only does it highlight an issue in a lot of cultures where this kind of behaviour is present (even if the family isnt necessarily well off) but given her family history it also shows the root of why some parents give their children limited choices in their career paths; their own battles with poverty and its their way of protecting their child from going through the same hardships even if it involves dismissing your clear talents or interests.

The way your hand handed your phone while you looked away irritated Heeseung deeply “Do you always have to be this petty?”

“What?” You asked confused as he finished putting his number into your phone “Can’t you interact for 5 minutes without being petty? Is it that hard?”

Im laughing it this because im just as confused like, where is she petty? She’s disinterested sure, but if she was truly petty i think she wouldnt have even talked to him in the first place.

“And isn’t your topic simple?” he approached you and looked into your eyes “You just want to do what’s convenient for you, as always.”

Honestly, I’d love to know whats exactly so convenient about this for her, i genuinely do not see it. Maybe its because I agree with her sentiments in just doing a more complicated/non-basic topic for the sake of it, so perhaps I am a bit biased but I dont get Hee’s point of view pertaining to it (love him still tho).

Loving the way Jay and Jake tease Hee about his interactions with MC from the way he seems more worried about her during exam season to the fact that she’s attractive and he admits it before brushing it off with ease that shes annoying is king of cute. I love that its just her social status is what irritates him the most which makes sense why all the arguments he starts with her feel baseless (at least imo)

I think its cute that mc is super accommodating to Hee seeing his clear exhaustion but hes so snappy about it.

“I’m sorry.” Heeseung opened his eyes slightly and looked at you in a way that you swore you almost saw some kind of affection “Don’t go, please.”

I just think from here and their conversation after is so cute because despite the clear animosity between them mc still cares for him and his wellbeing and gets him orange juice and everything :((( and the way he genuinely smiles at her?? Im so fucking soft man

I love mc making Hee’s nickname Lee Heestupid thats oddly cute. But whats even cuter is the way he messaged her to say thanks again and she asks if hes better :( 

“We can talk about criminal accountability and the evolution of post-war human rights within international law.”

This is such a cool topic i cant lie. As a resident law hater, (for no other reason than it has too many words and uses the most complicated words in the english lexicon—native language btw) I am actually so intrigued by the entire law aspect of this fic because its so in depth and I appreciate that despite my distaste for it.

But he never really stopped to look at you. Heeseung’s judgment was always clouded by his anger at what you represented.

Love this because despite seeing her (and admitting to her beauty) this emphasizes that he hasnt looked at her beyond the privileged girl he sees and ugh, something about this line just gets to me.

I love that he notices her clear discomfort in the guy approaching and goes as far as to get him to back off, which is not only respectful but super sweet because despite not liking her, he respects and understands shes a woman and idk, its just a cute scene to me. Super glad for their little bonding moment after, theyre actually so cute when they arent biting each other’s head off.

Girl friendships in fics will always make me happy so Im always appreciative to see Gaeul and the moments she has with the mc, shes such a sweet and darling side character honestly.

You were smiling as you watched something interesting a boy was showing you on his phone. He recognized the boy as Jungwon, the president of one of the clubs you were a part of. 

The way my brain immediately went Aww. Jungwon has the ability to raise the motherly instincts in me and just ahh, this little interaction makes me happy. Also Hee being jealous is so hilarious to me even if he doesnt openly say it; hehe Jay picking up on it makes me giggle

I love that as certain things happen between them we see how their thoughts on each other transform—Hee becoming jealous and mc realizing how attractive his voice sounds. I love this.

“I guess I just wanted to talk to you directly about the subject.” 

A line like this would drive me crazy honestly.

“Because I’m already in bed and I’m shirtless.” You froze, feeling your cheeks heat up at what he said and blamed yourself for imagining him shirtless calling you in the middle of the night.

AHHH?? That feels so flirtatious to me, screaming

At this point they feel more like friends because Hee coming to help her finish her Civil Law presentation is cute honestly, what the fuck

In any case, you had already come to the conclusion that despite your differences, you had finally managed to understand each other — to the point where you began to feel an undeniable and overwhelming attraction to him.

This had me so excited, more changes are about to begin

“Damn, what’s so important that made you distracted like that?” He teased you and you gave him an awkward smile.

'Your lips'

Oh my god, what if I scream??

Im so glad she delves more into her family dynamic, very subtly and I also enjoy Hee’s ability to pivot the topic a bit since he realized the sensitivity of the topic. Aksi Hee becoming more filtarious will be the death of me like

“Are you calling me cute?” Heeseung smirked, bringing his face closer to yours. “I’m talking about the room.” You replied, swallowing hard, opening your laptop.

“Well, that's a pity then.” You felt your cheeks burn and your body fizz at the suggestive tone of his comment.

What if I just combusted

He wanted something to happen and this wasn’t good.

I will pass out i swear (freaking out so bad)

Heeseung kissed you, gently pressing his lips against yours, sending a dose of pleasure through your body. He gave you a long peck and quickly pulled away to make sure that this was really happening.

Giggling because oh my god, its finally happening and its so sweet too jesus, Ill throw up

Not even his deepest thoughts could recreate the exultant feeling he felt when he finally kissed you.

I will pass out for real

BIT JAKE DISTURBING NOOOO😭😭😭😭

“You look beautiful.” He took your hand and gave it a soft kiss on your knuckles while piercing through you with his intense eyes.

Girl istg I cant take this what the ?!?!

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “What I mean is that I’m here admitting that I want you.” he spoke directly making your legs weak.

You are single-handedly writing lines to make me crazy

“You should see me when I'm not wearing it, then.” you whispered sensually before biting Heeseung's ear making his breath shaky as he squeezed your thighs tightly “Fuck — stop teasing me, baby.”

Dont know if I wanna be Hee or her in this moment christ.

Man, first jake now her dad; the universe is really going out of its way to stop them. To make it worse, her dad is there?? I feel sick.

And just like lightning strikes a tree and burns it, you realized the obvious truth: you were in love with Lee Heeseung and would accept the consequences that would come with that reality.

Oh my god, this is so fucking sweet what

I lovelovelove that the entire interaction has made him realize fully what she had to deal with and the fact that he apologies?? On my knees oh my god

If someone had told you at the beginning of the semester that you would now be dating Lee Heeseung and walking hand in hand around campus, you would have thought they were crazy and needed to be hospitalized. But here you were, walking with a wide smile and bright eyes, your hand intertwined with Heeseung's soft fingers.

Oh my god I giggled again, im so happy hehe

I love that despite the relationship with her dad still being kind of unclear, you can tell theres improvement with the way hes so neutral with her going to other offices, its progress and Im happy with it. At least she should be able to find herself in the world of law better I think :) 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for an internship position at our law firm. We look forward to receiving your answer as soon as possible. — Jung & Taylor Legal Advisors

Perhaps your and Heeseung's journey into the legal world was just in the beginning.

Oh my god the end. Im so glad I read this, genuinely soso glad, I loved ever moment of it from the play in the class dynamics, the complexity behind it (i truly appreciate the way mc’s dad got out of poverty making it much more complex), the way the relationship between hee and mc began with hee’s distaste being him viewing her so one note and just like “any other rich girl” and mc irritated with just the attitude she got from him. And just the way their relationship blossomed so sweetly. Ugh, again Im so glad I read this.

Ruby, you have truly enraptured me with your writing and you will definitely hear from me again hehe

Lee Heeseung — REASONS TO (HATE) LOVE YOU

Your makeup is always intact, your hair is perfectly brushed, your clothes are always well-ironed and tidy, and your admirable grades are always on top. Many in the law course envy how you seem so perfect, unlike Lee Heeseung, who thinks everything about you is completely irritating. On the other hand, you can't stand Heeseung's arrogance. The way he always acts so pretentiously gets on your nerves, however, when you are forced to do a project together, you'll discover that this tension between you is much more than just hatred.

PAIRING: — Law Students - Heeseung x Reader (f)

GENRE: Academic rivals to lovers - (lower middle class) heeseung x (upper middle class) reader, fluffy, smut (mdni), a bit of angst - if you squint, super suggestive, slowburn.

WARNINGS: - lots of heavy making out (two in a bedroom and one in a storage room), lots of skinship, dirty talking, mutual pining, heavy sexual tension, yearning Heeseung, foreplay, soft dom Heeseung, teasing, petnames (baby, princess, pretty), skin marking (f receiving), unprotected sex, cursing, a few mentions of difficult family dynamics, miscommunication at the beginning, bickering, jealousy, Heeseung is kinda mean in the beginning but he becomes a loser and a simp (sorry not sorry), mentions of alcohol, cursing, a very brief mention of a man touching reader's shoulder in a non consensual way. + IVE's gaeul is reader's best friend. [reblogs and comments are always welcome]

WC: 28k — masterlist - perm taglist (open)

— Author Note: Guys, I'm back after a few months <3 It's finallyyyy hereee, I know it's big (I don't know how to write little when I get excited lmaooo sorry!!!) but I can guarantee you that it's fun since I wanted the story to give off rom-com vibes!! There are some specific legal concepts, but nothing too complicated to understand (I hope). I know that each country has its own legal system, so I used my country's legal system as a guide. Even though I proofread, it might have some typos. Anyways, I hope you guys like it ♡ If there are any errors pls lmk!!!

Since the beginning of human existence and during the formation of societies, law has been present. The norms and principles that governed ancient social groups were an archaic type of representation of what is known today as law. With the reformulation of how these laws should be formed after numerous social revolutions, law is still evolving, being considered one of the tools that keep human beings under control.

For some, the law itself is something to be feared, for others, something to be admired or somehow foreign. However, when it comes to law school, opinions differ.

For many laypeople, law school is a distant world, something unattainable and bureaucratic, that only forged and trained minds can reach. After all, dealing with the daily problems of human beings, but also understanding their treacherous nature requires a lot of vocation.

For Lee Heeseung, law is fascinating.

He finds it amazing the possibility to reach deep into society and cause a stir with some well-founded arguments. For Heeseung, there was a kind of freedom in knowing how the legal system in his country worked that fascinated him intrinsically. Heeseung has always been curious, especially because he wanted to understand why so many injustices could not be easily resolved. What was stopping a country from truly delivering justice?

But despite being an idealist, Heeseung learned that people can be hypocritical, cold, fake and especially selfish when it comes to something that is about their own interests. And perhaps that is the main reason why the system is so flawed.

Personally, Heeseung can't stand hypocrisy and in his opinion, everything about you screamed 'hypocrisy'. From the way you dressed and carried yourself to the way you spoke – everything irritated him. Initially, he didn't have this curious aversion towards you. He didn't really care about your presence, despite noticing that you drew attention wherever you went.

The hypnotized looks around you and the sneaky approaches trying to create some kind of bond with you demonstrated a clear situation: you were from an important family, or your beauty was a factor that contributed to that. This type of approach was expected within the law school, which was full of people who only cared about other people's backgrounds.

However, Heeseung only confirmed his suspicions when your surname began to be whispered in the hallways. Y/N Park, the famous daughter of a renowned attorney with a giant office in the city center.

Heeseung laughed at the irony: Of course, you are just another privileged rich girl who is only in college as a rite of passage with a ready and perfect pass to a job already premeditated by your father.

There were many people like this in law school, but for some unknown reason you affected Heeseung differently. The way you presented yourself perfectly, without any flaws, almost theatrically bothered him.

But even though he knew you were the type of girl he wouldn't want to get close to, his disdain began to increase after a specific episode. It all started when you were in Criminology class and there was a free debate going on about the ‘Historical Development of Criminology' and what impact it had on law in the modern world.

You were explaining about the evolution of the concept of crime, and how Cesare Beccaria had contributed to the Classical School of Criminology, in which the concept of crime is based on what is in the law with a focus on restoring social order and the criminal justice system, given that the free and conscious choice of a delinquent to commit a crime affected not only the victim, but the entire society.

According to your train of thought, there are social factors that influence people to commit petty crimes and that would eventually be appreciated in other modern schools. But even with your impeccable contribution, Heeseung couldn't take you seriously when he saw you using an overpriced bag while criticizing the dry theory of the classical school.

Heeseung was no fool, he knew that life wasn't fair and there would be people in better financial situations than him. In fact, he had fought hard to get into a good university and study law, so he had a pride about his academic achievements, but there was something about you that drove him crazy. He couldn't put it into words, but you triggered specific emotions in his brain — and the main one was agitation.

So, for every argument you brought up, he inevitably countered with something new. What was supposed to be just a friendly debate between classmates turned into a heated argument between you and him.

“I agree, however, if you allow me to make a brief criticism, we know that even with social issues involved, the key point of free will and the delinquent’s conscious choice to commit a crime – an argument that came from the classical school – is taken into consideration today as well.” Heeseung countered, making you sigh for having cut off your train of thought.

“Of course, but it doesn’t change the fact that social issues have a great weight in this matter.” You leaned over the table and he chuckled “Yes, I agree that they do have an influence, but you must admit that even with all the influence in the world, we know that it's not that simple to understand the conscience of an individual who commits crimes.”

Even though he didn't say much, Heeseung saw how irritated you were: you seemed out of breath, your eyebrows were furrowed, and your gaze was fixed on him. And it was at that exact moment — when your eyes locked for a few seconds and he smirked — that he knew that irritating you would be his new entertainment.

For the first time in his life, he had seen you make an expression other than your serious one or the one with that meticulously adjusted smile you gave when you wanted to appear overly polite. Seeing how he pressed the specific buttons to irritate you was the new entertainment that was missing in Heeseung's college life, and it made him more elated than it should have been.

And this brief rivalry that was born unexpectedly in a debate, continued to extend to test scores, projects and final evaluations in the following semesters. Heeseung couldn't deny that you were very intelligent because he had lost 1st place in many situations, but that didn't discourage him and instead motivated him even more, because each perfect 100 that he achieved and threw in your face was absolutely satisfying.

So Heeseung's college life became hectic, as he was the famous student brave enough to face the "queen" of the course.

The one and only— Lee Heeseung —the reason for your extra study sessions, as you swore you would never let yourself lose to Heeseung in any aspect of academic life.

After all, nothing was better than the feeling of beating Heeseung at the very game he created.

☆

Your reflection in the bedroom mirror seemed to show that everything was in perfect order. Your hair was neat, your clothes were well-ironed, and the hydrated glow of your skin was even more noticeable that late afternoon. But in reality, you were distracted, reflecting on your past.

When you were in high school, your father gave you two options for college:

1) Med school or 2) Law school. That's it.

Unfortunately, you had no choice or desire of your own regarding your future, because according to your father, all that mattered was studying something with a “financial return”. In a way, you understood your father's vision, because he was a man who had suffered from poverty and hunger in the past, and became who he is with a lot of pain and sacrifice. However, the pressure and responsibility that came with being his daughter were very heavy.

A man who had been brutalized by the hard life he had led could not think of other realities in life. Your father didn’t believe in “talents” or “gifts” that couldn’t pay the bills. It didn't matter how good you were at some sport or art-related hobby. If it didn’t bring money home it shouldn’t be pursued – or worse, desired and dreamed of.

When he wanted to talk to you about something specific, he would always call you to his personal office. The same office that you found terrifying because it was so impersonal. The dark gray walls, the low lighting, and the plain furniture, without any memorabilia, photos, or any kind of decoration that would indicate any personality trait — everything gave off a cold, indifferent, distant air.

Since work had consumed his life, you knew you had to take advantage of these minutes of interaction with your father. He would often sit there, typing and reading cases on the computer, with his attention 100% focused on the screen that must have contained sensitive information (that was what your curious mind used to believe).

“You understand, right sweetie? I only want the best for you.” Your father would often take your hand and squeeze it gently as wrinkles crept into the corners of his eyes with the small smile he gave you “Yes, father. I understand.” You would respond like a perfect little doll who obeyed without questioning his ideas.

But even though you’d done everything your father had told you to do up until now, you knew that this wasn't the path you wanted to follow forever.

You wanted options. Options for what to do with your future that didn’t involve working in your father’s office. This expectation that everyone around you has that you will become the next face of your father's office is like a weight that you have to carry, but you’ve already decided that your path will be different.

But no one besides your best friend knows about it.

Luckily, you had always liked law, so you had delved deeper into the careers you could pursue over time. The prosecutor's office seemed interesting, after all, criminal law is a passion of yours. Unlike your father, who liked corporate and civil law, which is why he had all kinds of demands in his office.

However, you could try to become an attorney at another firm and gain experience in another area of law. There were certainly many options for you to explore, and fortunately there was still time for you to figure out what you really wanted to do, and the next steps to take.

As you wandered through thoughts about your future, your best friend and roommate, Gaeul, snapped you out of your prolonged reverie.

“Are you going out?” she was holding a bag of potato chips when she appeared at your bedroom door “I’m going to another extra study session.” You gave her a delicate smile and picked up your bag before heading towards Gaeul who looked at you suspiciously “Again?”

“Sure, why not?” Gaeul sighed “You know you don’t have to do all of this to beat Heeseung.” she followed you through the small dorm “You’re already too good, I don’t understand this rivalry between you two.”

“Gaeul, it’s much more than rivalry.” You took out your keys to open the front door “It’s a matter of honor! I can’t lose to that prick.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure...” she laughed before taking another bite of the potato chip “Have fun babe!” You blew an air kiss that made Gaeul make a funny face “I will!”

☆

The library was quiet, with the perfect atmosphere for a late afternoon study session. This time of day was always your favorite, the sun setting through the window and the tranquility of the place made the environment completely cozy, even if you had to read something grueling.

You were reading the work of a famous criminal law scholar when your peace was interrupted by the soft tapping of fingers on the table in front of you. “Busy?” Heeseung’s unmistakable ironic voice made you take a deep breath, trying not to get irritated by his mocking manner.

One of the rules you strictly follow is that you won’t interact with Lee Heeseung unless it is absolutely necessary. Even though you are a calm and reserved person, the slightest interaction with Heeseung somehow stresses you out.

“Can’t you see I’m obviously studying?” Heeseung felt the vein in his neck throb in irritation and clicked his tongue when he saw how you didn’t even look at his face to answer him.

“Well, I think you need to see this.” he placed the paper in front of your eyes. Reluctantly you placed the book on the table and held the sheet up, looking at the contents of what was there “What is this?” You asked in disbelief as you saw your name paired next to Heeseung’s under a title that said ‘international law project’.

“Are you surprised?” You turned to Heeseung with wide eyes “As you can see, we are partners in Mrs. Jung’s project.” for the first time that day, all of your focus faded in a matter of seconds.

'No. No. No. This couldn't be happening. Me and Lee Heeseung together? In a project?'

“What do you mean? How the hell did this happen?” Heeseung took the liberty of sitting next to you. He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair “I don’t know either. Earlier I was leaving an extracurricular activity when Jay called me to look at the bulletin board because the pairings for the new project in the international law class had been announced.”

You stopped for a moment and began to remember that in the last international law class, Mrs. Jung had said that there would be a new project for that semester and that she didn't like to draw pairs, so she would choose the pairs herself.

And with the immense luck you had, she decided that the partner who would suit you best would be Lee Heeseung, out of the entire class.

“When I got close to the mural, Jay was staring at me with a hilarious face.” Heeseung gave a clearly frustrated sigh as he ran his hand over his face “I just didn’t expect it to be because of this.”

“This has to be a mistake.” It couldn’t be true. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Unfortunately, it’s true, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Your eyebrows furrowed at Heeseung, who seemed too resigned for your liking “I’m not going to do this project with you, I– we have to talk to the teacher.”

Heeseung gave you a wry laugh “You can try talking to her, but it won’t work.” he picked up the paper from the table and analyzed the names again as if to confirm that it was real “The seniors already told me that Mrs. Jung is strict and doesn’t make exceptions. She never changes her plan.”

Your stomach began to feel heavy with the anxiety that was building up. You also heard these rumors from a senior who had given you tips about the worst teachers she had to deal with.

“I don’t care, I’ll talk to her.”

“Do whatever you want, I warned you.” Heeseung gave you one last pitiful look and got up from his chair “Are you going to leave like that? We need to talk about this.” he looked at you and shrugged his shoulders putting his hands in his coat pockets “The teacher isn’t here right now, we’ll look into this tomorrow.”

If there was something about Heeseung that really stressed you out, it was his attitude like he knew everything and had everything under control. As if he was better than everyone else.

“But we need to align what should be said!” You countered and Heeseung sighed, running his thumb and index finger over his furrowed eyebrows “God, you’re so annoying.”

Your breath stopped for a moment. How could Lee Heeseung have the audacity to call you annoying? Him of all people? The most insufferable person of all?

“What did you say?!” You stood up from your chair “Say that again!”

He smirked and took a step closer to you “You’re annoying.” Your blood was boiling as his face was just above yours “Everything about you irritates me.”

“Look who’s talking.” You scoffed and pointed at Heeseung with your index finger “You’re completely unbearable and you want to talk about me?”

Heeseung's jaw clenched, and you smirked, seeing how he was also clearly irritated by your response "Heeseung, I'm gonna be honest with you. I think you're just an arrogant prick, and I have no interest in working with you." You gave him a false smile while he frowned.

"Well, I feel the same." he said through gritted teeth and walked away "We'll sort this out tomorrow."

"Great." You took the paper and put it inside your book and closed it. Your desire to study had completely disappeared, and now you needed to think about how to talk to Mrs. Jung, because no way in hell you are going to pair up with Heeseung.

No way.

☆

The international law class was lasting longer than usual that Wednesday.

Your legs were shaking as anxiety corroded your entire body. Heeseung looked calm, his head resting on his right hand as he sat a few chairs in front of you. He had no idea of the storm that was happening inside you.

You had to convince the teacher that she needed to choose another partner for you. Anyone would do, even the slowest human being you could handle, except Lee Heeseung. Not him. Doing a project with him would be extremely stressful. You even felt a pang in your head when you imagined the stupid arguments you would have over simple things.

The truth is that initially you didn't care much for Heeseung, but you started to notice that since the beginning of college he did everything he could to talk back to you. He could never agree with you 100%, no matter the topic. So over time you started to nurture these feelings of rivalry and irritation towards him.

It was unbearable how he acted as if he was better than you and tried to prove it at all costs. That's why you made the decision to never let him surpass you, even in simple college activities. You would beat Lee Heeseung, even if it cost you a few more hours of studying.

However, now with this shared project this would certainly be a problem.

When class ended and the students left one by one, Heeseung calmly put his materials in his bag, as if he knew that his stoicism would irritate you. Mrs. Jung was sitting in her chair as she finished organizing some papers when you slowly approached.

“Uh, excuse me, Mrs. Jung. Can I have a few words with you?” Your soft voice drew the teacher’s attention away from her papers, who smiled back at you “Oh, miss Park, of course. How can I help you?”

You bit your lower lip hesitantly as the teacher looked at you carefully “It’s about the recent international law project; I saw that it’s going to be in pairs.” the teacher’s smile widened “Yes, I think it will be a great project for you.” she stood up from her chair holding the sheets “Is there a problem?”

“Actually, there is.” You were hoping internally that your nervousness wouldn’t show too much “I noticed that you chose Heeseung to be my partner, but since we’re not very close, I don’t think it’ll work out.” the teacher’s eyes seemed attentive to you “Then I’d like to ask about the possibility of changing partners.”

Mrs. Jung gave you a small sigh before offering you a gentle smile “Unfortunately, that won’t be possible, miss Park. Since I’ve already separated all the pairs, they’ve already started their research. Besides, it would be problematic to disrupt this entire system because of a request.” You started to feel despair set in your bones “I understand, Mrs. Jung, but it really will be difficult to work with Hees–”

“Miss Park, I chose Heeseung to be your partner because I think you two would be a great pair.” she interrupted you, leaving you speechless “What do you mean?”

The teacher seemed to think for a moment “I think you are a good match. You bring out the best in each other, and I think you will do a fabulous job with this research.”

Heeseung had arrived at exactly this time and stood frozen beside you.

“But—” You were cut off again by the teacher “The pairings will not be changed and this is final, miss Park. Okay?”

“Alright… Thank you for listening to me, Mrs. Jung.” she smiled before grabbing her bag “You’re welcome. I’m looking forward to seeing what you guys come up with.”

Heeseung watched you from the corner of his eye as the teacher left first. You were paralyzed as if a lightning had struck you.

“I told you she wouldn’t change her mind.” he broke the silence and you grimaced in pain.

“Oh, shut up.” You left first trying to accept the idea that you would have to put up with Heeseung as your partner for the rest of the semester.

Heeseung was having an internal debate as he waited for class to end. He didn't know whether he should talk to you and decide to start this research right away or wait for you to say something.

He had sat a few chairs behind you and saw how focused you seemed in class. For the first time this semester, he couldn't pay attention to what was being taught. How was he going to work with the girl he couldn't stand? And worse: for an entire semester? Not even in his worst dreams did he imagine something like this would happen.

As he pondered what to do, Jake glared at him with the corner of his eye “Dude, you’re making a scary face.”

Heeseung looked away and ran his hand through his dark hair “Sorry, I was distracted.”

“Distracted?” Jake smirked “You looked like a creepy staring at her.” Heeseung sighed “I  have to do the international law project with her.”

Jake put his hand over his mouth to contain the laugh that was threatening to escape “Oh man, you’re screwed.”

“I know.” Heeseung leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself “I need to talk to her.”

“Good luck.” Jake gave him a side smile and shook his head as Heeseung remained with his eyes closed.

When class ended, Heeseung gathered all the courage he had and walked towards you. You also looked haggard. Although your clothes were perfect and your hair was as shiny as ever, the circles under your eyes showed your tiredness as you put your materials in your bag.

A small smile began to form on Heeseung’s face, but he held it back. He couldn’t laugh at your face when he knew that he also had to accept the reality that you would have to put up with each other for the next few months.

“Hey.” that was all Heeseung could say as he watched you approach him “Hi.” Your dry response made the atmosphere heavy.

“I need your phone number to schedule the meetings about our project.” he was trying to be civil, no one could complain about that.

You sighed, showing your clear lack of interest in any conversation with him “Okay.”

Heeseung was really holding back his sharp mouth, but you weren't making it easy.

The way your hand handed your phone while you looked away irritated Heeseung deeply “Do you always have to be this petty?”

“What?” You asked confused as he finished putting his number into your phone “Can’t you interact for 5 minutes without being petty? Is it that hard?”

In your mind you couldn't believe what you were hearing. Lee Heeseung wanting to lecture you about pettiness?

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who can’t go 5 minutes without criticizing anything I do.” Heeseung bit his lower lip, trying to hold his tongue. He was already upset, and you weren’t helping.

“Probably because you don’t make it easier?” he sighed and ran his fingertips over his temples, trying to regain his former calm state “You know what, forget about it. Have you saved my number?” his patience was running out, and so was yours.

“Yes, unfortunately.” You whispered the last part, which didn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung.

“See you after class.” he put his phone in his pocket and his backpack on his right shoulder.

You just nodded and left first.

'Yeah, this is really going to be difficult.' Heeseung thought before leaving the room with his mind messed up by the simple interaction you two had.

☆

The library was relatively crowded, but since you previously arranged with Heeseung, you managed to arrive together at the same time.

“Well, look at that. Lee Heeseung isn’t late, I'm surprised.” You teased as you sat down and took your laptop out of your bag.

“Tsk.” Heeseung clicked his tongue as he placed his notebooks on the table “Of course. The sooner we start, the sooner I can leave.” he replied, thinking about how he wanted this torture to end once and for all.

“Finally you said something I agree with.” You retorted as you opened a blank Word document and began sorting through your materials.

Heeseung had already noticed that you liked everything organized. Your materials were always organized in the same way: pens, laptop and a notebook lined up.

“Well, do you have any ideas or suggestions on what we can do?” Heeseung was a little surprised by your question, after all, he expected you to decide everything at once and create a big fight if he disagreed.

“I think this subject is too extensive, we can’t do a generic theme.” You nodded as you stared at the laptop screen “That makes sense. I think we should dive deeper into some specific subjects.”

“I usually research and read about the subject superficially before diving into complicated concepts.” Heeseung showed the sheet of paper from his notebook that had some sketches of past summaries he had done in other subjects.

“International law is a pain because if we read about everything, we’ll waste a lot of time.” You commented, scratching your head, feeling frustrated “Let’s choose some subjects we like and see which ones are the best.”

“Fine.” Heeseung just wanted to get it over with.

For the next 10 minutes you were in complete silence. As if it was a silent mutual agreement that you would only speak if it was absolutely necessary.

Interestingly, the discomfort was bearable. Was it strange that you were sitting side by side without saying anything? Yes, but at least when you didn't say anything, you didn't fight, and that was enough for the moment.

“These are my suggestions.” You looked at the list Heeseung had made, but one suggestion in particular caught your eye.

“Post-war law?” You tilted your head to the side “It’s too generic and complicated, we need to think about it.” Heeseung sighed “How can this be too generic? It’s literally about the law after wars.”

You mockingly laughed “Exactly. What kind of wars are you talking about? Because we can’t talk about every war in existence.” Heeseung felt a stab of anger in his head.

“So, what are your suggestions, genius?” Heeseung’s pejorative tone wasn’t enough to make you lose your patience, so you turned the laptop screen to show your contribution.

“We can talk about certain differences in the legal system in some countries and filter out only the most interesting ones.” Heeseung snorted and pointed at your laptop screen “That’s as generic as my suggestion!”

“Of course not!” clearly the discussion would not end there “We can only choose a few countries.”

“And we could talk about a few wars, for example the most famous ones? Like World War I or World War II?” his ironic tone gave you the creeps, in a bad way.

“It’s still a very simple theme, we should do something more elaborated.” You turned your laptop screen towards you and Heeseung took a deep breath.

“And isn’t your topic simple?” he approached you and looked into your eyes “You just want to do what’s convenient for you, as always.”

“What do you mean by that?” The tone of your voice clearly showed that you were now very mad. How could Heeseung make a single task so difficult?

“Forget it, you wouldn’t understand.” he whispered, clearly irritated.

Another 10 minutes of complete silence. Neither you nor Heeseung wanted to say anything else. It was clear that this would be a difficult task, but you tried to be rational and calm down.

What was at stake here was your grade, your academic record, and your future. You couldn't let Heeseung be an obstacle in your path.

“Look, let’s get one thing straight.” You turned to Heeseung who gave you a lazy look “It’s clear we don’t like each other.”

“Hm.” Heeseung nodded and waved his hands in the air as if he wanted you to get to the point quickly.

“But I don’t care about that. What I really care about is my grades, so if I have to do this damn project with you, I’ll do it.” Heeseung kept looking at you, waiting for you to finish “So, if you put your childishness aside for a moment and really help me, we’ll be able to finish this today.”

You were clearly nervous and out of patience.

“Then, can you please cooperate with me?” Heeseung somehow felt a bit remorseful, thinking that perhaps he had overreacted with the way you seemed to beg for the two of you to end this quickly.

“Okay, we clearly can’t reach a consensus, so let’s use another method.” he pulled his chair closer to you “What are you doing?”

“What do you like?” his bright, dark eyes stared into yours with intensity “What are you most comfortable with in international law?”

“I like the criminal part.” You whispered a little shyly as he got closer to you “Good.” Heeseung began to write in his notebook “I like the human rights part, especially the Post-World War II issue.”

You watched as he outlined the topics you both liked.

“Let’s research these themes and at the next meeting we’ll decide what to do.” he said and leaned back in his chair, looking at you.

“Okay. This might work.” You nodded, thinking it might be a good idea.

“It’ll work.” There it was. The tone of absolute certainty in Heeseung’s voice that usually irritated you, but this time you were satisfied that you had managed to reach a consensus.

“Okay, I’ll start now.” You stood up and headed towards some books in the international law section of the library, while Heeseung decided to research on the internet.

The rest of the meeting you were silent, researching the topics, but this time it wasn't awkward or heavy. You were just two students focusing on what you needed to do.

And that was enough for now.

“So, how is your international law project going?” Jay brought up the topic while he, Jake, and Heeseung were gathered in the campus cafeteria.

“Don’t remind me of that.” he sighed as he sipped on a soda “We managed to have a fight before the first meeting.”

“Damn, you guys are too complicated.” Jake commented with a smile “Luckily my partner on the project is Jay.” he fist bumped Jay.

“You guys are lucky. We’re trying to be civil, but sometimes it’s unavoidable not to get angry.” Jay narrowed his eyes as he studied his friend trying to understand why Heeseung seemed so reactive to you “You guys should see the way she acts. It’s like she does this on purpose to irritate me!”

“Can you believe the Mrs. Jung said she put us together because she thought we were a good match?” Heeseung gave a wry smile while Jake and Jay looked at each other with a knowing look and mocking smiles “She said I brought out the best in her, some shit like that.”

“Well, I somewhat agree.” Jay countered Heeseung “Since you two started interacting, you’ve become more dedicated to your studies.”

“Real, brother. You worry more about her than yourself when exam week comes.” Jake blurted out, and Jay laughed, making Heeseung stunned by his friend's confession.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Heeseung sighed “I don’t care about her. I just like being the best in the class! That’s all.”

Jay smirked and put his arm around his friend's shoulder “Sure, sure… but you can't deny she's hot.”

Heeseung stood frozen in place at what Jay had said. He wasn't blind, he knew you were a beautiful woman, but that didn't change the fact that you were annoying to him.

“None of that changes the fact that she’s annoying.” Heeseung looked away as Jake and Jay chuckled.

“In my opinion, I think you lowkey admire her, but you can’t admit it and that’s why you act like that.” Jake teased Heeseung who was stunned “Just admit you’re into her man, it’s okay.” Jay said and Jake snickered “Huh? You guys are crazy.” he got up from his chair and decided to leave while Jay and Jake laughed.

“C'mon Heeseung! Don't run away like that!” Jake and Jay stood up and decided to follow him while Heeseung went ahead.

So what if you were pretty and attractive? That didn't change anything.

You were still the rich girl he couldn't stand.

☆

After a few days of research, you and Heeseung decided to have a meeting to decide on the final theme for your project.

It was already 16:24 in the afternoon and he still hadn't arrived, which was strange because Heeseung was always on time. Being late for more than 20 minutes wasn't like him.

Before you could text him, Heeseung hurried into the library. He was more casual than ever, wearing a dark gray sweater and a beanie, and you noticed that he was pale with slightly red cheeks and nose.

“Sorry for the delay, something’s got in the way.” he sounded haggard and strangely tired. His voice was hoarser than usual and you could tell he wasn’t doing very well.

“Are you okay?” You asked worriedly. Even though he was annoying, he clearly didn’t look okay “If you’re not okay, we can postpone it and–”

“I'm fine.” he cut you off in a harsh tone “Let's get this over with.” You stared at him in disbelief at the way he was acting.

“Wow.��� You spoke ironically and didn’t hold back “Heeseung, what the hell is wrong with you?”

He closed his eyes temporarily, trying not to say anything. As if any noise would hurt like hell inside his head.

“I was just worried because you’re clearly not okay. If you want to be a jerk, then you can be by yourself.” You got up from the chair trying to leave and Heeseung grabbed your wrist “Let go of me.” You looked at his hand around your wrist and felt tortured by how soft and large his hand was compared to yours.

“I’m sorry.” Heeseung opened his eyes slightly and looked at you in a way that you swore you almost saw some kind of affection “Don’t go, please.”

You swallowed hard and sat back down on the chair, seeing how regretful Heeseung looked. “I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just…” he sighed as if he didn’t want to admit his weakness “The truth is, I caught a cold and I’m not feeling very well, but I didn’t want to postpone our meeting.”

“Heeseung, you’re sick! We can do this in a few days, we still have time.” You looked at Heeseung with pity, who coughed a little “You need to recover, come on.”

He let go of your wrist, turning his gaze to you, who stood up again “But what about choosing the theme for our project?” he clearly seemed worried about the project, and you sighed.

“You’re not in a position to study, you need to prioritize your health.” Heeseung watched you grab your bag “We’ll decide that after you recover.”

Heeseung just nodded. At that moment he didn't want to argue or study, he just wanted his bed and sleep for the next 10 hours straight.

“Come on, I’ll accompany you.” You waited for Heeseung to leave first and followed him, after all, how could you trust a guy who was clearly sick.

Before he could leave campus, you bought a warm drink from a vending machine that was right next to the door.

“Here.” You handed the can to Heeseung “It’s good for you, it’s orange juice so it must have vitamin C.”

“Okay, thanks mom.” he replied and your eyes widened at his audacity “Hey!”

“I was joking, silly.” Heeseung gave you a smirk that disconcerted you.

It was the first time he had ever genuinely smiled at you. It wasn't a mocking smile or a fake smile after he said the most passive-aggressive thing possible. He was actually giving you a genuine, real smile.

And you definitely didn't want to admit that he had a very beautiful smile.

“Well, uh… anyways, take your medicine and recover. We’ll reschedule the meeting.” he looked down at the hot drink and gave you another smile before looking back at you. “Okay, see you later.” He – shockingly – kindly said “Thank you.” his gaze was fixed on yours, and for some reason, it made you feel embarrassed.

“It’s nothing.” You looked away “See you later.”

He gave you one last smile before leaving first. As you watched him walk away you began to wonder what kind of man Lee Heeseung was, who insisted on going to your meeting even though he was sick.

☆

You were choosing a movie to watch with Gaeul when your phone vibrated. Gaeul was putting the freshly popped popcorn in the bowl when you saw on your phone that surprisingly Heeseung had texted you.

[Lee Heestupid] — Hey

[Lee Heestupid] — Just wanted to say thank you for the orange juice.

21:46 pm

You smiled a little, seeing that he had the courage to send you a message about something that isn’t your project.

[You] — It's nothing. Are you feeling better?

21:48 pm

[Lee Heestupid] — Yeah, I'm way better now.

[Lee Heestupid] — If you're free, let's meet tomorrow for our project.

21:51 pm

[You] — Sure, it works for me.

21:52 pm

[Lee Heestupid] — Great

[Lee Heestupid] — See you then

21:53pm

[You] — See you.

21:53pm

“Who are you talking to?” Gaeul asked suspiciously as she approached your couch “I was just rescheduling the project meeting with Heeseung.” You locked your phone and tapped the fabric of the couch next to you indicating that you wanted her to sit there.

