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cherry-leclerc · 2 days

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star-crossed ☆ mv1

genre: angst, fluff, humor, lots of back and forth, smut

word count: 9.1k

Fixated, you and Max struggle to stay away from one another. All the while, everyone tries to convince you that it won't ever work out.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, fingering

inspired by this !

cherry here!...as a wise person once told me: footnotes = crumbs. hope that helps!! enjoy :)

The table was long, practically going for miles, but not really—it was just your closest friends. They all converse with one another, talking about the upcoming season, the upcoming season, and oh, what’s that? The upcoming season. And you’ve had enough of it, he can tell, so he gently rubs his thumb over your hand, easing your nervous tick.

White florals lay neatly on the wooden top, fairy lights hang up above your heads, and Frank Sinatra plays from your fiancé’s phone, connected to the Bluetooth.

Pierre stands up firmly, clinking his glass with a spoon. When it doesn’t seem to get anyones attention, Alex lets out a loud whistle. Everyone’s heads turn. “Merde—finally. Well, first of all, welcome on behalf of the groom's best man!” Crickets. His smile drops. “I-Its me. I’m the best man.”

“More like Best Party Killer. Sit down,” Daniel yells, aiming a peony at his friend's head.

The Frenchman swats it away, to which Kika glares as it hits her. He nervously chuckles, pecking her cheek, swiftly. “Comme je le disais…we’re here to celebrate two very important people. Can ya take a guess?”

“Why did you choose Pierre as your best man again?” you whisper to the twenty-six year old. He shrugs, hushing you once before his watercolor eyes flicker back to his friend.

“Any more guesses?”

“Okay, thank you!” you yelp, standing up and motioning him down. “Thank you, Pierre, for saying a whole lot of nothing, really.”

The blue eyed boy silently pleads, hands pressed together in prayer. “Oui, oui, I’m done, I’m done.” A warm hand snakes to wrap around your wrist and you sigh, sitting back down onto his lap. He clears his throat. “I thought we could go around and…share some stories about the soon-to-be husband and wife. I’ll start.”

“Great,” Kika groans, massaging her temples.

“September 4, 2022.”

Circuit Zandvoort—September 4, 2022 (Dutch Grand Prix)

“You said it would be warm!”

Lissie squeals when you reach out to pinch her forearm. “I said slightly warm. More so cool.” A harsh glare. She winces. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Despite the evident goosebumps, you march your way over to the pen, awaiting your first interview. Lissie stands besides you, raising two thumbs up and a toothy grin. You got this! Your stomach churns as you fix your set up. She’s right, you’ve worked for this moment, day and night. You weren't going to mess up for any reas—

“Should I just come back later or…”

Blinking, your heart stops beating as your mouth runs completely dry. He looks around for his publicist who just sighs and starts tugging him away.

And we’re here with Max Verstappen, Lissie hisses—assisists. Coughing loudly, you bring up the microphone to your lips. “Max Verstappen!” The RedBull driver turns back to face you, clearly puzzled. You cringe at your sudden outburst, but continue. “So nice to see you. Saw you had a magnificent drive.”

Blue eyes pierce basically through your soul. He smiles, shoulders relaxing, hands leaning against the barrier. “Yeah. We did have a lot of luck on our side today. Plenty.”

It wasn’t that hard to pick up from there, question after question being basically given to you, to which he answers with professional ease. His dimples even pop out with every punctuation, it makes your chest swell. You clear your throat, eyes flickering to your list that now narrows down to one last inquiry.

“Everyone nowadays fears you, it seems like.” He laughs, rolling his eyes. “But I do have one question—how does it feel to be the villain in all of Formula One?”

His smile slips away. “Sorry?”

“Uh-oh,” Lissie mutters.

But you don’t catch onto it, his sudden defensive tone, his dark glare. Beaming like the sun on the earth, you nod. “Well you aren’t the most liked, per se. Often hated by others. Do you think your dominance has affected your relationship with the drivers on the grid?”

When you finally look up, you clearly notice his change in demeanor, and that makes you flinch. We should get going, his publicist squeaks, already pushing him away. Let’s not air that last question, thank you.

Fiercely, you turn to face your friend. “I still had a minute left!”

“Why would you say that?” she screeches. “Why, why, why?”

You blink. “I’m lost. What did I do wrong?”

The brunette sighs, brown orbs analyzing the short clip. “You got on Max Verstappen’s bad side, that’s what.”

“Their relationship had started rather…rocky,” Pierre announces, swaying his hands back and forth for emphasis. “But don’t you worry! I. Fixed. Everything.”

“She really said that?”

Max whips his head to Checo, then to Yuki, then to Pierre. Each wears a loopy smile. He scowls. “She’s new here, she must be—I’ve never seen her before. Who does she think she is?”

“A legend, that’s who,” the Frenchman retorts, almost high and mighty.

Max takes a long sip of his energy drink before scoffing. “I don’t care if she’s royalty, I’m never willingly doing an interview with her ever again.”

A few hours have now rolled by and you’ve finally realized—you messed up. Here you go, basically painting him out to be the bad guy, when really, he’s just a strong driver. No one thinks he’s a villain, you think he’s a villain.

“You think he’s going to protest against me? Get me fired? Boycott? Hates me?”

Lissie giggles, tidying up the equipment from the last round. “No. No. No. Maybe?”

Groaning, you hit your forehead over and over again with your clipboard before a sharp accent makes you stop. “Hello.”

“Oh! Hi!”

His lips stretch, then steps closer to you. “I’m Pierre—”

“I know who you are,” you cut him off. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m—”

“New?”

Your cheeks burn up at his accuracy. “Yes?”

“I thought so,” he pronounced with a goofy grin. Annoyance builds up inside of you but hold back and bite your tongue. The Frenchman fixes his sunglasses that lay on the bridge of his nose. “So…I’m going to take the chance and say that what you asked wasn’t meant to hurt his feelings?”

You soften up quickly. “I hurt his feelings?”

A nose scrunch. “Let me backtrack; Max doesn’t have feelings, therefore there’s nothing to hurt, but he does hold killer grudges, so yeah.” He lifts the frames. “He doesn’t like you.”

“Lovely,” Lissie mumbles from her spot besides you. “Is there a way…we…can fix all this misunderstanding? Because that’s what this is! A misunderstanding!”

The Alpha Tauri driver clicks his tongue in deep thought. “There’s not much to do other than apologize. Explain yourselves, maybe? He’s very Old-Fashioned.”

“Okay, yes.” You scurry down the paddock. “I could do that! I could so do that.”

“Other way!” he yells. Turning around, you see him pointing you down to the right. You giggle, nervously, and continue your sprint.

You catch him quite fast; his tall stature and blond hair are pretty easy to spot. “Hey—hi!” Gasping for air, you clutch onto your side. “H-hello. Again.”

His jaw ticks once, and in an eerie motion, a warm smile forms. You shudder. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to apologize about before. That was not the right thing to say, I am so sorry…please don’t demand for my release.”

A dark brow quirks up, looks around, then back down to you. “I’m not here to ruin your life, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

You sigh in relief. “God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Crouching down to you, he tilts his head to the side with a sly grin. “You’re very welcome, but that doesn’t mean I like you.”

Your breath hitches, shivers spreading like a wildfire. “Sorry?”

“Yeah.” He steps away. “You already said that.”

“He was a bit guarded. Definitely guarded.”

“Isn’t this supposed to make me look good?” your fiancé grunts, dark eyes narrowing down on the Frenchman. “You know what? Just sit down.”

Pierre smirks. “See? Guarded.”

Autodromo Nazionale Monza—September 11, 2022 (Italian Grand Prix)

“I’m not a quitter.”

“There we go!”

“But he makes me want to quit.” “Oh, well now we’re back to square one,” Pierre groans. “He’s being hard headed, that’s all. I’ll talk to him again, don’t worry.”

And he does.

It happens during one of the worst moments in your life; you weren’t wearing makeup.

“You look—”

“Hideous?” You blush. “Yeah, don’t even mention it.”

He swallows, digging his hands deep into his pockets. “I wanted to apologize… for the way I reacted. It was immature.”

“N-no, you had every right to be upset. I crossed the line and I’m sorry.”

Max nods, Adam’s Apple dancing up, then down. “Truce?”

Staring down at his large hand, you smile and slip yours past it. “Truce.”

And as a rare occasion, his smile meets his eyes, crinkles and all. The RedBull driver disconnects first, then rubs his jaw once before signaling down to your wet hair. “Pool day, I see? Enjoying the benefits?”

With a cheesy look, you shrug. “It’s one way to relieve stress.”

“Yeah—and what’s another?”

His tone is sultry and irresistible, you can’t help but rip your gaze away. “Anything that brings thrill, I suppose.” A tick. “Whatever that may be.”

“And what if it’s something bad? Does that still count?”

You laugh, throwing your head back. The Dutchman’s lips wobble as a weak attempt to not smile. “You’re not a bad person, so yes.”

His tongue clicks. “Uh, I don't know. As I recall, you called me a villain?”

Groaning, you gently smack his chest. “Will you ever let it go?”

“Might take me a while…”

Just as you’re about to respond, your phone rings and you smile. “L-Lissie.”

The blue eyed boy nods. “Are you going to be interviewing me from now on?”

“Ah—is my ban lifted?”

“Yes.”

You roll your eyes. “Then yes.” Strolling past him, you wave. “See you around. And put on some sunscreen. It’s good for you.”

“Where are you even going with any of this?” Lewis hollers from the end of the table, taking a sip of wine. “You’ve just been talking about yourself, not them.”

Pierre scowls. “I’m getting there!” He returns his attention to the couple, gleaming. “So, as you can imagine, once I weaseled my way in and fixed their problems—your welcome, by the way—a certain spark came through. It was clearly evident.”

Marina Bay Street Circuit—October 2, 2022 (Singapore Grand Prix)

“Nepo-Baby?”

You hum. “They all are.”

Lissie groans. “So how will I know which one?”

“Oh, you’ll know.” Squinting accusingly, the British girl sticks her tongue out before standing up, hands on her hips. She yawns. “I have to go find Will. Something about—whatever, you probably don’t even care.”

You giggle. “Nope. Have fun.”

Silence engulfs you as you close your eyes momentarily, pulling your coat over your chest.

“Don’t you have to watch the race in order to report back on it? Ask questions?”

“Dude, I was just falling asleep…” You peek an eye open. “And yes. But it hasn’t started, so I'm clear.”

Max whistles, unimpressed. Falling down next to you on the fluffy couch, he places his hands over his stomach, closing his eyes, too. You try not to laugh and instead do the same.

“Haven’t seen you around much.”

“Been hiding from you.”

“Seems like. Don’t do that.”

“Fine.” You grin, sitting up straight. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Probably.”

You snicker, pink tongue poking from in between your teeth. The cold air makes you snuggle deeper into your wannabe-blanket and he can’t help but take occasional glances. Teeth chatter. “C’mon. I’ll walk you.”

“...and I turned and said, isn’t that Celine Dion?” Lissie waves her hands back and forth, swaying like a Fly Guy. She pouts, stopping her movements. “Turns out I was just really freaking high.” Will laughs, jotting down God knows what onto a piece of paper as she continues cluttering herself with an obnoxious amount of wires. The British girl huffs. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder if it was—” A sharp gasp. “Him? Oh my—it’s him!”

“Don’t you mean her?” Will hums from his spot, still not looking up.

But wide-eyed Lissie stares with her jaw on the floor as you and Max cross by, laughing and pushing each other as you make your way down the paddock. As soon as you blush when he winks, it becomes all the more real. The young reporter nods, curled hair bobbing up and down.

“R-right—her.”

Autódromo José Carlos Pace—November 13, 2022 (Brazilian Grand Prix)

“Is he cute? Yeah, maybe.” A finger pinches her top lip before releasing. “In a weird way.”

“Hey,” you warn.

“Is he your type? Don’t know why, but yes. I could see why you’re into him.”

“Great…”

“But is he the right choice? No. Not at all.”

“...and fantastic.” Flopping down onto your towel, you groan. Suddenly the blazing sun wasn’t the worst feeling because Lissie was right. It’s unbearable, almost. You prop up, facing her with a scrunched nose and squinted eyes. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit too harsh?”

“Oh no.” A sip of coconut water. She purses her lips. “God no.” You sigh, slowly, then sprawl back down with a sour snarl. You can hear her debate; muttering, mumbling. Still, that doesn’t get rid of your bad mood. The brunette pokes your thigh gently, nibbling her bottom lip. “He’s just so—and you’re just so—” A beat. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“Yeah.” Waves crash harder. Sun beams brighter. You open up the bottle of sunscreen, spurting some onto your burnt legs. You rub briskly; up, down. She flinches. “Yeah, I know.”

“And for a while, that was that,” Pierre announces, feigning indifference. “No more love birds.”

“Oh,” George blurts. Dark brows pinch up, teasing smile playing out. “Then why are we here?”

“Oh God,” you groan, digging your face into the nape of the twenty-six year old. You can faintly sniff out his musk scent, clean and so him. It makes you smile like a teen. “What if we just elope?”

He chuckles, vibrating and sending you on your own personal rollercoaster. “We always can. Is that what you want?” And he asks because he knows—no. That’s not what you want. Separating yourself to peck his cheek, you shake your head with a playful pout. “No. That’s not what I want.”

“Good.” Watercolor eyes flicker to where Pierre finally gets yanked down and Lissie takes over with a proud smile. “Because I think this is actually going somewhere.”

Bahrain International Circuit—-March 5, 2023 (Bahrain Grand Prix)

So you kept your distance, and oddly enough, he did too. For plenty of reasons. And it wasn’t even that hard, really. He spent his summer break traveling and you spent yours as a homebody. No texts, no calls, no nothing.

“Heads or tails?”

“Tails.”

A sly grin. The silver coins flips a couple rounds before jumping up and down, clapping. “Heads! Go on, Coffee Boy. Oh, and make it extra sweet.”

“You’re going to get a sugar high and not be able to sleep later.”

“Until I can feel my teeth rot,” you retort, slipping your tongue over your pearly whites.

Answering a few emails, you perch onto a chair. It’s too stiff, so you twist and turn until you ultimately decide to just stand. A gust of wind salutes you as your orbs flicker up to the sudden shadow. A breath catches.

Max tilts his head in greeting. “Working hard already?” Your lips part. “The season’s barely begun.”

And just like that, your world tilts on its axis, but this time with more to lose.

“As your best friend—” Lissie points clumsily at Carmen who giggles while the British girl furrows her thick brows. She glances around before spotting you dying with laughter on your fiancé’s lap. She claps. “I knew straight away—he was the one for you.”

Miami International Autodrome—-May 7, 2023 (Miami Grand Prix)

“How long has this been going on for?” she hisses, disappointed eyes challenging both you and Max. She gags at the hickeys on your neck and his tousled hair.

With wobbly legs, you take her hands into yours. “A week—”

“No.”

“Well, two—”

Green paints her face. “No.”

“One month,” he murmurs from his corner in the elevator. Watercolor eyes flicker up, loopy. “It’s been a month. Ever since—”

“Azerbaijan.” Shamefully, you look down at your shoes and nearly scream bloody murder when you spot your thong just a few steps behind her. “Ew, gross,” Lissie gasps, shutting her eyes in despair. Taking in the opportunity, you scatter down and retrieve the thin fabric. The Dutchman releases a laugh, but bites down when the British girl glares hard. She curls a brow at your breathless state. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Giggling nervously from your place on the floor, you keep your hands behind your back; out of sight, out of mind. “Begging for forgiveness?”

“Oh stop it, a piece of land is what I need in order to forgive you for being dumb as shit.”

You frown, but quickly stand up when she exits the elevator. You can hear him follow with a bored expression. “Lissie, wait!”

Like a spinning top, she turns back, long layers slapping her pink face. “You two know this isn’t a good idea, right?”

“Yes—”

“For a million different reasons—”

“I-I’m aware,” you stutter.

“Then why did you do it?” she whispers.

And the truth is, you don’t know. All you know is that nothing else matters when you're with him. It’s sickening how blindsighted you get. Anxious eyes twirl over to the blue eyed boy who shared the same expression despite being unbothered a few seconds ago.

Licking your lips, you play with the fabric. “That’s it. We’re done.” You turn to the RedBull driver. “Tell her.”

“Done.”

For a moment, you almost let yourself flinch from how fast and easy he’s able to say that one word. Lissie’s judgmental eyes look at you, then him, then sighs, reluctantly nodding. An awkward moment ticks by and then she’s focused, appalled.

“Are those your panties?”

“You were like a dog who couldn’t bear the idea of leaving its bone.” Everyone snickers while you throw the same peony Daniel had aimed at Pierre to shut him up. She laughs, raising her arms up in defense. “And I know—I know—I came in like a monster, warning you off of all the drivers because like it or not, they’re scumbags—”

“Ey. Watch it,” Carlos deadpans from the corner, brown eyes playfully glaring.

She shrugs. “But I no longer liked playing the role of an evil step-sister so…” Tears brim and you choke on a wet sob. “I’m just so happy that you’re happy.” A pause. “That you're both happy.”

Leaping off his thick lap, you rush over, embracing her. She laughs, returning the gesture. “I love you,” you start. I know. “And I’m so happy that you never—”

A knowing smile. “I’d do anything for you.”

Circuit de Monaco—May 28, 2023 (Monaco Grand Prix)

Sneaking into his motorhome, you moan as soon as he gets his hands on your; sliding up and down your body with urgency. Heat radiates off of him and onto you. All of this— the cramped room, his lips attacking your neck—makes you dizzy. Clutching onto his sweaty hair, you arch, completely to him and for him.

“We s-shouldn’t.” You gasp. Long fingers tease your aching pussy as you whine. He instantly slaps a large hand over your mouth as he continues his movements. The stretch burns, but it's fairly familiar that you don’t even cry out, just stare back with knitted brows and an open mouth that he can’t see, but can feel expand beneath his palm.

“You’re probably right.” A steady stroke. “You should be out there.” His knuckles curl as he reaches your g-spot. “Preparing those foolish questions.” A muffled moan. “But you’re here, because you know that this excites you as much as it does me.”

Calloused pads push down before drawing figure eights deep inside. “You’ve been a bit uptight. Could it be—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Don’t even try and blame it on—”

“Fine, then answer me one thing; is this stress reliever a bad thing?”

Feeling your orgasm rolling in is one thing, but your snarkiness is another. Gritting your teeth, you force him down to kiss you, teeth and all, and then rip away with a sultry smile. “Maybe, but who cares?”

You’re not completely off. At that moment in time, neither of you cared about the consequences. It’s just that as soon as a room of watchful eyes flicker to you two, you swallow a low wince.

Grabbing your microphone, you fix your disheveled hair. Lissie’s eyes flicker between you and him, slow and scary. Like she’s reading right through you and your lies.

Beaming at the awaiting grid, you raise your chin up. “Who’s ready?”

“Finally,” Daniel yells, rolling his cuffed sleeves. “Someone with an actual story to tell.” A wide smile has never made you more nervous than at this very instant, so reasonably so, you swallow the entire glass of—

“Vodka, baby! That was my vodka—your champagne is right there.”

Blinking, you giggle, wiping your plump lips with the back of your hand. “What yours is mine, no? Isn’t that what marriage is all about?”

He chuckles. Lean arms wrap around your waist like a harness. “Keep this up and you’re not going to be able to sleep later.”

“The opposite, actually,” you state as a matter-of-fact. “Just need to get blackout drunk.”

He cocks his head to the side. “That’s not like you.” “...should have seen her! She was wasted as shit!” the Australian yelps, buzzing with excitement. You nip at the air all while he raises his voice an additional octave. “I found her there, at the bar, close to getting alcohol poisoning, but you know what they say—only drunks and children tell the truth.”

Red Bull Ring—July 2, 2023 (Austrian Grand Prix)

“Oui, the beer! Fucking amazing,” Pierre declares with a mouthful.

“Say it, don’t spray it,” someone screeches, and is quickly identified to be Alex when he wipes his shimmery forehead. You laugh, taking baby sips from your drink. Shirley Temple, because contrary to belief, you weren’t a nasty drunk.

The Frenchman pouts, tapping his fingers against the brown glass. He turns to you with a sheepish grin. “I read your article.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Have to admit, it's kind of boring. It’s not your fault though. Max Verstappen's domination has made the sport sort of…” He pretends to wilt, to which you toss your head back with laughter.

“Your time will come, Pierre, your time will come.”

“Shit, shit, shit! Bathroom!” Lissie’s long legs wobble like a plate of jello as you hurry over to catch her.

“Crap—you smell like shit.”

The British girl squeals, yanking her hair, dancing from side to side. “I smoked a fat blunt, but never mind that, if I don’t find a loo in approximately five seconds, then I will smell like actual shit.”

A nose scrunch. “That’s not very lady-like.” She paces some more. “Let’s go.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the crowded room, Max watches as the two journalists slip away. He keeps a close eye for a while until a certain brunette swoops in right next to him with a loopy grin and crinkly eyes.

“You should talk to her. Seems like you really like her.”

“What? What makes you say that? What makes you think that?”

Daniel shrugs, rotating his blunt back into his mouth. “Dilation.”

The Dutchman gags. “What…like when a woman gives birth?”

A sore laugh. “As in your eyes.” Another hit. “Y’know…they just look—different. When you look at her, I mean.”

And he hopes it is not apparent that these words make him swallow. For the past year, he’s tried his best to hide his feelings for the sake of not making a fool out of himself, and later for a whole other, but…

He licks his sudden dry lips. “Hm. Doesn’t matter if my eyes fucking shine or not, she’s not my type.”

The Australian frowns. “Sucks. Lissie’s really cool.” His eyes flicker over to the RedBull driver in a nonchalant manner, but when he blinks back with rose tinted cheeks, despite not having a sip of alcohol, he chokes on his puff. “Oh shit, no…”

In a flash, Max yanks the blunt away, dipping it into an anonymous drink. “You’re right, she is so cool—”

Brown eyes narrow down in accusation, brows knitted sharply. “Right, but we’re not talking about Lissie…” A wince. “Mate, you can’t…you know you can’t.”

And just like that, Daniel notices the blown out pupils revert back to its original shape. Small and empty. “Yeah. Of course.” He plops back down onto his stiff seat, rubs his eyes, then smiles. “I know that. I-I-I was never going to—yeah.”

“He—” Daniel points over to the broad twenty-six year old who sits with a timid smile. “...didn't have a single sip of beer that night because he was too focused looking after her.” A whistle. “And if that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is.”

“Wow, congrats,” George says to your fiancé. “For not being an alcoholic, really, that's impressive.” You can hear the humor that coats his voice and you can’t help but giggle. Calloused fingers slip up to pinch your thigh as you laugh harder.

“That’s why I drank twice as much that day,” Pierre announces with a firm voice. “Because he was missing out on some fantastic beer.”

“Drunkard,” Alex whispers to Lily who stifles a snicker.

The tall Australian clicks his tongue. “So who was the wasted one who confessed their little white lies?”

Everyone’s eyes turn to face you as you burn up with mortification.

“What the fuck, I barely even drink!”

Red Bull Ring—July 2, 2023 (Austrian Grand Prix)

“You.”

“Me?”

You snarl, stomping over. “She's a lightweight, dumbass. Why would you get her high? Jesus, we have a flight in eight hours.”

Daniel cackles, clapping as if delighted at the fact. “She kept insisting! I felt bad.”

An eye roll. “Douche.”

He tries to make it up to you with a drink. “Pierre says they’re good.” You eye the bottle hesitantly. He sighs. “Come on, trust me.” He eventually sneaks off for a minute, but returns with a new blunt.

“Did you pull another one out of your ass or where did you get that from?”

“Oh no. How many did you drink?”

Squinting, you motion him to take a seat. He does, but he can’t even smoke in peace now that you sway from side to side, despite being seated. “I don’t know. Too many.” He groans, large hands tugging his hair. You take a long sip, then raise your glass like some wannabe. “He told me he loves me. Tonight. Right when you left. And you know what I told him?” Another sip. “I told him I love him too.”

The Australian chuckles. “I didn’t expect you to fall for someone like him.”

“Me either. But I fell—tumbled.” You frown. “I’m just not sure this is the right thing to feel, y’know?”

His orbs flicker to the twenty-six year old who huddles with a bunch of the other drivers. He smiles, tilting his head. “Why not?”

“Because everytime I look at him, I fear the way my heart beats. He laughs, I laugh, and it feels wrong. He smiles, I smile, and it feels wrong. He makes one of our inside jokes, I understand, and it feels wrong.” A shaky laugh. “And something that should feel fucking right, doesn’t.” Glossy eyes switch over to him. “Does that make sense?”

“Not really.”

“Great,” you let out, wiping your tears away. “It’s fine, I didn’t expect you to understand.”

Daniel smiles, fondly, like an older brother. “It doesn’t, and you want to know why?”

“Why?”

A second passes by before he leans back against his chair. “Because it looks like you really—really—like him, so why should any of that matter? Just let yourself be happy, fuck everything else.”

You scoff, furrowing your brows. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Why?”

“Because it would never work out.”

