#tough interview questions and answers

[the-random-sentence-library]

"We are looking for sales advisors for a busy high-street retailer."

Quote randomly selected from page 157 of Rob Yeung's nonfiction book Answering Tough Interview Questions for Dummies.

Additional notes: From an example job advertisement given on the first page of a chapter.

Quote was selected at random from a book chosen at random from my local library.

[rafecameronssl4t]

73 Questions with Vogue || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: just you participating in 73 Questions with Vogue and it goes viral!!!

Warnings: fluff!!!

Word count: 1,935

A/n: It's been so long since I've written a Drew fic!!!!!!! Also I got inspired by my previous acc's fic so if it seems familiar to some of you who followed me from there, don't come at me, I loved the idea too much lol. CAN SOMEONE PLS SEND ME REQUESTS FOR DREW FICS???

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Hello!" You greet the interviewer with a bright smile, swinging open the door to reveal him and his camera. "Hi, Y/n! Mind if we come in and ask you 73 questions?" he asks, his tone friendly and warm. "Yeah, of course! Come on in," you say, stepping aside and holding the door wide open, gesturing for them to enter as the camera pans through the foyer of your house. The space is beautifully designed, with soft lighting that gives it a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

"Wow, what a gorgeous house you have," the interviewer remarks, his voice filled with genuine awe as his eyes take in the sophisticated yet comfortable décor. "Thank you!" you respond, the compliment warming you as you flash a radiant smile. "Is this your favourite house?" The interviewer asks, already settling into the rhythm of the questions as you lead them down the hallway and into the open-plan living area.

"Yes, it definitely is. It's in my home city, and Charleston means so much to me, just like this house does," you say, your eyes lighting up as you gesture around. The view of the beach through the large windows makes the space feel even more special. "I love the view," the interviewer comments, looking out at the sunset that bathes the room in warm golden light. "The sunset looks amazing from here."

"It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?" you say with a soft chuckle. "I love spending time in this room specifically. It feels like a little sanctuary." You both share a laugh, enjoying the peaceful moment. "What's your morning routine like?" The interviewer asks as the camera follows you through the coastal-themed living room toward the kitchen. You pause for a moment, thinking about your answer.

"I haven't had much of a routine the past few months because of work, but currently, I wake up to a strong cup of coffee and a walk through downtown," you share with a soft smile. "It’s become a little ritual to clear my mind before everything gets too busy." As you stroll through the warm, inviting spaces of your home, the camera captures the personal touches that reflect your personality—a mix of elegance and laid-back comfort.

A question about your career comes next, and you happily share some behind-the-scenes anecdotes from your latest film. "This," you begin, the affection in your tone unmistakable, "is a magnet Sydney gave me when we wrapped filming Immaculate earlier this year." You glance at the picture, a grin spreading across your face. "It’s a photo of the two of us in our nun costumes... let’s just say, not doing very nun-like things." You laugh, the absurdity of the memory still fresh, and hold the magnet up for the camera to focus.

The image shows the two of you mid-laughter, each holding a cigarette with exaggerated defiance, your habits slightly askew, as though caught mid-rebellion. "What's the best compliment you've received?" the interviewer asks, a hint of curiosity in their voice. You pause, your expression thoughtful. "Oh, that's a tough one," you say, your lips curling into a playful smile.

"I think the best compliment I’ve ever gotten was when someone said, 'You're like Meryl Streep… but, you know, with fewer Oscars.’" You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "It was the kind of backhanded compliment that made me laugh for days." The interviewer laughs along with you. "That’s a good one," he says, clearly entertained. As you make your way towards the outside deck, the interviewer continues with another question. "Texting, calling, or FaceTiming?"

You grin as you lean casually against the railing, looking out at the beach below. "Oh, definitely FaceTiming," you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I’m terrible at replying to text messages. I’d much rather see people's live reactions, y’know?" A more personal question comes next, and you smile thoughtfully as the interviewer asks, “How do you handle the pressures of fame?”

You nod, taking a moment before responding. "I lean on my family and friends—they keep me grounded. And I remind myself that pressure is a privilege. It means people care about what I do, and that means a lot." Your voice softens as you speak, the sincerity of your words clear as you step into your home office, showcasing the awards and accolades lining the shelves. The conversation turns to your personal life, and a warm, affectionate smile spreads across your face.

"Congratulations on reaching your two-year anniversary with Drew!" The interviewer says with a grin, and you beam in response. "Thank you!" you reply, your eyes sparkling as you think of him. "Drew is incredible. He’s my biggest supporter, my partner in everything, and honestly, just my favourite person. It’s been such a special journey since starting my career, and I’m so grateful to have him by my side."

"What's the key to a successful relationship?" He asks. You pause as you walk through the hallway, your gaze softening as you think. "I think it’s communication and a lot of patience. No relationship is perfect, but being able to talk things through and genuinely listen to each other makes all the difference." You smile, adding, "Oh, and laughter—if you can laugh together, you can get through just about anything."

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupts the moment, and a familiar voice rings out, instantly making your face light up. "Oh, there’s Drew right now!" you say, smiling brightly as you move toward the foyer. The camera follows you, capturing the scene as Drew enters, with Nellie, your cocker spaniel, bounding beside him. "Hey, baby," He greets you as he slips off his sunglasses, pulling you close for a tender kiss

When he pulls back, his eyes widen slightly as he spots the camera. "Oh, 73 Questions with Vogue?" he asks, a playful grin tugging at his lips. You giggle, nodding your head. "I forgot you were doing that today," he chuckles. “Go ahead, continue your interview," he adds with a fond look before walking off with Nellie. As the camera returns to you, you make your way toward the stairs, glancing over your shoulder to find Drew already on the floor, happily playing with Nellie.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, captured by the camera momentarily fixated on the fleeting connection. "What's something people don’t know about you?" the interviewer asks, pulling you back into the conversation. You pause, thinking for a second. "I’m actually allergic to most flowers," you reveal with a sheepish laugh. "Really? I wouldn’t have known," the interviewer responds, clearly surprised. "Oh, absolutely! When we film Outer Banks, they have to shoot around the flowers, or I'd be a sneezing mess," you confess, casually walking backward while maintaining a steady gaze with the camera.

The tour continues through luxurious walk-in closet, filled with designer attire. “What’s your pet peeve?” You laugh, shaking your head in mock exasperation. "Oh, definitely when people chew loudly. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for me. Chase is notorious for doing it on purpose, so I avoid him during my lunch breaks," you add, giggling at the memory. "Where was the best vacation you’ve been taken to?" the interviewer inquires as you step into your shared bedroom with Drew, the ocean stretching out just outside the windows.

"I think I’d have to say Vienna with Drew for my birthday," you say, smiling over your shoulder as you look out at the view. “A song you replay often?” "Hm, I think Charlie, Last Name Wilson," you say with a grin, rifling through the records. "It never gets old, and it’s super catchy." You smile as you pick it out. "Most of you guys would know that this song is also Drew and Austin’s favourite, so we always play it on set," you chuckle. "Does the rest of the Outer Banks cast like it too?" the interviewer asks, laughing along. "They don’t have much choice," you joke with a grin.

"Is there anything from any set that you've taken home with you?" The interviewer asks eagerly. “Oh, I love this question!" you exclaim, opening a drawer to reveal a variety of souvenirs. "This is the bag my character 'Whiskey' from Glass Onion owned," you say, showing off the brown frill bag. "And here’s a pack of Italian cigarettes from Immaculate, they’re just props, by the way," you add with a wink.

You pull out a cowboy hat. "This one’s from Tom on the set of Billy the Kid," you explain. "And this," you say with a smile, holding up a ring on a necklace. "This is Rafe's ring, the one he gave my character." "What a beautiful photo of the two of you," the interviewer notes, pointing to the large black-and-white photo of you and Drew at a Vogue photoshoot above your bed.

"It is! That day was actually so special for us. We both got the call saying we’d been cast in our respective roles that we’d been auditioning for," you explain, your face lighting up with nostalgia. The interviewer then asks about Drew’s upcoming movie. "Speaking of which, Drew’s film Queer is coming out very soon. Are you excited to watch it on the big screen?" "Yes, of course!" you say, your voice full of pride.

"I was so incredibly proud of him when he got the role. He was definitely excited too, especially since it’s, you know, the Luca Guadagnino." You chuckle. "I got the privilege to actually be on set for a bit, and it was amazing. Plus, I got to catch up with Daniel," you mention. "It was really nice to see him again." You smile, the pride evident in your expression as you talk about Drew's accomplishments.

The conversation is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door, and both you and the interviewer turn your attention toward it. Drew’s head peeks around the corner, his grin lighting up the frame as the camera zooms in on him. "I made some iced teas—yours is half and half," he says casually, stepping into the room with a tray holding two glasses. You can’t help but beam as he hands you your drink. "Aww, thanks, babe," you say gratefully, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment as you take the glass.

Drew hands the other glass to the interviewer, who looks pleasantly surprised. "Wow, thank you, Drew!" he says with a wide smile. "Of course," Drew replies warmly before glancing at you. "Let me know if you need anything else," he says, shooting you a quick wink before stepping out of the room. The camera lingers on him for a beat as he walks away, capturing his effortless charm.

You take a sip of the iced tea, the cool, refreshing taste spreading through you as you let out a content sigh. "Is this something you drink often?" the interviewer asks, clearly curious. You nod enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely. I like mine half and half, and I drink it like 24/7," you say with a chuckle, the glass still in your hand. The interviewer grins before asking a more personal question. "I can tell Drew is very thoughtful. What’s your favourite trait of his?"

You laugh softly, caught off guard by the difficult question. "You can’t make me choose—I love everything about him!" you say with a playful grin, your tone light but sincere. The interviewer chuckles along with you, clearly charmed by your response. "Okay, okay, fair enough. But if you had to pick just one thing that comes to mind?"

You pause for a moment, your expression softening as you think. "Hmmm," you hum, swirling your iced tea absentmindedly. "I love the little things he does," you begin, your voice warm with affection. "Like how he always remembers my coffee order or when he leaves me little notes when I’m on set. It’s those small, thoughtful moments that really mean the most to me."

The camera captures your tender smile, and the interviewer smiles himself, visibly touched by your response. "That’s so sweet," he says, his tone genuine. "It really is," you smile, a soft, almost bashful grin spreading across your face. "He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for," you say, your tone filled with warmth and sincerity.

The interviewer watches you with an amused smile, clearly endeared by the dreamy, almost schoolgirl-like look on your face as you think about Drew.

~

The Vogue 73 Questions interview quickly becomes an internet sensation, captivating fans. It was everywhere. Clips of your candid answers and sweet, unscripted moments—especially the one where Drew casually walked in with iced tea—became the ultimate proof of why you were Hollywood’s darling. Within hours of its release, the hashtag #73QuestionsWithY/n trends worldwide.

The comments section was flooded with fans losing their minds over the glimpse into your life. "Can we talk about how Drew KNOWS her iced tea order by heart? If this isn’t relationship goals, I don’t know what is." "Y/n casually being gorgeous, funny, and real in her Charleston dream home? I’m in love." "The way Drew looked at her when he walked in… I CAN’T. He’s so whipped, and I’m here for it."

Memes circulate, celebrating your witty remarks and playful demeanor, while your thoughtful insights and open vulnerability spark heartfelt discussions. The part where Drew sneaks into the interview with iced tea becomes a fan-favourite, with many dubbing it "the cutest boyfriend moment of the year."

“I love how real she is,” one fan tweeted, accompanied by screenshots of your answer about Drew’s little notes and coffee orders. Another post with a screenshot of you laughing at Drew’s confused “Oh, Vogue’s here” reaction read, “You can just tell they’re best friends. I want a love like this.”

The media couldn’t get enough, either. Everyone from gossip sites to prestigious magazines weighed in on how you’d managed to blend the glamour of your career with the warmth of your personality. The buzz reignites interest in your past projects and elevates anticipation for your upcoming ones. Your social media following soars as fans, old and new, praise your ability to remain grounded despite your success.

Meanwhile, Drew’s small but sweet cameo sparks renewed admiration for your relationship, with countless threads and videos dedicated to celebrating your bond. “Y/n and Drew are proof that true love exists,” one viral tweet declares, garnering thousands of likes and retweets. Another fan edits together a montage of your cutest moments from the interview, set to a romantic song, which quickly racks up millions of views.

Drew couldn’t stop teasing you about how viral the iced tea moment had become. “You’re lucky I didn’t walk in shirtless,” he joked one night as you scrolled through TikTok, finding yet another edit of you two. “Please,” you said, giggling, your hand affectionately stroking Nellie, “half the internet would’ve fainted.” “Half?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I think you’re underestimating me, babe.”

[jungwnies]

mercedes boys | wrong garage, right person

୨ৎ : featuring : mercedes drivers | george russell x reader & kimi antonelli x reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @fastcarsgonyoem) : after a wardrobe malfunction during media day leaves her exposed and stranded, christian horner’s estranged daughter finds herself seeking cover in the mercedes garage, only to walk out wearing their team kit. with tensions already high between her and her father, the media frenzy that follows is nothing compared to the storm waiting back in the red bull paddock. but one driver makes it clear she’s not walking through it alone.

୨ৎ : genre : angst & romance ୨ৎ : tws : ur christian horner's daughter 💀 ୨ৎ : word count : 1089

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : being already awake for the live content is so refreshing... it was getting tough waking up at 3am to watch the lives 😭 and can i say how proud I AM OF KIMI BRO OMFG... he is setting new records jdknjcdff (unfortunate sprint tho...)

ʚ・george russell

it was supposed to be a normal media day.

smile, wave, answer a few watered-down questions, ignore your father’s passive-aggressive nod across the paddock, and leave before the headlines twisted your last name into a headline again.

what you didn't plan for was the strap of your tube top snapping mid-interview.

it happened fast — a loud pop, a panicked hand to your chest, and a horrified expression frozen on the face of the poor journalist who definitely didn’t sign up for this. you muttered a choked “i need a second,” and spun on your heel, panic rising in your throat as your eyes darted around the paddock.

no one from red bull was in sight. not your team, not your pr handler — and certainly not your father.

of course not.

the only thing within reach was the nearest garage. mercedes.

you didn’t even think. just ran.

george looked up from his post-briefing water bottle and froze the second he saw you barreling toward him, one hand clutching your chest and the other waving wildly.

“george! shirt— help— please!”

he blinked. “did… did you just say shirt?”

you burst into the garage, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. “tube top snapped. no one’s around. i need a shirt. or something. anything.”

he didn't ask questions. just shrugged off his oversized team tee and handed it over.

it hung loosely on you, swallowing your frame in dark gray cotton and that familiar silver star on the back. you caught your reflection in the side of a car.

oh no.

mercedes branding. all over you. on a media day. in front of half the grid.

you walked back out, head high, trying not to meet the eyes of the cameras that were absolutely capturing this moment. the second you stepped onto the main paddock strip, it was over.

click. click. flash.

“is that christian horner’s daughter… in mercedes gear?”

“was this planned?”

“she defecting?”

you didn’t stop walking until george caught up with you.

“you okay?” he asked gently.

“peachy. i’m just waiting for my dad to explode in the background.”

as if summoned, your phone buzzed. three missed calls. all from him.

george took one look at your screen and exhaled. “you want me to walk you over there?”

you laughed without humor. “you want front row seats to the fireworks?”

“i want you to know you’re not walking into that alone.”

your steps slowed.

you looked at him, this man who didn’t owe you anything — who knew exactly who your father was, what your name meant, and still held out his hand like it didn’t matter.

you took it.

when you finally reached the red bull side, your father stood by the door, jaw clenched, arms crossed.

he opened his mouth — and george spoke first.

“she had a wardrobe malfunction. no one from your team was around. i helped. that’s all.”

christian looked at you. not angry. just cold.

“i’ll handle this later.”

“no,” george said calmly, squeezing your hand. “you’ll handle it respectfully.”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to.

george had already said enough.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you knew the second the strap popped that it was going to be a disaster.

there was a flash of sound, a startled yelp, and then your hand flew up to your chest as your tube top gave up on life mid-media appearance. the cameras were already flashing. the crowd paused just enough to notice. you backed away slowly, heart pounding, half-hiding behind a barrier and pretending to scroll through your phone as if that would stop the headlines from writing themselves.

of course, no one from red bull was around. especially not your father.

you scanned the paddock like a rabbit ready to bolt. the closest team garage was mercedes. you didn’t even think. you just made a beeline straight for it.

kimi spotted you instantly. he was in the middle of debrief, a bottle of water in one hand, half-listening to a mechanic. but the second he saw you marching toward him with your arm across your chest and panic in your eyes, he moved.

“are you okay?”

“top snapped. can’t find anyone. i need something to wear. literally anything.”

he blinked, then without a word, peeled off his black and silver warm-up shirt and handed it over. it was soft, a little loose, and smelled vaguely like peppermint gum and sunscreen.

you turned away as you pulled it on, face burning.

when you looked back at him, he just smiled a little. “you look good in my colors.”

you smacked his arm lightly. “not helping.”

“sorry.”

you knew it was too late when you heard the cameras clicking. when you turned the corner out of the garage, a few journalists raised their phones like they had just struck gold.

“is that horner’s daughter?”

“in a mercedes shirt?”

your phone started buzzing. you didn’t even look at it.

kimi fell into step beside you. he didn’t say anything at first. just walked with you, calmly, like there wasn’t a storm of speculation brewing on every feed.

“you don’t have to come,” you said quietly.

“i know.”

“you’ll get dragged into this.”

he shrugged. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you bit your lip. “doesn’t matter. he’ll say i did anyway.”

kimi stopped walking. you turned to face him, but he just stared straight ahead at the red bull garage down the lane.

“if he says anything out of line, i’ll speak up.”

your heart kicked. “kimi…”

“i don’t care what your last name is. i care that you’re shaking.”

you hadn’t even noticed you were. his hand slipped into yours like it belonged there.

when you reached the edge of the red bull paddock, you saw your father standing near the media doors, arms crossed, expression already tight.

he looked at you. then at kimi. then at the logo stretched across your chest.

“you’re joking.”

kimi didn’t flinch. “her top broke. she needed help. we helped. that’s it.”

your father’s eyes narrowed. “you could have gone to literally anyone else.”

“no one else was there,” you said quietly.

“you’re making a scene.”

the silence was heavy.

your father scoffed. “we’ll talk about this later.”

“no,” kimi said. “you’ll talk to her when she’s ready. not when you feel like being angry.”

you looked at him, stunned.

he didn’t let go of your hand.

and in that moment, you realized it didn’t matter how loud the headlines got.

kimi would always stand between you and the noise.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[nebulousmoon3990]

GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)

III𓂃› SPIDER

Warning: violence, swearing, sensitive topics, bad things, spelling mistakes (English is not my first language) and the reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry), female reader!, I accept criticism, but please don't be rude, everything is fictional!

Hey guys! I'm really sorry it took me so long to post (I was sorting out some things in my life). well, enjoy the chapter!♡

Clark really didn't know what he was getting himself into.

He had expected to come to New York to do a simple interview for the Daily Planet, write the report and spreadsheet right here while eating at a café and if possible bring back some souvenirs for Lois and Jon.

Fighting a supervillain was definitely not in his plans.

It had happened out of nowhere, while he was waiting for the meeting with the businessman, the urgent news on television warning about a monster attacking the city made him leave urgently. He could solve this and finish it in time.

He just didn't know that he wouldn't need to solve it.

While flying, now as Superman, he easily found the villain, it wasn't very difficult to see him in fact. He was the size of a building of at least nine or ten stories, his skin was rocky and hard, made purely of stone. Clark was about to attack the giant when he heard a scream.

Looking through the villain a helicopter was in the way, the pilot tried to maneuver away but they would be enveloped in the confusion. Using his speed, Clark tried to get closer to the helicopter, however it was not enough since it was still far away.

The rocky hand would catch the vehicle before him.

Well, he is not alone.

Before the walking rock caught the propeller and possibly destroyed the vehicle something got attached to the hand and pulled it up, bringing the villain's focus to another place, his distraction was enough for him to catch the helicopter. He noticed as he moved away that what had stopped the giant was... a web? He followed with his gaze the path of the white rope and saw a figure pass quickly on it.

What?

Leaving the helicopter on top of a landing area of ​​a nearby building, he approached the frightened journalists. "Are you hurt?"

The one who answered was the cameraman, who was still breathing heavily, "N-no, Mr. Superman. We're fine-"

"IT'S HER! TYLER FILM, FILM!" The woman's excitement made the man quickly grab his camera. She looked at him and gave a shy smile while holding the microphone, perhaps a little embarrassed by her euphoria. "Oh, Superman, thank you very much. It's just that we never get clear images of her, so you can understand our excitement."

She? She who?

No one needed to answer his question because when he looked at the monster he saw the "she".

A super heroine

Her figure swayed between the giant and the buildings. She wore a suit that covered her entire body, leaving no room to see any of her features. All Clark could see was that she was short, perhaps indicating that she was a teenager.

The monster tried to grab her with its free hand, moving much faster than it had when it was with the helicopter. She, however, brought her webbed wrist towards the giant's face, causing him punched his own face. Swinging away from him, she taunted, her voice echoing off the buildings. "Hey big guy, is that all you know how to do? For someone so tough, you're softer than jelly!"

Hit a nerve, for sure.