She stopped in her tracks and gave you a mischievous smile, looking at you. “I can’t believe you were smiling like that while you were texting Heeseung.” You rolled your eyes at Gaeul's suggestive tone “What do you mean? I was normal.” You looked away to the TV “Nuh-uh.” She was clearly enjoying the whole thing “I think you’re starting to like him after all this time.”

“Girl, you’re crazy.” You sighed thinking about Gaeul’s fertile mind and she sat next to you hugging your arm “Come on, admit that you changed your conception of him. Even if it’s just a little.”

You paused for a moment and thought “He’s still insufferable, but this time he was polite.” Gaeul chuckled, taking a handful of popcorn. “Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

“Babe, let’s just watch the movie.” You changed the subject and Gaeul was laughing beside you “Okaaaay.”

☆

As much as you didn't want to admit it, the atmosphere between you and Heeseung had certainly changed a bit. It was noticeable that although his thoughtless sarcasm hadn't changed, you two fought less about your project. Heeseung's posture was still as confident as ever, but a part of you had gotten used to this eccentric trait of his. Maybe he was naturally like this in any area of his life, or maybe he was forced to be like this.

“While I was recovering, I thought about how to combine our interests in our project.” Heeseung looked much better. His face had a healthy glow, his lips were pinker and, curiously, you noticed how his nose was perfectly shaped. Did he always have this insane profile?

“What’s your suggestion?” You asked, adjusting your seat, trying to dispel the strange thoughts that were distracting you “We can talk about criminal accountability and the evolution of post-war human rights within international law.”

You thought for a moment “That might work.” The smile that formed on your face didn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung who was taken aback “It’s just going to be harder than expected, since it’s a topic that we’re going to have to delve into in depth so we can’t leave any gaps.”

“I accept the challenge.” He smirked while looking into your eyes “And what about you? Are you scared?” You rolled your eyes, seeing how he never misses an opportunity to tease you.

“Of course not.” You snorted “You know I never run away from a challenge. After all, I’m the best in the class.” Heeseung’s eyebrow twitched slightly at your insinuation “Actually, we’re tied and you know it.”

“Fine, maybe you’re right.” You sighed “But it doesn’t change the fact that we’ll have to work hard with this topic.” Heeseung gave an airy laugh through his nose seeing how excited you were “Indeed, but at least we were able to officially set the theme of our project.”

“Now we need to define the next steps.” You stretched your arms and Heeseung couldn’t help but see part of your waist when your shirt rose slightly “I guess that’s a good idea, because we also have to study for that civil law presentation in three weeks.” He looked away to the screen of his laptop.

You widened your eyes and turned to Heeseung “Oh my God, I thought it would be in a month!” Opening your tablet's calendar you came across the date marked on a Tuesday in three weeks “I was so worried about our project that I lost track of time.”

“You're welcome.” Heeseung said without looking at you as he researched the subjects he needed to study for your project “It seems like I’m taking up too much of your mind for you to forget a presentation.” He snickered and you grimaced.

“Ugh, you wish.” You sighed as you typed on your laptop causing Heeseung to give you an enigmatic smile.

Yeah. As you thought, Lee Heeseung was still a pain in the ass.

Miraculously, after weeks of not going out, Heeseung was at a party. Contrary to what many people think, Heeseung doesn't go out to many parties. Since he has a scholarship to take care of, his main focus is on studying. However, when he has some free time, he allows himself the luxury of enjoying some kind of fun.

Today was no different as Jake managed to convince him that he needed to clear his head after being sick.

Since part of the international law project was well underway and he had made progress on his civil law assignment, he allowed himself to relax for a few hours at that random party on a Friday. Jake and Jay seemed more lively, taking advantage of the opportunity to play beer pong with boys from other courses.

Heeseung had been drinking for a while now, but nothing seemed very interesting. The music was great, but he was still feeling tired from working twice as hard during the week, so he decided to sit on an old couch that was empty. As he slowly drank, he began to analyze his surroundings, and noticed that he was surrounded by couples or people who were there with the aim of flirting and hooking up with someone.

Personally, Heeseung didn't have many girlfriends. He had gone on a few dates, talked to a few girls, and even had a serious girlfriend for a year and a few months during high school, but nothing had lasted that long. Life hadn't been easy for Heeseung's family, so all he could think about was how he needed to help out at home with the money from tiring part-time jobs and how to pay for his upcoming college expenses.

Love was a distant topic for Heeseung.

Most of the time he was worried about his future and the reality he wanted to improve. That's why love and relationships were foreign subjects on his mind. Jake used to say that he needed to relax a bit and at least try to meet someone during college, but he was too busy.

Too busy studying, working and self-improving but mainly busy thinking about you.

The amount of times you wandered through his mind seemed unhealthy. It was as if you were always there unconsciously, terrorizing the corners of Heeseung's mind. Like a presence he couldn't get rid of, like you were a sticker glued in the album of his thoughts.

He always swore he didn't care much about your appearance, but his breath caught for a moment when from afar he saw you with a short black skirt and a brown turtleneck blouse clinging to your torso. Heeseung felt his body sober up in an instant and he leaned over his knees so he could confirm his suspicion.

That shiny hair and that unique smile were unmistakable in his eyes. Yes, it was you.

Heeseung swallowed hard and felt strange for not being able to take his eyes off you. “Sure, sure… but you can't deny she's hot.” Jay's sentence from that day kept echoing in Heeseung's mind as he tried to convince himself that this was no big deal.

You've always been beautiful. No, you're always impeccable. As if you never had a bad day, you're always well-tied up, wearing a sweet perfume, unbeatable, gorgeous... stunning. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. In a way, your determination to always show your best version is impressive, especially in the world of law where Heeseung knows how much appearances matter.

But he never really stopped to look at you. Heeseung’s judgment was always clouded by his anger at what you represented. At the spoiled, privileged girl who would never experience what it was like to suffer from not having enough money for leisure or having every penny counted to pay the bills.

Your existence was almost an affront to him—even though you had never done anything to him.

But even though he knew all of this. Even though he had convinced himself that you were his rival, his eyes couldn't take their eyes off your figure. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, or the fatigue, but your legs seemed even more toned under the dark blue light of the place.

He swallowed hard, seeing how your eyes seemed to sparkle as you talked to a girl beside you that he assumed it was your best friend. Have you always had an outfit that adorned your waist flawlessly like that?

'It's okay, I can admire a beautiful woman.' Heeseung argued in his own mind as if he needed to justify himself for the thoughts he was having at that moment.

Thoughts of how hauntingly attractive you are.

Heeseung bent the cup he was holding a little from squeezing it so hard and ran his hand over his face. He was wondering if he should talk to you or just let it go. Even if he decided to go to you, what would he say? 'Hi, good to see you project partner.'? Absolutely not. That would be too pathetic of him.

After a few seconds of struggling, he decided to stay still. It could have been really awkward if he tried to say something out of the blue. Besides, you were with your friend, so he decided he wouldn't bother you.

However, as if life was playing tricks on Heeseung, he saw a weird man approaching you. A guy he had seen before at the party, and who was clearly not feeling well after drinking way past his limits. From afar Heeseung watched with his eyes as the clueless guy approached and tried to say something to you, which showed instant discomfort.

When the guy dared to touch your shoulder, Heeseung stood up at the same time, feeling his blood boil. You had a frown on your face and were obviously saying no. Even with the loud music, he could tell that you weren't enjoying that approach by the gestures you were making as you got away from the guy.

As he couldn't contain himself, Heeseung stomped towards him and pushed the guy back hard with his forearm. In a single movement he hugged your waist and pulled you towards him, slamming your back into his chest.

“Hey! Are you stupid? She said no!” Heeseung spoke harshly and you turned your face to him, shocked by the situation “Get the hell out of here, son of a bitch!”

“Ahh shi–” before the guy could finish his sentence Heeseung pushed him hard and the guy staggered back while cursing some swear words. The people around started staring at the guy who was clearly drunk and out of his mind.

“Let’s get out of here.” He whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You just nodded and turned around with Heeseung as the other guy walked away aimlessly, bumping into other people.

As Heeseung led you through the crowd, your heart was racing. In less than 10 minutes of partying, Gaeul had gone to the bathroom, a drunk man disturbed you, Heeseung had saved you and now had his arm behind your back and his right hand firmly gripped on your waist while the other made room for you to pass.

It was almost like a scene from a movie where the security guard makes room for the protagonist to pass without touching anyone.

Your mind was spiraling when you arrived at the backyard near the kitchen that didn't have many people and had a bench for you to sit on. Heeseung let go of you and closed the kitchen door behind him seeing how shocked you looked at everything that happened.

“Are you okay?” Heeseung’s gentle tone made you finally look at him that night.

Your breath hitched and your mouth hung open seeing that he was wearing a white tank top showing his collarbone, a silver chain over it, an open dark gray jacket and dark jeans.

“Yes...” You felt your cheeks heat up as you noticed how his intense dark eyes didn’t look away from yours “Thank you, Heeseung.” You shyly mumbled feeling your stomach stir as he sighed, running his hand through his hair which was slightly messy, showing a bit of his forehead.

Even if you wanted to deny it, it would be an obvious lie, because clearly Lee Heeseung was so hot that you were at a loss for words.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can get you a water or something.” He looked genuinely concerned and didn't know what to do to make you feel better, but you smiled gently. “It’s okay, really.” You sighed in relief “You really helped me out back there. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, as a man it’s what I should do.” He sat down next to you “That guy is an idiot; I should’ve kicked his ass.” You laughed and propped your face on the back of your hand looking at Heeseung “It would have been great entertainment, but you don’t need to harm yourself because of a drunk idiot.”

Heeseung allowed himself to relax after what happened “I guess you’re right… but what really matters is that you’re okay.”

“I am, thanks to you who saved me.” Heeseung gave an almost imperceptible smile, slightly embarrassed by the tone of your voice, but he calmed down when he saw how you looked fine and out of danger. You continued to observe Heeseung's face thinking how curious it was how different he looked when he genuinely smiled.

Heeseung's smile is splendid, like the perfect complement to his handsome profile.

He turned to you and suddenly you felt aware of his gaze.

“To be honest, I was surprised to see you here.” Heeseung confessed “I don’t remember seeing you at the parties I went to.”

He noticed how you gave a weak smile and looked up at the starry sky “It’s because I’ve only been to a few parties since I came to college.”

“Because of studies?” He asked and you nodded “That’s all I care about honestly.”

He gave an empathetic side smile “I know how it is… I can’t fail my grades.”

“You gotta be on top of the class, don’t you?” You teased him with your sarcastic tone and he rolled his eyes smiling “It’s not just that.”

“So, what’s the reason?” You turned and asked him, feeling curious, as he looked at you for a few brief seconds.

Heeseung hesitated for a moment as he didn't know what your stance would be towards his answer, but a part of him wanted to be honest.

“It’s because I need to keep my scholarship.” He confessed and looked at you hesitantly, expecting some kind of exaggerated reaction. Maybe a joke, disdain or humiliation, but he was surprised by your bright face.

“A scholarship?! Wow, that’s impressive!” You were surprised and your face showed it “I had no idea you were a scholarship holder, that’s amazing! Only the best students get a scholarship in our course.”

Heeseung was stunned by your reaction. Maybe he had misjudged you for expecting the worst, but your relationship wasn't the best, so he didn't know what to expect.

"I mean, it's not that impressive. I just worked my ass off to get this scholarship, so yeah... I need to keep it.” Heeseung scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He didn’t know how to react to being praised, especially a compliment coming from you. His rival.

For Heeseung, the feeling of receiving recognition from someone who doesn't like him very much is more real and impactful than anyone else. Especially because you have all the weapons to criticize him, so receiving a praise from you hits different.

“It’s just the truth.” You moved a little closer to Heeseung, adjusting your skirt, making him glance at your smooth thighs “You know, I just realized something.”

Heeseung’s eyes rose and met yours again “What?”

“I think this is the first time we’ve talked about something that doesn’t have to do with our project.” You laughed and he noticed the gloss you were wearing. Your lips were shining in a mesmerizing way.

“You’re right…” He smiled “I mean, you haven’t cursed at me yet, so I say it’s an improvement.”

“Huh?” You dramatically let out a breath of air and pointed at him. “Heeseung, drop the act. You’re the one who always provokes me and starts bickering.”

Without letting go of eye contact, he brought his face closer to yours and you suddenly felt butterflies in your stomach “You’re not innocent either, you’re always teasing me.” He whispered, making you snort and look away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Heeseung laughed and you noticed how warm the sound of his laugh was “Yeah, let’s pretend you don’t know.”

You were surprised. He seemed different that night, as if he wasn't the Heeseung you knew. The rival you felt so much despise for.

Beneath that serene air he looked like just a normal college boy. And you liked that — but you wouldn’t admit it to him.

“I need a drink.” You suddenly commented and he looked at you “Me too.” Heeseung got up from the bench and stood in front of you “Let’s go inside, the party isn’t over yet.”

“I know and Gaeul must be worried about me.” You stood up sighing thinking about how you’ll have to find your best friend in the middle of the crowd.

“Ladies first.” Heeseung opened the kitchen door and made room for you to go in first.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and walked through the door with your arms crossed “Who would have thought… Lee Heeseung is such a gentleman.”

Heeseung smiled and whispered as you stood beside him “There are still many things about me that you don’t know.”

Heeseung's deep voice was like sweet poison that seemed to penetrate your skin with ease. You swallowed hard, feeling your body heat up slightly, and just walked in without saying anything.

Normally you hated losing any kind of argument with Heeseung, but tonight you would let it slide.

As the night unfolded and you entered the venue together again, Gaeul watched the interaction from afar with a satisfied smile on her face.

Heeseung and you together? Without fighting? You guys would definitely talk about it later.

☆

“Okay girl, spill.” Gaeul leaned against the doorway of your room as you changed the sheets on your bed “What the hell happened between you and Heeseung?”

“What do you mean?” You pretended not to understand her insinuation as you finished fluffing the pillows so you could lie down.

“You know what I'm talking about.” Gaeul came in and sat on your bed, looking at you with that look she only did when she wanted to tease you “I saw you and Heeseung interacting at the party.”

“And what about it?” Gaeul sighed at your stubbornness “I thanked him for helping me with a drunk idiot there who tried to hit on me.”

“What do you mean? Did something happen?” Your best friend looked at you worriedly and you sat down next to her “It was nothing big. When you went to the bathroom a guy was completely wasted and tried to hit on me, but Heeseung helped me.”

Gaeul put her hands over her mouth in shock and her eyebrows furrowed “Babeee, I didn’t know! I’m sorry I left you alone, I never imagined something like this would happen.” She touched your hand and you smiled.

“It’s okay Gaeul, I’m fine.” You squeezed your best friend’s hand, and she smiled sweetly.

“Sooo, you were saying Heeseung saved you?” She looked at you with a teasing face and you laughed “He helped me, like a good human being, okay?”

“Girl, there’s no point in hiding it. I know something has changed between you two.” She seemed 100% convinced and you just rolled your eyes “You’re very creative Gaeul.”

“Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t feel anything different after he saved you.” She approached you, watching you ponder her question for a moment.

In fact, since that event and the brief conversation in the backyard, you started to see Heeseung in a different light. Not to mention how much more attractive he seemed.

“Okay, maybe he’s not that bad.” You confessed and Gaeul’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened in shock.

“Oh. My. God. You totally like Lee Heeseung!!!!” Gaeul stood up excitedly and you made a face “And don’t try to deny it! Your eyes don’t lie! You’re falling for your rival!”

You chuckled and shook your head “Gaeul, I don’t like him, I just think he’s improved as a person… that’s all.”

Before leaving your room, she turned and looked at you with affection and a sweet smile on her lips “Okay, you can keep denying it. But just know that when you are ready to admit your feelings, I’ll be here for you.”

You sighed knowing that Gaeul wouldn't change her mind about this.

But you couldn't help but feel that strange feeling deep in your chest when you remembered how he had held your waist tightly and protected you. The way his eyebrows were furrowed showing the anger he was feeling against that idiot on your behalf. How protective he was at that moment…

His strong hands, along with the bright smile he gave you and how his dark hair seemed to fall perfectly over his forehead.

Okay, you can admit that Lee Heeseung is attractive, but that doesn't mean you like him.

Right?

Heeseung was walking down the halls while Jay was talking about some random basketball topic when he saw your beautiful figure from afar grabbing his attention. You were stunning, as always, but you looked different.

You were smiling as you watched something interesting a boy was showing you on his phone. He recognized the boy as Jungwon, the president of one of the clubs you were a part of. Heeseung couldn't help but feel awkward about the scene. You looked so comfortable and relaxed as you talked to the boy who was undeniably handsome and put together.

A wave of sour feelings flooded Heeseung's chest. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, trying not to make it too obvious how much he was staring at you. Heeseung, who had always had this chill aura, felt insanely bothered when he saw how excited the boy seemed while he was making you smile so easily.

It was nothing special. Even he could make you smile if he wanted to, there was nothing special about this guy.

“Hey man, are you listening?” Jay asked and Heeseung looked away trying to ignore the dissatisfaction bubbling inside him “Sorry, can you repeat?” He ran his hand through his hair and Jay sighed “Dude, if you’re going to be jealous of her, please be more discreet, you look like a creepy staring at her like that.” Heeseung dumbfounded stared at his friend “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m certainly not jealous.”

“Give me a break man, you were practically staring at the girl.” Jay gave a smirk and Heeseung kept walking trying to resist the urge to look back and see your smile one last time ���I'm fine. Let's go.” Jay shook his head and continued walking alongside Heeseung who remained silent for the rest of the way.

He wasn't jealous, was he?

☆

Civil Law was fun until you had to do a detailed essay and slides on dispossession in your bedroom on a Wednesday night. It was already past 11pm and you were still halfway through the paper. Your presentation was due next week, and you were still going over the details of the requirements for reinstatement of possession.

Being a perfectionist was a characteristic of yours that hindered you more than it helped you most of the time. You wanted your work to be perfect and meticulous to the point of not leaving any room for questions. The problem was that this cost you precious nights that you could have been having fun and enjoying life like a young university student.

You were stretching your arms when you were surprised by the sound of your phone ringing on the table. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Heeseung's name on the screen. What was he doing? He had never called you before.

'Is this an emergency?' You instantly thought and worriedly answered the phone.

“Hello? Heeseung?” The hesitation in your voice was clear “Hm—” Heeseung’s deep voice and breathing suddenly startled you “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry for calling you so late.”

“It’s okay. Did something happen?” Your heart was suddenly racing, and you couldn’t explain why. His laughter on the other end warmed your ear “No silly, I wanted to talk about our project.” The way his voice sounded deeper over the phone made you swallow hard and cross your legs instinctively.

This was pathetic. How could you feel nervous about a phone conversation? And worst of all — with Heeseung?

“Oh, right.” You gave an awkward chuckle “What is it?” It was like you could feel his smile through his breathing on the phone call.

“I was just thinking… maybe it would be interesting to talk about criminal liability for crimes committed during the Second World War with the creation of the Nuremberg Tribunal.” Heeseung said in a calm and soft voice. As if he was flirting, but you knew that couldn’t be possible. He had no reason to flirt with you “Ah, you mean the International Military Tribunal?”

“Exactly.” Was his voice always this sexy? “I think it would be a good topic, and I know you like the criminal side of things, so it could be interesting for us to address this.” Your stomach turned as you realized that Heeseung had paid attention to what you had said weeks ago and thought of this idea based on your personal taste.

“I think that’s a great idea!” You gave him an excited smile as if he could see it “I think it would be wonderful to include this part.”

“Yeah.” He laughed in a way that made you feel like a little girl interacting with her crush “I’m glad you liked it, we can work on that at our next meeting.”

God, you were hating yourself mentally. How could you let yourself be affected and have impure thoughts while Heeseung was talking about the Nuremberg Tribunal?

“Sure!” Was all you could manage to say before he interrupted you “Speaking of which, are you free in the afternoon on Friday? We can start right away.”

“Wait, I’ll check my schedule.” He laughed at your answer and said playfully “Of course you have a schedule.” You usually can’t stand it when Heeseung answers you sarcastically, but this time it was different. It was like he was teasing you, but not with the intention of irritating you, but just joking with you. “I’m an organized person, of course I’ll schedule my appointments in advance.”

“Alright, Miss Organized. Are you free?” You could hardly believe that you were having a friendly conversation with Heeseung over the phone “Yes, we can schedule it at our usual time.”

“Great, it's a date then.” The way he said it was normal, you know that, but the butterflies that invaded your stomach made you feel like a loser. He wasn't asking you out on a date, it was just the work meeting you always had, but you couldn't stay calm like before.

“Uh– Heeseung can I ask you something?” You gathered the courage to continue the conversation “Sure. What is it?” He seemed curious and you bit your lower lip trying to get the courage to ask what was eating you up inside “Why did you call me? You could have texted me…”

Your anxiety reached its peak when he was silent for about 5 seconds and all you could hear was his breathing “I guess I just wanted to talk to you directly about the subject.” He broke the silence and you let out an ironic chuckle “Woah?! I never thought I would hear those words from Lee Heeseung.” Unbeknownst to you on the other end of the line Heeseung had slightly pink cheeks while he had his hand over his eyes “Seriously, this topic is quite detailed so I wanted to get my point across as easily as possible, and over text it would be a hassle.”

“And why didn’t you Facetimed me?” You argued as you jumped onto your fluffy bed “I can’t.” He replied seriously and you hugged your pillow “Why not?”

Heeseung stopped for a second and laughed through his nose, which you could hear through the phone “Because I’m already in bed and I’m shirtless.” You froze, feeling your cheeks heat up at what he said and blamed yourself for imagining him shirtless calling you in the middle of the night “So… it would be a little complicated for me to have to get up, put on a shirt and turn on the lights just to say that.”

“I see… that makes sense.” You swallowed, feeling like an idiot for not knowing how to react with this bombastic information. Shirtless Lee Heeseung calling you at night is something you never expected to happen to you.

'I hope he doesn't think I'm weird.'

“And you? What are you doing up so late?” He asked and you laughed seeing how you needed to turn off your laptop and organize your materials “I was doing my civil law essay.”

“Yeah, this essay is really tiring. It took me a long time to research my topic, but you’ll finish it soon.” He said with that usual confidence with absolute certainty that you would kill the subject “Well, unfortunately I had the misfortune of getting the subject of dispossession, so it's more complicated than it seems.”

“Damn, dispossession is full of details.” He sighed, feeling his eyes grow heavy “My topic is about inheritance law. Heirs and shit like that.” You laughed, noticing how his voice was getting slightly choked with sleep “Are you sleepy?”

“Hmhum.” He nodded even though he knew you wouldn’t see it “I’m tired, I had a lot of work today.” Your legs were swinging in the air as you listened to Heeseung “Well then, I guess it’s time for you to sleep.”

He laughed and agreed “Yeah, you're right. Good night, Y/N.” His sleepy voice tickled your ear and you smirked “Good night, Heeseung.”

With one click he hung up the call and you buried your face in the pillow, giving a liberating scream after the unexpected call.

'Damn it, Lee Heeseung, what did you do to me?'

☆

Despite your good mood, this civil law essay was taking up a lot of your free time and it was tiring you out. You had been reviewing your paper and making slides for your presentation for 3 hours straight.

The civil law professor was known to be strict and detail-oriented, so you wanted everything to be perfect. As you were finishing your slides to clear your mind, your phone vibrated and you felt your body freeze when you saw that Heeseung had sent you a message.

[Lee Heeseung] — Hey

[Lee Heeseung] — Are you busy?

16:47 pm

Your heart jumped into your throat and with slightly trembling hands you picked up your phone and quickly thought about what to say.

[You] — Kinda.

[You] — Finishing the slides for my Civil Law presentation.

16:48 pm

While you were trying to calm down, Heeseung was already answering you at the speed of light.

[Lee Heeseung] — Oh.

[Lee Heeseung] — Want some help?

16:48 pm

The smile that appeared on your face was automatic. How could such a simple message affect you so much?

[You] — Really?

[You] — I mean, it would be nice if it doesn't bother you though

16:49 pm

[Lee Heeseung] — Yeah, it doesn't bother me.

[Lee Heeseung] — Where are you now?

16:49 pm

You took a deep breath, feeling your stomach churn at the excited feelings that were rising from the tone of his messages.

[You] — I'm at the library rn

16:49 pm

[Lee Heeseung] — Alright

[Lee Heeseung] — I'll be there in a few

16:50 pm

[You] — Okay

16:50 pm

Your hands went straight to the front camera of your phone to see how you looked. You started to despair because you hadn't done a more elaborate makeup that afternoon, but you didn't expect to see Heeseung.

Luckily, you had some blush and a reddish gloss in your bag. You touched up your makeup and checked your teeth for any signs of something between them but smiled in relief when you saw that they were perfect.

You adjusted your posture, your blouse, and ran your hand through the strands of your hair to comb them carefully. After feeling that you were minimally tidy, you tried to focus on your slides before Heeseung arrived.

Within 10 minutes Heeseung was already walking past the library door looking for you. When he found you, your eyes met in a second and he smiled. Your anxiety increased considerably as you watched Heeseung walk towards you. With each step he took, you were afraid that your face would show how anxious you were.

It was insane how Lee Heeseung could look so hot wearing a simple black shirt and dark jeans.

“Hey.” He pulled out the chair next to you and sat down while keeping his gaze on yours “It's been a while.”

“Yeah…” You let out the air you were holding “I've been busy with this essay and presentation.”

“I see.” he smiled and leaned forward "What do you need? I'm here to help you."

You hated yourself for not being able to look at Heeseung for so long, so you looked away to your laptop screen.

“I just need to review a few points.” You showed the summary of what you were going to present and the main points “Everything is ready, so I’m editing the slides now because I feel like I need to improve the design of them.”

Heeseung had spent so long without hearing your voice that he was almost grateful to hear you talk so much, even if it was about a stupid presentation.

“If you want, I can show you what I do on my slides.” He moved his chair closer to yours and looked at you. “Okay.” You nodded and made him comfortable so he could do whatever he wanted.

Heeseung placed his left arm behind your chair and brought his face closer to yours coincidentally as he pulled his laptop closer to him.

You felt your heart race when you smelled Heeseung's perfume. That mixed scent of chamomile shampoo married perfectly with his woody scent. It was a soft, punctual and addictive blend. A perfect masculine scent that caught your attention.

“Do you still use PowerPoint?” He mockingly smiled and you raised an eyebrow at him “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, but I personally think it’s hard to work with.” he opened a website in his browser “Try this site, it has easy designs for quick slides.”

“Okay.” You were trying to focus on what he was saying, but his face was distracting you.

His forehead was more exposed than before. His hair was parted in the middle so you could see how perfectly defined his eyebrows were.

How had you not noticed before how handsome he was?

“Look… you can put these dots in a different font so that they are more readable and don’t clutter the view of the slide.” he leaned in closer and spoke close to your ear, making you swallow hard “See?”

“Yes.” You replied, trying to ignore how much Heeseung’s velvety voice tickled your ear.

“Your slides are excellent, they just need some polishing.” Heeseung’s voice was gentle and he seemed focused on the task at hand. A warm feeling filled your heart at the brief compliment he gave you.

“I just want to get this over with.” You sighed “I’m tired and I want to sleep.” Heeseung chuckled and looked at you “You’ll be fine.” Your gaze met his and his eyes gently fixed on your mouth.

Crazy thoughts ran through his mind as he roamed his gaze over your mouth and eyes.

“Thank you for helping me.” You whispered and Heeseung smirked “Of course. I'm your partner after all.”

He looked away from your laptop screen, trying to control himself. You both were in a public space, but he was there to help you, so he would control himself for now.

“What else do you need?” He asked looking at the rest of his slides “I'm all yours today.”

You bit your lips trying not to smile too much at the way he said it.

“We can move forward with our project after I finish my slides.” You suggested and he glanced at you with an amused face “If you have time, of course.”

“Sure.” he smiled and scratched the back of his neck “I have all the time in the world.”

You smiled and decided that it would be perfect to work in something with Heeseung on that peaceful afternoon.

And suddenly you realized that Heeseung's presence had become comfortable to you.

☆

The day was cloudy, with an atmosphere that made you feel lazy and do not want to study at all. However, contrary to the statistics, you were dressed up with your hair brushed, a light pink button-up blouse, a gray ruffled skirt and lots of perfume.

You knew you were dressing up more than usual for a simple work date with Heeseung, but you couldn't help it.

It was as if your body moved on its own when it came to seeing Heeseung.

Without you realizing it, your personal opinion of him gradually changed. Lee Heeseung was extremely complex. At first, he seemed like a jerk who did everything he could to irritate you, but suddenly he showed a different side with his actions. He could actually be an interesting and nice guy when he talked to you like a normal human being and didn't argue for no reason.

He was smart too. Not that you didn't know that before, but the way he was punctual, organized and focused on what he wanted was your type. You couldn't stand people who didn't keep their commitments, and surprisingly Heeseung never missed a meeting you made — to the point of him going to one of your meetings even when he was sick.

It was impossible to ignore the signs that yes, Lee Heeseung could be a nice guy, but that you couldn't see it because you couldn't stand each other for some inexplicable reason.

However, you knew it wasn’t totally your fault for your previously bad relationship. You started to feel a bit resentful ever since he started picking on you. Your theory was that maybe he felt threatened by your academic performance, or maybe there was something more to it. After all, he was now keen to work well with you and didn't care if you also got top marks.

Maybe you misjudged him, or you spent too much time not liking each other for such superficial reasons that you didn't give yourself a chance to get to know each other better.

In any case, you had already come to the conclusion that despite your differences, you had finally managed to understand each other — to the point where you began to feel an undeniable and overwhelming attraction to him.

As you looked at your reflection in the mirror you felt slightly embarrassed. Deep down, it was embarrassing to admit that you were feeling so shaken by Heeseung, the guy you swore you couldn't stand, but so many things had happened that you couldn't deny your forbidden feelings.

And you had already decided that this would stay in your mind and that was fine. It was okay to feel a slight attraction to a man, even if that man was Lee Heeseung.

The difficult part was not showing what you felt when he seemed to be staring at you so deeply whenever you were together. Or when he smiled in a way that made your legs feel weak.

You grabbed your things and left the apartment, trying to distract your mind from those deep thoughts. Today would be a good day, especially since your work was progressing nicely and it was one less thing to worry about.

On your way to the library you decided to buy some juice from a vending machine and came across Heeseung in front of the machine. Suddenly you felt a strange chill in your stomach and tried to give a soft smile to him — one that didn't look forced.

Heeseung turned around and saw you approaching. He looked up and down before giving a smirk that warmed your body. “Hey, came to buy a drink too?” Heeseung kept looking at you intently as he grabbed his soda.

“Yeah, I think we had the same idea.” You awkwardly laughed as he pulled away slightly, grabbing a juice as well “You can't kick your soda addiction, huh?”

“You know caffeine is a must before studying.” He laughingly replied as he opened the can and handed you the orange juice you liked the most “For you.”

Automatically your eyes opened in surprise and you felt your heart warm at Heeseung's sudden action. “What?! Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I can buy some juice for my project partner.” You took the juice feeling your cheeks warm by his action “Thank you…” you replied giving a small smile that didn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung.

“So, are you done with your civil law essay?” he asked, leading the way to the library. His company was no longer strange, and you had to admit that you were really enjoying talking and spending time with him.

“Yeah, but I struggled to finish it all. I was tired of reading about property invasion.” Heeseung laughed and took a sip of his soda “I know how it is. I’ve read so many cases about wills that I don’t want to hear about it any time soon.”

As Heeseung told you about an interesting story he had seen on social media, you analyzed his profile. The way he smiled without realizing it when he told you something he was interested in made you lose focus on the subject.

The way his lips moved was as if they were inviting you. They looked silky, soft and shiny. You barely realized you were staring when he turned slightly to look at you and smiled, waiting for you to answer what he asked. “Sorry, what did you say?” he sighed and smiled ironically “You weren’t listening to me, were you?” You felt your face burn with embarrassment “Sorry, I got distracted for a moment.”

“Damn, what’s so important that made you distracted like that?” He teased you and you gave him an awkward smile.

'Your lips'

“Nothing much, just worried about some things.” Heeseung narrowed his eyes, analyzing you. He knew it was nothing like that, but he wasn’t going to pressure you to talk.

“Okay…” He took one last sip of his soda before throwing it in the trash. From afar, the library door was wide open, revealing that on that afternoon, the flow of students was way bigger than on other days.

When you finally entered the library and found the place completely packed, you felt defeated. There were practically no free tables for you to work at.

“What the hell? Why is the library so crowded?” You whispered and Heeseung scratched the back of his neck “I have no idea, maybe it’s because of upcoming exams?”

You tried to think about something, but nothing came to mind. “Well, I think it’s going to be impossible for us to do our work here.” You said seeing how there was no free space and Heeseung sighed trying to think of a solution.

“What are we going to do now?” You asked, turning to Heeseung, waiting for some suggestion.

Suddenly an idea popped into Heeseung's mind, but it was a dangerous idea and he didn't know if you would accept it.

You bit your lower lip, feeling anxiety hit you with the thoughts that were coming into your mind as you saw how deeply he seemed to be thinking. “I have an idea.” You noticed his cautious tone, as if he wasn’t sure what he was going to say.

“What is it?” He turned to face you fully and you noticed how tall he was. Your insides were churning as he tightened his grip on the strap of his black backpack. There were plenty of places near college that you could go to study, but it might be more difficult and complicated.

“We can go to a nearby cafe, or somewhere else that’s quiet, like my room.” You felt the air catch in your throat and he pursed his lips without taking his eyes off your figure “You can choose whatever’s most comfortable for you.”

You bit your lower lip quickly thinking about his suggestion “But we can go somewhere else if you want.” He reinforced the other option, feeling embarrassed by the sudden suggestion he made.

“No, it’s fine.” You replied almost instantly as you ran your hand through your hair “If your room is quiet and has enough space, then it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” He didn’t want to pressure you into doing anything you didn’t want to do, so he decided to ask again to confirm “Yeah… the most important thing right now is going to a quiet place to work.”

“Alright, I’ll show you the way.”

You and Heeseung always spent time together, so being alone in his room wouldn't be a big deal.

That's what you were trying to convince yourselves.

☆

There is nothing as unexpected as feelings. This is a fact that Heeseung knows. He understands that human beings are endowed with emotions, thoughts and decisions. Yes, human beings are complex by nature and it is possible for them to evolve and change their thoughts and beliefs over time.

But even knowing all this, he couldn't understand why you were messing with him so much.

He had already rationally decided that he would not get too involved with you. You would do this project and each of you would go on with your lives as normal. However, lately Heeseung realized that his rationality wasn't connected to the things he felt whenever he saw you.

Suddenly he started to feel strange butterflies in his stomach when you smiled at him. The way you spoke was no longer so annoying and he started to find some of your jokes funny.

And the most worrying part was that he no longer felt stressed at the thought of working with you. A part of him was already used to your presence and not only that — he felt excited at the idea of seeing you.

You who didn't used to talk much before, now are sending articles, posts and messages about work and things related to law. Including funny and random things. Someone from outside would say that you seem like friends. Talking, laughing and being seen walking down the hallway together when you meet from time to time.

He knew he no longer felt the same anger as before, but he didn't understand what kind of relationship you had. You weren't really friends, but there was clearly an inexplicable chemistry between you, a kind of invisible tension that was created whenever your eyes met for a few seconds.

It was obvious that you had changed with him. In Heeseung's old vision, you were rude, inconvenient, and completely annoying.

Now you're nice, kind, and helpful whenever he asks you anything. But what scares Heeseung the most is the undeniable attraction he's feeling for you. He's always considered himself a man of values and respect, but his eyes can't help but wander to the curve of your neck when your hair is loosely tied back.

It was impossible not to notice your torso being hugged perfectly by your pink long-sleeved blouse, the smell of your sweet perfume and your shiny mouth; and ever since the party he couldn't stop thinking about your waist and how it felt between his fingers.

It was becoming mental torture to see your mouth almost every day and think about how soft it must be but not being able to do anything about it. It was scary how he seemed to not think straight when it came to you, but what was even scarier was that you agreed to go study in his room.

Even though he was the one who had suggested studying in his room, the fact that you accepted was surprisingly exciting. Yes, you would study as usual, but this time you would be at his desk and in his environment. It was inevitable not to feel nervous about the situation.

He tried to talk about anything random on the way and you even laughed a few times, but both of you were clearly tense. Maybe you just needed to start studying and this would pass.

Heeseung stopped at the door of his dorm, opening it slightly, feeling aware of your presence there. He entered first and took off his shoes, making room for you to pass. “Come in.”

You smiled and left your shoes at the door, feeling slightly shy as you entered his place “Thank you.”

The place was simple, tidy, and decorated differently than you’d expect. Even though he has an eccentric personality, there wasn’t much decor. Heeseung and his roommate were surprisingly minimalists, except for a few pizza boxes on the kitchen counter that Heeseung picked up to throw in the trash. “Don’t mind the mess, Jake and I had pizza yesterday and we passed out after we ate it.”

You chuckled looking at your surroundings “It’s okay, everyone has those days.”

He gave you a side smile, guiding you to the door of his room. Surprisingly, the dorm was bigger than you expected, seeing as he still managed to have a room just for himself.

“This is my room.” He walked into his room, making space for you to observe everything while he grabbed another chair so you could sit at his table.

“It’s really cool.” You felt like you were entering a forbidden and very exclusive place. You never imagined that you would get the chance to see Lee Heeseung’s room. The decor was peculiar, with a framed basketball player’s jersey on the wall and minimalist posters about sports and music.

Interestingly, he liked rock music. You noticed after seeing that he had a few music CDs together on the table, giving it a sophisticated and personal air. You smiled when you saw that there was a photo of him as a child with his parents on the nightstand next to his bed.

But surprisingly, what shocked you the most was seeing the amount of books he had in the place. Yes, Lee Heeseung really liked reading, and especially doctrines of law from the library.

Obviously, he worked hard to be one of the best on the course along with you, but seeing this reality up close was even more impressive.

His bed was tidy, but the books scattered on top of it gave the final touch to what truly meant to be in Heeseung's environment.