“And why not? You’re giving up too eas—oh.” Almost robotically, he drops his blunt into your beer bottle. “You can’t…”

“Yeah. I know.” A pause. “Beer’s ass, by the way.”

Daniel taps his fingers against his chin, comedically. His orbs flicker between you two who stare up at him in deep focus, awaiting for his next words. He grins. “You two, it works. It always has.”

Circuit Zandvoort—August 27, 2023 (Dutch Grand Prix)

“Oh fuck,” he grunts, thrusting into you harder as you cling onto his arm, eyes screwed shut. “H-holy fucking—hell.”

You moan, mouth hung wide open. “Feel so good, Maxie, so, so good.”

Blue eyes admire the way you arch towards him like some sort of warm invitation. The way your legs lazily drape over his sweaty waist, how your scent hugs him like no one else. It’s all so familiar, and nice, and right. Your soft palm grazing his jaw makes him alert in an instant, desperate to not miss a single thing that lives inside this moment.

He furrows his dark brows. “We-We’re not made for one another.”

“I know.” He grunts, animalistically. “They warned me about you.”

“They told me to stay away from you.” His tip brushes against your g-spot and your head lolls back, a loud sound. “But God, it’s been impossible.”

“Max, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m close.”

He grins, rubs your clit, and whimpers when he feels you reach your orgasm. You shudder when he follows soon after, face digging into the nape of your neck. Your heart pounds like a ticking time bomb, but still, you run your fingers through his dirty blond waves.

“Lissie…Daniel…they’re—”

“Right?” You choke up. “Yeah, you don’t know how much I hate that they are.”

He pulls away, and somehow, his watercolor eyes appear more blue than ever before. Black, almost—nearly. And you’re sure yours do too.

Max plays with your hair, tracing it like a map. He gulps. “So do I.” A tug. “I love you. Y-you weren’t some fuck buddy to me…you’ve always been more than that. And…I hate that too.”

A wet laugh. “I love you, too.” Wobbly smile. “And it’s because I love you that I know what comes after this.”

He hums. “What would that be?”

“Nothing.”

“I know many of you guys are wondering why I’m best man—”

“Not wondering, more like questioning,” Carlos quips with a sly smirk.

Pierre flips him off and you laugh at the immature interaction between the drivers. “Because it really could have easily been anyone else. Ha! Even you Carlos.” The Spaniard mocks him with a shady, playful, look.

“Then again, who would have thrown a better rehearsal dinner for Charles and his bride-to-be?”

Circuit Zandvoort—September 4, 2022 (Dutch Grand Prix)

"You got on Max Verstappen’s bad side, that’s what."

“It’s probably nothing or he’s just a sensitive little pussy,” you shoot back defensively.

Lissie snickers, hushing you, orbs scanning the pen. “You can’t say shit like that! Any of it, actually,” she adds. “Just…think before saying anything.”

You huff, arms crossed, stubbornly. “Fine.”

As the open area starts filling up more and more, by some miracle, your nerves start dying down.

Or so you thought.

“Before I let you go, I do have one more question.” Charles smiles down at you, shy dimples poking through. You return the gesture. “Would you consider yourself Ferrari’s savior or their scapegoat?”

“Jesus,” the British girl groans, covering her eyes with second-hand embarrassment.

The Monegasque lets out a nervous laugh, turning to face his publicist who simply tippy toes and whispers something into his ear. He nods. “I-I-I actually have another interview set up, but thank you for your…questions.” Pink tints his ears as he looks at you one more time before strolling away.

“Alrighty then,” Lissie hollers. She sneaks the microphone away. “Jitters, totally normal, but yeah, you’re done for today.”

“I don’t care if she’s royalty, I’m never willingly doing an interview with her ever again.”

“Would you look at that?” Pierre gloats with a wicked grin. “Max Verstappen got butthurt.”

The Dutchman scoffs. “No, I did not. I just don’t like stupid questions, and she made one.”

Yuki snickers at his wary response. Pierre rolls his eyes. “I could talk to her, if you want me to. I love shit like this.”

“I don’t.”

“Well too bad, I’m going to.”

“Yeah. You already said that.”

Dumbfounded, you blink as he walks away, wet towel draped over his head. If you had known he was this much of a shithead, then you wouldn’t have bothered to try and apologize. Clicking your tongue, you burn with fury as you glare, but as soon as the Ferrari driver brushes past you, you fall back from your trance.

“Hey!”

He turns, green eyes furrowed with confusion. “Hey.”

A wince. “I’m sorry about my ignorant question from earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Charles blushes. “Am I that easy to read?”

“No, but Pierre let me know.” You awkwardly kick your shoe against the pavement and his eyes follow. You stop. “I sort of pissed off two of the most important drivers on the grid today. You, uh, just happen to be one of them.”

He softens like ice cream on a hot summer day. “I’m not pissed.” You almost let out a giggle from how foreign his accent makes the curse sound. He stammers. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all. Plus, I can’t answer questions like those. It would make all of us look bad.”

“Oh. Duh. Of course.” Now you burn up. “I should have known. And it’s no excuse, but I’m new and I’m just…figuring it out.”

His eyes crinkle as he nods. “Who was the other driver?”

You groan. “Max.”

He winces, shaking his hands, theatrically. “Yikes. Yeah, now he’s probably pissed.”

Autodromo Nazionale Monza—September 11, 2022 (Italian Grand Prix)

“Will you ever let it go?”

“Might take me a while…”

As soon as your phone dings, vibrating against your palm, he curls a brow. “L-Lissie,” you fill in with a subtle smile. “See you around. And put on some sunscreen. It’s good for you.”

Rushing back to the pool with a new bottle of SPF, you grin as he aims a deadpan expression. “A little Vitamin D is always necessary.”

“Don’t care, I don’t want to look like a peanut in two years.” You plop some onto his hand as he childishly swipes it over his face. You squirm with the way droplets slither down his toned chest.

Charles extends his hands. “Can I have some more?”

You laugh, wet hair tossing back like a curtain. “Hypocrite.”

Green eyes glare down, playfully.

Marina Bay Street Circuit—October 2, 2022 (Singapore Grand Prix)

“I can’t believe someone’s rocking your boat,” Lissie yelps, clutching onto your hand desperately. “This is monumental.” A teasing giggle. “We should definitely document this.”

As soon as she pulls out her phone, you flip her off. “And this, my dear, dear friend, is why I’ve been keeping this a secret.” She zooms in as you laugh, brushing her away. “Quit!”

The British girl groans, slipping it into her back pocket, then wiggles her thick brows. “Can I guess who it is?”

“No.”

“It’ll be fun!”

You spin around. “No, Lissie—no.”

“Nepo-Baby?”

Flustered, you twirl your necklace and hum. “They all are.”

“Fucking hell. So how will I know which one?”

A mocking laugh. “Oh, you’ll know.”

The brunette stays wondering despite being in the middle of telling her story from last week at the pub. She traces back to every possible driver, but they’re all natural flirts, so fuck that, how would she ever even be able to guess that—

“Oh my—it’s him!” She gasps with hawk eyes as she watches you two keep a careful distance from one another, as if temptation burns within the gap. Lissie lets out a delirious laugh as she turns to Will, who is still rather focused on his task. “I, um, will be right back!”

Wearing a goofy smile, you make your way back to the pen, but squeal when a firm grip wraps around your waist, tugging you into a cramped bathroom. You cringe at the suffocated smell. On the other hand, Lissie jumps from corner to corner. “How did I not notice? I mean, shit, you’re eyes—they’re huge!”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

With a toothy grin, she pokes your ribs. “It means I know who it is.”

Your heart stops, then bite the inside of your cheek, feigning indifference. “We’re just getting to know each other, but he’s really kind, and I…I really like him.”

“Oh, I bet you do,” she whispers in a seductive manner, jeweled hands slapping your ass. You chuckle, opening the door, and turning back. “You get lost in his eyes, don’t you? Heard that could happen.” A swoon. “So what? Are they like the ocean? Like a blueberry Laffy Taffy?”

“Hm. No. More like green apple.”

She halts, mid-shimmy. “What do you mean green? His eyes are blue. And I would know—they scare me half of the time.”

“What are you talking about? Charles’ eyes are green.” The brunette gapes, mouth hung wide open as she pushes herself to speak, but can’t find the strength. You knit your brows, neat and high. “I told you not to scroll through your phone at three a.m. anymore. See? Jet lag is catching up to you.”

Autódromo José Carlos Pace—November 13, 2022 (Brazilian Grand Prix)

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tired eyes squint over at the blue waves, then at the kids who build sandcastles.

She sighs, propping herself to face you with a sorrowful smile. “It’s okay to be confused about your feelings.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it, I know its as bad as it sounds.” You raise your straw onto your plump lips, sucking. “But they’re just so different from one another. I mean, Charles makes me feel giddy. Like really giddy. It’s nauseating. He’s sweet, and caring, and he's snappy but it’s endearing.” A soft smile and dreamy eyes. “He even helps with my notes.”

“But Max…he’s hot tempered. It drives me nuts. He never asks for help and always hides behind some brick wall. It isn’t like him to show me that he’s interested in getting to know me, but…” Cries ring through the hot air as a wave washes the sandcastle. “I want to get to know him. The real him.”

Lissie’s lips turn downwards at your broken tone. You act uninterested, but she knows it just for show, and that might be the worst torture of all.

She bumps your head with her shoulder, softly, and you instantly pout. “You’ll know what to do, babe. But if we’re being realistic here, Charles won’t wait forever.” Pause. “And Max isn’t the kind to grovel for anything other than podiums.”

Bahrain International Circuit—March 5, 2023 (Bahrain Grand Prix)

“Heads! Go on, Coffee Boy. Oh, and make it extra sweet.”

Charles lets out a heavy sigh, shoulders drooping as he strolls away. You pick and choose emails to respond to before leaning against one leg, typing away fiercely. You even have time to get back to your sister who begs for a souvenir. Any, she adds with a thousand smiley faces.

“Working hard already? The season’s barely begun.” Your breath catches so sharply that it hurts your throat for a second. His voice is somehow deeper, but it could be because you haven’t seen or heard from him in about forever. Max steps closer. “H-how was your summer break?”

Your berry lips open, then close, then repeat. It’s embarrassing. “Never bad to get ahead, and I—had a good one. Much needed.” He nods attentively. “You look—” You stop before admitting. “Healthy. You look really healthy”

A booming chuckle. “Thanks. You look really healthy, too.”

Blue eyes linger for a second too long and that fills you up with unwanted adrenaline. “Why are you here?” Pink expands through your cheekbones as you grimace. “I mean—here.” You point at the tiny tent as if it weren’t obvious what you were referring to. “Here, here.”

The Dutchman’s lips dance, fondly. “Well I was walking by, saw you, and wanted to say hi.” He looks around with a subtle frown. “Is now a bad time?”

“Well—”

“Mate,” a sweet accent rings through the air as you screw your eyes shut. Max turns to face Charles with a slow grin. The Monegasque tilts his head in greeting, hands occupied with your beverage and his. “How have you been?”

“So, so. Yourself?”

“Good. Refreshed.”

“For me?” he jokes. The brunette chuckles, raising the coffee cups with bright orbs. “Lazy Carlos, always sending you, right?”

The Ferrari driver shakes his head, curls following, then hands it to you. You hesitantly take it from him as you avoid eye contact. “Thank you, Charles.”

His smile widens, pecking your lips. “Still don’t think you should drink it on a daily basis, but hey, you’re welcome.”

Max blinks. “W-when did this happen?”

The green eyed boy hums, lips twisting against his straw. “Over break.”

“Oh.” Gaze slips over to where you bite your cheek. “You spent it in Monaco?”

A harsh tick. “Yes.” With an open mouth, he nods, like a muppet. You purse your lips, facing your boyfriend with pleading eyes. “Do you want to start making your way over? I don’t want Carlos to say anything about being late. You know how he is.”

Charles snickers, then intertwines his fingers through yours. “See you on track?”

The RedBull driver released a low breath, cracking a smile that looked more like a snarl. And while Charles doesn’t notice it, you do. Of course you do.

“See you on track.”

Miami International Autodrome—May 7, 2023

“Then why did you do it?” she whispers. The judgment and confusion that radiates off of Lissie is enough for you to grow gray. She rolls her tongue. “You can’t be doing stuff like this anymore, you have a boyfriend.” Her eyes screw shut, then snap open. “He adores the ground you walk on, are you insane?”

Tears well up at her truthful words. They sting all at once, and you carelessly crumble as your numb lips start to wobble. “Lissie—”

“No. Just—stop. Stop talking.” Max raises his eyebrows at the journalist and her sternness, but feels bad as you inch back, heels clicking. She huffs, pacing the hall. When she comes to a stop, she glares at the Dutchman. “How could you do this, too?”

“I never meant any harm—”

“Bullshit! Both of you are so stupid, it’s worrisome.” Shame fills your veins as you look down, pinching your undergarment as some coping mechanism. The British girl sighs. “You have to tell him.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? He deserves to know.”

Decreasing the gap between you two, you sniffle, shaky hands clutching harder. “It’s going to kill him, Lissie. I can’t do that.”

And you can tell she’s running through her options because she’s your best friend. And above all, you were hers. With hesitance, she nods. “This has to end.”

You nod, desperately. “That’s it. We’re done.”

Circuit de Monaco—May 28, 2023 (Monaco Grand Prix)

“You’ve been a bit uptight. Could it be Charles that’s making you feel that way?”

“No. Don’t even try and blame it on him.”

He pinches your nipple, then licks your humid skin. You whine at the sensation. “You’re not getting anything in return for lying. It’s pathetic.”

You hiss when your climax tempts to fall. “What's the lie?”

“That you love him.”

“I do love him—”

He groans into your neck. “You sound so pretty.” A sloppy thrust. “When you choke around my cock, my spit, my cum.” Your eyes roll back when he pushes against your g-spot at a different angle. “Admit it, you’ve always enjoyed it.”

“You’re sick."

“Maybe, but you’re well worth it.”

You clench around his length and he hisses like a snake. In pain. In lust. Doesn’t matter. “You’re a shitty friend—”

Jaw clenches. “You’re a shitty girlfriend.” When you cry out in pleasure, he smirks. “Fine, then answer me one thing; is this stress reliever a bad thing?”

“Maybe, but who cares?”

And there's nothing left for him to do, simply smiling down at you like the Cheshire Cat, somehow scarier than The Joker. If not more.

Red Bull Ring—July 2, 2023 (Austrian Grand Prix)

“Right, but we’re not talking about Lissie. Mate, you can’t…you know you can’t.” Daniel grimaces. “She’s taken.”

“I know,” Max stutters. “Who do you take me for?”

The Australian is easy to tell when he laughs genuinely, but even the RedBull driver can spot the difference to the one exiting his mouth right now. “You think she’s pretty—that’s all.”

“That’s all,” he confirms.

“And that’s not a weird thing to admit because she is a pretty girl,” the brunette tries to help as Max nods happily.

“Exactly.” A pause. “You get it.”

Daniel brings the blunt up to his mouth, taking a hit, then blows out. “Y-yeah…because it’d be bad if you liked her, liked her.”

“I know that. I-I-I was never going to—yeah.” His heart pounds fast against his ribs when you giggle, pecking Charles’s neck, all while conversing with Lissie, Kika, and Pierre. He directs his attention back to the Australian and lets out a raw laugh.

“I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“You’re a bad influence.”

“Why?”

“Because it would never work out.”

“And why not? You’re giving up too eas—oh.” In an instant, his brown eyes follow yours, and it makes his heart drop. Because it’s not Charles that you’ve suddenly realized that you love, but Max. “You can’t…” Somewhere close by, Pierre yells, cheering with a group of older ladies as Kika glares, shaking her head. He inches closer. “You can’t do that to Charles. He loves you.”

“And I love him,” you announce, brushing your hair back. Timidly, you peek over at him. “I’m not a saint, I know that, but I would appreciate it if we kept this between us.” A sore chuckle. “W-what matters is that I choose Charles. He’s the love of my life.”

And Daniel knows he probably shouldn’t agree to any of this, and yet, he finds himself nodding, curls bouncing. “Just between us.”

You smile gently, going in for another sip before laughing at the blunt that sticks inside.

“Beer’s ass, by the way.”

Circuit Zandvoort—August 27, 2023 (Dutch Grand Prix)

“I love you. Y-you weren’t some fuck buddy to me…you’ve always been more than that. And…I hate that too.”

“I love you, too. And it’s because I love you that I know what comes after this.”

“What would that be?”

“Nothing.”

He flinches. “I-it doesn’t have to be that way. You could lea—”

You sigh, pulling your dress up as he zip his race suit. “I can’t leave him, Max. It’s not that easy.”

He pants, blue eyes tracing your face anxiously. “A-and why not? Why can’t it be that easy?”

A cruel laugh wiggles up your throat as you dig your nails into your palm. “Because I’m engaged!”

He ricochets with a scoff. “Oh, what? Now you suddenly care about not being called a cheater?” You look away and he chuckles. “Because that’s what you are—a fucking cheater.”

Your face patches into a shade of pink as you breathe heavily, refusing to let the tears fall. “And what does that make you?”

“I am not a cheater.”

You snarl. “No, but you’re a God awful friend.”

He steps back, large hand running against his lips, drying them out, getting rid of your saliva. “You’re just—you know what? Fuck you.”

You gasp. “No. Fuck you.”

Max rolls his blue eyes, finally reaching his breaking point as he pushes you against the wall to his motorhome. “You’re scared, aren’t you? Of realizing what we actually are.”

Heavy pants. Orbs flicker down to his rosy lips. He almost smiles. “What are we? A cheater and a bad friend?”

“No. A villain and their accomplice.” That seems to do it. A strong tide takes over as you sob against his grip. And it doesn’t hurt, it’s not tight. It’s only secure. He continues with a dark look swirling his orbs. “You know, you were always the first one to point out someone as a bad person, when in reality, it's you.”

“Okay, stop—”

“And I’m not innocent either—I’m well aware—but I’m not the one with a ring around their finger.”

“Stop!” you yell, pushing him away harshly. It should feel foreign, the fury and the shame, but that’s all you seem to know these days. Or ever since you met him. “You’re right. We’re two rotten apples, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, but can you blame me? You’re fucking with my head, Max!”

He softens, and for a moment, its pure silence, other than your tiny cries. Licking his lips, he pats his thigh. “You already know I’m wrongfully in love with you. I just actually thought I stood a chance. That it would be me.”

“Max…”

He winces in pain with how sweet your voice sounds pronouncing his name. It’s always been that way. When you first interviewed him a year ago, to when you first kissed him back and gasped his name. But it only got dirtier and dirtier throughout the course of time.

“Be honest with me, please.” Bloodshot eyes look up at him. “Is he your safest option? Is that what this is?”

And with one final, tormented look, you open your lips to breathe out.

“He’s someone I could envision a future with, Max.” A beat. “And you’re just a footnote.”

“Voilá!” Charles cheers as he claps loudly against your ear. You yelp at the sudden sound all while trying to reach for his hands to stop his movements. He grins, deep dimples imprinting like feet on sand. “That was beautiful, really, it really was.”

Rubbing your ass against his bulge is the only way you think you can get him to shut up, and he does, immediately letting out a strained chuckle. Smiling sweetly at your friends, you shrug. “I had my doubts, Pierre, but this was pretty cute. Thank you.”

The Frenchman gloats, clicking his fingers. I told you, I told you they’d like it! Your fiancé kisses your cheek. “That’s why I chose him.” A playful frown. “You see, mon amour? You never hold any faith in my decisions.”

Rolling your eyes, you stick your pink tongue out at him. “I still think you should have chosen one of your brothers.” A stern look. “Like Lorenzo—wasn’t he the one that helped you buy the ring?”

“Yes, but that would have been unfair to Arthur. He would’ve felt left out.”

“Arthur’s too distracted trying to figure out the difference between left and right!” The Monegasque tosses his head back and you admire with a soft glow. “I lo—”

“Wait,” Carlos hollers, deep accent ringing. You and Charles turn, bubble bursting. “We all went around sharing but Max.”

“Yeah,” Lily ponders, fingers tracing her lips. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pierre hums. “Mate?”

Max blinks, shaking his head. “Ah, it’s alright. We’ve heard enough, don’t you think?” His joke is meant to be easy going, but it comes out dry, and even to this day, you can notice it. Licking your already glossed lips, you flip your gaze to Lissie and Daniel who share the same worried expression.

Because Lissie was your best friend. She would carry your secret to the grave.

Because Daniel was Max’s best friend. He would carry his secret to the grave.

But the Dutchman himself didn't care. He honestly felt like he had nothing else to lose.

“Okay then,” he whispers, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. He slightly tilts his head to the open sky, as if wondering when it would swallow him whole. He was secretly hoping it would. Beady, excited, and petrified eyes stare back at him as he smiles awkwardly. “I…”

“He doesn’t want to,” you declare, twisting to signal the Frenchman. “If he doesn’t want to, then he doesn’t have to say anything, it’s fine.”

“No.” Blue eyes darken as he places his drink down onto the wooden table. “I want y—” He bites his tongue, immediately tasting metallic. “I want to.”

“Let him,” Charles says, chuckling softly. “Don’t kill his stride.”

So, with neat brown drawn together, clammy fingers playing with your silver band, you sit back down. Like a force of nature, the Monegasque hugs you from behind. You gulp, leaning the back of your head against his shoulder.

“I think it’s crazy how one minor decision can change absolutely fucking everything.”

“Oh shit,” Lissie and Daniel mutter next to each other, exchanging the blunt back and forth.

Your face twists up like a wrinkled shirt. “If you’re not going to say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” he instantly shoots back, but feverishly deflates when Charles furrows his dark brows like some Doberman. Astonished at his cold tone, you blink, lashes fluttering like a notebook. He almost swoons at the sight, but amazingly holds back.

“If you hadn’t taken Pierre’s advice and apologized to Charles, then we wouldn't be here. If you hadn’t spent summer break with him, then we wouldn’t be here. If you hadn't fallen in love, then we wouldn’t be here.” He swallows. “It’s the little things.”

“And, um...what makes a relationship work out is the commitment. If one person commits and the other doesn’t then it won’t ever work out, but you two…” You nibble on your bottom lip harshly, holding your breath as he looks into your bright eyes. He releases a forced chuckle, as if it would help get rid of his splintered heart. “You two chose each other, so…cheers to that.”

“Wow,” Charles hums, blankly. “That was surprisingly heartfelt…” A sheepish grin. “Thank you, mate.”

It’s as if he’s suddenly admitting defeat to someone who didn’t know they had him as an opponent to begin with; the way he throws the peony at the Monegasque, who catches it with ease. “Don’t mention it.”

So, as Max sits alone, with no date, he begins to wonder that maybe—just maybe—you were right all along.

He gave his speech last.

He was the footnote.

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

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mockerycrow · 6 months

Note

super big congratulations on 4k!! you deserve it <3

i was wondering if you could write a gn! reader x price with the prompt "Hey, it's okay, I got you. You're alright, you're okay." it doesn't matter if it's platonic or romantic; whatever feels best for you!!

Thank you so much and congratulations!

YOU’RE ALIVE (Price x GN!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[WARNINGS; Car accident, implied situationship w/ Price, moderate injuries, flashbacks, near panic attack, open ending.]

YOU DON’T REMEMBER the events that lead up to you in a hospital bed, a cast fitted around your arm, a brace on your knee, a bandage around your skull, and only God knows how many stitches and bandages in random assortments. You can’t forget the numeral wires and tubes attached to you, too. Oh, and the ear-bleeding beeping. John sits next to you in a chair—he’s your… friend, of sorts. You aren’t really sure what to call what you two have going on.

You look at him, slumped in the visitors chair he’s pulled up beside your bed, his arms crossed and his legs spread; his neck is bent at an awkward angle and you know it’s going to ache whenever he awakens. John looks quite tired—he’s looked tired and stressed the entire time he’s been in the hospital room with you. Stressing over you, like a worried hu—…. you shouldn’t think about that. Suddenly the ceiling looks far more appealing to stare at, rather than the beautiful gentleman who is willingly staying at your bedside, despite your exhausted attempts to have him get some proper rest.

You glance over at him—envious of how he’s able to sleep right now. Hm. Honestly, you know John would be awake with you if he had the energy. The only reason why you’re awake is your stitches itch, and the only reason why he’s asleep is because you did not wake up for four days after you passed out at the scene of a car accident you were apparently in; an accident you don’t remember too well. You barely even remember what you had for breakfast that morning; cereal of some kind, maybe? Eggs? You don’t know.

“You were on the way to work, love.” You remember John telling you. You remember the tense expression, the firmness of his eyebrows. The frown of his lip, the way he amusingly resembled a quokka in the moment. You were also apparently on the phone with John at the same time, so whatever happened, he heard all of it. The details from your own memory are fuzzy—your doctors concluded your amnesia is temporary, so they gave you the choice of remembering it yourself or having them tell you. You opted in for the first option.

It was coming back to you in bits and pieces. Small moments where you feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, you think you hear glass shattering in the distance; your heart begins to race at different moments. You aren’t sure what to make of it—until now.