"Who is she?" He asked the man who was filming the action with the reporter, even in a situation like that the cameraman looked at the heroine with a glint in his eye, a glint that intrigued Clark.

"Her? She's Spider-Woman."

Spider Woman, he had never heard of this superheroine, but that didn't matter now.The "Spider Woman" swung again on her webs at the stone man's aggression towards her. Superman moved away from the reporters and headed towards the brute. He was quick to bump his fist with the giant's, preventing him from punching a building. The action made the heroine finally notice the Kryptonian. She widened the white eyes of the mask when she saw him flying. "Superman?"

She hung from a building, climbing the glass to get closer to him, she looked at the monster and then at him, her head spinning until she realized something, knowing that he would help her she addressed him. "Hey, Superman. Can you immobilize him for me for at least a few seconds?"

The Kryptonian looked at her, hesitating a little, but then a smile appeared on his lips "Leave it to me."

They moved together at that moment. Clark used his freezing breath on the stone legs, freezing them and immobilizing him to the ground. With the giant still, the spider woman climbed on his back and reached his neck. While the monster struggled, he saw her take a syringe and apply it to the rocky neck. With the liquid entering the monster's veins, he began to scream. Clark was about to intervene when the thunderous scream stopped.

Slowly, pieces of stone fell from the giant, and when they found their end on the ground, they turned into sand, being carried away by the wind. Little by little, the monster began to disintegrate until there was nothing left of him, just a cloud of dust in the place. Approaching to see the damage, he went down and came across the individuals.

The villain, once gigantic and grotesque, was now a thin and small man, passed out in the heroine's arms, while his breathing stabilized, Clark for the first time observed Spider-Woman up close, without being in the heat of battle.

The costume she wore was outlined in black and golden, the fabric was a mix of a dull color and another bright color, the symbol of a spider displayed proudly on her chest, the hood covered the mask on her face, making it difficult to see the white eyes of the mask. What intrigued him most was that it was not common fabric, since when he tried to use his x-ray vision he could not see Spider-Woman's identity.

She certainly knew how to hide her identity.

Just like someone he knew.

"Looking at he now, he doesn't look like a villain."

"And he isn't, they forced him, he's just an ordinary citizen." The dust slowly cleared, now revealing the street they were on. "Honestly, it's a surprise to see you here, shouldn't you be in Metropolis?"

Clark started to sweat a little. True, he should be in Metropolis, not New York, but he couldn't just watch everything on TV, there was a villain attacking the city! And he didn't know New York had a heroine to protect them! How careless of him. "Yeah, actually, I was..."

"was?"

"I-I flew past here! That's it." Spider-woman looked at him before starting to laugh, well at least he tried to hide it, in fact the excuse had been pretty bad.

"Okay, I'll take this as truth, you must have your reasons, don't you, Mr. Clark?"

The aforementioned froze, looking at the spider, who stood up carrying the injured man. The sounds of sirens were heard in the distance, indicating that the police were coming. "What?"

This time, it was the spider woman who froze, realizing her carelessness too late. She looked at him, and even with the mask on her face, he could have sworn a bead of sweat was on his forehead. "Ah, I and my big mouth."

"Do you know my identity? How did you-"

"L-look, I swear it wasn't intentional, seriously! I have... my reasons to know, but I promise! I didn't tell anyone and I won't tell anyone." Superman just looked at her in astonishment, it wasn't intentional? How did she find out then? While the police and ambulance finally arrived, the woman was quick to hand the man over to the police and briefly explained everything, she distanced herself from the police, ready to leave as quickly as possible when he approached her.

"Who are you? Like, really?" She looked at him, clearly anxious to get out of there. "That's... a secret, but like I said, I won't tell anyone, don't worry."

She pulled away from him again, releasing a web from her wrist, already trapping her in a building to resume her run. But before that, she turned to Clark, the tone of her words showing no lies, only truths. "After all..."

"If I wanted to do this, I would have done it nine months ago."

And with that she was gone.

Again, Clark didn't know what he was doing.

It had been a few days since his encounter with Spider-Woman, the revelation that she knew his identity disturbed him, but that wasn't what was going through Clark's head now.

That was who she was.

That woman (or teenager?, Clark doesn't know) had been saving New York for at least a year and absolutely no one in the league knew, she was literally under their noses the whole time and no one knew! But while they didn't know anything, but New York knew, you weren't liked by everyone but most definitely liked you, you gave those people security every day and they trusted you.

You were a real mystery.

In addition, there was the identity issue. Clark wasn't rich, so he didn't have spectacular security to hide his identity, but he always took precautions. You, however, found out so easily. Clark knew that your "it wasn't intentional" statement might be wrong, but whether it was intentional or not, you still did it.

Clark knew that you wouldn't reveal your identity to the world. Your statement made that very clear, but even so, his head itched and itched to meet you.

Maybe he was being hasty, but you were a great heroine, there was no denying that. You fought well, you were smart, and you had experience. You could be a good ally. Besides, Clark doesn't know if you're an adult, so it would be a good way to keep you under supervision.

That's why he's heading back to New York now.

The sun had already set, giving him a view of the beautiful night that had fallen while he was flying, but at that moment Clark was trying to find you.

He didn't know where you could be, in fact he didn't know what to do when he found you, he didn't even know what sparked his interest, he simply... felt. Something about how you were, the mystery surrounding you intrigued him, and Clark simply followed that instinct.

His thoughts were interrupted when his super hearing picked up a sound, of what sounded like running, it could have been anything but his instincts told him to follow the sound, to find the source.

He did.

And thank goodness he did, because he found you.

You were jumping over the buildings, like he had seen you do before, and it was only when you stopped that he could approach you. You were on the edge of the building, looking down at the floors. Clark intended to approach you, but it seemed like you had other plans.

"I thought you had already left." Your voice was neutral, showing no irritation or pleading, it was as white as a sheet, which made him stop, a little surprised that you had discovered him. "I did."

You turned to him, the eyes of the mask you were wearing showing him your confusion, looking him up and down, your reasoning led you to realize why he was here. "You- wait, are you following me?!"

"Following is a very strong word-"

"But you just admitted that you went to the metropolis and came to New York again!" Your arms gestured so quickly thanks to your nervousness that when you realized it you put one of them on your waist and the other you ran your hand over your face.

Clark couldn't help but find this cute.

"Look if this is because of the identity-"

"More or less, but that's not all." Clark's mouth turned into a gentle smile, your brain thinking about the possibilities again, all while you looked at him.

Silence reigned between the two, neither of them wanting to comment before the other, but it seems that Spider-Woman didn't have much time because a sound came from her gauntlet, she quickly accessed it and Clark saw that the "bracelet" was a type of miniature screen attached to the fabric of the suit, you looked at the messages before turning to Clark.

"I'm sorry but I have to go." You looked at the city below, looking at the lights that illuminated the place. Clark was about to speak when you cut him off before. "No offense Superman, but I think it's better if you go back to Metropolis, I don't have time to talk."

You spread your arms wide as you leaned towards the edge of the building, your eyes narrowed affectionately, which contradicted your voice full of irony. "Then this is our last meeting, thank you~"

And then you threw yourself.

Clark flew to the edge, ready to catch up with you, only to be faced with the emptiness of the city, you disappeared before their eyes, like a ghost.

"Then this is our last meeting."

No, it wouldn't be.

And it wasn't.

For the past four months, Clark has been bothering you, appearing out of nowhere, scaring you, helping you, making you more irritated by his constant appearances, making you more dynamic, more ironic, but happy.

It was a confusion of emotions, to tell the truth.

You expected that after a while he would stop doing this, after all he had things to take care of, for example: a city called Metropolis.

But Clark apparently didn't agree with that, because at least once every two weeks he would go to New York just to talk. The weirdest thing is that he started talking about his life to you as if he had known you for years! He talked about how he loved Lois, his relationship with John and Conner, GOD! He even talked about the Daily Planet!

Dude, he didn't even know who you were and he was just talking about his life to you?

You, however, always listened to him, you didn't tell him anything about your life but you didn't stop listening to him either.

Honestly, if you wanted to, you could very well mess with his life.

Good thing you're the heroine here.

As you jumped between buildings, your danger sensor beeped, warning you of something approaching. Knowing who it could be, you went down to the terrace of a building. Your suspicions were confirmed when you felt a gust of air from above. Turning around, you came face to face with the hero who had been on your tail for the last few months: Superman.

Clark had a gentle smile on his face, the smile of a hero, something that conveyed confidence and comfort. And it really did.

"Hello, Mr. Super, you look as happy as ever."

"Yeah, you look as relaxed as ever." He landed in front of you as you leaned against the building's railing, your elbows keeping your body steady as you assumed a carefree posture. Clark glanced at the buildings behind you nervously, uneasy about something. "I hope you don't mind, but we have company today."

You arched an eyebrow in doubt as your danger sensor went off like crazy, you had a few seconds before you turned around and launched a web at the person. You expected to find a criminal or even a super villain, but you were faced with the sunglasses of a teenager in a costume similar to Superman. "Yeah, she's really fast like you said."

What?

Before you could react, a much smaller figure appeared in front of you, just like the teenager (the difference was that he was a child and didn't wear glasses) he also looked a lot like Clark, he floated in front of you, bright and excited eyes directed at you. "Wow! You're so much cooler in person!"

A drop appeared on your head, turning to the man of steel you muttered to him. "Who are-"

"John and Conner." He chuckled softly, seeing your eyes narrow in irritation. "John really wanted to meet you and Conner ended up joining too."

"Oh." You pulled away from John a little as sarcasm flooded your lips. "That's great!"

Conner chuckled softly as you released him from your web, he approached you as he bent down a little to speak to you, since he was taller. "I thought you'd be happy to see us, it's not every day three Kryptonians come to New York to help with crimes." His voice held an undeniable teasing, the low and deep tone of his voice having the words dragged in his speech, it seemed almost sensual.

You stopped as you watched the other two, John and Clark froze, their gazes fixed on Conner, who you had confirmed was trying to subtly court you.

But you're not the shy girl here.

You approached him, close enough to be face to face, your breath could be felt on his mask. Conner, surprised by your bold move, leaned back, his cheeks flushed with your approach. "Well, New York is already protected by its heroine every day, so I don't need help." The smile on your face grew when Conner turned redder at the sound of your voice.

You quickly moved away from him and hung on the ledge, you turned to him, your figure shining with the lights in the city. "Then watch me do my job, mini super."

You fell from the building, the wind shaking your hood as you fell. Before hitting the ground, you threw a web up and climbed up again, hanging on one at a time. As your figure moved away, Conner and John looked at you. "Damn."

"You better come, or we'll end up losing her."

The night would be very long.

"OH GOSH, I'm so tired!" You yawned as you hung on the webs, it was almost four in the morning and you decided to go home. The supers had already left, you believe they were tired too (Especially Conner, where you and he played flirting all night).

You stopped on the terrace while looking around, seeing if someone or something had followed you, seeing no threat you hung on your web and slowly fell to your apartment, you opened the balcony door and as soon as you entered you were greeted by a satisfied meow.

Looking at the sofa in the living room, you saw Mooly lying on the cushion, the little black kitten moving and going to your ankle, cunning for affection. You laughed softly and picked her up gently, while placing her in your arms. "Hey, haven't you gone to sleep yet?"

As you petted the little one, footsteps were heard throughout the house, when you looked up you came across a large white vinyl robot, its form being embraced by its shadows, its round eyes shining in the dark space.

You looked at it and it did the same, the atmosphere apparently cold and tense to those looking from the outside, but completely the opposite for those who live in this house. The robot bowed respectfully, its voice, calm and tobotic, showed deep down a contained joy, reserved only for those close to it.

"It's so good to see you home." He stood up from his position, round eyes blinking slightly in the darkness of the apartment.

"Master (Name)."

You smiled as you set Mooly down on the couch again, you raised your hand to his neck and squeezed it, causing his mask to retract, revealing his identity. His face, the face of someone forgotten is a frequent presence on the walls here.

(Name) Wayne, the Spider-Woman, the missing daughter, the useless Wayne. His face was older than before, aged like red wine, clearly showing that you took after your father, since your face was just like his. Beautiful and exquisite, cold and deadly.

"It's good to be home Mark, where's Alex?" You asked as you squeezed your shoulder, which was a bit sore from today's patrol.

"Mrs. Alex is already asleep, she said she couldn't stand listening to you flirting with Superboy anymore."This made you laugh out loud, you could imagine Alex covering his ears so he wouldn't hear the two of you. You pressed the bracelet on your wrist and in a flash your suit retracted into the bracelet, showing your figure that had a loose blouse and pants. You stretched, heading towards the bathroom.

"Well, I guess I better go too, tomorrow I have a college project and Mrs. Vivian wants me early at the coffee shop" before you could get there Mark called you, his voice echoing through the house. "You got a message from Master Billy."

You stopped and looked at Mark, the notification displayed on his cute belly from an ologram. "Did he send it at this time?" The robot shook his head and handed the phone to you.

Opening your messages you went straight to Billy's contact, concern starting to creep in on you, but then again, you should know how Billy is.

Because when you saw the message you felt your stomach churn.

Billy Batson was eating the most beautiful and delicious candy you had ever seen in your entire life, and he sent it to you even though he knew about your addiction to sweets.

That little shit-

You quickly typed furiously on the cell phone keyboard, not caring that it was late, just wanting to curse Batson for making you feel hungry when you planned on not having dinner.

'Fuck, I hate you Batson ಥ_ಥ'

His answer didn't take more than a few seconds to come, his response irritating you even more.

'HEY, you finally answered me, I was already worried. Besides, I know you love me 𖹭𖹭𖹭(∪ ◡ ∪)'

'I promise I'll buy one for you, good night little spider ツ'

'...good night Billy.'

You wanted to cry, that's it.

Especially because you were hungry now.

Knowing your fate, you threw the cellphone on the couch and turned on the kitchen light, you heard Mooly and Mark's footsteps following you.

"I think there are still ingredients for a mug cake, right?" eating now wouldn't hurt.

"Bruce? BRUCE!" The aforementioned looked at the entrance of the batcave where Tim and Jason had rushed in. The two looked like they had seen a ghost, sweaty and pale, still in their suits. "Tim, what is it?"

"You- You need to see this!" He sighed heavily as he threw himself into the chair at the control panel, his fingers typing faster than he had seen them on missions. Bruce looked at Jason, who was standing next to him, who had a burning look on his face, hope hidden behind his eyes.

What's going on?

Bruce didn't need to ask, because Tim began to explain to him. "Since the accident with... (Name), I've never found any clues..." Bruce shuddered at the sound of your name, they didn't talk about that subject.

Even after three years it still hurt.

"But that was because I wasn't looking in the right place!" The teenager put up the pictures of the bus that had been carrying you that day, only the wreckage that was left was in the picture. "But now-now I know where to look."

"Last year, Star City had several people kidnapped suddenly, just like (Name) no one found any clues about the case, but Jason and Roy investigated thoroughly and managed to find a kind of underground dungeon where the kidnapped people would be."

Now on the computer was the picture of the bus and of a kind of what Bruce would call a mental hospital. The place was so rotten and filthy that Bruce wondered if anyone lived there. "Apparently there's nothing, but if you look behind each of the huge graffiti on the wall..."

Tim, using the program, removed the graffiti, which gave Bruce a view of the white walls, but in the middle of them, pieces of something nonsensical resided there. "... and put them together."

The movement in Tim's hands moved the images on the wall, distorting and shaping them until one completed the other, making the nonsensical make sense.

"A symbol."

The symbol of a womb wrapped around a two-headed serpent.

"Do you know where else this symbol is?" Tim again returned to the image of the bus wreckage, he shaped the image and put together pieces of the walls that resulted in the same symbol, but with small parts missing. "So you mean-"

"That the same people who kidnapped the people in Star City were the ones who kidnapped (Name)." Jason answered for the two, his tone as dejected as Bruce's.

He can't blame him, he's in a similar state.

"The problem is that I can't find out what it means, I've tried on the Internet, in history books, even on Wikipedia! But I haven't found anything."

The crushing silence suffocated those present, leaving invisible marks on their being. "It has to have a meaning, anything- okay, what does it mean to a womb?!"

"Jason, this is stupid-"

"No, but we have to try! Shit, you only looked in science books or-or whatever, but have you tried to look for anything related to mythology?" Tim thought for a moment, but shook his head negatively.

"The womb refers to the woman, the mother. Now, what does a two-headed snake refer to?" Bruce asked no one in particular, his thoughts searching for the knowledge he had about it.

"Would it be a mother snake? That's nonsense."

Jason thought for a moment and realized something. "Technically, it's not." The red hood searched the control panel while talking to Robin and Batman.

"In Greek mythology, there was a creature that was half snake and half woman." The mythological image appeared next to the symbol. The grotesque figure of the creature somehow referred to the symbol.

"She was known as the mother of monsters."

"Echidna."

HI GUYS, this chapter was a lot of work, I had a lot of blockages but I managed to do it.

Now I have a question to ask: Is Conner treated as Clark's son or brother?

You already know that I haven't read the comics, I've watched Young Justice (at least there it gave the impression that Conner would be treated as Clark's son) but on Wikipedia it says that Conner is treated as John's uncle, please answer me 😭.

I'm also doing a reader drawing (NON-CANONIC), I think I'll do headcanons too. I'll possibly leave a link below.

Ok, let's go to the Tag list \(•◡•)/:

@daiyanomochi - @amber-content - @wizzerreblogs - @foggyv-oid - @kore-of-the-underworld - @theunknowntravel3r - @space1crow - @shortnsweetsposts - @popursocks - @sugasweettea - @salfishers - @itachisank - @jsprien213 - @infirebaby - @yhin-gg -@h-ib @bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93 - @horror-lover-69 - @mybones537 - @eyeless-kun - @timotheechalametswifeys - @justabreadslice - @nymphzy0 - @1-800-g00ber - @pix-stuff - @jsprien213

sorry for any mistakes.

Bye 𖹭

[incloudcity]

could you write a fic with quinn where he's dating a reporter but they keep the relationship in secret specially because of her carrer but accidently in a post game interview he slips a "thanks princess" or any other cute thing, while they are on live, n that makes her blushes and suddenly the whole hockey world knows they are together

off the record | qh43

requests are open

a/n: guys i’m sooooo sick i think im dying so this is all you get for tonight. hopefully i can catch up on drafts and requests in a little bit once im better

You’d been covering the Canucks for just over a month when Quinn Hughes became your problem.

On camera, he was a dream for a reporter — short answers, eye contact, always polite. Off camera? A menace. Quiet, smirky, and way too comfortable leaning just a bit too close.

“Nice question,” he said under his breath one night, handing back your recorder. “You practice in the mirror, sweetheart?”

You arched a brow, lips twitching. “Do you actually answer the media’s questions, or do you just flirt with them until they leave you alone?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Depends. Is it working?”

You walked away without replying.

He caught up with you later with a cup of coffee, one you hadn’t asked for, in his hand.

“Two sugars, no cream, right?” he asked.

You stared. “That better not be a guess.”

He just smiled, leaned against the hallway wall like he had nowhere else to be. “I’m observant.”

“Uh-huh. And completely unprofessional.”

He tilted his head. “So are you saying you want me to stop?”

You took the coffee. Didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t say no, either.

Over the next few weeks, the game continued. Quinn made it subtle — he never crossed the line where someone else might catch on. But you noticed. The playful jabs. The way he’d tap the table once for everyone, then twice more just for you. When you asked something tough in a presser, he’d sigh like you were personally attacking him — but always with a glint in his eye.

“You’re ruthless,” he said once after a particularly pointed question about power play production.

You smirked. “Maybe stop turning the puck over and I’ll go easier on you.”

“Ohhh,” he groaned, clutching his chest. “Brutal. And you still won’t go out with me?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re exhausting, Hughes.”

“You’ll miss me when I stop trying.”

“Looking forward to it.”

But you weren’t. Not really.

The night you finally caved, it wasn’t a grand moment. Just a quiet run-in after practice, late, both of you tired. He looked at you for a second too long. You looked back. No one else was around.

“You wanna grab something to eat?” he asked, softer this time. No smirk. No show.

You hesitated.

“Just dinner,” he added quickly. “No pressure.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve reminded him that if anyone found out, you’d both get torn apart.

But you didn’t.

After that, everything changed — and nothing did. You kept it private. No one knew about the way he pressed kisses behind your ear when you were brushing your teeth. Or how he’d text you “media availability just got way more interesting” before games.

He never said anything on the record. Until he did.

It was a standard post-game scrum, packed with reporters. You were in your usual spot, notebook in hand, asking about third-period adjustments.

Quinn glanced at you, gave his usual answer — then added, too casually:

“We adjusted in the third, like you said, babe.”

Babe.

It was a split second. One syllable. But it echoed.

Your pen paused mid-sentence. The PR guy blinked like he’d misheard. A few reporters looked around.

You didn’t flinch. Your voice was even. “Noted. Thanks, Hughes.”

But inside, you were screaming.

Later that night, Quinn was pacing your apartment like he was being traded.

“I can’t believe I said that,” he muttered. “I’m so—so sorry. You’re gonna get in trouble. Shit, I didn’t even think. It just—slipped. Like an idiot.”

You sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, watching him spiral.

“I literally train my whole life to stay calm under pressure and I blew it with one word—”

“Quinn.”