“You have a lot of books.” You commented when you saw Heeseung placing the other chair next to his at the table and he mischievously smiled “Of course I do. I want to be an attorney, so I need to read a lot.”

“Attorney?” You raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s cool if you want to follow that path… You’d probably enjoy talking to my dad.” You spoke softly at the last part, but Heeseung heard it anyway.

He noticed that the way you spoke insinuated that you didn't want to follow that path and curiously, as if your father was a distant figure for you.

“Don’t you want to be an attorney?” Heeseung asked you, seeing you going towards his desk and sitting down with a serious expression. “To be honest, I don't know… it’s not my dream.”

He sat down next to you and came closer, trying to make you comfortable. “Do you have an idea of what you want to do?”

“Maybe a prosecutor?” You confessed and smiled shyly. It was the first time you had talked about this dream with anyone other than Gaeul. “It’s still a distant idea, I guess I’ll become an attorney first. That’s what everyone expects of me anyway.”

“Everyone?” He asked gently. “It’s complicated.” You sighed and he realized it was still a sensitive subject that you might not want to explain, and he wasn’t going to pressure you into doing so. He also had things to deal with that he didn’t open up about easily.

“Well, regardless of what you choose, I know you’ll do well.” He commented as he placed his notebooks and laptop on the table. “You’re the only one who’s managed to beat me sometimes, and I know very well that not just anyone can defeat me easily.”

You gave Heeseung a smile, realizing he was trying to cheer you up in his own way. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He smiled and watched you placing your materials on the table, noticing the post-it notes with legal concepts on the wall in front of the table.

“Your room is… interesting.” You commented as you analyzed all the mnemonics and tips he had written on a post-it that was almost falling on the table. “Are you trying to start a fight?” Heeseung looked at you suspiciously and you laughed.

“No, I just think this room suits you.” You grinned “It’s cute.”

“Are you calling me cute?” Heeseung smirked, bringing his face closer to yours. “I’m talking about the room.” You replied, swallowing hard, opening your laptop.

“Well, that's a pity then.” You felt your cheeks burn and your body fizz at the suggestive tone of his comment.

Maybe you were seeing things, but it looked a lot like Lee Heeseung was flirting with you right now.

“So, before we start,” He continued to look at you while you tried to pretend that you weren’t feeling weak with his presence so close “I’m going to the kitchen to drink some water. Do you want something to drink?” He asked and you shook your head “No, I’ll drink the juice you gave me later.”

He gave a little smile of pride seeing that you actually accepted the juice he bought for you.

“Alright then, I’ll be right back.” Heeseung nodded and stood up as you tried to calm down.

'It's okay, he was just teasing me. I just need to calm down and focus on my studies.' You thought as you tried to convince yourself that the tension in the air was just some kind of illusion and not the harsh reality.

☆

Heeseung was in the kitchen getting a glass of water trying to understand the situation he was in. You were there, in his room, with your beauty shining like the morning breeze.

It felt like a dream. At first he didn't even know how to explain why he suggested it, but his intrusive thoughts were faster, shockingly you had accepted. In a way, you were there to study like you always do in the library, but this time he was feeling strange.

He wanted something to happen and this wasn’t good.

Because it meant that Heeseung had finally accepted his feelings of attraction towards you and was considering doing something about it.

He took a deep breath and decided to control himself for the sake of your project. However, as much as he tried to focus on his studies, the moment he walked past his bedroom door and saw you sitting cross-legged, your hair loose showing your neck, and the way you were biting the tip of your pen while focused on your laptop screen, all his common sense went straight out the window.

“So, can we start?” Heeseung asked, swallowing hard and scratching the back of his neck, feeling nervous. “Sure, where do you want to start?” You asked, looking at him with the sexiest eyes he swore he had ever seen in his life. “We can read the article you suggested.”

“Alright.” He smiled seeing how excited you seemed about the project. “By the way, I saw your CDs and posters.” You changed the subject as he opened the file on his computer “You’re quite… eclectic.” He chuckled and turned to you “Why? Did you think I only listened to one type of music?”

You shook your head and gave him a side smile. “I thought you were more into the classics.”

“I like a little bit of everything, you know? I can appreciate different types of art.” He noticed the way your skirt seemed to have ridden up the moment you adjusted yourself in your chair.

“I’m surprised.” He looked away, trying to control his thoughts. But it was hard when you looked like a goddess next to him. “Every day I discover something new about you.”

“Well, I told you that there are a lot of things about me that you don’t know.” He replied as he locked gazes with you. Heeseung definitely had a unique charm.

“Fair enough.” You replied and he gave you that smile that made your legs lose strength. “I think I made too many assumptions about you.” You confessed, leaning against the table and he brought his face closer to yours “Yeah? Maybe you should get to know me better then.”

You felt your body catch fire at the way he whispered an octave lower than normal and smirked “Yeah, maybe I should.”

Heeseung felt his face and ears heat up at the way you were looking at him.

He knew something had changed between you and the tension was so intense you could cut it with a knife.

His eyes dropped to your exposed neck. Your sweet scent was intoxicating the air and the necklace you were wearing was shinier than usual. It adorned your collarbone magnificently.

Did you have to look this good for a measly study date?

He didn't know if he could cross that invisible line between you, so he slowly approached you, lowering his gaze to your mouth. Since he was sitting on your left side, his right hand went up to your face and tucked a single strand of your hair behind your ear.

You felt a shiver run through your body as his fingertips lightly touched your ear.

His face moved closer to yours agonizingly slowly, and you felt his sweet minty breath fan your face.

Heeseung instinctively wet his lower lip with his tongue and you felt your breath catch as he lowered his right hand to the corner of your neck, touching you gently.

Your eyes locked into Heeseung's intense, dark eyes, and you felt your body fizz at the way he was staring at you. It was intense, serious, deep, as if he wanted to convey a message that only you would understand. You didn't need to say anything. The way you looked at each other was the answer to the unspoken question that floated implicitly in the air.

The desire you both feel is mutual.

He moved closer and pulled your neck towards him, pressing the spot with his long fingers. You closed your eyes when you felt his mouth brush against yours as if he was testing your reactions.

Heeseung kissed you, gently pressing his lips against yours, sending a dose of pleasure through your body. He gave you a long peck and quickly pulled away to make sure that this was really happening.

He was kissing you. This is real.

He smiled over your lips and kissed you again, with more intensity, making you pull him by the collar. Heeseung's left hand landed on your left thigh, squeezing the skin there and you felt your stomach churn.

Heeseung bit your lower lip and you moaned, making him feel a wave of pride invade his body. Your arms wrapped around his neck, while your hands went straight to his soft hair.

All you wanted to feel was the soft strands of his gorgeous hair between your fingers and you finally knew what that felt like. Heeseung groaned into your mouth as you pulled his hair and scratched the back of his neck with your nails.

Heeseung felt like he had ascended to heaven as he felt your soft lips moving over his. You were like water on a dry day that he couldn't get enough of.

Not even his deepest thoughts could recreate the exultant feeling he felt when he finally kissed you. He was thirsty and wanted more. As much as he tried to hold it in, his deep desire was stronger and he happily gave in to its sweet taste.

You separated for a brief second to catch your breath and he licked your lower lip making you open your mouth slightly sighing as he deepened the kiss with his tongue.

The kiss that started soft was now intense, passionate and more desperate. You ran your hands down Heeseung's neck until they stopped on his chest. Heeseung intertwined his right hand in your hair while his left rested on your lower back.

Heeseung kissed you intensely, as if he couldn't stop. You lost track of time as you let yourself be numbed by the feeling of Heeseung's tongue exploring your mouth.

He sucked on your bottom lip before attacking your neck with longing open-mouthed kisses. “You're so beautiful.” He whispered against the skin of your neck as he brushed it with his lips making you press your thighs together and sigh in pleasure “So fucking beautiful.”

You held onto Heeseung’s hair and his left shoulder as he got closer “Heeseung.” You whispered but were interrupted by his mouth kissing the column of your neck with desire.

“You drive me crazy.” He whispered in your ear making you roll your eyes back and moan embarrassingly. Heeseung felt his pants tighten at the reactions and sounds you made.

His left hand went to the buttons of your pink blouse with slight desperation. He was panting and you were spaced out with so many things happening at the same time.

You knew you wanted Heeseung, but you didn't know it would be this intense.

“Fuck” He trailed kisses from your throat to your collarbone, allowing the scent of your perfume to sweetly intoxicate his senses “It’s hard to contain myself when you’re like this.” He whispered over your mouth, kissing you again.

You couldn't form a coherent sentence. Your heart was racing, your breathing was short, and even though you were sitting down, you felt all the strength in your legs evaporate.

His hands went to your thighs, smoothing them up under your skirt. You reached out to take off the denim jacket he was wearing and he smirked over your mouth.

"So eager, huh?” he teased you and you sighed, frowning “Look who's talking.” You whispered wryly trying not to be embarrassed at how breathless and needy you sounded.

“Thought you liked it when I teased you, babe.” Heeseung’s sensual tone as he took off his coat made you lose the last of your breath. His shoulders looked even bigger up close.

“Just shut up and kiss me.” You whispered and pulled Heeseung by the collar of his shirt, making him give you several kisses and smile on your lips “So bossy…”

The way Heeseung's mouth seemed to fit perfectly into yours was impressive.

Heeseung's hands went under your shirt, squeezing the bare skin of your waist, giving you goosebumps and making you moan into Heeseung's mouth.

He was relentless. Heeseung's mouth devoured you with fervor and desperation, leaving you breathless. You held onto the hem of Heeseung's shirt as he pulled away slightly, turning his head for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, feeling your entire body tremble.

“Wait.” Heeseung reluctantly moved away a little more, hearing noises from outside “Do you hear that?” He turned to the door and you breathlessly tried to focus on what he was saying.

Until you noticed – the sound of keys moving near the principal door latch. You adjusted your skirt down and buttoned the first few buttons of your blouse that Heeseung had unbuttoned.

Suddenly you were paralyzed and stared at each other when you heard the key opening the main door in the room.

“Man, I'm dead, I want to sleep the rest of the afternoon.” Jake spoke loudly and you and Heeseung quickly separated from each other as he tried to fix his hair and appear as natural as possible.

You adjusted your seats as if you were studying your computer screen intently.

“Heeseung, are you there?” Jake knocked on his friend’s bedroom door and opened it at once “I need to tell you what happened to me at the coffee shop—” Jake’s eyes widened and he froze when he saw that you were in Heeseung’s room.

Heeseung glared at him with a menacing look. That look that implicitly said 'get the hell out of here'.

“I’m kind of busy right now, Jake.” He said through gritted teeth and his friend gave an awkward smile and scratched his head “Oh sorry to disturb you guys. I didn’t know you were studying … but it’s good to see you y/n.” He greeted you and you nodded politely “Hi.” Your voice came out soft and thin with fright.

“Well then, we’ll talk later.” Jake said to Heeseung with a teasing look making Heeseung want to kill him at that moment.

He closed the door to Heeseung's room and you were left in absolute, awkward silence.

Your heart was racing and your breath was still coming in short gasps. What the hell had happened?

“Sorry, I forgot Jake could come back earlier today.” Heeseung sighed as he ran his hand over his face, trying not to feel embarrassed by the awkward situation you both found yourselves in.

“It’s okay.” You gave a small laugh through your nose “We can try studying now… if you want.” Heeseung looked at you and mischievously smiled “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m in the mood to study right now.” He confessed looking into your eyes, hitting you like an electrifying lightning bolt.

You nodded and smiled, feeling your insides stir at Heeseung’s gentle tone “Yeah, me too.”

So, in silent agreement, you decided to organize the table and put away the materials. Even though the tension was still there, Jake cut the mood, so all that was left was the weird tension and the end of this unsuccessful study session.

After you packed your things, Heeseung walked you to the door and looked at you apologetically “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you back?”

“No, it’s okay.” You smiled and felt embarrassed remembering what happened moments before trying to calm your heart.

“Okay.” He leaned against the side of the door, crossing his arms and smiling at you “We’ll schedule the next meeting later.” He whispered as he tried to contain a smile with his teeth biting his own lip.

You nodded and slowly turned around “Bye, Heeseung.” He gave you that shy smile that only he knew how to do “Bye, y/n.”

After he closed the door and you walked out into the hallway, all you could think about was what had happened that afternoon.

You kissed. No, you had made out intensely and passionately, but the scariest thing is to think of what would have happened if Jake hadn't interrupted you.

And the worst part is that you wanted more.

Heeseung was still awake, staring at his ceiling as he remembered what had happened that afternoon.

After you left, Jake tried to talk to Heeseung but he went off to clear his head — which clearly didn't work out very well. Even though he tried to occupy himself and do other things he was still numb to the feeling of your mouth on his.

Heeseung couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, you appeared in his mind. He couldn't forget the feel of your soft skin under his fingers, your bright, pleading eyes, and how soft your mouth was.

He ran his hand over his face trying to control himself, but he couldn't help but feel hot when he remembered your kiss. He had taken the risk of kissing you, but he didn't expect your response to be as intense as his.

Heeseung couldn't pinpoint when everything changed, because 3 months ago he couldn't stand you, but now he couldn't wait to see you.

He picked up his phone and saw that it was almost 1 am and he couldn't get you out of his head. Your scent was tattooed on his mind and he knew he wanted to smell it again.

Heeseung wanted to see you, touch you, kiss you again.

But a doubt hovered over his mind: what about you? What did you want? Do you regret it? Or did you also like it and want more?

Heeseung knew there was no way to guess that now, but he would do whatever it took to find out.

☆

It's been 3 days since you and Heeseung were in complete silence.

After what had happened in his room, you were still in shock. But the fact that you and he didn't talk anymore was worrying and it irritated you.

You guys made out in his room and he couldn't send you at least a good morning text? Or anything else? How would you communicate and behave when you had to meet for your project after this?

Deep down, you didn’t know whether you regretted it or not. You don’t want to mess up your – finally – good relationship, but at the same time, you want to kiss him again. You don't know how this will impact the two of you, but you know you don't want to get ghosted by Heeseung or get weird by it.

Like a mature adult, you tried to occupy your mind with your civil law presentation, but the worst part was that nothing could get the vision of Heeseung out of your head. The words he whispered and how he kissed you like he’s been longing for it for a long time… it was too much.

The day of the presentation had already arrived, and even though you were confident in your knowledge, you were afraid to see Heeseung again.

You don't know how to behave or what to say when you see him. You could barely translate the things you were feeling at that moment when he intensively kissed you. In the end, all you knew was that even though you were irritated, you could barely see him without feeling your stomach twist and your body heat up.

On the other hand, for the first time in his life, Heeseung was excited to see your performance.

You were already at the front of the class with your slides turned on and waiting for the professor to give the go-ahead for you to start presenting.

Heeseung was sitting a little further forward so he wouldn't miss any details. His gaze met your and he gave a smile that made your insides melt.

It was different to feel that this time Heeseung's presence made you more nervous than usual.

When you started your presentation, everyone stopped and hung on every word.

Mainly Heeseung.

It was curious how you didn't look nervous while you clicked on the slides to explain your topic. Your confidence exudes how much you had prepared for the presentation, making him admire you even more. He eyed you attentively, not wanting to miss any of your moves. Your hands weren't shaking, and the way you presented yourself was so delicate and so fierce at the same time. He smirked watching how you pointed to the topics on the slide.

You really used his idea for your slides.

'Such pretty hands.' He thought about how it would feel them touching his face, his skin, him. The horde of forbidden thoughts filling his mind.

He swore he was really paying attention to what you were saying, but he got distracted so easily that even he couldn't explain why.

Suddenly he realized that he was thinking about things that definitely had nothing to do with possessory dispossession but had to do with what it must be like to see you on top of him while his hands roamed over your body.

His thoughts were interrupted when you finished your presentation perfectly making the sound of claps fill the room.

Once again you had outdone yourself in a presentation, but this time Heeseung wasn't analyzing the way you explained or trying to see if you would make mistakes in your diction. Now he could only think about how admirable your effort was.

Especially how he wanted you so bad.

However, when class ended, you had disappeared without giving him a chance to talk to you, leaving Heeseung even more anxious. What did he have to do to finally be able to talk to you again?

The ballroom was adorned with bright lights and chandeliers with sparkling stones that could blind you if you stare at them for too long. The buffet tables were extravagant (as always) and contained every type of food you could imagine. Seafood, pasta, and a variety of drinks. The exaggerated extravagance mixed with the forced, discreet laughter was a known sound that made your ears itch.

People were dressed in all the elegance that the event required, and everyone seemed polite and well-behaved. However, even from a distance you could capture several fake smiles, carefully placed on the faces of poor university students who were trying to survive in this environment by flattering more well-known and experienced attorneys in search of a possible internship or job at a renowned firm.

The P&J Foundation event was one of the only ones open to university students and law school graduates looking to meet future work partners or new opportunities in the job market.

And of course you would be there, “enjoying” the extravagant decorations, the lectures and the valuable advice from several experienced professionals — that’s the main reason why people go there anyway. But one of the biggest reasons was that your father was one of the sponsors, so missing out was not an option.

Even though it was a beneficial event for several college students, you felt slightly uncomfortable due to the judging looks people gave you when they saw you standing there drinking whatever was on the table without talking to anyone.

You were silent, observing the environment. Since you arrived, you had only greeted a few attorneys who approached to ask about your father, and not about you. It was as if you weren't even an option, but just the daughter of the great attorney Park.

In a way, it was comforting to know that the event wouldn't last long and maybe someone you knew would show up to relieve your boredom.

Someone like Heeseung.

“You look lonely.” Heeseung’s unmistakable voice behind you stole your attention, making you turn around at once “Maybe you need some company?”

Your breath caught in your throat and your eyes widened at the sight of Heeseung in a black suit and parted hair in front of you.

Your eyes shamelessly roamed over Heeseung's entire body seeing how the suit was intricately molded to his torso and waist. The black dress shirt he was wearing underneath was plain and was slightly open to reveal a bit of Heeseung's collarbone and his thin silver necklace.

“Oh, it’s you.” You swallowed hard and kept your face straight, nonchalant at seeing him. After 3 days of not talking to you, this is how he shows up?

He had his hands in his pants pockets and approached you with that smirk that drove you crazy “You look beautiful.” He took your hand and gave it a soft kiss on your knuckles while piercing through you with his intense eyes.

You felt butterflies in the pit of your stomach and a shiver ran down your spine seeing Heeseung's delicacy. Even if you wanted to be angry at him, it would be difficult to remain that way when he acted like this, it’s like he knew exactly what to do to disarm you.

“Thank you.” Heeseung’s eyes couldn’t move away from your figure, making your neck heat up.

“Your suit looks good.” You spoke sincerely and Heeseung chuckled “Just my suit?” He whispered, bringing his face closer to yours and firmly held your waist making you look away.

“What do you want, Heeseung?” Your cheeks were burning and your lips puckered in a cute pout that Heeseung found adorable even if you were speaking in a harsh way.

“Can we talk?” You felt weak at his gentle tone combined with the way he sweetly stared at you “Talk about what?” He chuckled through his nose and tilted his head so he could whisper in your ear “Stop pretending like you don't know.” The way his warm breath tickled your ear made you dizzy.

“Fine.” You sighed and crossed your arms trying to maintain your posture “Let's go somewhere.” You weren't going to talk about this in front of everyone, so you decided to lead the way to some secluded place where you would have the privacy you needed while you struggled to organize your thoughts. What was he going to talk to you about? The kiss? What did it really mean?

Your anxiety was already at its peak, but you felt a sense of deja vu when he placed his hand behind your back as you walked down the hall.

“So, are you enjoying the event?” He asked in a whisper and you snickered “’Enjoying’ is a strong word...” Your sigh made Heeseung raise an eyebrow “It’s boring.”

“I thought these parties were your thing.” He confessed and you mockingly glanced at him “I’m just used to them, but they’re usually a drag.”

“Yeah, it must be hard growing up going to rich people’s parties and eating the best of the best.” He said ironically and you pushed him lightly, giving him a sour smile “It’s not that fun when you have to flatter others so they don’t talk bad about you or your father.”

Your confession made him stare at you for a moment and go silent. Heeseung knew that you were a layered person and that in the past he had a lot of bad impressions of you, so maybe he needed to admit that he was wrong and try to see things from your point of view.

Suddenly you left the main hall and managed to find an empty room in an isolated corridor away from everyone. You entered and realized that it was a small storage room full of folders on dark grey shelves, a table and a locked cabinet.

After you both entered the room, Heeseung locked the door behind him, and you stood in front of the table with your arms crossed, impatiently staring at him. Unfortunately for your heart, it seemed like his addictive scent was even more evident in this closed room.

“So?” Your tone was impatient “What do you want?” He slowly smirked and approached you cautiously.

“You seem angry.” he stood in front of you making you scoff and put your hands on your hips “You didn't answer my question, Heeseung.”

Heeseung took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. He spent the whole afternoon mentally rehearsing what he was going to say, but now that he was in front of you it was different. Your red dress was making him lose his mind.

He needed to be honest, and he wouldn't run away anymore.

“I'm sorry.” your face softened at the sincerity in his voice “I’m sorry for disappearing, I know I should have said something.” Heeseung looked at you tenderly and touched your cheek “But ever since we kissed, I got crazy, like I genuinely couldn’t sleep, study or do anything without you showing on my mind” he breathed out “So… I needed to understand what I was feeling.”

You swallowed hard as you waited for him to finish.

“The truth is that I can’t stop thinking about you.” he whispered, moving closer to you “I know that since we met, we haven’t gotten along, and maybe I’m at fault at this because I’ve been an idiot to you several times, but there’s just… something about you…” he slid his fingertips under your jaw “You drive me crazy.”

Your heartbeat was already going crazy, while your breath was caught in your throat. The closer he got, the more you felt your feelings stir.

“What do you mean by that?” you frowned and crossed your arms, trying not to be shaken by Heeseung’s words and scent invading your senses.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “What I mean is that I’m here admitting that I want you.” he spoke directly making your legs weak.

Heeseung came closer and you felt your back touch the table behind you. His hands went straight to your waist as he pressed your body against his. Your back arched slightly and Heeseung brought his face closer to yours. “Do you really want me?” you asked shakily under the atmosphere pressure, and he smiled.

"Yes, I want you." he whispered against your mouth as he gripped the corner of your neck with the long fingers of his right hand "Isn't it obvious?"

His body radiated a unique heat that destroyed all your sanity. His dark eyes looked at you with intensity, breaking down all the defenses you swore you had put up against him.

“You’re all I have on my mind.” his smooth lips brushed against yours and your breathing became heavy “Can I kiss you?” his question was like an arrow being pierced through your heart “Yes.” you whispered, holding onto Heeseung’s forearms.

He smiled and kissed you passionately, pressing his body against yours. An electrifying current ran through your entire body when you felt his lips move intensely and passionately.

Heeseung kissed you with an insatiable desire. He couldn't get enough of your taste. He always wanted more and more. Suddenly, you groaned when you felt his tongue slide over yours and his hands grip your hips.

You couldn't deny it. Heeseung knew exactly what he was doing, and it was so hot that you pulled him by his collar wanting more.

Heeseung moved his kisses down to your jaw and you gasped when you felt him grab your body by your thighs and place you on the table behind you.

“Did you dress up for me?” he whispered as he attacked your neck with desire “No, I always dress well.” you tried to answer feeling your breath quicken. Your hands went straight to Heeseung’s hair and he smiled against your skin “Aw, it’s a shame. I thought you wanted to impress me.”

Heeseung kissed your sensitive spot below your ear and you moaned making him smile against your skin “Why? Are you impressed?” you teased Heeseung and he moved his hands up your thigh under your red dress.

“Yeah.” he placed a lingering kiss on the center of your throat making your body tremble with desire “You're looking so fucking beautiful in this dress.” he kissed you again as you pulled him towards you with your legs. This time he kissed you slowly and deeply while holding onto your loose hair.

Heeseung was on cloud nine. How much he had missed feeling your lips on his, clashing in perfect harmony. When you pulled away from his mouth to breathe and began to kiss the length of his neck, he moaned, making you close your legs around him.

“You should see me when I'm not wearing it, then.” you whispered sensually before biting Heeseung's ear making his breath shaky as he squeezed your thighs tightly “Fuck — stop teasing me, baby.” The way he called you made your stomach turn.

“Why? What are you going to do if I don't stop?” You looked into his eyes, faking innocence, and began to slowly open the buttons of his suit, teasing him with your fingertips “You don't wanna know.” he smirked holding your neck tightly “I'm going to ruin you.” he bit your lower lip making you moan and squeeze his hips with your legs pulling him closer, seeking any kind of contact.

When you finished unbuttoning his suit, you ran your hands over his black dress shirt, sliding down his chest to his stomach, noticing how surprisingly defined he was. Heeseung instinctively groaned into the kiss and pulled your hair back to attack your neck and collarbone, making you gasp.

All of your reactions were like fuel that further fueled the fire inside Heeseung. He knew he couldn't go all the way in this storage, but the way you moaned and squeezed him with your thighs was making it difficult to control himself.

“You're making it hard for me to stop.” Heeseung said in a broken sigh with his forehead pressed against yours as his hands explored you beneath your dress “I want to touch you.” You could see the longing in his glossy eyes, especially by the way his cheeks and ears were burning red.

How beautiful he looked in that state of despair. A sight that only you had the privilege of having: seeing Lee Heeseung completely surrendered to you begging to touch you.

“Okay.” You whispered and cupped your hands around his cheeks, pulling his face to yours in a kiss, making him melt inside. It was insane how his mouth fit perfectly on yours, as if it was made especially for you.

Your entire body was on fire. The butterflies danced deep in your stomach when he slowly pulled the sides of your panties down as he ravished your mouth with his desperate kiss.

Heeseung's bangs were already losing their definition from all the movement and small beads of sweat accumulating on both of your foreheads making you think that your clothes were a big impediment.

With trembling hands, you began to open the buttons of his blouse, feeling the soft skin of his neck and collarbone under your fingers making him let out low grunts that shuddered your mind and body.

He forcefully pulled your legs closer to the edge of the table, making your body arch slightly. Your breathing became uneven as he removed your panties completely, letting them fall to the floor.

In a brief moment of sanity, you couldn’t believe you were doing this with Heeseung inside a storage room. This was dangerous, insane, lewd, and unfortunately, you liked it. It’s like your brain shuts out whenever you get involved with Heeseung.

As his hands began to roam the inside of your thigh you began to feel more desperate. “Heeseung, p–please.” Your stutter made Heeseung smile as his fingers slid across your skin teasingly.

“What?” he asked as he left a trail of kisses on your cheek “Please. Touch me.” You were on edge and he wasn’t helping.

He smiled against your skin, taking small bites on your jaw as his right hand slowly rose, as if to test your patience.

“Heeseung.” You dug your fingers into his shoulder, whispering, like a plea.

But before he could give you what you wanted, your phone started ringing madly. You were startled by the sound, and he pulled away for a moment so you could find your phone in the middle of the table.

You looked at the screen and your body stiffened when you saw that it was your father calling you. Heeseung instantly noticed the change in your body language and distanced himself enough to look at your face.

“Damn it.” You tried to steady your breathing “It’s my father.”

Heeseung stood up straight and reluctantly let go of your body, trying to catch his breath. He felt irritated. Why did it seem like someone always managed to ruin the mood between you two whenever you were alone?

He soon noticed that you were hesitating, so he grabbed your panties and gently pulled them up over your legs and touched your cheek with his knuckles “You need to take this call, don't you?” he asked in a tender whisper and you nodded, feeling suddenly ashamed of the situation you found yourself in.

“I'll give you some space.” he stepped away, closing the buttons on his shirt that you undone and straightening his suit again.

As Heeseung fixed his hair, you closed your legs, feeling completely frustrated at the interruption, and jumped off the table, adjusting your dress.

With a cough to regulate your voice, you answered your phone trying to sound normal.

“Hello? Father?” Heeseung leaned against the wall and stared at you from afar as you lowered the fabric of your dress.

Your face showed an expression of defeat, feeling like this situation is more complicated than it seemed.

Suddenly Heeseung began to reflect on how easily he lost control when he was with you. It seemed like it was too easy to lose himself in you, as if there were no consequences.

“What?” You felt your heart stop at what you just heard “Are you here at the event?”

Heeseung and you looked at each other at the same time, knowing what that meant.

You would have to face your father that night.

☆

Heeseung had helped you adjust your dress before you left the storage room first. Since he didn't want to draw attention, Heeseung had the idea of you going first and then he would leave.

You were clearly upset, frustrated, and tired. Why did your father have to come to this event now? Your mind could barely think straight after what had happened in the storage room.

Your heart calmed down, but you couldn’t forget Heeseung’s confession. How sincere and desperate he sounded. Your mind constantly went back to the way he talked, touched you, acted. He was addictive.

As you mingled through the crowd looking for your father, Heeseung watched you from afar, analyzing your behavior. Apart from the fact that you were a begging mess minutes earlier, the way you tensed every time your father was mentioned made him think there was something more about you that he needed to uncover.

You randomly wandered through the main ballroom and Heeseung approached your figure again “You seem lost.” he commented and you laughed lightly hearted “I’m just looking for my father.”

“What’s he like?” Heeseung asked looking at the crowd with you “Serious? A bit scary, I guess...” you whispered the last part, and he arched his eyebrow “I’ll be right by your side then.”

The way Heeseung showed he cared for you made you smile slightly “What a gentleman…” he smiled feeling the irony of your voice “Of course, I know how to treat a woman.”

You glanced at him, seeing how he was giving that naughty smile that meant he was thinking about things that had nothing to do with chivalry.

“Sweetie, I'm glad you came.” before you could say anything, your conversation was interrupted by your father's voice.

Heeseung turned to the side and saw how unusual your posture was. You suddenly looked more rigid, serious and with a monotonous expression.

You turned to your father and gave him that weak smile that Heeseung knew wasn’t genuine. “Hello, father.” Heeseung noticed how you called your father in a distant and formal way. As if you didn’t have the freedom to call him whatever you wanted.

“I didn’t expect you to come.” As always, you communicated only what was necessary with your father. Nothing less and nothing more. “I managed to get some free time to come see you and see my event.”

Heeseung realized what that meant. He was the famous Attorney Park who sponsored events and ways for people from difficult backgrounds like himself to have a chance in the legal field.

He was a legend in his field and his intentions seemed good, so why did you seem so distant?

“And who is this fine gentleman?” He turned his gaze to Heeseung who instantly bowed and extended his hand in a polite way “I'm Lee Heeseung, sir. Pleased to meet you.” He friendly smiled and your father shook his hand while he analyzed his figure.

“He’s my friend from college.” You replied, surprised at your father’s friendly interaction with Heeseung.

Heeseung didn't miss how you had called him friend and how strange it sounded. He didn't want to be your friend, he wanted much more.

“I didn’t know you had such a polite friend.” Your father seemed to be in a good mood while you felt a little more comfortable seeing that your father had taken a liking to him.

Then suddenly you started to realize how important this had become to you. His opinion of Heeseung was important because you really cared about him.

“I feel honored, sir.” Heeseung smiled gently “So, Heeseung.” Your father's attention was solely focused on Heeseung “Tell me, what do you think of this event?” Your father asked Heeseung, who swallowed hard and gave a gentle smile, feeling his gaze fixed on him.

“I think it is a terrific opportunity, sir. I had the chance to have a fruitful conversation with a few attorneys along with a friend and we had some great legal advice.” he was sincere and you bit your lower lip trying to contain your smile at how his vocabulary suddenly went back to being completely formal compared to the way he normally speaks to you.

It was hilarious to see him chatting calmly and composed as if he hadn't been absolutely ravishing you just minutes ago in a storage room.

“That’s great.” Your father gave a satisfied smile with his answer “Me and a few other colleagues sponsored this kind of event because life wasn’t easy for us, so we want to help the next generation in the best way possible.” Heeseung looked away to see Jake seemed more well-behaved than usual as he chatted with two older attorneys from afar.

“It’s an amazing event, sir. We are really grateful for this unique opportunity.” Heeseung smiled sincerely as your father seemed pleased with the conversation “What do you plan to do in the future, son?” Heeseung was left speechless for a moment “I want to be an attorney, sir.” You noticed how his voice trembled a little and you noticed how this was a big deal to him. This is his dream for real.

“That’s wonderful.” Your father gave a smile that left him stunned. It had been a long time since you had seen your father smile like that. “Since I became an attorney, I’ve been able to change my family’s lives, so I would say it’s worth it.” Heeseung felt an instant sense of identification with the sentence your father said.

“That’s why I have high expectations for my daughter.” He looked at you and you gave a tense smile that Heeseung instantly noticed “She’s the best in the class so she would indeed be a sensational attorney, but if I may say this, sir, I believe that regardless of the career she decides to pursue in law, I know she will be successful, because she’s brilliant in everything she decides to do.” Heeseung spoke seriously and you looked away from him, feeling your heart melt completely with his praise.

He could have promoted himself or just kept quiet. But he decided to risk it all by praising you to that degree, even without knowing your father.

And just like lightning strikes a tree and burns it, you realized the obvious truth: you were in love with Lee Heeseung and would accept the consequences that would come with that reality.

Your father looked at the two of you making it obvious he was analyzing the situation and understanding what was happening right there. The way Heeseung firmly said that, and you got shy made it obvious that you two were more than friends.

“It’s true.” Your father’s answer surprised you “If I’m being honest, I wish she could be an attorney like me, without the sufferings I had to go through, but I know her path can change, so I want her to be successful in any field.” You felt your body stiff. It was the first time your father had said something like that about you.

He didn't open up about his feelings very much, so you always thought that being an attorney in his office was everything he dreamed of and determined for you. "That’s why I’m strict with you.”  He looked at you with that stoic look you never understood “Well, you know I want the best for you, my dear." You nodded, feeling a whirlwind of sensations.

This interaction was different from what you expected. Your father was a mysterious man, of few words and curious actions, but you knew he was trying his best, despite being terrible atcommunicating his own feelings.

You may need more time to talk until you finally understand what kind of person your father is, but this brief, unexpected interaction is enough for now.

“Since you want to be an attorney, then come visit my office someday.” he turned to Heeseung who was stunned by the proposal “I can give you some advice when I have time.”

“It would be an honor, sir.” He showed your father an excited smile and you held back the urge to tease him right there. He was so cute when he got excited about a subject that interested him, especially about law.

“Father, you’re going to take all his time.” You said, smiling with your eyes, and your father laughed out loud “That’s right, I came here to stop by quickly and ended up talking too much.”

Your father shook Heeseung's hand and turned to you “Come visit me later, sweetie. It's been a while since we had dinner together.” You gave a slight smile and nodded “Of course, father.”

With one last greeting he took one last look at you and Heeseung before leaving without saying anything.

A part of you felt relieved, because for the first time in years you didn't feel so awkward after interacting with your father.

“Who would have thought, I'm alive to see Lee Heeseung wanting to go to my father's office.” You mocked Heeseung and he laughed, running his hand through his hair.

“Is that how you learned to give that fake passive-aggressive smile of yours?” he asked in a comical tone looking into your eyes and you smiled gently “It’s a basic prerequisite for survival in this environment.”

“It seems like a complicated cycle.” he said gently, turning to you “It is. You need to be perfect, always.” You glanced at Heeseung, seeing how stunning he was that all you could think about was how you wanted to attack him again “But I learned to deal with it.”

He looked at you again and felt a wave of remorse hit him. Ever since you met, he had been completely stupid and unbearable with you because of assumptions he made in his mind, but the more he got to know you, the more he realized that you were completely different.

“You know, I think I’ve been misjudging you all this time.” Heeseung confessed and you were surprised by his revelation “I thought you were the kind of insufferable rich girl who had no sense of reality, but I guess I was an idiot for thinking that without getting to know you first.”

“Heeseung—” “No, let me finish.” He looked into your eyes and touched your cheek with his hand as gently as possible “I’m really sorry for being such an ass to you for so long.”

Your heart seemed to explode as you heard Heeseung's sincere words.

“In a way I judged you because you seemed like you had an easy life, while I had to fight for a lot of things.” he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment “I know this is no excuse and I was immature and stupid, but I want to start over with you. Can we?” You gave him a mischievous smile “How can I deny it when Lee Heeseung is admitting his own defeat before me?”

He smiled, taking your hand between his knuckles “I'm serious. I'm sorry for the way I acted. I think you messed with me in some way since the beginning and I didn't know how to deal with those feelings.” the way he was finally opening up and confessing why he was so unbearable made everything fit together in your mind “So that’s why you were so annoying?” your suspicious look drew a hearty laugh from Heeseung “Yes, that too, but to be honest… it's actually really fun to tease you.”

You looked at each other for a moment, making him give that damn smirk that reminded you why you get lost in Heeseung every time you get alone. “I'm really trying to contain myself here, but you're not cooperating.” He whispered and looked away, making you give a discreet laugh.

“Oh, I didn't know you got so worked up because of me.” You whispered holding his arm innocently “I’m sorry mr. Lee, it's my fault.”

Heeseung looked at you like you were the most magnificent thing on the face of the earth. Suddenly he smiled and offered his arm so you could wrap your hands around it. “You better stop, or we won’t get to enjoy the rest of this event.”

You held his arm and smiled excitedly “Why? What are you going to do?” Heeseung sighed and gave one last whisper in your ear “Or we’ll have to finish what we started in that storage room.”

And with a few words Lee Heeseung made the nervousness boil in the pit of your stomach, making you excited about the idea of doing lewd things with him.

If someone had told you at the beginning of the semester that you would now be dating Lee Heeseung and walking hand in hand around campus, you would have thought they were crazy and needed to be hospitalized. But here you were, walking with a wide smile and bright eyes, your hand intertwined with Heeseung's soft fingers.

Gaeul was the first to know and she let out such an excited scream that you swore the entire building heard it. Yes, she was clearly loving the news and repeated several times about how 'she already knew' and 'it was obvious and only you didn't realize it' , but either way it was wonderful to feel like you had your best friend's support and to see how excited she was for your happiness.

Yes, indeed you were very happy, and this was unexpected since it was something you hadn't planned, it just happened. Heeseung had taken you out to dinner, given you roses and a necklace that officially symbolized that you were together. And of course, this was much more than you expected.