“I’m not excited for this meeting.” You whined, your eyes were glued to the road. Your phone is bluetooth connected to your car’s system so you can talk with John and have both of your hands on the wheel. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, honey. Surely it’s just about budgets like last month.” John hums through the speakers of your car. You sigh, turning on your windshield wipers as it’s pouring out, obscuring your vision a bit.

“It’s raining pretty hard, how do the roads look?” He asks, a bit of rustling coming from John’s end. He’s probably reading a book or looking out from the curtains. “I’m driving slower than normal, visibility isn’t the greatest..” You admit, letting out a breath, slowing the car down once again. “..I was sliding a bit, thinking it’s time I get some new wheels.” John hums in agreement. “Definitely. Please be safe, love.” You chuckled glancing around the road, furrowing your eyebrows when the double yellow line seems to fade. “I’m trying my best, Jo—“

You’re suddenly being jostled around violently after a big impact from your front, your seatbelt digging into your skin as something launches your car off to the side. “SHIT—“ You scream, attempting to stop the car, but the rain causes you to slide across the road. Something hits you from the back and you feel you physically feel yourself lift in your seat—and then you’re fading in and out. You wake up with wetness against your face, pain in your ribs, your arm, your skull—

You let out a choked sob as there’s ringing in your ears and your eyes refuse to focus—but you can tell you’re upside down. You see a pair of legs sprinting towards you through your broken side window, and you aren’t really register what’s happening. You blink and the person is try to pry the door open frantically. You still don’t hear them; it’s almost like a silent movie.

The door gives, the flipped car jostling from the force used to pry it open. You blink and fuck—It’s John. His eyes are wide and his jaw is tense, shaky hands. He’s grabbing the sides of your head, forcing you to keep your head still—his lips are moving but you can’t hear him. You sob and you try to reach up to touch him, and he lets you. Your eyes look at your own hand as it’s caked in your own blood, causing you to inhale shakily. This isn’t happening. The pain starts sitting you harder, a pulsing in the side of your head.

“Hey—“ John’s voice suddenly cuts through and you blink, and you’re back in the hospital room. You’re breathing hard and fast, causing your chest to ache more than it already does. His hands are cupping your cheeks like he was in the flipped car, and you let out a panicked sob; your machines make loud beeping noises in retaliation. “Hey, it’s okay, I got you. You’re alright, you’re okay..” John quickly murmurs, his thumbs gently wiping your tears away. “Focus on my voice, okay? You’re alright. You’re in the hospital, love.”

You sniffle and nod, shakily inhaling once again as you try to calm your panicked lungs and struggling heart, your good hand coming up and gently grasping his wrist. “I-I was flipped over—“ You choke out, which John quickly meets with soft shushing and a kiss between your eyebrows. “I know, honey. I know. I got you, you’re safe now.” You nod, choking out another whimper as you lean into his touch—because John’s right. He has you; you’re safe, he’s the one who got to you first. You’re sure you’ll want to ask him how he found you so fast later, but all you want to do right now and feel him and hear him. Because you’re alive.

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formulaforza · 11 months

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hello, hello! can i request a blurb where carlos and reader have moved in together and are having a housewarming party. they’ve invited a couple drivers over and lando tries to use the fancy hermes blanket on the couch and reader gasps! "what's the point of the blanket being on the couch if it can't be used?" "it's for show!" "oh for the love of god-" you’d do it amazingly 🫶🏼 thank you!

—coming home carlos sainz x reader love, mackie... hi nonnie!! this turned into exactly how I needed to spend my evening (my day was quite literally from hell.) and this ran a little longer than a blurb at 1.3k words! regardless, I hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun writing it (and listening to lots of Spanish music)

There wasn’t much that was easy about blending the home decor styles of you and your boyfriend. For every item that Carlos fell in love with, you had an equal and opposite styled piece that you were in love with. From the herringbone floors to the tall white walls, it seemed that everything in the place was a direct contrast of the other. Quiet luxury and old money and neon signs and maximalist paint swatches, it was almost an entire year before the two of you finally allowed guests to come over (which–by the way–was a direct conflict to one of the major reasons the two of you decided to move in together in the first place: hosting friends and family without arguing over who would be doing the hosting).

The week following the Spanish Grand Prix felt like the perfect time to finally show your home off to the people you loved most; everyone was already in Barcelona for Carlos, an hour and change flight or a two and a half hour train ride wouldn’t kill any of them, not when half of them had to make their way back to the capital.

That’s how it all cumulated into the night of all nights. The coffee table books are surrounded by half full, mis-matched wine glasses on old Spanish tile coasters (a compromise the two of you had made over the intricate hand painted ceramic that previously adorned the kitchen walls). The record player in the corner of the room stutters its way through Carlos’ dusty Boleros In Trío vinyl while the bluetooth speaker in the kitchen serenades listeners with the sounds of Sebastian Yatra.

Everytime Carlos enters a room, he flips the lightswitch on. You follow behind him turning the overheads back off, opting for the warm yellow lamp light and the colors of the city beyond the bistro-themed balcony. He burns a candle on the stack of decorative books, something with tobacco and cocoa and brandy and–jasmine, maybe? He always picks candles with jasmine, so you might just be imagining the smell out of habit.

And you, and him. The two of you so terribly settled into the domesticity of your shared lives, the air of love in every corner of the home. He appears in the kitchen in a warm breeze, reaching over your arm to grab a slice of chorizo from the tapas platter on the counter in front of you. He kisses your cheek when he does it, undoubtedly in hopes of distracting your hand from smacking his. “¿Tienes frío, mi amor?” Are you cold, my love? He peruses around the bite of food.

“¿No porque?” No, why? You ask, pressing the back of your hand against your cheek to feel the temperature of your own skin.

“Lando sigue y sigue sobre tener frío,” Lando is going on and on about being cold, he explains. “Estaba empezando a pensar que me estaba volviendo loco.” I was starting to think I was going crazy.

You laugh. If anything but temperate, you’re warm, working around the kitchen perfectly plating a platter for your friends and family to snack on. “Bueno, creo que Lando ha perdido la cabeza,” Well, I think Lando has lost his mind. Carlos chuckles, gives you another passing kiss as he moves behind you around the island. “¿Encontrarle una manta, sin embargo?” Find him a blanket, though? You ask. He nods through a chew, holds his thumb up as he backs out of the room—you wonder how he managed to sneak another bite of food past you.

You appear with the tray of snacks, chorizo with ham and cheese and bread, croquetas and patatas bravas and tigres. If it’s all as good as it was when you’d tested the menu last weekend, your company won’t even realize that you and Carlos aren’t serving them an actual meal this evening. Everyone hastily moves their coasters and glasses and Carlos moves the stack of books from the coffee table to the entertainment center, hovers behind you as you set the heavy platter down just in case you need him.

You find your seat next to Carlos on one of the sofas, know that he hates that people are eating on his new couches. He’d researched them for months–months–before finally deciding on the ones that had been delivered last month as a replacement to the ones from your old apartment.

You notice Lando is still blanketless, still dramatically letting a shiver run up his entire body every ten minutes. “Güey,” you say, and half the room looks up from their conversation, Lando’s eyes meeting yours. “If you are cold still, get a blanket.”

“Ay yai yai, pollita, relax,” he quips back in a thick, feigned Spanish accent. Carlos snorts and you meet Lando with your middle finger, an old friend of his. When you look to your boyfriend to meet his dumb chuckle with the same fate, he’s not even paying attention to the conversation. Instead, he picks at the bottom of a shelf hung on the wall above the two of you. It holds his trophy from Silverstone, a picture of him and Caco, a small jar full of incense sticks (maybe the jasmine you smell), which he has stuck a tiny Spanish flag into, and a picture of you and he following his win. The smiles on both your faces are so horribly cheek-aching that you can almost feel the phantom soreness when you look at it.

You watch as Lando reaches over another friend with a quiet excuse me. You can see the thought process happening behind his eyes, in his path for the blanket draped over the back of Carlos’ brand new couch. It’s like watching the world’s lowest stakes car crash.

“Carlos,” you whisper. “Carlos, él va por la cobija,” he’s going for the blanket, you say through gritted teeth, nudging your boyfriend to deal with his friend. He ignores you, still focused on the bottom of the shelf and the single splinter that shoots off it. “Carlos,” you say, this time with more force.

“¿Qué?” You finally get his eyes, nodding over to Lando, who is currently unfolding the Hermés throw blanket Carlos’ mother had gifted the two of you upon signing your lease. “Ay! Cabrón! No,” he finally says, standing up from his seat and moving to take the blanket from Lando, who looks on in utter confusion as Carlos refolds the throw and moves down the hallway.

“What the fuck?” He asks you through a meek chuckle.

“We don’t use that blanket,” you explain, and he looks even more confused than before.

“You… hu–what?” He laughs, with more confidence in his confusion than before. “Why is there a blanket on the couch if it can’t be used?”

You sigh, your eyes rolling behind closed lids. “It’s for decoration.”

“It’s for decoration?” You nod, just as Carlos appears from the hall again, usable blanket in tow, expensive throw likely put away in your shared bedroom. He hands it to Lando. “It’s for decoration,” the Brit teases.

Carlos shrugs, holds his hands up in defense in the return to his seat beside you. “Rule maker,” he says, pointing to you with a thumb before shifting it to himself, “rule follower.”

You laugh, adjusting to the sink of the cushion brought on by Carlos’ weight on the couch, your fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck without even the beginnings of a thought. Lando groans, pointing to you, “whipped,” and then to Carlos, “whipped… but more.”

“Stellar delivery there, cabrón,” you smile. “No stutter or anything.”

Carlos exhales a sharp laugh, his shoulders bouncing silently. Across the coffee table, Lando, curled up in a fluffy blanket like a toddler staying up past their bed-time to hang out with Mom and Dad’s friends, flips you off and is sure to properly enunciate his silently mouthed fuck you.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz blurb #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr #lando norris #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fic #scuderia ferrari

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red-write-hand · 7 months

Text

Modern!Tommy headcanons

(this could just be my thoughts splat onto a page but have fun! also no beta read we die like tommy's sexuality the moment he saw alfie solomons)

If that man could take his computer to bed with him, he would

He runs on cigarettes and coffee

I feel like he would totally have those machines that are super intricate about making coffee

Usually an apple loyalist but buys add-ons from others (think headphones, charging cables, other Bluetooth items)

Listens to The Neighborhood, Drake, Hozier, Eminem, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Kendrick Lamar, Bastille

Exclusively buys from Boss, started as a joke with his brothers but then he realized he really likes the suits he bought

Owns a bunch of clubs and knows about the best clubs to go to if you want a good time

Likes to eat expensive food but will never turn down Italian take out at horrible hours of the night

Absolutely owns a pair of those Bluetooth Raybans that play music discreetly

Favorite movies are the Tobey Maguire Spidermans, Star Wars (only the New Hope, Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, Revenge of the Sith, and Rise of Skywalker)

Has better figured out his own mental health and sexuality

this👏man👏is👏bisexual👏 (it radiates off him, takes one to know one)

since it is more widely accepted, he feels a little better about it

he absolutely had his first bi panic when he would banter with Freddie

that and EVERY interaction with Alfie

alfie bought him a tiny pride flag which he keeps in his desk, right next to his incredibly expensive alcohol ~x fem!Reader headcanons (m! in part 2)~ warnings: kinda unethical office workplace relationship?

its become a joke of sorts about being tommy's secretary around his family

this all stemmed from him taking an interest in you when you applied

you really were gorgeous to him

you're the only person he is slightly comfortable around besides the Blinders or his own family

the longer you work with him, the more comfortable he gets

after awhile, he (politely, our boy is respectful) asks you to call him Tommy instead of 'Mr. Shelby'

he is one of the most sought after men in the city which makes him very alluring to most

you don't super see it, he's always been very "normal" around, not the silver tongued devil most people knew him as

it wasn't that you didn't like him, you really did, his gorgeous frame, his perfect eyes, his slender fingers, his dark hair, everything was amazing except for the fact that he never really showed any interest in you, to him (you thought), you were his secretary, nothing more

oh how wrong you were

this all changes one late night, him still tirelessly working and you still there making sure that he doesn't stay there all night

it doesn't take much for him to just keep running on fumes so it usually falls upon you to remind him what god awful hour it is

you gently crack open the door and poke your head in

"Hey, Tommy, it's almost 1, pack it up and get some actual sleep."

He rolled his neck and closed his computer, just before packing everything up, he stops

"Cmon 'ere"

It was simple and you knew what could happen if something were to go down but you could find a new job if you had to

The Shelby building was quiet and the only office with any lights on was his

You leaned on the side of his desk and he opens the big drawer at the bottom

He procures the bottle of probably very expensive alcohol and starts pouring you one

"Why do you stay so late? Making sure I go home isn't in your contract."

You thought about it, it had become such a part of your daily cycle

"I guess I've just gotten used to it. Seemed like the right things to do after awhile."

He thanks you quietly and hands your glass of the whiskey he had poured

This was the softest you had ever seen him, you decided to capitalize off of it

"I've never understood it, why are you so comfortable with me Tommy?"

He nods slowly, knowing he would have to explain himself soon

"Polly says I don't 'ave my head straight yet, so my answer won't do you much good."

You, of course, weren't satisfied with that answer so you decided to play a hunch

By this hour of the night, his hair was rather disheveled so you tentatively ran your finger through it, fixing it for him

a small smirk bloomed on your lips when his expression seemed to soften more

This sort of tension was now a pattern for the two of you

The tension got to such a height that after awhile, late at night, he would just pull you into his lap and have his hand wrapped around your waist

You like to run your hands through his hair or trace his jaw with your fingertip

this is just how it is for the two of you and both of you like that <3

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reyesstrand · 6 days

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wip wednesday

ty for the tags @thisbuildinghasfeelings @paperstorm @whatsintheboxmh @heartstringsduet @strandnreyes @sznofthesticks @tommy-kinard-buckley @americansrequiems @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo :-)

“Just kiss me, Carlos,” TK murmurs, his eyes shiny in the low light, the sharp angle of his jaw accentuated by stubble and the flickering shadows from their movie. The plea makes Carlos ache, deep down, as he thinks about how long it’s been since he felt TK’s mouth on his. The solar storm, at least. They’ve been dancing around what they are ever since, texting always and TK’s voice filling his ear from the bluetooth speaker in his car when he asks if it’s okay to call and complain about doctor’s orders when Carlos is driving home from work in rush-hour traffic. Travis County is still coming back together at the seams after the blackouts and the accidents they caused, and Carlos can’t help but to feel like he and TK have been moving at the same careful speed. TK’s voice captures his attention again. “We don’t have to do anything, I just can’t stop thinking about—”

Carlos doesn’t let him finish. His palm fits perfectly at the back of TK’s neck, and he’s a little firm with his grip, pulling the other man’s face toward him as he gently encourages TK to fall forward into the frame of his open legs. Their lips meet just as easy as the first time; the turn of their heads, the slide of their tongues. TK’s body falls a little more into Carlos’ and Carlos slides his free hand down the length of TK’s back, fisting the thick material of his hoodie before meeting the smooth fabric of his gym shorts, savouring the little jut of his hipbone as his hand spreads down to the swell of his ass. TK exhales sharply when he touches him, angling his head to the side as he presses fingertips into Carlos’ jaw to deepen their kiss. Carlos’ hand moves again, travelling on its own accord, gently touching TK’s knee and squeezing the meat of his thigh and getting his leg to bend so he’s pulled even more flush against Carlos’ body.

“Like that?” Carlos asks, his voice a little rough as he speaks into TK’s mouth, never wanting to drift apart.

no pressure tagging @safeaswrites @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @birdclowns @carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @vineofroses @freneticfloetry @terramous @welcometololaland @rmd-writes & open tag!

#tag games #my fic #tarlos

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 10 days

Text

The Florist & the Baker (Florist!Nanami x Fem!Black!Baker!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Black!Fem!Reader (Meet Cute/Slow Burn)

Synopsis: In which you get a storyline straight out of a meet-cute romcom when Nanami, the quiet and stoic yet handsome florist who only comes into your bakery for coffee, asks you out on a date.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Non-Curse AU; Friends to Lovers; Slow Burn; Meet Cute; Cheesy, Fluffy Romance; Soft Dom!Nanami; Romantic; Public Sex; First Date Sex; 69ing; Nanami is an Eater; Big Dick; Facefucking; Missionary + Doggystyle; Cumshot; Creampie; Aftercare

Writer's Note: Nanami is WHIPPED in this one shot man. Like WHEN WILL THIS BE ME??? I’ve been having a brain rot over the concept of florist!Nanamj lately. It’s such a cute trend & I had to write some fluffy, Hallmark romance shit for it 😩 This one is also inspired by Nanami x Tiana (the Disney princess). It’s such a random ship but it’s so CUTE!! Go check them out!! -Jazz

********

It was a cool, rainy March morning when you met him for the first time.

Your bakery, best known for its pastries and catering, always opens at 9 AM on weekdays to serve the sleepy-eyed crowd hurrying off to work or classes in the morning. You thought that day was no different. At the time, you were the only one working that morning when the bell above the door rang.

So you turned around in your work uniform of sneakers and an apron over a warm sweater and jeans. “Good morning!” you chirped in your usual bright tone of voice. “Welcome to…”

The rest of your rehearsed sentence fell short when the man stopped to rub his boots against the rug near the door and take the wet hat off of his head.

He was tall and extremely handsome like he just stepped out of a GQ Magazine to personally greet you. Under his hat laid a face card that could envy millions of men: a sharp jaw and cheekbones; a blonde undercut that somehow made him look older; brown eyes that twinged with annoyance before he looked at you, his expression softening somewhat. You had never seen a man so fine.

He put up a finger and pressed the Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear that you didn’t notice. “Pardon?” he asked, scowling at you. “Sorry, I was on the phone. Could you repeat that please?”

And his voice! It was so deep and soothing. You could listen to him read a storybook or your bakery menu in that voice. Usually, you don’t thirst after customers, but you could admire them in secret, right?

Realizing that he’s waiting for an answer, you pretend to cough to stall yourself and act like you weren’t checking out the guy in the expensive wool coat standing behind the counter.

“U-Uh, I was just welcoming you to Sweet Treats,” you quickly reply. “Can I interest you in our seasonal line of cookies and beverages for the spring?” You nod at the menu sitting at the end of the counter among a glass display of flower-shaped cookies. “I recommend the lavender latte if you want something refreshing.”

The man’s face twitched a bit, his brows narrowing at the menu. “Um, no thank you. I don’t do too many sweets, especially in the morning.” He cleared his throat, his eyes skidding from yours for a moment as if he was too anxious to look at you.

“Can’t argue with that,” you giggled. “How can I help you today, sir?” The man looked up at the menu overhead before choosing a medium-sized latte and the breakfast sandwich on a croissant with egg white and pepperjack cheese, hold the bacon. “Excellent choice, sir!” you commented. “Our breakfast croissant is one of our most popular choices. That’ll be $11.09, please.”

He slipped his wallet out and you watched curiously as he took a gold card out. American Express. ‘Oh, he must have money,’ you thought, oozing with attraction for him instantly.

You took the card and thanked him before swiping it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a card that looks like this before,” you chuckled. “It’s so heavy yet lightweight at the same time!” You read his name on the card: Nanami Kento.

“Well, when you’re working the demanding job I do and own your own apartment, you need a card like that,” he wryly joked. “Everything I buy with it I pay it at the end of every month.”

“I’ve never heard of such a card!” you said in awe. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it that you do, sir?” The man gave you a funny look as if you just asked him if he was pregnant. “Um…I’m a florist,” he answered. “Sorry, I’m just not used to people asking me what I do. Conversation is scarce out there.”

You hummed in agreement, handing him back his card. “I completely agree, but sometimes, it’s nice to just talk to someone.” He reached out to take the card, his fingers brushing yours as he did. His fingers are long and calloused. Maybe he played piano? The idea made your stomach flip excitedly for some reason.

You coaxed him to have a seat and wait while you got his order together, brewing the coffee before getting his premade sandwich out of the kitchen fridge to toast.

As you did so, you heard him on the phone again, sounding irritated and frustrated with his coworker on the other line. So you did something to cheer him up: without him looking, you snuck a daisy-shaped sugar cookie into his to-go bag and then called his name from the desk. “Nanami!” you called, smiling at him.

His head shot toward you and he got up, walking ever so elegantly toward you in his red bottom shoes. He took the bag from you, thanking you. “Sorry, but I don’t remember telling you my name,” he said. Fear struck you at first, thinking you offended him, but then you see a playful glint in his eye.

“That’s because you didn’t,” you giggled sheepishly. “I forgot to ask, so I may have peeked at your Amex card. Please come again, sir.”

Nanami’s orgasmic eyes looked into yours for a moment, his handsome face making it so hard to concentrate. “Nanami,” he corrected you. “Thank you, Ms. L/N.”

As he turned around to leave with his breakfast, you pulled a face, wondering how he knew your name…and then you remembered your name tag and squeezed your thighs together. “Come again soon!” you called as he walked out into the rain, putting his hat back on his head.

The rest of the day was filled with thoughts of Nanami. While unbeknownst to you, Nanami’s head swam with tortuous images of the pretty baker with the beautiful skin, gorgeous smile, warm personality, and hip-hugging jeans as he ate his daisy-shaped cookie, shivering in delight at the taste.

Since that day, he has come in often. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes on his lunch break, but he always orders a coffee and you always sneak something sweet as a pick-me-up in his bag. Sometimes he leaves and sometimes he sits to sip on his coffee, only chomping down on your pick-me-up once he leaves.

One day, a month later on a beautiful April day, he comes in during a lunch break when you and Yuki and Mai, your coworkers and friends, are taking care of the lunch rush crowd while Todo, Megumi, and Yuji work in the kitchen.

Yuki ogles him as he walks in, extremely obvious and not trying to hide it from behind the counter. “Damn, he’s fine,” she whispers. “Who the fuck is that?” Mai walks past her with a tray of eclairs to replace beneath the glass displays. “Y/N’s very loyal customer,” she giggles. “He’s been in here almost every day to see her.”

You are busy washing glasses when you see Nanami and you give him a nod and a smile, acknowledging his presence. He nods back, patiently waiting while you set up. “Really?!” Yuki gasps, gaping at you. “Y/N, how come you never told me you have a boyfriend now?”

The kitchen doors open, signaling the arrival of one of the boys. “Who’s got a boyfriend?” Yuji curiously asks. “Here’s the fresh batch of peach cobblers you needed, Y/N.” You look down at the delicious pastries. “Thank you, Yuji, and no, I don’t have a boyfriend. He just comes in here often because he enjoys the coffee and ambiance!”

You glare at Yuki who gives you a knowing look, her lips pursed. “Mmm, I bet it’s the ambiance, alright,” she purrs, bumping her hip with yours as she walks by to tend to the coffee machine.

Then Nanami comes walking up while the girls giggle among themselves. You quickly straighten up and smile at the blonde. “Nanami, it’s good to see you again! What can I get you today?”

The stoic blonde gives you another nod of acknowledgment, his coat open today to reveal his suit and tie. “You as well, Ms. L/N,” he says in his smooth-like-butter voice. “Just the usual, please. I have a meeting so I have to hurry back.” He checks his watch, looking quite pensive.

“Sure thing,” you say and begin to fix up his pastry while you give Yuki his drink order. While you do s, Mai walks past you, her apron replaced with a gorgeous red top and jeans, and gives you a kiss on the cheek. “Headin’ out for the lunch date, hon? Just be careful, okay?”

The black-haired beauty turns and smiles at you. “Gotchu!” she calls. But then she pauses for a moment and smiles at Nanami. “Nice to meet you. I’m Mai, Y/N’s friend.”

You could choke her as you watch Nanami’s ears turn red. With a giggle and a wink your way, she goes skipping out the door into the wonderful spring air. You sigh, busying yourself with heating up his sandwich. Nanami stands by the counter, the silence filled with the whistle of the latte maker and the hum of the microwave.

He suddenly clears his throat, earning your attention. “Nice day for a date, I suppose,” he awkwardly says. He’s trying hard to make conversation. You giggle to yourself at his adorable awkwardness. “Agreed, but my date will probably be with my dog later. It’ll be beautiful weather for a walk.”

The ding of the bell above the door rings, signaling the arrival of another customer. You look at Yuki and give her a wink, hurrying to finish making Nanami’s drink while she takes care of the customer. “So there are no suitable bachelors lined up for you right now?”

Nanami curiously asks. You blink at him, shocked by the question. Quickly, he tries to backtrack. “I apologize if that’s too personal.”

“No, you’re fine!” you hurriedly reply. “At least you’re not asking me what time I get off…which yes, that has happened before many times.” But if Nanami were to ask you this, you can’t say you’d say no. “Dating just isn’t in the cards for me right now with running a business and all.”

Nanami nods, watching your hands move as you maneuver the foam machine for the top of the latte. “What about you?” you quip, smiling at him. “I’m sure a guy as handsome as you has a girl on his arm.”

You expect Nanami to laugh at this, but he doesn’t. Instead, his frown deepens and you feel like offing yourself. “I-I’m sorry,” you gasp. “That was so inappropriate to say.”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupts you. “That’s very sweet of you.” A light, pink blush lightly coats his cheeks, making your heart flutter. “And no dating for me either, I’m afraid. My life is just too busy and demanding for such.”