He froze. His face glazed over with panic.

You stood, walked over, leaned against the counter, and gave him a slow once-over.

“I’m not mad.”

He blinked. “You’re… not?”

“No.” You cracked a grin. “But you should be. Twitter thinks you’re engaged now. You’re a whole meme.”

He groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Oh my god.”

You pulled out your phone. “Someone edited your post-game quote over a Bridgerton clip.”

“I’m never showing my face again.”

“You’re adorable when you panic.”

He looked up at you, exasperated. “Why are you not freaking out?”

“Because if you think I didn’t screenshot the second it happened, you don’t know me at all.”

He groaned again — and this time you reached up, pulling him in by his hoodie.

“I’ll handle PR,” you said, brushing a kiss over his jaw. “But you’re doing media training again. Just in case.”

He smiled, finally, against your mouth. “Worth it.”

[im-so-tired-sorry]

“what was your approach to handling such a chaotic villian?” the interviewer asked.

“he wasn’t difficult to detain. his mannerisms were sporadic but he just needed a rough hand to calm him down.” pro hero dynamite was pulled aside after capturing a villian for a quick post-fight interview. the area had been closed off and his media team had previously advised him to participate in more interviews to gain public reaction and support. though he was more reserved and preferred focusing more on hero work than the media aspect of the job, he reluctantly agreed. his team acknowledged his distain for being involved in the media so they advised that he come off as neutral-tone as possible. it was the only way for him to tolerate the “annoying” interview while giving a decent impression. it was a bonus that he was more than camera ready since the fight didn’t even make him break a sweat.

“did you find what his objective was?”

“something about his lack of control in his life and how he never felt seen or hear-“ he had noticed throughout the interview that some of the camera crew were giggling at something behind him. it only caused him to pause mid sentence when the reporter asking him these questions began to be distracted as well.

he scolded at the crew before swiftly turning his head to see what was so damn funny.

all he saw was you and kiri red riot jumping around, on the other side of the street making absolute fools of yourselves as you try to add a comedic factor to the #2 hero’s interview. the crew expected a roll of the eyes and an annoyed scoff from dynamite, but the reaction they did receive was one they knew would get the broadcast attraction and views.

the members behind the camera widened their eyes as dynamite chuckled. a genuine laugh paired with a smile that fans online would post about later that evening, talking about the possibility of a secret charm under the pro hero’s rough exterior.

he looked back to the pair of you again, before quickly turning around and committing a full-speed sprint towards you. he only had to run halfway across the street before you and red riot panicked when you processed you were being chased and quickly turned to head back to where you two were supposed to be. the camera followed you two until you both turned to look back at dynamite with teasing smiles , and when the camera returned to the hero walking back to his place, it caught him putting his hand down after flipping you off.

standing back for the interview, his demeanor was more calm. still tense from his spontaneous run, but his eyes and shoulders were more relaxed. that didn’t change the fact that as soon as he continued to finish his interrupted answer, his tough attitude returned.

“how have you felt the last couple weeks after revealing your engagement to both of the heroes that stood behind you just then? do you think coming out with your relationship dynamic has affected you in any way related to your work?”

the boldness of the question stunned him to a impulsive response, “my personal life has nothing to do with who i am as a hero. i-“ katsuki thinks for a moment. a quick second. he continues in a calmer tone.

“my personal life has no affect on what i do physically. i am still watching the streets and saving lives because that’s what i have to do. it’s my responsibility. but the reason why i do it has recently changed. it’s not just cause i want to be the best. i have two lives that i am now dedicated to protecting and i will stop at nothing to make sure that the streets that i walk home with them on are safe.”

that clip was trending for weeks.

[strangersatellites]

I owe you a black eye and two kisses

933 words | idk M adjacent I guess

The interviewer’s name is Brooke. Steve isn’t sure who she’s with, he wasn’t paying that much attention.

She seems like a nice girl. Really, she does.

Steve is a little distracted though, trying his best to be earnest when he answers her questions.

“How did it feel when Jeremy told you he wrote the character specifically for you?”

“What was the most meaningful scene for you to film?”

“What was it like working with Nancy Wheeler? She’s my favorite.”

He thinks he does a pretty good job all things considered.

Well- considering that all he can hear is “Eddie! Over here” from the wall of paparazzi to his right. As kind as Brooke seems, he would much rather be hanging off his boyfriend while the crowd screams his name and begs for autographs.

Dating another famous person is all fun and games until work calls you both at the same time.

He looks over his shoulder between questions and catches Eddie throwing him a wink. He’s stood on the red carpet with the other Corroded Coffin boys and they’re all joking and laughing and acting like they don’t have a care in the world.

Steve knows that’s not true. They were all but shaking in their boots on the car ride over while their manager threatened them each on their lives to behave themselves.

He laughs under his breath and tears his eyes away.

“Okay! Now for some rapid-fire fan questions!” she says.

Perfect, this will be a good distraction until Eddie’s done being a goddamned model behind him.

Steve claps his hands together and furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m ready, let's do it.”

“What’s your favorite cereal?”

“Frosted Flakes, obviously.”

“When was the last time you went to the dentist?”

He snorts a laugh. “Uh, about a month ago actually. I chipped a tooth on set.”

“Yikes.” She looks down at the card in her hand. “Who is your most played artist on Spotify?”

He smiles, doesn’t need to pull out his phone to know the answer to that one.

“That would be my boyfriend.”

Brooke smiles at him and leans in conspiratorially, “If he isn’t really, I won’t tell anyone.”

He laughs. “He really is! If you wanted some juice though, Sabrina Carpenter is my second.”

She laughs and nods. “That’s perfect. I so see it. Okay, last one, what is your favorite snack to eat in bed?”

Oddly enough, he doesn’t really have to think to answer this one either.

“Pretzels, easy. We’ve been watching “How to Get Away With Murder” before bed every night and I’ve probably been through three bags this week. Honest.”

Brooke breaks her professional character to laugh and it spurs him on.

“It’s one of those things, I probably haven’t thought about a pretzel in three years and now that I’ve remembered they exist, I cannot put them down.” He notices now that even the camera guy is nodding and laughing. “You know when I was a kid, I used to love dipping a pretzel in my Coke can and hearing it fizz. That shit-”

He cuts himself off with a smile when he feels a warm hand slide around his waist.

“Hey hot stuff,” he giggles.

Eddie smacks a dramatic kiss to his cheek and squeezes his hip. His pretty smile taking over his face once he gets a good look at the blush that paints his cheeks.

“Hey babydoll. What’re you guys talking about?”

Steve’s head whips back around to Brooke. “Ooh! Ask him! I want to see if he says the same thing I did.”

She smiles and points the mic towards Eddie.

“What’s your favorite snack to eat in bed?”

Eddie puts on a faux contemplative look, puts a hand on his chin. He hums.

“Hm. That’s a tough one. God, I just don’t-”

Steve cuts him off, wraps his own arms around Eddie’s frame and gets in his face with a laugh.

“Oh come on, I know you’re thinking it! I want to be right!”

He makes himself giggle into Eddie’s shoulder thinking back to a few nights ago when Eddie had stuck two pretzel rods in his lip and pretended to be a walrus. So his confusion as to why Eddie isn’t answering only grows when he sees the filthy smirk on his face.

Eddie leans back far enough that he can see the mic flag.

“Who did you say you were with again?”

“E! News.”

Oh good. Steve had wanted to know that.

Eddie chuckles and Steve figures out what’s happening as soon as he feels Eddie’s hand shift. He can’t move his own fast enough.

“Well, Brooke from E! News, my favorite snack to eat in bed is my baby,” he punctuates it with a smack to Steve’s ass, “what else?”

Steve buries his blushing face in his boyfriend’s jacket and rushes to smack a hand over Eddie’s mouth before he can get out a, “Have you seen his-”

“OKAY, that’s enough out of you,” he looks back toward Brooke who is laughing hysterically, “I’m so sorry. He’s an animal.”

Steve is going to beat him up. Really, he is.

Eddie grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away from his mouth and settles it over his chest, bare under his studded jacket.

“Can you blame me? Look at him. Never tasted anything better.”

Okay, he’s done for real this time. He grabs Eddie’s arm and pulls him away, back toward the boys and more importantly away from the cameras.

“Thanks so much Brooke, you’re a gem, I am so sorry, again.”

Eddie cackles behind him and he just knows that they’ll never live this one down.

(He doesn’t really want to.)

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Sideline Chemistry

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Sports Media!Reader

Fandom: UConn’s women’s basketball

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: As a sports media intern, having to interview Paige for a class project and games should be fun right, but she takes it as an opportunity to shamelessly flirt each time.

As far as internships went, I had a pretty good one. Covering UConn sports for SNY as a student journalist meant I got to attend games, interview players, and build a solid portfolio. But it also came with one huge downside—my current assignment.

Interview Paige Bueckers.

For most people, that wouldn’t be a problem. Paige was an easy-going interview subject, known for her charm and humor. But I wasn’t most people. I was also in her friend group, which meant I had to deal with that version of Paige—the one who lived to tease me, held eye contact for way too long, and always found a way to make me flustered.

I’d prepared a professional approach. Keep it short, ask good questions, and don’t let Paige’s antics get to me.

Too bad she had other plans.

By the time I arrived at the UConn practice gym, most of the team had already left. A few players were still getting shots up, but Paige was leaning against the scorer’s table, scrolling through her phone.

She looked up when she heard my footsteps, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite journalist,” she said, slipping her phone into her hoodie pocket.

I sighed, setting up my camera. “Don’t start, Paige.”

“What? I’m just stating facts.” She stepped closer, resting a hand on her hip. “I feel honored. You could’ve interviewed anyone, but you chose me.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to focus on adjusting my tripod. “I had to choose you. It’s an assignment.”

“Mm-hmm.” Paige rocked back on her heels, watching me work. “Admit it, though—you’re kinda excited.”

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah, totally. This is the highlight of my week.”

She smirked. “See? Told you.”

I shook my head, refusing to let her get under my skin. “Can you just stand over there so I can frame the shot?”

Paige moved to the designated spot, but instead of standing normally, she put her hands in her hoodie pockets and tilted her head, eyes locked on me.

“You’re staring,” I muttered, adjusting the camera settings.

“You look cute when you’re focused.”

My fingers fumbled over the buttons, nearly knocking the camera off its mount. Paige’s quiet laugh filled the space between us.

“Paige,” I warned.

“What?” she said, feigning innocence. “I’m just being supportive.”

I took a deep breath, trying to reset my brain. Focus. I hit record and lifted my notepad.

“Alright, let’s start. Name, year, position.”

Paige grinned. “You already know all that.”

“It’s for the recording, genius.”

She huffed dramatically but answered. “Paige Bueckers, red shirt senior, guard.”

I nodded. “So, this season’s been a big one for you. Coming back after injury, new team members, leading the team—what’s been the most rewarding part?”

Paige leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on her knees. “Honestly? Just being back on the court with my teammates. The rehab process was tough, but it made me appreciate the game even more. And, you know…” She flashed me a smirk. “It’s nice having my favorite reporter covering it all.”

I kept my expression neutral. “I’m sure you say that to every reporter.”

“Nah. Just you.”

I clenched my jaw, fighting back a smile. “Next question.”

Paige chuckled, clearly enjoying herself.

I went through a few more, mostly straightforward ones about team chemistry, goals for the season, and her personal growth as a player. And, to her credit, Paige answered them seriously—at least, until the end.

“Last question,” I said, scanning my notes. “What’s something people don’t know about you?”

Paige pretended to think. “Hmm. That I’m a great flirt.”

I blinked at her. “Paige.”

“What? It’s true.” She leaned back, giving me a slow once-over. “Want me to prove it?”

I pointed at the camera. “I will put this in the final cut.”

“Oh, please do,” she said, grinning. “Maybe it’ll finally get you to admit you like me.”

My breath caught in my throat. She wasn’t just playing around anymore—there was something different in the way she said it. Confident. Sure.

The air between us shifted.

I looked at her, really looked, and she met my gaze without hesitation. Her blue eyes held mine, steady and unyielding, a challenge wrapped in warmth.

I swallowed hard. “Paige—”

“Say the word,” she murmured, stepping closer. “And I’ll stop messing with you.”

The way she said it—low, teasing, but undeniably sincere—made my brain short-circuit.

A sharp whistle from the other end of the gym shattered the moment. I jolted back, turning off the camera.

“We’re done,” I said quickly.

Paige chuckled. “For now.”

I spent the next couple of days editing the interview, but no amount of technical work could erase the way Paige had looked at me. It didn’t help that our friend group noticed something was off when we met up for a post-practice dinner.

“You’re quiet,” Azzi noted, sipping her drink.

“Just tired,” I lied, stabbing at my fries.

Paige, sitting way too close beside me, leaned in. “Or you’re thinking about something. Or someone.”

I elbowed her. “Stop.”

Kk, sitting across from me, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Paige smirked. “She interviewed me. Got all flustered.”

I groaned. “I was not flustered.”

“Yeah?” Paige tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “So you didn’t almost drop your camera when I complimented you?”

Azzi grinned. “Oh, this is good.”

I shot Paige a glare. “You’re the worst.”

Paige just laughed, draping an arm over the back of my chair. “Nah. I’m your favorite.”

Kk snorted. “Yeah, this is definitely a thing.”

I covered my face with my hands. “Can we change the subject?”

“Fine,” Paige said, nudging my knee under the table. “For now.”

But as the night went on, she stayed close—casual touches, lingering looks, little comments only I could hear.

By the time I left, my heart was pounding.

A week later, my professor praised my interview, and my editor asked if I wanted to do a follow-up feature on Paige.

I hesitated.

Another interview meant more flirting. More of those looks. More of whatever was happening between us.

But before I could think too hard, Paige texted me.

Pb5🙄: So when’s our next interview? Gotta keep my favorite reporter happy.

I stared at my phone, exhaling.

Then, against my better judgment, I replied.

Me: Next home game. Try to behave this time.

Pb5🙄: No promises.

And somehow, I knew she meant it.

The next home game came so quickly, I wasn’t even mentally prepared.

So, when the first half of the game had been intense, UConn leading by only a few points against a tough opponent. Paige had been playing lights-out, and I knew she’d be the one pulled for the halftime interview.

I ran over my questions in my head, reminding myself to stay professional. But when Paige jogged over after the buzzer, sweat on her brow and a grin on her face, I knew I was in trouble.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, eyes glinting as she took her spot next to me.

I swallowed hard, forcing a neutral expression. Professional. Focus.

“Paige, great first half from you,” I started, keeping my voice steady. “What’s been working so well for you and the team so far?”

She wiped her forehead with her jersey before answering. “Honestly, just playing together, trusting each other. The energy is great out there.”

A solid, textbook answer. Good. Maybe she’d keep it normal.

I nodded, moving to my next question. “You’ve been on fire, leading the team with 15 points already. What’s your mindset going into the second half?”

Paige tilted her head slightly, her smile just a little too amused. “Stay aggressive. Keep making plays. And, you know—keep impressing my favorite reporter.”

My breath hitched.

I knew she was doing it just enough to be subtle—flirty, but professional enough to avoid getting in trouble. Still, my ears burned.

I cleared my throat. “Right. Well—uh—” I cursed myself for stumbling, but Paige’s smirk only grew.

She lifted an eyebrow, waiting. Daring me.

I quickly recovered. “What adjustments do you think the team needs to make in the second half?”

Paige took pity on me, answering normally. “Just tightening up on defense, getting stops, and taking smart shots. If we do that, we’ll close this game out strong.”

I nodded, feeling my pulse return to normal. “Thanks, Paige. Good luck in the second half.”

She leaned in slightly, voice lower but still audible on the mic. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

I barely held back a reaction as she jogged off, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

And then I heard the announcers laughing.

I turned my head slightly, realizing the game commentators had been watching the whole thing.

One of them chuckled, “I don’t know about you, but I think Paige might have a favorite reporter for real.”

The other commentator joined in. “She’s got the confidence on the court and off it. That was smooth.”

I wanted to die.

The interview wrapped, and the second half started, but my phone was already blowing up.

Fuzzy Fudd: No way you just let that happen on LIVE TV.

Hey Arnold: Paige Bueckers is NOT real.

Icey B: Not sweetheart on a broadcast—BE FR.

Kayla Wayla: girl. GIRL.

Me: you three shouldn’t even be on your phone rn, like listening to coach fudd about the two man pick n roll p and sar been doing all night.

I groaned, clicking send before stuffing my phone in my pocket. I am never living this down.

UConn won. Of course they did. Paige went on a scoring tear in the second half, finishing with 27 points, and the team dominated the fourth quarter.

By the time I finished post-game coverage, I was exhausted—and dreading seeing our friend group.

But Paige had other plans.

As I packed up my things, she walked over, still in her warmups, a towel draped over her shoulders. “Hey.”

I glanced up, wary. “Hey.”

She grinned. “So, since I was on my best behavior tonight—”

I shot her a look. “Best behavior?”

“Okay, decent behavior,” she corrected. “I think I deserve a reward.”

I sighed. “What do you want, Bueckers?”

Paige shifted closer, lowering her voice just enough that it sent a chill down my spine. “Go on a date with me.”

My brain short-circuited. “W-What?”

“You heard me,” she said smoothly, blue eyes locked onto mine. “A real date. No interviews, no sideline reports—just us.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

She smirked. “You thinking about saying no?”

I exhaled sharply, glaring at her. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” she shot back. “So? What do you say?”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched. “Fine. One date.”

Paige grinned like she’d just won the national championship.

“Oh, and don’t think you’re off the hook for movie night tomorrow,” she added, nudging my arm. “Kayla said we’re doing a marathon, and you’re not skipping.”

I groaned. “Paige—”

“See you there, sweetheart.” She winked before jogging off, leaving me stunned for the second time that night.

I should have known I wouldn’t make it through the night without getting clowned for the halftime interview.

Kayla’s apartment was packed when I walked in. UConn’s entire women’s basketball team, plus a few extras like me, Sam and Kariny had claimed every available couch, bean bag, and blanket-covered floor space. The lights were dimmed, popcorn bowls were already half-empty, and The Lion King was paused on the screen.

But the second Paige walked in after me, all hell broke loose.

“Ohhh, look who finally decided to show up,” Ice called out, her smirk way too satisfied.

Caroline flexed dramatically from her seat on the floor. “UConn’s power couple has arrived!”

Azzi, the only one who usually kept it low-key, still shot me a knowing look. “I hope you’re ready for tonight.”

Paige just grinned, completely unbothered. I, however, was already regretting this.

We barely made it to an open spot on the floor before Ice turned to the TV. “Hold up, before we start, let’s go over tonight’s highlights.”

She grabbed her phone, tapped something, and suddenly, my own voice echoed through the dorm.

“Paige, great first half from you…”

I froze.

No. No, no, NO.

“ICE, I SWEAR TO GOD—”

“Oh no, let it play,” Paige interrupted, smirking.

The entire room erupted when we got to the part where Paige smoothly said, “Keep impressing my favorite reporter.”

Aubrey wheezed. Kayla facepalmed. Ice was on the floor.

KK pointed dramatically. “AIN’T NO WAY.”

I wanted to die.

“Okay, fun’s over,” I rushed, reaching for Ice’s phone, but Paige just casually leaned back, enjoying the chaos she created.

Azzi chuckled. “Nah, because the announcers even backed her up—‘I think Paige might have a favorite reporter for real.’”

Allie snorted. “THEY WERE ROOTING FOR HER.”

I groaned, sinking further into my spot on the floor. “This is actual harassment.”

Kayla nudged me. “It’s what you get for flirting on live TV and expecting us to ignore it.”

“I WASN’T FLIRTING.”

The entire room answered in unison: “YOU WERE FLIRTING.”

Paige, the devil herself, finally took pity on me. “Alright, alright, let’s focus on something important—like how I carried us to victory tonight.”

That successfully derailed the conversation, as the team started debating plays from the game.

But Paige?

She leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear. “You were flirting, by the way.”

I turned my head sharply, ready to argue, only to be met with those damn blue eyes already on me.

Paige smirked. Held the eye contact.

I swallowed hard.

This girl was going to be the death of me.

Kayla clapped her hands. “Alright, we’re starting the movie! No more flirting in the corner.”

“We’re not—” I started, but KK cut me off.

“Shhh, let them have their little thing.”

I gave up. Completely.

Paige just threw an arm around my shoulders as the movie started, completely unbothered by the attention.

“Hope you like long movie nights,” she murmured.

I huffed, but I didn’t move away.

I was doomed. So, so doomed.

And, somehow, I didn’t mind one bit.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[sweetascherry1]

I’ll be watching you — Lee Byung-hun

Description: Over the years your fans has slowly watched you and Lee Byung-Hun fall in love. They finally get to see you guys working on a project together for the first time since G.I. JOE. What even better? The promotion for the Netflix hit Squid Games.

Parings: Lee Byung-Hun x Actor F!Reader

Warnings: Some use of Y/N.

2013 G.I. JOE Retaliation Promotion.

The bright lights of the cameras shined on you and your co-star, while the interviewer asked you basic questions.

“So how did the two of you feel with this new casting. Mr Lee who had already played in the original G.I. Joe movie and you who has just now made her debut.”

You look to Byung-hun silently pleading for him to take on the question first. Luckily one look your way and he knew your silent question. Something you had found yourself grateful for.