Ever since you and Heeseung were chosen as project partners, your mood was constantly tested, and you swore it was the worst thing that could have happened to you this semester. However, despite the initial disagreements, you ended up seeing another side of each other and you were surprised by the person Heeseung revealed himself to be.

A wonderful and passionate man in everything he does.

“Ugh, you guys are disgustingly cute.” Jake commented as Heeseung ate his lunch after putting more tomato on your plate because one day you said you loved the cafeteria salad.

“Thanks? I guess…” Heeseung laughed at his friend’s reaction while you ate your lunch calmly.

After you started dating Heeseung, you got to know more of his friends, and because of that, you realized that you didn't interact as much with people from college, so it's good to feel that your circle of friends has increased significantly.

“I always knew you two were a good match.” Jay said, taking a drink of juice, and Gaeul agreed with him “Oh my God, yes!!! I said the same thing! But she didn’t believe me.”

“Hey, why is our relationship being a topic at lunch?” You replied and they laughed, amused by the situation.

Heeseung was in a good mood. The atmosphere was lively, comfortable, and ideal. It was as if everything was going very well.

Just one thing that was making him nervous: The lack of time for you two to be alone.

Aside from the times you needed to meet up to study and work on your project, his activities and work were cutting into your time together and it was driving him crazy. He simply wanted to spend quality time with you without having to leave quickly because of some appointment or because someone interrupted you.

That's why he had decided that that day would be just for the two of you. He had already told Jake that he wouldn't talk to anyone and that he needed to be at peace with his girlfriend. So, after much debating, he decided that he needed to be alone with you and that was the day you would finally be together.

☆

“Babe, I can't believe we finally have some free time.” Heeseung was lying on his bed completely satisfied while you were lying flat on top of him. His right hand was firmly on your waist while his left rested on your cheek. His thumb drew patterns on your skin while you played with the buttons on the collar of his shirt “I know right? I guess our project and your job took a lot of our time.”

“I was dying to be like this with you.” He confessed, sliding his hand down your back “Just you and me.” You giggled, suddenly feeling shy “Me too.” Your confession made Heeseung smile mischievously.

How good it was to know that no one would interrupt you.

“Yeah?” He smiled, giving you a kiss on the cheek, another on your nose and finally on your mouth, making you smile gently.

Heeseung knew that you had become his calm place. Where he could rest and most importantly, stay.

It was curious how you had snatched his heart completely in just 4 months.

Because despite canceling himself out daily for the goals he felt he needed to accomplish, your presence came like a thunderbolt, changing his reality and allowing Heeseung to feel things he no longer remembered how they were.

He remembered what it was like to feel genuine desire for someone. What it really meant to genuinely care for someone.

“Hmhum.” You murmured in agreement with him, feeling his hands slide gently down to your behind squeezing the skin there making you sigh with pleasure.

“Is this okay?” he asked, acting innocent as he lifted the fabric of your skirt to touch your bare skin. His wet lips slid down your cheek, heading towards your neck.

Heeseung wasn’t in a hurry. He had all the time in the world, and he was going to enjoy most of it.

“Yes.” You replied trying not to lose your senses, as Heeseung kissed your neck at the slowest pace possible “You're so pretty, baby. Did you choose this skirt just to see me?” He asked and you smiled, nodding your head.

He smiled over your skin and nibbled, making your breath tremble and moan softly. Heeseung wanted to show you how desired you were, and he would take as much time as necessary to do so.

The afternoon was calm, silent, just like the afternoon of the day you kissed for the first time. He still remembers your subtle hesitation, as if you didn't know what to do at that moment but still responded to his kiss in a way he never imagined.

With his left hand Heeseung moved up the velvety skin of your back beneath your blouse. Your skin was soft, delicate, with a velvety touch that he loved to feel.

He couldn't get enough of the contrast of how soft your skin was compared to the hardness of his hands. He kissed your jaw slowly in a way that made you close your eyes and surrender completely.

When he finally reached your lips you intertwined your fingers in his hair, pulling him towards you. How you had missed this.

Heeseung kissed you slowly, taking his time as he enjoyed the softness of your lips moving against his. He could taste a faint strawberry from the lip gloss you were wearing.

The damn lip gloss that always caught his attention.

The kiss quickly sped up as Heeseung licked your bottom lip, making you gasp and moan as his tongue entered your mouth. He was no longer patient, after all, it was very easy to lose all control when it came to you. His hands went down under your skirt and grabbed your skin, making your desperate moans be swallowed by Heeseung's mouth.

Heeseung's handprints were left on the skin of your thighs, as if they were a tattoo of his deep desire that you wanted to keep it. He kissed you eagerly, thirsty, wanting to taste every inch of your body and touch you as you deserve.

He pulled your body up tightly, holding onto your hips, making him grunt at the sensation of your body pressing over his pants. He was breathless, but he didn't want to stop kissing you. He moved away slightly to adjust himself on the bed and you felt your head spin with all the action.

Your lips were already bruised from the desperate kiss, and you felt a chill in your stomach seeing how Heeseung's mouth was red and swollen and he still wanted more. He wasn't satisfied, he wanted to taste your entire body and mark it with everything he had: his hands, his lips and his teeth.

He grabbed the hem of your shirt and his breath hitched as you sat lightly on top of him and took off your own shirt “Are you blushing Heeseung? How cute…” You teased him by holding his cheeks, seeing how red they were along with his ears. Heeseung was feeling sick at the sight of you topless, wearing only a delicate pink lace bra and your short skirt that was already rolled up.

“Yeah.” Your hands rested on his chest, feeling his heartbeat at a frantic pace. He was so mesmerized by you that he could barely respond. His eyes roamed over your curves and he swallowed hard as he ran his hands up the skin of your torso, sending shivers down your spine.

“You're so beautiful, baby.” He whispered into your neck as he marked your skin with his teeth making you weak “Want to see more of you.” You pulled Heeseung’s face towards you, kissing him intensely. The mixture of your breaths with the suffocating encounter of your tongues made the air around you heat up.

Your hands pulled Heeseung's black shirt up as he helped you by giving you desperate kisses. Your body heated up at the sight of Heeseung's defined abs and you slid your fingertips across his skin, making Heeseung moan.

Heeseung wrapped his arms around you and turned you around, placing your body on the mattress and climbing on top of you.

He was absolutely breathtaking.

The strands of his bangs tickled your nose as he kissed you passionately. Your fingers gripped the back of his neck and your nails scratched the skin there, making him let out low grunts that made you even hotter.

Your hands slid down Heeseung's toned back as he trailed kisses along your jaw, down the line of your throat, kissing over the skin of your chest.

Heeseung made it his personal goal to mark all the skin on your body with his mouth if that was possible. He kissed and marked with hickeys whatever was possible while his hand squeezed the skin of your chest under your bra making you whimper.

With his right hand he moved up your back touching the clasp of your bra, opening it as he kissed the skin of your belly going lower and lower.

Amidst your sighs, Heeseung in one action took off your skirt and underwear, leaving you a little embarrassed and shocked with his dexterity.

Instinctively you closed your legs as he looked at you, feeling that his self-control had already disappeared. You were completely perfect.

But he wanted more.

Your soft skin seemed to glow with the small beams of light that escaped from his bedroom window. You were there, beneath him without clothes, and he was sure that you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

No one would ever compare to you.

“Don't be shy, I want to taste you.” he got on his knees, touched the top of your knees and slid down your legs looking at you between his messy bangs as you felt your heart explode inside your chest “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

Your insides churned with agitation, and you obeyed him slowly, feeling your cheeks heat up at the bold way he spoke.

Heeseung's gaze changed. He looked determined, insatiable, and desperate to taste every part of your skin.

He stood between your legs, kissing down your belly to the lower part of your stomach, holding onto your thighs, making you place your hand on his face, caressing him lightly. He felt his heart melt at your affection.

Heeseung placed his face in the palm of your hand, placing a tender kiss on the inside of your skin. He nuzzled into the warmth of your hand before giving you a lewd look that made your breath catch.

He kissed your thighs, making you anxious. His dark brown hair revealed reddish highlights from the light and you noticed the small mole he had on his forehead.

There was no denying that Heeseung was beautiful. And he was all yours.

Every time you felt Heeseung's mouth marking your skin, your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes at the overwhelming sensation. He didn't fail to notice how soaked you were already, making his pants tighten.

Heeseung devoured you with desire. He was relentless, savoring and sucking on your skin at an insane pace, as if he was starving. At times, he looked at you, taking it your reactions and feeling a sense of pride fill his chest at how desperate you looked by his marks. Your hands pulled his dark locks, making him grunt as you became numb with pleasure.

Your legs were wobbly, but Heeseung held on tightly while he marked more spots on your skin. You noticed how the veins on his forearms ran up to the back of his hands.

At that moment he was incredibly sexy.

You could not form comprehensible words, only broken moans and loud sighs that couldn't be translated.

“Feels so good, Hee.” You almost cried and Heeseung felt his heart clench at the way you called him “More.”

Heeseung on the other hand loved it all. He loved losing himself in you and seeing how desperate you became as he skillfully worked your body.

“Fuck—” He took a deep breath and gave a shaky sigh before sucking another spot at your inner thigh “Say that again, princess.”

“More, Hee—” Your voice could barely finish his name while Heeseung felt his pressure rise at the sound of your voice and panting moans.

As you melted under Heeseung's mouth, he held your hips so they wouldn't move up while he continued to kiss your bare skin from your lower stomach up to your mouth.

He gave you a tender peck on the corner of your mouth “You taste so good baby.” He whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as you felt his hands roam over your body possessively “I want to make you mine.”

“Please.” You nodded with your eyes closed “I need you.” He smiled and kissed you once more as his right hand combed through your hair, intertwining his fingers in the strands on your scalp.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him madly, hoping he would understand all the feelings you wanted to deliver intrinsically with your kiss.

With ragged breathing he got to his knees, undoing his belt, while you tried to recover from everything that happened.

His forehead was wet with sweat and some strands of his bangs stuck to his skin. You felt your body tremble with anticipation, biting your lower lip at the sight of Heeseung giving a mocking smirk while not taking his eyes off you.

“How do you want it?” he teased you as he took off his pants, seeing how completely needy you were for his touch “Slow?” he took off his piece of clothing, hovering over you “or rough?”

A shiver ran down your spine at the question and he smiled watching as you closed your legs lightly around his hips at the last suggestion.

“Rough, huh?” He pulled your body closer by your hips and straddled you again “Is that right?”

That afternoon would be all about you. Heeseung decided that making you feel good would be his top priority and nothing else mattered. If you wanted it rough, he would give you exactly that.

“Yes.” You replied in a low whisper feeling your chest heave with excitement and Heeseung brushed his lips over yours “Yeah? You're so naughty, baby.” he bit his lower lip holding your wrists beside your head “You have this innocent pretty face, but you like it rough, huh?”

He crashed his lips into you with a deep kiss again, exploring your entire mouth violently with his tongue. He came to the conclusion that he would never get tired of your lips.

It was a messy, wet, intense and completely overwhelming kiss. Heeseung released your wrists, wrapping you in his arms, pulling your body into him, making your stomach knot with his aggression.

Your moans were swallowed by Heeseung's mouth as the pressure of his body on yours drove you crazy. He began attacking your neck with open kisses as he positioned himself between your legs.

“Please, Hee.” Heeseung smiled seeing how you begged for him. Just like the way he always dreamed of “I want you so bad.”

Your hands grabbed his strong shoulders, and he sucked in a breath, trying to control himself with the ecstatic sensation of your body enveloping him completely “You want me, baby?” Heeseung members were shaking as he heard your delirious whimpers in anticipation “So, be good for me and wait like a good girl.”

Heeseung's heartbeat was already racing in an insane rhythm as he held onto your hips tightly, sinking it into the mattress, but not giving what you wanted. “S-Stop teasing, Hee.” You whispered in despair, and he breathlessly moaned, feeling your nails scratching the back of his head between your choking whimpers.

“Sorry baby, I just wanna take my time with you.” While you felt Heeseung’s body completely over yours, your nails sank down the length of his beautiful, toned back, scratching his skin, and your forehead rested on his shoulder, hiding your face. Heeseung grabbed your jaw and pulled your face to him, kissing you, making your eyes water slightly “Look at me.” he whispered with a shaky breath over your mouth “I want to see your pretty face.”

“Hah—” You opened your slightly blurry eyes and could barely respond to Heeseung, who was breathing irregularly, adjusting himself at the perfect position “C'mon baby, you can take it.” he whispered, wrecking you completely.

Heeseung felt butterflies in his stomach seeing the sight of you beneath him writhing in pleasure. It was lewd, sexy and scorching. It was everything he wanted: to see you completely surrendered under him while he roughly handled you.

He finally realized that every day he discovered more reasons to love you, and he was happy that your love story was just starting.

At that moment, nothing else crossed your mind other than his name: Heeseung. So, you allowed yourself to give yourself completely to Heeseung and fall apart under his touch and the intoxicating feeling of his body on top of yours, giving you everything you wanted most.

☆

After a long bath and more stolen kisses, you were cuddling on Heeseung's bed while he stroked your hair.

“I'm so tired.” He said, smelling his shampoo on your damp hair “I need to sleep for about 10 hours straight to recover.”

You laughed and gave him a kiss on the cheek “How a college student would find time to sleep for 10 hours?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find a way.” he touched your cheek with the back of his fingers, caressing the spot “And you? Are you tired?” You nodded as you let yourself be numbed by the smell of Heeseung’s perfume “This semester killed me.”

“I know right? It feels like we didn’t even have a break.” He stroked your hair affectionately “And speaking of breaks… my dad wants you to have dinner with us next time.” You spoke in an uncertain tone, afraid of Heeseung’s reaction to the sudden invitation “Really?” He smiled at the corner of his mouth and looked at you, noticing how shy you were “Yes, at the last dinner we had he mentioned that he wanted me to invite you. I think deep down he realized that there was something between us since the day of the foundation event.” Heeseung chuckled remembering the interaction they had.

You felt more comfortable seeing how excited Heeseung seemed with the invitation “Sure, I’ll go.” he looked at you with a loving look that filled your chest “And how was dinner?”

“It was kinda weird… but nice.” Heeseung noticed a slight smile on your face. You usually had a strange relationship with your father, but ever since the day of the foundation event it seemed like your father had shown a new side. “We didn’t talk much, but I think I’m finally understanding a bit how my father’s mind works.”

Heeseung remained silent, leaving you comfortable to vent “Did you talk about your plans of not working on his office after graduation?” you smiled a bit “Kinda... I talked about the informal invitations I received from other offices, and he seemed neutral. He said I should analyze the opportunities that will come my way very carefully.”

“That sounds like a good answer.” Heeseung commented and you nodded “I feel like since my dad spent most of his time working to give me the best, we never really talked much, but now I think he’s trying, in his own way.”

“Maybe he’s not good with words, but he seems to care about you.” Heeseung stroked your cheek with his thumb “It was always like that, he never said much, but he tried his best.”

“Well, at least you had the courage to tell him about the proposals you received and now you can rest easy.” You smiled and gave Heeseung a long kiss that melted his heart “Yes, thank you for listening to me, baby.”

“Of course, love.” He gave you a long kiss on the cheek and looked into your eyes with an amused look “So… does that mean your father likes me?” Heeseung wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, giving you that confident smile that made you push his face away as he laughed “Oh, here you go again...”

“What? It's true.” He watched you run your fingers through his hair “I’m the best son-in-law he could ask for.”

You gave a mocking smile seeing Heeseung's confidence “And to think that I'm dating you... maybe I've gone crazy.” He pulled you by the waist, giving you a hug from behind and a kiss on the back of your neck “Yes... crazy about me.”

Yes, you had to admit that he was right.

You were crazy about Heeseung.

Mrs. Jung was attentive with a serene and calm expression as she watched you present your project. The entire class seemed impacted by the union of the best students in the course creating an impeccable synchronization. It was impressive how you were able to complement each other on the points where each of you had difficulty.

You and Heeseung were a duo that seemed to be perfect for chaos, but right now, everything seemed to fall into place as you showcased your incredible project with unique nuances. From the beginning, you overcame many barriers to give your best, and finally you could reap the fruits of your hard work.

“In conclusion, we must recognize that this evolution of human rights within international law is of utmost importance. In short, International States are not only composed of power and sovereignty, but also of individuals who need to be protected and guarded.” Heeseung naturally confidently ended his part by introducing the final conclusion of the project. It was clear that this was the environment in which he felt comfortable, presenting something he had the authority to speak about.

“And therefore, the protection of human rights is not just a mere internal concern of each Internacional State, but also of the entire global legal system.” You finish the presentation to the sound of polite applause filling the room. Mrs. Jung gave a satisfied smile and stood up from her chair holding the evaluation clipboard she was holding.

“I must say, when I paired you up I knew you had potential, but I’m immensely surprised.” You swallowed hard, fearing her assessment, since she was known as a strict teacher. “You decided to approach a complex topic, but the way you both explored and conducted the research was very interesting. It was a pleasant surprise, I’m very satisfied.”

Heeseung and you looked at each other, feeling flattered by the teacher’s praise. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Jung.” You thanked her and went to sit in your seats with smiles on your faces.

As Mrs. Jung called the next pair, Heeseung was feeling elated. You had finally finished this project and you had definitely gotten top marks, but the best part was knowing that he had won the best prize: you.

Heeseung's hand touched your thigh discreetly under the table and you turned to him trying not to smile. "Hee! What are you doing? We're in class!” You whispered in his ear and he gave a small smile “Relax, I'm just recovering my energy.”

You gave an airy laugh and placed your hand over his, intertwining your fingers “Can't believe I'm dating you.” He gave a closed-mouth smile and leaned down to your ear “I know, right? You're so lucky…” Heeseung whispered in an ironic tone and you held back from laughing.

“Oh, please.” You commented playfully “I’m trying to concentrate here, Hee.” Heeseung sighed and squeezed your hand before placing an affectionate kiss on your palm “My bad, baby. You're so pretty I lost my focus.” You rolled your eyes but felt your heart flutter “So cheesy…”

“But you love it.” He smiled and turned to the front.

You really loved the antics of Lee Heeseung, your former rival, project partner and best boyfriend you could ask for.

☆

1 YEAR LATER

Lying in your bed while reading a doctrine was Heeseung's guilty pleasure. Your mattress was much softer than his, your pillows were super comfortable, and the sweet smell of the bamboo air freshener you bought was chef's kiss.

He was calm, reading one of your favorite criminal law books that you had recommended due to the author's impeccable didactics. Your eyes scanned his figure, admiring his concentration.

He was wearing glasses, with messy hair and a black tank top that definitely wasn't cooperating with your thoughts. He looked too perfect, too good for someone who was just reading.

You usually loved doing your makeup or any other kind of activity while Heeseung read something in your room. Even the silence was comfortable between you because of his warm presence.

But today you couldn't concentrate properly. Heeseung was too handsome, and it was disturbing your mind. How dare he be so sexy like that without even trying?

It was unfair how he was so mesmerized by his book that he didn't realize how needy you were just by the sight of Heeseung in your bed.

You climbed onto your bed and crawled towards him, who seemed more focused than ever. When Heeseung felt your weight on his lap, he looked up from his book and stared at your angelic face. “What are you doing?” You smiled, pulling the book down “You need a break.”

“Babe, I was finally getting the grip of The Fruit of the Poisonous Tree theory!” He groaned feeling your body rub against the fabric of his pants “I’m just getting rid of your stress.” You said innocently as you placed the book on another corner of the bed “My stress? I think you are getting rid of your stress, miss.”

He held onto your waist, watching you hold onto his chubby cheeks. It was disconcerting how he could be cute and sexy at the same time. “Okay, maybe you’re right, but I still think a break would be good to you.” You gave him a peck on the lips that made him smile over your mouth.

“Yeah?” he asked, fitting his face into your neck “I guess I need a break then.” You sighed, feeling him run his lips along the length of your neck and smiled against your skin “Great.” your fingers intertwined in Heeseung’s soft hair, making him grunt and attack your mouth.

With your left hand you took off Heeseung's glasses and threw them on the bed as you deepened the kiss. His hands slid down your torso, eliciting broken moans from you.

As your senses were lost in Heeseung, your cell phone vibrated with the notification of your email.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for an internship position at our law firm. We look forward to receiving your answer as soon as possible. — Jung & Taylor Legal Advisors

Perhaps your and Heeseung's journey into the legal world was just in the beginning.

☆

☆

taglist:

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[melodyofmbaku]

What You Spit, I Swallowed (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: “I’ll beat the breaks off a nigga for touchin’ you,” Smoke said. “You lucky I didn’t.”

Warning ⚠️: They're a Trio. Ya'll gon' feel some things.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N - I realized I could only edit this for so long and I actually had to post it 🤪 I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘

My Masterlist ___

Smoke watched from the living room as Annie bustled around the house making sure everything was just right. The kitchen. The powder room. The cellar which nobody would see. Everything needed to be just right. 

The roast was in the oven. Table set. Wine poured. Annie stood at the counter, smoothing her hands down the front of her apron, then across the napkins again, though they didn’t need fixing.

“Can y’all just be civil? Please?” she said without turning. “For me. I just want to have  a nice dinner tonight. As a family.”

She used that word a lot. Family. Said it like a prayer, a promise. Like saying it out loud might turn it true.

The boys knew better.

Stack was leaning against the archway, a little too relaxed, wine already heavy in his hand.

“I’m always civil,” he grinned. “I’m a delight.”

Smoke didn’t say anything at first. Just sat back at the table, stiff as iron, nursing a glass of whisky like medicine. He’d need it tonight. They both would.

“I ain’t lying to nobody,” he muttered, low.

Annie sighed. Not because she disagreed — but because she understood.

They weren’t happy about this. Never had been. Melody had a way of turning Annie into someone else — smaller, unsure. And the boys hated that. Hated watching the bold, beautiful woman they loved contort herself to keep the peace. To keep her peace.

So when Annie told them that Melody was gonna be in town and wanted to visit, the news wasn’t met with enthusiasm.  When they protested she had shut them down, said that special word — family — and the boys knew they didn’t have a chance at dissuading her. 

She laid down the final plate and crossed the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel that didn’t need cleaning. Her shoulders were tight. Her smile too practiced.

Melody was Annie’s half-sister. Same father, different everything else. Product of an affair that tore Annie’s whole world sideways and maybe even took her mother to the grave.

She was pretty, and soft-spoken when it served her. But she had a way of reaching back into Annie’s life like she had a claim to it. Like their shared blood gave her a right to rewrite things. Rewrite her.

Melody said things like they’d grown up hand-in-hand. Like Annie hadn’t spent her real childhood alone, and Melody hadn’t moved in only after her world fell apart. 

She touched too casually. Said too much. Knew too little.

And yet… Annie kept trying. Trying to stitch something together out of all the scraps they’d been handed. Trying to make a family out of splinters.

There was a knock at the door.

The roast was carved. Greens passed. Biscuits buttered and cooling fast.

On the surface, everything looked like a proper supper. But Smoke hadn’t touched much of his food, and Stack had started drinking like the only way through the night was to float on top of it.

Melody leaned back in her chair, swirling her glass like she had something wise to say. Her gaze landed on the cornbread.

“Reminds me of when Mama used to burn the bottoms,” she said with a giggle. “She’d scrape off the black parts with a knife and pretend it was on purpose. Said it ‘kept you humble.’”

Annie’s fork paused mid-air.

Stack didn’t look up, but his mouth twitched.

“You remember that, don’t you?” Melody added, too quick. “That little yellow-handled knife she used for everything?”

Annie swallowed. Set her fork down quiet.

“She wasn’t my mama.”

Melody blinked, like she hadn’t expected that to sting.

“Well—no, obviously,” she said, waving a hand like it was silly to be so exact. “I just meant… your most recent mama. I mean, she was in the house.”

“She was in the house,” Annie said evenly. 

Melody laughed, high and a little breathless, like she could laugh her way out of what just happened.

“Well,” she said, putting her glass down, “family’s funny like that, huh?” She added before placing a hand on Annie’s forearm.

Smoke’s eyes followed the movement with precision.

“So,” Melody said brightly, trying to start a conversation “y’all ever thought about kids?”

The question hung there, syrupy sweet with expectation.

Annie blinked. “We— We’ll know when we’re ready.”

Melody’s husband Frank leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show.

The man chuckled, low and grating. “Ain’t it about time though? Clock don’t wait forever. ‘Specially for women.”

Smoke’s knuckles tightened around his fork.

“I gotta admit,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, “I didn’t know what to expect, comin’ out here. Lotta stories floatin’ ‘round town.”

Stack’s eyes flicked up from his plate. Smoke didn’t move.

“Oh yeah?” Annie said, keeping her voice polite. “And what kinda stories are those?”

The man shrugged, like he was being reasonable.

“Just… folks wondering how something like this works. Three people under one roof. Two men sharin’ a woman —brothers at that. Sounds more like trouble than a marriage.”

Smoke still didn’t look up. But Annie could feel the shift. Like pressure building under floorboards.

“I mean, hell. Where I’m from, we call that a love triangle, not a household.”

Annie opened her mouth, but Stack beat her to it — voice easy, even playful.

“Well lucky for us, you ain’t from here.”

Melody gave her husband a look — the kind that meant you’re doin’ too much — but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I just think kids need structure,” he said, “Two fathers under one roof? That’s confusion, not discipline.”

Now Smoke looked up. Real slow.

“You do a lot of childrearing yourself?” he asked.

The man blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“You talkin’ like you got a full house somewhere. How many you got?” the man had a menacing smile plastered on his face.

“…None yet.”

“Then hush.”

The man frowned. Then Frank reached across the table — not for the biscuits, not for the salt. For the gravy boat.

But instead of asking, he leaned in close, placing a steadying hand on Annie’s shoulder as he reached.

His thumb brushed against the strap of her dress.

Too familiar. Too firm.

“’Scuse me, darlin’,” he said, casual like he did it all the time.

It wasn’t the touch — it was the way he didn’t rush to remove it.

Smoke saw it. So did Stack.

And Annie flinched — just slightly — but enough to be noticed.

That should’ve been enough. But Melody’s hand went out — again — brushing Annie’s arm like they were girls sharing secrets instead of strangers dressed in matching last names.

"Mama used to say, ‘Ain’t no shame in wantin’ a real man.’ Guess you took that to heart, huh, sis? You went and got yourself two!"

Annie winced once more. It was soft, but Smoke saw it. And that was the last straw.

Smoke set his glass down. Quiet. Too quiet.

“You need to stop touchin’ her so casually.” he said pointing at the woman.

Melody’s hand stilled against Annie’s arm. Her smile wavered.

“Excuse me?”

“Smoke,” Annie said quickly, trying to smile, trying to control the room. “It’s fine.”

He didn’t blink. “It ain’t.”

Stack leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed but not joking anymore. “He’s right. You don’t know her like that. You ain’t earned the right.”

Melody’s brows arched, scandalized.

Annie stepped in faster this time, voice low but firm.

“Enough.”

She turned toward Smoke, hand light on his shoulder. His muscles were rigid beneath her palm.

“She’s family,” she said softly. “Let’s not do this right now.”

Stack leaned back, sucked his teeth, clearly biting something back. Smoke didn’t move at all.

“She ain’t family to me,” Smoke muttered.

“She is to me,” Annie snapped. “And that should be enough.”

That silenced the table — just long enough for Melody’s husband to break it again.

“Well,” he said, with a smirk, “nice to see someone wearing the pants in this house.”

Stack’s jaw tightened.

“Stack,” Annie warned, before he could speak.

He didn’t. But the damage was done.

Melody giggled, smoothing her napkin on her lap like nothing had happened.

Annie went to gather the plates.

“Dinner’s done,” she said. “Why don’t we move to the sitting room? I’ll bring coffee.”

She didn’t look at Smoke. Didn’t look at Stack either. She just carried the dishes to the kitchen, heart pounding, wishing it all felt less like a lie.

_

The front door clicked shut.

Silence.

Not the quiet kind, but the loaded kind. The kind that rattled inside your chest and made your ears ring.

Annie stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed tight, like she was bracing for impact.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. Stack didn’t move.

For a beat, nobody breathed.

Annie exhaled, hard. “Don’t start.”

“I ain’t startin’. I’m finishin’. The hell was that?” Smoke’s voice cut through the kitchen.

She turned, dish towel clenched tight in her hands. “What was what, Smoke?”

“You told me to stand down. You just about told Stack to shut up. While they sat at our table, runnin’ they mouths and touchin’ you like they know you.”

“They’re family.”

“No,” he snapped. “They’re not. That man disrespected you. And her? She touched you like she’s the one that tucks you in at night.”

“Stop it.”

Stack stepped in carefully, voice low. “She made you flinch, baby. We saw it. You don’t flinch with us.”

Annie bit her lip. Hard.

“I just wanted one peaceful night. I didn’t want a scene.”

“You wanted peace—so you offered us up like sacrificial lambs,” Smoke said, voice growing sharp.

“That ain’t fair.”

“No? You let her talk like y’all shared a childhood. Let that man spit on our marriage with a smile. Then told me to hush?”

“You think I don’t know who she is?” Annie’s voice cracked “I lived with her. She slept in my mama’s bed two weeks after she was buried. She was Daddy’s second chance and my reminder that I’d already lost.”

Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry.

“I was just trying to keep the damn evening from fallin’ apart. You think I liked it? You think I didn’t hear every little dig, every look, every word?”

“Then why the hell ain’t you say somethin’?” Stack asked. 

“Because I’m tired!” she shouted. “Tired of everything bein’ a fight. Tired of defendin’ my choices, my house, my men. I just wanted a quiet dinner!”

Smoke’s voice dropped cold. “Then don’t invite people who only show up to remind you that you alone.”

Annie’s shoulders pulled back like he’d struck her. 

“Alone?”

“You got us. But when they’re here, you act like you don’t.”

The room felt smaller. Angrier. Like the walls were listening.

“I ain’t the one you should be mad at, Annie,” Smoke said.

“No. You’re just the one who wants to be mad for me.” Annie didn’t look at him.

He leaned back. Only slightly. But Stack caught it. Smoke prided himself on taking care of his family. He’d be the bad guy if it meant that they were ok. So for Annie to throw that in his face? It was low. 

Annie turned on him. “What? Go on then. Call me out my name. You been waitin’ all night.”

“I been waitin’ for you to stop pretendin’ you owe that woman somethin’. Stop shrinkin’ yourself so she can feel taller.”

“And I been waitin’ for you to realize the world don’t revolve around your damn temper!”

“Y’all—” Stack tried.

“Elias, stay out of it.” She pointed at him.

That did it. Stack’s hands dropped. He stepped back, mouth flat.

Smoke’s voice turned dangerously soft. “You tellin’ him to stay out, but you let them strangers walk right in and put hands on what’s mine?”

Annie’s nostrils flared. She stepped in close.

“Don’t talk to me about ownership. I’m not some bitch you can pull by the leash when I embarrass you.”

Stacks head whipped around. Shock coloured his face. 

“Annie. Don’t,” Stack warned softly — they didn’t talk like this to each other. 

Smoke’s voice dropped low and clipped. “You gon’ wanna be real careful with me right now, woman.”

“Or what?” Annie challenged. “You gon’ bark louder? Show me why everybody outside scared of you?”

He stepped forward. Stack moved fast, blocking him.

“Enough.” Stack said. “We don’t do this shit. This ain’t us.”

“No,” Annie said. “This is exactly who we are. Pretendin’ this ain’t built on shaky ground.”

Looked like Frank’s words had planted a seed. 

Stack moved like she’d slapped him.

“You think it’s shaky?” Smoke’s voice shook. “You think we ain’t holdin’ you up every day? Lovin’ you, buildin’ you back from the goddamn inside?”

His voice cracked — just slightly.

“I would burn this house down to protect you,” he said, softer now. “And you out here handin’ matches to people who never cared whether you froze.”

“She disrespected you, Annie,” Stack said, voice stiff. “Right to your face. And you smiled through it. Made us smile through it too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Annie laughed bitterly. “Was I supposed to let y’all growl and swing your dicks like dogs markin’ a tree?”

“Watch your mouth,” Smoke said slowly.

“No—you watch yours. I let you bark, posture. The minute I asked you to sit like a man, you sulked like a whipped boy.”

There it was. The heat. The disrespect.

“Annie…” Stack said, quiet, alarmed. 

“I’ll beat the breaks off a nigga for touchin’ you,” Smoke said. “You lucky I didn’t.”

“Elijah—they’re family.” she tried to plead.

“So you gotta put up with disrespect?”

Annie threw her hands up, all syrup and sass. “The Moores got morals tonight!”

Stack cursed under his breath. Smoke went still as death.

“Fix them lips to say somethin’ crazy again, Annie,” Smoke warned. “See if I don’t remind you why you call me daddy.”

She tilted her head. “You sassin’?”

“C’mon now y’all…” Stack said half-terrified.

Smoke stepped closer, his voice dropping into something dark and dangerous. “It’s gon’ be real hard to take you serious if you got my seed drippin’ from your hole. Test me.”

Annie’s throat bobbed. She was gonna take that bait.

“Do not,” Stack said, sharp and urgent.

Too late.

“Annie’s sorry — ain’t ya, baby?” he tried, reaching for a lifeline.

“The hell I am,” she snapped.

“Don’t be a hero,” Stack warned, tension threading through his voice. “He gon’ turn you out, and I’ma join him.”

Annie looked at him, eyes glittering. Daring them both.

Smoke started up once more, “We’ll paint your insides white just how you like it. Remind you you the property of the Moores — no one else’s.”

“Property? That’s what I am to you?” she shot back. “A place to plant your damn flag?”

He shrugged. “You said it, not me.”

“I ain’t land. You don’t own me.”

“You act like disrespectin’ us is rent you pay,” he shot back, voice cold. 

That line came from somewhere deep — deeper than Smoke usually let show.

“If I’m so damn disrespectful,” Annie stepped in close, venom curling her words, “why you still crawlin’ back to this disrespectful pussy every night?”

Stack looked away. Smoke didn’t blink.

“That’s right,” she pressed. “You talk all this mine mine mine shit, but you only feel like a man when I’m on my knees, beggin’ for it.”

“Fix them lips, woman,” he said, low and mean.

“What? You don’t like it when I talk back? Only like me with your dick down my throat?”

“It make a fine picture.” Stack muttered from the side. 

“I like it when you remember who’s keepin’ you safe. Lovin’ you every goddamn day while you spit in our faces.” Smoke reasoned.

“I’m done talking to you.” she spoke lowly. 

“C’mon now,” Smoke said, voice soft and twisted. “Say somethin’ real filthy. You good at that when your jaw’s slack and your legs spread.”

“Smoke,” Stack snapped. “You know what you doin’. Stop provokin’ her.”

“Nah,” Smoke said without even looking at him. “She a big girl. She can take whatever daddy dish out, right?”

Stack stepped in. “It ain’t fair, Smoke. You know it ain’t fair.”

Smoke paused. Just a second. There were two of them. One of her. It was unbalanced. Always would be.

He sighed, started to lift a hand — maybe to apologize.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Annie spat in his face.

It hit his cheek and stuck.

For one sharp breath, nobody moved.

Annie stood perfectly still, chest rising hard. Her jaw clenched, eyes shining—not with tears, but with fury. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

Then Smoke cracked.

Stack caught him hard at the chest, shoving him back.

“Don’t.”

Smoke went still.

The spit clung to his cheek, hot and humiliating. He didn’t wipe it. Just stared — right at her.

Annie’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her spine was stiff, posture defiant. But there was something flickering in her eyes now. 

“I wanna fuck that disrespect right outta her,” he muttered, voice low and rough.

He stepped toward her — not to strike, but to claim, to punish her with the only kind of control he knew wouldn’t break her.

Annie’s breath caught. Just barely.

Stack stepped in fast — arm out, body angled between them.

“And we don’t do things that way,” he snapped, sharp and firm.

Their eyes locked. For a long, brittle second, it felt like something might break.

“You want her like that? Broken?” Stack asked his brother. 

The picture he painted with that statement stung. 

He didn’t want her like that. Giving in because she didn’t have a choice. Because he “bested” her. 

He wanted it offered to him, because she felt like he deserved it. He didn’t wanna take it. 

“You keep pushin’, you gon’ scare her,” Stack said, quieter now. “And she don’t deserve that from you.”

That stopped him.

Smoke’s jaw ticked hard, and he deflated. 

Behind Stack, Annie was still frozen in place—arms locked at her sides, as if afraid any movement might shatter the silence.

“Take a walk,” Stack added. “Right now. Before you say somethin’ you can’t unsay.”

Smoke didn’t move.

“I got her,” Stack said, gentler now. “You… go cool off.”

Finally, Smoke blinked. Swallowed. His eyes never left Annie.

“You make sure she’s okay,” he said, hoarse.

“I got her.”

Then he turned and walked out — quiet, controlled, like a storm bottled in a man.

Annie stood frozen.

Then sat — slow and stiff — like someone letting herself fall without a net.

Stack stayed standing, chest heaving like he’d just run a race.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer.

He dropped to a knee beside her.

“He lost his temper. He shouldn’t’ve. You know that.”

She nodded — barely.

“I made him,” she said.

“No,” Stack replied. “You matched him. That’s different.”

A beat passed. He reached for her hand.

“You still ours,” he said. “Ain’t nothin’ shifted in that.”

She squeezed once. 

“He didn’t even flinch,” she whispered. “But his eyes… they changed.”

Stack squeezed her hand. “He was mad. That don’t mean he stopped carin’.”

“He’s scared. Same as you,” Stack said. “That’s what it is—fear dressed up as fire.”

She exhaled hard, like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You meant it,” he cut in gently but firm. “Don’t lie to me.”

That shut her up. Her mouth pressed into a hard line.

“You meant it,” Stack said again, softer this time, “and that’s what’s eatin’ him up.”

Silence fell between them. Heavy. Thick with things they couldn’t take back.

She looked toward the door, then back at Stack.

“You mad at me too?”

He sighed. “Don’t matter what I’m feelin’. You’re my wife. My family. I stand with you—even when I don’t like how it went down.”

“I’m sorry, Stack,” she whispered.

He gave a small shrug. “Don’t be sorry. Be sure.”

Then he stood and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch.