He pauses as if thinking and his eyes flick down to your hands. “But if anyone deserves a nice date in such nice weather, I’m sure everyone in here would agree that it’s you.”

You stop and stare at him for a moment, shocked by his sweet words and game. You damn near burn his sandwich from spacing out because of his words, so much so that Yuki has to turn off the microwave because you don’t hear it beeping. You don’t know why Nanami’s compliment stuns you so much. It’s just a compliment!

And then you realize it’s because of how genuine it is. You can tell he means it. You can’t deny the way it affects you as you finish his order. Your hands shake as you wrap up his sandwich and secretly place a sun-shaped sugar cookie into his to-go bag.

You give him a smile that you hope doesn’t wobble as you pass him his order. “Have a nice day, Nanami,” you softly say.

He takes the coffee and bag, his hands lightly brushing against yours. You feel something explode within you from even the slightest touch of your fingers. You search his face, wondering if he felt it too. “Kento,” he corrects you. “You as well, Ms. L/N.”

You nearly melt beneath his gaze. “Y/N,” you correct him.

He gives you a small smile before heading off to work, taking the intoxicating scent of his cologne and your head with him. Yuki is the one who brings you back down to earth, carrying two iced coffees. “Oooh, that was sexy to watch,” she giggles. “Y/N, your man is such a man.”

“He’s not my man,” you grumble, glaring at her. “Quiet and take the drinks to my customers, please.” She just laughs, skipping away while you attempt to gather yourself.

Yuki’s joke unfortunately sticks: “Your man is here, Y/N.” This is what your coworkers began telling you and teasing you with once Nanami started showing up more frequently. He sometimes shows up on his lunch, chatting with people on the phone about orders from his florist shop, but it’s mostly in the mornings on the way to work.

And every single time, you hope that he asks you out. But he never does. But even so, you look forward to seeing him again. So when Yuki, your fellow coworker, and co-baker says it again–“Your man is here again, Y/N”–you turn towards her and react like she just told you that there is a hundred-dollar bill under your shoe or like you’ve got a great ass. The blonde woman smirks from the side counter where she is fixing the pastry displays, not even looking up when the bell above the front door rings.

It is a beautiful day in May, blue skies and sunshine with a pleasant 70-degree breeze. You were happy to start your day this morning because of the weather, but now, it just got even better. Nanami has ditched his coat for a simple yet sexy blue button-down, his zany tie, and slacks.

He looks much better than you in your flour-dusted apron after baking bread before the store opened this morning. “Hi, Kento!” you chirp. “Oh, is this a friend of yours?”

Behind him, he not only carries his briefcase but also an equally handsome, tall man with snow-white hair, blue eyes, and a kind of swagger you know has people’s undies dropping for him. The opposite of Nanami, it appears. Nanami looks like he dreaded you asking. “Unfortunately,” he sighs.

The white-haired stranger moves beside Nanami and puts a hand out for a shake. “Hello, miss,” he greets. “Gojo Satoru, pleased to meet you. I’m a longtime friend of Kento’s. We go waaaaay back.” You look at Nanami who looks like he wants to die. “Nice to meet you,” you laugh, shaking Gojo’s hand.

Gojo gives you another Colgate smile. “Kenny has told me so much about you, you know,” he teasingly says, earning a death stare from Nanami. “Oops, shouldn’t have said that! Here, Ken, you take it from here. That cobbler has my name on it.” He strides over to the glass display of pastries and baked goods, leaving you both alone.

Nanami gives you an apologetic look but you giggle it off. “So how’s it going today? Can I get you anything?” You mentally prepare to get his usual order ready, but he shakes his head and fixes his tie, looking nervous for some reason. “Uh…it’s going well and no, I’m in a hurry, but…I wanted to give you these.”

He then slowly takes his arm from behind his back and reveals a bouquet of the most beautiful and bright red, yellow, and pink tulips you’ve ever seen wrapped in paper. For you.

“Oh!” you gasp, placing a hand on your heart. “Oh.” He hands them to you over the counter, much to the prying eyes of your friends and other customers in the bakery.

“They’re from my shop,” he explains despite you not even asking. “I wasn’t aware what color you liked, but I figured bright ones couldn’t hurt.”

He gives you a sheepish, nervous smile which is quite a sight from such a stoic and calm man. You gently stroke one of the tulips’ soft petals and inhale the sweet perfume of them. You can’t remember the last time a man surprised you with anything, let alone flowers.

You are touched and absolutely floored for him. “I love them, Kento,” you whisper. “Thank you.” You give him a smile which he crookedly returns. “You’re welcome…and I also wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay,” you say because what the fuck else can you say? He leans over the counter, giving you a whiff of his cologne. It has you thinking about him doing very naughty things with you over the counter. “I know you said before that your life makes dating hard and whatnot, and I’ll completely understand if you say no, but…my friend recently mentioned to me that I shouldn’t let good things pass me by, so…”

His eyes shift to Gojo who is sipping on a lavender iced latte and giving him a thumbs up, not even trying to act like he isn’t listening. The florist turns back to you, his cheeks pink. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to have dinner with me one day?” It’s meant to be a statement, but it comes out as a question.

You stand there stunned for a moment, your brain moving slowly. You’ve been waiting for so long for him to ask you out and now he is! Nanami takes your silence for a no and visibly withers. “Forget what I said,” he sighs. “Please. That was so stupid of me. I’m so–”

“Nanami, I’d love to,” you quickly reply, breaking out into a huge, dumb smile that hurts your cheeks. “Is Friday night okay? I get off at 7 PM.” The florist looks shocked and then his face softens with relief and happiness. “Friday at 7 sounds perfect.”

Your stomach flutters with butterflies as you stare at him, clutching his flowers close to your chest. “Did ya ask her yet, Nanami?!” Gojo shouts from the other side of the room.

Nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I have to go take him out back and shoot him. Is it okay if I call the bakery?” You giggle at his joke but then give him a crooked smile, staring at him beneath your lashes. “It would….but I think having my number would be better, don’t you?”

The florist stares at you, shaken by the flirty little line you threw. But it works! You end up getting Nanami’s number instead and putting a little flower next to his contact.

Just so he doesn’t waste your or your staff’s time, Nanami orders an iced latte and gives you a bashful smile when you take it from him. “I’ll see you Friday then.” You nod and watch him leave with Gojo. Mai comes up behind you along with Yuki, both girls having watched everything go down from behind you. “Smooth, Y/N,” Mai whispers. “Very smooth.”

For the rest of the week, you anticipate Friday night for your date with Nanami. You plan your outfit according to the weather, shave your legs and kitty beforehand, and smile at your tulips every morning when you wake up, reminded every morning of what is to come. But then you get a cold. Spring is good for most things, but immunity? Fuck no.

You go in on Friday morning anyway, snotting, sneezing, and your voice scratchy. Yuki and Mai scold you two hours into your shift, snatching your apron from you. “For God’s sake, Y/N, just go home!” Mai snaps. You sound awful! We can handle the bakery without you for a few days until you get better.”

Yuki nods, helping you get into your jacket and passing you an extra box of tissues for the road. “And no sucking faces with the hot blonde man till you get rid of this cold.”

So you go home and immediately hit Nanami up while lounging on your couch in your sweats and slippers, your nose stinging from blowing it so much and your throat congested. This is the first time you’re calling him and you feel nervous. Your heart pounds with every ring from the other line, but when he finally picks up, you just about melt.

“Hello?” He asks, his deep, silky voice filling your ear. “Hi, Nanami, it’s me,” you say, cringing at your sick voice. “I’m so sorry to do this, but you think we can take a rain check on that date? I’m sick.”

“Of course,” he says, sounding concerned. “Just remember to eat and rest up, okay? I recommend lots of herbal tea too.” You feel your heart burst at his advice and worry for you. “You would recommend that,” you giggle, crossing your ankles on the couch. “Any ones I can use for medicine?”

Nanami is happy to tell you. “I don’t think you’d need it, but honeysuckle flowers work for coughs and sore throats.” You nod and lay your head back against the couch, listening to him, falling in love with his voice. “Tell me more,” you whisper. “I-If you’re not busy.”

His light chuckle makes you throb between your legs. For the next twenty minutes before he’s forced to leave due to his duties, he tells you all about plants and flowers which somehow leads to you talking about your favorite things to do, hobbies, foods, etc.

When you finally hang up for the day, all you want is to talk to him again, so you hurry to get better. Nanami checks on you every single day which only makes your attraction to him grow.

When you return back to work a week later, finally free of your cold, you’re welcomed with big hugs and a gift package complete with a coffee mug, fuzzy socks, tea bags, chocolates, and a gift card to your favorite store. “It was my idea!” Todo proudly says.

“Mine too, you big bitch!” Yuji snaps.

“I bought the gift card since these two were broke,” Megumi says.

You laugh at the boys, hugging each of them. “That’s so sweet, guys,” you coo, hugging the gift package close to you. You begin to walk to the back to set your things down in the employee lounge, but you stop. There, on the counter, sits a bouquet of beautiful, vibrant azalea flowers.

You walk up to the flowers, your heart skipping a beat. “Did you guys get these too?” you ask, pointing at the gorgeous flowers. Yuki shakes her head, much to your relief and joy. “No, these were delivered this morning. There was no ID; just a tag that said ‘The Greenhouse on the Hill’.”

Nanami’s flower shop.

You break into the biggest smile you have ever made. That afternoon when you return home with your gorgeous flowers, you set them on the kitchen counter and hit Nanami up, already anticipating the sound of his silky, sexy voice.

Four rings go by before he actually answers. “Yes?” he asks, sounding somewhat irked. Your stomach drops at his shortness. “Hi, Nanami…is this a bad time?”

“Shit,” he sighs apologetically. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t even look at your contact. The shop has been so busy with Mother’s Day coming up and all of these fucking spring weddings, excuse me language.”

“I get it,” you giggle, leaning against the counter. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss though.” And it’s fucking hot. “I got your flowers today. Thank you.”

“I’m just glad they came on time,” he says, relieved. “I was so sure they’d get there later in the week…and you’re welcome. I was hoping it’d make up for us missing our date.”

You gently fiddle with one of the flower petals, biting your bottom lip. “I also wanted to call you about that,” you shyly begin. “Since we didn’t go on our date and I’m still building up my immune system since my cold, why don’t I invite you over to my shop and I can cook you something?”

Nanami is quiet for a moment and you begin to think that you may have suggested something dumb. “You haven’t been to my shop yet,” he states.

Not waiting for an answer, he continues: “Instead of me coming there, why don’t you come here and I can cook you dinner? As you said, it’d be better to stay away from other people since you’re building your immune system back up and…” He stops abruptly. “Sorry,” he chuckles sheepishly. “I’m rambling.”

“It’s okay,” you giggle despite him blushing on the other line. You are just as bashful, feeling warm all over at the thought of Nanami cooking for you and visiting his shop. “I like that idea, Nanami. I’m good with this Friday night if that works for you.”

“Perfect,” he sighs. “I’ll pick you up at the bakery at 7.” You hang up and giddily fix yourself some wine, unwinding after a day of business.

As the week goes on, you wait impatiently for Friday to make its appearance. When it finally does, you hurriedly change in the bathroom at work, do your makeup, and slip into a sundress that makes your skin pop, flats, and a jacket for the pleasant May air. When you step out, Mai and Yuki gape at you.

“Oooh, you look so good, Y/N!” Yuki exclaims. “Blondie ain’t gonna know what hit him! He’ll be dying to eat you instead of–”

“Hush!” you bark. “This is our first date, Yuki. I don’t do that on the first date.” You turn away to apply some more lipgloss to your lips, making your lips look extra plump and appetizing.

“Ugh, not that shit!” Mai huffs, giving you a sharp look. “If you two like each other and are attracted to one another, who cares?! You should see the way he looks at you, Y/N! It’s like he’d bend you over the counter and fuck you if we weren’t here.” She gives your ass a squeeze in your sundress.

“I’m shutting this convo down now,” you firmly say, batting her hand away. “Nanami and I like each other, yes, but we’re taking it slow. I wanna get to know him until we–”

A knock on the door cuts you off and you turn, finding Nanami standing there. The girls laugh among each other as you race to the door. “Both of you, shut up!” you hiss before opening the door. Your date looks absolutely fuck worthy in a black polo shirt, tan slacks, and dress shoes. Very casual yet still sexy. “Hi, Nanami!” you chirp. “M’ready now.”

“Have fun, you two!” Yuki shouts once you fetch your work bag. “Y/N, be home before dark, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

You ignore her and leave with Nanami, stepping out into the warm air. Nanami looks adoringly at you under the street lamps. “You look really nice,” he shyly says. You let the compliment wash over you, flattered. “It’s only a short walk from here,” he says. “Just follow me.”

Greenhouse on the Hill really is a short walk from your bakery. You can’t believe you’ve never seen him around before with how close your places of business are. It is a quaint little white store with planted flowers blooming along its windows and along the steps you walk up with Nanami. In the back is a greenhouse to which he leads you to. He takes a ring of keys out and unlocks the door before flicking on the light.

Your eyes widen at the dozens of flowers, plants, and herbs surrounding the large glass greenhouse. You step into the warm, toasty greenhouse, smiling from ear to ear. “Wow, Nanami!” you gasp in awe. “This is beautiful! You planted all of these yourself?”

The florist closes the door and steps beside you, trying to hide his prideful smile. ”From scratch. I can give you a tour if you want.” He offers you his elbow and you waste no time taking it, his cologne making you dizzy. “Please,” you reply, soft and breathless from him being so close.

For the next twenty minutes, Nanami introduces you to his many flowers and plants, telling you which ones are meant for which holidays and occasions; what colors go best with certain bouquets; what flowers match certain personalities, etc. You try to listen and learn, but you’re so wrapped up in how sexy his voice is that you find yourself thinking of other things.

When he finally realizes how long he’s been talking for and blushes as bright as the roses you stop in front of. “Sorry,” he sighs. “I’m rambling again.” You shake your head, gently stroking his arm. “Don’t be sorry. I like listening to you speak. You’re so passionate about this and it’s obviously something you love.”

Nanami’s gaze shifts and the way he looks at you now feels intimate and tender. It fills you with tingles all the way down to your toes. “What?” You exhale. He looks as if he wants to say something, but he decides not to. “Nothing,” he says. “We should eat before the food wastes. I have wine too.”

He has you wait while he goes back to the shop and comes back minutes later with a blanket that he lays on the floor and a picnic basket. Inside lies two wine glasses, a chilled wine bottle, rice balls, homemade salad, and for dessert, one of your famous crème brûlées from your bakery. “I came in early before you got there,” Nanami explains as you gape down at the cake. “I wanted to surprise you.”

You swear you could kiss him.

The dinner is straight out of a Disney movie. The food is delicious, the wine is refreshing and loosens you both up, and the conversation is even better. You and Nanami sit next to each other on the blanket, shoes off and completely at ease. You chat about your likes and dislikes; your favorite movies and most embarrassing moments. You find that Nanami is very funny is an unintentional way and whenever you joke, you find yourself falling in love with his laugh.

By the time you get to dessert, half of the wine is gone and you’re ready to jump him every time he dips his spoon into the sweet French dessert and wraps his lips around it to slurp up the treat. Once he finishes, he sits back and exhales, full. “Wow,” he sighs. “That has to be the best creme brûlée I have ever had. You have quite the gift, Y/N.”

You make a noise between a grunt and a laugh, modest and shy from such a compliment. “You don’t think so?” he asks, looking honestly hurt by the idea. “You should. You make people happy with what you make them, even if it’s just a simple coffee. You put such love into your business and it shows. Your personality makes it even better. I would bet people keep coming back for that…such as me.”

His eyes are tender and genuine, his smile even more so. You finally cannot fight off the effects of him or the wine anymore and move in closer to him. He watches you, not moving a muscle as you strip off your jacket to reveal the spaghetti straps and your bare shoulders underneath. “Kento,” you softly say. “I really want you to kiss me.”

The florist scoots closer to you until your knees are touching. “And I really want to kiss you,” he replies. His eyes flicker to your mouth, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he gulps.

“So do it,” you whisper, barely speaking; just exhaling. And then, finally, his lips find yours.

His kiss is just as magical, careful, and sweet as he is. He lets you take most of the lead, his hands settling respectfully on your waist. But you want more. Need more. So you make it known by placing a hand on his cheek and deepening the kiss, leading to a full-on passionate, heated makeout session that has your head spinning and toes curling.

Nanami’s lips leave yours to plant feverish kisses on your neck and throat. You tilt your head back, welcoming the kisses and embracing him as you do. He does the same to you, your smaller body encased in his bigger, more muscular one. It feels good—so good that you can quickly feel your panties becoming uncomfortably wet. “Kento,” you whine.

He gets the message and kisses up to your ear. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” he whispers. “I won’t go any further than you want me to. Just tell me what you want, sweetheart.” His teeth lightly nibble at your ear, drawing a soft whine out of you.

“I want you,” you moan. “I want you to fuck me right here.” He pulls away, shocked at the dirty request coming out of you. You place a hand on his thigh, squeezing it gently. “Please,” you add, batting your lashes at him.

Nanami places a hand on your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your bottom lip. “How can I refuse a thing as pretty as you?” He asks himself. You nearly suck him off right there and then.

Minutes later after agonizing foreplay, your spell works on Nanami and you find yourself out of your clothes and only in your panties with the handsome florist on top of you. His soft lips are attached to your nipples, sucking gently yet eagerly at the hardened, brown peaks while you moan and writhe beneath his touch.

His hands idly play with your sides while yours are sunk in his scalp. “Mmm, Nanami,” you moan, your fingers in his blonde hair. “That feels so good. I should’ve known a florist would be so good with his hands, but his mouth too?”

Nanami loves how you sound moaning his name. You can tell by the hard-on you feel pressing against your inner thigh protruding from his slacks. He removes his lips from your nipple, greedy eyes staring up into yours. “You haven’t seen how good I can be yet,” he growls into your ear. “But only if that’s what you want.”

You already know what he wants and you can’t express him how much you want more with your words. You hope your body––your hard nipples, labored breath, and wet pussy pressing against his thigh––say what you can’t.

“Is that what you want?” you softly ask. The blonde shocks you by taking your hand and boldly placing it on his hard dick. You softly gasp at how big he feels in your hand, the shaft thick and pulsing in your palm. “What do you think?” He whispers, obvious, molten lust in his eyes.

That is all you need to hear. Immediately, you grab him and kiss him passionately, emitting porn-worthy moans from his lips that travel into yours. I want your clothes off too,” you softly exhale, earning an agreeable groan from the blonde. Your hands yank and snatch at his clothes, helping him out of his shirt and pants. You work together to strip him, laughing as you do and sharing heated kisses.

Nanami is truly a sight to behold naked. He is a beefcake but he isn’t a gym rat. His arms are big and toned, perfect for wrapping you up in. His pectorals are juicy and squeezeable, sinewy with a sexy cluster of blonde chest hair that matches his toned lower stomach that you want to lick and kiss. You do so, kissing up his luscious physique while he gives you encouraging moans and sighs like a touch-starved man.

His lower half is just as impressive: a firm ass, toned thighs and legs that could crush some skulls, and a V-line that traces down to the promised land. You ogle at his hard cock print in his briefs, your hand moving to grab it. Nanami’s bottom lip catches between his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your warm hand on his shaft.

“I want somethin’ else to,” you whisper. He raises a questionable brow. “Can we 69?” You suggest, running one hand up his chest while the other palms his dick. The florist opens his eyes and gives you a shocked look like you suggested you do some crazy BDSM shit on the first date.

Before you can take a breath, Nanami is lying down on his back and gripping your hips to force you on top of him. You squeal with laughter, delighted by his eagerness and his strength. “I’ll take that as a yes!” You laugh as you place your hands on his chest and situate yourself.

You look back at him, finding his lustful eyes peering up at you from behind. “I’m not much of a man of words as I’m sure you know, darling,” he says. “I’m better with actions.” He then pulls your panties to the side and proceeds to slurp you up like you’re the first meal he’s had all day.

“Oh, Kento, fuck!” You moan, unable to hold anything back. You grind your ass back into him as his lips and tongue dance across your clit and sodden wet pussy, taking his time getting to know you. “I thought you said you wanted to 69,” he murmurs, his voice slightly muffled by your cunt.

His cock switches impatiently in his briefs and you giggle. “Yes, sir,” you hum, already working to push his briefs down his waist. His cock pops out from its trap and gently slaps against his stomach, hard, thick, and veiny. You could stare at it all night, but all you want to do now is touch and taste it. So you wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke, pump, slurp, and spit to your heart’s content.

Nanami grinds his hips up into your touch as you pump him in time with your mouth, enveloping him with your lips and tongue. You encourage him to do so, moaning out tiny “mmm-hmm”s while you eagerly bob your head, sending vibrations throughout his shaft that travel up his body. “Shit, darling,” he gasps. “That feels fuckin’ amazing.”

Hearing him be so vulgar makes you gush into his mouth, excited by this calm man losing his shit for you. You don’t blame him. Seeing your pretty nails and brown skin contrast with his complexion while your fingers stretch around his cock shiny with your spit is doing things to you too. “Yeah?” You coo. “You like fuckin’ my throat, baby boy?”

You put it on him once again, gagging all over his dick much to his enjoyment. “God!” he gasps, his toes curling and his hands gripping your ass. “That’s just not fair.”

He lets his actions elaborate on that instead of his words, going back to slurping down your pussy and distracting you from your work. Feeling your body shake and shudder makes him chuckle, proud of his skills.

After a couple of minutes of enjoying this position, Nanami gladly spending time between your soft thighs and you giving him as much neck as he can take, you finally can’t take anymore of it. You throw in the towel and look back at him, mouth coated in spit. “I need you, Kento,” you whine. “I need you to fuck me please!”

You feel his cock twitch at your plea. He doesn’t hesitant to remove himself from your pussy, instead giving you all of his attention. “How do you want it, darling?” he asks. “I’ll give it to you however you want.”

You choose to be on your back first. Nanami obliges and helps you off of him to lay on the blanket. You wrap your arms around him, kissing him as he hikes your legs up around his waist. And gently, gently, places himself inside of you. The tiny act of his head sliding inside of you is enough to emit a gasp from the both of you. His eyes meet yours, concern in them.

Though it is a stretch after not being with anyone for a while, it feels good and you let him know by grinding your hips up into him. His handsome face screws up like he’s in pain, his lips parting on a silent moan. “More,” you whisper. “Give me more, Kento.”

How can he possibly deny you? Placing his hands on either side of you, he leans down onto his elbows and begins to slowly rock his hips into you, driving his cock into you inch by inch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as you take him, watching you react to his thick cock filling you up. “Look at me,” he demands. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

You do so, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on him despite the blinding pleasure you feel when he really begins to fuck you. He grips your hips to bring you closer to him as he drives himself into you, plunging his cock in and out, in and out. Moans and gasps leave your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders and your heels pressed into his ass.

The more he fucks you, the more your pussy gushes for him. He must feel what you’re feeling too because his hips begin to stutter and his cock grows harder inside of you. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he huffs, his last threads of self-control leaving him. “But I can’t help but want to fuck you harder. You look too goddamn perfect bouncing on my cock like this.”

The use of those lewd, filthy words coming from calm, cool and collected Nanami nearly has you gushing. “Do it then,” you urge. “Be rough with me, Kento. It’s okay.” You smile up at him, cupping his handsome face in your hands. “I trust you.”

That’s enough to break him. Pressing a fierce kiss to your lips, he looks you dead in the eyes and slowly, agonizingly rolls his hips down into yours. “Tell me how you want it,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me how you want me to take this pussy.”

You tell him just that and he gently pulls out of you before helping you onto your wobbly hands and knees. “Face down, baby,” he orders, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I want you exactly like this.” You do as he desires, pressing your face against the blanket while your ass is tooted up in the air.

Nanami doesn’t hesitant to slide home inside you once more and grips your hips as he begins to nail your shit…and I mean, nail it. The man hits that spot again and again, sending you careening into bliss over and over again, your pussy gushing and shuddering around his merciless, thick cock.

“God, Kento, yes!” You whine. “Yes, give it to me just like that! Fuck yes, yes, yes!” Your moans mix with his, bouncing off of the greenhouse walls and creating a symphony of pleasure that only the flowers and plants are privy to.

“You like it like this, darling?” He pants from behind you. “You like gettin’ fucked just like this?” You nod wordlessly into the blanket, your hands gripping the fabric while he uses your ass as leverage to pull himself forward again and again, pistoning himself inside you. You’ve never been fucked like this before: so eagerly and greedily. He needs this just as much as you do.

The fact that he wants you just as much as you want him just about makes you break. You can feel that knot in your core about to snap, your pussy shuddering and fluttering around his pistoning cock. “N-Nanami,” you whimper. “Baby, I’m gonna cum soon. Y-You’ve gotta slow down!”

“Why?” Nanami pants. “Why slow down when I’m about to make such a pretty pussy cum all over me?” He does slow down enough to lean down to whisper in your ear. “I want you close to him,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. “I want to feel you when you cum.”