“The entire cast is full of amazing actors, who are so caring and gentle.” Slowly you felt your nails picking at your cuticles as you thought of your answer. “I had a lot of fun working with these guys — and everyone on the crew makes it so fun.”

You didn’t noticed at first, and honestly neither did the interviewer. He was so slick with the way he slid his hand into yours, stopping your bad habit. Giving your hand a gentle squeeze before you answering as encouragement.

Your voice didn’t waver as you let the warmth of his hand bring you back to earth.

“Working on a project this big, with these actors who I truly admire is something I’m so excited about. This my ‘debut’ and it’s crazy to me that this is all really real.”

Before the interviewer could ask his next question Byung-hun didn’t think before keeping your conversation going. Helping your nerves.

“Going Hollywood is definitely something that is nerve wracking. I remember how crazy the whole thing was for me.”

Your little smile at him made the fans go crazy when the video came out. The hand holding, and little gentle reassurances he would do throughout the entire thing was something fans couldn’t get enough of as they would re-watch it over and over.

—

Photos flashed everywhere, blinding you as you stepped onto the movie premiere. Your dress was gorgeous, just like you. Your hair and makeup styled perfectly, you had honestly felt like a princess.

And in true prince fashion, Byung-hun stepped in when he saw you picking as your nails again.

Smiling at the photographers, he grabbed your hand. Leaning down to whisper in your ear; “your hands are too pretty to mess up. Squeeze mine instead.”

When he straightened his posture, and smiled once again for the cameras, as if nothing happened, you couldn’t help but think maybe that’s when you first felt it.

Devotion, wrapped in admiration.

He had helped you so much with your anxiety, some would say it was inevitable to favor him. “Thank you.” All he did was simply squeeze your hand back.

The blinding lights going crazy over the hand holding. Surely it would cause rumors, but for once you didn’t let it get to your head. Simply holding his hand instead.

—

For Lee Byung-hun, he had only thought of you as a co-worker. While your admiration for the man was so obvious, he couldn’t help but thing it was a silly crush you had because he helped you in tough situations.

He kept it professional, denying at friend invites you sent him, or any drink you’d offer him. Though he changed perspectives after watching you most recent single interview.

“Many of your fans are interested with your relationship with your co-star Lee Byung-hun. Can you elaborate on it?”

Truth was you felt nervous at this question, you didn’t know the right way to answer. Though you knew you wanted to be honest and not let the rumors continue, even if it may disappoint some.

“Ah, well truth be told there is no relationship I can really explain. This movie is the first time I’ve had such a big role.

While filming, it’s true I had quite a few scenes with Storm Shadow, more often than not. While filming those scenes I’d watch the way Lee Byung-hun embodied his character.

It was something I was truly impressed about, and so since our characters were so intwined with each other — we were paired for most promotional videos.”

You took a deep breath before continuing, grateful that the interviewer didn’t interrupt.

“During our first promo video, I was extremely nervous. This is such a big film and I was so in my head — seeing this my co-working held my hand to help with my anxiety.

People who support me loved it. Was all for it, but all it was, was him helping a co-worker out. The same thing happened at the movie premiere.

While on that carpet my heart was pounding and he was there to offer support. That’s all, the rest is rumors. I simple just admire him and someone to learn from.”

You felt a little shaky but ultimately felt better after clearing air. In your eyes Mr Lee Byung-Hun was uncomfortable about the rumors. That’s why he wouldn’t ever socialize much with you, so you had felt proud of yourself for putting an end to it.

On the other hand, him hearing you say you only admire him from a person to learn from had hit him hard. A person he knew actually looked up to him. It was an honor, one he had became proud of.

So when he saw you next, he didn’t beat around the bush.

“I’m a person you admire?” You didn’t have a crush on him like he originally thought, and that’s the moment he wanted you be your friend.

That’s the moment he had devotion towards you. Devotion wrapped in friendship.

—

Your final cast interview. It was a long experience, but an unforgettable one. This whole movie had became something you truly loved, cast included.

“Each of you will read out a card, and say the answer within ten seconds. If you get it, you’ll gain points. Whoever has most wins.”

A simple game to finish it off. Easy peasy.

To the right of you, Dwayne went first. “In ten words, explain the film.” He read off before hurrying to put ten words out.

“Cobra.” One finger up. “Escapes.” Another. “While. Joes. That. Are. Left. Fight. Back.” One last word, but just before he could think of it — getting stuck the timer went off.

The whole crew laughed at his disappointment, and then next was your turn.

“I’m nervous.” You gave one deep breath before reading out your card. “Why should you watch the new movie.”

One. Two. “Have you seen this cast?” Five. Six. “Just look at Dwayne’s muscles.” Everyone laughed.

Dwayne got a little red, causing a little teasing. It was a good moment, a happy moment. So why was Byung-hun laughing?

In fact as it was a viral clip, not you teasing Dwayne, no it was Lee Byung-hun reaction that was viral.

“Have you seen this cast?” Byung-hun kept his entire focus on you, not even looking away once when you spoke. In fact throught most of the interview, he barely paid anyone else much attention. “Just look at Dwayne’s muscles.”

A bitter feeling bubbler under his skin, as he felt his blood hot. His jaw visibly clenched, as he glared at the man in question. Before looking you up as down, his fist the next to clench. Not a single laugh leaving his lips let alone a smile.

It went very viral, and Lee Byung-hun didn’t even try to deny what they were saying. Jealousy, yes. Though it wasn’t because he was romantically interested. He just felt a sense of belonging over you. Not in a toxic way, or at least not in his eyes.

Truth be told you only mentioned to him simply because you didn’t want him to be mad at you.

“What that video going around about?” A simple question. He was in your living room, laying down on your lap, eyes closed while you mindlessly scrolled through instagram.

Instantly he knew what you were talking about and once again he didn’t defend himself.

“I didn’t like how you mentioned him.”

“His muscles.”

A scoff slipped past his lips, “I have those too, you know?” He sat up, and didn’t hesitate to lift his shirt up to show you. His abs briefly capturing your full attention.

“Yea but there’s already enough rumors about us.” That was true, and he knew that but he just didn’t care.

“Let them talk.” He brushed a hair out your face, “we’re friends, and friends go over co-workers.”

Friends, neither of you doubted the word. But we’re friends so devoted to one another? So admirable to the other? So protective? Yet the word was never doubted.

—

Over the years

Over the years, neither of you worked on a project again. That didn’t matter, your friendship was still so ever strong.

Often at each other’s house, getting food, attending events. All your fans had was an occasional post about the other.

Once you posted putting a pretty pink bow in his hair, his face was in complete annoyance.

“Byung-hun. Look at me!” He knew you had your phone recording and he debated on weather or not to snatch before looking at you. Ultimately he settled for a glare.

“My pretty princess.” Oh he just might kill you. His head tilted as suddenly you felt a little hotter as he look up at you. Like he was going to devour you alive. “Princess? I’m the one that pampers you—“ before he could continue the video went black.

It was a fond memory of your and you had posted it. As expected whenever a post involving the other popped up it blew up.

Though his comment made even more chaos. As he so much loves to do. No joke, before he made the comment he laid on your bedroom floor breaking silence as he watched the video.

“How can I make this more chaotic.” You couldn’t help but sigh at him.

I dream so often of shutting your mouth. Any ideas?

It went crazy. Then again you’ve done that before, comment a wild thing on his post.

For instance, he posted a picture of himself sweating. Chain dangling (one you got him) and a devilish smile.

Have my kids, I’ll never talk back.

Yea?

You had purposely also sent him a private audio message, cat calling him.

The uproar your fans had, oh well let’s just say many articles broke out.

It was honestly fun, watching your fans want something so bad and just dangle it. Made the two of you feel euphoric on the power.

Yet that wasn’t the only thing you two had found euphoric.

Eventually at one point the two of decided to drink and drink. None of you think before you both crossed a line that was already so faded.

You kissed, and then kissed. Until you ending up the next morning both naked in bed.

The two of you decided for the best that none of it ever happen again, but even though you didn’t — it doesn’t mean you two forgot. In fact neither of you can look at wine the same.

Though, y’all’s restraint fell apart eventually as the two of you kept ending up in each other’s bed.

Most people wouldn’t be shocked if they knew, but oh the two of you were dumbfounded on why you guys could resist each other.

So began your friends with benefits era. A classic.

As that era ended, you both realized you had wanted more, so eventually causal dating was the next step for the two of you. In private of course.

—

Promotion of squid games

You and Byung-Hun both sat in front of cameras. Each looking at fan made videos. It was nice to see such creativity, or that what you thought going into this.

As the first video played, with weird dancing and animation, you couldn’t understand how Byung-Hun could keep a straight face.

“That was for sure… interesting.” The side eye you gave him, and then the camera was definitely clipped.

“I feel wrong.” Is all you had simply said. Which was true. “Definitely love the work put into this, and I think it’s cool how people made this. Just… not my cup of tea.”

A few more weird videos broke out, and some nice one with people singing the theme song, and etc.

The next fan video was an edit of the two of you. Simply just watching each other as the lyrics in the video played. Romantics clearly intended.

It didn’t surprise the two of you. Byung-hun turned his head to you, laughing a little.

“You know, a lot of our fans watched this show for us being in a film together. Yet our characters actually despise the other.” Your smile felt contagious to him as you laughed back.

“Are we the problem?”

The man simply nodded his head back before the two of you watched the next video.

—

Instagram

Liked by byunghun0712 and 345k others

yourusername Coming soon! ⏰

Username1 Ah! So exciting

Yourbestfrienduser MOMMY?!

byunghun0712 is this how I find out?

Liked by Yourbestfrienduser

Username2 OMFG 😭

Username3 so proud to Stan her

Liked by Yourusername and 455k others

byunghun0712 how come you never buy? @ yourusername

Yourusername cause I’m spoiled.

Liked by creator

Username1 see how me and him both eat McDonald’s? Meant to be trust

Yourusername honestly you’re so real for that.

Username2 AH, I love you in squid games

Username3 Frontman ❎ Hotman ✅

—

Lie detector interview.

“We are going to give you a set of questions, please answer yes or no.”

Nerves picked at your skin as your watch Byung-hun opposite from you.

They would start with true or false trivia, before going into more detail questions. He gave you a reassuring smile before reading out the first words.

“Is your name really Y/N?” Easy. “Yes.” The detector person gave a thumbs up and he went onto the next question.

“Is it true that you play in squid games season 2?” Another easy one. “Yes.” One more true or false. “Is it true you are very nervous?” The look you gave him was the most ‘duh’ bratty attitude ever.

“Yes.”

“Okay, now onto the actual questions.” He looked down at his card, almost laughing before reading it out to you.

“Have you ever injured yourself on the set of squid games?” You knew exactly what he was thinking about, and it took you a moment not to laugh as well.

“During one of my earlier scenes, I was drinking wine, that I thought was grape juice.” Byung-hun placed a card over his growing smile as you continued. “Well no one actually thought I was drinking actual wine. Nor did I. So I ended up getting a little flushed and tripped off my chair spraining my ankle.”

Amusement wouldn’t even began the joy your co-star had as he remembered the day he carried you back to your trailer.

“Did you have to learn Korean for this film.”

You tilted your head as you thought about it. “I didn’t learn it for this film, but I had learned it a while ago to surprise you because I felt bad you had to translate your thoughts before saying them.”

Lee Byung-hun remembers the first time you spoke to him in Korean. In fact he thinks that was the moment he fell in love with you.

You two had become the definition of she fell first but he fell harder.

You use to mess up so much, and he always loved it. Now you’re pretty fluent but he loves the moments where you ask him for help.

“Tell me more about your character.”

“I play a foreign player, that is intended to remind Gi-Hun about Ali. When I get into the games lots of drama, funny and stressful things begins to happen. I don’t wanna spoil it.”

“Well you passed!” As your began to unhook yourself from the machine, “not a single lie.”

“Not like I could.” You would rather be seen as the honest person you were anyways.

You had asked your co star similar questions but one was a heavily asked fan question.

“What’s your relationship with Co-Star Y/N L/N.” Even you began to feel nervous. Dating. You two were dating and had went a very long time keeping your confirmed relationship private.

But, as you both looked at each other you both knew there wasn’t a point in keeping things a secret.

“Dating.”

Let’s just say the PR for squid game was better than gold.

A/N: I have so many WIP, but no motivation to finish them 😭. So this is my very half attempt to get out of this writing slump! Otherwise I might go insane.

[interact-if]

Happy New Year everyone!

I’m delighted to announce that Interact-IF is officially back in business! I (Allie @allieebobo) will be taking the reins as the new mod, and I’m very excited to get this blog up and running again!

First, a heartfelt thank-you to the original mod team for everything they’ve built. Interact-if has become such an invaluable resource and hub for interactive fiction fans and authors alike. It’s a tough act to follow, but I’ll do my best to keep the spirit of this wonderful space alive :)

A little bit more about me: I’m the author of two WIP interactive fiction games, @collegetennisoriginstory and @merrycrisis-if. Interact-if was one of the first blogs/places that I discovered almost three years ago now, and it led me to so many amazing stories, authors, and resources.

When I saw that the blog was going into archive mode, with a call for a new generation of mods, I wanted to do my best to help out. I reached out to the original mod team and worked out a gameplan for the future of Interact-if, which I’d like to share with all of you today.

P.S. If you would like to join me, I’d love to have you on the team! Scroll down to the section on ‘open call for mods’.

Without further ado, here’s the plan!

My goal is to focus on retaining the aspects that made Interact-IF so special: spotlighting diverse authors, and creating a warm, inclusive space to talk about and share wonderful games.

🟢 Active:

Game Updates & Intros: If you’re an author with a new game or demo update, or if you’re organizing a game jam or event you’d like to share with the community, simply tag @interact-if in your posts, and I’ll reblog them. It would also be helpful if you added tags stating the IF's genre (e.g. horror, romance), has a demo/no demo.

Themed Author Features: I’ll continue the tradition of spotlighting authors and games based on monthly themes (e.g. Pride Month, Disability Month). These interviews are such a great way of celebrating diversity and inclusivity in the IF community, and I’d love to keep these going! Stay tuned for a detailed post on this soon!

Community Spotlight: Once every quarter, I’ll also do a call for reader recs around certain categories/themes (e.g. Fave RO, Fave Worldbuilding/setting, Fave plot-twist etc.) and compile these recommendations to share. Think of it as a bulletin of crowdsourced faves and a way of sharing a little note about an IF you love!

🟡 Remain open/active, but not modded:

Game directory: The Interact-IF repository of games (excel) will remain open for authors to update/list their games and/or readers to discover their next read. (Feel free to continue to update/populate the repository, though do note it will remain completely crowd-sourced/author-updated).

Discord: The discord will remain open and active for discussions, resource sharing, and casual chats, though again, this will not be officially modded (though I, and some of the original mods like roast, may be active from time to time)

🔴 Not active:

Asks: I will not be answering asks except for specific submissions (e.g. for author features, reader recommendations etc.). If you would like to ask for specific game recommendations, or have questions/just wanna chat, the discord channel is a great place to do just that! :)

Keeping track of events/game updates: As mentioned, I’ll rely on authors / readers to tag me in updates posts and/or flag any games with questionable content/anything that might need my attention, as I won't be able to search out update posts or do any extensive vetting.

Open call for mods:

Finally, I’d love to have some company! If you’re interested in helping out—whether with reblogs, interviews, or brainstorming new features—please reach out. Having a small team would make this space even more vibrant!

Thank you for your support, your enthusiasm, and for being part of what makes Interact-IF such a special corner of the internet! :)

If you have any suggestions or ideas on how Interact-If can be improved, feel free also to drop the blog a direct message or an ask. I look forward to getting to know all of you better. Here's to an awesome year of interactive fiction (and many more!)

[cinnamongrl2006]

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd x Journalist!Reader⋅ ౨ৎ  ‧₊ .ᐟ 

a/n: here’s part two

warnings: Reader's appearance is not described but she is referred to as a woman, idk not much else?

Summary: It's your first weekend working at a f1 paddock and you interview Jason after a bad race.

────୨ৎ────

It was your first weekend in the formula one paddock after your internship at a newspaper. It was the first weekend you had an actual grown up job, the first weekend you couldn't fuck up. It was just your luck that you'd been selected to interview Ferrari driver!Jason Todd after his race.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd had a very bad race, his pit stop lasted a second longer than it should've, his engineer called for team orders and he finished right outside the podium. If he'd overtaken his teammate at some point he'd be standing there, covered in champagne with a trophy in his hands and a medal around his neck.

But instead he pads over to the post race interviews, hair tousled from the helmet, pupils blown wide. His assistant steers him towards a reporter and he braces himself for the same sour, intruding questions as always. He doesn't look up from his hands, fidgeting with his watch and bracelets.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd who is known to have a temper after a tough race, which unnerved you.

"Good morning, mr. Todd!" You greeted him with a poster smile and introduced yourself, stretching out a hand towards him. He shook your hand and straightened up in front of the camera readying for the turmoil to come.

"How was the race?" You asked, glancing down at your notes and back up, meeting his gaze. He grumbled under his breath but answered politely.

"We had a good start, getting both cars in the podium— I honestly think we could've won the race, or at the least get both cars in the podium, but...strategy is what it is. You win some, you lose some. We'll keep pushing."

You nod in acknowledgement.

"How do you mentally process the difference between a race well won and a race narrowly lost? Do you see it as a lesson, motivation or something else entirely?" You breathed as you pushed your microphone towards him.

Oh. He thought. That's a fucking good question. It wasn't the type of question the hours of Ferrari media training taught him to answer or deflect, it was different. It let him think.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd is taken aback by your question. Your words cut through his foggy, scrambled mind like a block of butter. He opens his mouth as if to answer but he just sighs and closes it again.

He regards you with curiosity for a second before finally answering, "Well, to be fairly honest it depends on the race; it's not the same to finish fourth in a championship opener than after getting p1 the race before..." He hummed. "Yeah, I guess I do see it as motivation, us athletes need to strive to be better, that's how we make a living." He fucking winks at you.

You blink, startled, before laughing it off awkwardly.

You don't have time to process what's happening before Ferrari driver!Jason Todd is pushed away from you and onto another journalist. In the same manner, a short Japanese driver is shoved towards you, quickly.

Your eyes don't linger too much on Jason, and that's a shame, because you don't notice how his eyes stay glued onto you, how his gaze, so sharp, so blue, could cut a hole through your skull.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd is not smitten, that's for teenagers. He's not blushing at a complete stranger who is not even looking in his general direction; or so he tells himself.

It takes him a persuasive phone call with Roy to muster up the courage to ask you out on a date.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd runs into you in the hotel lobby (it's not like he's been pacing around it for the last hour) and invites you over to dinner with his friends. When you ask him why he grumbles a little and admits he was rude to you.

"You asked a good question, our time was cut short." He says, matter-of-factly.

"Well, yes, but—"

"I also think you're beautiful, is that good enough a reason?" He asks, leaning down closer to you.

────୨ৎ────

masterlist

co written with @prettywritergirl2 !!

[sydwritess]

Do You Hate Me?

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: You and Max are at an after party for the race he had just won, but he seems to be distancing himself from you. But that doesn't stop you from asking him what's up.

First Person POV

Me and Max had been friends for some time now. We first met when I started Journaling for F1, and we just clicked some how. We started hanging out together, doing what friends do. Max had just won the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix. Everything was going great. People were happy for him, his team was happy, his friends were happy, it may have been a tough weekend for others but for him it seemed to just blow by in the breeze.

Right now we were at a big, fancy restaurant, celebrating Max win, everybody was there, including his friends from other teams. There was music playing from the DJ, drinks being passed around by the bar, food being served, the works. Usually I would have avoided these things, but Max insisted I go. Which was odd seeing how he hasn't even talked to me tonight. The only full sentence he's said to me within the week was "Can you go to my after party." Of course I accepted. But now I'm regretting it.

I was sat at the corner of the bar by myself, swirling the straw that was in my drink out of boredom.

"Hi y/n." A voice said, I look over to see Charles standing there.

"Hey." I smiled.

"What are you doing over here? Shouldn't you be with Max?" He asked.

"Uh, no he's busy." I said pointing to where he was standing. He looked over.

"Oh yeah. Got to love the non stop questions right." He said sarcastically.

"I know right." I laughed.

"So how has work been for you?" He asked.

"Pretty good. Easy at least." I said.

"Is it just journaling that you do?"

"Yeah."

"What does it in tale?" He asked.

"Basically, for every race, I go around to different drivers, writing down answers to my questions, publishing them to the media, writing articles, publishing them online. Stuff like that." I paused. "So like one day I could go up to Kimi and ask him questions, then Lewis, then Max, or whoever." I said.

"Sounds easier then my job." He laughed out.

"Honestly, I think I'd love to have your job, sometimes it get's annoying, typing and writing all of the time." I smiled.

"You'd love to drive at 250 kilos, having people almost crash into every weekend?" He joked.

"I think so. I'd love to drive that fast one day. Something about the adrenaline rush." I said.

"Yeah, it is great some days." He said, holding up his glass before drinking out of it.

"Yeah, not the after part though. I couldn't imagine being all sweaty and gross." I said laughing.

"Yeah, that. That is something else." He laughed out.

"Leclerc! Picture time!" Someone yelled from the distance.

