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alphabetboyluvr · 2 months

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habits of a clandestine nature | jjk

pairing: collegejk x female oc (angst, smut)

warnings: college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao

wordcount: 16k

note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.

Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.

You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.

Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.

From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.

All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.

Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.

It's not that you actively want to see him.

You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.

He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.

God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.

The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.

In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.

Has told you a lot.

Told you far too much.

Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.

Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.

And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.

You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.

But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.

You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.

It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.

But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.

Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?

Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.

The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.

The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.

The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.

For a minute, you feel vindicated.

It doesn't last.

For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.

The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.

He always slept well in your bedroom, though.

Funny, that.

He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.

Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.

The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.

"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.

Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.

"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.

They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.

There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.

It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.

"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"

"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"

"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."

On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.

Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.

Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.

After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.

Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.

Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.

Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.

"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"

"Obviously."

"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."

"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.

And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.

While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.

But summer was lonely.

Or at least it was.

Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.

Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"

The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.

After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.

When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.

"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.

Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.

Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.

But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.

He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.

A routine grew. Habits formed.

Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.

Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.

The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.

He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.

And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.

Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.

But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.

Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."

"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.

You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.

The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.

But he was, and it was lovely.

The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.

"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."

It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.

Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.

Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.

But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.

Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.

You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.

It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.

"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.

"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.

"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"

On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.

"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."

A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.

"Sure."

There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.

"You think I can't be trusted?"

"I think it's foolish to trust any man."

His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.

"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"

"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.

"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"

With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."

"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.

"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"

"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.

"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.

Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."

Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.

A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.

And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?

His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.

Have you not served him enough?

You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.

"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.

He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.

"Excuse me, sir."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.

"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.

More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.

Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.

Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.

You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.

Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.

"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."

Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.

Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.

You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.

You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.

As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.

But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.

Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.

But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.

You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.

Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.

It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.

In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.

"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"

The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.

It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud.

In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.

But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.

You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.

Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.

Where you at? It could read. I'm here.

Or maybe, I miss you.

I can't sleep without you.

This is so stupid. Can I come over?

It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.

Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.

You: you not coming in tonight?

You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x

You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?

Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.

Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.

Jackass Wang: party tonight

You: so????

One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.

Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery

"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.

It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.

Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.

You: i like it better when i don't see you x

Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.

You: they'd rather die :) x

Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You: you just can't take no for an answer

Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.

You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????

The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.

Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.

You: charming x

Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.

You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.

Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.

The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.

Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.

Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.

Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.

"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.

Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.

"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"

Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"

His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.

Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."

He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.

"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"

"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."

"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."

"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."

Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.

"Don't give me that bull."

"It's not bull!"

"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"

His expression is flat. You are paper thin.

He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.

He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.

"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"

"No!"

Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.

Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"

"I'm not!"

"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"

Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.

"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."

"Yes, we are."

"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.

"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."

"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.

He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.

"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"

With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.

"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."

You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.

As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.

By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.

"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.

There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.

Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.

Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.

Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.

It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.

But he did, and you damn well know it.

Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.

"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."

But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."

You're silent when he says this.

Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.

But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.

Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.

"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."

Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.

Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.

Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.

He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.

"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."

"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"

"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."

He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.

They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.

Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.

"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."

"Who?" Jimin chirps.

Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."

"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"

"I said leave it."

"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.

"No one."

"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"

"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."

"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."

Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.

"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.

They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?

"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.

It's not that he's ashamed.

It's that you're separate.

When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.

If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.

He doesn't want that.

He wants you to be a safe haven.

A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.

But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.

He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.

"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"

With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."

"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"

"You really have to ask?"

For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.

They always have done.

When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.

Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.

How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.

Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.

When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.

So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.

"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"

"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."

Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.

The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.

It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.

The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.

The irony isn't lost on you.

"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"

"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.

If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.

All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.

One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.

When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.

You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.

Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.

Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.

"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."

"It's not my new home—"

"MONTGOMERY!"

The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.

"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."

Nothing happened between you.

It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.

"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.

"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."

Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.

Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.

It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.

"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.

Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."

As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.

How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.

"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."

Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.

A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.

"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."

It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.

They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.

And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.

Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.

The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.

Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail.

Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.

In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.

Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.

The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.

Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.

Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.

But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.

A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.

"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.

The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.

Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.

"Cut the bullshit," he says.

"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"

"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"

Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.

"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."

Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.

Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.

You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.

"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"

It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.

"Mistaken identity."

"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"

You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.

He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.

"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.

"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."

"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.

With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.

"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."

Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.

"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."

Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.

He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.

It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.

Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.

This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.

You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.

Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.

As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.

Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.

But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.

"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"

Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."

"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."

And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.

If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.

He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.

But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.

It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.

Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.

"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.

"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."

The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.

"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"

"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."

Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.

"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"

"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"

It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.

But every cloud has a silver lining.

"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."

He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.

"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."

The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.

A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.

And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.

Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.

The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.

"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"

You're gonna kill Taehyung.

In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.

"Safe," you grimace.

Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"

"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.

"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.

"My sentiments exactly."

Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge

"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."

"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."

Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.

"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.

"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."

Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.

"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.

The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.

You wish you didn't.

"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.

"Excuse me?"

"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"

"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."

"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"

Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.

And so he doesn't try.

"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"

You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.

Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.

You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.

"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.