You smile, delirious with the pleasure but coherent enough to want the same thing. He pulls you flush against him, his front against your back, and begins to fuck you from behind again. His moans and grunts fill your ear while yours bounce off the walls the more intensely he fucks you, one hand on your breast and the other on your ass. “Play with that clit,” he demands. “I want you to cum with me.”

You whimper and whine as you do as he says, your fingers frantically rubbing your clit in time with his pounding. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to rise along with his. Your mouth falls open and you toss your head back, thrown into the throes of pleasure. “Kento!” You moan. “Fuck, I’m cumming!”

“Me too,” he grunts, gripping you as close to him as you possibly can be. “Cum with me, darling! Give it to me!”

The desperate grunt he lets out as his own end nears throws you over the edge. You loop an arm back around his neck to pull him closer as you finally cum all over his cock. His own orgasm is triggered and he cums right after you, his body tensing as his orgasm zips through him.

Moans of your release mingle in the air as you both climax, but then are silenced as you share a heated, passionate kiss with tongues included. Your pussy spasms against his cock, twitching and gripping him tightly until your orgasm finally fades, leaving you with a satisfied, beaming grin on your face.

Once your high fades, Nanami pulls out of you with a soft moan, releases you, and slowly lays beside you on the blanket. You cradle one another, arms and legs loosely tangled with one another as you stare up at the glass greenhouse ceiling. You look up at Nanami, your eyes drinking in his body coated in sweat and the afterglow.

You just had sex with a man on the first date. You find yourself not regretting it at all. Nanami, catching you looking at him, turns to you and gives you a crooked smile.

“What a way to end a first date,” he breathlessly chuckles.

You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to his knuckles. “And start many more,” you add, smiling up at him. The smile he gives you is one that makes you so happy that you met him and he presses a soft kiss to your hand as well. “Definitely.”

THE END.

#nanami x y/n #nanami x fem!reader #daddy nanami #nanami x you #nanami x black!reader #nanami x black y/n #jjk smut #black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #black writers #my fic shit

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allieisacrybaby · 11 months

Text

Summer Nights Like This

Julien Baker x Fem!Reader

no warnings, just pure summery Julien Baker fluff :)

The sun slowly descended across the horizon, the birds chirped happily, and the breeze blew cooly across your face, carrying the smell of freshly mown grass and citronella. It was the perfect summer evening. You were perched on the back porch bed swing in your Nashville home that you shared with your partner Julien. You were reading your book in utter bliss when the sound of the sliding glass door opening and closing redirected your attention from the fantasy in your hands to the woman approaching you.

“Hey punk, how’s your book?” Julien asked, cozying up on the bed swing next to you. Sticking your finger in the book to not lose your place and reply,

“So far, so good. I’ve made quite the dent in it today.”

“That’s awesome.” she smiles, but her eyes tell a different story.

“What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you much today.” you ask. JB sighs, slumping her shoulders forward. That was your cue. You find your bookmark, stick it between the pages, and tuck it next to you, giving her your undivided attention. JB sees your shift in awareness and pulls your dangling legs from the edge of the bed swing and into her lap, getting extra comfortable. Once she’s situated, she begins,

“I have this vision, but I just can’t seem to recreate it. I can hear it so clearly in my head, but I just can’t find a way to put it into reality. I’ve spent all day mixing different instruments and chords together, and I just cannot get it right for the life of me. It’s been absolutely exhausting and frustrating.”

“I’m sorry, love. I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be. How about you call it a day and spend the rest of the evening out here with me? We can put on some music, make dinner, and sit out here and enjoy this beautiful summer evening. How does that sound?” you suggest.

“Really? Princess, that would be amazing.” JB smiles, you can see her body relax, and she gives you that big ‘ole cheesy grin.

“Of course! Ok, here’s the game plan. You’ll connect to the Bluetooth speakers out here and play whatever you want and just relax, and I’ll get to work making dinner inside. Oh! Do you have any requests for dinner? We have a lot of stuff because we went grocery shopping yesterday, so I can whip up whatever you want.”

“I could really go for some pesto pasta.” she sheepishly responds.

“Coming right up!” you grin, popping up from your spot on the swing. Before you can get far, Jay grabs your wrist and pulls you down for a kiss. It’s sweet, tender, and warm, just like her. You blush deeply and scurry off to get dinner started.

*****

Entranced in preparing the pasta and the song's melody playing throughout the house speaker system, you don’t register the sliding glass door opening and closing or the soft thump of Blundstone boots across the hardwood floor. You only register that another person has entered the kitchen when a pair of sun-warmed tattooed arms wrap around your waist.

“What are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be outside relaxing.” you chastise sweetly.

“I got lonely. I missed my girl.” Julien smiles, resting the side of her cheek on your back, effectively smooshing herself into you.

“Well, dinner is almost ready. I just need to plate this after mixing the pesto and tomatoes into the pasta. If you miss me that much, you can sit at the island and watch, but I can’t finish dinner if you’re wrapped around my waist, baby.”

“Fine, but we're eating dinner on the bed swing so you can sit in my lap.”

“Deal.” you agree. She unravels her arms from around your waist and gently kisses behind your ear before making her way to a barstool.

After plating the pasta and pouring drinks, you and JB return back outside, plopping down onto the bed swing, plates of pasta in hand. JB sits her plate down to the side and makes grabby hands in your direction. You know immediately what she wants, and you shake your head with a goofy grin and scootch your way into her lap.

Taking in the countryside before you, the sun had finally set, and what was left was an orangy hue spreading a precious glow just above the rolling planes of land. Absolutely breathtaking.

“I’m so glad this is our home.” you sigh out in gratitude, leaning into Julien’s sternum.

“I mean, yeah, but this house isn’t really my home, though,”

Furrowing your brows in confusion, she shakes her head and continues,

“You’re my home. I could be anywhere in this world, and the minute you’re there with me, in my arms, I’m home.”

“JB, that is the cheesiest, sweetest thing you’ve ever said. You’re such a sap.” you smile, tears slowly welling in your eyes.

“It’s true. No house could ever replace the feeling of comfort you bring me.”

“Jay, Stop it. I’m gonna cry, and I haven’t eaten my food yet.”

“I’m sorry, doll, I’m sorry. Let’s eat this delicious food my little chef has so kindly cooked up.”

Dinner consisted of little talking, many satisfied groans of appreciation for a good meal, and a couple of stolen kisses. By the time you’d finished eating, the sun had been replaced by the moon, the chirping birds were replaced with chirping crickets, and a smattering of stars had appeared across the midnight-black sky.

“That was delicious, baby, thank you.”

“Of course. I’m always happy to take care of you when you’ve had a rough day.” you smile, snuggling into her side.

A particularly chilly breeze rolled over the two of you. JB grabbed the tattered quilt that lay over the back of the swing and covered the two of you up.

“I could stay out here forever.” You sighed, nuzzling your nose into Julien’s neck. Wrapping an arm around your back and pulling you closer to her side, she smiled down at your sleepy face.

“Me too, doll, me too.”

#allie writes?????#julien baker blurb #julien baker fanfic #julien baker fanfiction #julien baker x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #boygenius #boygenius fanfic #boygenius fanfiction

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whats-her-quirk · 2 years

Text

(with or without) my best intentions

pairing: tenya iida x fem!reader

rating: explicit (18+)

tags: office romance, coworkers to friends with benefits to lovers, quirkless modern AU, romcom vibes and cheesiness

warnings: stress and anxiety, alcohol, consensual drunk sex, public sex, wall sex (Tenya lifts reader), brief pregnancy scare, car sex, tit sucking, secret hookups, teasing, shoe dangling, lingerie, oral sex, pining, fluffy smut, one (1) use of ‘sir’ as a pet name, tenya says ‘good girl,’ a wedding but not ours, minor character ships

word count: 20k

a/n: it's finally here! This is my piece for the @mybigbangacademia

art from @kaexiao - coming soon!

♪ fuck and run - surfer blood

When Tenya is running, air hot in his lungs as he paces himself to his music, he feels weightless. He’s curated his playlists by beats per minute, the rhythmic tapping of his shoes against the pavement syncing up as he achieves cardio zen. When it’s just him and the road—he’ll use a treadmill in the winter, but he’s always preferred to run outside as much as possible—his mind tends to finally, blessedly, switch off.

He wipes a bead of sweat from under the bridge of his glasses as he turns back onto his street for the final stretch of his jog. The exercise is second nature at this point; he’s been running since he was a hyperactive little kid that his parents signed up for cross-country. His stamina and endurance are only improving with age and the magic of a decent weight-training regimen. For all intents and purposes, he’s hitting his late twenties right in stride.

So why now, when he’s in the best shape of his life, more comfortable with himself as a person than he’s ever been, and working his way up to middle management at the office, does Tenya feel like he’s being dragged into a black hole that’s trying to swallow him alive? Before, his morning run was enough to clear his head and get him through the day, and lifting and resistance bands at night would help stave off the twisting, anxious feelings again until he fell into bed, dead tired and lost to the world.

But the past few weeks, all he’s done is toss and turn, barely hitting REM sleep before his alarm is going off and he’s lacing up his tennis shoes to do it all over again. He can’t focus at work; he can’t relax at home. He’s never been this stressed out in his life, and he can’t seem to figure out why.

—

Izuku calls Tenya while he’s on his way to work. Tenya answers with the Bluetooth in his steering wheel, which he doesn’t particularly like to do because it takes a bit of his focus off the road. However, he knows that his friend is in a bit of a rough patch, and an ignored call might do more harm than good for both of them.

“Did you see?” Izuku asks with a sniffle and absolutely no context.

“See what?”

“They went Facebook official. That means it’s for real, for real.” Izuku groans, and Tenya hears something that sounds distinctly like his friend’s head hitting a table. That’s all the context Tenya needs.

Izuku has been Tenya’s best friend since middle school, and for almost as many years, he’s been in love with Uraraka. While he had tried a few different times to show her how he felt, he refused to come right out and confess, for fear of rejection. Now he’s paying the price—according to mutual friends, she’s been seeing Bakugou for nearly two months. Izuku has been an absolute wreck since he found out, and now, apparently, they’ve changed their status to ‘in a relationship.’

“I’m sorry, Midoriya. I know how much you care about her.” Tenya can’t think of anything more comforting to say as he turns into the parking deck of the office building.

“I feel like someone ripped my heart out of my body and stomped on it,” Izuku sighs. “And why did it have to be him?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing personal.” Tenya can imagine how much it stings, losing the person of your dreams to your sworn rival turned frenemy—as convoluted as it sounds. He wants to be sympathetic, really. But in all honesty, Izuku never made a move when he had the chance, so he should have seen something like this coming. She wasn’t bound to stay single forever.

Tenya pulls into his parking spot, right on time to be five minutes early. After reassuring his friend that he is not, in fact, ‘actually dying’ and promising to meet up after work, he’s able to get Izuku to end the call. With his briefcase in hand, he heads for the walkway that leads inside the building.

In the six years since Tenya started working at Plus Ultra, the company has grown and changed considerably, but one thing he can always count on. When he steps in the front door, Kaminari greets him brightly from the reception desk. “Hey there, handsome. Happy Monday!”

“Good morning.” Tenya knows not to take Kaminari’s flirtatiousness seriously—he talks to everyone like that, and it’s one of the reasons he makes such a good receptionist. In fact, his organization skills are so dismal at times, Tenya has to think his friendly, easygoing energy is the only thing keeping him employed.

Back when they were hired, Tenya and Kaminari were two of about twenty employees. Now the company employs nearly fifty people, plus freelancers. What was once a small startup selling cutting-edge exercise and physical therapy equipment to gyms and health centers around the country is now a leader in fitness product design and customized equipment distribution. While Tenya likes to think that it was his business degree and work portfolio that earned him his job, he’s fairly certain it didn’t hurt that he’s a bit of a health and fitness nut himself.

When Tenya looks up from wiping his feet on the rug, he notices he’s not the only one at reception. You’re bent over the front of Kaminari’s desk, your purse still slung across your body and your feet hovering off the floor and out of your shoes. You’re craning your neck to see Kaminari’s computer screen—why you didn’t just walk around the desk, Tenya couldn’t guess. All he knows is he has to force his eyes away from the slit in the back of your pencil skirt, for the sake of his dignity and yours.

He clears his throat before speaking your name, offering you a polite, “Good morning,” as well. While he’s not quite sure if he would call you a close friend, you’re certainly in his circle of ‘work friends.’ You haven’t been at the company as long as he has, but the two of you have worked together for years—you in marketing, him in the quality department.

“Hey, Iida.” You drop back to the floor, bare feet sliding back into your little pointed loafers. “Wanna come with us to lunch today? We’re gonna go to the deli, I think.” You motion to Kaminari with your hand as you extend the invitation.

Tenya adjusts his tie as he rounds the corner toward his department. “Sure, just send me a message on IM when you want to leave.” For better or worse, the office uses messaging software that’s equally as useful for sending quick notes that aren’t worth a full email as it is for sending memes from across the room.

It’s still early, so Tenya doesn’t run into anyone else on his way to his cubicle. He decides he’ll wait to grab a coffee before the weekly department meeting, opting to crack open his email first instead. After starting out as an account manager, working directly to meet client needs, Tenya was quickly transferred to quality assurance, where the work is more internal and process-driven. It’s his job to make sure that design, manufacturing, and sales are running as efficiently as possible. In practice, it’s mostly spreadsheets and data, but Tenya takes great pride in every improvement he’s been able to help coordinate.

Coworkers trickle in, settling in their cubicles as Tenya works his way through several of the emails that he got over the weekend. He’s so focused on getting the simple inquiries taken care of that he doesn’t notice the time until Shouto appears in his doorway. “You coming?”

“Yep.” Leaving his email where it is, Tenya tucks a yellow legal pad under his arm and a pen in the pocket of his vest. He’d wear a blazer if it didn’t get so hot in the building during the summer. For the next few months, to keep from sweating through his shirts every day, he’ll stick with a vest and tie, rolling up his shirtsleeves when he wants to cool down.

At the doorway, Shouto hands him one of the two paper coffee cups he’s holding, and they head to the conference room. “Thanks, I was just about to get my own.” Tenya takes a long, blissful sip of his coffee—one cream, Shouto knows.

Shouto yawns, and Tenya notices the dark circle rimming his unscarred eye. “No problem. If you didn’t want it, I would have just drank both.”

“Long night?” Tenya asks, though he thinks he knows the answer.

“Long weekend,” Shouto sighs. “When I wasn’t fighting with my dad about the guest list, I was begging Hanta to help me choose the flowers, the napkins—anything. It’s like pulling teeth with him and I don’t know why.”

The two of them pass the rows of cubicles separated by low partitions until they reach the glass door of the conference room. Shouto slumps into a seat just inside the door, so Tenya sits beside him. “Maybe he’s just feeling overwhelmed with the wedding stuff. It seems like you both are.”

After eight years together, Shouto finally asked Hanta to marry him, and from Tenya’s point of view, his friend has been stressed out of his mind ever since. Hanta has always been so laid back, practically the opposite of Shouto. While Hanta’s generally aloof disposition probably doesn’t help matters, Tenya suspects more of the trouble has to do with Shouto’s family. The Todorokis are well-known in the area—Shouto’s father is a high-ranking government official, and his sister was recently elected to city council. One of his brothers is a professional athlete; the other was publicly disgraced in a hastily hushed scandal a few years back. Even with an estranged mother that has only recently come back into the picture, somehow Shouto has always been the black sheep of the family. And it sounds like his father sees this wedding as more of a publicity stunt than anything else.

“Overwhelmed doesn’t even begin to cover it,” says Shouto. “Sometimes I wish we could just elope and be done with it.”

“Why don’t you?” Tenya asks, flipping over to a fresh sheet of paper on his legal pad. Their coworkers filter into the room one by one, slowly filling the seats around them at the long conference table.

“My father would disown me faster than he did Touya.” Shouto polishes off his coffee with one long sip. “Plus, Hanta deserves a perfect day if he’s going to be stuck with me for the rest of his life.”

“Don’t say that,” Tenya scolds as gently as he can. “You’ve always been a good partner to him. Maybe you should just be honest about needing his help.”

Shouto shrugs as their boss, Sasaki, takes a seat at the head of the table. “Guess so.”

The quality department holds an all-hands meeting first thing on Monday mornings—a necessary evil that helps address the priorities for the week. As VP of the company and head of the quality department, Sasaki leads the meeting in his usual droll tone. He cracks a few jokes about last week’s audits that mostly fall flat to the tired, Monday energy in the room, but at least he tries. Just before the meeting wraps up, Toshinori, the company’s founder and CEO, pops his head in to say good morning and to wish the team a good week. “I’ll be leaving for a rock climbing trip with some potential investors on Thursday,” he says brightly, “so try not to have too much fun while I’m gone!”

Sasaki rubs his temples with the pads of his fingers. “I’ll be covering his duties in his absence, so if you need me Thursday or Friday, no you don’t. Ok, dismissed.”

Papers and laptops shuffle as people file out of the room, some eager and some reluctant to get on with the rest of their mornings. Shouto nudges Tenya’s elbow. “I’m gonna get another coffee. Want one?”

“I’ll come with you,” Tenya offers, but before he can follow Shouto out the door, Sasaki’s voice rings from across the room.

“Iida, could you stay back a minute?”

“Of course.” Tenya waves to Shouto as he makes his exit, then approaches Sasaki at the front of the room. While he’s worked fairly closely with Sasaki the past few years, their relationship is formal, professional perhaps to a fault. When his boss wants to chat, it usually means extra work for Tenya. He tries not to sound too apathetic. “Is there something wrong?”

Sasaki straightens his stack of papers and tucks multiple pens between his fingers before he answers. “Actually, no. Not this time, anyway.” Tenya cracks a smile at his dry humor. Sasaki merely clears his throat. “I won’t keep you in suspense. The company is growing, and as Toshinori takes on more of the public relations work I loathe, my workload is getting out of control.”

“How can I help?”

“I’ll be stepping away from leading the quality department, and we’re creating a Quality Manager role to take over those responsibilities. Would you like to be considered for the position?”

Tenya speaks before he thinks. “Yes, absolutely.”

Sasaki nods. “Excellent. I’ll get back to you with more details soon, after we talk it over with a few other people.”

Tenya’s own words sit heavily in his own gut for the rest of the morning. The chance to move up in the company—that’s what everyone wants, right? He would be insane to turn down the opportunity for a promotion that probably comes with more perks and a bigger paycheck. He knows that. But even when he’s sitting in the deli down the street at lunch, picking at his salad, he can’t bring himself to be excited about the prospect of it.

“You ok, Iida? You’re white as a sheet.” Shaken—there he was, zoning out again—Tenya looks up from his hands to find your eyes on him, teasing but with a hint of genuine concern behind them.

Kaminari, his mouth full of sweet potato fries, points at Tenya with his fork. “You heard about the promotion, didn’t you?”

“What promotion?” Shouto tagged along for lunch, but he’s mostly been texting since you sat down. Tenya wasn’t sure he was even listening to the conversation.

“How do you know about that?” Tenya asks Kaminari, who leans dramatically over the table to answer while stealing one of Tenya’s fries.

“Honey, I am the eyes and ears of this place. If there’s something going on, I know about it.”

You shove Kaminari by the shoulder. “Shut up. You didn’t even know that Hatsume girl from IT asked Iida out until I told you, and everybody knew about that.”

“Please don’t remind me.” Even though it happened years ago, Tenya still cringes thinking about how loudly Hatsume had propositioned him, right after he had walked out of the bathroom, no less. To make things worse, he’d been so surprised he could only stammer out an uneven yes? that sounded like its own question. The date had gone horribly; he’s avoided calling IT for anything ever since.

“I didn’t mean personal stuff,” says Kaminari. “When it comes to business stuff, I hear what people are talking about. And Iida might be the new Quality Manager.”

Hearing the title again makes Tenya’s stomach flip, but he can’t stop from smiling when you grab his arm and squeal, “Really? That’s so exciting!” It’s stupid, but he thinks it’s really cute how energetic you are.

“Nice.” Shouto puts down his phone and taps his fist against Tenya’s shoulder in congratulations.

“Thank you both, but I don’t have the job yet.” Tenya fidgets with his silverware, aligning the fork and knife with his napkin and then his plate. There’s something he’s been wondering all afternoon. “Sasaki made it sound like they were considering others too. Kaminari, you wouldn’t happen to know…”

“Oh, I know. Or at least, I know of one. I was dropping off some mail and heard Sasaki talking to Monoma in his office. Frankly I don’t even think he’s trying to keep any of this a secret because the door was wide open.”

Tenya rolls his eyes. Of course he’s up against Monoma—that brown-noser.

“He hasn’t said anything to me. Guess that means I’m not in the running,” Shouto hums.

The color rushes out of Kaminari’s face. “Oh, shit. Sorry, Todoroki. I didn’t mean to—”

Shouto stops him and shrugs. “It’s fine. Honestly, I wouldn’t want all that responsibility anyway. I have enough to worry about.” Tenya could honestly say the same thing, but before he can comment, you touch his arm again and his mouth dries up.

“Don’t worry. Even though I honestly have no idea what you actually do all day, I know you work harder than just about everyone. No offense, Todoroki.”

Shouto’s absorbed in his phone again. “None taken. I work smarter, not harder.”

“Yeah Iida, lighten up!” Tenya can tell by his big, goofy grin that Kaminari doesn’t mean anything by it. He has no way of knowing how Tenya’s been trapped in his head recently, even before this promotion was thrown into the mix. Even if he’s always been a little high-strung, Tenya knows himself, and if he could relax, even a little bit, he would have done it a long time ago.

—

After waking up to more than a dozen missed texts from various times over the night, Tenya invites Midoriya to come to the gym with him before work. “We’ll get coffee after, my treat,” he tempts over the phone, and reluctantly, Midoriya agrees.

Tenya swings by Midoriya’s tailor shop to pick him up—apparently, he hadn’t gone home last night. His friend is mostly quiet on the way to the gym, heaving restless sighs out the window every few minutes. Frankly, he looks like a wreck, and he clearly hasn’t slept all night. If nothing else, Tenya hopes that a workout will tire Midoriya out enough that he can at least get a little rest.

They part ways after Tenya checks them in at the front desk. Midoriya heads for the lifting machines while Tenya goes up to the second floor to run on the indoor track. Earbuds in, he starts with some stretching, then sets off on a warm-up lap before picking up his speed. He’s groggy this morning, and three miles later, Tenya still doesn’t feel any more awake. He switches to the rowing machine for the last twenty minutes before he needs to get in the shower, but even when he’s pouring sweat, he never gets that rush of endorphins he’s looking for. He just feels tired.

After a brisk shower, Tenya towel dries his hair as best he can and gets changed into his work clothes. Midoriya is waiting on a bench near the entrance, and they walk to the cafe a few doors down where Tenya buys coffee, as promised, and croissants, as a bonus. But when it comes to comforting his friend, Tenya has no idea what to say.

It’s not at all that he doesn’t care. While Midoriya slowly opens up, lamenting his feelings for Uraraka and his regrets about not confessing to her sooner, Tenya listens and empathizes as best he can. It’s clear from his tearfulness that Midoriya needs to get his feelings off his chest, but Tenya can’t come up with any legitimate condolences beyond, “I see,” and, “I’m sorry.”

“I really love her, I’m sure of it,” says Midoriya. “But maybe deep down, the reason I waited so long was because I could tell she didn’t feel the same. I’ve just been putting off the inevitable.” With a sigh, he slowly seems to come to grips with his situation—that it’s been a long time coming. Tenya is glad he could help, but at the same time, seeing his best friend like this confirms that he’s doing the right thing by staying single right now.

Dating someone—even pining after someone—is too stressful for the state of mind he’s been stuck in. There’s too much to worry about when someone else is thrown in the mix. He can barely deal with himself right now. He doesn’t envy Shouto either—he’s in a long-term, committed relationship, and he’s still stressed out by it. So that settles it. Tenya will get out of this slump he’s in by going on the same way he has for the past two years: on his own.

–

The work day is a long one. Because of Toshinori’s absence at the end of the week, Tenya steps up to take some work off of Sasaki’s plate, including fixing some reports littered with egregious mistakes that are painstaking to find and correct. It’s a great chance to show off his work ethic in light of the promotion, but that doesn’t make it any less taxing on his already frazzled mind. By 4:30, he’s running on fumes, but then you arrive at his desk.

“Hey, Iida. Do you have plans tonight?” There’s a glint in your eye—this is more than small talk.

Tenya hesitates, but answers, “Not really. Why?” Maybe you just need a ride home, he thinks. Or maybe you want him to take a look at some marketing materials you’re working on. It’s happened before. He hopes it’s the former, but he’s wrong on both counts.

You rock back and forth on your feet, hands clasped casually behind your back. “Oh good. Then you can come to happy hour with us.”

Tenya adjusts his glasses, as if that would help ensure he heard you correctly. “On a Tuesday?” He draws the words out slowly before realizing that he sounds incredibly judgmental. “I don’t usually drink during the week,” he clarifies.

That makes you smile. “Somehow, I thought you might say that.”