"Duty calls. Hey maybe next race you can come and interview me." He smiled.

"I definitely will." I said, he walked away. I look away from where he was walking to see Max looking straight at me, looking like he's about to strangle the person who was talking at him. I then saw him hold up a finger to the person, signaling that he needed a minute away, and started walking to me.

"Hey." He said shortly.

"Hey, how's the party?" I asked.

"It's alright, that guy back there wouldn't stop talking." He said, letting out a breathy laugh.

"I could tell."

"Max!" I heard in the distance.

"I think someone's calling you." I said. He just rolled his eyes.

"Be right back." He said, walking over to the voice that called him.

"Wow, getting more attention then Max is tonight." A voice behind me said. I turn around to see George standing there.

"Hey George." I smiled.

"How's the fellow co-worker doing tonight?" He asked, sitting down at a bar stool next to me.

"Good. Better then being home writing." I said, smiling.

"I feel you there. At least week have a break this week." He said.

"Yeah, definitely. It's got to be more of a break for you though." I said.

"Yeah, I'm even greatful for summer break." He said.

"I bet. It's got to be tiring, going place after place." I said.

"Very."

"I don't know how you guys do it. I know when I first started I was so jet lagged I didn't sleep for weeks." I said.

"Yeah, it definitely is a struggle some days." He laughed. "So, what did you think about the race today?" He asked.

"It was good. Intense, but good." I said.

"Yeah, but hey, at least you get free admission right?" He joked.

"Right, that is pretty nice." I said. Just then Max walked back over to me, standing right beside me.

"Russel." He said sharply.

"Max." George said, looking at me, then Max. "I'll be going. Hey, maybe in Monaco you can come interview me next." George said, earning a sharp look from Max as he walked away.

"What does that mean?" He asked. I just shrugged. We both sat there in silence for what seems like forever.

"What's been up with you?" I ask.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You've been distant." I stated.

"Just. Busy." He said. Clearly not good with confrontation.

"Mhm." I said, looking back at my drink, then up again. I saw Charles waving me over to where he was standing.

"Brb." I said, getting up from the chair. Max looked at me but didn't say anything as I walked away.

"Hey what's up?" I said cheerfully.

"Picture time. Ready?" he said, holding up his phone. Me and him took a bunch of selfies.

"Oh, more pictures." Lewis said, popping up behind us.

"Lewis the photobomb." Charles laughed out. The three of us took more pics.

"Hey Lewis." I said. "How's your dad doing?" I turned around to face him.

"Good surprisingly." He said smiling.

"Surprisingly."

"Oh my, let me tell you." He said, putting a hand on his hip, like a girl. "When he first saw you at the race in Japan, his jaw dropped. He hadn't seen you since you were a kid." He said laughing.

"Really?"

"Really."

"He should have said hi." I said.

"He wanted to but he thought it was going to be awkward after many years. I said 'dad, your how old, it's not awkward.' but he insisted on not saying hi." He sighed at the ned.

"Well bring him to Monaco next weekend. Drag him to say hi." I said.

"I'm going to. I'll see you around." He said, walking away.

"How do you know each other?" Charles asked.

"We grew up together." I said.

"Wait, so you are secretly like 40 some years old?" He questioned.

"No, no." I laughed. "I don't know, our families new each other. So we saw each other often and everything. He's like a brother." I said, he nodded. Then looked behind me.

"What?" He nodded his head behind me. I turn to see Max starring at us from the bar, then quickly looking away.

"Looks like he's lonely." He joked.

"Yeah. I'll go. See you." i said, waving at him before walking away. I went and sat at the bar next to Max, who had an unusual expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Seriously what's wrong. One minute your starring me down. The next your quiet." I said. He sighed, putting his hands on the bar.

"I just-" He sighed. "Can you come with me?" He asked. I nodded, we walked out of the building together. on this little balcony area, enough space for the two of us. He leaned on the railing, arms, crossed, looking over the city view.

"What's up. You've been like distancing yourself." I said, pausing my words. "Are you mad at me?" I said. He looked over at me.

"I could never be mad at you." He said quietly.

"Then what? Did I do something?" I said.

"No. It's not that... It's me." He said.

"Are you hurt?" I said, he just sighed.

"Listen. Honestly. I like you. A lot. I thought that distancing myself would make things better. But it made me realize how much I can't stand to be away from you." He said slowly. Looking me in the eyes for a sign of disagreement.

"That's why you've been distant." I said, my voice really quiet. He nodded.

"I thought, maybe you didn't like me back."

"That's why you stared me down every time I talked to someone." I said, laughing lightly.

"Yeah. I guess." He said, his face breaking into a smile. I took his hand gently, holding it.

"I like you to." I paused. Looking into his eyes. "You didn't have to hide from me." I said quietly.

"Didn't want you to think less of me." He said, looking at the ground.

"Listen. I won't think less of you." I said pulling him into a hug. He hugged back. Tighter then ever before.

"Besides, if thee Max Verstappen thinks he has to hide from me, clearly somethings up." I said laughing. He laughed to.

"So will you be my girlfriend?" He asks. Pulling away from the hug, looking me deep in the eyes.

"Of course I will." I said smiling. We hugged again. Then went inside, holding hands, ready to tell the world.

Hey loves! First F1 piece! Hope you like it! Many more pieces to come! Comment if you want to be added to the F1 tag list!

[mrspiastri]

✩ please, stay 💬

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

cw: angst, like a lot more than normal, cyber bullying, eventual fluff

wc: 8.6k words

an: clubbed 2 reqs together, thank u anons 😘😘 also this hasn’t been proofread sorry okay it’s 1:33 am

The Shanghai paddock buzzed with energy on Thursday, the air slightly heavy with the morning mist and the promise of a competitive weekend. Oscar, despite running on fumes and four hours of sleep, had his game face on as he stepped out of the McLaren hospitality alongside Lando and Y/N.

His grip on the McLaren media backpack bag was tight, jaw clenched as they approached the long line of journalists eagerly waiting behind the barrier ropes.

He hated media day. Especially after a bad weekend. But he knew the drill: keep it professional, answer the tough questions, and spin it positively. His thoughts were partly with Y/N, who was chatting with one of the engineers. She always grounded him, even in the chaos of a race weekend.

Her hand in his was the only part of the morning that felt even remotely tolerable. The cameras clicked around them, media whispering and murmuring as they passed. Y/N didn’t particularly dislike the attention, but she certainly didn’t enjoy being under the spotlight all the time.

She and Oscar had always kept their relationship mostly private. A few photos on social media here and there. A quick kiss after a good race. A hug when emotions were high. That was it.

She had insisted on coming to China with him. Not just because she missed him, but because she had seen the way he carried the weight of Melbourne.

Back home, after finishing ninth, Oscar had come back to the garage a shadow of himself. She remembered how he had sat on the edge of the couch, still in his racing suit, staring at nothing. She had knelt in front of him, placing her hands gently on his knees, and waited until his eyes finally met hers.

“I messed it up,” he had said in a voice so quiet it barely counted as speech.

“You didn’t,” she had replied softly. “You did everything you could. It was just one of those races.”

He had shaken his head, shoulders tight with frustration. “It was my home race. I wanted to do better. For the fans. For the team. For me.”

“For me too?” She asked with a small, teasing smile, hoping to soften him.

That finally cracked something in him. A tired, crooked smile appeared as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “Especially for you.”

She had held him then, arms wrapped tight around his neck, and whispered over and over again that one race did not define him. That no matter what happened on the track, she was proud. Always proud.

It was that moment that convinced her. He wasn’t going to carry that weight to China alone. She booked the flights the same night, packed her bags, and told him she’d be by his side the entire weekend.

Now, in Shanghai, she kept to the background as he peeled away to join Lando for media day. She stayed behind in hospitality, chatting with a few friends on the team, hoping to keep things light. But as always, the world outside was not so kind.

🪻🪻🪻

The first few interviews were easy enough, with questions about Shanghai’s new surface, expectations for the weekend, and how the car would be during FP1 tomorrow. He was hitting autopilot responses now. But then came a smug, grinning reporter from a lesser-known tabloid outlet, known more for drama than actual journalism.

“Piastri,” the man said, microphone up. “Tough result in Melbourne. 9th place at home. That must’ve stung.”

Oscar nodded politely. “Yeah, not the result we were aiming for. We had the pace but just couldn’t get back after I went onto the grass. But that’s racing.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow and then added, “You think… maybe distractions had something to do with it?”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t respond right away.

“I mean, your girlfriend flew in, right?” The man continued, voice oily with insinuation. “She’s been showing up more and more lately. Some fans are starting to think it’s not helping. Maybe taking your focus off the job.”

Oscar’s jaw flexed. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

The reporter chuckled. “I’m just saying, she’s a pretty thing to look at. Sure. But is she worth all the bad results?”

For a second, everything froze.

Oscar’s mouth tightened. His eyes darkened like storm clouds, and the calm, media-trained exterior shattered.

“Excuse me?” He snapped, stepping slightly forward.

The reporter held up his mic again, clearly fishing for a reaction. “I mean, pretty girls at the track are never great for drivers trying to keep their head in the game—”

“Say that again,” Oscar interrupted, voice low and sharp. Lando instinctively stepped to the side, sensing where this was going. A few other drivers nearby turned their heads.

“You’re implying that because my girlfriend came to support me at my home race, I underperformed?” Oscar’s tone was controlled, but there was fire under it now.

The reporter started to speak, but Oscar cut him off. “Let me tell you something—Y/N has been nothing but supportive since the day I met her. She knows this sport. She respects it. And she respects me. She’s not a distraction; she’s a damn anchor when I need one.

He was properly heated now, stepping forward again, voice raised enough that a couple of PR people from the team began edging closer, unsure if they needed to intervene.

“She came halfway across the world to be there for me, and you’ve got the audacity to sit there and suggest that her presence is a problem?” Oscar shook his head, scoffing bitterly. “Maybe if you spent more time reporting on racing and less time gossiping like a tabloid, you'd know what you're talking about.”

The reporter, clearly not expecting that level of pushback, looked momentarily stunned. Oscar gave him a last disgusted look before backing off.

“We’re done here,” he said curtly and handed the microphone back to the media coordinator. “Get someone with actual respect for the sport next time.”

As he stalked off toward the garage, Lando caught up beside him, raising an eyebrow. “Well, remind me never to insult Y/N.”

Oscar didn’t reply immediately, but his jaw was still tight.

“That guy was out of line,” Lando added more seriously. “Good on you for saying something.”

Oscar sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just tired of it. She doesn’t deserve that kind of crap. Not from fans, not from the media.”

Back in hospitality, word of the confrontation was already making the rounds. When Y/N heard about it from a comms intern, her stomach sank a little. But she wasn’t surprised. She knew Oscar; he didn’t explode often, but when he did, it was always for a reason.

🪻🪻🪻

Y/N could hear Oscar’s voice rising, defending her, angry now, but her mind had already spiralled. The rest of the world faded. The murmuring voices blurred. She couldn’t even process what Oscar was saying back. All she could think was, Oh my god… what if he’s right? What if I’m hurting his career just by being here?

By the time Oscar ended the interview, storming off in a fury, she had already turned around and started walking. Fast. Her vision blurred as she walked blindly past the garages, past staff and crew and mechanics, not even registering when someone from McLaren called her name. Her steps quickened, heart hammering in her ears.

She needed to get away. Now.

The hotel room was dim and quiet when she finally stumbled in. She barely managed to close the door behind her before her knees gave out and she collapsed onto the edge of the bed. Her hands were shaking. Her thoughts came in waves, harsh and cruel and unforgiving.

What if they were right?

She had seen the tweets. Read the comments. “She’s just a distraction.” “Why does she need to travel with him all the time?” “He was better off before she started showing up every weekend.” She had brushed them off, of course. Told herself the internet didn’t matter.

But hearing it out loud, from an actual reporter, in front of other journalists, other drivers, it was different.

She curled in on herself, tugging her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms. Her mind raced with memories of Melbourne, how she had been there in the paddock, how she had hugged him after the race, and how she’d posted a photo of them with a soft caption trying to cheer him up. Had that made it worse? Had she taken the spotlight off him, even for a second?

Her heart cracked.

You’re just a pretty thing to look at. But are you worth all the bad results?

The words echoed like poison in her skull.

Tears spilt down her cheeks before she could stop them. She sat there in silence, sobbing into her sleeves, her breaths turning uneven and shaky. Guilt and shame wrapped around her like a storm.

What if she really was a liability? What if her presence made the team doubt Oscar’s focus? What if sponsors noticed? What if it snowballed into something bigger?

She didn’t want to be the reason he struggled.

She had come to China to support him, not to become a talking point or to become blame.

Biting down on her trembling lip, she reached for her phone with unsteady fingers and unlocked it. The screen was full of unread notifications, mentions, news alerts, and a few messages from McLaren people probably wondering where she went. She ignored them all.

Her fingers hovered over Oscar’s name in her contacts. She wanted to call him. She wanted him to tell her the reporter was wrong, that none of this was her fault.

But some cruel voice inside her whispered, And what if he doesn’t? What if part of him thinks the same thing and just won’t say it?

She dropped the phone onto the bed and curled into herself again, face buried in the pillow now, muffling her cries.

She felt like she was drowning in doubt.

Was she really right for someone like Oscar?

Or was she just the pretty girl in the background, taking up space in a place she didn’t belong?

The tears didn’t stop for a long time.

🪻🪻🪻

Media day wrapped later than expected.

The sun had started to dip over the Shanghai skyline, casting long shadows across the paddock. Oscar’s jaw still ached from how tightly he had been clenching it. Every step away from that interview felt heavier than the last. He’d done his duties. Answered the rest of the questions. Forced a few half-hearted smiles. But all he could think about was Y/N.

She hadn’t been in the crowd when he walked off. Not in hospitality either. He scanned the usual corners she liked to hang around, by the coffee machine and near the engineers' table, curled up in a chair scrolling through strategy sheets for fun. But she was nowhere.

“Hey,” he asked one of the McLaren comms managers. “Have you seen Y/N?”

The woman blinked. “She was near the media pen for a while. But… I think she left.”

“Left?” His stomach twisted.

“Yeah. I think she went back to the hotel. She looked pretty upset.”

Oscar didn’t wait for anything else.

He was already moving, phone in his hand, unanswered texts lined up on the screen, the car waiting at the paddock exit. His chest was burning, not from exhaustion anymore, but from fear.

The hotel room door was unlocked. That was the first sign something was wrong.

Oscar stepped in quietly, scanning the space. The lights were dimmed, curtains pulled tight, the air still and heavy. His heart sank the moment he saw her by the closet.

Y/N stood barefoot in one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, her hair pulled back messily, suitcase open on the bed. Her hands moved quickly, folding clothes with frantic precision, like the act of packing fast enough might drown out everything else.

“Y/N?” he said softly.

She flinched like she hadn’t heard him come in. Then she straightened slowly, her back still turned.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I’m going home,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar’s blood ran cold. “What? Why?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper on her bag. “Because I need to. This… us… It’s not working.”

Oscar's heart dropped into his stomach. “What are you talking about?” he repeated, louder this time. “Y/N, where the hell is this coming from? You’ve been fine all week—this morning, we were—don’t do this.”

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, eyes on her hands.

“No. No, you don’t get to just decide that. Not like this. Not without an explanation.”

She paused. Swallowed hard.

And then, her eyes lifted to meet his.

“I cheated on you.”

Oscar’s body went still.

For a moment, there was no air in the room. No noise. Just the hum of electricity and the thunderous sound of his heart slamming into his ribs.

“What?” His voice came out like a rasp.

“I cheated,” she said again, more firmly this time. “A few weeks ago. When you were in the factory and I was—”

“Stop.” His voice cracked. “Don’t say it again.”

She dropped her gaze, lips pressed tightly together.

Oscar stepped back like he’d been shoved. His throat burnt. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” she said quietly.

“You are,” he snapped. “You’re lying to my face. I know you. And I know that’s not true.”

Her eyes flickered, pain breaking through her careful mask for a second.

“You’re trying to push me away,” he said, voice rising. “You think if you hurt me enough, I’ll let you go without a fight.”

Her silence told him everything.

He exhaled sharply, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Jesus, Y/N. Why would you do that? Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s easier this way!” she yelled suddenly, her voice strained and desperate. “It’s easier if you hate me! If you think I’m the villain, maybe you won’t come after me. Maybe you’ll move on and forget I ever—”

“Ever what?” Oscar shot back, his voice cracking.

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

She turned around then, and the sight of her face knocked the wind out of him. Her eyes were red, lashes damp, cheeks splotchy. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up after me,” she said quietly.

“Y/N—”

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “I shouldn’t have come. I thought I was helping, but I’m not. And today proved that.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Yes, it did!” she cried suddenly, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she’d bottled up. “I heard what that reporter said. I heard it all, Oscar. I was standing right there. And you—God, you shouldn’t have had to defend me like that. You shouldn’t have to fight people on my behalf when you have enough pressure on your shoulders.”

Oscar’s chest tightened. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

“But that’s the problem,” she whispered, turning away again. “You’re too good to me. Too loyal. And one day it’s going to cost you.”

“No,” he said, his voice sharper now, cracking at the edges. “No, you don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to stand here and tell me that being with you is some kind of liability. I don’t care what people say.”

“You should!” she shouted, shoving clothes harder into her bag. “You should care! Because they’re right! You’ve worked your whole life for this career, and I am just— I am just some girl who showed up and started taking up space in your world.”

Oscar’s eyes flashed. “You are not just some girl, Y/N.”

She exhaled harshly, dragging her hands through her hair in frustration. “I am the thing people point to when things go wrong for no reason. I am the excuse they reach for when you don’t get the result you deserve. I didn’t come here to make your life harder. I came here because I love you and I wanted to support you. But maybe that was a mistake.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Oscar’s voice was low, angry, barely under control. “You think this is about results? You think I’d trade you for a few extra points on a race weekend?”

“You should!” she snapped. “Because this is your dream, Oscar. This is what you’ve fought for your whole life. I will not be the reason you lose it.”

His voice broke as he stepped closer. “You’re not. Y/N, please. You’re not any of those things.”

She shook her head, blinking hard as her tears began to fall again. “You’ve worked your whole life for this. You’ve sacrificed so much. I can’t be the reason you lose any of it.”

Oscar stood in front of her now, chest rising and falling fast. His hands shook as he cupped her face, forcing her eyes to meet his.

“You are the only person in my life worth fighting for,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “Do you understand that? You—you—are the reason I get through the shit days. The reason I don’t spiral. The reason I feel something when everything else gets too heavy. You ground me. You make me better. Not worse.”

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks, her hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt.

“Goddamn it, Y/N,” he whispered, tears now burning in his eyes too. “You’re not the thing pulling me down. You’re the only thing keeping me standing.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you fall apart,” she whispered.

“You never have been,” he said. “Not once.”

She was crying openly now, fists clenched around the handle of the suitcase, shoulders shaking. “I love you, Oscar. But I have to do this.”

“No,” he said, voice cracking. “You don’t. Please don’t.”

“It’s the truth.”

“God,” he muttered, tears forming fast now, stinging his eyes. “I would’ve done anything for you. I have done everything for you. And now you’re standing here, lying to my face just so you can walk away and feel better about it?”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. But I can’t be the reason your career goes down. I can’t be the weight that drags you under.”

“You were never the weight,” he snapped, tears slipping free. “You were the only fucking thing keeping me afloat.”

She stood there, trembling, her face crumpling.

“I love you,” she whispered, voice wrecked. “That’s why I have to go.”

“Bullshit,” he spat, breath catching in his chest. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t leave.”

“I have to,” she said, backing toward the door, eyes spilling over. “Goodbye, Oscar.”

“Don’t,” he pleaded, barely able to breathe now. “Don’t do this. Please.”

But she was already pulling the door open.

And as it shut behind her, Oscar stood there in the middle of the room, gasping for air, eyes burning, heart breaking, feeling like the one thing that made everything else worth it had just been ripped away and taken the light with her.

The click of the latch was the loudest sound Oscar had ever heard.

🪻🪻🪻

The room was silent, but Oscar's thoughts were anything but. He hadn’t moved since the door shut.

Y/N’s scent still lingered in the air. Her hair tie was still on the bed. The mug she drank tea from that morning was still sitting on the nightstand. And the echo of her words—“I cheated on you”—still rang in his head like a cruel joke.

Because she hadn’t.

He knew she hadn’t. He saw right through it, and still, she left anyway. She meant to leave. And what hurt most wasn’t that she’d lied to his face. It was that she’d been hurting and never said a word.

He dropped down heavily onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. He tried to retrace it. The last few weeks. The looks she gave him. The way she clutched his hand after Melbourne, like she didn’t want to let go. The way she smiled for the cameras but looked tired when they were alone.

Why hadn’t he seen it?

Why hadn’t he asked?

Guilt crawled up his spine, sharp and bitter.

He reached for his phone, absently opening Instagram. Her profile was still there, untouched. He tapped on her most recent photo—one of them together in the paddock a few weeks ago, laughing under the sun.

The comments were brutal.

“She’s so fake.”

“Oscar needs to focus on racing and not on his little girlfriend.”

“No wonder he’s underperforming.”

“She’s just using him for the clout & fame.”

“What an attention whore.”

He sat there, reading them all, his stomach twisting. He scrolled further, then switched apps. Searched for her name on Twitter.