“I'm gon’ fix my plate again,” he murmured. “If I don’t eat, I get mean.”

That earned him the smallest laugh. But it was what he needed to hear. Enough to know she was still with him.

“I set aside your favourite,” she murmured, voice rough but soft. “Kept it warm in the oven… in that little dish with the blue trim. Knew you’d want a snack later.”

He paused, and his eyes flicked to hers — just for a second. That did something to him.

“Always lookin’ out,” he said, almost to himself.

Then, quieter: “Love you, baby.”

One more kiss to her head. Then he turned for the kitchen, shoulders squared a little taller than before.

__

The door creaked open.

Smoke stood in the threshold like he wasn’t sure he had the right to come back in. Smoke looked different. Not unraveled — not quite. But quieted. Like whatever storm had rolled through him had lost its bite, leaving behind a man instead of a tempest.

Annie didn’t turn. She sat curled on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, her hand still in Stack’s. The fire had burned low, its glow casting soft shadows across the room. Silence pressed in like fog.

Smoke stepped inside, slow and cautious, like a man testing floorboards for landmines. His eyes found her first. She didn’t flinch. But she didn’t look up, either.

“I scared you,” he said, voice low.

No one answered.

He stood there a beat longer, hat in hand, shoulders heavy.

“I talked about ownin’ you. Fuckin’ the disrespect outta you,” he went on, his voice thick. “That ain’t love talk. That’s not somethin’ you say to the woman you love.”

Annie shifted slightly. Stack’s thumb moved gently over her knuckles.

“I ain’t proud of it,” Smoke murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Still, neither of them spoke.

Smoke let out a breath through his nose, rough around the edges.

“I was mad you shut us down,” he said. “Mad you didn’t let us defend you. But I didn’t come at you like a husband. I came at you like a man who forgot what kind of woman he had.”

That made her look up.

Her eyes were still red, but she met his gaze steady.

“You did scare me,” she said softly.

Stack’s jaw ticked, but Annie gave his hand a squeeze—like she was okay.

“And I hurt y’all too,” she added. “Shut you down in your own home. Made you feel unheard. That wasn’t right.”

She stood, slow and deliberate. Smoke didn’t move.

“You and Stack… you’re my peace,” she said. “My anchor. And tonight I treated you like a storm. All ‘cause I let my past talk louder than the two men who actually built something with me.”

She stepped toward Smoke now, close enough her chest brushed his.

“I’m sorry I spit,” she said, quieter still. “That was… uncalled for. And beneath me.”

Smoke’s brow furrowed, something soft and pained flickering in his eyes. His hand came up, cradling her jaw.

“You still ours?” he asked.

She nodded once.

“Yours. Always.”

Behind them, Stack smiled to himself. 

Then Annie turned to Stack.

The man looked caught off guard—his brows lifted, lips parting like he wasn’t expecting the spotlight.

“I’m sorry I made you feel secondary today, baby,” she said. “Like your opinion didn’t matter. Like you were less than.”

“Whoa, now—I ain’t say all that,” Stack replied, lifting a hand.

“You didn’t have to,” she murmured. “I see now what I was doing. And it was wrong. You’re every bit a part of this, and I treated you like a bystander. I’m sorry, Elias. Truly.”

Stack blinked. For a second, he didn’t know what to say.

Smoke chimed in, voice low. “And thank you.”

Stack looked over.

“I was losin’ my head in here,” Smoke said. “And you got me right. You always do.”

“Well,” Stack drawled, clearing his throat and smoothing down his collar. “Now that y’all mention it… you right. I am the star of today’s show. Glad that’s been properly acknowledged.”

That earned him a chuckle from both Annie and Smoke.

He folded his arms and leaned back, cocky as ever. He thrusted his chin at Annie “You can show me your gratitude in peach cobbler.”

Annie arched a brow. “Peach cobbler?”

“Yes ma’am. And don’t cheap out it either. I need hella peaches in there.” he said dead serious. 

“And you—” he looked at Smoke, “you can take stock at the juke for the next week.”

“Three days,” Smoke countered.

“Five.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it, solemn as preachers. 

Annie laughed—quiet, but real—and turned to glance over her shoulder.

“Well,” Stack said, breaking the lingering tension with a dry drawl, “now that everyone’s sorry… can we go back to actin’ like Melody’s husband don’t eat with his damn mouth open and ask questions like ‘what y’all do for money’ like he ain’t got food crumbs in his mustache?”

Annie barked a laugh. Smoke cracked a grin despite himself.

“Mm,” Annie said, eyes dancing, “maybe I’ll go spit on him next time.”

Smoke raised a brow. “You better not. I’m the only one gettin’ that kind of disrespect.”

She smirked. “So… the ‘fuckin’ the disrespect outta me’ thing… that still on the table, or?”

Stack groaned, loud and dramatic, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m leavin’ the room.”

“No, no,” Annie said quickly, reaching out to stop him. Her voice softened. “I want all my boys,” she murmured. “My family. With me tonight.”

Stack froze.

Smoke looked up at her—really looked.

Smoke’s lips brushed her temple. Stack kissed her shoulder.

The house, so loud just an hour ago, fell to hush.

Just heartbeats.

Just them.

And the slow, quiet burn of still belonging to one another.

__

A/N Thought I'd give ya'll a variation of some angst for the trio but I'd actually end it off so I don't leave you in perpetual pain like I did in Touch of a Woman 🤪 For those curious about what fic in this AU would come after this... you'd enjoy Signed in Crayon, Sealed in Cash 💰

Always eager to hear your thoughts and encouragement it keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think 🥰

____

My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

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[elodieunderglass]

But there must be a way to save hobelars in the cultural memory right? Can we reprint the document that has the poem?

Just yesterday, i had heard my friend say something along the lines of war is rock paper scissors and i accepted that without a second thought and your post about hobelars came at the right time to add delightful nuance. And i want to remember and share about hobelars

References: this post where I note, on a post about medieval mounted warfare that articulated this as knights and horses in armour charging pikemen, that the overlooked mounted unit of the “Irish” hobelar - a lightweight cavalry skirmisher, mounted nearly-bareback on pony-horses called hobbies - would have neatly fitted into the gaps in that narrative. Here’s another post about hobbies i wrote too.

By asking, you are doing the work. Thank you./.

In their time, hobelars were a useful unit of medieval warfare; originally in defending themselves against the English, and then used abroad against others. A contemporary poem, which describes the Siege of Calais, mentions a hobelar on a hobby, describing their fighting style; but the only copy of this poem on the internet is a single badly scanned document of a book from the 1840s that will be reasonably difficult (but not impossible!) to source on paper.

There have been a total two books written about hobelars - one in 1914, and one in 1954 - and they are mentioned in passages of two or three out-of-print books about medieval warfare. They have a Wikipedia article which contains incorrect information like claiming that the hobby is the same horse as the Connemara Pony (it isn’t.) There is one single medievalist who has published recently and sparsely on hobelars, and necessarily he does this by arguing with The 1914 and 1954 Guys. He has not brought in any horse knowledge or political connectedness to his theses, but he’s all I’ve got, so I cling to him like he clings to the other two guys.

Irish Hobbies, the hobelar’s little horses, fare a bit better. Before going extinct, they gave their name to “hobbies,” activities done for pleasure, and we still use “my hobbyhorse” to describe our personal passions. @mylittlehony , a Horse Expert, produced an incredible list of mentions of hobbies in sixteenth and seventeenth century literature, including in other languages, which is literally an advancement on the internet’s collective knowledge of hobbies. Any piece of work you’re doing here is a contribution.

Still, without any in-print documentation, or active scholars, or any interest in them at all, they’re a very niche hobby! As I said in the post you’re asking about, a well-placed EMP could destroy all of our knowledge of hobelars and prevent us from making connections to recover them. .

To answer your question? That’s what PhDs are for. That’s what they’re supposed to give to humanity. Spending three years of dedicated research time, learning and gathering all the sources available, and collecting every lost scrap of data about hobbies and hobelars that has been scattered and lost. We know they’re in the quartermasters’ receipts, where they were described as cheap units without special equipment; we know that an English king specifically prevented hobbies being exported to Scotland fight against him, because they would have granted the Scottish an advantage. There are documents that mention them sidelong and sideways and misspelled, and a PhD could delightfully be spent fossicking about in libraries and archives and museums, working out exactly what their “darts” were like, and whether hobbies ambled or paced, and what social class hobelars had been in Ireland, and how far they made it in Wales, and whether they WERE the missing piece of European horse archers, and whether hobbies DID come from Spain, and maybe even whether the Thoroughbred racehorse has any hobby in them at all. The person doing this PhD could probably recover the shape of the extinct horse, the fighting style of the rider, and so on.

And they’d publish their papers, and their thesis, and on the Internet and in the backups and in the journals and in the great library of their Alma Mater and in their own home, that knowledge would be stored and connected, networked and made accessible, known and signposted, forever. Resilient to loss, resistant to disruption, a piece of work to add to humanity’s grain store - designed and destined to outlive you.

That’s what a PhD is. That’s why they’re meant to be done.

Why haven’t they already? Obscurity, probably; and as I’ve written, medievalists tend to take the tone of English and French kings to dismiss Celtic influence as primitive and negligible. There have to be intersecting spheres of nerdery to make the person who will take this on. They will probably have to be a horsegirl first, a medievalist second, and probably from a Celtic culture themselves, to better pierce through the political layerings; they ought to be the kind of nerd who gladly takes on the case of the underdog; and, ideally, be someone with a lot of hobbies. Just as you can see the missing shape of the hobelar, you can see this person and know that someday they may answer the call.

(Possibly even because of these posts. That’s, secretly, part of why I write them like I do. They’re not ragebait or clickbait; they’re go-to-grad-school-about-it-bait. I hope to catch someone someday.)

But in the absence of some person taking on this PhD, here’s how I’m doing my part.

The reason I am tumblr’s biggest hobelar apologist is because I have a character in a larger writing project who is a time-ghost of a hobelar and his hobby. They appear in a pattern in the story, which is called Throw Your Heart Over, based on the saying for jumping: throw your heart over the hurdle and your horse will follow it.

I toy with the idea of The Hobelar being the originator of the saying, after jumping a notable hurdle on his hobby.

But it won’t be enough to just self-publish an ebook about it, especially since it won’t break containment. The best way to get a correct answer on the Internet is to post a slightly wrong answer, in a tone of authority, and have everyone pile in on you for the joy of being the one to correct you.

So I’m going to write something provocative and tantalisingly incorrect-sounding about hobelars, just to provoke and annoy. It will have to be ragebait of unparalleled mastery. I will have to construct a scene that is SO WRONG, and somehow get the story SO IMPOSSIBLY POPULAR, that hopefully someone will be forced to do, like, a YouTube essay to horsesplain my sins to me, and THEN they’ll discover that first they must do a PhD.

And when they call me out, after four years of study, and tell me I have no idea what I’m talking about, I will lower my eyelashes demurely 🫦 and say oh dear what a shame if people started acting like they’d always known about hobelars because of all this, and a breeding project started trying to recreate the extinct Irish Hobby, and a video game came out about them or something, or anything. if I fuck it up again will you do more? Do you prommy??

So I’ll say: once upon a time, Killie’s ancestor was a hobelar. And he fucked up - or something, I don’t know what yet - and he asked his hobby to jump a pike-wall -

And the people will be jumping up and down saying THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT- he wasn’t there, he wasn’t wearing that, he didn’t ride that way, he probably wasn’t barefoot, NOBODY CAN JUMP A PIKEWALL, that can’t be right!!

And i said: none of this was right-! It’s a story about generational trauma. Nobody should have been there. And he grabbed mane, and asked for the jump, and the horse didn’t want to, but she trusted him -

And it didn’t happen, and it didn’t happen like that -

And it didn’t happen, and it didn’t happen like that -

And people will say: it never could have happened, and CERTAINLY not like that -

And I’ll say - and everyone else should say this too - make an OC or tell a story or find some way to hang on: some of what our ancestors gave us was garbage!! Some is useful!! Some should be lost and some should be kept!! And if academia won’t keep it then we will! Until they come and do it better!

We’ll all say together: he threw his heart over and she follows it still; and they’ll never land! and they’ll never land!!!!

[manyegos]

Originally posted on May 3rd, 2023 This movie made me cry. I posted about it before. It really reflected a deep seated pain I had, a trauma I had as a kid. I love that movies and start help us make sense of things that we all go through but no one dares to speak about it. The movie is heavily inspired by the study by Niobe Way on Boys friendships and crisis of connection, titled "Deep Secrets" . . . I happen to have such book next to me. there is this moment in the life of men, when we all stop having such rich incredibly and intense friendships with one another. . . and even with ourselves. This is not an attack to masculinity or a forced advocation for sensitivity and delicate gentleness of males, but rather a conversation of a deep unspoken pain men carry. The movie does have some "imagery" a little over the top given that these are kids and they are boys, but it is not sexual nor it is intended to be this way. However, in context as a boy growing up with straight friends I can tell and I can remember very well how closed and sensitive we all were and little by little that went dying. At some point because of whatever it was, we wouldn't dare to hug, cuddle or have heart to heart conversations (remind you women do this all the time without being lesbians and gay men do this with their friends without engaging in any sort of sexual activity) We as men, and specially straight men carry this heavy burden of not being able to relieve their pain. It is a crisis. We are emotional animals, we need to touch, we need to feel and cry, and we need to be close to one another. Women have (and even used to have way deeper) friendships, stronger at times than their marriages. It enriches their lives. We men do, but something loose and aloof. We live without really living. There have been times I wish I knew how my buddies felt, I have a friend for example who lose his mom at 20, was a virgin and feeling lonely. I wish He had talked more about his feelings to me, how he felt, that He knew we would be there for him. Men only get "touchy" seek affection, connection, closeness, emotional, they get real when they drink. That's why men drink in my opinion which is dissapointing. While very few have the fortunate luck of having a wife that knows their most sensitive vulnerable side, even there is as if they abnegate everyone that can understand aspects of them than even women can't, but designate their poor wives to assume all these roles (not only their mother, but also an equal male buddy... ) Women unfortunale will never understand what is like to go through life as a man, same as us will never understand what is like to go through life as women (not even if we transition) So why do we live limited lives? why we as men have this strange disconnection with ourselves and lack of deep friendships? anyways, I love this film. _______________________________ Funny Story I used to have a best friend around the age of the characters, we were close like this. At some point because my inner fears of my own sexuality, I treated him so bad so I could push him away. He was my best friend from childhood. I destroyed a possible meaningful friendship and life story. I deeply regret of such. It was one of the worse emotional pains I went through and I caused it because I was afraid our closeness was too gay (he was not gay, and I did not have romantic or sexual feelings for him, I was just deeply scared of his closeness and that He found out there was something broken with me) I wish I could take all of that back.

close (2022) + male intimacy

[theywereafairy]

Paper Rings

⋆˚࿔ Pairing:  Javier Peña x F!Reader

Wordcount: 5.6k

⋆˚࿔ Summary:

Javier brings you to a wedding in Laredo, his hometown, his past, his baggage. It’s the first time he’s brought anyone around like this, and the tension in the air is thick with small-town gossip and quiet judgment. But when someone makes a shitty comment about him, you don’t just defend him, you show them. What follows is slow, worshipful, passionate love making and the kind of soft aftercare only Javi could give.🤭

⋆˚࿔ Warnings:

Worship-level smut • established relationship • small town tension • public makeout scene • oral (f receiving) • PIV (unprotected) • grinding with clothes on • filthy talk • possessive Javi • “you’re mine” energy • praise kink • begging kink • Javier Peña being soft in love but still nasty in bed • post-orgasm aftercare • future marriage tease • overwhelming feelings and emotional vulnerability

⋆˚࿔ Author’s Note:

Hi besties 🥹 I wrote this one-shot after going to a wedding this weekend and couldn’t stop thinking about how Javier Peña would act if he brought someone back to Laredo. This man has me in a full chokehold and I need him to know what it feels like to be loved that deeply.

Hope you’re all doing okay and finding joy in little things. you deserve it. Sending hugs, hydration, and Javi smut to everyone who needs it. 💌 Would love to hear your thoughts, reblogs, or screams in the tags🫶🏼

You told Javi he didn’t have to take you.

You’d said it softly, the night he first brought it up, tracing the lines of his collarbone while his arm lay heavy around your waist. You could tell it was weighing on him, the idea of bringing you home. The hometown. The family. The questions. Not from you, never from you, but from everyone else.

Still, he asked. Told you he wanted to. Told you he wanted them to meet the woman he was with. His words, not yours. The woman I’m with. Like he still couldn’t quite bring himself to say girlfriend out loud, but every time his fingers curled around yours or his lips brushed the corner of your mouth in public, it meant the same thing.

So you said yes.

Now here you were, in a borrowed garden behind a family friend’s wedding venue, ankle-deep in gravel and stares. The sun had dipped low enough to cast everything in a gold-dusted haze, champagne flutes catching light like diamonds, laughter echoing off pergolas wrapped in string lights.

You stood there, half-finished drink in hand, and reminded yourself to breathe. The air was thick with the scent of roses and barbecue smoke, and still, still, you couldn’t stop noticing the eyes. The way they lingered too long. The brief glances exchanged between groups like they were passing a secret around.

A breeze ghosted over the lawn, catching the hem of your dress and brushing it softly against your shins. You smoothed it down with one hand, your fingers trembling just slightly. The music drifted up from the patio, slow and syrupy, a twangy country ballad you didn’t recognize.

Then he appeared at your side. Javi didn’t say anything at first, just rested his hand at the small of your back like he’d been waiting for the exact second you needed it. His fingers splayed warm and wide, grounding you instantly. The scent of his cologne hit you a moment later. Dark, smoky, familiar, and your body responded before your brain had time to catch up.

Javier Peña, in a fitted beige suit that should’ve looked too polished on him but didn’t. The shirt beneath was slightly unbuttoned, just enough to tease the hollow of his throat. His hair was combed back in a way that made you ache a little, like he’d actually tried. For you.

His eyes scanned your face like he could read the tension there, and maybe he could. Of course he could. He’d been watching you all night from across the lawn, you were sure of it. Watching the way the women tilted their heads when they looked at you. Watching the way the men did too.

You leaned into him without thinking. Just a little. And he pulled you closer without hesitation.

“Too much?” he asked, voice low, brushing the words against your temple.

You shook your head, swallowed hard. “Not with you.”

He smiled, just barely. It was a private thing, the kind of smile no one else got. The kind you’d seen in his kitchen at midnight or across his pillow in the soft haze of morning. And for a moment, the noise of the wedding dulled around you. Like none of them mattered. Like the two of you were a secret no one else deserved to understand.

But they were still looking.

You barely heard the man approach.

It wasn’t even someone you recognized, just another sharp-suited ghost from Javi’s past, someone who had probably once shared a beer with him at a high school football game, or nodded to him at a gas station before the war on drugs turned Javier Peña into something to talk about over breakfast tacos.

He said it with a laugh. That was the worst part. Like it was just some harmless joke tossed between old friends.

“Look at you,” the guy chuckled, sloshing beer over the rim of his glass. “Back in Laredo, showing off another knockout. Guess you always land on your feet, huh? One hot mess for another.”

It took a second for it to register. For the words to sink in. Your spine straightened first. Then came the cold flash of disbelief. Another?

You looked at Javi.

He wasn’t meeting your eyes. His gaze had dropped to the gravel like it was suddenly the most interesting thing at the wedding. Shoulders tense, jaw tight. His usual sharp tongue was nowhere to be found. No snide comeback. No smirk. No venom disguised as charm.

You’d never seen him like this. Never seen Javier Peña shrink. And it pissed you off.

This man, this man who held you like you were fragile and made love to you like you were made of fire. This man who touched you with reverence and kissed you like you were a prayer he didn’t think he deserved to say. This man who had lived, who had bled, who still carried ghosts he never spoke about, and some asshole thought he could reduce all of that to gossip and a cheap punchline?

Absolutely the fuck not. You turned, slow and deliberate, facing the man like you were squaring off in a ring.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice as smooth as the champagne in your glass. “Were you saying something?”

He blinked, faltered, maybe realizing just a little too late who he was dealing with.But you didn’t wait for an answer. You didn’t need one. Instead, you turned back to Javi, and without hesitation, cupped his face in both hands.

His eyes snapped up to yours, wide and confused, and you could see it, the hurt, the flicker of something raw that he hadn’t meant for you to see. He looked like he might say something, but you didn’t give him the chance.

You kissed him. Hard.

There was nothing delicate about it. No tentative brush of lips. No polite affection. This was a kiss made for headlines. A kiss designed to scorch.

You pressed your mouth to his like you were trying to fuse your body to his, like you were trying to prove something. That he was yours. That you were his. That every whisper and sideways glance and snide little insult meant nothing compared to the way he made you feel.

His hands found your waist in half a second, tightening as he groaned into your mouth, surprised but not resisting, not even close. His fingers dug in, dragging you closer, chest to chest. You deepened the kiss, parting your lips and letting your tongue glide against his with a slow, teasing stroke that made him shudder against you.

It was obvious how the tension melted from his shoulders and the kiss turned hungry. When his grip turned bruising, when his mouth slanted over yours like he needed it. Like he needed you. Right here, right now, under the fairy lights and the weight of small-town scrutiny.

You kissed him like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, who wanted to be seen, who wanted them to watch. You licked into his mouth and moaned, just a little, just enough, and felt his breath hitch in response.

When you finally pulled back, his lips were swollen. His eyes were blown wide. His hair had come loose at the front from where your fingers had curled into it.

You turned, casually, to the man still standing there with his drink frozen halfway to his mouth. No one said anything. No one had to.

Javi’s hand slid to yours. This time, it was him who kissed you, softer now, but just as firm. Just as certain. And the silence around you was louder than any applause.

You didn’t leave his side after that. Not for the rest of the night.

Javi didn’t ask you to, didn’t need to. He stayed close like he was afraid if he let go, the crowd would close in again. And you weren’t about to let them. So you curled your fingers into his where everyone could see, laughed at all the right moments, and leaned into his side like you belonged there. Because you did.

And God, he felt it.

Every time you touched him, a hand on his chest, a brush of your lips near his ear, he melted just a little more. Loosened up. His shoulders relaxed, the corners of his mouth curled into that trademark half-smirk that made your knees weak. He was back to himself, but… softer.

Still, the comments didn’t stop completely.

“You two want a room?” someone muttered under their breath as you passed near the bar. Javi didn’t even flinch.

He just kept his arm around your waist and shot back, deadpan, “Nah. We’ll just use yours.”

You laughed, unabashed, and watched the man blink like he didn’t know what hit him. There was your Javi.

But even as the hours slipped past and he put on a good face, even as he leaned down to whisper teasing little things in your ear like bet you regret wearin’ that dress now, baby, or you keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gonna get real fuckin’ disrespectful about it, you could still feel it. The way he held your hand tighter than usual. The way he tucked you closer every time someone walked by too slowly or looked too long. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, not like a man showing off a prize, but like someone trying to memorize a moment he thought he might not deserve.

He needed you tonight, more than he’d ever say out loud.And you were going to give him everything.

The hotel was nothing special, beige walls, scuffed floors, a bedspread with a pattern that hadn’t been in style since the nineties. But to Javi, it was sanctuary. It was privacy. It was you, alone with him and no one else’s eyes on the two of you.

You could’ve stayed at Chucho’s, he’d offered. But there was already a cousin bunking in the guest room, and Javi had leaned into your ear with a low murmur that made your thighs press together: “I need you all to myself this weekend, cariño. No interruptions.”

So when you reached the door to your room, keycard in hand, you barely had time to blink before he had you pressed up against it. His palm slapped flat against the wood beside your head, his body crowding yours, the warmth of him sinking through your dress like fire.

You gasped, but you were smiling, both of you a little tipsy, a little giddy from champagne and lust and the afterglow of shared defiance. Your back hit the door and his mouth hovered just inches from yours, his eyes dark and wild, locked onto you like you were the last thing left on Earth worth looking at.

“You tryin’ to kill me in that dress?” he asked, voice low, almost amused.

“I thought you liked it,” you teased, breath catching.

“Oh, I fuckin’ love it,” he said, his lips brushing your jaw, then trailing lower. “Love it even more thinkin’ about you out of it.”

And then he kissed you. Not on the lips, not yet. He started at your collarbone, his mouth warm and open, peppering reverent little kisses across your skin. He dragged them slowly, one after another, up your neck, pausing to suck softly just below your ear before biting down, gentle but sharp enough to make your breath hitch.

You giggled, flushed and breathless, and he smiled against your skin.

“I can’t believe you’re fuckin’ mine,” he whispered, his voice ragged with sincerity. “Mine, baby. You…Jesus…you stood up for me today like it was nothin’.”

“It wasn’t nothin’,” you said, and he kissed your ear in thanks.

He finally reached for the key in your hand, unlocked the door behind you without even looking, and then you stumbled backward together into the room, lips colliding like magnets. The door clicked shut behind you. And then it was just the two of you, tangled in the dark.

Javi’s hands were on your waist, your ribs, your face, everywhere. Like he didn’t know where to touch first. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You’re too good for me,” he muttered as he kissed you again, deeper this time. “Too fuckin’ good.”

“Shut up and show me how much you want me,” you breathed against his lips, and that was all it took. He backed you toward the bed, mouth never leaving yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge. Then he dropped to his knees.

You blinked, dizzy. “Javi…”

He didn’t even let you finish.

“Lemme thank you properly, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with heat as his fingers tugged your dress up your thighs, higher, higher. “Lemme take care of my girl.”

He pushed the fabric up around your hips and buried his face between your thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then - God.

His mouth was all heat and devotion, licking long, slow stripes through your folds like he was tasting something sacred. His tongue circled your clit, soft at first, featherlight, teasing. Then firmer. More deliberate.

“Fuck…Javi…” you gasped, one hand tangling in his hair, the other clutching the bedspread.

He groaned against you, the sound sending vibrations through your core. Loving it. Getting drunk on you.

“You hear that, baby?” he rasped, breath hot against your soaked skin. “That’s how wet you are for me. Fuckin’ perfect.”

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking you in place, and didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. He licked and sucked like he had all the time in the world, like this, you, was the mission now. His tongue flicked faster, rhythm steady, sinful, devastating, and when he moaned again, your knees nearly buckled.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he whispered, voice low and reverent. “Could spend the whole night down here, cariño. Just like this. My mouth on your pussy. You let me, baby?”

You could barely breathe, your body already arching into him, heat coiling tight in your belly.

“Javi…, I’m gonna—”

He didn’t stop. He tightened his grip, sucked your clit into his mouth, and that was it. You shattered, thighs trembling, hips stuttering forward as he groaned into your release like it was his own.

He licked you through it, slowly now, gently, like he was savoring the aftershocks. Like he was proud.

When he finally pulled back, his chin was glistening. His eyes were dark, burning with something more than just lust.

“Look at you,” he murmured, standing, kissing your stomach, your chest, your mouth. “My perfect girl. Took me so good.”

You whimpered, still shaking, already aching for more. And the night wasn’t even close to over.

He didn’t stop touching you.

Even as your legs trembled and your chest heaved from the orgasm he’d just coaxed out of you, Javi kept his hands on you like you might float away without them. One on your hip, the other sliding up your spine, gentle and grounding. His lips found the curve of your neck again, soft, reverent, like he was trying to press all his love into your skin.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “Took it so fuckin’ good, baby. You should’ve seen yourself.”

You whimpered, half-laughing, still trying to catch your breath. He was still fully dressed, his beige suit slightly wrinkled, his shirt damp with heat, and you were standing there, clinging to him, panties soaked, heart beating like a war drum.

He stepped back only enough to look at you, eyes flickering over your body like he wanted to memorize it again from scratch.

“Can I take this off you?” he asked softly, fingers already toying with the straps of your dress.

You nodded, and he smiled, a real one, wide and devastating, before slipping it down your shoulders with almost clinical precision. Slow, careful, like peeling open a gift he’d waited all night to touch. The fabric pooled at your feet in a whisper, leaving you in nothing but ruined underwear and trembling anticipation.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, running a hand down your side like he couldn’t help himself. “You’re perfect. You know that? Just fuckin’ perfect.”

You reached for him, fingers slipping under the buttons of his shirt, finally undoing them one by one, your hands greedy for skin. He let you undress him without a word, just watching your face, breathing heavily as your palms smoothed over the warm planes of his chest.

God, that chest.

Golden and dusted with bright hair, soft but strong, familiar from a thousand sleepy mornings and shirtless photos he swore he didn’t like you taking but never actually stopped you from snapping. You kissed just below his collarbone and felt the way his breath hitched, his cock pressing harder into the front of his slacks.

The bulge was impossible to ignore. Neatly contained but straining. A dark, wet patch had already formed at the tip, pressing through the fabric and smearing against your thigh as he rocked into you without meaning to.

You moaned, needy and involuntary.

He grunted, burying his face in your neck. “Look what you fuckin’ do to me,” he growled, rolling his hips against yours again. “This is what happens when you talk to me like that. When you stand up for me. Shit, baby, never knew I could get this fuckin’ hard just watchin’ you be mine.”

“Javi…”

He kissed you, hot and possessive, and kept grinding into you, rutting against your soaked underwear like it was the only thing holding him back. The friction was just right, dragging over your clit with maddening pressure. Every pass of his cock made your stomach flip, your breath catch.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “Feel what you do to me? I could get you off like this, fuck, just keep goin’, let you ride it, get you all messy before I even take it out.”

You whimpered, hips rolling up to meet his thrusts.

But then, finally, he stepped back, hands going to his belt, moving with a desperation that made your mouth go dry.

He stripped in one fluid motion. Pants, briefs, finally gone. And then there he was, thick and leaking and ready, eyes locked on yours like he was about to ruin you. He held out his hand without speaking. You knew the drill.

You leaned forward, lips parted, and spit into his palm. He groaned low in his throat, spreading it over his length with slow, deliberate strokes, eyes never leaving yours. Your pulse pounded in your throat.

“Can I go raw, baby?” he asked, voice like smoke. “Need to feel you. All of you. Don’t wanna miss a fuckin’ thing.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, please.”

He leaned in close again, nudging your nose with his, his cock brushing against your stomach, hot and heavy and so ready it made you dizzy.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet when you beg, baby. Gonna make you beg again once I’m inside you. That okay?”

You nodded.

And then he reached down, lined himself up, and, slow, careful, possessive, started to slide in.

He pushed in slow. Painfully slow.

Like he wanted to savor every single inch, watch the way your mouth parted, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your fingers clutched his arms like they were the only things keeping you tethered to earth.

You gasped, back arching, body trembling, as he filled you inch by inch, dragging the head of his cock along your walls with torturous precision.

“Fucking hell, baby,” Javi groaned, jaw clenched, hips straining to stay steady. “You’re so fuckin’ tight for me. Like you were made for this. Made for me.”

You whimpered, burying your face in the crook of his neck, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

He sank deeper, slow, steady, intentional, until he was fully seated inside you, cock pulsing against your walls, and you swore the air had been knocked out of your lungs.

“I’ll never get used to this,” he whispered. “The way you feel. The way you melt around me like that. Jesus, mami, you’re perfect.”

He stayed there for a second, not moving, just feeling you. His forehead pressed to yours. His hand brushing hair back from your face with something that almost felt like reverence.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice barely a breath.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Move, Javi. Please.” And just like that, something in him snapped.

“Oh, I love when you beg,” he growled, hips rolling forward with a slow, deep thrust. “Say it again, baby. Say it nice for me.”

“Please,” you gasped, voice high and breaking. “Please, Javi, I need you. I need you so bad.”

“Yeah, you do,” he grunted, thrusting again, harder now, his hands gripping your hips like he wanted to mold them to his. “You need this cock. Need me to fuck you nice and slow, let you feel it for days.”

You cried out, the stretch, the drag, the way he filled you completely, it was too much and not enough. The pace was maddening: slow, deep, unrelenting. His thrusts weren’t hurried. They were measured. Devastating. Like he wanted to reach every part of you and leave his name there.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders.

And he loved it.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Hold on to me. Let me take care of you.”

He kissed your neck, your jaw, your lips. He couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t stop talking.

“You feel what you do to me? How fuckin’ crazy I am for you?”

“God, look at you takin’ me so good, so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

“This pussy’s mine, right? Say it, baby. Say it’s mine.”

You said it. You’d say anything he wanted.

“Yours,” you gasped, voice wrecked. “Always yours, Javi.”

That did something to him. His hips stuttered, his breath caught in his throat, and he buried his face in your neck with a low, broken sound.

“I love you,” he said, like it hurt. “Fuck, I love you. So much.”

You froze, then melted instantly, all your walls crashing down at once. That was all it took to send you spiraling.

“Javi, oh my god, I’m gonna…”

“Do it,” he whispered, hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, circling just right. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you fall apart.”

You shattered with a cry, clenching around him, body convulsing as pleasure washed over you in waves. He groaned, a long, desperate sound, and slammed into you once, twice more before spilling inside you with a curse, holding you so tight it bordered on worship.

For a moment, the room was just breath and sweat and the sound of your hearts trying to recover.

Then he kissed your shoulder.

“You think those bastards heard this and are jealous out of their minds?” he murmured, voice rough and teasing.

You laughed, shaky, blissed out, utterly ruined. “Shut up and hold me.”

You didn’t know how long it had been.

Minutes, maybe. Maybe more. The world felt far away now, dulled and quiet, like it had exhaled with you. The room was warm, lit only by the bedside lamp Javi had turned on earlier, casting soft gold across tangled limbs and wrinkled sheets.

You were still wrapped around him, skin to skin. Your leg draped over his hip, your cheek pressed to his chest, damp with sweat. His fingers traced soft circles along your spine, over and over, like he wasn’t quite ready to stop touching you.

Neither were you.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice gravelly from sex and sleep and everything in between. “You okay?”

“Mmm.” You nodded, breath fogging against his skin. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, you could feel it against your forehead. That lazy, post-orgasm kind of smile that only came out when he was completely at ease. When he let the walls down.

His hand slid down to your thigh, massaging gently, then back up to the curve of your hip. “I wasn’t too much?”

You lifted your head, brow furrowed. “Are you serious?”

He just shrugged, shy in that rare way you’d only seen a handful of times. Like he was still surprised someone could look at him the way you did. Like maybe it still didn’t quite compute.

You leaned in and kissed him. Soft, slow, nothing urgent, just lips on lips, a quiet thank you.

“You were perfect,” you whispered.

He looked at you like you hung the stars. Then he tilted his head back against the pillow and sighed, the kind of long, content exhale that said he could stay here forever.

“When we get married,” he said suddenly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, “I don’t want a wedding.”

You blinked, lips parting. “Oh?”

“No guests. No tux. No church. Just you and me. Naked. In bed.” He grinned. “Maybe with cake.”

You snorted. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Tres leches,” he said immediately, tapping your hip. “Keep it cultural.”

You laughed again, heart full and aching. But then something stuck in your mind, the way he’d said it.

When.

Not if.

You shifted, propping yourself up on your elbow so you could really look at him. “When?”

His eyes flicked to yours, a beat of silence passing. Then he nodded, totally serious.

“Yeah. When.”

Your throat tightened.

“Not if?” you asked quietly.

Javi reached up and brushed your hair back from your face, eyes warm and steady.

“Obviously when,” he said, like it was obvious. Like there was never a question.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just let your head drop back to his chest, your arm curling tighter around him. His hand found yours and laced your fingers together, thumb stroking the back of your knuckles.

And in that moment, wrapped in him, pressed against skin still warm from love, you knew. Knew he meant it. Knew you did, too.

Eventually, he spoke again, voice soft and close to sleep.

“Let’s stay like this forever.”

And you smiled, eyes closing.

“Okay,” you whispered. “But I still want cake.”

[rivetgoth]

I know I keep saying it and other people keep saying it but what’s so unbelievably frustrating is that MENA people, Palestinians, Iraqis, Persians, Muslims, Arabs… are just people. Like they’re literally just people. They drink, they party, they have sex, they like the same fandoms as you, they can be gay, they can be trans, they can have all the same existential fears, the same mental illnesses, the same infinitely nuanced and complex opinions and frustrations about topics like religion, morality, politics. They’re doctors, lawyers, teachers, actors, scientists, musicians, artists. And because people can’t process this, MENA people are left having to fucking spell out their humanity to people who consider themselves otherwise bleeding heart liberals. It’s insanity.

One of the best indicators of the lack of knowledge people have of Arab people to me is the existence of arak. It’s the Middle Eastern liquor. It’s produced across the region. It’s considered the national drink of Lebanon. Production of arak in Palestine is internationally recognized and has won awards. This seems like a tiny thing, but it’s actually crazy how many westerners truly believe Arab people don’t drink, that they follow religious law with such strict adherence that their behavior is just unrecognizably foreign, and they live in some state of austere repression beyond which the average westerner could even imagine. They have no idea this even exists.

Shortly after the onslaught post-Oct 7 I remember following updates from a Palestinian girl on Twitter who, in between sharing fundraisers for herself and her family (who, thankfully, did manage to evacuate safely, although not without needing serious medical attention) and updates about the broader situation, logged online after a few weeks of silence to lament the fact that she had missed her favorite anime character’s birthday and was sad she hadn’t been able to celebrate it with her mutuals. Her friends drew pictures of him for her.

And like, I truly believe that people are deserving of life even when they are quite different from us. Nobody deserves to be murdered en masse by the imperialistic machine as a display of power, over land, over resources, etc. But people aren’t even able to NOT dehumanize MENA people and realize that they AREN’T that different!! You’ve been fed propaganda your entire life that has convinced you that MENA people are just so deeply foreign that you couldn’t possibly understand or relate to them. Steve Jobs is Syrian. Shakira is Lebanese. Rami Malek is Egyptian. Salma Hayek is Lebanese. DJ Khaled is Palestinian. Freddie Mercury was Persian.

I honestly think at this point it’s partly a coping mechanism—If many westerners were actually to conceptualize the literal millions of human beings, people just like them, their friends, their loved ones, their heroes, their family, as burning unrecognizable bodies left charred in their homes they would just fall apart. So the only option is to insist until you’re red in the face that they couldn’t possibly be the same as you.