You stroll into his cubicle and lean on his desk. It’s the same way you were bent over the reception desk the day before, hips pushed back and elbows tucked into your sides. He’s sitting beside you, but he can imagine the way your skirt is riding up your legs. He wonders if you do this on purpose, if you want people to look, or if it’s completely subconscious. He clears his throat, ashamed of himself for thinking of you that way. It’s not only rude, but completely inappropriate for a coworker.

“We can tell you’re stressed about the promotion. Just come with us to the bar and put it out of your mind for a bit.” Tenya can hear the fibers of your pantyhose humming as you rub one leg against the other. It’s a sound he’s never registered before—well, not when it wasn’t his own rough hands dragging against someone else’s lace-covered thigh.

Tenya takes a sip from his water bottle to clear his husky throat before he replies. “Who is ‘we’?”

Fortunately, you stand up straight again, and he can get his head back on straight. “Me, Denki, Jirou, Shinsou. Todoroki says he’s gonna pick Sero up on the way. A few others might stop by for a while.”

Tenya rubs his temples. Though it’s not usually in his nature, he can’t deny that a drink sounds good after the day he’s had. And what could one or two Long Island iced teas hurt?

“All right. I’ll join you for a little while. I probably won’t stay too late though.” He means it when he says it. But after seeing you smile back at him, after splitting a cab and squeezing into a corner booth at the bar, after seeing Denki flirt with both Jirou and Shinsou, after watching Shouto kiss his fiance over and over again, after another cocktail, and another, and another—suddenly it’s eleven PM and Tenya doesn’t want to go home if he’s going to be all alone.

So because he can’t stand to watch the couples anymore, he turns his attention to you. You’ve taken off the little cap-sleeve jacket you were wearing at the office, baring your shoulders along with a neckline that’s just a little too low to be work-appropriate in the first place. When you lean forward over the table to take a sip from your straw or laugh at some ridiculous joke Denki made, your breasts are pushed up and together—a sight that makes Tenya’s mouth water. Your face warms with every half-price drink you order, your hair falling out of place, your smile a little looser as the night wears on.

He’s thought about you before. Of course he has. Not only are you beautiful, but you’re quick, witty, and unbelievably kind to others. Tenya rarely hears you talk about yourself. You always seem more interested in everybody else’s ideas, their successes, even their struggles. He’s fairly certain it was all your idea to get a group together to go out tonight—probably entirely for his own benefit. But surely you’d do the same for anybody.

So what’s he thinking? While everyone else is talking and laughing and having a good time, why is he bothering to stare at you like he’s going to do anything about it? He’s known for months, maybe even years, that he doesn’t want to get involved with anybody. But fuck, what he really wants right now is a dark corner and a warm body. And if it should be anybody, his buzzed brain reasons, why not you—someone he actually likes?

No, he corrects himself. Dating is messy. Casual sex is messier. He doesn’t want that, and he needs to remember it. If he’s so damn horny, he can take care of himself after he gets a ride home, and that’s the end of it.

Minutes pass in a haze as he finishes another drink. Shouto bumps his shoulder every time he moves to put his arm around Hanta before he’s peeled away again, so Tenya stands up. He rolls his shoulders, the vinyl booth doing nothing to support his back that’s still a little sore from the rowing machine. He cracks his neck to one side and then the other, and when he looks up again, he finds you with your eyes locked on him.

Blinking hard, Tenya watches as you literally climb up onto your seat and then over the goddamn table to get to him while the others scream and laugh. He reaches a hand out as your ankle wobbles in your high heel, catching you when you stumble into his chest on your way back down to the floor. You laugh, and it makes him laugh.

“You wanna go help me get a round of shots?” you ask, words not exactly slurring but definitely starting to meld. He agrees, and through no will of his own, his palm creeps to your lower back as he follows you toward the bar.

You turn a corner, putting a wall between the two of you and your friends at the table. Tenya actually runs into you, but it’s because you stop walking to spin into him, bracing yourself on his chest and shoulders again. “I saw you looking at me,” you admit point-blank.

“I’m sorry.” The thought doesn’t occur to him to deny it. The way you’re leaning your weight into him presses your chest against him, and if he’s not careful, he’s going to get hard pretty quickly.

You shake your head. “Don’t be. Means I’ve been looking at you too.” Your hands climb his tie up to his throat. “Do you wanna kiss me?”

Heat rushes over him, and he takes you by the waist, pulling you closer. “I want to do far more than just kiss you right now.” He’s hardly gotten the words out before you wrap your arms around his neck and capture his lips with your own.

He should stop you, the rational part of Tenya thinks, as he kisses you back. But he doesn’t want to stop. Kissing you lights up parts of his brain that have gone dark for months, maybe longer. Sweet dopamine bursts through the walls he’s built up inside, rushing to his head the same way a runner’s high used to. Now that he’s had a taste, he can’t help but want more.

His hands search for the perfect spot to hold you, sliding over your hips to cup your ass and press you tight against him. You push forward until he staggers, his back hitting the wall. You kiss until you’re breathless, stealing the air from his lungs, and then you insist, “Take me in the bathroom.”

He may not have dated in a while, but Tenya’s not a fool. He knows what moving to a secondary location means. Any of your coworkers could walk around the corner and catch you in the act right now. If you want to go further, you should find some privacy. With all the adrenaline driving him right now, he’s not going to deny you.

Tenya breaks from your lips to wrap his arm around your back. Ignoring a dirty look from the bartender, who must realize what’s about to happen, he leads you quickly down the hallway where the bathrooms are. He doesn’t even pay attention to which one he follows you into. As soon as the door is locked behind you, he pins you against it.

One hand holds your shoulder while the other cups your jaw, tilting your head up so he can kiss you again. Your lips are warm as you let his tongue slide past them, so soft but so firm. Tenya hasn’t kissed anyone in years, but he didn’t realize how much he missed it.

“Mmm, Tenya.” You hum into his mouth as your hand slides down his thigh, straying to his bulging crotch with a shiver. Your hands are so much smaller than his, but they feel so much better than his own ever could as you rub against his erection. You sigh as he kisses you harder, deeper. Do you even realize how wild you’re making him? How hard?

Tenya releases his grip to fumble with his belt. “Do you want to—”

“Yeah, I want you.” You don’t even let him finish, don’t even give him a second to get his zipper down before you do it yourself. Your fingers are shaking, but you moan in pleasure when your fingers dip under his waistband and pull out his cock. His breath hitches on a groan—everything is moving so quickly, but he doesn’t want it to end. You don’t waste any time—you just spit in your hand and spread it down his shaft with tight, even strokes.

Something inside Tenya snaps. He forgot he could feel this good, completely forgot how satisfying sex can be when he really, really wants it—when he has someone to lose himself in. Fuck his conscience, and fuck his fears about getting in over his head. He lets his hips buck into your hold as his carnality takes over.

“Fuck,” he moans low, letting his forehead fall against the wall behind you.

You laugh coyly. “Feel good?”

“Yes, God, yes.” This time, Tenya takes your face in both hands, stealing ravenous kisses as you wring the head of his cock in your fist. When he can’t wait any longer, he turns your head to the side and sucks a mark into the crook of your neck.

“You want me?” he asks again.

“Please.”

“I love the way you beg,” he growls. “Take your panties off.”

You do as you’re told, body shivering with delight as you peel a pair of light purple underwear down your legs before shoving them in his left pants pocket.

“You’re dirty,” he taunts.

“So are you,” you mewl, eyes traveling down to where he wraps his own hand around his cock, spreading precum over the head with his thumb.

“I think you like it.”

With his clean hand, Tenya hikes your tight little skirt up. With the wet one, he reaches between your legs as you spread them. You lean back against the wall to push your hips out, gasping when he grazes your clit before scissoring through your folds. He spends a few blissful minutes fingering you, swirling around your hole and then dipping inside with two fingers to make sure you’re slick enough to take him. He waits until you’re moaning brazenly, fingers scraping against the tile wall behind you, before he pulls them back out.

You collapse into him as he bends to grab under your thighs, lifts you, and wedges you between himself and the wall. His back and triceps are sore, but it’s nothing he can’t handle, especially not when you’re panting into his neck and begging, “Please, fuck me, fuck me, Tenya.”

He frees one hand to help line himself up, and it’s not the most graceful thing he’s ever done, but when you clench and whine as he pops the head of his cock inside you, he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect. How could he forget how good this feels? How could he have denied himself for so long when your dripping pussy squeezing around him makes him forget everything but you?

Even with how slick you are, it takes him a few thrusts to bottom out while you claw at his back, whimpering. Clinging to him, you grind your hips down and clench.

Tenya swears, thrusting his hips for more friction. He fucks you like an animal, head empty except for how tight and hot you are inside and how badly he wants to cum. He’s sweating like mad, hair sticking to his forehead and his glasses fogging up, but he continues to chase after his peak, using you like he would a toy while you moan in his ear.

“Tenya, please.” You start to unwrap one arm from his neck, but when your weight shifts against the wall, you put it back.

“I got you,” he promises.

He holds you tight against the wall as you reach down to play with your clit. You clench harder around him until you cry out, and he grinds against the pulsing of your orgasm until it pulls him over the edge with you.

As he comes down, the tension in his screaming muscles releases. He leans into you, pinning your weight to the cool, tile wall. Spend leaks down your ass and thighs, wetting the front of his pants, but he doesn’t care. Tenya hasn’t felt this good in a long time.

In a haze, Tenya helps you down to your feet. He tries to help you clean up at the sink, but he’s not sure he really does anything helpful. All he knows is that every few minutes, he hears you sigh and giggle. When you’re both tucked back into your clothes, you each order your own cab, and you sneak out the back door to meet them. He makes sure you’re in your car safely before he gets into his.

When he falls into bed, Tenya has the most peaceful night of sleep he’s had in months.

–

When Tenya wakes up, his mouth is dry, his head is throbbing, and he can’t remember when or how he got home. He’s still fully dressed, down to his glasses and even his shoes, which is disgusting. He’ll have to wash the sheets as soon as he gets home tonight.

As his consciousness fades in alongside his pounding headache, Tenya tosses his glasses on the nightstand and rubs his palms over his face. He drank way too much last night, obviously. There’s no way his aching body can go for a run this morning—it’ll be challenging enough just to get himself to work. He sits up in bed, cracks his back, then feels something bunched in his pocket.

When he pulls out your lavender panties, he flops back down onto his pillow like he’s been shot dead.

Everything that happened rushes back to him at once—you climbing over the table, him pinning you against the wall. Between short waves of nausea, Tenya berates himself. That was a stupid, stupid thing to do, and he knows he’s going to pay for it.

Tenya has been in relationships, however short they might have been. He knows, generally, how to navigate those. He’s also had one night stands before. He can handle those too, always with grace and respect. What makes this time different is the fact that he hadn’t planned to sleep with you, had never partaken in sex so casually. Every time before, whether he was in a relationship or not, he had known sex was on the table, so to speak.

This is entirely new territory, and it rattles him.

To make matters worse, every time he pictures the way you looked or remembers a sound that you made, heat rises in his chest. You’d felt amazing, made him feel amazing, and now he’s not sure he’ll be able to forget it.

Tenya drags himself out of bed, groaning unintentionally at the tightness in his quads and lower back, and chugs two glasses of water while frying himself some eggs and potatoes. He knows if he doesn’t get some food in him, he’ll never make it through the day at work, and he doesn’t want to look bad in front of Sasaki, especially not now.

He surely hasn’t been himself lately, he thinks, dousing his eggs in hot sauce, but Tenya never thought he could do something so foolish. You’d both been consenting but under the influence, so where does that leave you? Fuck, he hadn’t even used a condom.

You hadn’t asked him to, and with how long it’s been since he slept with anyone else, he’s not at risk of giving you any diseases, but that doesn’t make it ok. As much as he dreads having to ask if you’re clean, he should probably also find out if you’re on some kind of birth control. He can feel the acid in his stomach burning just thinking about it, but he needs to face the consequences of his actions. Whatever you want to do about it, he’s fine with that.

When he finds his phone buried in his bedsheets, there’s a text from you.

If you want to talk about last night, you know where to find me. But I'm ok, and if you want to pretend it never happened, I understand.

He sighs and shoves his phone into his pocket. It’s selfless of you to offer to do that, but although it would probably be the easier way out, Tenya wouldn’t do that to you. Having sex with you hadn’t meant nothing—you didn’t mean nothing to him. He needs to face you and come clean. You deserve that.

Since his car is still at the office, Tenya has to call another cab to take him to work. After the commute that reignites his headache, Tenya gulps down a bottle of water from the vending machine and pulls himself together. All he wants is to sit down, but there’s only one way to his cubicle, and it’s past the front desk.

Kaminari’s chin is perched in his hands, a crooked smirk on his face. “Hey buddy, where’d you go last night?”

That’s right. The two of you left without saying goodbye or settling your tabs. He’ll have to go back to the bar to get his credit card. Somehow, after all the water he’s had this morning, Tenya’s mouth is still dry when he opens it to speak. He croaks, “I’m sorry, I was not in my right mind last night. I called a taxi without even thinking.” Not a lie, but not the whole truth either.

You and Kaminari are close, but Tenya has no clue if this is something you would tell him. Apparently not, though, because he replies, “Did you go home with that bartender? I swear she had her eyes on you all night.” Unless Kaminari has a remarkable poker face, he doesn’t know anything.

Tenya starts to shake his head, but that hurts his eyes, so he just lifts a hand. “Nothing like that. Just wanted to get home and rest.”

Kaminari cackles. Maybe he’s one of those people that doesn’t get hangovers. Lucky. “All right, whatever you say, big guy. Hey, Todoroki has your watch. You took it off at the table for some reason.”

So he’ll have to make sure to catch up with Shouto at some point today and get it back. Thankfully, Shouto isn’t the type to ask questions, and he was preoccupied all night anyway.

For most of the day, Tenya stays holed up at his desk. After a few cups of coffee and a lunch he ordered in (Kaminari is kind enough to bring it to his cubicle for him), Tenya’s hangover starts to fade, but he can’t shake the anxious feeling sitting in his gut all day. Shouto drops by with his watch but doesn’t stick around to chat, which is perfectly fine. Tenya doesn’t feel like talking to anyone, and he doesn’t want to chance running into you before he’s prepared himself, so he keeps to his spreadsheets and tries to make up for his slow morning.

Any time he gives himself a minute to think, Tenya’s mind wanders back to that dimly-lit restroom. He can’t help but wonder how something that felt so good in the moment can feel so horrible in hindsight. Not only is he ashamed, but he’s also embarrassed. He can only hope he hasn’t ruined his rapport—his friendship—with you.

Around 4:30, Tenya realizes he has about 50 unread IMs. He leaves his notification sounds off because he’s been told that they annoy people, so he hadn’t noticed all the messages coming in while he worked. Worried that something has gone terribly wrong, he opens his inbox in a panic.

What he finds is a barrage of images uploaded to a group chat by Kaminari, who declares that it is officially “meme-o’clock.” It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been bored enough to enact such an activity, and Tenya’s sure it won’t be the last.

While Kaminari has posted most of the memes, Shouto and Jirou have also contributed several deep-fried jpegs of their own. Shinsou chimes in with a single cat picture, but you’re noticeably absent until Tenya hovers over the emoji reactions. You’ve left several cry-laughing faces under the images, but they ring hollow. Normally, you’d be sending pictures to the chat too. Tenya starts to wonder if you’re really ok, like you’d said in your text.

Worry replacing awkwardness, Tenya picks up his phone and finally texts you back.

Do you want to meet me in the parking garage after work? I need to go back to the bar and get my card.

A few minutes later, you respond.

Sure, I need to do that too. Thanks, Iida.

After gathering up his stuff, Tenya finds you waiting by his car—leaning against it, legs crossed demurely at the ankles. You’re wearing a knee-length dress with a frilly collar that he would find adorable if he wasn’t so damn nervous. When you hear him coming toward you, you smile, and for some reason, that breaks his heart.

“Hey.”

Tenya takes a deep breath. “Hey. Do you still want to ride with me?”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes a bit. “‘Course. That’s why I’m here.”

Tenya unlocks the car and ushers you into the passenger’s seat, waiting to close the door for you before walking around to climb in. He rolls his neck a little, feeling tension building between his shoulders, as he pulls out of the parking garage and heads toward the bar.

He doesn’t bother to connect his phone to Bluetooth or turn on the radio. It’s already too loud and chaotic inside his head, even though he can’t get himself to say anything. But then he hears you humming a little tune to yourself, and his stomach turns. He can’t put you through this any longer.

Tenya clears his throat. “Can we—” he hesitates, “talk about last night?”

You stop humming, folding your hands in your lap. “Yeah, of course. And, listen, I’m sorry if—”

“Please, I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Tenya is careful to keep his eyes on the road, even as you’re nearing the city parking lot near the bar. Politely, even after he cut you off, you give him the space to speak.

“It’s no excuse, but I think you can tell I haven’t been myself lately. I’ve been stressed, and I was drunk, and I took advantage of you. I’m incredibly sorry.”

You practically dive over the center console to touch his arm, an action that shouldn’t make the back of Tenya’s neck prickle, but it does. “No, no. I promise you didn’t take advantage of me. If I had wanted to leave, I would have left.”

Tenya clears his throat, your sincerity and the warmth of your touch surprising him before, strangely, he feels some of his anxiety begin to melt away. “Ok. If you say so.” He doesn’t think about it, but while he waits to make a left turn into the parking lot, his hand floats up to brush over yours until he finds a parking spot to pull into.

He shuts off the car, but Tenya knows this isn’t over with yet. “I still need to apologize for not using protection. Do you need—”

“Oh, no. I’m on birth control, so I’m not really worried about that.”

Relieved, Tenya exhales harder than he means to.

Your nervous laugh puts him a little more at ease. “Thanks for asking, though. I also got myself tested after my last partner, so I’m clean and everything…”

Tenya can feel his face burning, but he reminds himself that it’s healthy and mature to talk to his partners about such things. Still, he rubs his eyes under his glasses, exhausted by all his worries. “Thank you. I am as well, though it’s been a long time since my last partner.”

“...Really?”

“I—yes?” He didn’t expect you to ask questions. Then you ask another.

“How long?”

Tenya hasn’t really thought about the actual number recently. He counts backwards, and it surprises him. “Two years, maybe two and a half?” He can’t remember exactly what month it was, but he’s pretty sure it was wintertime.

You fall back in your seat with a little snort. Tenya raises an eyebrow. “What?”

There’s that laugh of yours again. “Well, no wonder you’re so stressed.”

“It’s not…I’m just—” Tenya huffs, unable to complete a coherent thought. He hadn’t looked at it this way, but now that you bring it up, his fist has been a sorry comparison to another person for some time now. He’s just been willing to accept that.

Coyly, you bite your lip. “Can I ask…did you enjoy it, at least?”

“God, yes.” Tenya chuckles along with you at his own bluntness, running his hand through his hair as he looks out the windshield.

“Ok, good. Because I did too. You were so hot, Iida.”

Memories of the sights, the sounds, the sensations of your hookup come back to him in flashes, so vivid he can’t look at you. “I have to be honest with you. I don’t typically have one-night stands, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

Tenya’s heart halts, bracing for an impact that never comes, like when he thinks there’s one more step on the staircase. He expects you to be upset—sad, or angry, even—but your voice is soft instead.

“Well, listen. It’s ok if it’s not your thing. But since we both liked it, we could do it again sometime. Casually, I mean. No strings attached.”

Oh.

“So, you mean like friends with benefits?” This was an option Tenya had never even considered. Historically, casual sex is not his thing, but maybe you’re onto something.

“Yeah. Just sex. Because—and I swear—last night was one of the best hookups I’ve ever had. Like, probably top three fucks ever.”

That makes Tenya laugh out loud. It’s not that he thought he was bad at sex, quite the opposite actually. But he wouldn’t have said it that way, and coming from you…

“I’m serious, Iida,” you say after a giggle. “It was great. And I trust you. So if you want to keep having sex, especially if it helps you manage all that stress you’re under, I’m down.”

“I—”

He’s tempted to say no, to go back to just being friends and coworkers, but when he opens his mouth again, he finds he doesn’t want to. It’s one of the crazier things he’s ever done, but…

“I trust you too. But maybe we can start on some kind of trial basis. This is very new to me.”

You smile and knock him on the shoulder like this is the most normal conversation in the world. Maybe it is.

“How about this: the next time you want to let off some steam, just let me know.”

Tenya nods, then realizes he’s been wearing his seatbelt this entire time. He clicks the release button as he pulls his keys from the ignition. He can do this—he can handle casual. Maybe he’ll even be better off for it.

“Deal.”

–

Despite your new arrangement, almost a week passes without incident. Tenya continues helping Sasaki with his audits. Together, they discover a particular issue with the resistance bands that their plant has been manufacturing. Tenya spends a full day poring over the data until he comes up with better testing standards to help ensure that faulty merchandise isn’t shipped out to customers. It’s what he would have done regardless, even if the promotion weren’t on the table.

When Toshinori returns from his trip, looking more bronzed and sporting a splint on a broken index finger, Sasaki calls a meeting to go over Tenya’s proposal. A small group meets in the conference room—along with a few others from quality, there are reps from customer service who have been handling most of the complaints, and Monoma, the sales rep.

For a few months of the year, Monoma is largely out of the office, traveling to trade shows and visiting customers and distributors nationwide to tout the wonders of Plus Ultra equipment. And it’s not that he’s not good at his job—he brings in a lot of clients with a lot of money to spend. But for the rest of the year, Monoma spends his time, as far as Tenya can tell, making a couple phone calls per day before slacking off while everyone else is hard at work.

Maybe he’s biased, but Tenya has never liked sales reps.

Seated around the conference table, Sasaki starts them off by explaining the manufacturing issues they ran into. The customer service lead, Kendo, explains how the complaints came in and what her team did to placate the upset customers.

Toshinori gives Kendo a big thumbs up. “Thanks for all the hard work. It really matters that we keep our customers happy, even when things like this happen.” He’s not really a detail-oriented guy—he just likes to know what’s going on.

“Of course,” Monoma pipes up, “after customer service brought this issue to our attention, we took all of the customer information and used it to pinpoint the lot number of the defective batch of bands.”

Tenya sighs from behind his laptop. Everything Monoma is saying is correct, factually. But the way he’s using ‘we’ makes it sound like he played a bigger role in that process when all he did was email Tenya a list of customer info. It was Tenya and Sasaki who dug through the data, found the lot number, and got the rest of the defective product pulled from the warehouse before it got shipped out.

With a hand placed thoughtfully on his strong chin, Toshinori listens as Monoma talks, and talks, and talks—name dropping the bigger clients that he called personally to explain the situation. With as much patience as he can muster, Tenya waits for his turn to speak with his proposal slideshow open.

“Of course, while I was hunting all these guys down—you know how they are, they’re hardly ever in the office, a little like you, Mr. Yagi—”

“Please, I insist you call me Toshinori.”

“Right, Toshinori,” Monoma shmoozes. “Well, meanwhile, we can assure you we have a plan to keep this from happening again.” He glances over at Sasaki, who is tapping away on his keyboard, no doubt still paying attention to every word like the expert multitasker he is.

Tenya opens his mouth to speak, but Monoma’s lips don’t stop moving. “We think something like this can be caught by testing the next time it happens if we tighten up tolerances a bit. For example…”

He goes on to explain, in a roundabout way, everything in Tenya’s proposal without so much as a pause for Tenya to get a word in edgewise.

Tenya knows this meeting isn’t about him, that they’re just here to catch Toshinori up to speed and get his final stamp of approval. But especially when he’s getting some of the details only partially correct, it’s frustrating to sit there and listen to Monoma speak just because he loves the sound of his own voice.

And while Tenya is sure that Monoma is just trying to show off in front of Toshinori because of the promotion, he also doesn’t want to butt in for the same reason. At this point, it’ll just make Tenya look like he’s trying to spotlight himself. He’ll just have to keep his mouth shut, knowing that Sasaki is aware that the proposal was really all Tenya’s idea.

Sasaki, Tenya thinks almost bitterly, who is just sitting there, letting Monoma talk over him.

It’s fine, Tenya tells himself. It’s fine, and it doesn’t really matter. And he could have maybe left the meeting believing that if Monoma didn’t look him directly in the face when he asks, “Any questions?”

That bastard. That bitch. He wouldn’t normally be so vulgar, even inside his own head, but fuck, this time he’s really pissed. For as long as he’s worked here, Monoma has always been like this—stepping on toes just because he can, and unbelievably smug about it. And Tenya is officially getting sick of it.

Tenya glares back. “No,” he replies in a calculated tone. “No, I don’t think I have anything to add right now.”

If Sasaki notices his ire, he doesn’t do anything about it. Toshinori, on the other hand, appears blissfully unaware, just happy that the problem was solved even in his absence.

When the meeting ends, Tenya is the first one out of the room, his laptop folded closed under his arm. Vaguely, he hears Monoma calling for him, asking if he wants to join everyone for lunch, but he doesn’t stop until he gets to his cubicle. Nobody follows him.