And that’s when the true weight of it hit him.

Edits. Threads. Memes. Tweets with tens of thousands of likes tearing her apart for being “a distraction”. People joking that every time she was in the paddock, Oscar qualified worse. People dissecting her outfits and her facial expressions, accusing her of being cold, calculating, and selfish.

One tweet read, “Y/N is singlehandedly ruining his career and smiling through it. What a bitch.”

Oscar felt sick.

He checked TikTok. Searched her name again.

More videos. More hate. People filming her in the paddock, zooming in on her while overlaying sad or ominous music. One video had the caption: “Oscar’s downfall has a name, and it starts with Y.”

And she had never shown him any of it.

Not one word. Not one complaint.

She’d stood next to him, smiled beside him, held his hand and told him he’d be okay, and all the while, the internet was ripping her apart, and she kept her pain buried deep so he wouldn’t have to carry it.

His vision blurred with tears.

She hadn’t left him because she didn’t love him.
She’d left because she loved him too much.
Because she thought she was protecting him.

Oscar tossed the phone on the bed and ran a hand through his hair, his breath shallow and sharp.

God, he should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve noticed the way she flinched when cameras lingered too long. The way she shrank whenever a reporter turned to her. The way she smiled less and less as the weeks passed.

She had been drowning in hate, and instead of reaching for him, she dove under and let herself sink just so he wouldn’t have to tread water with her.

He rubbed at his face furiously.

He would’ve fought every single one of them. Every nameless troll. Every cruel headline. Every ignorant fan who dared call the person he loved a burden.

But she never let him.

She left instead.

Because in her mind, that was love. Sacrifice.

He stood up abruptly, pacing the room, fists clenched. His heart was screaming. He didn’t know where she’d gone or what she was doing. But he knew she was out there, alone, scared, and convinced she had to carry this pain by herself.

And he hated that. Hated that he’d let her walk out thinking she was a problem he had to escape instead of the person he wanted to build everything around.

He pulled out his phone again, opened his contacts, thumb hovering over her name.

His chest ached.

And then, he texted her:

"I saw everything. I'm so sorry. Please talk to me. Please don’t go through this alone."

No response.

But he knew her. And he would wait.

Oscar sat in the corner of his hotel room, laptop open, his hands trembling over the keyboard.

He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t even tried. Not after seeing the mess online. Not after watching the love of his life walk away believing she was the villain in a story she didn’t even write.

So he typed.

Over and over again, deleting and rewriting a single statement that had started to form in his head the moment he saw the hate Y/N had been hiding from him:

“To the people who claim to support me and still think it’s okay to attack someone I love, know this: your words have consequences. I’ve seen the comments, the videos, and the baseless accusations. And I’ve seen the damage they’ve caused. Y/N has done nothing but love and support me, quietly, without asking for anything in return. If my performance is affected, it’s not because of her. It’s because I’m human, and watching someone you care about get torn apart by strangers is enough to break anyone. If you really support me, then respect the people I care about. If you can’t do that, then you’re not my fan. Full stop.”

He stared at the blinking cursor, breathing hard, teeth clenched. It still didn’t feel like enough. Nothing he wrote could undo the hurt, but silence was worse.

He was done staying silent.

Just as he was about to send the draft to his PR manager, there was a knock on the door.

It was Kate from McLaren PR, flanked by two members of the communications team, phones and folders in hand.

“Oscar”, Kate began, her tone cautious, “we got your email. About the statement.”

He stood up. “Yeah. And?”

She glanced at the others and took a breath. “We appreciate how you feel. But we think it’s best not to make it public right now. There’s a risk of blowing things up even more.”

Oscar blinked. “You think protecting her is going to blow things up?”

Kate raised her hands gently. “I’m not saying that. But the best course is usually to keep things private. Address it internally, quietly. Focus on your racing. Let the noise die down on its own.”

Oscar laughed, but there was no humour in it, just disbelief. “Right. So I let them keep ripping her apart until she disappears from their radar. Is that the plan?”

“We just don’t think you should feed the trolls—”

“No. No. You don’t get to tell me to stay quiet while the girl I love gets blamed for things she had nothing to do with,” Oscar snapped. “She’s not even here anymore. She left because of all of this.”

Kate tried to keep her voice level. “Oscar, we understand this is emotional for you—”

“I’m not doing interviews,” he interrupted. “Not a single media session. No press conferences, no post-qualifying chats, nothing. And if that gets me a grid penalty or a fine, so be it.”

There was a stunned silence in the room.

Kate’s brows shot up. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” Oscar said, his voice tight with fury and heartbreak. “Until I see actual action taken against the online abuse she’s been getting, until I see the team speak up, or the FIA, or someone with power do something, I’m not giving them any more of me. They don’t get my words while she’s out there hurting alone.”

But Oscar didn’t care. He was done playing the quiet good guy if it meant watching the person he loved be torn apart just to keep the peace.

After they left, murmuring worriedly amongst themselves, Oscar slumped back into the chair and picked up his phone.

Still no response.

He tried texting again.

“Please, just tell me where you are. I’ll come to you. I’ll explain everything. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Nothing.

He called.

It rang once, twice, then went to voicemail.

He didn’t even know if she was reading his messages anymore.

So he tried again.

“I don’t care what the internet says. I don’t care what anyone says. I love you. And I will spend every second proving that, even if you never answer me. Just please know that I see it now. I see what you went through. I see you. I’m so, so sorry.”

Still nothing.

He set the phone down and let his head fall into his hands. Tears pooled in his eyes again. But this time, they didn’t fall. They just sat there, heavy and burning.

🪻🪻🪻

Friday passed in a blur.

Saturday felt like sleepwalking through a storm.

Oscar arrived at the paddock with his usual focus, but there was a visible shift in him in a way that unsettled everyone around him. He was dressed, prepared, and laser-focused during practice, but the moment the sessions ended, he walked straight past the line of waiting reporters, sunglasses shielding his red-rimmed eyes, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

“Post-practice interview?” his comms officer asked, gently tapping his arm.

“No.”

“Just a quick—”

“I said no.”

There was no room for discussion.

The PR team exchanged looks but said nothing. He hadn’t smiled once since Thursday. Hadn’t done any of the casual social media content. No behind-the-scenes videos, no paddock walk interviews, no pre-FP2 banter with Lando, nothing. The usual lightness was gone, and in its place was a man quietly raging.

The media noticed. And fast.

Tweets began popping up.

“Oscar Piastri walks past all media today. First driver to skip all PR appearances post-practice. Something’s definitely up.”

“McLaren’s PR team looks stressed. Oscar isn’t playing ball this weekend.”

“Confirmed: Oscar Piastri has refused all media obligations until online abuse is addressed.”

Clips surfaced of Oscar walking past reporters without a glance, ignoring shouts of his name, even brushing past a camera lens with a muttered, “Not until someone says something that matters.” The story caught fire.

And Y/N saw it all.

She hadn’t meant to. She’d deleted Twitter, muted her name on Instagram, and logged out of TikTok. But social media was a machine, and she was still part of the algorithm.

She opened YouTube to watch a movie and instead saw her name in the recommended videos.

“Oscar Piastri Breaks Silence—Defends Girlfriend Amid Hate.”

“Piastri REFUSES PR Until Y/N Is Protected.”

“McLaren’s Own Aussie Declines Interviews Till Girlfriend Receives Due Support.”

At first, her chest tightened. She thought he’d moved on. That maybe he was angry, resentful. That maybe he hated her.

But he wasn’t running away from her.

He was fighting for her.

Despite everything she had said, despite the hurt she had tried to cause, despite the lie she forced herself to tell just to get him to let her go, he wasn’t letting go.

Not even a little.

She sat on the edge of her bed in the dim hotel room, the screen lighting up her face as she watched the clip again: Oscar pushing a reporter’s mic aside after FP2 with the words, “There are more important things than lap times right now.”

Y/N’s chest cracked open.

Tears welled up as she pulled her knees to her chest. She had tried so hard to protect him by leaving, but he was out there choosing her anyway, day after day, even when she wasn’t there to see it.

She couldn’t give up on him.
Not now. Not ever.

Even if the whole world was against her, even if every comment section roared with hate, even if the paddock stared at her like she didn’t belong, she would walk back in.

Because he was the love of her life.

And he was still standing in the fire for her.

She opened her phone. Hands trembling.

Pulled up his messages.

She had read every one.

“I saw everything. I’m so sorry. Please talk to me. Please don’t go through this alone.”
“I don’t care what the internet says. I don’t care what anyone says. I love you.”
“I’ll spend every second proving that, even if you never answer me.”

She inhaled shakily and booked her second ticket to Shanghai in a week.

🪻🪻🪻

Saturday afternoon in Shanghai was a blur of roaring engines and tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

The paddock was alive with energy. Mechanics scrambled. Engineers barked numbers into radios. Fans screamed from the stands. Cameras panned from car to car, trying to capture the pulse of a qualifying session that felt like it carried more emotional weight than any race before.

And yet, for Y/N, none of that registered.

She was sprinting.

From the second the wheels of her flight hit the tarmac, she hadn’t stopped moving. The car that picked her up from the airport barely had time to stop before she jumped out in front of the Hilton. Her heart pounded as she took the elevator up to his floor, rehearsing her apology a hundred times.

But when she knocked, no one answered.

She knocked again. Nothing.

Her voice cracked when she asked the concierge if Oscar was still in the building. “No, ma’am,” the man replied. “He left for the circuit an hour ago. Qualifying’s today, right?”

Of course. She had lost track of the weekend entirely. Her hands shook as she thanked him, bolted back outside, and rushed into a car headed straight for the track.

Security tried to stop her at the paddock gate until one of the McLaren hospitality staff recognised her and waved her through. The look on their face said everything. Everyone had seen what was going on. Everyone had watched Oscar shut the world out since the moment she left.

Her chest squeezed.

She asked where he was, and someone told her qualifying had just started.

She wasn’t allowed in the garage. So she waited.

Hospitality was quiet. Muted voices in the corner. No one approached her. She sat at the edge of the room, fingers tangled in the sleeves of her jumper, eyes glued to the monitor showing live timing.

Q1.
Q2.
Q3.

And then— P1.
Oscar Piastri. Shanghai Grand Prix. On pole. His first pole.

The hospitality tent let out a quiet cheer. A few mechanics clapped in the distance. But Oscar wasn’t on camera celebrating. He didn’t even do the typical radio whoop. Just a quiet “Copy”. That was it.

Then came the announcement.

Oscar Piastri had refused to attend the post-qualifying press conference. Again.

Y/N stood up slowly, heart hammering. She asked where he’d gone.

Someone told her they’d seen him heading toward the driver’s rooms.

And she didn’t wait.

She walked through the narrow halls of the paddock, past the bustle and the noise, until she reached the McLaren motorhome and found the familiar door.

She hesitated for a moment, then gently pushed it open.

What she saw made her heart crack clean in two.

Oscar was sitting on the floor, still in his race suit, his back pressed to the wall and his knees drawn up. His helmet was lying nearby, forgotten. His phone was in his hand, screen dim, her contact still open. He looked so small, so tired, so heartbreakingly alone. His head was bowed low and his shoulders sagged, like he had been holding in a world of weight with no one to help carry it.

Y/N stepped inside without saying a word.

The moment he sensed someone there, Oscar lifted his head. His eyes met hers.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Then Oscar dropped the phone like it burnt him, pushed up off the floor with shaking arms, and crossed the room in three long strides before pulling her into him like his life depended on it.

Y/N collided with his chest, her arms wrapping around him so tightly it hurt.

He buried his face in her shoulder, and the dam inside him finally broke. His body trembled with the weight of everything he’d been holding back. She felt his tears hot against her skin, his fingers digging into the back of her shirt like he was terrified she’d disappear again.

Her arms flew around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as her face pressed into his shoulder. He was shaking. She could feel it in his grip, in the way his breath hitched against her ear, and in the warmth of the tears that began to fall against her skin.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Oh my god, you’re really here.”

“I’m here,” she said back, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. I never should have left. I thought I was doing the right thing; I thought if I left, the noise would stop and you could focus. But all I did was hurt you.”

He pulled back just enough to see her face, his hands cradling her cheeks with the softest touch, like he was scared she might vanish again if he let go.

“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care what people say or what they think. I don’t care about pole or points or interviews. None of it means anything without you.”

A sob escaped her lips, and she nodded, pressing her forehead against his. “I saw the way you were fighting for me. Even when I wasn’t there. You didn’t give up on me.”

“I never will,” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You’re not a distraction. You’re my peace. You’re the reason I can even do this.”

“I love you,” she said, the words slipping out like a breath of truth she had been holding in for far too long.

His eyes shone. “I love you too. So much.”

And there, in the quiet of the driver’s room, with the rest of the world still reeling from the news of his pole position, Oscar’s gaze dropped to her lips, flicked back to her eyes, and his breath hitched. A soft, broken sound escaped his throat, part relief, part desperation, and before she could say another word, he kissed her.

He surged forward, crashing his mouth onto hers with a force that startled them both. It wasn’t neat or perfect. It was messy and aching and full of pain and love and the unbearable weight of the days they had spent apart. His hands slid from her cheeks to the back of her neck, holding her like he didn’t trust the universe not to rip her away again.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, tears mixing with the intensity of it as she clutched him tighter. She felt his entire body pressing against hers, like he needed every part of him to touch every part of her just to believe this wasn’t another dream or memory.

Her back hit the wall behind her, and he didn’t let up. His mouth moved against hers with bruising desperation, like he was trying to say everything he hadn’t had the chance to. His hands were in her hair now, tangled and shaking, his body practically folding over hers.

She kissed him back just as hard, just as desperately, her hands roaming from his chest to his shoulders to his face, not knowing where to hold him because she wanted to hold him everywhere at once. Her tears slipped down her cheeks and into their kiss, and she tasted his too.

He broke away only for a second, breathing heavily, their foreheads touching again.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked. “I thought I’d never get to touch you like this again.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping a tear from under his eye. “I was so scared… But I’m here now. I’m not leaving you again, Oscar. I promise.”

He kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense, his hands cradling her like she was fragile and precious and the most important thing in the world.

“You’re it for me,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re everything. Don’t you ever, ever try to protect me by walking away again. I don’t need protection. I need you.”

She nodded through the tears, wrapping her arms around him so tightly it nearly hurt. “I love you”, she said between kisses, “so much.”

And with that, he kissed her again, sealing the words with every ounce of love he had left in him.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

“I’m not going anywhere again,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said with a tiny smile. “Because I think I’ve cried enough for one lifetime.”

She laughed through her tears, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “Same.”

🪻🪻🪻

The morning light poured into the room gently, golden and warm against the chilled air of the hotel suite. But inside the bed, tangled in a sea of white sheets and each other, the world felt like it had narrowed down to just the two of them.

Oscar lay on his back, eyes still heavy with sleep, his hair an adorable mess from the way Y/N had run her fingers through it all night. She was draped across him, head resting against his chest, her bare legs tangled with his under the covers. Her fingers were moving lazily across his skin, mapping out the contours of his face like she needed to memorise every inch all over again.

“Your nose is kind of weird,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over it.

Oscar cracked one eye open. “Wow. And here I was thinking this was a tender moment.”

She giggled, trailing her fingertip down to his lips, then his jaw, then his chin. “Tender and honest.”

“Alright, critic,” he mumbled sleepily, tugging her hand away and kissing her knuckles softly. “I’ll remember that next time you ask if your eyeliner's even.”

She laughed again and nestled into his chest, only to shiver slightly. “Ugh. Why is it so cold in here?”

Oscar’s lips curled into a lazy grin as he pulled her flush against him. “Maybe next time you’ll agree to sleep in something. You know, like actual clothes.”

She scoffed. “Please. You’re the one who looked at me like a deer in headlights when I wore a shirt.”

He chuckled, voice still heavy with sleep. “Yeah, because you were wearing my shirt and nothing else and then climbed on top of me like you had a mission.”

“I did have a mission,” she said smugly, pressing a kiss just below his jaw. “And I succeeded.”

Oscar groaned, dragging a hand down his face as she giggled against his neck. “You’re killing me.”

“And you’re very lucky I’m cold,” she whispered, wrapping herself tighter around him, “because otherwise I’d be all the way over there and not pressed up against your very warm, very touchable body.”

“Touchable, huh?” He murmured, sliding a hand down her back. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

She smirked against his skin. “Don’t act like you’re not obsessed.”

“Guilty,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut again as she trailed a finger lazily down his chest.

Then, without warning, she reached up and gave his nipple a playful pinch.

Oscar yelped, his whole body jerking. “Oi! What the hell?!”

Y/N burst out laughing, completely unbothered as she tucked her face back into the crook of his neck. “Sorry, sorry! You were being too smug. I had to bring you back down.”

He rolled them over without warning, pinning her underneath him as she squealed, her laughter still echoing through the room. “You wanna play that game, huh?” he asked, smirking down at her. “Because I can be very annoying when provoked.”

“Is that what you call it?” she shot back, grinning. “Because I call it foreplay.”

Oscar groaned, flopping on top of her dramatically as she shrieked, still giggling. “You’re the worst,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“But I’m your worst,” she whispered, turning her head to kiss him softly.

He melted into the kiss instantly, one hand curling around the back of her neck, the other resting on her waist. When they pulled apart, he just looked at her, like he couldn’t believe she was real, that she had come back, and that she was still his.

“I could stay like this all day,” he said quietly.

“You would,” she teased. “But you’ve got a race to win, Mr Pole Sitter.”

He groaned, burying his face in her neck again. “Can’t I just skip it and warm the bed with you all morning?”

“As tempting as that sounds, the world needs to see that stupidly fast car of yours. And your stupidly good hair.”

Oscar lifted his head just enough to give her a crooked grin. “So you admit the hair’s good?”

“I admit nothing,” she said, smirking.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then the corner of her mouth, pulling her closer as if needing to confirm all over again that she was really there.

“I thought I dreamed you came back,” he mumbled against her hair. “I kept waking up last night just to make sure you were still here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, brushing her thumb along his cheek. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Oscar let out a quiet, relieved chuckle, nuzzling into her palm before reluctantly rolling onto his back. He stretched one arm out and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, squinting at the screen as it lit up.

There were dozens of notifications.

But one in particular made him freeze.

He blinked, then sat up straighter. “Y/N”, he said, nudging her slightly and turning the screen to her. “Look.”

It was a post from McLaren’s official account, timestamped just thirty minutes ago. The bolded headline read: Statement Regarding Online Abuse Directed Toward Oscar Piastri and Y/N.

He opened it, and they both read in silence.

McLaren Racing stands firmly against any form of online harassment or abuse directed at our drivers, their families, and their partners. Y/N has always been a respected and loved member of our extended team, both professionally and personally. We condemn the recent wave of harmful messages and baseless accusations circulating online. The wellbeing of our people is our top priority. We appreciate the support of fans who continue to champion respect, empathy, and kindness in motorsport and beyond. Let’s remember: behind every helmet, and behind every headline, there are human beings. Let’s treat them that way.

— McLaren Racing

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she read it again, her fingers tightening around Oscar’s.

“They… they didn’t have to do that,” she said softly, her eyes glassy with emotion.

Oscar looked at her, his voice tender but firm. “Yes, they did. And they should’ve sooner.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

There were thousands of replies, and for once, most of them were kind. Fans thanking the team. Others apologising for turning a blind eye. Even some of the more critical accounts had gone quiet.

“Finally”, Oscar said, locking his phone. “Finally someone said it.”

He turned to her again, cradling her jaw with one hand. “I fought because I had to. Because you didn’t deserve any of what they said. And I’ll keep fighting, okay? But now, I think we can breathe a little.”

Y/N nodded, resting her forehead against his. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to be beside you. Through all of it.”

Oscar smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Then you’d better get dressed. Because I think I owe the media a few words.”

She pulled back in surprise. “You’re actually going to talk to them?”

He smirked, flopping dramatically back onto the pillows. “Yeah. I figured pole position deserves a few minutes of glory, right?”

She laughed, tackling him gently and peppering his face with kisses. “That, and maybe you just want to show them that I’m still here.”

He grinned, once again flipping her onto the mattress and hovering over her. “Damn right.”

Y/N walked beside him, the pair of them a striking duo as they made their way through the paddock. Heads turned, some in admiration, some in curiosity, but neither of them paid any attention. They didn’t need to. For once, it was easy to tune everything else out.

Oscar glanced sideways, eyes flicking to her face like he couldn’t help it. “Are you sure you’re ready for the chaos again?”

She smiled, fingers tightening around his. “I can take the heat. Especially if I’m standing next to you.”

He grinned that soft, boyish smile she loved so much. “You’re the best.”

“I’m aware,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

They reached the McLaren garage, and the pre-race buzz was well underway. Mechanics in orange overalls darted around, tyres were being rolled out, and engineers fine-tuned last-minute settings. But in the middle of all the madness, Oscar turned to her, now in his race suit, helmet under his arm.

“Come here,” he murmured, tugging her gently into him. “For good luck.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She reached up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then his forehead, then tapped a kiss on the side of his helmet as he slid it on. “You’ve got this, Piastri. Show them what you’re made of.”

He was smiling under the visor now, even as his engineer motioned for him to head to the car. “Catch you on the other side, pretty girl.”