[jules-ln]

I thank every God that I'm both Mexican and brown so I don't have any white guilt lmao

Because I see people saying things like "Oh my God! I can't believe people are making Jayce violent just because he's brown! That's so racist"

And I'm here like "You mean the character with the giant hammer? the league of legends character with the giant magical hammer that shots lasers? that's the character you call non-violent?"

Because seriously, what do you think he's doing with the hammer in the game? Giving away flowers and candy?

And you might say "but that's only in the game"

And I'm like: his fight with Vi, his 2 fights with Viktor (though the second one was more like Viktor kicking his ass), that time he killed Salo, that time he shot Viktor while Viktor's guard was down

But my point is, while it is true that Jayce isn't inherently violent; saying that Jayce ISN'T violent at all is also just wrong

Because it's funny that I've seen people going to extremes with Jayce and Viktor lmao

Like Jayce isn't a Himbo, but he is naive in a lot of ways; he's kind, but he isn't exactly soft; he's harsh but not merciless; he's smart, but a lot of times he misses the forest for the trees; he's aggressive, but not in a brutish way

He's a complex character that is very similar to a real man, and I don't think you can fit his whole personality within a post on Xwitter or Bluesky lmao

That's why I love JayVik, because these two are two very complex characters, very flawed and contradictory and yet, they still managed to fit with each other; because Jayce is capable of looking at Viktor with all his flaws and love him, not despite of them, but because those are also him. And I think for Viktor is the same, he loves Jayce with all his flaws

But then people just say: "it's racist to say that Jayce is violent" and I'm here like

Listen, you need to recognize that at some point in your need to not make something accidentally racist you've gone 360 and are completely back at basically saying that brown people aren't capable of the complete range of human emotions, ergo, brown people aren't as complex as white people. Which, this goes without saying, that is bad

And while it is true that there's a stereotype about brown people being more aggressive, in Jayce's case being violent is not his entire personality, like I said; he's a complex character, if his only characteristic was being violent then yeah, that's a problem, but violence it's just something that he does depending on the context. Like, you know how human beings are known to be violent at times

And see, I think that's the problem with the fandom's characterization of both Jayce and Viktor

Because, for example, when I say "Viktor isn't mean" I don't say it in a "Viktor will never be mean towards anyone" way, but more in a "there are very specific circumstances under which Viktor will be mean, and interacting with Jayce in an every day scenario isn't one of them" but I wholeheartedly believe that Viktor could be mean if the situations called for it. Just look at how he basically deadnamed Jinx, you can't tell me that wasn't Viktor purposely being mean lmao

So, with Jayce, I don't believe that his first reaction would be violence on most occasions, but say, if someone was harassing Viktor, would Jayce punch them without thinking? Yeah, probably

[dr-jigglebones]

I was with op through the first paragraph, but the post steadily deteriorates from there.

TL;DR OP's a fed/grifter/AI sis

- I have not seen anyone genuinely asking for the technology to be uninvented. Instead, people want it regulated and controlled to ensure it's used ethically.

- In its current form it absolutely has major moral concerns, ones that I see few if any solutions to. This includes but is not limited to the immense amount of water and power they use, the unasked, unpaid, and uncredited use of the works of others in the training data, and the horrible (often racist) biases that go unaddressed.

- You're right, fuck Disney. Though, I don't believe the doomerism that them winning will fuck over small artists (at least any more than they already are).

- Really depends, I've seen some of this, but I've also seen plenty of actual truth about what these "AI" actually are: they're just statistical models. That's literally it. ChatGPT and other LLMs are literally just the next stage of autopredict. Image generation is mostly the same. The ONLY thing a genAI does is make a statistical prediction based on an input. The only thing that differentiates "genAI" is the complexity of that statistical model.

- Agreed on the spiritualism aspect, but no, AI cannot do it as well as or better than a human can. They still even "hallucinate" or rather, Guess Wrong about details, though that's gotten slightly less obvious over time. The one thing genAI has is it can do things faster. It will never make a new idea, because it can only work with what exists in its statistical model. It will never have a perspective as an author or artist, because it isn't one. It is wholly an imitation machine, nothing more, nothing less.*

(Also calling out "Neo-spiritual woo" after writing up your own entire giant neo-spritual woo post?? (no, I didn't go digging through your profile like some fuckin redditor, it's one of your most recent posts and I saw it when checking your pronouns). Drugs making you think different isn't some fucking deep spiritual revelation lmfao. But whatever, that's not really relevant to this.)

- You're talking like a republican senator, screaming about fake news, misrepresenting the claims of the people you're talking about, and in fact misrepresenting the data yourself. The IEA's report Energy and AI projects that the electricity demand of data centers worldwide (ALL datacenters, not AI focused ones) is going to fucking double by 2030, with that increase driven mostly by AI. The power demand of AI-optimized data centers is projected to quadruple in that same time.** Power requires a source, and the majority of our power sources contribute to global warming, which let me remind you is an existential threat against humanity. Though you seem like the type to be a climate change denier.

The reactionary and ignorant one here is you.

Fuck capitalism btw. At least we can agree on that.

Speaking of fuck capitalism, fuck the capitalists using the creative works of others to generate a profit without asking and without compensation.

The purpose of art is to connect with the viewer. Using/thinking of it merely as a tool for influence is kinda fash tbh.

Wow, you almost got the point with the nuance you put in parentheses and kinda completely dismissed anyway. Almost.

They actually do pretty well, considering the money and manpower they're up against. It's an arms race after all, not some silver bullet. They poison the data so the genAI cannot replicate the actual image. They do *not* use generative AI, but instead adversarial AI. Seems like someone with an interest in AI programming would know the difference... Anyway, have you seen how firefighters stop forest fires by premptively burning long stretches of forest, such that the fire runs out of fuel to burn? It's a similar idea with Glaze and the like. Fight fire with fire.

Sidenote, funny how you don't mention the inarguably good things other types of AI has done, like analytical AI, and instead focus solely on genAI... Yk, like how it's been used to catch certain cancers much earlier than they could be before. But that's not as profitable as genAI, is it, grifter?

*I'm a computer scientist and software engineer that jumped on the hype train about AI when it first hit the scene. When I finally saw it for what it was I was a bit disappointed, but still at least impressed with some of the results (tho, admittedly, genAI was never more than a novelty to me). Then the ethical concerns became more widely discussed, and, here we are.

**I'd try to find some better sources with data about existing trends in power draw, as opposed to predictions, but arguing with feds isn't worth that much of my time.

Anyway, fuck genAI, fuck capitalism, and fuck feds like you.

Worst part of popular left wing AI discourse online is that there's absolutely a need for a robust leftist opposition to use of cognitive automation without social dispensation to displaced human workers. The lack of any prior measures to facilitate a transition to having fewer humans in the workplace (UBI, more public control over industrial infrastructure, etc) is a disaster we are sleepwalking into - one that could lock the majority of our society's wealth further into the hands of authoritarian oligarchs who retain control of industry through last century private ownership models, while no longer needing to rely on us to operate their property.

But now we're seemingly not going to have the opposition we so desperately need, because everyone involved in the anti-AI conversation has pretty thoroughly discredited themselves and their movement by harbouring unconstrained reactionary nonsense, blatant falsehoods and woo. Instead of talking about who owns and benefits from cognitive automation, people are:

Demanding impossibilities like uninventing a now readily accessible technology

Trying to ascribe implicit moral value to said technology instead of the who is using it and how

Siding with corporations on copyright law in the name of "defending small artists"

Repeating obvious and embarrassing technical misconceptions and erroneous pop-sci about machine learning in order to justify their preferred philosophy

Invoking neo-spiritual conservative woo about the specialness of the human soul to try to incoherently discredit a machine that can quite obviously perform certain tasks just as well if not better than they can

Misrepresent numbers about energy use and environmental cost in an absurd double standard (all modern infrastructure is reliant on data centers to a similar level of impact, including your favourite fandom social media and online video games!) to build a narrative AI is some sort of malevolent spirit that damages our reality when it is called upon

It's a level of reactionary ignorance that has completely discredited any popular opposition to industrial AI rollout because it falls apart as soon as you dig deeper than a snappy social media post, or a misguided pro-copyright screed from an insecure web artist (who decries a machine laying eyes on their freely posted work while simultaneously charging commission for fan-art of corporate IPs... I'm sure that will absolutely resolve in their favour).

It would be funny how much people are fucking themselves over with all this, except I'm being fucked over to, and as a result am really quite mad about the situation. We need UBI, we need to liberate abundance from corporate greed, what we don't need is viral posts about putting distortion filters on anime fan-art to ward off the evil mechanical eye, pointless boycotts of platforms because they are perceived to have let the evil machines taint them, or petitions to further criminalize the creation of derivative works.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Hi! I hope ur day is going well!

I remember there was a earlier post where frank finds out about more humans and there life span, I wonder how the other characters find out when frank accidentally or intentionally told them about it and all collectively start losing it! Like the more they learn about y/n the more they realize how “fragile” they really are and maybe they slowly but surely get a little protective or paranoid of their well being😮🤔

Frank would do that! Probably without thinking things through.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Learning how fragile you can be

★ Humans are fickle creatures. They can withstand many conditions. From losing an entire limb to standing in water. But, at the same time, they are incredibly fragile. All it takes is one mix up and you could break.

★ You need water. But drink the wrong kind and it hurts you. Take a sip from a stream near Home, and Frank watches as you double over coughing. What do you mean water should be boiled first? His plants drink it, so shouldn't you?

★ "Don't eat that!" You shout to Wally. Who freezes mid-motion as he goes to hand you a colorful mushroom. "That's bad. Put it down." The seriousness in your voice scared him. So he did. You're usually calm, but right now you look genuinely afraid.

★ Poisonous mushrooms are hard to find around Home. But most of the ones you see are vibrant. And that's a red flag. In your world, bright colors could mean poison. Wally doesn’t understand it. Though he tries his best to keep them away from you.

★ Every time Howdy touches you, you're warm. It's something he finds soothing. But at the same time, you can overheat like an 8-track player. In the summer heat he might notice you swaying a little. And get worried. "Hey there! don't go melting on me." Rushing to grab you a cold drink.

★ These things don't just scare them. It terrifies them. So many things could go wrong and you still find the courage to get up in the morning. Frank described you as "a machine with no manual or spare parts" in his notes.

★ For the sake of her mental health, you don't tell Poppy about these things. Never mentioning how your own immune system could turn against you. Or how you could get scars that never fade. But she knows you're hiding something.

★ Poppy sees how you flinch after bumping into things. But only when you think no one is looking. How you begin to tremble after working too hard. Thankfully, she doesn't see you bleed often. As she prefers to stay inside.

★ Frank let it slip that we have a set lifespan. It was an accident. He was listing off the lifespans of certain animals. And included humans without thinking about it. "The average fly lives 28 days. Domestic cats usually live for 15 years. Humans, about 70 to 100 years depending on..." Trailing off as he realized what he did.

★ Puppets live for as long as their stitches hold. You don't have that luxury. Humans don't have stitches, they have expiration dates. Eddie denies it. "Nope. Nope, that isn't right." Maybe Frank is wrong? He usually isn't. But this is different.

★ Sally tells you that you're not allowed to die. Ever. Even if you're supposed to someday. She says "I forbid it!" While pointing a finger at the center of your chest. It sounds like a joke until you see the seriousness in her eyes.

[cheriecelestial]

Red Lights Pt.2

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ F1 driver!Jason Todd x fem!reader

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ angst. fluff. suggestive content. themes of mental health and depression. swearing. insecurities. non-canon complacent. jason is an idiot. not proofread.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ So here's part two. I didn't wanna split it but oh well. Requests are open so feel free to send them. Comment, Like and Reblog (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

comment to be added to taglist

Part 1

“Jason, I think you should see this.”

Jason’s brows drew together as Dick held up his tablet. On the screen was a Twitter post already gaining traction—photos of Jason in Venice. Not alone. Y/N was beside him in every frame, though mercifully, her face was either obscured or turned away. Only Jason’s features were clear, caught in candid moments of laughter or strolling beside her down cobblestone streets.

“It won’t be long before the tabloids catch wind of this,” Dick said quietly. “And once they do, you know how fast it spreads. So… is there anything we need to prepare for? A statement? Clarification?”

Jason stared at the images for a beat too long, his jaw tightening. “There’s nothing to announce,” he said, his voice low, laced with simmering anger.

This—this—was what he hated most about the life he’d inherited. The fame, the scrutiny, the constant invasion of privacy. People didn’t just watch; they obsessed, they speculated, they twisted everything into headlines and hashtags. And they never knew when to back off.

He pulled out his phone, opened the app, and found the same post. He scrolled through the comments. Some expressed harmless curiosity. Others congratulated him or gushed about how “cute” the mystery woman looked from behind. But the rest? Cruel. Jealous. Misogynistic. Disgusting.

He could already picture Y/N’s face if she saw them—how her smile would falter, how those bright eyes would dim. The internet could be vicious and if anyone recognized her, they’d tear into her without hesitation. She didn’t deserve that. Y/N was kind, full of joy, and effortlessly warm in a way that made the world feel easier to exist in when she was near. She wasn’t built for this toxic attention and she shouldn’t have to be.

Jason’s fists clenched at his sides.

They could say whatever they wanted about him. They always had. But Y/N? She was off-limits. Untouchable. And he would make damn sure it stayed that way.

Jason shoved his phone deep into his pocket, the screen still burning with the comments he'd been scrolling through—each one a fresh ember beneath his skin. The device felt heavier than it should have, weighted down by implications and what-ifs. Across the room, Dick's gaze lingered on him with that infuriating older brother intuition, the kind that could read silence like an open book. Jason hated it—being seen like that—but more than that, he hated feeling powerless.

“I’ll handle it,” Jason bit out, the words sharp enough to carve distance between them as he moved toward the door.

“Jason.”

Dick’s voice was softer than Jason deserved, laced with a caution that had been earned through years of watching headlines twist and private moments splatter across tabloids. The warning wasn’t judgment—it was experience.

“Just... be careful,” Dick said, the words measured. “You know how this stuff spirals. One photo turns into a headline, and the next thing you know, she’s being followed. Whoever she is.”

Jason froze mid-step, his spine locking. The unspoken implication hung between them: I see you. I see what this means. Dick didn’t press further. He didn’t need to.

“That’s exactly why I’m going to handle it,” Jason ground out, the promise rough in his throat.

A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, Dick gave a single nod—not approval, not surrender, just acknowledgment. Permission to go, if that’s what Jason needed.

And Jason did.

Because standing still meant thinking. And thinking meant admitting how much he couldn’t control—the press, the speculation, the way his pulse kicked at the thought of Y/N caught in the crossfire.

Jason’s thumb hovered over the contact for a long moment before pressing call. The phone rang twice before that familiar, graveled voice answered - the one that had talked him through contract negotiations and sponsorship deals since he was a teenager.

“Uncle Harvey. I need your help.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. Harvey Dent wasn’t who Jason wanted involved in this fragile, unnamed thing with Y/N. That honor should have gone to Alfred, with his quiet wisdom and endless patience. Or Cass, who understood the weight of public scrutiny better than most. But this wasn’t about introductions over tea—this was damage control. And when it came to protecting what mattered, Harvey was the most ruthless legal mind in Gotham.

On the other end of the line, Jason could hear the squeak of leather as Harvey leaned back in his office chair, the distant hum of Gotham traffic thirty floors below. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of decades navigating the Wayne family’s most sensitive affairs.

“Son, listen to me carefully.” A pause. The clink of ice in a glass. “You say you’re fond of this woman, but you don’t know how she feels about you. Or this situation. And with the championship rounds coming up?” A humorless chuckle. “It’s like pouring jet fuel on a bonfire.”

Jason’s grip tightened on the phone. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office, Harvey watched a news helicopter circle the Gotham skyline - a reminder of how quickly private lives became public spectacle.

“Driver-presenter relationships aren’t unheard of, no. But let’s not pretend this industry has evolved since Clark Kent and Lois Lane.” A bitter edge crept into Jason's voice. “Unless your girl happens to be a Pulitzer-winning journalist with skin thicker than Lane’s and let’s be honest, you’re no ‘America’s Sweetheart’ like Clark was—she won’t survive unscathed.” The lawyer continued, his dual-toned voice measured.

Jason’s free hand clenched into a fist. He could already see the headlines: “Distraction in the Paddock?” “Is Wayne Racing’s Comeback Kid Losing Focus?” Worse, the vile comments that would inevitably target Y/N— questioning her professionalism, her motives, her very right to be in the paddock.

“So what’s the best course of action?” Jason ground out, hating the helplessness in his own voice.

Harvey sighed, the sound distorted by the scar tissue on the left side of his mouth. “You have three options, kid. One: you walk away now, before this gets complicated. Two: you go public on your terms, with every legal safeguard we can put in place. Or three...” A pause heavy with implication. “You keep this quiet until the season ends, and pray to God no paparazzi catches you two in a compromising position.”

Outside, the first drops of rain began to streak down Harvey’s windows, turning Gotham into a blur of neon and shadow. Just like the night half his face had been melted away by a rival’s acid attack. He knew better than most how quickly the world could turn on you.

“The clock’s ticking, Jason,” Harvey murmured. “But whatever you decide— we’ll handle it.”

We. The word should have been comforting. Instead, it settled like a lead weight in Jason’s stomach. While walking our of the garage, he caught his own reflection in the hallway mirror—jaw clenched, eyes dark with something too close to fear.

Y/N hummed softly to herself as she folded another sweater into her suitcase, the fabric still warm from the dryer. Outside her window, the afternoon sun cast golden streaks across her bedroom floor, illuminating the carefully curated pile of items she was bringing to Zandvoort—a notebook filled with sightseeing ideas, her favorite camera for capturing the Dutch coastline and her prettiest outfits, just in case Jason happened to glance her way during the broadcast.

Every moment with him played on a loop in her mind—his laughter during their disastrous pottery attempt, the way his eyes softened when he thought she wasn’t looking, the rare, unguarded smiles he reserved only for their quiet conversations. She had loved him for years, long before she ever stepped foot in a paddock, back when he was just a face on her bedroom posters and a name she whispered to the TV screen during races. But now? Now, she was falling all over again, deeper and harder than before and it terrified her.

Because how could she ever tell him?

The fear sat heavy in her chest, an anchor dragging her back to reality whenever her thoughts drifted too far into fantasy. Jason had once confessed, in an old interview she’d memorized, how much he despised obsessive fans—the kind who crossed boundaries, who saw him as an object rather than a person. And Y/N? She had been that girl once. She had run fan accounts, written embarrassingly earnest posts, even sketched him in the margins of her notebooks like some lovesick teenager. If he ever found out, would he look at her with disgust? Worse—would he see her as just another face in the crowd, another person who loved the idea of him more than the man himself?

The mere thought made her stomach drop.

Stephanie had rolled her eyes when Y/N voiced her fears. “You’re not some random fan anymore,” she’d argued. “You’re his friend. You know him. Tell him.”

But it wasn’t that simple.

Jason had dated models before—women with legs that went on for miles and faces that belonged on magazine covers. Y/N knew she didn’t compare. She wasn’t polished in that effortless way; sure she could be professional but that's that. She was all sharp edges and nervous energy, too loud when she was excited, too quiet when she was overthinking. And Jason? Jason was a legend. A champion. He deserved someone who matched his brilliance, someone the world would approve of—a supermodel, a pop star, anyone but a presenter whose biggest accomplishment was not tripping over her own words during live broadcasts.

And then there was her career.

Relationships between presenters and drivers were messy. The internet would dissect every glance, every interaction, until the narrative was no longer about her work but about who she was sleeping with. She had seen it happen to other women in the paddock—their credibility erased overnight, their achievements overshadowed by speculation and rumours.

But God, if Jason ever looked at her and asked, she would burn it all down in a heartbeat.

Her career. Her reputation. Every carefully constructed boundary she’d put in place to protect herself.

She’d do it without hesitation.

Because he was worth it.

Worth the risk. Worth the fall.

Even if he never felt the same.

Her eyes fell to the matching bracelets he had bought for them from a night market and a soft smile found its way to her lips. For now, this was enough.

It had to be. 

The buzz of her phone against the bedsheets startled her, pulling Y/N abruptly from her thoughts. She reached for it with slightly trembling fingers, her breath catching when she saw the name flashing across the screen— Jay💞.

The little heart emoji beside his name, something she’d added weeks ago in a moment of foolish hope, now felt like a cruel joke.

Jay💞: Can we talk?

Her stomach twisted. That wasn’t his usual style. No teasing remark, no dry observation about whatever hobby she’d been rambling about last. Just three simple words that carried an unsettling weight.

Y/N: Sure. Wassup?

Before she could even process sending the message, her screen lit up with an incoming call. Her pulse skyrocketed, fingers fumbling as she nearly dropped the phone in her haste to answer.

“Hi,” she breathed, forcing lightness into her voice even as her chest tightened with inexplicable dread.

“Hey.”

That single word confirmed it. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Jason’s voice was strained, the usual warmth replaced by something tense and unfamiliar.

“How are you doing?” he asked, the question stiff, like he was reading from a script.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the fabric of her sweater. “I’m good,” she replied, forcing a laugh. “Missing me already, are we Todd?”

It had only been six days since they’d last seen each other—six days since they’d wandered the streets of Monaco after dark, sharing a single gelato while arguing over which historical monument was the most overrated. He’d tugged her under an awning when the rain started, his arm brushing hers and for a fleeting moment, she’d let herself believe there was something more in the way he looked at her.

“Somethin’ like that,” Jason muttered, but there was no humor in it. No warmth. Just a hollow imitation of their usual banter. The dread in her stomach solidified into something heavier.

“And how—” she started, desperate to fill the silence, but Jason cut her off.

“We should stop this.”

The words hit like a ton of bricks, sharp and sudden, as if he’d ripped them out of himself before he could reconsider.

Y/N’s breath stuttered. The room tilted.

Stop what? she wanted to scream. Stop texting? Stop laughing together? Stop looking at me like I’m the only person in the room?

But all she managed was a choked, “Stop what?”

Please say I’m imagining this. Please say I’ve misunderstood.

“This. Us. The whole thing.” His voice was rough now, edged with frustration—a tone he’d never once used with her.

A voice in her head, cold and mocking, slithered through the haze of her shock.

What did you think would happen? That someone like him would ever want someone like you?

The tears came then, hot and unstoppable, but she clenched her jaw, refusing to let him hear them.

“I understand,” she whispered, the words barely audible past the lump in her throat.

It was a lie. She didn’t understand. Not when he’d looked at her like that in Monaco. Not when he’d kept every book she’d ever given him. Not when he’d promised to take her to see the tulips next spring.

But she wouldn’t beg. She wouldn’t make this harder for him.

“It was fun while it lasted,” she forced out, her voice cracking. “I wish you all the best, Jason.”

She hung up before he could respond.

The phone slipped from her fingers, landing soundlessly on the bed. Around her, the room blurred—the half-packed suitcase for Zandvoort, the notebook filled with plans she’d never get to share, the dress she’d bought because it matched his eyes.

All of it, gone in an instant.

The phone slipped from Jason's fingers, clattering onto the marble countertop with a sound that echoed through the hollow silence of his penthouse. The screen had gone dark, just like the numbness spreading through his chest—but her voice still rang in his ears, sharp and clear despite the distance between them.

“I understand.”

The way her breath had hitched—just once, just barely—before she’d hung up. The way she’d tried so hard to sound composed, even as her voice cracked on those final words.

“I wish you all the best, Jason.”

As if he deserved her kindness. As if he hadn’t just taken something fragile and beautiful and shattered it with his own two hands.

A wave of self-loathing crashed over him, so visceral it knocked the breath out of him. He braced his hands against the counter, head bowed, shoulders trembling with the force of keeping himself upright.

You made her cry.

The realization was a knife to the ribs. Y/N, who laughed in the face of his sarcasm, who teased him mercilessly but never cruelly, who looked at the world with a wonder he’d forgotten existed—he’d hurt her.

Rage ignited in his veins, white-hot and directionless. At the paparazzi who’d snapped those invasive photos. At the team managers who’d warned him about “distractions.” At the entire goddamn world that had made this feel like the only choice.

But mostly—mostly—at himself.

The voices in his head, the ones he usually drowned out with engine roars and podium cheers, rose in a venomous chorus.

She would’ve left eventually. You’re not someone people stay for. You ruin everything you touch.

A sweeter, softer voice tried to interject—You were just trying to protect her—but the others drowned it out with mocking laughter.

Protect her? Or protecting yourself from the truth? That you’re terrified she never loved you at all?

“Shut up!” The words tore from his throat raw and ragged.

His vision blurred. His hands shook. The anger needed an outlet, needed to burn, and before he could think, he grabbed the nearest object—

The ceramic pot.

Their pot.

The one they’d painstakingly shaped at Nonna Gianna’s, their fingers brushing over wet clay. The one Y/N had painted with his racing number in that terrible, crooked script of hers, grinning as she declared, “Now everyone will know the great Jason Todd made this masterpiece.” The one he’d secretly kept on the shelf, where he could see it first thing every morning.

It shattered against the wall with a sound like a gunshot.

The moment it left his hand, he regretted it.

Jason was across the room before the last piece hit the ground, collapsing to his knees amidst the wreckage. His hands trembled as they gathered the broken fragments, as if he could somehow piece them back together.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, over and over, voice breaking.

To the pot. To the memories. To her.

The jagged edges bit into his palms, drawing blood, but he barely felt it. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony of knowing—

He’d broken something far more precious than clay.

Y/N slid down the length of her bedroom wall, her legs giving out beneath her as she collapsed onto the hardwood floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as if she could physically hold herself together. The tears came in relentless waves, hot and suffocating, each sob wracking her body with a violence that left her gasping for air.

She had known this would happen. Had braced for it from the moment she first realized her feelings for him had grown beyond professional admiration. So why did it feel like her chest had been cracked open? Why did it hurt to breathe, as if every inhale was lined with shards of glass?

Her phone buzzed incessantly on the carpet beside her, the screen lighting up again and again with notifications she couldn’t bring herself to check. Calls. Texts. Maybe even an explanation—though what could he possibly say that would undo the way his voice had sounded when he said those words?

We should stop this.

Had he found her old fan accounts? The embarrassing posts from her teenage years? Or worse—had he simply realized she wasn’t worth the trouble? That whatever this was between them had been a mistake?

The questions swarmed in her head like angry hornets, relentless and poisonous. She pressed her forehead against her knees, nails digging into her arms as if the physical pain could distract from the gaping hole in her chest.

Time lost meaning. The sunlight that had streamed through her windows when the call ended had long since faded, replaced by the dim glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. Her tears had dried up, leaving her hollow and numb, her body too exhausted to produce any more.

She didn’t hear the frantic knocking at her front door. Didn’t register the sound of it swinging open, or the hurried footsteps that echoed through her apartment.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

Stephanie’s voice cut through the fog of her grief, sharp with panic.

Y/N barely lifted her head as her friend skidded into the bedroom, eyes wide with alarm. Behind her, Tim hovered in the doorway, his usual easygoing expression replaced with concern.

“Oh my god—” Stephanie dropped to her knees in front of her, hands hovering as if afraid to touch her. “Tim, go get water. Now.”

“Hey, Steph,” Y/N murmured, her voice raw and broken. She didn’t have the energy to force a smile, didn’t even try to wipe away the tear tracks staining her cheeks.

Tim returned moments later with a glass of water, which Y/N accepted numbly. The coldness of the glass against her palm was the first real sensation she’d felt in hours.

“You didn’t show up at the airport,” Stephanie said, her voice trembling. “You weren’t answering calls or texts. And then we saw the news report—”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the glass. “News report?”

Stephanie blinked. “You... didn’t know?”

Tim wordlessly pulled out his phone, swiping through his feed before turning the screen toward her. Y/N set the glass down with a shaky exhale. “That explains a lot.”

Stephanie’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

And so, in halting, broken sentences, Y/N told them. About the call. About the way Jason’s voice had sounded—like he was forcing the words out, like he hated every single one. About how she’d hung up before she could break completely.

By the time she finished, Stephanie’s face had darkened with a fury Y/N had never seen before.

“That motherfucker,” she hissed, pulling out her phone and her hands balling into fists. “I swear to God, I’m going to—”

“Steph,” Tim interjected gently, though his own jaw was clenched. “Let’s just... focus on Y/N right now, okay?”

Stephanie nodded slowly and put her phone down begrudged, “But mark my words, he’s not getting away with this. Not after everything. Not after you.”

Y/N didn’t have the strength to stop her. Didn’t have the strength to do anything but stare at the floor, the numbness settling deeper into her bones.

Zandvoort was everything Y/N had imagined it would be—the roaring crowd, the salty sea air mixing with the scent of rubber, the vibrant banners waving proudly in the stands. The Dutch Grand Prix had always been one of her favorites, and she had been looking forward to this weekend for months.

But now, standing in the middle of the bustling paddock, she felt strangely detached from it all.

The night before had helped, at least. Steph and Tim had refused to leave her alone, bundling her onto their private jet with a duffel bag full of all her comfort foods. They’d let her cry when she needed to, let her rant when she wanted to and then, when the worst of it had passed, they’d distracted her with terrible B-movies and enough popcorn to feed a small village. By morning, the raw edges of her heartache had dulled into something more manageable—something she could tuck away behind a practiced smile and a layer of expertly applied makeup.

She still wore the dress she’d bought for the weekend. A deep emerald green with accents of blue, the color of the ocean under storm clouds. She’d picked it weeks ago, imagining how the fabric would flutter in the coastal wind, wondering if Jason would notice. But of course, there was no use of thinking such thoughts now.

The race had been chaotic, the kind of edge-of-your-seat spectacle that normally would have had her buzzing with adrenaline. Jason had podiumed—P3, when he could have easily taken P1 if not for a series of uncharacteristic mistakes. The commentators speculated about pressure getting to him, but everyone in the paddock knew the real reason. The photos. The rumors. 

She had avoided him all weekend, sticking to the media zones where she knew he wouldn’t venture. But now, as the post-race interviews loomed, her luck had run out.

Cass was first—stoic as ever, gracious in victory, her answers concise and humble. Konner Kent followed, flashing that trademark Kent charm, all cocky grins and playful winks that had the crowd eating out of his palm.

And then, before she could brace herself, Jason was stepping into the interview pen.

“Hello, Jason.”

Her voice didn’t waver. She had spent years perfecting the art of professionalism, and it didn’t fail her now. The smile she gave him was polite, detached—the same one she’d give any driver.

“Mind walking us through your race?”

For a moment, he just stared at her.

The noise of the paddock faded into the distance. The cameras, the reporters, the fans—none of it mattered. His gaze searched hers, desperate, as if he could find some answer in the cool detachment of her expression.

Are you okay? his eyes seemed to ask. Did I ruin everything?

But she gave nothing away.

“Jason?”

Her voice was calm, measured, the perfect cadence of a professional doing her job. The microphone in her hand didn’t tremble. The smile on her lips didn’t waver. But her eyes—those dark, expressive eyes he’d spent months learning to read—were utterly unreadable.

He blinked, startled back to reality like a man waking from a dream. “Uh—yeah. Sorry.”

The apology tasted bitter on his tongue. Sorry for what? For zoning out during the interview? For breaking her heart over the phone like a coward? For the way his chest ached just standing this close to her, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and soft that reminded him of the lazy afternoons in cafes of Milan?

He cleared his throat, dragging a hand through his sweat-damp hair as he launched into the mechanical race recap every driver had memorized by their rookie year. Tire degradation. Track conditions. The usual corporate-approved talking points.

But his gaze never left hers.

He watched for any crack in her armor—a flicker of hurt, a flash of anger, anything to prove she still felt something. But Y/N? She was impeccable. Nodding at all the right moments, smiling when the script demanded it, her posture relaxed as if this was just another interview with just another driver.

Not the man who’d danced in the rain with her in Austria. Not the man who had a polaroid of them on his nightstand. Not the man who was currently dying inside.

“So,” she continued smoothly, glancing down at the cue cards in her hand, “any plans after the race?”

The question was innocuous. Routine. He swallowed hard. “I did have plans for going to the beach, maybe the museums...” His voice trailed off, the ghost of a humorless laugh escaping him. Plans with you. “But those fell through.”

For the briefest second, something flickered in her expression. Then it was gone.

“Well,” she said, her tone light but her knuckles whitening around the microphone, “I think you should still try to go regardless.”

Their eyes locked. The paddock noise faded to static.

Even if we’re done, her words whispered between them, don’t stop living.

Jason’s throat tightened. He wanted to say so much more—to explain about the lawyers, the paparazzi, the team. To tell her that walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

But the cameras were rolling. The world was watching.

So all he said was, “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

The days after the interview bled together in a monotonous cycle of exhaustion and emptiness. Jason fell back into his old ways—wake up, train, eat, sleep, repeat. The discipline that had once been second nature now felt like a prison sentence, each repetition chipping away at what little remained of his spirit.

He still raced. Still won, even. The muscle memory was too deeply ingrained for anything less. But the fire that had once driven him—the fierce, unrelenting need to prove himself—had been reduced to smoldering embers. Without her in the stands, without her texts dissecting his performance with that sharp insight and playful teasing, the victories felt hollow. The cheers of the crowd, once electric, now grated against his nerves like static, a shrill cacophony that only emphasized the silence where her voice should have been.

And yet, like clockwork, the messages still came.

Every new city, every race weekend, his phone would light up with clinical, meticulously researched recommendations—museum tickets booked under his name, reservation details for hidden-gem restaurants, phone numbers for local guides who could show him the sights. The messages were stripped bare of her personality—no ridiculous emojis, no witty remarks, no absurd cat memes that used to make him groan even as he saved them to his camera roll. Just facts. Just logistics. As if she couldn’t bear to cut him off completely but couldn’t bring herself to be anything more than professionally courteous.

See? She still cares about you, a voice in his head whispered, equal parts hopeful and cruel. Even after everything.

And what had he done in return?

The taunts came harder now, unrelenting and deserved. There was no defense, no justification. Not anymore. He had made his choice, and this was the consequence—a half-life, a world drained of color.

He tried, at first, to follow her suggestions. Walked through art galleries, stared at masterpieces he couldn’t appreciate. Sat through a lion dance show in Singapore, the dancers’ passion only underscoring his own numbness. Each attempt ended the same way—with him standing in the middle of some crowded plaza or quiet museum hall, struck by the unbearable weight of her absence.

What would she say right now?

The thought was involuntary, intrusive. He could almost hear her voice, the way she’d poke fun at the overly serious museum descriptions or make up ridiculous backstories for the portraits. The memory of her laughter, bright and unselfconscious, twisted like a knife.

Even reading, once his solace, offered no refuge. The books she’d given him sat untouched on his nightstand. When he did try, he’d find himself staring at the same paragraph, the words blurring into meaningless shapes. His mind, usually so sharp, so focused, was a fog of regret and what-ifs. Half an hour. That was all he could manage before the emptiness became too much. Before he had to leave, shoulders hunched against the weight of missing her.

And then, slowly, he began to notice her absence in the paddock, too. Fewer sightings in the media pen, fewer flashes of her familiar silhouette in the crowd. He didn’t know if it was intentional, if she was avoiding him as deliberately as he was avoiding her, or if the universe had simply decided to spare them both the agony of crossing paths.

A blessing, he told himself. A mercy.

But the truth was worse.

Because every time he turned a corner and didn’t see her, every time he scanned the pit lane and found it empty of her presence, the hole in his chest grew wider.

He missed her.

Not just the idea of her, not just the comfort she’d brought—but her. The way her nose scrunched when she laughed. The way she’d bite her lip when concentrating. The way she’d looked at him, really looked at him, as if she saw something worth saving beneath the wreckage.

And now, without her, he was adrift. A champion with no one left to race for. A man who’d pushed away the only person who ever made him feel alive.

The Mexican Grand Prix had been brutal—not because of the track or the competition, but because every turn, every straightaway, seemed to whisper memories he couldn’t escape. As Jason stood in the quiet of his driver’s room, the adrenaline of the race still thrumming under his skin, his mind drifted unbidden to a conversation from what felt like a lifetime ago.

“You have to try my friend’s abuelita’s quesadillas,” Y/N had told him, her eyes alight with excitement. “They’re legendary. I’ll take you there after the race this time.”

This time.

The words echoed hollowly in his chest. There would be no this time for them. No shared meals, no laughter over burnt tongues from too-hot cheese, no moments where the world faded away and it was just the two of them, tangled in the simple joy of being together.

He slumped onto the couch, scrolling mindlessly through his phone in a futile attempt to distract himself. Then, like a punch to the gut, Tim’s Instagram story appeared.

A photo.

Tim, grinning as always, arm slung around his girlfriend—the blonde stylist Jason vaguely remembered from a few events. And there, standing beside them, radiant in a golden dress that seemed to catch fire under the evening lights, was Y/N.

But it wasn’t just her presence that sent a sharp, jagged pain through his heart.

It was Danny.

Danny, with his easy smile and his arm draped casually around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her close. Danny, who had known her longer, who had history with her, who was now standing where Jason should have been.

Jason’s grip on his phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.

Anger surged through him, hot and irrational, a wildfire he couldn’t control. It wasn’t just jealousy—it was something deeper, something primal. The sight of her smiling, glowing, laughing with someone else, doing all the things they used to do—it carved something raw and feral out of him.

She wasn’t his.

She had never been his.

And yet, the possessive fury that coiled in his gut refused to loosen.

Why?

Why did the thought of her happiness without him feel like a betrayal? Why did the idea of her moving on, of her finding joy in someone else’s company, make him want to slam his fist through a wall?

It was selfish. Hypocritical, even. He was the one who had ended things. He was the one who had pushed her away. And yet, here he was, seething at the mere idea of her being someone else's.

Pathetic.

He tossed his phone onto the table, the screen still illuminated with that damn photo and dragged his hands over his face. The weight of his own contradictions pressed down on him—the guilt, the longing, the anger, all tangled into an unbearable knot. He had no right to feel this way. But that didn’t stop the ache.

And it didn’t stop him from wondering, with a bitterness that tasted like regret, if she had already forgotten him.