For a while, Tenya just sits there, seething. He gets his lunch out of his mini-fridge, but he’s too annoyed to eat much of it. Instead, he stares daggers down into his salad, stabbing each bite he takes a little too forcefully. He tries to let it go, to forget what just happened because regardless, this should fix the manufacturing problem. That’s what matters. But Monoma’s words keep replaying on an infuriating loop in his head.

So screw that. He wants to go home. No, actually—he wants his blood pumping and his muscles straining and sweat pouring down his back until his mind finally shuts off and the frustration melts away. But he wasn’t planning on going to the gym tonight, so he doesn’t have clothes to change into for a run right now.

Tenya huffs and drops his fork on his desk. He remembers what you said in the car—to let you know the next time he’s stressed out. So he shuts his laptop and shoves his half-eaten salad back in the fridge.

Heads turn when Tenya strides into the marketing department. He doesn’t spend much time in this part of the office. Your work doesn’t overlap with his often. But he doesn’t want to leave any kind of paper trail, so instead of sending you a message, he walks straight up to your desk.

You’re flipping through files in a folder before you look up to greet him. “Hey, Iida.”

After glancing over his shoulder, he drops a heavy hand on your desk and leans down to speak into your ear, his jaw set tight. “My car. Now.”

You spin in your swivel chair to face him, eyes narrowing when you meet his gaze. Tenya raises an eyebrow, asking if you understand. Slowly, you uncross your legs, and it takes all the restraint he has not to bite a hole through his lower lip.

“Go first. I’ll meet you.”

He nods, then makes a beeline for the parking garage.

His mind races. Is this how he was supposed to go about it? For about half a minute, while he’s sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for you to appear, he almost loses his nerve and calls the whole thing off. But goddamnit, he’s pissed, and he wants to forget, just for a few minutes until he can relax. And you look so good today, so soft to the touch in your flowy little blouse.

Now’s not the time to overthink it. He said he wanted a trial run, and here’s his chance.

You arrive with your purse thrown over your shoulder, heels clacking on the concrete floor until you slide into the seat next to him. Once your bag is placed by your feet, you ask, “Do you wanna talk about what happened?”

Tenya loosens his tie. “Not really.”

“That’s ok. We can just have fun, then.”

You kick your shoes off and push the center armrest back. Tenya plants his feet on the floor, and you crawl into his lap, letting your skirt ride high up on your legs. Impatiently, craving the piece of heaven he found the last time he was with you, Tenya wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him for a kiss.

As your mouths move together, Tenya is keenly aware that you’re still, for all intents and purposes, in public. His parking spot is along the outside wall of the parking garage, one level up from the walkway that leads inside the business complex, which should minimize the amount of foot traffic that might pass. Still, the possibility that someone could walk by isn’t exactly remote. But like at the bar, Tenya is surprised to find that he’s not completely opposed to the idea—to the thrilling fantasy that you could be caught.

At least you’re not still inside the office, he rationalizes. How much real trouble could you actually get into? Office relationships aren’t forbidden. And there are worse ways to spend your lunch break—hacking accounts, stealing tape from the supply closet. Fooling around in the car isn’t hurting anyone. In fact, it actually decreases the likelihood of him personally strangling Monoma. From a certain point of view, this is actually the safer choice.

Tenya forgets all his justifications the moment you bury your hand in his hair, fingernails scratching against his scalp before you pull at the longer part of his undercut. It forces him to tilt his chin up as you push deeper into the kiss. And when your mouth breaks from his and drags down to his jaw, teasing against his ear, he forgets everything except for you.

Your kisses are light against the side of his throat, careful as though not to leave a mark. They’re slow and wet, your tongue peeking out to taste him with each kiss. When you take his earlobe between your teeth, he can’t help but moan, fingers curling into your waist.

“Fuck, you sound so hot when you do that.” Your lower back arches, your knee knocking against the door as you spread yourself lower, wider over his lap. It drives him crazy, the way you move so easily with him, your body slotting into all the places he needs you most.

Tenya wants to rip your blouse open, but he restrains himself, knowing you’ll still need to wear it back inside. He fumbles with the first few buttons, trying to get it off you, before you realize he needs help. Together, you undo them all, revealing the lacy white bra you’re wearing underneath.

With all his caution thrown to the wind, Tenya palms one of your breasts, pressing it up against his mouth as he kisses your cleavage. You hum for him, reaching behind you to brace yourself against his knee with your other arm slung over his shoulder.

Your breasts feel amazing. He didn’t really get to play with them last time—he was too busy holding you up against the wall. Now, he can knead them with both hands, lifting them up and pressing his thumbs between them until they pop out of the cups of your bra.

Your gasp is delectable when he takes one nipple into his mouth, groaning as he sucks around it. He opens his mouth wider, desperate to take more, tongue lapping at the bud. He can’t get enough.

Meanwhile, he tenderly squeezes your other breast, obsessed with the way it squishes like he’s pressing into soft dough. He looks up at you over his glasses, watching your brows knit together as he drinks you in. Then he does the same to your other breast, giving them equal attention.

Tenya can feel your pulse quickening through your sternum, syllables of his name falling from your lips along with panting breaths. You sound so good, he loves hearing you. “Tell me what you want,” he mumbles, unbuttoning his vest and then starting on his dress shirt.

Your hand drifts down to touch his exposed chest.

“You, I want you.” Your hips grind down against his straining erection as you whine for him.

Tenya sucks air through his teeth, grabbing for his wallet in the cupholder and pulling out the condom he’s had tucked inside for a few days. He holds the corner of the packet between his teeth while he pulls his cock out of the dark blue slacks he pushes down to his knees. You moan when you see it, giving him a flash of pride before you take the condom and roll it on for him.

“You’re so big.” He’s known that for a long time—that his size is impressive to most—but he loves hearing it, the way it tumbles from your lips like you can’t believe it’s all for you.

He sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, coating them in saliva before pushing your panties to the side and rubbing them over your cunt. Your head falls back, breasts bouncing while he plays with your hole, spreading spit and slick around it.

With both hands on his shoulders, you position yourself above him. “Fuck, fuck me.”

If you keep begging like that, he’s going to lose his damn mind.

Tenya holds his cock steady at the base while you sink down onto him with a gorgeous whine. He watches himself enter you, watches as you take his thick cock like you’re made for it. The ridge of the condom catches the slick that leaks out of you, leaving a creamy ring behind when you start to bounce up and down on your knees.

Tenya guides you, lifting his hips when he can to thrust with you. It feels too good—suddenly, he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“God, so tight. Oh my god.” You clench when he calls your name, his voice strangled like your hand’s around his throat. Huffing and moaning, he holds you up while you ride him with impressive stamina.

Sweat beads on your forehead and your chest, collecting in the notch of your throat. You’re persistent, your movements actually speeding up while your walls cling to his cock with every thrust. You’re like an animal, blindly chasing your own pleasure while still giving him so much.

He can tell when you finish by the way you gasp and squeal, writhing like you’re trying to stay sunk down on top of him while you pulse. Watching your body tremor pulls Tenya over the edge with you, his hips lifting as he climaxes before falling back onto the headrest. You fold over against his chest, just trying to catch your breath as you come down.

The driver’s side window is foggy, your naked upper body slippery against him. He’s still inside you, your face buried in his neck. You rest the weight of your tired body against him fully, even as he sits up to start up the air conditioning so you can both cool down. Once the sheen of sweat between you is mostly dry, Tenya reclines his seat all the way back and helps you climb out of his lap.

Last time, all you needed to do was get yourselves together enough to sneak out of the bar and get home. Now, Tenya realizes, he has to walk back into the office as if he didn’t just fuck you in his car. Granted, the condom was a good idea—it takes care of a large percentage of the mess you made, but he’s still sweaty and disheveled after disposing of it wrapped in a wad of napkins from the glove compartment.

You give each other a good once-over outside the car, making sure all buttons are done up right and everything’s tucked back where it’s supposed to be. He lets you fix his hair for him, shaking out his bangs with your fingers before fixing them back in place across his forehead. He intends to walk you back inside, but you stop him just outside the glass walkway with a glance over your shoulder.

“Give me a little head start,” you tease. Your giggle is equal parts adorable and sensual as you strut away.

Tenya stares after you, your legs, your tight skirt, until you disappear through the double doors at the end of the corridor.

He can give you a head start. He’d give you just about anything you want at this point.

–

From that day on, hooking up with you becomes more and more frequent. Tenya tries not to wear out his welcome too quickly, but the more he has sex with you, the more he craves it. Once per week quickly becomes three or four times, sometimes in the car, sometimes in whatever empty room or closet you can find when the opportunity arises. You let him do so many different things to you, content to let him take the lead and call the shots.

It’s almost Pavlovian, the way he finds himself set on the path from his desk to yours after a stressful meeting or phone call—even just too many hours looking at spreadsheets can make him itch for you.

As much as he loves your legs wrapped around his waist while he plunges inside you, Tenya learns he has much more of an oral fixation than he ever realized. When he’s frustrated, he needs his mouth on you. He’ll eat you out or suck at your breasts while you bounce in his lap, and before he knows it, he’s forgotten whatever it was that was causing so much tension in the first place, soothed by the weight of you on his tongue.

There aren’t many rules in your arrangement, but after the third or fourth time you turn down Tenya’s offers to cook you dinner, you set an important one.

“I really appreciate the thought, but in the interest of keeping this casual, let’s not hook up at your house or mine.”

“It’s just dinner,” Tenya reasons. “I would never expect you to sleep with me in return. We wouldn’t have to.”

“I know you wouldn’t. But I know myself, and it would be hard for me to be in your house with you, alone at night, and not want to have sex with you.”

“I…” Tenya rubs at the back of his undercut. He should probably get it trimmed soon. “I’m not pressuring you, but why—”

“Because if I start waking up in your bed, it’s only a matter of time before one of us catches feelings. And you said you didn’t want that, right?”

Tenya hesitates for half a beat, but, “Yes, you’re right.”

“So no sleepovers. But thank you again for offering, Tenya.”

“Of course.”

The other rules remain largely unspoken. You always wait for him to initiate, and at first, this concerned him. If you weren’t interested in doing this—if you’d changed your mind—he needed to know, and he told you as much. He’d been surprised at the heat that pooled in his stomach when you laughed and replied, sincerely, that you liked it that way. That you liked when he took you, ravished you. That it turned you on to be used that way. It was as much for you as it was for him.

Tenya would never forget the salacious grin on your painted lips when you told him so. It made you that much more attractive, this insane sex drive you seemed to have. A few weeks ago, he never would have thought that you were so insatiable. How wrong he’d been.

As time goes on, however, you start finding ways to tease him, daring him to make the first move.

It’s been nearly two months when Tenya notices you dressing differently. Your skirts get tighter, and you never swap them out for dress pants, even when September begins to cool off the sweltering summer heat. You almost always opt for blouses with buttons or in fabrics that stretch—the easier to take off and put on, the better.

You also start to have a little more fun with your accessories, including your underwear. Every once in a while, Tenya will mumble a little comment about them—”these new?” or “haven’t seen this one before”—and he can tell by your smile that you love it.

One afternoon, Sasaki calls a meeting about a new product launch, and Tenya finds himself seated next to you at the conference table. With close to a dozen people in the room, it’s easy to watch you, unnoticed, even when he should be focusing on the presentation. Instead, Tenya’s eyes drift up and down your legs, counting the beats as you bounce one knee over the other.

You push your chair back from the table, hands crossed in your lap as you appear to listen about the wonders of kettlebell gloves. Maybe you are listening—you’re a decent multitasker—but Tenya is positive you know what you’re doing to him when you slide one foot out of your little black pumps. By curling your toes, you tap your shoe against your heel, and it should not be sexy, should not be turning Tenya on, but it does. Your bare ankle looks so delicate as your shoe dangles from your toe, reminding him of how quickly you could be undressed.

The meeting can’t end soon enough.

As soon as he can get you alone, Tenya is crowding you against the copier. He runs his hands over your hips, riding over your curves. “Have you always dressed like this for attention? Or is it just for me?”

You push your ass back against him. “What’s gotten into you?” you giggle, acting as if you don’t know.

“Supply closet?” he asks in response. If it were anyone else, he’d be self conscious about being too direct. But it’s you, and he’s learning not to think twice.

It’s nearly 4pm—some people have even gone home by this point. There’s no one around to see you dragging him by the tie into the closet and shutting the door behind you.

Tenya drops to his knees, kissing your thighs as you turn on the overhead light. His nose teases at the hem of your skirt, pushing it up as his hands slide up the backs of your legs. “Someone might see the light under the door,” he mumbles, almost whispering.

You hum appreciatively. “I think you’re going to wanna see these.”

“See what?”

Leaning back against the built in shelf, you push your hips forward. “Keep going.”

Clammy palms push your skirt up over your hips. Tenya continues his ascent up your inner thigh, pushing your legs further apart to make room. He finds his surprise at the apex.

Your red lace panties have no crotch. Instead, draped over the middle, is a string of faux pearls. They’re beautiful, nestled against your folds, and they’re already wet.

As he stares in awe, Tenya stupidly comments, “Those can’t be comfortable to sit around in.”

You stifle a laugh. “They’re not as bad as you’d think.” You lift one foot out of your shoe and place it on his shoulder, lewdly spreading yourself for him. “Wanna taste ‘em?”

Tenya turns his head, kissing the ball of your ankle before pulling your leg down over his shoulder. “Dying to.”

His mouth slots between your thighs—trembling, if he’s not mistaken—with a warm sigh of relief. After leaving wet kisses over your clothed clit, Tenya tilts his head back and lets his tongue jut out, licking a stripe over the pearls. The little beads taste like plastic and you, like treasures for him to find and retrieve, soaked in your essence. He works at them with his tongue, playing with them until he loses his grip and then starts all over again, slurping you up as he goes.

Your hips buck when he hits a sensitive spot, when he pushes the pearls deeper into your folds with his tongue. He feels you twitch when he nudges one almost inside your hole before sucking as much of you into his mouth at once as he can. You hum on a moan, trying to keep quiet, fingers twisted tight in his hair.

Tenya comes up panting, his face covered in you. “Do you want to come like this?”

With your back pressed up against a shelf of printer paper, you bite your lip hard and nod yes.

Tenya pulls you down firmly on his shoulder, getting you right where he wants you, before pushing two fingers up inside your panties to tweak at your clit. He rolls the little bud between his thumb and forefinger, licking against your slit where the pearls are held taut until he hears you squeak and feels the little gush against his face.

While you shiver in the aftershocks, Tenya licks his lips then wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand. Carefully, he pulls you off his shoulder and stands up, undoing his belt on the way. His heartbeat pounds in his throat while he struggles with the condom. Once it’s on, he slips inside you, one of your thighs held to his hip, the string of pearls brushing his cock with every thrust until he comes undone.

Then, like every time, you clean yourselves up and walk away like nothing ever happened, and Tenya’s heart breaks a little more.

After months of wallowing, Midoriya finally starts to act like himself again. He joins Tenya at the gym more often and even comes jogging in the morning a few times. Some evenings, Tenya cooks dinner for both of them, knowing his friend is hopeless in the kitchen and has more or less been surviving off of Cup Noodles since mid-summer. Tenya doesn’t mind it—he likes to cook, and it’s nice to have the company a few nights per week.

Tonight, after they finish the salmon he made, he’s standing on a stool in his bedroom while Midoriya measures the inseam of his tux pants for Todoroki’s wedding. Tenya had to order his a size up to make room for his thick thighs, and he needs them tailored.

“Are you going to ask her to be your date?” Midoriya asks just as he presses his tape measure to Tenya’s crotch. He doesn’t have to clarify who he means.

“No.” Tenya focuses intently on not getting hard at the thought of you. It’s pathetic that a simple thought or mention of you is sometimes all it takes, but he cannot embarrass himself with Midoriya between his legs right now.

“I told you, it’s only casual. We’re not together, and besides, they already invited her anyway.”

Midoriya shrugs. “But you like her, don’t you?”

“I… It’s purely physical.” He hasn’t shared every dirty detail with Midoriya, but since he’s never met you, Tenya felt safe telling him about your arrangement.

“So how are you going to feel if she shows up with somebody else?”

“She’s not—”

Midoriya grabs a few pins from the cushion around his wrist, holding them in his mouth while he crouches to pin Tenya’s hem. “But are you sure?”

Now that Tenya thinks about it, he’s not. Just because he hasn’t been seeing anyone else, it doesn’t mean you couldn’t be.

“All I’m saying,” Midoriya mumbles around his pins, “is that you shouldn’t wait around too long if you want something more.”

Tenya has to admit that he might have a point. Maybe he’s not cut out for casual after all, despite how good it’s been so far. He spends more time thinking about you than he cares to admit—and it’s not always sexual. He wishes he could spend more time with you outside of work too.

Sometimes, during his morning runs, he imagines what it would be like if you were beside him. But he doesn’t even know if you like jogging.

He doesn’t want to talk about it right now.

“Wow, Midoriya. That really means a lot, coming from you. And you’re aware that Bakugou will more than likely be there with Uraraka?”

Midoriya snorts. “God, I hope Todoroki doesn’t seat me with them. But regardless, I’m still going stag to the wedding. I don’t even know anyone to ask. Now hold still so I can get the other leg even,” he says, reaching for his measuring tape again.

While Midoriya finishes pinning, Tenya considers all his options. He was planning on attending the wedding without a date—he figured he’d just see you, Midoriya, and everyone else from work there. He supposes he could ask you to be his date as a friend, but what would be the point?

To make sure you’re not going with someone else, he guesses.

With the wedding only a few weeks away, he’s going to need to figure out what to do about it—if anything—and soon. Maybe he can bring it up casually in conversation, but he’s not sure he has the nerve. Between finding out you’re going with someone else or asking you out himself, Tenya’s not sure which one he’s more afraid of.

This doesn’t count, Tenya tells himself. When Sero shows up at the end of the workday, off early from the tattoo shop, and invites everyone to join him and Todoroki for dinner, it doesn’t count as having dinner with you. There’s nothing in the rules about going out in a group together.

Careful to keep himself in check, Tenya only has two beers with his burger. It may have worked out in his favor last time, but he doesn’t plan on getting wasted this time. You seat yourself easily by his side, your arm brushing his as you finish off a cocktail with your dinner.

For the first time, Tenya really wonders if anyone else around the table can tell that there’s something else going on between the two of you. He’s usually as careful as he can be, trying not to show you any special attention. But even just sitting next to you, listening to you talk and laugh with your friends, is distracting.

Then, while you’re laughing at something Denki says, your hand falls to Tenya’s knee. It seems like you don’t even notice that you’re doing it, the gesture warm and familiar, like you’d done it a thousand times. Tenya’s neck gets hot, and he can’t think about anything but the weight of your hand on his leg.

“Iida.”

Tenya jumps when Sero calls his name, and you pull your hand away, jolted back to reality. “Hm?” He hasn’t been listening at all.

“I asked if they’ve given you that promotion yet. I wanna know when you’re gonna be Shouto’s boss so I can tease him about it.” Sero’s arm is wrapped around Todoroki’s shoulders, his signature grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. Todoroki hardly reacts except to blow a strand of hair out of his face.

Tenya clears his throat. “They haven’t mentioned it in a while. Toshinori is hardly in the office, so I suspect that’s slowing down the process.”

“Oh! That reminds me.” Denki leans forward so he can catch Tenya’s eye over the table. “I was sorting the mail and I heard Sasaki talking to David Shield from R&D. They were going over some financial mumbo jumbo and I heard him say they need to make some hiring decisions this month before they can approve his research budget for next year.”

This time, when you squeeze Tenya’s arm, you don’t try to hide it. You have a good reason not to. “So you’ll know this month whether you’re moving up or not. That’s exciting!”

Although he’s been fucking you for months, Tenya still blushes at your touch, especially while his friends are looking. This is what you do to him. He mutters, “Thank you. I’ll just be glad when this whole thing is over and I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Your hand falls away from him as you reply. “Yeah, that makes sense.” Something in your voice changes—you sound almost disappointed, giving Tenya a pang in the heart.

“There’s no way they’ll choose Monoma,” says Todoroki. “He’s a dickhead.”

Sero gulps down the rest of his drink, his forehead creasing with a frown. “Is this that guy who stole your yogurt out of the fridge?”

“I can’t prove it, but I think so.”

“If I ever get my hands on him…”

“You guys wanna hear something crazy?” Denki chimes in. “I put red pepper flakes in my leftover takeout to see who’s been stealing it from the fridge, and at lunch, I caught Shinsou coughing and buying a milk from the vending machine. I trusted him!”

While Denki retells the loss of his chance with Shinsou that may have opened another door with Jirou, Tenya’s attention falls back to you. You’ve gone quiet, which is strange, considering how excited you were. Did his reaction upset you? Was it not what you were looking for? He can’t quite discern what he’s done wrong, but he felt the twinge of sadness when you pulled away from him.

He lets himself look at you—really look at you—while you pointedly look away. He’s dying to get you away from this table, to somewhere you can talk, but he can’t think of an excuse. So instead, while nobody is paying attention, he reaches for the strap of your dress, which has fallen down your shoulder. He lets his knuckles trail against your arm as he pushes it back into place.

“Please,” he whispers, so only you can hear. “Come home with me.”

He doesn’t expect you to agree. He prepares himself for you to reject his invitation, like you always do. But your eyes shine when you look up at him. “Ok.”

When the bills are paid and the table is cleared, you climb into Tenya’s car. It’s dark outside, and it’s just started to rain. Music plays softly from the speakers because he knows you dread silence. Tenya nestles his hand in your lap while he drives, letting you play with his fingers to distract yourself.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No…. I don’t know.”

He’s never seen you like this, the light that usually bursts from inside of you practically extinguished. He knows he can’t take what you say at face value right now.

He doesn’t want to be pushy, but he tries a different question. “Did I do something that upset you?”

Over the pattering of the rain on the windows, he hears you sniffle, and that’s when Tenya realizes that you’re crying.

“I just need a minute to think.”

“Ok.” Tenya turns up the music a few notches, hoping it gives you the illusion of space and privacy behind the sound. That, and unless it gets any worse, he really doesn’t want to hear you cry because it breaks his heart.

You wipe your eyes, pulling yourself together as he parks in his driveway. Craning your neck, you look out the rain-streaked window. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.” Tenya turns the radio down again, but leaves it softly playing an old rock ballad he’s probably heard a thousand times before. “Do you still want to come in? I’ll make you a cup of tea. Or if you’ve changed your mind, I can drive you home or call you a ride. Whatever you want.”

When you turn back to him, you’re wearing a ghost of your usual smile. “You’re too good to me, Iida. Always putting me first.”

Tenya fiddles with his tie, pulling the knot a little looser around his throat. “Of course.” It’s all he can think to say. Is it not obvious?

You unbuckle your seatbelt, his heart clenching at the sound. “A cup of tea would be lovely.”

The rain has started to pick up, so you follow him up to his stoop with your coat held over your head. As Tenya unlocks the door, he decides that if you’re not ready to talk about what’s bothering you, he’s not going to push it anymore. If you just want to be comforted and taken care of, then that’s what he’ll do. In a way, it’s exactly what you’ve been doing for him over the past few months, in more ways than you even know about.

He lets you inside, taking your coat and flipping on a light while you kick off your ankle boots, revealing a pair of brightly-colored socks with what looks like turtles on them. Normally, he’d make a comment, tell you how cute he thinks they are. Maybe later he’ll get the chance.

The next thing Tenya does is fill and turn on the electric kettle. Then he sets you down at the kitchen island while he fixes you a plate of mini scones and goes over the tea choices. “Decaf?” He can’t imagine you’d want caffeine at this hour, but maybe you want a pick-me-up.

“Yes, please. Do you have something herbal?”

Tenya hums as the kettle starts to bubble. “Orange, lavender, or white jasmine?”

“Oh, the orange.”

Tenya grabs two teabags.

“And honey?”

He grabs the honey.

His back is to you as he fixes two matching mugs—thick, blue ceramic that he picked out when he got his first place of his own. The kettle is almost ready, so while he waits, he undoes his tie completely, letting it drape over his shoulders. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, then rolls up his sleeves. Though Tenya genuinely just likes to be dressed comfortably at home, he wouldn’t be upset if you happen to be watching him.

When the kettle is ready, he prepares a tea for each of you, then turns to add the honey in front of you so you can say when. You wrap both your hands around the mug like it’s made of solid gold. Immediately, you take a sip.

“Ow.” You click your tongue against your teeth.

“You never let it cool,” Tenya mentions, slowly stirring his honey into his steaming cup.

“So you’ve noticed?” This makes you smile, so Tenya keeps going.

“I’ve noticed a lot of things about you.”

“Like how many different bras I own?” you chuckle.

Tenya snorts, then runs a hand through his hair. “Well, yeah. But also stuff like how you like your tea and what music you listen to. Where you have scars and marks on your body. That kind of thing.”

A long, not-uncomfortable silence falls over the kitchen as you both enjoy your tea, Tenya leaning against the island opposite you.

You wring out your teabag against the side of your mug with your spoon, then place both on the saucer Tenya set out between you. Then you clear your throat. “At the bar…”

Tenya sets his own mug down and listens.