She laughed. “Only if you win.”

Oscar slid into the car with a renewed sense of focus, but it wasn’t just adrenaline. It was her. She was back. She believed in him. And that meant everything.

The race was chaos for everyone behind Oscar. Somehow everything that went down managed to embolden him in an unexplainable way, holding onto P1 like his life depended on it. And when he crossed the finish line, taking the win in Shanghai, his radio exploded with cheers.

“OSCAR PIASTRI. YOU ARE A THREE-TIME RACE WINNER!”

He didn’t even respond to the engineers shouting in his ear. He was already unstrapping the belts, already climbing out of the car in Parc Fermé. The second his feet hit the ground, he tore off the helmet and balaclava, his eyes scanning past the cameras and team crew.

And there she was.

Y/N stood just behind the barrier, wide-eyed, the hugest smile on her face, barely believing it. He didn’t hesitate. Sprinting like nothing else mattered, he reached the barrier, his arms already outstretched.

The marshal barely got a word in before he leaned over, wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her effortlessly over the metal railing. She gasped, clinging to him as he spun her around in pure joy, the orange of his race suit standing out like fire in the crowd.

“You did it!” She squealed, breathless with laughter and tears.

“No, we did,” Oscar said into her hair, burying his face in her shoulder. “You came back. And everything finally fell into place.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

And then he kissed her, full of every ounce of adrenaline, relief, and love that had built up for weeks. The paddock erupted. The cameras went wild. But Oscar didn’t care. He kissed her like the world was watching, and he wanted them to.

“You’re not going anywhere again,” he said against her lips, voice still shaky from emotion. “I mean it. You’re mine.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, her fingers curling into the back of his suit. “I’m yours.”

Soon after, they had to separate so he could get weighed before the podium sitters' interview. But he made sure to sign his bottle of champagne before that with his autograph. And right above that; scrawled in big, bold, golden letters: To my pretty girl.

my girl y/n can’t catch a break, hope ya’ll liked this!

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (3)

Summary: Terry get's a lesson in love and shares it with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 5,049

Part: 3 of ??

Warnings: Smut (18+)

One. Two.

"Well, James, how you been?" 

"Honestly, Pop. I don't know where to start." 

Wooden spoons banged and scraped across pots on the stove while Marvin scooped red beans and rice into a small ceramic bowl. He'd long shed his work coveralls for an open flannel shirt and khakis to spend some quality time with his only son. 

James was their shared middle name in a long line of Richmond men dating back to their family migration from New Orleans to Fayetteville in the 50s. Marvin was a proud, honorable man. He never said a bad word about anybody, and no one had a bad word to say about him. He taught Terry how to play football, make a pot of dirty rice to perfection, and the importance of ensuring a lady never touched a doorhandle in his presence. He was the reason Terry joined the Marine Corps after a career in the NFL looked unlikely. He was the reason his boy spoke softly and carried a big stick. And he was one of only two people Terry trusted with his heart. 

With two bowls and spoons on a serving tray, Marvin made his way to the kitchen table. He stopped short to get a good look at his son with blue green eyes even more captivating than Terry's. He noted the new frown lines developing on his brow and the lone grey hair sprouting in his goatee. His boy was stressed and confused. He didn't need a conversation to tell him that but welcomed it anyway. 

After sliding one bowl across the table, he took a seat with his signature grunt. "Start at the top. Plenty of time still left in the day." 

Terry quietly thanked his father for his generosity and avoided the question by eating the first bite of his meal. They ate in silence for several seconds until Terry took a deep breath. 

"I think I've been okay. More ups than downs lately, but the downs are pretty damn low. I'm having a tough time sleeping. I'm barely working. I feel like a burden for Treece more than I feel like a man who can actually do something for her." 

"Being a man is about more than what you can do." 

"Yeah, but…" Terry trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just - things weren't supposed to be this hard. I gave this country a lot of my time, and I guess I expected to say my goodbyes and roll into my next chapter. Now, my plan b needs a plan b, and I'm out of options." 

"You're not out of options. You don't like askin' for help. Proud like your grandaddy." 

"And you too." 

Marvin chuckled and shook his head as he took another spoonful of food.  "This ain't about me."

The two men shared a laugh, their voices sounding nearly identical as they bounced off the walls. He was the spitting image of his father, both in stature and moral compass. 

"What do you need, James?" Marvin had grown serious again, making Terry avert his eyes to focus on his food. "I'll save you the stress of asking, but you gotta tell me what I need to offer. Is it money?"

"Not much. Enough to pay some bills until the end of the month, and I can have it back to you. I think I have a shot at this job on base if I can get through the second interview."

"How you getting back and forth? I know y'all do the Lyft and Ubom thing these days. Ridin' around with strangers like we didn't spend a whole decade tell y'all not to." 

Terry laughed. "It's Uber, Pop. But, no. Treece is out for the summer, so I'm…using her car when I need it. I don't wanna take advantage of her." 

"Those some of the bills you need help paying?" Marvin's question was answered with a silent head nod and eyes filled with shame. He softened his voice as he reached into his wallet for the cash he had on hand. "It's what you're supposed to do. Ain't no shame. That money is for yourself. Give me til tomorrow afternoon to have more. Five grand enough?" 

"Ah, Pop, I don-" 

"We didn't work as hard as we did for nothing. Plus, it's your college fund money we never withdrew. You're lucky your mother hasn't used it for renovations. She's been eyeing your sister's old room for an indoor she-shed or whatever the hell it's called." 

Marvin sounded exasperated by the concept of his wife's latest project, which amused Terry. They hadn't changed since the day he left. They were just two people who had been in love since the day they met and remained committed to supporting each other through the ebbs and flows of life. 

Standing from the kitchen table, Marvin shuffled around the corner to the garage entrance and returned with a ring of keys and a pile of mail. He tossed them at Terry and returned to his seat. 

"What's this?" 

"Keys to GMC outside. Take it. You might need to run it for a little bit and change the oil, but it works fine. The rest is your mail." Terry opened his mouth to protest and received a glare from his father in return. "I gave you my best speech about askin' for help, and here you go ruining things. Take the truck before I tell your mama."

"Alright, alright," Terry laughed as he raised his hands. "I love you, Pop." 

"Love you, man. I'm proud of you." Not ones for the warm fuzzies of hugs, the two extended their arms across the table for a quick fist bump before returning to their meals. Marvin let his son eat in peace for a few moments before the corner of his lips curled in a knowing smile. "So…Patrice Ellis, huh? That little love letter you wrote in 10th grade finally coming true?" 

"Pop." 

"Ah, come on. It's alright to be in love, son. She's a good girl. Got good folks, too. What's the holdup?" 

In love? The more Terry attempted to negotiate the gravity of the phrase within himself, the more he had to reckon with the idea that his father may not be that far off base.

Terry slowed his eating and looked at his father for help. "You think I'm in love?" 

"Oh, I know you are. You didn't come back to Fayetteville for me, did you?" 

"How would I know, though? How did you know?" 

Marvin stopped eating to sit back in his chair. A fond smile crossed his face as he thought of his younger years. 

"I knew I was in love when I wanted to show up every day and do the work to be with her. It didn't matter if she pissed me off or if we disagreed about decisions. At the end of every day, I can look at her and know I'm where I want to be forever. Plus, I still get a little fired up when she walks through the door all these years later. I ain't much to look at, but your mother is…" 

Marvin let his sentence drop to whistle at the mention of his wife. Terry pretended to take exception but eventually laughed at his father's antics. He quickly relaxed into a contemplative state. 

"I wanna be the best I can for her," he spoke softly. "I get…sad when she's gone for too long. Sometimes, I find myself forcing conversation just to make her look at me because the light in her eyes is the only thing keeping me grounded most days. What does that mean?" 

"You don't need me to answer that, son. Go with what you know." 

Before Terry could seek more advice, the mechanical roar of the garage door made Marvin nearly spring out of his seat to greet his one true love. 

Outside, Patrice was nearly doubled over from laughter in the front seat. 

Diedra "DeeDee" Richmond was the quintessential Southern black woman. Like a prim and proper belle, she wore her color-treated blonde hair big to match an even bigger personality.  She wore heels with every outfit and never left the house without earrings, but she could also drink and cuss like a sailor. 

When she offered Patrice the chance to tag along for her monthly Sister Circle meeting, there was no chance she'd miss the opportunity to ditch Terry and kick it with the upper crust of Black women. 

"And, girl, Rita thinks we can't tell that she took every one of those appetizers out of the damn freezer section. At least go to the Publix bakery. Finger sandwiches ain't that expensive." 

Amid their gossip session, the garage door's chime caught Dee Dee's attention, effectively ending her one-woman show in favor of giving her husband the eye. Behind him, Terry stood with a nervous smile and puppy dog eyes that he directed at Patrice. 

"Marry a Richmond, child. You'll never lift a finger for the rest of your life. Lord knows I love me some him. Hey, baby!" DeeDee advised as she watched Marvin nearly float to the driver's side to open her door. 

Patrice watched Marvin and DeeDee fawn over each other like teenage lovers until the faint pop of her door opening brought her back to life. 

Terry stood in the gap with his hand out to offer assistance. She accepted without protest, letting him gently pull her from the passenger side with her bags in tow and close the door behind her.

"I missed you." 

Terry's admission came in a sweet voice as he dipped his head to place two chaste kisses on Patrice's lips. Only the knowledge of his parents 10 feet away kept her from turning an innocent display of affection into something vulgar. 

Patrice chased his lips once he pulled away, earning a deep chuckle that vibrated her chest. 

"We kissing in front of the parents now?" 

"Too much," he asked, suddenly embarrassed. 

She used her thumb to wipe lip gloss from his bottom lip before rising to her tip toes to kiss his nose. "No. You're perfect." 

Dee Dee and Marvin watched the young couple giggle at nothing in particular with broad smiles and full hearts. 

"Treece, when's the last time you had some of my red beans and rice?" 

Marvin's question made both of them jump like children caught in the act with the realization that they weren't alone. 

"Way too long," Patrice answered, her stomach almost growling at the mention. 

"Then have dinner with us. We'd love to have you." 

Patrice looked toward Terry for confirmation, making Dee Dee cackle as she started up the stairs into her home. "Child, forget him. Terrence don't run nothing 'round here! Come get this food."

Terry's eyes grew wide at his mother's dismissal while Patrice dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at his expense on her way into the house. 

"Oh, that's funny," he asked, following her lead. "That's the last time I let y'all hang out unsupervised." 

Three extra hours at Terry's parents' house wasn't enough for the tandem to abandon their new night routine. 

Patrice stood at her bathroom sink, scrubbing the day from her face while Terry made himself comfortable on her closed toilet lid. Sometimes, he read something from Patrice's bookshelf, both preferring to simply exist in the same room. Other times, he watched baseball on his phone and attempted to provide color commentary despite Patrice not showing interest. This time, though, he sat with relaxed shoulders and low eyes while she moved through her beauty routine. 

Something about the sleepytime body wash had him laser-focused on how her legs looked a mile long beneath her nightshirt, oiled to perfection and glistening under the warm vanity lights. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe pull her closer by her thighs and whisper every single nasty thought on his mind below her navel until she promised never to leave his side. 

But, he shook his inner man loose and leaned forward to re-engage with her as she called his name. 

"You know you should use a gentle exfoliant every once in a while. It'll help your breakouts. Use some of my sunscreen, too. It's dangerous for you to let the sun hit your face with no protection."

Blah, blah, blah. Everything she said sounded like a chorus of 1000 angels to him. She could've revealed the cure to cancer, and he would be too lovestruck to notice. 

Knowing his restraint was dwindling, he stood abruptly and stretched his arms above his head with a yawn as she added moisturizer to her face.

Patrice watched him take up space behind her through the mirror, shifting so he could leave something to remember him by on her shoulder and neck. 

"Good night," he spoke between kisses, the words muffled against her skin. 

"Already? It's not that late, is it?" 

"I promised Corey I'd help him with football practice at Francis tomorrow morning."

"He'll run you ragged if you don't speak up." 

"I'll speak up. I promise." 

Using what little space she had, Patrice turned to rest her backside on the counter and face Terry. She used her index finger to hook his gold herringbone chain and bring him down for a kiss. Or kisses. It'd been so long since they could have each other in this way. Time and experience, both together and separately, had them maneuvering like professionals. Each kiss was teasing and sensual in equal measure. A tangible mastery of retreating and aggression made the pursuit of one another worth the wait. 

They'd lost track of their exhibition until Terry's phone buzzing against the toilet seat jolted them back into reality.

Patrice flattened her palms against his chest to create some separation and end what would surely turn into blurred lines if they weren't careful. "Good night, TJ.  Grab that exfoliant out of my shower before you leave. It's in the caddie." 

Terry took the gentle redirection in stride, smiling at her through the mirror before turning to do as she had asked. Patrice used what little focus she could muster to secure her headscarf to her head, desperate to extend her box braids for one more week. 

"What's this?" 

"What's what?" She didn't bother to look away from her task until the low hum of her vibrator caught her attention. She whipped her body around, too stunned to reach for the bright pink toy that had Terry smirking as he examined its buttons. "That is my personal property for personal and private use." 

"When's the last time you used it?" 

"It's been a while. A month or so." Mostly true. She couldn't say she hadn't thought about it more recently.

"Since I've been here?" 

She shrugged. "Kinda hard to get comfortable when there's a person on the other side of the wall." 

The mere sound of the only thing to touch her in a year made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Her eyes darted between the toy and Terry, who made himself familiar with each speed and pattern, cycling through dirty thoughts and intrigue as he held the device against his arm to get a feel for the intensity, 

Setting one? Bearable. A softball. Setting three? Maybe she'd call out his name from the pleasure? Setting seven? Surely, she'd hang on to him like a wet t-shirt on a Playboy model while she rode the crest of her orgasm. 

The possibilities excited him to no end. He needed to test each and every theory.

In two clicks, he returned the toy to its original setting and then off completely, holding it in one hand while taking slow steps to close the gap between him and the only person on his mind. 

She shifted her weight nervously as he approached, unsure how to respond until he towered over her with a look she knew all too well. 

Desire. 

Their senses were heightened. Everything felt surreal, almost as if one misstep could send them flying through a portal back to a more disappointing reality. 

Terry could smell the faint hint of mint on Patrice's breath before dipping his head to nip at her bottom lip with his teeth. She responded like he knew she would by making him work for his prize. Patrice never let him intimidate her. Not for their first time together all those years ago, certainly not now. 

He chuckled before leaning in again, this time leaving a trail of short kisses from her jaw to her clavicle. He inhaled deeply, breathing in vanilla and the subtle spice of his cologne from moments earlier.

Suddenly, Patrice felt weightless. Her feet dangled briefly and without warning as Terry took her from standing to sitting on the cold, hard counter before she could protest. 

Patrice fought for stability, using the peaks and valleys across the expanse of his muscled arms as her anchor in the dizzying experience that was his affection. Her lips parted to draw in sharp breaths and release airy sighs of approval in a feeble attempt to remain present. At the same time, he kissed his appreciation wherever his lips saw fit. Her legs acted under their own power to spread wider and make room for whatever came next. 

Her hands left a trail of tingles as she dragged them from his arms to the back of his head, down the sides of his face, over his tank top, between his pecs, and, finally, into the waistband of his shorts. 

Surprised by her touch, he lurched forward to grab her wrist. "Not this time," he whispered, unsure he meant what he was saying. 

Patrice nodded in understanding, earning a sloppy kiss for her obedience. 

There was no discerning where his mouth ended, and hers began. They were on one accord, hungrily tasting, exploring, and consuming each other without holding back. 

Then, the low hum returned. This time, it was closer than Patrice remembered. 

Cold silicone soon caressed her inner thigh. A low whimper escaped past her lips as she made eye contact with Terry. He leaned close enough to speak against her mouth. 

"You trust me?" 

"Mhmm," she answered, fighting to keep her eyes open as he moved further up her leg. 

"Let me take care of you, then. Take these off for me." 

Trembling fingers latched onto her boyshorts, pushing them to mid-thigh for Terry to take care of the rest. As quickly as he was gone, he'd returned for another taste of her tongue. Languid and unhurried, he used the time to relax her while slowly inching the vibrator to her center. 

Initial contact made her hips buck forward, and her head softly hit the mirror behind her. Terry chased her with sloppy kisses at the base of her neck. 

The slow and steady setting was enough to get her wet and sticky. Terry'd be lying if he said the thought alone didn't have him wanting to renege on his early statement and dive in with reckless abandon. But, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of her pleasure. 

Once the initial shock had worn off, Patrice ground her hips slowly, making small circles while the vibration worked to settle her nerves. Terry took a break from leaving praises in the form of kisses on her throat to smile at his girl. 

"You're beautiful. You know that?"

She gripped his chin and pulled him closer for a fiery kiss that he let her lead. "Yeah. But, I love to hear you say it." 

"Good," he answered, grinning at her confidence as he upped the intensity on her vibrator. Her eyes clamped shut as her entire body tensed. "Stay with me." 

A deep, steadying breath turned into a silent scream as Patrice gave in to the natural urge to hold her breath. Terry used his free hand to sneak up her tank top and grope one breast while pressing his lips to her ear. 

"Breathe, baby. In and out." He modeled the behavior until she found the strength to match his tempo. "There you go. You feel good?" 

"Yes, yes," she whisper-chanted to the ceiling, her head thrown back in unimaginable euphoria. 

"I want you to feel this good every day. You deserve it, right?" 

A twisting, turning feeling at the pit of her stomach forced her to draw in a deep breath to steady herself. Her answer came in a soft moan. "Right." 

"Damn right." Pressing his forehead to hers, he zeroed in on each of her features twisted in unthinkable pleasure. 

She kept her mouth open to sigh and moan as she saw fit. Her nostrils flared in a rhythm as she tried to force herself to breathe through every peak and valley of the moment. Her brows were knitted, and her eyes closed as if she were too afraid to look at him. He wondered what she was thinking. 

Did she want him inside of her as much as he wanted the same for himself? Was she yearning for more pressure? Could she feel how much he loved her?

"Don't get quiet on me. I want everything. Let 'em hear you. You need more?" 

A quick glance down helped him reposition the vibrator on her already sensitive bud, earning a guttural curse as appreciation for his good deed. 

"Fuck! Don't move. Please don't move." 

Terry obliged for the moment, too entranced by his view of her flower on full display for his viewing pleasure. Glistening. Wet. Beautiful. Appetizing like nothing he'd ever seen before. He pulled the toy away and replaced its presence with his thumb. Slow circles and firm pressure made her want to close her legs to escape the overwhelming stimulation, but her attempt was futile. She was at his mercy. 

"Damn," he whispered to himself, enamored by the way her body reacted to his touch. 

Every revolution around her clit brought with it more wetness at her entrance and indentations in his arms from her nails gripping for dear life. 

It wasn't enough to touch her. He needed to taste. 

Using his middle and ring fingers, he teased his introduction with gentle brushes against her inner lips. She keened for more against his mouth as she held his face close. He granted her wish and pushed into her slowly, immediately feeling her warmth envelop his long digits. 

Their mouths hung open, breaths being traded between the two as he set a slow pace. Not enough to bring forth a release. Just enough for Terry to get what he came for. 

Removing his fingers left him with a coating of clear arousal nearly dripping to his knuckles. Patrice watched him as he smirked at the sight, examining it like a jeweler appraising precious diamonds. 

When he'd seen enough, he put both fingers into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor the taste. Patrice's mouth hung open as if waiting for her turn to experience the wonders of her juices. 

Had she closed her eyes for even a second, she would have missed Terry extending his tongue from his mouth to allow a mixture of his saliva and her essence the chance to slide from his tongue in anticipation of a new host. 

Something profound and hungry within her made her lean her head back and hold her tongue out to receive all that he had to give. It excited her, delighted her, and aroused her like never before.

Like a lewd work of art, spit connected their tongues in what would otherwise be seen as an infraction among more proper circles. But fuckin' wasn't proper, and all forms of affection were welcomed in their home. 

Almost immediately, Terry rushed to reward her with a wild and frenzied kiss that nearly surprised him. 

Primal. Carnal. Intense. Fucking disgusting. He loved every minute of it.

The race was on. Terry kept their lips connected as he returned the vibrator to her clit, dialing up the settings to a level below their max. 

Patrice's moans and his couldn't be distinguished from one another. Her hips bucked wildly. Her fingernails left marks in their wake as they scratched at his arms and back. Her body twitched and seized in anticipation of the inevitable. 

"Oh my - fuck!" Satisfied tears slid from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks to her man's awaiting lips. "Terrence!" 

Terry remained locked in. A man possessed. A one-track mind focused on nothing other than completing the mission. 

The first stage of her orgasm came without a warning. Heat washed over her as if she'd stepped outside at high noon, making her skin almost unbearable to live in. Her toes curled, her voice caught in her throat despite the intense desire to release a scream from the depths of her soul into the atmosphere. 

She thanked Terry and God in Heaven for blessing her with the opportunity to touch the moon and the stars without ever leaving her home. Terry used his free hand to grip and massage her thighs, knowing that the best was yet to come. 

Patrice's voice began to climb as the main event approached. Shallow breaths gave way to loud gasps for air, which came rapidly while she did the same. She was suspended in a beautiful bliss and already sad about the prospect of coming down. 

Her lover reveled in the opportunity to see her unraveling at the seams. 