The quiet hum of the garage was interrupted by a hesitant knock, followed by the creak of the door swinging open. Jason looked up from where he sat, his phone still clenched in his hand, the screen now dark as he placed it face-down on the table. The familiar voice that followed sent a jolt through him—one he hadn’t realized he needed until now.

“Can I come in?”

Roy Harper stood in the doorway, his frame silhouetted against the harsh fluorescent lights of the paddock outside. Even after all this time, the sight of him brought a flood of memories—both painful and cherished. Roy had been more than just a friend; he’d been Jason’s fiercest rival, his most trusted confidante, the only person on the grid who ever truly understood the weight of what it meant to race at this level.

And then, in the blink of an eye, everything had shattered.

Jason swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. “Roy?”

The name came out rougher than he intended, laced with surprise and something deeper—something like guilt.

After the crash, Roy had been consumed by it. The guilt, the self-blame, the crushing weight of believing he’d been the one to end Jason’s career or worse, his life. Jason had heard the stories in hushed tones from the team: Roy’s downward spiral, the overdose, the way he’d disappeared from the paddock entirely. And Jason? He’d stayed away, too, convinced that seeing him—seeing the scars, the aftermath would only drag Roy back into that darkness.

It was almost laughable, in the cruelest way. Roy blamed himself for the crash. Jason blamed himself for Roy’s suffering. And yet, neither of them had ever once blamed the other.

But time, therapy and an insistent, stubborn woman named Y/N had changed things.

Roy had been the first to seek help, pulling himself out of the abyss with a determination Jason had always admired. And Jason? Well, he’d had Y/N. She’d been the one to gently but firmly suggest he talk to someone, too. And when the time came, she’d been the one to nudge him toward reconciliation with Roy, insisting that they both needed it.

“You can’t keep carrying this guilt,” she’d told him, her voice soft but unyielding. “And neither can he.”

Another thing he owed her. Another thing he couldn’t repay.

“I didn’t know you came to see the race,” Jason said, forcing himself back to the present.

Roy stepped fully into the room, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Jade and I were in the country, so we thought we might as well.” He paused, then added with a grin, “Oh, and Lian came too. Had her wear a mini 02 jersey.”

He pulled out his phone, swiping to a photo of his infant daughter swaddled in a tiny onesie designed to mimic Jason’s livery. A laugh escaped him before he could stop it, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “You’re turning her into a fan already?”

Roy’s grin widened. “Gotta teach 'em young, amiright? And don’t think I forgot—you still owe her a proper godfather gift. None of that ‘signed merch’ crap, either.”

Godfather. The word settled over Jason like a weight—a responsibility, a promise, a second chance he hadn’t realized he needed. Lian had been born not long after he and Roy had finally sat down and talked, after the apologies and the tears and the long-overdue acknowledgment that neither of them had been at fault. That day, Roy had clasped his shoulder and declared Jason the godfather without hesitation, as if it had always been inevitable.

Jason’s thumb hovered over the phone screen, tracing the curve of Lian’s round cheeks in the photo. The tiny onesie, a perfect miniature replica of his own racing colors, sent an unexpected warmth through his chest. For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by something softer, something like wonder.

“She’s perfect, Roy.”

The words came out quieter than he intended, almost reverent.

Roy’s expression shifted, the usual sharp edges of his smirk softening into something more tender. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice thick with a pride Jason had never heard from him before. “She is.”

The silence that followed wasn’t the heavy, suffocating kind they’d endured after the crash. This was different—comfortable in a way Jason hadn’t realized he missed. The kind of quiet that only existed between people who had seen each other at their worst and still chose to stand side by side.

It didn’t last.

Roy, ever incapable of leaving well enough alone, broke it with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

“So,” he drawled, leaning back against the equipment crate with practiced nonchalance, “you gonna tell me why you look like someone kicked your puppy or am I supposed to guess?”

Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers raking through his sweat-damp hair. The motion did little to dispel the restless energy coiled beneath his skin. “It’s nothing.”

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Roy didn’t even dignify it with a response. Just raised one eyebrow, the look on his face screaming bullshit louder than any words could.

Jason opened his mouth—to deflect, to argue, to say anything that would make Roy drop it—but the words died before they could form. What was there to say? That he’d been staring at a photo of Y/N like some lovesick teenager? That the sight of her smiling with someone else had carved a hole in his chest he couldn’t seem to fill?

Roy took one look at his face and groaned, dragging a hand down his own. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Jason scowled. “What?”

“You’re moping.”

“I’m not moping.”

The protest was automatic, but even Jason could hear how petulant it sounded.

Roy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You absolutely are. Look, if you’re this torn up about it, just talk to her.”

Jason’s jaw clenched, the muscles ticking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why?” Roy challenged, leaning forward. “Because you’re scared?”

The question landed like a punch, sharp and unrelenting.

Jason didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Roy sighed, shaking his head with a mixture of exasperation and something dangerously close to pity. “Man, I never thought I’d see the day Jason Todd was too chickenshit to fight for something he wanted.”

The words stung, but not as much as the ones that followed.

“Look, Jay,” Roy continued, shifting forward, his tone losing its edge for something more earnest. “I talked to Y/N once. Really talked to her. And you know what she told me?” He paused, letting the weight of the moment settle. “This whole ‘hobby hunting’ thing you’ve been doing? It’s not about finding some obscure pastime to kill the hours. It’s about you. About you figuring out who the hell you are when you’re not behind a wheel.”

Jason’s throat tightened.

“She wanted you to realize that your worth—your whole damn existence—isn’t defined by what you do on track. That you’re more than just a driver. That you matter, with or without racing.” Roy’s gaze hardened. “And I’ll be real with you—Y/N? She was it for you. The best match you could’ve ever hoped for. Someone who actually saw you—all of you—and chose to stay. Because she knows you're worth it, whether you believe it or not.”

He leaned back then, arms crossing over his chest, his next words deliberate, final.

“So if you let her go? If you really let her walk away without a fight?” Roy leveled him with a look that stripped Jason bare of his defenses. “Then you’re not just scared, Jason. You’re a goddamn fool.”

Jason stayed silent. What could he say? That Roy was right? That he’d known from the moment Y/N walked into his life that she was different, that she saw him in a way no one else ever had? That the thought of losing her for good was enough to make his hands shake?

Roy wasn’t done. “Look at me and Jade,” he continued, voice dropping into something more serious. “Daughter of a rival team’s sponsor. People talked shit—still talk shit—but we made it work. You’re letting your self-hatred and anxiety ruin the one good thing you have.” He jabbed a finger at Jason’s chest. “Snap out of it.”

A beat. Then, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes:

“Also make up with her, because you race like shit when you’re emo. Can’t have Lian watch her godfather embarrass himself like that, now can I?”

The attempt at humor fell flat, but the message was clear.

Jason had a choice to make. But the question was, could he?

Roy’s words lingered in Jason’s mind like an unshakable shadow, gnawing at him long after they had been spoken. He wanted Y/N—desperately, irrevocably but the weight of his own turmoil held him back. The desire to claim her as his own warred violently with the fear of dragging her into the chaos that followed him like a curse. He couldn’t bear the thought of the world’s cruelty—the relentless hate, the hollow pity, the performative sympathy—tainting her perception of him. What if she started seeing him through the same fractured lens he saw himself? The possibility was unbearable.

When one of his managers suggested yet another PR relationship—this time with a model, just to divert attention from that godforsaken Twitter post—Jason nearly recoiled in disgust. The idea of replacing Y/N, even superficially, made his skin crawl. There was no comparison. She wasn’t just another face in the crowd; she was the only one who had ever truly mattered.

Then came Las Vegas.

During free practice, Tim had been called in as a last-minute replacement after Cass sprained her wrist. Jason had expected the usual awkward tension between them—Tim’s hesitant politeness, his quiet deference despite Jason’s habitual coldness. But this time, something was different. Tim moved through the garage like a ghost, his gaze sliding right past Jason as if he were nothing more than empty air. The one time their eyes did meet, Tim’s expression twisted into something sharp and disdainful, a look so foreign that it sent a ripple of unease through Jason.

This wasn’t about racing.

Jason knew, with a sinking certainty, that this ran deeper than motorsports. Tim and his girlfriend were close to Y/N— always had been. If Tim despised him this openly, then Y/N’s feelings toward him now must be even worse. The thought was haunting.

Three times, Jason tried to bridge the gap, to force some kind of conversation. Three times, Tim shut him out with icy indifference. But Jason wasn’t about to back down. He needed answers. He needed to know—how much damage had been done, whether there was even a sliver of hope left. And if there was, he’d claw his way through hell itself to reach her.

By the time FP3 ended, Jason had resolved himself—he needed answers, and Tim was the only one who could give them to him. He waited, patience fraying, until the garage began to empty out, the mechanics packing up equipment and the hum of post-session debriefs fading into the background. Then, as Tim zipped up his bag, shoulders drooping with exhaustion, Jason moved.

He blocked the exit, not aggressively, but firmly enough that Tim couldn’t just slip past him. The younger driver let out a long, irritated sigh, finally lifting his gaze—not in acknowledgment, but in resignation. He knew this conversation was inevitable.

“What is it?” Tim muttered, voice flat, as if he were already bracing for an argument.

Jason swallowed hard. For a man who thrived on confrontation, he suddenly felt uncharacteristically unsure. But he had come this far, he couldn’t back down now.

“How is she?” The words came out rougher than he intended, laced with a desperation he hadn’t meant to reveal.

Tim’s expression darkened. “How is who?” he shot back, feigning ignorance with a deliberate eye roll, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The act was flimsy, almost insulting in its lack of effort.

Jason’s jaw tightened. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. Y/N.” His voice was low, urgent. “I haven’t seen her around the paddock lately.”

A bitter smirk twisted Tim’s lips. “Didn’t you hear?” he said, mockingly casual. “She asked her higher-ups to switch her from F1 to IndyCar for presenting.” A pause, then the unspoken words hung between them like a blade: Because of you.

Jason stiffened. “But F1 is the pinnacle of motorsports. Why would she just—throw away everything she’s worked for?” The idea was unthinkable. Y/N had clawed her way into the F1 world through sheer determination. She loved this sport. She wouldn’t just walk away.

Something in Tim’s demeanor snapped. His grip on his bag tightened, knuckles whitening, and when he spoke again, his voice was raw with fury.

“Why the fuck do you care?”

Jason opened his mouth, but Tim wasn’t finished.

“Oh, save it,” he spat, cutting him off before he could even form a reply. “Look, Todd—” The deliberate use of his last name was a slap in the face. “—I never had anything but respect for you as a racer. When I first came to the paddock, yeah, you were an asshole to me. And you know what? I got it. Your life sucked. Fine. But then you had to drag someone like Y/N into your bullshit. You used her and then you broke her.”

Tim’s voice cracked, his composure slipping for the first time. “And it wasn’t just her heart, you selfish bastard. You broke her spirit. She was light, and you stole it from her. So tell me—” He took a step forward, eyes blazing. “—was it fun? Stealing the light from behind her eyes?”

The words hit Jason like a physical blow. He had no defense, no retort. Because deep down, he already knew the answer.

And it destroyed him.

“Tim, please—just listen—” Jason’s voice was rough, pleading, but Tim wasn’t having it.

“No, I won’t listen to this shit!” Tim snapped, cutting him off with a sharp gesture. His usual calm demeanor had completely shattered, replaced by something jagged and furious. “She shouldn’t have to suffer just because you decided you were done with her. Like she was some fucking toy you got bored of. And you know what the worst part is?” His voice dropped, trembling with barely contained rage. “She still doesn’t blame you for it. Even now, after everything, she defends you even after how you played with her.”

That stung worse than any insult.

“I DIDN’T PLAY WITH HER!” Jason roared, surging forward before he could stop himself. His hands fisted in Tim’s collar, shoving him back against the garage wall. His entire body was coiled tight with fury—because as much as he understood the young driver's anger, as much as he deserved it, this accusation was too much. He loved Y/N. The idea that he had treated her like some fleeting amusement was revolting.

Tim didn’t even flinch.

“Then what, huh?” he shot back, voice icy despite the fire in his eyes. “What was that cowardly bullshit of telling her over the phone? If she meant so much to you, why couldn’t you even look her in the eye when you broke her heart?”

Jason’s grip faltered. The fight drained out of him as suddenly as it had surged, his hands dropping away from Tim’s collar like he’d been burned. He took a shaky step back, dragging his hands through his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as if he could physically pull the right words out of his own skull.

“I—I wasn’t playing with her,” he said, voice cracking. The admission came out raw, stripped bare. “I love her. I was just—”

His throat closed. The words wouldn’t come.

Hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked hard, refusing to let them fall, but the weight of Tim’s glare—of Y/N’s absence—pressed down on him like a physical force.

Tim didn’t relent. “People who love people don’t ditch them over the phone like that,” he said, each word a precise, deliberate strike. “If you really loved her, you would fight for her. Not run.”

Jason exhaled sharply, like the words had knocked the air out of him. “I was scared, okay?” The confession tore out of him, ragged and desperate. “I was scared of how the media would react, the pressure it would put on her. I did it to protect her.”

Tim let out a mocking, incredulous laugh. “You don’t get to decide what she can and can’t handle,” he said, shaking his head. “So tell me—was it really to protect her? Or was it to protect yourself?”

Jason stood there, the weight of Tim’s words pressing down on him like a physical force. They were the same ones Roy said, the same ones the voice in his head asked. His chest ached with a pain he couldn’t articulate— part guilt, part longing, part sheer desperation. The garage around them felt suddenly suffocating, the distant sounds of mechanics working and engineers talking fading into a dull buzz in his ears.

“I thought...” Jason started, then swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I thought if I pushed her away first, it would hurt less when the world inevitably turned against us.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, the admission tasting like ash in his mouth. “But I was wrong. God, I was so fucking wrong.”

Tim crossed his arms, his expression unyielding. “You don’t get to make those choices for her. She’s stronger than you gave her credit for.”

A bitter laugh escaped Jason’s lips. “I know that now. Christ, do I ever know that.” He looked down at his hands— the hands that had held her, that had pushed her away. “She deserved better than a phone call. She deserved... she deserves everything.”

For the first time since their confrontation began, Tim’s stance softened slightly. “Yeah, she does.” He studied Jason’s face, seeing the genuine torment there. “But it’s too late for regrets now. She’s gone, Jason. She left F1 because being here hurt too much. Because everywhere she looked, she saw you.”

Jason’s head snapped up at that. “Where is she now?” There was a new urgency in his voice, a spark of something that hadn’t been there before. “Tim, please. If there’s even a chance—”

“A chance for what?” Tim interrupted. “For you to waltz back into her life and mess with her head all over again?”

“No.” Jason shook his head vehemently. “For me to apologize properly. To tell her... to tell her I was an idiot. That I love her. That if she’ll let me, I’ll spend every damn day proving I’m worthy of her.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and lingering anger. Finally, Tim sighed. “She’ll come to watch my race in Qatar, I’ll arrange for you to talk to her.” He fixed Jason with a hard look. “But if you hurt her again, I swear to God—”

“You won’t have to do anything,” Jason finished quietly. “Because I’ll never forgive myself if I do.” He took a deep breath, his mind already racing with plans. “Thank you, Tim.”

Tim just nodded tersely before turning to leave. As he walked away, he threw one last comment over his shoulder: “Don’t thank me yet. She might not even want to see you.”

Jason just nodded. “I know but i have to try.”

The Qatar Grand Prix arrived before Jason had time to process his swirling emotions. From the moment he stepped into the paddock, there was an electric energy coursing through him— a singular focus that hadn’t been there in months. Every turn of the wheel, every press of the accelerator brought him closer to his real finish line: her. Tim’s reluctant information about Y/N’s hotel and availability window after the race had become his holy grail, the coordinates that had rewired his entire nervous system to operate on one frequency— get to her.

As he strapped into the car, the usual pre-race adrenaline felt different. Sharper. More purposeful. The commentators noted how Jason Todd drove like a man possessed. Every overtake wasn’t just for position— it was another minute shaved off the countdown to seeing her. The chequered flag wasn’t just the end of the race— it was the starting pistol for the only competition that truly mattered now.

When P1 flashed on the boards, there was no surprise in his team’s eyes. They’d seen this laser focus before races before, but never with this... hunger. Jason barely registered the champagne spray, his eyes constantly flicking to his watch. The carbon-fiber face ticked away mercilessly, each passing second tightening the knot in his chest. He gave clipped answers in the post-race interviews, the smile not reaching his eyes— the world only saw the champion, not the man counting down until he could escape the spotlight.

The moment the live feed cut away, Jason was moving. Not the usual victorious stroll, but the determined stride of a man on a mission. He bypassed the debrief, the data review, everything, heading straight for where he’d parked his personal car earlier. Not just any vehicle, but the one that still carried fragments of her presence: the scarf she’d left during that rainy weekend in Monaco— he’d never returned it, both because the faint trace of her perfume lingered in the fibers and because she’d complained the fabric texture aggravated her sensory sensitivities, the forgotten fidget toy wedged in the dashboard cubby, even the passenger seat still adjusted to her preferred position. 

The drive to the hotel was a blur of speed and suppressed panic. Jason barely registered handing his keys to the wide-eyed valet, the young man’s mouth falling open as he recognized both the car and its still-suited driver. The lobby’s polished floors echoed with the sound of his racing boots as he approached the front desk, his breathing uneven from the sprint from the parking lot.

“Room 1608 - is the guest available?” The words came out rushed, tinged with a desperation that made the concierge blink. The poor man’s professional composure faltered as he took in the sight: Jason Todd, still in his fireproof race suit, smelling of champagne and gasoline, hair damp with sweat, eyes wild with something between hope and terror. The concierge’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, caught between protocol and the surreal reality of a Formula 1 legend panting before him.

“Y-yes, Mr. Todd. The guest just checked in about...” A glance at the computer screen. “...twenty minutes ago.” His eyes darted to the room key card dispenser, then back to Jason’s face, clearly wondering if he should ask for ID from someone whose face was currently on every sports channel worldwide.

Jason didn’t wait for formalities. A curt nod and he was moving again, weaving through the lobby with the same precision he’d shown on track earlier. The elevator ride to the 16th floor lasted both an eternity and no time at all, his reflection in the mirrored walls showing a man he barely recognized— someone capable of throwing away every carefully constructed defense for one chance, one conversation, one... her.

When the doors slid open, Jason realized he hadn’t actually planned what to say. The hallway stretched before him, room numbers ticking up with each step: 1602... 1604... 1606...

And then there it was. 1608.

The moment of truth, marked by a simple brass number plate. Jason’s hand hovered near the doorbell, his breath coming too fast. This wasn’t a racetrack. There was no engineering solution here, no team radio to guide him. Just a door, a choice and whatever lay beyond it.

The chime of the doorbell echoed through the hallway, sharp and final—like a starting gun signaling no turning back. Jason’s pulse hammered in his throat, his body still thrumming with the residual adrenaline from the race. His fingers flexed at his sides, still gloved, still streaked with traces of rubber and sweat. He hadn’t even bothered to change. Every second had mattered. Every second still mattered.

Silence.

Then—movement. The faint shuffle of footsteps from inside the suite, the muted click of the lock disengaging. The door swung open, and there she was.

Y/N stood framed in the doorway and the sight of her hit Jason like a train. The subtle changes in her were devastating— the slight hollowing of her cheeks that spoke of missed meals, the way her shoulders carried a weight that hadn’t been there before. But it was her eyes that destroyed him most— those eyes he’d once seen spark with laughter now dulled, the vibrant light dimmed beneath a film of quiet melancholy. The ghost of a smile that flickered across her lips never reached them, dying before it could truly form.

Tim’s words roared back in Jason’s skull with brutal clarity: “You stole the light from behind her eyes.” His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. The urge to turn around and drive his fist through a wall warred with the need to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness. He remained frozen instead, caught in the devastating gravity of what he’d done.

The silence between them wasn’t just absence of sound— it was a living thing, thick with all the words they’d never said, all the moments they’d lost. Jason could hear his own pulse thundering in his ears, could see the subtle rise and fall of Y/N’s chest as she breathed. Waiting. Always waiting for him to catch up.

“I, uh—” His voice emerged rough, cracking like dry earth after a drought. He swallowed against the desert in his throat, tasting copper and regret. “I didn’t know if you’d answer.”

Her eyes flickered over him— his disheveled hair, the racing suit still molded to his body by sweat and effort, the faint tremor in his hands that had nothing to do with adrenaline crash. “You drove here straight from the podium,” she observed, not a question but a statement.

No greeting. No ‘hello Jason’. Just this— an acknowledgement of his reckless, desperate need to see her that he couldn’t disguise if he tried.

“Yeah.” The single syllable carried the weight of his truth. He’d abandoned post-race protocols, interviews, celebrations— all of it meaningless compared to this moment.

The quiet stretched between them, fragile as spun glass. Then, so soft he almost missed it: “You won.”

Jason didn’t hesitate. “I had a reason to.” The words dropped like stones into the space between them, ripples spreading through the charged air. He’d driven today not for glory or points, but for the chance to stand here now. Every overtake, every perfect apex had been measured in seconds ticking away to his arrival time.

Y/N’s lips parted slightly— a sign he knew so well, the prelude to words carefully considered. But whatever thought had formed died unspoken as she exhaled, a slow release of breath that seemed to deflate her slightly. She stepped back, holding the door wider in silent invitation. “You should come in,” she murmured, her voice carrying a weariness that aged her. “Before someone recognizes you in the hallway.”

Jason crossed the threshold in two strides, the familiar scent of her perfume wrapping around him like a ghost’s embrace— that light floral note with a hint of citrus underneath, so intimately known it made his chest ache. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound final as a judge’s gavel.

When Y/N turned to face him fully, the question came not with anger or accusation, but with a quiet resignation that cut deeper than any blade: “Why are you here, Jason?”

The detachment in her tone was worse than shouting. Worse than thrown objects or tears. This calm acceptance, this emotional distance— it meant she’d already begun the process of letting go. And that realization terrified him more than any outburst ever could. Because anger would mean she still cared. This? This sounded like goodbye.

Jason’s words tumbled out in a raw, unfiltered torrent—each syllable laced with months of pent-up regret and longing. His voice cracked under the weight of his confession, rough with emotion.

“Y/N—” His throat tightened, as if his own body was resisting the vulnerability he was forcing himself to show. But he pushed through, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I thought—” He dragged in a shaky breath, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides before clenching into fists. “I thought if I pushed you away first, I could shield you from the media circus, from the scrutiny, from all the bullshit that comes with being tied to me. But it was cowardly. It was selfish. And I—” His voice wavered, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re the only person who ever made me feel like I was more than just a driver. Like I was worth something beyond the track. And I get it if you can’t forgive me, but please—” His voice dropped to a whisper, ragged with desperation. “Please don’t let me lose you.”

Y/N stood frozen, her lips parted in stunned silence. Her eyes, those eyes he had memorized in every shade of emotion, widened in disbelief. All this time, she had believed his rejection was about her, about some perceived inadequacy on her part. That he had been ashamed of her. That she hadn’t been enough.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

The realization struck her like lightning, stealing her breath.

“Say something,” Jason pleaded, his voice rough. “Please.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her own emotions threatening to spill over. “Jason, I—” She swallowed hard, her fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her top. “I thought you did it because you didn’t want me ruining your image. That you were—” She cut herself off, unable to voice the insecurity that had festered in her chest for months.

Jason’s expression twisted in anguish. “I was what?” he demanded, stepping forward without thinking, his hands rising to cradle her face. The contact was instinctive, electric—his calloused thumbs brushing against her cheeks as if to wipe away every doubt she’d ever had. “Embarrassed of you?” His voice dropped, low and fierce. “Fucking hell, doll. You’re the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to me. Why the hell would I be embarrassed of you?”

The warmth of Jason’s hands against her skin sent a shockwave through Y/N’s system, awakening sensations she’d tried so hard to forget. His touch had always been her undoing— those strong, capable hands that could manhandle a race car at 200mph now cradling her face with heartbreaking tenderness. She could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his breath hitched when their eyes locked.

“You really thought that?” Jason whispered, his voice breaking. “That I could ever be ashamed of you?” His thumbs traced the curve of her cheekbones, wiping away tears she hadn’t realized were falling. “Y/N... you’re everything. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last before I sleep. Even when I was being a stubborn bastard and pushing you away, you were all I could fucking think about.”

Y/N felt her pulse stutter at the intensity in his gaze— that particular shade of stormy blue green she’d always loved. Now those same eyes bored into hers with near-frantic sincerity, the kind that couldn’t be faked. The kind that left her foundation shaking.

When she finally spoke, her voice emerged softer than intended, frayed at the edges. “You let me believe...” A shaky inhale. “For months, Jason. You let me think I wasn’t enough.”

Jason’s entire body flinched, his hands sliding back to cradle her head as if offering protection from his own failures. “I know,” he choked out. “Christ, I know. And I’ll spend every fucking day making that up to you if you’ll let me.” His forehead dropped to rest against hers, their noses brushing. “Just tell me what you need. Scream at me. Throw something. Hell, slap me senseless— I probably deserve it.”

A watery laugh escaped her, the sound startling them both. It was so quintessentially Jason— this brash, all-or-nothing approach that had first drawn her in. The same intensity that made him a champion on the track, now turned entirely toward her.

Her hands, which had hung stiffly at her sides, finally lifted to grip his wrists. Not pushing away. Not pulling closer. Just... holding. Anchoring. “I need you to stop deciding what’s best for me,” she whispered. “I need you to trust me enough to choose for myself.”

“Done.” Simple. Absolute. The way he said everything when he meant it.

The words left Y/N’s lips before she could stop them—lighthearted, teasing, a fragile attempt to diffuse the tension still humming between them. “So... are we like friends again?”

Jason’s breath caught almost imperceptibly, his fingers stilling where they’d been tracing absent patterns along her arm. He would’ve been lying if he said the word didn’t prick at him, sharp as a needle to the chest. Friends. After everything—after the way his heart had just laid itself bare at her feet—that label felt painfully inadequate.

A forced chuckle escaped him, low and rough. “Darling,” he murmured, his thumb rising to brush deliberately across her bottom lip, “I don’t think what we have can be labeled as just friendship.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight through her, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. Was this really happening? The moment she’d fantasized about since the first time she’d seen him—since that initial, earth-shattering realization that Jason Todd wasn’t just another arrogant driver but someone who could unravel her with a single glance—was it finally unfolding right in front of her?

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to kiss him with every ounce of pent-up longing she’d been carrying for months.

But fate, ever the cruel puppeteer, had other plans.

The shrill ring of her phone shattered the moment like glass, making both of them jump apart. Y/N turned away with a frustrated exhale, her fingers closing around the offending device where it lay on the table. The caller ID glared up at her: Dan-Dan.

Goddammit, Danny.

She swiped to answer, pressing the phone to her ear just as Danny’s voice exploded through the line, frantic and tinny. “Y/N, I think I’ll be late. Jason just took off to god-knows-where after the race, and we can’t reach him. I swear, if he keeps pulling this disappearing act—” A heavy sigh. “—this is going to ruin our entire championship run.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked reflexively toward Jason, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. “Okay, Dan,” she muttered, her voice carefully neutral. “Take your time. There’s no hurry.”

She ended the call before Danny could respond, her pulse hammering in her throat. Before she could even turn around, she felt him— the heat of Jason’s body pressing against her back, the solid weight of his arm sliding possessively around her waist. His other hand came up, fingers brushing the hair away from the nape of her neck with deliberate, agonizing slowness.

Then his lips were at her ear, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, “So. This Dan of yours... does he know about us?”

The question—low, teasing, laced with something darker beneath the surface—sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. She froze, her fingers tightening around her phone.

Wordlessly, she shook her head.

The world narrowed to the searing heat of Jason’s touch, his fingers leaving invisible brands through the thin fabric of her shirt. His voice curled around her like smoke— dark, intoxicating, impossible to escape. Every coherent thought evaporated from Y/N’s mind, leaving only the frantic hammering of her pulse and the dizzying awareness of how close he stood. She couldn’t have strung together a sentence if her life depended on it— not when his breath fanned on her skin, not when every nerve ending screamed for more of his touch.

Y/N gasped as electricity crackled down her spine, her fingers clutching the edge of the table for balance. Then realization struck like lightning— he thought... he actually thought...

“How can you be with another man,” Jason continued, his voice dropping to a growl that sent shivers through her, “while wearing my racing number at the back of your neck like you’re mine, hmm?” His teeth grazed the sensitive skin where her tattoo lay hidden beneath her hair, the digits inked there in his signature font.

The possessive anger simmering beneath his words finally jolted Y/N into action. She whirled around so fast she nearly lost her balance, her hands coming up to brace against his chest. “Jason,” she blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush, “Danny’s my brother.”

The moment their karts screeched to a halt in the pit lane, Jason ripped off his helmet with enough force to make the straps snap. His face was flushed with adrenaline and indignation, sweat-dampened hair sticking to his forehead as he stormed toward Danny.

“Hey, dude! You totally pushed me off on Turn 5!” Jason yelled, his voice carrying over the hum of engines and the chatter of nearby spectators. His hands gestured wildly, replaying the move in the air between them. “That wasn’t racing—that was attempted murder!”

Danny, already unbuckling his own helmet, shot him an unrepentant grin as he hopped out of his kart. “You gave me no choice!” he called over his shoulder, already striding toward the pits where his family waited. “You left the door wide open!”

Jason gaped after him. “That’s not—! Ugh!” He threw his hands up in frustration before stomping after Danny, muttering under his breath the entire way. “Wide open, my ass. I was taking the racing line. Since when is ‘door open’ an invitation for vehicular assault?”

When they reached the pits, Danny peeled off toward his team, leaving Jason to fume alone. But Jason had a plan. If Danny wanted to play dirty, then fine—Jason would escalate this properly. He beelined for his own pit area, where Alfred stood waiting with his usual unflappable calm, a neatly wrapped sandwich in hand.

“Now, now, Master Jason,” Alfred said, his voice the epitome of reason as he extended the food toward the seething teenager. “Might I suggest refueling before launching your campaign for justice?”

Jason snatched the packet, tearing into it with a vengeance. “Danny totally pushed me off,” he declared through a mouthful of bread and filling. “It was clear as day! It was unfair. And worst of all—” He swallowed hard, pointing an accusing finger in Danny’s general direction. “— I know he smiled while doing it!”

Alfred’s lips twitched, though his expression remained otherwise neutral. “A truly heinous crime,” he agreed solemnly. “What do you propose we do about it?”

Jason’s eyes lit up with the fire of a thousand war strategies. He swallowed the last of his sandwich in one heroic bite, then jumped to his feet. “We fight him. And his team.” He jabbed a finger toward the offending party. “Full-scale retaliation. No mercy.”

Alfred chuckled, unable to fully suppress his amusement any longer. “Shall we call Mr. Dent as well, in case we require legal support for this… operation?”

Jason paused, considering this with all the gravity of a general preparing for battle. Then he nodded sharply. “That would seem prudent.”

Jason strode toward Danny’s team garage with the exaggerated stance of a warrior preparing for battle—chin lifted, shoulders squared, chest puffed out with righteous indignation. Behind him, Alfred followed at a measured pace, the faintest hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as he observed his young charge’s theatrics.

But the moment Jason crossed the threshold into the rival pit area, the wind was abruptly knocked from his sails.

What he had expected—stern mechanics, maybe a few glares from Danny’s teammates—was nowhere to be found. Instead, the garage had been transformed into something out of a child’s fantasy. Vibrant streamers crisscrossed the ceiling, balloons in every color bobbed along the floor, and a cacophony of laughter and chatter filled the air. It was chaos. It was celebration.

Before Jason could process the scene, Danny’s mother spotted him. Her face lit up with recognition, and before he could protest, she had him by the shoulders, steering him firmly toward the center of the festivities. “Jason! Perfect timing!” she exclaimed, as if his arrival had been eagerly anticipated rather than an intrusion.

And then he saw her.

Perched proudly beside a lavishly decorated table stood a little girl—Danny’s sister, he realized. She couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, dressed in a frilly pink-and-purple dress that shimmered under the garage lights. A tiny plastic tiara sat slightly askew atop her head and in one hand, she clutched a glittering fairy wand. Before her, a similarly coloured cake proclaimed “Happy Birthday!” in looping, pastel letters.

Jason froze.

Danny had mentioned his sister in passing—usually with a mix of exasperation and affection—but Jason had never actually met her. Now, faced with this tiny, beaming human, all his earlier fury evaporated like morning dew.

The birthday song started up and Jason found himself clapping along awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of his grease-streaked racing suit amidst the pastel decorations. Any thoughts of confrontation fled his mind entirely when a paper plate bearing an enormous slice of cake was thrust into his hands.

Soon, he was perched on a stack of tires, happily devouring his cake with the single-minded focus of a teenager who’d been deprived of sweets for too long. Bruce monitored his diet with the vigilance of a prison warden—every carb counted, every calorie tracked. This impromptu sugar rush felt both like rebellion and reward.

Jason was so engrossed in his illicit cake consumption that he didn’t notice the tiny figure approaching until a shadow fell across his plate.

The birthday girl stood before him, her frilly dress swaying as she rocked back and forth on her shiny Mary Janes. Up close, her tiara glittered even more and her smile was so bright it could’ve powered the entire racetrack.

“Hello,” she chirped, her voice dripping with the effortless confidence of someone who’d never known rejection.

Jason blinked, hastily swallowing his mouthful of cake. “Uh. Hey,” he managed, wiping frosting from his chin with the back of his hand. His usual bravado had abandoned him entirely—what did one even say to a tiny human in a princess costume?

Undeterred by his awkwardness, she clasped her hands together and leaned in conspiratorially. “So I made a birthday wish,” she announced, as if sharing state secrets. “Mama said I shouldn’t tell anyone my wish or it won’t come true... but it’s you, so it’s okay.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. There was something deeply alarming about being entrusted with this information. “What did you wish for?” he asked, against his better judgment.

“You!” she declared, bouncing on her toes with enough force to make her hair bounce.

The piece of cake Jason had just shoveled into his mouth became a dire choking hazard. He coughed violently, pounding his chest as frosting threatened to exit through his nose. “W-what?” he wheezed, eyes watering.

She beamed, utterly oblivious to his near-death experience. “I wished to have you as my boyfriend,” she clarified, butchering the word with adorable finality. “Mama said birthday wishes always come true. So...” She clasped her hands behind her back and batted her eyelashes. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Jason’s brain short-circuited. His gaze darted around the garage in panic, searching for Alfred—surely the man wouldn’t abandon him to this nightmare—but he had vanished without a trace.

A cold sweat broke out along Jason’s forehead. This was a minefield. Say no and he risked reducing a birthday princess to tears—an unforgivable sin. Say yes, and he’d never hear the end of it from Danny. 

“I, uh...” Jason’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, scrambling for a diplomatic out. “That’s... that’s really flattering, but—”

Her lower lip began to tremble.

Oh god.

Jason’s stomach plummeted. He was not equipped for this. Where was Alfred? Where was Danny? Where was a natural disaster when you needed one?

 He shifted uncomfortably on the stack of tires, suddenly finding the remnants of his cake far more interesting than the expectant gaze of the fairy princess looking girl before him. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for an escape route that wouldn’t end in tears.

“Umm, I’m kinda... concentrating on karting right now,” he hedged, gesturing vaguely toward the track outside. The words came out stilted, his usual cockiness nowhere to be found. “So, you know... not now.” He punctuated this with an awkward shrug, hoping it would be enough.

The birthday girl’s face fell slightly, her fairy wand drooping in her grip. “Then when?” she pressed, her earlier enthusiasm dimming just enough to make Jason’s stomach twist with guilt. The tiara atop her head seemed to lose some of its sparkle under the fluorescent garage lights.

Jason’s mind raced. He needed an out - something that would satisfy her without making any actual commitments. “When I make it to F1, maybe?” he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could reconsider. That should buy him at least a decade or so, he reasoned. By then, she’d have forgotten all about this ridiculous conversation— probably forgotten him entirely.

But her reaction wasn’t what he expected. Her eyes lit up like fireworks, all traces of disappointment vanishing in an instant. “You promise?” she gasped, bouncing on her feet with renewed excitement. 

He hadn’t anticipated this turning into some sort of binding agreement. “Uh...” he stammered, his gaze darting around the garage for any possible escape. Alfred was still conspicuously absent and he could feel multiple sets of eyes on him now— Danny’s family watching with barely concealed amusement, mechanics pretending not to eavesdrop. 

Before he could formulate a proper response, she extended her small hand toward him, pinky finger raised with solemn determination. “Pinky promise?” she demanded, her voice taking on an unexpectedly serious tone for someone dressed head-to-toe in princess attire.

Jason stared at the tiny outstretched finger like it was a live grenade. With a resigned sigh that seemed too world-weary for a fourteen year old, he reluctantly hooked his own pinky around hers, the gesture feeling absurdly formal.

“Promise.” 

Jason’s laughter rang out, rich and unrestrained, as the pieces finally clicked into place. “You’re her? The fairy princess with the tiara and wand?” His eyes sparkled with delighted amusement, shaking his head in disbelief. “All this time I was ready to throw hands with Danny and he’s just your brother? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned crimson as she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, unable to meet his gaze. “Because it was mortifying enough the first time!” she burst out, her voice climbing an octave. “I didn’t need my childhood... whatever that was... haunting me now that we’re adults.” The memory of her ten-year-old self boldly proposing to a flustered teenage Jason still made her want to crawl into a hole.

With a tenderness that contradicted his usual brash demeanor, Jason crooked a finger beneath her chin, gently tilting her face up until their eyes met. “Hey,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along her jawline, “you made me promise you something pretty important that day, remember, doll?” 

Y/N’s breath hitched. The warmth of his touch, the proximity of his body, the way his eyes darkened with unspoken meaning— it sent her higher brain functions into overdrive. Panic flared through her system and before she could stop herself, she planted both palms against his chest and pushed him back with surprising force. “We can’t do this now,” she blurted out, her voice unsteady.