You sigh. “It’s kind of stupid, in hindsight. But I’m worried that when you get the promotion, you’ll be all set in life. And you won’t need me anymore.” Your voice wavers on the last syllable, and you cough into your shoulder to cover it up. Your eyes are glassy again.

Tenya doesn’t hesitate, barely thinks before pressing his hand to your cheek, softly bringing your gaze to meet his. “I guarantee that if I get the promotion, I’ll be as stressed as ever. Maybe even more—just look at Sasaki. I’ll be in his shoes.” Tenya chuckles in spite of himself.

“Regardless, I wouldn’t want to stop seeing you, if that were the case. I’d actually like to see you more, if you want that.” Tenya rubs his thumb over your cheek. “Unless you’re ready to be done with me, and whatever this thing is.”

“No.” You reply in a thick, watery whisper. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes. “But I think I fucked up. I think I have real feelings for you.”

Tenya brings his other hand to your face. “Oh, thank god,” he mumbles into a kiss.

Your mugs of tea are quickly forgotten. You kiss him back across the kitchen island, covering his hands with your own. Tenya can’t stop because he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to kiss you like this, with the full weight of how he feels about you.

When you finally pull back, you’re biting your lip. “Is it too much if I ask you to take me to your bedroom?”

Tenya does you one better and carries you there in his arms.

You giggle when he lays you down on his pristinely made bed, your blouse riding up over your stomach. Tenya is blindsided by how beautiful you look like this, rumpled and laughing. He’s never fucked you lying down before, and suddenly, it all feels that much more intimate.

He doesn’t have much time to think about it before you pull him down on top of you by his shirt. Tenya settles himself between your legs, bent over the foot of the bed. You undress each other between passionate kisses, baring yourselves to each other from this entirely new angle.

Tenya trails kisses down your body until he’s crouched on the floor, tongue pressed against your pussy with a heat he’s never felt before. He devours you, groaning while you writhe against him, reaching down to pull his hair when you want him to hit a different spot. He lets you direct him wherever you like, alternating between licking over your hole and sucking your clit until you cream on the two fingers he has buried inside you.

Half-drunk on you, Tenya climbs back on top. With your legs around his waist, you beg him to fuck you, to fill you up with everything he has. He doesn’t have a condom nearby, but you plead with him anyway, telling him that tonight, he doesn’t need one. For the first time since the first time, he slicks himself up with you and slides in raw, moaning your name as the plush of your walls sucks him in deep.

When his glasses slide down his nose from the sweat beading on his face, Tenya tosses them vaguely toward the night stand. As he moves inside you, he drops his forehead to rest against yours. Even with his eyes closed in ecstasy, he listens for every desperate sound you make and feels every clench of your muscles around him.

He feels like there’s so much he wants to tell you, so much he wants to ask you, but it feels so good inside you that he can only babble. Your breaths are hot and fast against his mouth as he lets the words spill out. “So good, so fucking perfect. Good girl, you fuck me so well.”

He lets you push against his chest and roll him over. He holds your middle while you ride him to your climax, the extra wetness and the vice-like squeeze pulling him over the edge with you. Your body locks up over his as he fills you with everything he has, coating your insides until it starts to leak out into his lap.

Tenya’s chest pounds, breath quickening until he comes down and you collapse at his side, a hand splayed over his sweaty chest. He holds you, memorizing the shape and weight of you beside him until you get up to shower off together, and then he holds you for the rest of the night too.

–

Tenya never thought he would see you like this: in his bed, under his sheets, asleep with your head on his pillow. He hates to wake you up and disturb you, but if you want to go home for a change of clothes before work, he probably needs to drive you there soon. Lightly, he nudges your shoulder until your lashes flutter.

“Morning,” he says softly.

You roll over onto your back, groaning a little bit as you stretch. “Good morning,” you mumble.

“Sleep ok?” Tenya slides out of bed, reaching to his bedside table before he realizes his glasses aren’t there. He’s about to get down and look under the bed for them when your hand finds his back. He lays back down.

“Pretty well, yeah.” You take your time looking him over, touching his arm, studying his face fondly.

After a while, he asks, “Do you want me to take you home before work?”

You snuggle deeper into your pillow. “Nah, I’ll just borrow one of your shirts.”

“You’re already wearing one of my shirts,” he smirks, wrapping a hand around you to pull you close. He’d let you dig through his pajama drawer before bed, and you’d chosen the biggest t-shirt you could find.

“Then I’ll borrow another one.” You giggle a bit, before your smile fades. “If that’s ok.”

“Of course it’s ok.”

You sit halfway up, swallowing a deep breath, and a knot forms in Tenya’s stomach.

“I just want to make sure we’re absolutely clear,” you explain, twisting the bedsheets in your fists. “I have feelings for you. Is that something you want to pursue now? Because I don’t think I can stay casual with you anymore, unless it’s just as friends.”

Tenya exhales. He sits up too, taking you hand in his own so you let the sheets fall away. Even without his glasses on, he sees you in perfect focus, his memory making up for what his vision lacks. “I should have known from the beginning that I couldn’t ‘keep it casual.’ Especially not with you.”

You blush, and it’s one of the cutest things he’s ever seen. You try to look away, but he doesn’t want you to hide from him. Lightly, he lifts your chin with a curled finger and pecks you on the lips.

“Would you like to date me?”

You burst into a fit of happy giggles. “Yes. Please.”

Tenya smiles so big it almost hurts. “Ok. It’s a deal.”

You kiss him again before swatting at his chest. “You fell for me?” you tease.”

“Completely,” Tenya admits with one more kiss.

Eventually, he’s able to get you out of bed, and he finds his glasses, haphazardly tossed aside the night before, all the way across the room, behind his hamper. He’s not even sure how he managed that. He leaves you to get ready while he goes downstairs to start his coffee pot and stick a few eggs in the hard boiler. You don’t have a ton of time to get to work, but he can order you some breakfast once you get there if you want.

With two travel mugs filled and ready to go, he heads back upstairs to finish getting dressed. He finds you in the ensuite, leaning forward over the counter to pin up your hair. You’re wearing one of his dress shirts tucked into your skirt and an oversized sweater vest over top. Somehow, you’ve managed to make it all look so purposeful.

He has a passing thought about taking you over the counter, pushing your skirt up and fucking you from behind, but you’re verging on being late to work already. Besides, he remembers. The two of you have all the time in the world now.

Instead, he gives you a kiss on the cheek, tells you that you look beautiful, and within minutes, you’re out the door.

When he pulls his car into the parking garage, something occurs to him. “What are we going to tell people?”

“About us?”

“Yes,” Tenya chuckles. Apparently, it hadn’t occurred to you yet either, but with this relationship, he was starting to expect to figure things out as you go. “Do you want to tell people about us?”

“Yes,” you answer confidently. “But maybe we can just say that we’ve been getting closer as friends… if anyone asks.”

“Good idea.”

That’s how the two of you end up walking into the building, hand in hand instead of one after the other. It’s also why Kaminari stands up at his desk screaming, “I knew it!” before the front door has even closed behind you.

Tenya probably should have expected the news would shake up the office a bit. Everything is about to change, but to his own surprise, he isn’t afraid in the slightest. He just holds your hand a little tighter, and he feels ok.

While you’re busy talking Kaminari down when Sasaki appears from around the corner. “Iida, do you have a minute?”

Tenya’s stomach drops. Everything positive he was feeling is instantly replaced with nausea. He’s sure his face turns pale as he wonders what this is about. The promotion? Probably. But what if he’s in trouble? What if someone caught the two of you hooking up and he’s about to be reprimanded or worse?

Trying his best not to jump to any more dire conclusions, Tenya swallows the lump in his throat and replies, “Sure.” He gives your hand one more squeeze before following Sasaki to his office.

Despite his nerves about the conversation ahead, Tenya finds Sasaki’s office as calming as usual. It’s plainly furnished with a desk, chairs, and a few filing cabinets, and a bookcase stuffed with comics, all of which are kept immaculately neat. The only items on the desk are Sasaki’s computer and a set of wax seals.

On a shelf by the windows sits a tabletop fountain next to an oil diffuser, the calming scent of eucalyptus wafting across the room—Tenya has always assumed Sasaki keeps these around to help with stress. One wall is decorated with posters from national parks, and across from it hangs the company’s yearly branded calendar next to a framed motivational print of a kitten clinging to a tree branch.

None of this is unsettling except for the old cardboard cutout of Toshinori, made years ago for an advertising campaign, standing in the corner staring out eerily from behind the man himself, who is seated next to Sasaki’s desk.

Toshinori stands and shakes Tenya’s hand. “Great to see you, Iida. I’ve been so busy, I feel like it’s been months!”

In truth, it has been a couple weeks, not that Tenya would mention it. “How’s your finger healing up?” Tenya asks, taking a seat. The last time he saw Toshinori, he was still wearing a splint.

“Fine, it’s all fine. I do have a sprained arch from wakeboarding, but it’s nothing that some good shoes and a few days of rest won’t fix.” Toshinori is always injuring himself, it seems. Nonetheless, he remains endlessly positive, making it impossible for Tenya to tell if he’s in trouble or not.

Sasaki takes a seat as well and pulls some papers out of his desk drawer. “Well, now that Toshinori has a bum foot and I have him captive in the office for the week, we were finally able to discuss some things.”

Sasaki taps the edges of the paperwork on his desk, but before Tenya can even say a prayer that they’re not severance papers, Toshinori blurts out, “We’re promoting you to Quality Manager! What do you think?”

Sasaki sighs. “As in, do you accept the position?”

“And all the perks, of course,” Toshinori says, nudging his elbow into Tenya’s side.

Truthfully, Tenya is so relieved he could almost cry, so it takes him a few minutes to find the words to respond. After flapping his lips a few times, Tenya enthusiastically accepts. “Yes, yes I would love to. I’d be honored.” Reflexively, he reaches out to shake Toshinori’s hand again, which makes his boss laugh as he accepts.

“You’ve been nothing but an asset to the company for years, Young Iida. You deserve it more than anyone.”

Sasaki tries to hand Tenya the stack of forms and contracts to sign, but Tenya slides in a handshake before Sasaki can dodge it. Sasaki chuckles under his breath. “I hope you haven’t been driving yourself crazy worrying about this. You were easily our first choice.”

Tenya clears his throat, accepting the contracts and a pen to sign them with. The salary increase listed at the top of the page is nothing to balk at, and he’s even more thankful than he was a minute ago.

“To tell you the truth, I thought maybe you’d go with someone else.”

“Who?” Sasaki asks.

“Monoma, maybe,” Tenya mumbles.

Toshinori bursts out laughing, the volume practically rattling the walls. “Monoma is a fine salesman, but truthfully, it was only because the investor board wanted us to present a few candidates before making the offer. He was more of a back-up.”

“Monoma is a prick,” Sasaki adds bluntly. “I would have only promoted Todoroki if you declined, Iida. You’ll be at liberty to choose your own assistant manager once all this is finalized, but I highly recommend you choose him. He’s got a level head on his shoulders.”

“You’re right about that.” Tenya would love nothing more than to bring Todoroki up the corporate ladder with him, so to speak, but he’ll have to see if he’s even interested first. Maybe he can enlist you and Hanta to help him encourage Todoroki to step up. If nothing else, he’s positive Todoroki would love his own office instead of a cubicle.

After he reads over the rest of the documents and signs his name on the dotted line, Sasaki takes Tenya to his new office, an actual corner office that was vacated a few months ago when Aizawa started working from home while taking care of his adopted daughter. It’s all so corporate, and feels almost too much for a middle manager, but Tenya has to admit, the view is much nicer than the temporary walls of his cubicle.

And so is the privacy, he realizes, when you slide in shortly after Sasaki leaves, locking the door behind you.

“Congrats, Mr. Manager.” You throw your arms around his neck, craning your neck back for a kiss. With his hands pressed to the small of your back, Tenya pulls you in for one.

“Thank you. So you heard already?”

You slip teasingly out of his grasp, wandering over to peer out the floor to ceiling windows framing the corner of the room. “Of course. You’re the talk of the office today, you know.”

“Is that so?” Tenya slides up behind you, unable to keep his hands away from your hips, pulling you back against him. He rests his chin on your shoulder, marveling again at the view of the city outside. “And is that your fault?”

“No, Denki was listening at Sasaki’s door the whole time. He’s the one who told everybody.”

Tenya kisses the side of your neck. You don’t smell like your normal perfume. You smell like his shirt, his toothpaste, his home. “Of course.”

You giggle. “And you know what else they’re saying?”

“What’s that?”

“That you’re dating the girl from marketing.”

Tenya kisses your neck again, farther down, pushing your collar aside to get closer to your shoulder. “I’m flattered that people think I could deserve her.”

You turn in his arms, already unbuttoning your top. You take a step back, leaning your ass against his new desk. “Imagine if they knew what’s been happening right under their noses.”

Tenya loosens his tie. He’s on top of the world right now, with nothing to stop him from taking advantage of his new private office. Breaking the facade, he presses himself against you again and asks earnestly, “Does this make me your boyfriend?”

He lifts you up just enough to help you sit on his desk. You grin, somehow warm and salacious all at once. Taking his face in your hands, you pull him closer still. “Yes, sir,” you reply before sealing your lips over his.

Todoroki and Sero could not have chosen a more perfect day for their wedding. It’s unseasonably warm for mid-autumn, the sun peeking through the branches of the half-barren trees. For a day when he needs to stand outdoors in a tux and not sweat through his jacket, Tenya could not be more thankful.

Although it’s almost time to head to the venue, Tenya stops in front of the bathroom mirror to ensure that not a hair on his head is out of place. He knows how much it means to Todoroki that today goes smoothly, and even though Tenya isn’t the best man, he’s taken it upon himself to coordinate some of the finer details of the day, as far as the wedding party goes. He’s texted Natsuo multiple times to make sure he has the rings, made sure that Midoriya is on standby for any last minute outfit repairs, and reminded Inasa at the rehearsal dinner that he is not permitted to start drinking until after the ceremony.

Just as Tenya is starting to feel a stress knot forming between his shoulder blades, your heels come clopping against the tile floor of the bathroom. You reach in and grab your lipstick off the bathroom counter, tucking it away in your comically small clutch purse. In the same motion, you teasingly pat his ass with your hand.

“You look so handsome. I love your hair slicked back like that.” Even after everything, it still makes Tenya feel fluttery inside when you flirt with him so shamelessly.

He trails the back of his hand down your arm, admiring the way the sleeve of your dress flutters over your skin. “Thank you. You look beautiful.”

“Good thing there’s no bride to upstage.”

Chuckling, Tenya subconsciously leans in to kiss you. You slap your purse against his chest to stop him. “Baby, my lipstick,” you giggle.

“Good catch.” There’s no time for whatever cleanup that might entail.

From the moment the two of you hop into Tenya’s car, the next few hours pass in a blur. The ceremony is being held outside at Enji’s country club. Cocktail hour will be inside the rustic lodge, and dinner and dancing afterwards in an elaborate tent on the edge of the golf course. Though it looks lovely on you, your lipstick again prevents Tenya from kissing you before you part ways. Instead, he presses a kiss to your hand before you go to meet Kaminari in the lodge for a drink.

Garment bag in hand, Tenya is then whisked away by the wedding coordinator to a dressing room on the lower floor of the lodge. Midoriya is already there, crouched on the floor, pressing the creases in Todoroki’s white tux pants with his portable steamer. The groom himself is sitting on a barstool in a silk robe and his boxers, talking to his brothers. Touya isn’t even technically in the wedding party, but Tenya thinks it’s nice that Shouto invited him to hang out before the ceremony anyway. Inasa and Tokoyami, Todoroki’s college friends, should be joining shortly.

Normally, Tenya would ask Todoroki how he’s feeling, but he’s wary of stirring up any potential trouble. Instead, he says, “That’s a nice robe.”

“Gift from Hanta,” Todoroki says, smiling. “It came in a set. I think mostly he just wanted to wear the matching one.” Natsuo snorts out a laugh before covering his mouth with his hand, but Shouto doesn’t even seem to notice. In fact, he’s smiling more than usual, with an easy confidence that Tenya was definitely not expecting.

“You seem… relaxed.” Tenya can’t help but state the obvious. It’s been months since he’s seen Todoroki so calm and laid-back.

“Yeah, Todoroki,” Midoriya comments. “Aren’t you nervous?”

Tenya would smack Midoriya in the back of the head if he were standing close enough, but Todoroki keeps smiling, unflappable. He simply glances down at his hands, rubbing his left ring finger.

“I would be. But just between us, Hanta and I are actually already married.”

Tenya’s jaw drops to the floor. Midoriya screeches sharply in surprise.

Natsuo blinks. “You’re what?”

“Don’t tell dad. Or mom or Fuyumi, either,” Todoroki says. “But yeah, we were talking about how stressed we were, how I was so wrapped up in planning and Han was avoiding it. So we decided to book an appointment at city hall, just for us.”

“Well, shit.” Touya clicks his tongue, grinning.

“Well, congratulations!” Tenya sputters, equal parts proud and flabbergasted.

Once everyone is present and dressed, the next few hours are spent taking photos while trying to avoid Sero, who is getting ready with his own bridal party on-location. “Hanta’s old-fashioned,” Todoroki explains at one point. “He didn’t want to see me before the ceremony.”

It’s a sweet notion, and it’s completely worth it, Tenya decides, as he watches the pure joy on his friends’ faces when they finally see each other. With the bridal party already lined up, Todoroki and Sero exit from opposite sides of the lodge and meet at the end of the aisle. Todoroki grins so hard it looks like his cheeks might burst while Sero smiles brightly with all his teeth, an eyebrow raised as if to ask, “Are you ready for this?”

From there, the two join hands and walk to the altar together. Tenya finds himself crying, overwhelmed with happiness and pride for his friends who are so in love. He spends the first few minutes of the ceremony behind his handkerchief until he’s able to pull himself together.

Vows and rings are exchanged, and when the officiant pronounces the couple “officially” wed, Sero fully dips his husband and steals a steamy kiss—one dramatic enough to potentially piss off his new father-in-law, but also romantic enough that no one will be able to say a damn word about it.

Then the party begins.

While the rest of the guests are shuffled off to cocktail hour, Tenya endures more posed photos than he’s ever been subjected to in his life. Cheeks sore from smiling, he finally makes it to the reception tent where you’re waiting for him with a drink in your hand. He tips back the expensive amber liquid without bothering to ask what it is, but the burn on the way down is refreshing.

“Thank you, I needed that,” he jokes, sliding his arm around your waist.

“I thought you might. Being in a wedding is hard work, you know.” You rub little circles into his back, holding yourself close to him.

Tenya presses a kiss to your temple. “Hardest part is being so far from you.” He knows his time is short—the rest of the wedding party members are already filling their seats at the head table, and he needs to join them.

Your seat at the ‘friends and partners’ table is calling you too. With a parting kiss, you promise to find him after dinner.

The food is incredible, the speeches are limited to a few short toasts, and Todoroki shares a dance with his mother that makes Tenya tear up for a second time that day. It’s all very traditional, befitting the elegant decor and soft, intimate lighting in the room.

Tenya doesn’t consider himself much of a dancer—for all his athletic ability, he’s much too stiff on the dance floor and sticks out like a sore thumb—but he’s relieved when the DJ invites everyone out of their seats with an upbeat pop song. Suddenly, everything feels more casual, and people begin to move around freely to mingle.

Once he procures another drink to loosen him up, Tenya joins you on the dance floor along with Kaminari and Jirou. While Tenya sways side to side behind you, one hand on your hip and the other around the neck of his beer bottle, he gets the chance to people-watch. Todoroki has his arms thrown around Sero’s neck, the newlyweds sharing a smitten look and slow dancing even though it’s a faster song.

By the bar stands Toshinori, a head above the crowd and with his hand wrapped loosely around a few of David Shield’s fingers. Midoriya speaks animatedly to them while tracing his finger nervously around the rim of his cocktail glass. Toshinori flaps open his jacket to show Midoriya the bright red and blue silk lining, so Tenya assumes they must be talking menswear. They seemingly exchange phone numbers, after which Toshinori lays a heavy hand on Midoriya’s shoulder before David pulls him away to another conversation.

As Midoriya lingers alone near the bar, Tenya is able to catch his eye. He tries to wave his friend over to join the group, but Midoriya just shakes his head, lips pressed in a tight smile. It’s then Tenya notices that you’re chatting with Uraraka as you dance, your hands clasped with hers between you as Bakugou hovers nearby, hands in his pockets. She was seated at your dinner table since her boyfriend was standing up for Sero, so of course you made friends.

When the song ends, Tenya can’t help but pat your ass before slipping away. You wink at him over your shoulder and pop your hip, confirming that you liked it.

Tenya drifts over to the bar. Posting up next to Midoriya, he asks casually, “How’s it going?”

Midoriya shrugs. “Fine. I don’t really want to go over there, though.”

Tenya takes a pensive sip of his drink. “Understandable.”

“‘Sup, Iida.”

Turning away from the bar with one of the signature cocktails in hand is Shinsou. Though he was replaced as Kaminari’s date after the leftovers squabble, Tenya doesn’t hold it against him.

In fact, as he’s saying hello to his coworker, Tenya gets an idea that could be complete brilliance or an absolute disaster, but he decides it’s worth a shot.

“Have you met Midoriya? He’s a school friend of mine and Todoroki’s.”

“I have not,” Shinsou muses. He reaches out to Midoriya for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

In less than a second, Midoriya has pulled Shinsou’s entire arm toward him to inspect his wool jacket. “Is this Ralph Lauren?”

Shinsou chuckles. “Yeah, vintage. I like to do my rounds at a few thrift shops every weekend. You wouldn’t believe the gems you’ll find if you’re willing to sift through the junk.”

Midoriya flips Shinsou’s cuff inside out, closely inspecting the stitching. “It’s in great shape, and this is probably from the late 90s. Have you found any other cool stuff lately? I swear I never have any luck at the shops in town.” He’s babbling, a long-standing nervous habit.

Shinsou gives a catlike grin. “I’d be willing to give you some pointers. Wanna go find somewhere a little quieter?”

As the two scamper away, falling into conversation about the best places to thrift, Tenya makes his way back to you. He falls back into place behind you, holding your hips and swaying along with you. It seems like a lifetime ago that he only dared to touch you when no one else was around. In reality, it’s only been a few months since that night at the bar, when everything started—when everything in his life changed.

Tenya’s life isn’t perfect by any means, and it looks much different than he thought it would before you. But he has a job he enjoys for a company that treats him well. He’s in a room with nearly all his friends—more than he can count on two hands—and he’s proud of the lives they’re leading too.

And he’s in love. With you.

The DJ plays a slow song next, urging all the couples to join the grooms on the dance floor. The string lights draped in tulle across the ceiling of the tent fade to a moody indigo hue, and couples young and old take the floor. You spin around, wobbling a little before falling into Tenya’s chest. He makes a mental note to get you a water before you have another drink, but he can’t help but smile when he sees how eager you look.

“Dance with me?”

“Of course.”

You move onto the dance floor proper, choosing a spot near the outer edge. Tenya holds you close, his hands loose against your waist while your arms loop around his neck. It’s effortless, how well the two of you fit together.

Tenya had told himself for years that a relationship would only make life more complicated. He was wrong. Because being with you is easy. It’s comfortable. It makes his life better. The earth-shattering sex is just a bonus, and even that is something he doesn’t have to worry about anymore. He doesn’t need to rush off with you in public because he knows you’ll be home with him at the end of the day. Not that he never wants to hook up in public again, but it’s nice knowing he doesn’t have to.

“So, tonight. Are we going back to your place or mine?”

Tenya hums thoughtfully. “It doesn’t matter. Which do you prefer?”

You playfully tilt your head side to side, like you’re weighing heavy options. “Yours, if that’s ok. I feel like I’ve practically been living there, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Never. Even if you want to move in permanently, I wouldn’t say no.”

It’s not until you gasp that Tenya fully processes what he said, but it’s the truth. He’s been thinking about it for weeks. He’d been going back and forth, a little worried that it might be to soon for you—

“Can I really?”

Tenya pushes a stray tendril of hair behind your ear. “Yes.”

You quietly squeal with delight, just loud enough for the two of you to hear. “You want to live with me? You want to cook and pay bills together? And share a dresser drawer for our socks?”

“I think you can have your own dresser. But yes,” Tenya chuckles.

“Can we get new curtains for the bedroom windows?” Clearly, you’ve been thinking about this for a while.

“What’s wrong with my curtains?”

Your fingers drum against his shoulder. “Nothing, nothing! I just think the room could use a little more color.”

“Fair enough, if we can pick out the new ones together.”

“Deal. But I want something a little darker so I can sleep in while you go running crazy early in the morning.”

“All right.” He smiles.

Tenya has only successfully convinced you to join him once on his morning run. It was nice having you by his side, but he finds it equally nice to come home and see you still serenely asleep in his bed—your shared bed. Those early mornings are his favorite thing in the world, especially when they lead to cuddling you, showering with you, making coffee and pancakes with you. Now that you’re moving in, he realizes, maybe every morning can be like that.

Tenya tilts your head up, content to kiss your lipstick off. After, you press your cheek to his chest, ear to his racing heartbeat. Even with all the time in the world, Tenya can’t wait for what comes next with you.

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