"I'll always come back to you, beautiful. No matter what, okay? Look at me." His request earned intense focus from Patrice under hooded eyes. "You're so pretty. Say it back to me. Tell me you're pretty."

"I'm so pretty!" Impending release sent all her words out in one breathless sentence. 

He smiled at her compliance. "I know you're close. Hold my hand."

Her fingers scrambled against the counter, filling the spaces between his fingers and gripping with enough force to turn her knuckles a lighter shade of brown. 

"That's my girl. I love you," was all he could manage before Patrice let out something akin to a squeal, turning his declaration into background fodder. 

Sensitive, overstimulated, and completely spent, the after-effects of her release had her panting to recover. Her ears rang with a heady feeling that could only be compared to a few puffs of homegrown bud. 

Terry held her through it all, propping her up while her body sagged against him for stability. He put aside the vibrator to run his palms up and down her legs while he showered her temple with whispered praises and sweet kisses. 

He waited until her breathing was even before gingerly pressing his forehead to hers. "You good?" 

His smirk was incredibly smug. He was proud of himself, and for good reason. She was open to giving credit where credit was due. 

"You can never leave this house without me again. I hope you're happy." 

"That's the whole point. My granny taught me some things during them summers down in New Orleans, you know?" 

"Oh, so this is some magic shit?" 

"Family business, baby. Gotta have the last name to find out." A playful glint in his eyes and a squeeze to her waist made Patrice's stomach feel butterflies that she thought would never return. Terry tapped her nose with his index finger and stepped back. "Stay put. I'll clean you up." 

Patrice scoffed. Stay put. As if she could go anywhere. As if she wanted to go anywhere.

Like the perfect gentleman, Terry was tender with his care. A warm towel to soothe sore muscles and ensure a thorough cleanup was mandatory. The extra loving was complimentary for only his favorite lady. 

"Stay with me tonight," Patrice requested as he slid her panties back up her legs. 

He shook his head and smiled while prompting her to lift her hips. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Treecey." 

"I just wanna be next to you. Nothing more." 

Terry regarded her doe-eyed plea with a small smile as he helped her off the counter. He pulled her into an embrace, fiending for one more kiss. She obliged happily until he'd had his fill. 

His hands slid from her sides to her ass for a generous squeeze before answering. 

"Okay. Whatever you want. Let me handle something real quick, and then I'll meet you there." 

Patrice accepted her victory with a silly happy dance before turning to make enough room in her bed for an extra person. Terry sent her on her way with a light tap to her ass, amused by how something as simple as sleeping next to each other was exciting for her. 

Once she was safely out of the bathroom with the door shut behind her, he finally found time to take a deep breath and compose himself. The actual test of his strength was in the next room, and he couldn't risk the trust he'd worked so hard to build. 

After adjusting his shorts, he picked up his phone and sat on the toilet lid, hoping that watching dog videos or Nationals highlights would clear his mind.

He had every intention of opening the web browser on his phone until he noticed a series of messages from an old friend.

From: McBride 

You check your mail? 

Trial against chief starts in two weeks. Gonna need you to testify to take him down

Know you said you weren’t coming back

Do it for Mike

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @deja-r

[chelseaknoo]

Hey! So, imagine it’s the 2000s, and Eminem has this huge crush on a super-famous pop singer. In an interview, the interviewer asks his opinion on her, and he openly admits that he finds her attractive, which gets everyone talking. Then, they end up collaborating on a song together, and the music video they make is super hot. Fans completely lose it because they can totally tell there’s something going on between them!

2000s Eminem x pop singer! Reader

Caution:sexual content <3

During an interview, Eminem was asked about the up-and-coming pop singer Y/N, and he didn’t hold back his admiration. “I think she’s incredibly attractive and makes really good music,” he said, a slight smile hinting at something more. For a while now, Eminem had found himself drawn to her—her beauty was undeniable, but it was her warm, genuine personality that truly captivated him.

Though he’s known for his tough, edgy persona, Eminem couldn’t help but soften when he spoke about her. Y/N was different from anyone he’d encountered in the industry. Her presence was refreshing, a mix of talent and kindness that seemed to come naturally to her. He’d been following her rise to fame, noticing the way her fans adored her and the way her music connected with people. Eminem couldn’t deny it—he was crushing on her, and the thought of a collaboration had even crossed his mind more than once. Little did he know, his candid words in the interview would spark rumors and excitement among fans who couldn’t wait to see what might happen between the rapper and the rising pop star.

When you found out about what Eminem had said about you during the interview, you were completely taken aback. At first, it didn’t seem real—it was hard to process that someone as big as him would openly talk about you like that. The words played over and over in your head: “I think she’s incredibly attractive and makes really good music.”

You were shocked, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth spreading through you. It was flattering, sure, but also a little overwhelming. You’d always admired Eminem’s music, his talent, and his larger-than-life persona, but the idea that he had noticed you, let alone had a genuine crush, sent your heart racing.

You couldn't help but feel a little flustered. His words were unexpected, and the attention was something you weren’t quite used to, especially coming from a major artist like him. You thought about it all day, the weight of his comment sinking in. Was he just being polite, or was there something more behind his words? Either way, it definitely left you with more questions than answers.

A week later, you received a message from none other than Eminem himself. He reached out to ask if you’d be interested in collaborating on a song. The moment you read his message, your heart skipped a beat. You couldn't believe it—Eminem, the legendary rapper you had admired for so long, was asking to work with you.

Without hesitation, you excitedly agreed. You had no doubts, no second thoughts. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and the idea of working with him, especially after everything that had happened with the interview, sent a rush of excitement through you.

You immediately replied, expressing how thrilled you were at the prospect of collaborating with him. The thought of creating something together felt surreal, and you couldn’t wait to dive into the creative process. You knew this was going to be huge—not just for your career, but for you personally.

Our teams met to discuss the creative direction of the collaboration, and the conversation quickly took an intriguing turn. They proposed making the song sensual and centered around the complexities of a relationship—intense, passionate, and unapologetically raw. As they laid out the concept, I felt a warmth rise to my cheeks. I couldn’t help but blush at the idea.

The thought of creating something so intimate, especially with him, was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. It would be a bold step, a departure from anything I’d done before, and the prospect of exploring that kind of connection through music was electrifying. I glanced over at him as the conversation unfolded, trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed unfazed—confident, even—his expression suggesting he was more than ready to dive into the challenge.

After finishing the recording sessions for the song, the next step was to film the highly-anticipated music video. The energy on set was electric, a mix of excitement and nerves hanging in the air. You sat in front of the mirror, makeup artists diligently working to perfect your look. Brushes moved with precision, adding the final touches of shimmer to your eyes and gloss to your lips. The anticipation built with every passing second, and you could feel your heart pounding just a bit faster.

You adjusted the robe draped around you, its fabric soft against your skin. Beneath it, you wore delicate, lacy black lingerie chosen specifically for the shoot—a bold move, but one that fit the sensual vibe of the song. It felt both empowering and a little nerve-wracking to know what was coming next.

One of the makeup artists stepped back, admiring her work. “You look stunning,” she said with a smile, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” you replied, managing a small smile in return. “I just hope I don’t trip over this robe or something,” you joked, trying to shake off the nerves.

The door to the dressing room opened, and he walked in. Eminem, in all his calm, cool confidence, took a quick glance around before his eyes landed on you. There was a spark of something in his gaze—approval, maybe even a hint of surprise. “You ready for this?” he asked, a playful edge to his voice.

You nodded, tightening the belt of the robe instinctively. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that only you could hear. “It’s gonna be fire. Just do your thing.”

His words sent a jolt of confidence through you. “You too,” you replied, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before he turned and walked out. The weight of the moment sank in. This video was going to be unforgettable, and you were ready to give it everything you had.

You took a deep breath and stood in front of the mirror, taking one last glance at yourself in the lingerie before slowly sliding the robe off your shoulders. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but the heat of anticipation made you feel warm all over. With one final look at your reflection, you stepped toward the door, ready to face what was ahead.

As you opened the door and stepped out, you found Marshall already waiting for you. He was sitting on the bed, his shirt off, his toned chest and arms on full display. His tattoos, which you had noticed before but never fully admired, seemed to tell stories with their intricate designs, each one adding to his raw, unapologetic energy. The way the tattoos stretched over his muscles caught your attention for a moment, and you couldn't help but admire the way he looked.

He glanced up at you, his expression unreadable at first, but as his eyes traveled over you, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You look incredible,” he said, his voice low and almost hushed.

You smiled, sitting down beside him on the soft bed, the sheets rustling under you as you settled into place. The room was charged with an electric tension, and the crew started setting up the cameras, ensuring everything was in place for the shoot. The anticipation in the room grew as you waited, a sense of nervous excitement bubbling up inside you.

Once everything was ready, the cameras began rolling. Without missing a beat, Marshall started rapping, his words flowing effortlessly as he moved closer to you. He didn’t need a microphone—the raw power of his voice was enough to fill the room, his lyrics sharp and intense. As he rapped, he reached out and pulled you closer, his hands confidently guiding your exposed body toward him. The camera captured every movement, every kiss, as he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His hands roamed, tracing the curves of your body as if the song was meant for this exact moment.

The kiss deepened, and you felt the heat rise between you. His lips moved with yours in perfect sync as the music played on, his touch both tender and commanding. His body pressed against yours, his rhythm matching the intensity of the song, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, lost in the moment. The cameras captured it all—every kiss, every touch, every second of undeniable chemistry.

The atmosphere in the room was palpable, the energy of the shoot merging with the passion of the music. As Marshall continued rapping, you couldn’t help but be swept up in the power of the moment, your body responding to his, and the song taking on a life of its own.

His hands moved lower, tracing the line of your body as the music echoed through the room. The entire world outside the set seemed to fade away as you both got lost in the moment, the only thing that mattered being the connection between you and the music.

You brung your soft manicured hands up to your soft breasts engulfed by a lacy bra and squeezed them to appear more sexier to the camera as Marshall flipped off the camera.

This would most definitely be the thumbnail for the video.

The director called "cut," signaling the end of the scene. You and Marshall both took a step back, the intensity of the moment slowly dissipating as the crew moved in to adjust equipment and set up for the next shot. You exchanged a quiet smile before heading to your designated room to relax for a bit.

After a few hours, you wrapped up your recording, feeling a mix of accomplishment and exhaustion. The excitement of the day was still buzzing in your veins, but now you were looking forward to some downtime. You changed out of your wardrobe, slipping into something more comfortable, and made your way outside to your car.

Just as you reached the door of your vehicle, you heard someone call your name from behind. You turned to see Marshall walking toward you, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Hey," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "So, I was wondering... would you want to grab a drink sometime? Maybe go out... on a date?"

The question caught you off guard, but in the best possible way. His voice had a casual tone, but you could sense there was something genuine beneath it. You paused for a moment, taking in the sincerity of his expression, then smiled back at him.

"A date, huh?" you replied, teasing him slightly. "Are you asking me out, Marshall Mathers?"

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, we’ve spent all this time together on set, and I think you're pretty cool. It’d be nice to get to know you outside of all this craziness."

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth of his words settling comfortably in your chest. It felt like a simple question, but in that moment, it carried a weight that made everything feel real.

"Alright," you said with a smile, feeling the excitement rise in your chest. "I’d like that."

Marshall grinned, clearly pleased with your answer. "Great," he said. "I’ll text you the details. We’ll figure something out."

As you got into your car, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. Something had shifted between you two, and this date felt like the beginning of something new—something that, at the very least, would be interesting to explore.

When the music video dropped, it immediately sent shockwaves through the entertainment world. The buzz was undeniable, and the media couldn't get enough of it. News outlets were abuzz with headlines discussing the video, focusing on the undeniable chemistry between you and Marshall. The press quickly latched onto the idea that there was more than just a professional collaboration between the two of you. Everyone seemed to think that what they saw on screen was more than just a performance.

Magazines, tabloids, and news articles were all over the story. Some claimed the chemistry between you two was off the charts, while others speculated about a potential romance, pointing to the way your bodies intertwined during the video and the flirtatious energy that seemed to linger between every take. The media was fascinated, and the public couldn't stop talking about it. Fans and critics alike were all over the speculation, analyzing every glance, every touch, and every word exchanged between you both on screen.

Interviews with both you and Marshall quickly followed. Journalists from all over lined up to ask about the video, the song, and, of course, the undeniable tension between the two of you. Everyone wanted to know if it was real—if what they saw in the video was an accurate reflection of what was going on behind the scenes. And while you both kept things light and playful, the questions kept coming, making it nearly impossible to escape the growing rumors.

The attention, both positive and negative, was overwhelming. The video had clearly left a mark, one that many believed was the beginning of something far deeper than just a professional relationship. Whether you were together or not, the world seemed to be entranced by the idea of the two of you.

And of course we decided to keep the people guessing <3

[joeyfranchise]

no one’s ever had me (not like you)

joe burrow x reader

description: after a tough week 5 loss in overtime, joe comes home to you angry and confused. you try to make him feel better and comfort him, letting him know you’ll always be there.

warnings: nothing too bad, but still MDNI. (makes me uncomfy.) lots of angry joe, a bit of fluff, semi-spicy kiss. mostly angst.

word count: 1.8k

note. hi hi! this is my first joe fic/blurb so i hope you guys enjoy it. sorry in advance that lowercase is my aesthetic. i used to get yelled at for it in elementary school. i love you guys. who dey!! (title & plot are lyrics from so high school, i love u mother taylor.)

pacing. you were pacing back and forth in front of the television in joe’s living room, watching the seconds tick down to end regulation time in the game. it took everything in you not to turn it off.

you watched as the minutes, seconds, milliseconds in overtime ticked by, hoping and praying your boyfriend and his team could pull out a win.

you felt your heart lurch as mcpherson went for the field goal and the ball wasn’t in the correct place. wide left. you knew it was over. you continued watching, frozen in place, as baltimore did everything they needed to do to score. they made it to field goal range, kicked, and won the game. your heart was hammering against your chest. your breath was coming out in short puffs.

after valiant efforts from joe and the rest of the team, the bengals once again took a loss at the very end of the game, something that kept happening to them this year. you knew joe would come home upset.

watching the post game interview was going to be something you dreaded today. joe took his seat and began talking to the interviewers, answering their repetitive questions and talking about what needed to be done to fix the team, what could use work next week.

you rested your head in your hands and blew out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “oh, joey…” you whispered, seeing your boyfriend’s clearly upset glare on the screen. you couldn’t wait to see him when he got home, but you were unsure of what his mood would be.

after the interview was done, you turned the television off. ‘i could start some laundry’ you thought, at least that’d keep you busy until joe’s return home.

you made your way to his bedroom, which honestly felt like your room too, and gathered all the clothes that needed to be washed before taking them to the laundry room. you tossed the laundry into the machine and then added in your favorite scent beads and detergent before turning it on and closing the lid.

‘i can tackle dishes next’ you thought, heading for the large kitchen. of course you could’ve loaded them into the dishwasher, but something needed to keep you busy and washing dishes was always strangely cathartic to you.

you popped your earbuds in and started listening to your favorite playlist before tackling the chore. once dishes were complete, you vacuumed, watered a few plants, and made yourself a snack. finally the washer beeped, so you went to switch the clothes over.

as you were switching them, joe arrived home, pulling his sleek black car into the garage before locking it up and heading into the house. listening to your music and keeping yourself busy helped lift your spirits some, which you hoped would aide you when joe finally made it back.

when he didn’t greet you upon entering the house, you knew tonight would be a tough night.

you peeked your head out of the laundry room to check for a clear coast, and it was. tiptoe-ing your way down the hall, you made your way to the kitchen where joe still was, his back facing you.

you cleared your throat softly to get his attention, but he didn’t move. you could see he was scrolling through his phone, you worried he was reading negativity that was being spewed about himself and the team.

“joey?” you called, your voice sounded smaller than you intended.

“what?” he snapped, turning to face you. you flinched at the tone of his voice, taking half a step back. internally he berated himself for scaring you, but his post-game mood was too foul to turn off now.

“i know it’s silly to ask, but are you okay?” you question, looking up at him from across the room.

he ran his hand through his short blonde hair before blowing a snarky chuckle through his nose, scoffing at you.

“am i okay?” he snarked, locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket. “what a great question! you sound like the post-game interviewers!”

the bite in his tone was starting to affect you, but you didn’t want to leave him alone just yet. as much as it hurt, you knew what he needed in this moment was to let this anger out any way possible.

“talk to me about it.” you pleaded, walking toward him and placing a hand on his forearm. he rolled his eyes as a response. “c’mon joey, i know you’re mad but you can—“ you don’t get to finish your sentence before joe groans out in response, a loud “UGH!” before lobbing his water bottle at the wall. you’re shocked it doesn’t bust a hole through.

“what is there to say, hmm? what do you want me to tell you that the world doesn’t already think or know? we aren’t looking like a championship team right now. everything we’re doing is never enough for success, and here i am, 27 years old and being called washed up.” he chides, looking down at you. his voice booms across the room, making you feel only inches tall.

your expression drops, and you turn your gaze toward the wall as tears well up in your eyes. joe takes a small step toward you, his hands flexing at his sides. you can tell he wants to reach out to you, touch you, apologize to you for scaring you.

“i’m sorry.” he says softly, hanging his head. you’ll let him make the first move. he steps toward you again, bringing a hand up to your shoulder, testing the waters. when he sees that you’re still receptive to his touch, despite his atrocious attitude, he moves his hand to the back of your neck before pulling you into him for a hug. you instinctively reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you.

both of you stay like that for a few moments, just holding each other and feeling each other breathe. joe’s face is buried in your neck and your hand is scratching slow soft circles into his hair. you hear him sniffle and you pull away slightly, trying to get a view of his face. he looks up at you with red eyes, tears falling down his cheeks.

“joey, baby,” you comfort him, “it’s going to be okay. you’re going to be okay.” your heart breaks seeing him so upset.

he says nothing, but leads you out of the kitchen and to the living room so you can sit down together. he plops onto the couch and pulls you into his lap, burying his face again.

“i just feel like i’m failing them. i’m doing everything within my power, and it doesn’t seem like enough.” he rasps, muffled into your neck. you say nothing, knowing he needs to get this out. you run your hands down his biceps as a gesture for him to keep going, that you understand.

“the whole world thinks i’m a fluke. they think my play-calling is shit, they think i had one kick-ass college season and that i made it to the nfl and choked. when does it end, you know? we took our team to the superbowl and what happened? we lost. it just feels like i’m stuck in this rut and i can’t get out.”

you sit for a moment, processing what he said. his words hurt you, just as much as you know the thoughts hurt him.

“i hear you joey. i really do. but i have some things i’d like to say, if that’s okay.”

he nods, expectant eyes raking over your face. “i’d love to hear it, baby. please.”

“first of all,” you start, playing up your sass in an attempt to make him laugh, “you aren’t washed up. people who think you are most likely sit on their couches and rot all day long while you’re out here training and conditioning your body for the physicality of your job. i think you’re in your prime.” you pause, squeezing his biceps for emphasis.

“next, you can’t take all the blame. sure, you’re the leader of the team, but it doesn’t all fall on you. it’s very noble of you to do that, but you don’t have to shoulder it. you played your heart out today. you all did. i’m so proud of you.” you move your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks.

“lastly, fuck what the world thinks, joe. you know how good you are. i know how good you are. your parents know, your teammates know. other players in the league know. you’re incredible. you’ve got this, and after all is said and done i will be here. win or lose, i’m here, and i’ve got you.”

his eyes soften as you finish speaking. you don’t get a verbal reply. his hands reach up to cup your face, pulling you into him for a long kiss. his lips are soft against yours and it doesn’t take long before his hands are slipping up the back of your hoodie and rubbing along the exposed skin of your back.

your hands stay on his cheeks, loving the feeling of him being so close to you, his body pressed into yours. “i. love. you. so. much.” you tell him between pecks, feeling him smile into the kiss. one of his hands returns to your face and then tangles into your hair, tilting your head slightly as his tongue drags over your bottom lip.

he slowly slips his tongue into your mouth, gliding it against yours. after a moment, you pull away for air.

“thank you for that,” he smiles, stroking his hands down your arms, “for all of it. i needed that. i love you too. and i’m sorry for scaring you with my temper.”

“it’s okay, mine can be worse.” you jest, poking him in the ribs.

he pulls you down so you’re both laying on the couch before pulling his large cable knit throw blanket over you both. “let’s put it out of our minds, get takeout, and watch a movie.” you suggest, and he smiles in agreement. the two of you get cozy and pick your movie and dinner, remaining snuggled up on the couch as you watch and eat.

“you’re right, you know.” joe finally speaks again, as the movie nears its end.

“i usually am, but enlighten me.” you laugh, slipping your hand under his shirt and resting it on his abdomen.

“you’ve always had me. every turn, every bump in the road. every time i feel like i’ve made the biggest mistake, the biggest failure of my life. you’re there. you talk me through it and you put me in my place. no one’s ever had me like you have. i love you too, by the way.”

a soft smile spreads across your face as you reach up to stroke his hair again. “ditto baby, no one’s ever had me, not like you.”

he leans down and presses another soft, sweet peck to your lips. everything was going to be okay. you always had each other.

tags: @slimshiesty if you wanna be added, or if you have requests pls send me asks or dm’s! 💗