Jason stumbled half a step, confusion and hurt flashing across his features. “Y/N—”

“You have a race in a that will decide the entire season! The driver’s championship, the constructor’s championship— Bruce is counting on you, the whole team is counting on you.” Her words tumbled out in a frantic rush. “You can’t afford distractions, especially not... not because of me.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest, but Y/N - suddenly unable to bear the intensity of the moment— pivoted with forced lightness. “Besides,” she said, adopting a teasing lilt she didn’t quite feel, “my standards for a boyfriend have gotten significantly higher since I was ten.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, catching her shift in tone. Crossing his arms, he leaned back with exaggerated nonchalance. “Alright, princess, let’s hear these lofty standards then.”

“Okay,” Y/N began, tapping a finger against her lips in mock contemplation as she circled him. “First, he has to be kind. Like, genuinely kind, not just when people are watching.” She held up a second finger. “Sweet, but not cloying— there’s a difference.” A third finger joined the count. “About... yea high,” she stretched onto her toes, holding a hand level with Jason’s forehead.

Jason snorted. “Demanding.”

“Blue eyes,” she continued, ignoring his interruption as she stepped closer, “with just enough green in them to make you wonder what color they really are.” Her finger came up to trace the air near his face, not quite touching. “Devastatingly handsome, obviously.” She took a final step back, folding her arms with a challenging smirk. “And a four-time world champion. That last one’s non-negotiable.”

Jason pretended to consider this, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. So I’ve got the height, the eyes... the devastating handsomeness is subjective I suppose.” He shrugged. “That last one though... guess we’ll have to see about that.”

Y/N’s smirk softened into something more genuine as she reached up to adjust his racing suit collar. “Oh, that last one’s the most important part,” she murmured, her fingers lingering against the fabric near his pulse point. “But something tells me you’ll manage. We’ll finish this conversation then.”

Jason’s answering smile was slow and devastating—the kind that had melted hearts on magazine covers worldwide. But this? This was just for her. Without a word, he held out his hand, his pinky finger extended in silent question.

Promise?

Y/N’s breath caught. The gesture—so simple, so them—unraveled something deep in her chest. She nodded, her vision blurring with unexpected tears as she hooked her pinky with his, their hands slotting together like they were made to fit.

“Promise,” she breathed.

When they unlinked their fingers, Jason did something that stole the air from her lungs—he brought his thumb to his lips, pressing a kiss to it before gently transferring the touch to her mouth. The warmth of it lingered long after he pulled away, a silent vow sealed between them.

The scorching Abu Dhabi sun beat down mercilessly on the Yas Marina Circuit. Long shadows stretched across the pit lane like grasping fingers as mechanics made their final adjustments, the air thick with the smell of burning rubber and high-octane fuel. Jason Todd stood motionless at the edge of Wayne Racing’s garage, his custom-painted helmet tucked under one arm, its polished surface reflecting the frantic activity around him. His eyes tracked down the start-finish straight with laser focus, watching as the last of the support vehicles cleared the track.

This was it.

The culmination of an entire season’s worth of blood, sweat and tears distilled into a single race. Twenty-two punishing turns of the most technically demanding circuit on the calendar. Fifty-eight laps that would determine whether all his sacrifices had been worth it. 

The championship standings couldn’t have been tighter— Jason and his arch-rival Kyle Rayner sat deadlocked on points coming into this final race. Winner takes all. No second chances. And if he somehow pulled this off, it wouldn’t just be his own driver’s championship on the line— Wayne Racing stood to claim their constructor’s title, continuing their stranglehold on the sport. 

Logically, he knew Y/N would stand by him regardless of today’s outcome. She’d proven that much already, weathering his storms with a patience he didn’t deserve. But that knowledge chafed against the raw, hungry part of him that needed to prove—to her, to himself, to the damn world that he was worthy. That Jason Todd could deliver on his word when it mattered most.

A familiar weight settled on his shoulder as Bruce stepped beside him, his grip firm and grounding. “No heroics out there,” the team principal and father murmured, his voice barely audible over the garage’s controlled chaos. His steely gaze held Jason’s. “We don’t need spectacular—we need smart. Bring it home clean.”

Jason gave a terse nod, his racing instincts already kicking in, but his attention was inexplicably drawn past Bruce to the timing screens. There, amidst the sea of engineers and data analysts, stood Y/N. Her arms were crossed in that deceptively casual way she had when trying to appear professional, but Jason had spent enough time studying her to recognize the subtle tells— the tension in her shoulders, the rhythmic tapping of her fingers against her elbow, the way she kept biting the inside of her cheek when she thought no one was looking. 

Their eyes met across the bustling garage. Without breaking contact, Jason’s lips quirked into a half-smile and he winked at her subtly.

The effect was instantaneous. Y/N’s professional mask shattered as a furious blush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks crimson. She immediately looked away, pretending sudden intense interest in a clipboard one of the engineers was holding, but not before Jason caught the way her breath hitched.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Alfred reminded him he probably shouldn’t be distracting himself right before the most important race of his career. But seeing her flustered reaction sparked something warm in his chest, cutting through the pre-race tension like sunlight through storm clouds.

The FIA official began waving drivers to their cars. As Jason turned to leave, he caught Y/N’s gaze one last time. No words were needed— the determination in her eyes mirrored his own as she gave him a slight nod. Whatever happened today, they were in this together.

Now all he had to do was win that world championship.

The moment the lights went out, the world erupted in a deafening rumble of raw power and desperation. Twenty Formula 1 cars exploded forward like bullets from a barrel, their engines screaming in unison, tires screeching as they fought for every inch of tarmac into the treacherous Turn 1. Jason Todd, locked in his #02 Wayne Racing machine, clenched his jaw and held his line with the precision of a predator—elbows out, refusing to yield an inch.

Kyle Rayner, in his blinding #10 neon green LC25, lurked in his mirrors like a specter, his front wing nearly touching Jason’s rear diffuser as he tried to force him toward the wall. The move was aggressive, borderline reckless, but Jason had expected nothing less.

“He’s playing dirty already,” Jason growled into the radio, his fingers tightening around the wheel.

“Ignore him,” Dick’s voice came through, steady as a metronome despite the chaos unfolding on track. “Stick to the plan. Tire management first. The race comes to us.”

For the first half of the Grand Prix, Jason did exactly that—measuring his pace meticulously, nursing his tires, preserving his fuel, all while keeping Rayner at bay. The laps ticked by in a blur of adrenaline and concentration, the desert heat baking through his visor, sweat trickling down his temples beneath his helmet. The championship hung by a thread—every overtake, every defensive move, every millisecond counted.

Then—disaster struck.

A backmarker, caught in the turbulence of the leaders, lost control in the final sector, spinning violently and slamming into the barriers. The safety car was deployed instantly, the field bunching up like a coiled spring, erasing Jason’s hard-earned three-second lead in the blink of an eye.

“This is it,” Dick’s voice crackled over the radio, the usual calm replaced by quiet intensity. “Final stint. No more calculations. No more waiting. It’s all on you now.”

Jason exhaled sharply, his grip on the wheel turning his knuckles white.

Just a little more.

A little more speed.

A little more courage.

A little more of himself poured into these last, fateful laps.

The moment the safety car lights went out, the pack surged forward like wild horses unleashed. Jason’s foot slammed the throttle just as the green flag waved, his car leaping forward with a vicious snarl. The final ten laps stretched before him. If he could just hold on, if he could just win, then he wouldn’t have to choose. Not between his love and his legacy. Not between Y/N and the championship. 

He could have it all.

The high-speed Turns 5-7 complex stretched before Jason like a ribbon of liquid asphalt, its sweeping curves demanding absolute precision. His Wayne Racing machine danced along the knife’s edge of adhesion, the Pirelli tires screeching in protest as he carried impossible speed through the esses. The g-forces pressed him deep into his seat, his neck muscles straining against the lateral load as the car flirted with the track limits.

In his mirrors, the neon green livery of Rayner’s Lantern Corps F1 car filled his vision, its menacing glow reflecting off his rear wing. The rival machine clung to his gearbox like a vengeful specter, never more than half a second behind, waiting for the slightest mistake.

“He’s saving battery,” Dick’s voice crackled through the radio, tense but controlled. “Expect an attack on the back straight.”

Jason’s eyes flicked downward for a millisecond, just long enough to register his energy display. One last push remaining—a precious 4 seconds of overtake boost. He’d have to time it perfectly, deploy it at the exact moment when—

The track opened up onto the massive 1.2 kilometer back straight and suddenly the battle erupted in earnest. Rayner’s car darted left, then snapped right, his movements unpredictable as he searched for any sliver of clean air to mount an attack. Jason countered each feint, weaving defensively while trying to maintain his racing line.

At 310 km/h, the concrete walls transformed into a dizzying blur, the sheer velocity making the world narrow to a tunnel of light and noise. Jason’s heart hammered against his ribs, each beat counting down the meters to the critical Turn 8 braking zone.

Then Rayner made his move— a desperate lunge down the inside. His front wheels locked momentarily, sending up puffs of smoke as he outbraked himself. For one terrifying second, Jason saw the neon green nosecone edging perilously close to his sidepod before Rayner somehow regained control, the cars avoiding contact by centimeters.

But the mistake cost Rayner dearly—his abrupt correction sent him wide, losing crucial momentum.

“These tires have no grip!” Jason snarled into the radio, his voice raw with adrenaline coursing through his veins. The once-reliable rubber now felt like blocks of ice beneath him, the degradation robbing him of the precise control he needed.

Through his visor, he could see the championship—his promise to Y/N—slipping away with every degrading lap. The desert air burned in his lungs, his fingers aching from their death grip on the wheel. Somewhere beyond the roar of the engine, beyond the screaming tires and the deafening rush of wind, he could almost hear the clock ticking down—

The final battle was coming. And neither man would yield.

“Push, Jason. Push.”

Dick’s voice cut through the radio, deceptively calm, but Jason could hear the razor-sharp intensity beneath the words. This was it—the moment that would define his legacy. Jason’s fingers locked around the wheel, his breath hitching as the walls of Turn 12 blurred past—too fast, too close. For a heartbeat, the track vanished.

Bahrain. The screech of tearing metal. The smell of burning rubber. The world flipping, crashing, darkness—

He blinked hard, forcing himself back into the present. The car shuddered beneath him, alive and responsive. Not then. Not now.

His eyes locked onto Rayner’s car ahead, studying every subtle movement. Then he saw it—the twitch in the high-speed corners, the slight hesitation as Rayner’s car fought for grip. His tires were fading. Fast. The rational part of Jason’s brain recognized the opportunity—the rubber was going, the gap was there but his pulse roared in his ears, a drumbeat of panic.

Breathe. Just breathe.

He could hear Y/N’s voice calling to him. She had held his hand and helped him out of a panic attack in his Monaco apartment. Soft, gentle, serene.

Jason held back, resisting the urge to pounce too soon. He conserved his battery, managed his energy, biding his time for one perfectly calculated strike.

The final lap began.

Through the sweeping Turns 11 to 14, Jason carved into Rayner’s lead, the gap shrinking to a razor-thin 0.3 seconds. The grandstands erupted as the two titans of the track roared past, engines howling, the air between them charged with rivalry. The crowd was on their feet, the roar of their voices lost beneath the scream of horsepower.

Then—Turn 19.

Jason played his hand. He feinted left, jinking toward the inside line, forcing Rayner to defend. This was chess at 200 miles per hour—every feint, every adjustment of throttle and steering wheel a calculated gambit. For a split second, Rayner’s focus flickered, his car drifting just a hair too wide on the exit. It was all Jason needed. And in that instant, Jason’s vision fractured.

The scent of scorched carbon fiber flooded his senses. The stomach-lurching sensation of his car crashing in Bahrain—the impact, the deafening silence afterward. His foot hovered over the throttle, muscles locking in phantom pain.

No.

He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. This isn’t Bahrain. This is now. And I’m not breaking.

Instinct took over.

Jason wrenched the wheel right, his car slingshotting to the outside with a violence that made his tires scream. The gap was barely wider than his car itself, but he hurled himself into it anyway, metal flashing past metal so close he could see the heat waves rippling off Rayner’s exhaust.

The world dissolved into sensation—the guttural roar of engines, the acrid taste of burning fuel, the vibration of the chassis trembling beneath him like a living thing. Rayner held firm, his car crowding Jason’s line, neither yielding an inch. For a heartbeat suspended in time, they were equals, locked in a duel where the smallest twitch meant triumph or disaster.

Then Jason’s mind cleared.

You don’t get to take this from me. 

His car inched forward. Millimeter by millimeter, he clawed ahead, his tires biting into the track with vicious determination. The nose of his Wayne Racing machine broke free first, then the hood, then the cockpit—until suddenly, irrevocably, he was leading.

The checkered flag unfurled in his periphery.

1. TOD 2. RAY +0.2

The radio erupted in a deafening crescendo of pure, unfiltered joy—a chaotic symphony of screaming engineers, clattering headsets, and the thunderous roar of the Wayne Racing pit crew losing all semblance of professionalism. Dick’s voice, usually so measured and calm, shattered into raw, unbridled emotion as he shouted himself hoarse, the words barely coherent through the static. Somewhere in the cacophony, Jason heard his own name chanted like a war cry, over and over, as if the team couldn’t believe what they’d just witnessed.

But to Jason, it all sounded distant, muffled, as if he were hearing it through several feet of water. His hands, usually so steady and sure on the wheel, now trembled with the aftershocks of the race. As his car coasted down the main straight, the world seemed to move in slow motion around him. His chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven gulps, each breath burning through lungs that had been holding tension for fifty-eight grueling laps.

The adrenaline was still there—a live current under his skin, making his fingertips tingle and his pulse roar in his ears. But beneath it, something deeper pulsed. Something quiet. Something heavy. It settled into his bones, into the marrow of him, a weight that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

Four-time world champion.

The words flashed across the timing screens in bold, triumphant letters. The commentators bellowed it into their microphones, their voices cracking with excitement. The crowd chanted it back like a mantra and fireworks coloured the skies. But the number meant nothing compared to the truth behind it. They didn’t account for the brutal crashes that had left him bruised and broken, the surgeries that had stolen months of his career, the endless rehabilitation sessions where he’d fought just to move without pain. They didn’t reflect those endless nights in anonymous hotel rooms, staring at water-stained ceilings while his mind replayed every mistake, every near-miss, every whisper of doubt that maybe— just maybe— Bahrain had broken something in him that couldn’t be fixed.

The doubt had been his constant shadow, a ghost that haunted every practice session, every qualifying lap, every overtaking attempt. It whispered in his ear when he pushed the car to its limits, reminding him of what happened last time he danced this close to the edge.

But today... today he’d grabbed that doubt by the throat and roared right back in its face. Every perfect apex, every daring overtake, every calculated risk had been a middle finger to his fears. That final, breathtaking pass hadn’t just been about beating Rayner. It had been about proving something to himself, to the world, to every person who’d ever wondered if he was done—that he wasn’t just back.

He was better.

“THE CHECKERED FLAG WAVES! JASON TODD, YOU ARE A FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION! THE WORLD CHAMPION! The Wayne Racing garage has LOST THEIR MINDS— Dick Grayson is vaulting over the pit wall like a man possessed, the mechanics are screaming themselves raw—and look at Todd in that car, absolutely spent, but MY GOD, WHAT A DRIVE!”

This wasn’t just another championship added to his record. This was redemption made tangible, a phoenix moment forged from fire and steel and sheer, stubborn will. History books would record it as another victory, but Jason would always know the truth.

He hadn’t just made history today. He’d seized it back with both hands.

The moment Jason Todd climbed out of his car, the world seemed to hold its breath.

He stood atop the scorching-hot chassis, his racing suit streaked with sweat and the ghosts of past battles. The grandstands, a sea of color and noise just seconds before, fell into an eerie silence—thousands of eyes locked onto him, waiting. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Jason clenched his fist and thrust it skyward.

The crowd exploded.

The roar that followed was deafening—a tidal wave of sound that shook the very foundations of the circuit. Cheers, screams, the thunder of stamping feet—it all blended into one overwhelming symphony of triumph. Jason let it wash over him, his chest heaving, his body still vibrating with the remnants of adrenaline. For a moment, he simply existed in the pure, unfiltered joy of it.

Then exhaustion hit him like a freight train.

He stumbled slightly as he stepped down from the car, his legs unsteady after two hours of punishing focus. But he still managed to wave at the crowd again, a tired but genuine grin tugging at his lips as he turned toward the pits.

His team descended upon him like a hurricane—hands clapping his shoulders, voices shouting in his ear, bodies pressing in from all sides as they celebrated their hard-earned victory. Every thump on his back, every shouted was a testament to the battle they’d all fought together.

But Jason only had one thought in his mind.

Y/N.

And then—there she was.

A glimpse of her through the chaos, standing in the Wayne Racing garage, her face alight with pride. She was wearing the team’s hastily printed “FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION” shirt, just like everyone else, but on her, it looked different. On her, it felt like his.

Their eyes met.

For half a second, hesitation flickered across her expression—her gaze darting to the cameras trained on them, the ever-present vultures waiting to dissect their every move. But then something shifted. A quiet defiance. A silent “Screw it.”

And she ran.

Jason barely had time to react before she was crashing into him, her arms wrapping around his neck, her body pressing flush against his sweat-soaked suit. He could feel the dampness of her tears against his cheek, the way her fingers trembled where they tangled in his hair. Without thinking, he hooked his hands around her waist and lifted, spinning her in a tight circle as she let out a breathless laugh.

His helmet hit the ground with a clatter, forgotten.

Forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in, Jason felt something settle inside him—something warm and sure and right.

“So,” he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion and emotion, “that’s another one off the list.”

A shaky exhale against his lips. “Yeah,” she whispered back. “Yeah, it is.”

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening around her. “I know there’s still a lot of work left. A lot of races. A lot of battles.” A pause. A heartbeat. “But Y/N... will you be mine? Really mine?”

She let out a choked laugh, her eyes shining. “Jason Peter Todd Wayne,” she breathed,“ I’ve been yours for a very long time.”

As Jason set Y/N back down on her feet, the team descended upon them in a wave of unrestrained joy.

Dick was the first to reach them, throwing an arm around Jason’s shoulders with enough force to nearly knock him off-balance. “You absolute madman!” he crowed, shaking him slightly, his grin wide enough to split his face. “That last overtake—I almost had a heart attack!”

Danny slapped Jason’s back hard enough to make him cough. “We were screaming so loud in the garage, the FIA probably thinks we’ve lost our minds!”

“Too late for that,” another engineer chimed in, shoving a hastily opened bottle of champagne into Jason’s hands. “We lost those years ago working with you lot!”

Jason laughed, twisting the cap off and taking a long swig before passing it to Y/N, who wrinkled her nose but took a sip anyway. The second the liquid touched her tongue, she made a face, and Jason barked out another laugh, pulling her closer.

“Oh, come on, don’t be a lightweight now,” he teased, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I’m not!” she protested, shoving at his chest half-heartedly. “That’s just objectively terrible!”

“It’s tradition!” Dick argued, snatching the bottle back and taking a dramatic swig before shaking it vigorously, sending foam spraying across the nearest group of mechanics. A chorus of shouts and laughter erupted as they retaliated, grabbing whatever bottles were within reach and shaking them like they were in a goddamn riot.

Bruce appeared at the edge of the chaos, looking as composed as ever—though the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Try not to drown the entire team in alcohol before the podium ceremony,” he said dryly.

“No promises dad,” Jason shot back, grinning.

Someone—probably Tim, because he was a little shit like that—sneakily dumped an entire bottle of cold sparkling water down Jason’s back. Jason yelped, twisting around to glare at the culprit, but Tim was already ducking behind a grinning mechanic, hands raised in mock surrender.

“You’re dead, Drake!” Jason threatened, lunging for him.

Tim bolted, cackling and Jason gave chase—only to be intercepted by Alfred, who appeared with a towel in hand. “Master Jason,” he said, voice dripping with disapproval, though his eyes were warm. “You’re tracking champagne and sweat all over the garage.”

Jason grinned, unrepentant, but took the towel anyway, ruffling his hair with it before slinging it over his shoulder. “Sorry, Alfred. Got carried away.”

“Indeed,” Alfred sighed, long-suffering. “However, it is well-deserved”

Y/N appeared at Jason’s side again, her fingers tangling with his. “You’re a mess,” she informed him, though she was smiling.

Jason tugged her closer, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Your mess.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her fingers tightened around his told him everything he needed to know.

The team’s celebrations continued around them—champagne spraying, voices raised in laughter, the occasional curse as someone slipped on spilled alcohol. The cameras still hovered at the edges, capturing every moment, but for once, Jason didn’t care.

Let them see.

Let them see the team, the family, the love.

Let them see what it meant to fight—and to win.

The celebration swirled around them—champagne foam catching in the golden afternoon light, laughter ringing like church bells, the scent of tires and triumph still clinging to the air. But for Jason, the world had narrowed to this: Y/N’s hand in his, her fingers laced through his own like they had always belonged there.

The team moved around them in a blur of joy—Dick draping an arm over Tim’s shoulders as they both laughed. Bruce stood slightly apart, his usual stoicism softened at the edges, pride glowing quiet but undeniable in his eyes with Alfred quietly wiping the stray tear at the corner of his eye. And Cass stood off to the side, that rare, soft smile playing at her lips as she watched her family. The garage was alive, electric, every heartbeat in sync with the pulse of victory.

Jason turned to Y/N, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. The noise faded into something distant, something unimportant.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah,” he admitted, unrepentant. His voice was rough, scraped raw from shouting, from the sheer weight of everything he couldn’t put into words. “Just memorizing this.”

Her expression softened, something unbearably tender flickering in her eyes. “You don’t have to,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And that—

That was the real victory.

Not the gleaming trophy waiting on the podium. Not the headlines that would scream his name across the world tomorrow. Not even the deafening roar of the crowd still vibrating in his chest, echoing like thunder long after the storm had passed.

It was this.

Her.

The way her eyes held his like he was something worth keeping. The way she had stood by him through every crash, every setback, every moment he had doubted himself. The way she was here now, her palm pressed against his racing heart, as if she could feel the truth of it beating beneath her fingertips.

Jason leaned in, forehead resting against hers. Around them, the world kept moving—champagne bottles popping, cameras flashing, the announcer calling his name. But here, in this breath between seconds, it was just them.

“I love you,” he said, simple and sure.

Y/N’s smile was brighter than any checkered flag, any winner’s trophy, any sun-drenched finish line. “I know,” she whispered back, her voice thick with everything she didn’t need to say.

And when he kissed her—there, in the middle of the chaos, with the taste of victory and something infinitely sweeter on his lips—Jason knew, with absolute certainty, that this was the moment he would carry with him forever.

Not as the end of a race.

But as the first, glorious note of everything that came after.

╰┈➤ Masterlist

╰┈➤ Event masterlist

Tags: @joekitsu @sophiethewitch1 @hana-no-seiiki @thisisafish123 @ceramic-raven @millyhelp @blamedbisexual @trunkswithlonghair-blog @jasontoddthings @deans-spinster-witch @12134z03 @johnnysilverhandeeznuts @yasmin-oviedo @rosecentury @pierayanna @jinviktor @crybaby-21 @solarrexplosion @sahana28banana @ari-sama21 @princessbl0ss0m @fictionalwhor3 @leeleecats @lalalozer @shkosm @swamiiyasssss @lilyalone @cxcilla @one-pea-in-a-pod-blog @cooki3dough @misaki-kira8 @br0ke-b1tch @cherriespopsicle @lilithskywalker @multifandom-simp @hayleym1234 @sukaretto-n @idontwantthis22 @sarveshishwarishsuta @eclipse-msoul @aaaashiiii @wandabillywrites @star-born-mars @sinnamon-bunn @theendofthematerialgworl @mercuryathens @sugarwhiterose @lar3ine @raven-with-adhd @pezzeronii @federalprison78-4 @panacademics @itzmeme @pb-n-aj @4rachn3

A/n: I just winged the technical part of the race so please excuse that if there are any inaccuracies. There was so much more that I wanted to include, so i'll probably make another post with snippets of moments during, before and after the story. Feel free to request if you want to read anything in particular :)) Also do y'all want a smut fic of the championship celebration night with Jason? Lmk in the comments!!

© cheriecelestial - arabelle | 2025

[esjayess]

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face

More of this, it seems. I just can’t get this AU out of my head, and every single post I see that includes Darlene gets dust in my eyes. Weird, right?

Anyway, here’s a brief meeting I imagined between Crampelter and Ford in the aftermath of Darlene’s death.

———

Stanford hadn’t believed it when they told him Crampelter had joined the resistance. But here he is, training for the inevitable war. Ford watches as he throws spear after spear through moving targets with unnerving accuracy. Bullseyes every time.

He would’ve eaten them all alive if he’d been in the arena.

Crampelter grabs another spear from the rack. Just as he draws it back to throw, he meets Ford’s eyes. He blinks once, then lowers the weapon.

“Stanford.” He greets cautiously. “I heard you were around here somewhere.”

Ford doesn’t respond, only glaring at his childhood bully. He bites his tongue to keep himself from asking whatever happened to calling him a six fingered freak? Are they on a first name basis now? Why did no one tell him? Instead of any of that he stays silent. Crampelter seems to take that as an invitation to continue. He fiddles with his spear almost nervously.

“I…saw what your brother did in the games. For Darlene. I’m glad-”

“It should've been you.” Ford interrupts harshly. He doesn’t want to hear Crampelter say he was glad that Stan was in that death arena so he could comfort a little girl in her dying moments. “Stan would still be here if you’d done what you said you would. And so would she. It was supposed to be you. It should’ve been you.”

Crampelter pauses. He glances down at the spear in his hand, as if considering the words. Without warning, he turns sharply and chucks it full force into the training dummy, knocking it off its stand and pinning to the back wall ten feet behind. He straightens, tilting his head as if admiring the shot.

“Yeah. Maybe it should’ve. But she would’ve died either way. Whether I won my games or not she would’ve volunteered later. They would’ve been proud to watch her die. Or proud to watch the boy die. That’s why they do two tributes, isn’t it? Every district has to lose, even if they win.”

Ford blinks, temporarily taken aback. He wouldn’t have anticipated such musings from Crampelter, even though he must have been allowed to join up for a reason. Ford had voiced his suspicion when he first heard Crampelter was here, but the higher ups had seemed certain he wasn’t some kind of spy. It doesn’t change anything. Ford lets his eyes harden again. “Why?” He demands. “Why did you back out?”

Crampelter must’ve been expecting the question. He simply shrugs. “It wasn’t worth dying for.”

Figures. It’s about the answer Ford had expected. All the same, it fills him with rage. He throws up his hands. “And you realized that then? Seriously?” He snarls. “Every day of our lives you swore you were gonna win some day. You used everyone in that damn district as target practice. Darlene looked up to you. She volunteered because of you.”

That clearly strikes a nerve, as something pained flickers in his face. Ford keeps pushing.

“You’re not a coward because you didn’t volunteer for the games, Crampelter. You’re a coward for everything that came before. You’re a coward for taking that long to notice it was all bullshit. You could’ve seen it before then. You just didn’t want to because being a future victor gave you the imaginary right to treat everyone around you like shit. Including Stan, who did what you didn’t have the guts to do. You spat on him every day of our lives, but he is stronger than you ever were. And now everyone knows it.”

Crampelter barely seems to be listening, looking past Ford at the dummy embedded in the wall. “I would’ve volunteered for her, if I could.”

“Well you couldn’t.” Ford says, forcing every bit of blame he can into the words. It feels good to blame someone who’s right here. Someone he can spit directly in the face of. “And now she’s dead.”

Crampelters eyes snap to his. There’s a ghost of that familiar grief in his eyes. He looks like Shermie when he gets that look. Shermie, who had already started grieving his youngest brother. Who begged Stan to fight when they said their goodbyes, but walked out of there knowing that he wouldn’t. The comparison makes Ford uncomfortable. Laid atop the achingly familiar grief in Crampelters eyes is the familiar fire that everyone thought would win him the games someday. What a joke that was. Ford glares right back at it, until Crampelter turns away. “I’ll be sorry when Stan dies.” He says casually. “We both know he doesn’t have it in him to win, and he’s not likely to hold out long enough for this little rescue mission of yours. I figured I’d tell you that I’m grateful for what he did, since neither of us will ever see him again.”

Without another word, he turns to walk away, not bothering to retrieve the spear or the dummy. Ford watches him leave, glaring at his retreating figure until he turns the corner. Ford huffs out a breath once he disappears, before turning around and heading back to the lab. He’s not worth the energy it would take to argue with him. Crampelter doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Not about that, anyway.

They're so close. Stan is gonna hold on just a little bit longer, and Ford is not gonna lose his brother.

[sinnerinwonderland]

Playlist Confessions. 💽

› Pairing: Jannik Sinner x Female Reader.

› Summary: She made the playlist as a joke. He changed the title as a confession.

› Word Count: 1.5k.

Halle, Germany – ATP Tournament Weekend.

It started with the hoodie.

A grey Nike zip-up — oversized, soft and worn-in at the sleeves. She hadn’t packed for the breeze that came after sunset and Jannik, ever casual, had handed it to her without a second thought. No innuendo, just “Here, wear this.”

Except it was his hoodie.

The same one fans had seen him wearing to practice earlier that weekend. The same one that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and his aftershave. And when she walked next to him wearing it later that day, it was impossible to pretend like nothing was going on.

Someone snapped a photo of them walking side by side — his cap low, her hand curled around a takeaway coffee — and by that evening, it was all over social media.

The real twist? Jannik didn’t say a word. Didn’t laugh it off. Didn’t correct anyone.

The giveaway? Someone posted a side-by-side comparison: one picture of Jannik wearing the hoodie during training, the other of her in it that afternoon. Same color. Same fit. Same oversized sleeves nearly swallowing her hands.

He’d glanced at her once while waiting in line for sandwiches and just smiled. That quiet, secret kind of smile that sent her brain into a full reboot.

Her pulse had never returned to baseline after that.

─ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅

That night, in the hotel room they were sharing — as friends — she couldn't stop replaying the moment in her head. How normal it had felt, walking next to him in his hoodie. How easy it was to imagine what it would be like if it weren’t just by chance, if they weren’t pretending not to feel the very obvious, very unspoken thing between them.

So she made the playlist.

It was a dumb little thing, built between midnight and 2:00 a.m., full of songs that reminded her of him — moody, sweet ones and some with lyrics that made her kick her feet like a teenager. She titled it the only way her pride would allow:

“If I Were in Love with Jannik Sinner (Which I’m Not)”

Harmless. Secret. Just a little coping mechanism.

Except the next day, she left her phone charging on the nightstand while she showered and Jannik needed to Google something for a press briefing. Her phone was closer than his, and honestly, it wasn’t a big deal — they had this unspoken habit of using each other’s phones now and then. It was always unlocked near him, always within reach, and he was only going to use the browser, that was the plan, anyway.

He didn’t mean to snoop, he swore he didn’t. Her phone was already open on Spotify, screen still lit from whatever she’d last been doing before her shower. He only glanced — barely. Just enough to catch the playlist title staring back at him.

“If I Were in Love with Jannik Sinner (Which I’m Not)”

He blinked. Stared. Read it again. And then? Froze.

His heart stuttered so hard it felt embarrassing.

He tapped on it, couldn’t help doing so. Just one little look.

The songs were soft, personal and specific. The kind of tracks you send to someone when you want them to know how you feel without actually saying it. The lyrics? They weren’t subtle.

It was love, in mixtape form. And his name — his actual full name — was in the title.

He let out a soft, stunned breath. Ran a hand down his face. Was this real?

He looked at the bathroom door, the shower was running, she had no idea he’d seen this.

Jannik sat there in silence, phone still in hand, while his whole body buzzed, like his limbs couldn’t figure out what to do with the rush of hope suddenly pouring in.

Because all this time, he thought it was just him. The stolen glances. The stupid smiles. The way he kept giving her his hoodies and waiting to see if she’d keep them. He thought she was just kind, that she didn’t feel it like he did.

But now? Now he was certain and giddy. In an actually-smiling-like-an-idiot-while-trying-not-to-combust kind of way.

And when she came out, still toweling her hair, he was sitting at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, his thumb paused over Spotify.

She froze. “Hey— wait, what are you—”

But his face was unreadable. Not teasing nor smug, just calm.

“I didn’t mean to look,” he said. “It was already open.”

“Oh my God…” she whispered, lunging to grab the device but he held it just out of reach, eyes still on the screen.

“This playlist…” he murmured, then looked up at her. “Is it new?”

She wanted to disappear into the carpet. “Delete it. Pretend you never saw it.”

He didn’t respond right away, just typed something fast before handing the phone back to her like it weighed nothing at all.

“I’m going down for breakfast,” he said, standing. “Want anything?”

“…No.”

He didn’t say another word, just smiled to himself as the door shut behind him, heart thudding like it was a match point and she’d just served him love.

And for once? He was okay letting her win.

When she saw it, she’d know he saw her. Knew her. And that he felt it too.

─ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅

She waited until he was out the door to check what he did.

And there it was.

“If I Were in Love with Jannik Sinner (Which I Am)”

Her stomach dropped. In the best, worst, most terrifying way.

He hadn’t just seen it, he answered it. With one small, quiet edit that changed everything.

─ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅

She tried to play it cool. Really, she did.

She even stayed curled in bed for an extra twenty minutes after he left, phone clutched to her chest, heart absolutely not functioning like a normal human organ. She stared at the edited playlist title over and over:

“If I Were in Love with Jannik Sinner (Which I Am)”

And when she finally made it downstairs to breakfast? He acted like nothing happened.

“Morning,” he said, all breezy and bright, sipping juice like he hadn’t detonated her entire emotional stability before 9:00 a.m.

So she spent the whole meal in hell.

Now it was late morning and he was flopped back on the hotel bed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, flicking through tennis videos on mute. She stood near the window, arms crossed, trying to work up the courage to say something.

“You’re really not gonna bring it up?” she asked finally.

Jannik didn’t even look over. “Bring what up?”

She threw a pillow at his face.

He caught it easily, grinning now. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that! You—” she flailed towards her phone on the nightstand, “—you renamed my playlist and then left like some smug emotional hit-and-run artist!”

He sat up on his elbows, the barest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. “It was already open, couldn’t help it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And you thought changing the title was what? Funny?”

“No,” he said. “I thought it was accurate.”

Silence. Her mouth parted slightly, heart doing that dumb hiccup thing again.

“Oh…” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly quiet. “Oh.”

The tension in the room thickened, but it wasn’t heavy — it was warm. A suspended moment that had nowhere left to hide.

“You could’ve just said something,” she mumbled, barely looking at him.

He tilted his head. “You mean instead of emotionally decoding a playlist that literally had my full name in the title?”

She flushed. “That was supposed to be ironic.”

“It was adorable,” he corrected. “And it made me very, very happy.”

She blinked. “Really?”

He stood now, walking towards her slowly.

“Really,” he said, voice low. “I’ve been losing my mind over you for months.”

And then, in one smooth motion, his hand found her waist at the same time his lips found hers.

It was soft at first — tentative, almost surprised with himself by the act of courage and with a hint of fear that he had messed it all up — but when she leaned in, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, it deepened into something that made both her toes curl in her socks and him lose the remnant of doubt that still lodged in the corners of his mind.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, pink and a little stunned, she whispered against his lips:

“So… what now?”

He grinned. “Now you’re stuck with me.”

She laughed. “Guess I’ll have to make a new playlist.”

He kissed her again, softer this time, forehead pressed to hers.

“Just name it: Jannik Sinner is so in love with me it’s embarrassing.”

“Too long…” she said, smiling.

“Worth it.”

[strangesuki]

your name

inspired by this post here (same as the text post included below)

pairing : idol!maki x reader | w.c. : ~500

a/n : all 7 instances mentioned in the post have been included, but not in the same order.

idk how well this will do but i wanted to try it out. if you guys like it and would like me to write it for the other members as well lemme know!

one.

he remembers you asked him to wake you up early. you've just slept together for the first time – as in literally just slept next to each other, nothing more.

“y/n?” he calls so softly, voice laced with sleep and love and a little awe at the fact that he actually gets to wake up next to you. you hear him and pretend you don't just to hear him say it again.

two.

you're just about to head to bed, it's almost midnight when he calls.

“y/n,” he sighs, drawling out your name.

“hi, baby. how was practice? you sound tired,”

“i am,” his voice is a little muffled.

you chuckle softly. “go to bed then, silly,”

“i am,” he says again, too exhausted to even say anything more.

you can picture him in bed with his eyes closed, face half-buried in his pillow. “i see. wanted to check in with me before bed then, i presume?”

“mmhm,”

you smile. “alright then. good night, baby.”

“love you,”

three.

when you press answer on the video call request, the screen shows you your boyfriend with his mouth stuffed like a chipmunk.

“y/n!” he exclaims, barely intelligible. “this burrito is the best thing i’ve ever tasted,”

“you called me at work to tell me this?” you laugh.

he holds up a hand while he chews before answering. “well, yeah. but also to tell you that this is what we're ordering for dinner tonight because you need to taste this roll of heaven. okay bye now, i'm gonna focus on savouring every bite,”

four.

you're standing outside his apartment building waiting for him when he sneaks up behind you.

“hi y/n,” he breathes right behind your ear, sending shivers up your spine.

“oh my…”

“i know, i'm very handsome,” he brags, brushing his hair back and snaking his arms around your waist.

“no, i mean… um, can you do that again?”

“what?”

“whisper my name the way you did just now?”

a teasing smile spreads across his face as he leans in close. “ooh, we like that, do we?”

five.

“and…you know what maki…said then?” you manage to get out between fits of laughter as your audience of friends wait impatiently.

“oh my god y/n please don't tell them,” maki pleads, but he can't help laughing too.

“oh come on just spill it already!” taki cries.

you happen to lock eyes with maki then, causing the both you to erupt into laughter again.

six.

“y-y/n…wow, hi.”

you chuckle nervously, your flushed cheeks mirroring his. “what's with that reaction? didn't expect me to make it?”

“n-no, it's not that, i just uh…wow. you look… wow. i don't even know what to say. um, hi,”

you laugh again, albeit without the nerves this time. “yes you said that already, genius. but hi,”

seven.

five urgent knocks. when you open the door, you find him with tears streaming down his face.

“y/n,” he chokes out, and it sounds like help me.

you pull him into your arms, and shut the rest of the world out behind you.

divider credits: @enchanthings-a