Damn it. You knew you shouldn’t have been speeding, but the road looked totally empty, and you just needed to let off some steam. You weren’t driving with intent to cause harm, and again, you were sure no one was around, aside from a parked car with blacked out windows on the side of the road. In hindsight, the thing was obviously a cop car. You shouldn’t have been so stupid—and yet you took off, enjoying the breeze battering through the open windows, only to be abruptly stopped by the whirring of sirens and flashing of blue lights reflecting against your windscreen.

You stop with a heavy groan, pulling over and awaiting your fate. You can only hope that the cop who caught you is in a good mood. You wait for a moment, before you hear a knock against your window. As you roll it down, you’re met with possibly the best outcome you could’ve been given. Sure, you’ll probably get points on your license and a speed awareness court—but the cop is gorgeous.

Messy, stark black hair, tall and handsome, just the right amount of muscle and mesmerising, heterochromatic green and blue eyes that you could get lost in. He wears a blank expression—not angry, not happy, just perfectly apathetic. “License and registration.” He orders you, leaning into your car, his elbows on the window frame.