"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"

It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.

"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."

"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.

"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."

"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"

"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"

He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."

Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.

"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"

He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.

"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"

"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.

"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."

"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.

The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.

"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."

"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"

He's silent, now. Cowardly.

"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."

"You know that's not—"

"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.

Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.

Feels like it, too.

"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.

"Tell you wha—"

"That you were a virgin."

Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!

Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.

"Hardly relevant, is it?"

"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"

"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"

"I didn't ghost you."

"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."

"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"

"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"

"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."

"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."

"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"

The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.

"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."

You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.

To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.

With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.

Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.

With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.

Looks down at you.

Is so close you can smell his aftershave.

A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.

"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."

Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.

The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.

"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.

"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."

He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."

The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.

Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.

Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.

"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"

The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?

All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.

"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"

The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.

Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.

And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.

It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.

Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.

An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.

When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.

While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.

He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.

He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.

As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.

And so it's up to him to put you back together again.

"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"

His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to. Also knows that he does need to.

"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."

"But I—"

"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up."

He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.

"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"

His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.

An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).

"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.

The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"

"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"

"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."

Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.

Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.

It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.

"I want you," he husks against your lips.

"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.

"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."

"And what was that?" You encourage.

There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer.

Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."

And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?

Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.

The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.

"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.

"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"

"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."

He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.

"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.

"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.

As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.

"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"

You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."

He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.

"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.

"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.

"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.

There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.

"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."

Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."

"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.

And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.

His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.

"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"

"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.

"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."

With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.

Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.

His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.

Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."

The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.

He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.

When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.

Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.

But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.

"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."

If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.

Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.

Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.

You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.

But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.

As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"

Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.

"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."

The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.

"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.

"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.

"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."

It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.

His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.

"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.

"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.

"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."

"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"

"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.

He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.

"S'all there is. They alright?"

"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"

"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."

His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.

"I don't care. I don't want them—"

You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.

"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"

When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.

"I promise," you swear.

As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.

"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"

"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"

"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.

"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."

With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.

"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.

"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."

"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.

You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.

"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.

Your argumentative streak wants to fight.

You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."

His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.

In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.

Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.

Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."

Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.

He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.

"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.

The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.

You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.

"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."

"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"

His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."

And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.

But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.

Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."

"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.

"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."

"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.

"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole.

His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes.

Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"

There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."

But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."

"You're stupid."

"You're stupider."

"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before.

His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"

"Think you were gonna make me cum."

"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."

His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.

The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.

As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.

The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.

"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.

"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."

You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.

"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.

"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"

It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.

"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.

"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."

The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with.

His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.

But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"

That's the thing.

He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.

Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.

"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."

Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.

And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.

"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"

You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.

"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."

It's been half an hour.

He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.

The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck.

Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.

Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.

"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.

"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."

"We?" You question, incredibly confused.

"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.

Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.

As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.

Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.

"Sorry, what the fuck?!"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #college!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #college au

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ugh-yoongi · 5 months

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a word from our sponsors | knj

you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it. 🎙️

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: podcast, friends to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact. warnings: parasocial relationships galore, a m*n with a p*dcast, author abuses italics, swearing, alcohol, reader uses a pseudonym/nickname (piper) because writing the meta fanfiction scene would've been too weird without one and i refuse to use y/n, dialogue-heavy but it is a fic about a podcast, everyone is down horrendous, mentions of social media & fake r*ddit posts, ex-boyfriend yoongi but in a good, healthy way. let me know if i missed anything but mostly this is just two goofballs not realizing they're in love with one another. smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex (fiction), protected vaginal sex (nonfiction), a lil squirting, mild degradation, mentions of a p*ss kink but there is no actual pee i promise (...lest?), i didn't intend to write size kink but it's namjoon so it just showed up anyway, slight dom!joon, everyone orgasms. wordcount: 17.5k credits: this was entirely inspired by that one episode of the basement yard where frankie reads the smut fic of him and joe, so credits to both that author and that podcast. spotify, for their podcast name generator. astro-seek for helping me drag namjoon astrologically. an extra special, gigantic thanks to @effortandmore for writing the meta fanfic (3k of it, no less!) and not batting an eye when i said it could have pee in it as a joke. this is as much yours as it is mine. finally, @hot-soop and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over for me and telling me i'm funny. author's note: happy birthday, indigo! here i am to validate every fear you've ever had that the people you write porn about may one day read it. live and on air. :)

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years.

You can learn a lot about a guy in that amount of time.

None of it is especially salacious. You know all about his family and his dog and the brand of recycled paper towels he insists on buying in bulk. You know what he’d written his grad school thesis on and what he’d looked like in the thick of it, when he was staving off his fifth mental break of the week. You know how fidgety he gets when it’s closing in on Friday night and he’s got a date—how much he stresses over which restaurant to pick, which cologne, which expensive cashmere sweater to wear.

You also know what the internet thinks about him. Intimately.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is peak husband material. He has cheeks ripe for pinching and thighs small countries would go to war to defend. He has a lap that doubles as a seat and dimples people want to get baptized in. He has Instagram selfies with hundreds of thousands of likes and comment sections full of intelligible keysmashes, especially the ones he posts from the gym.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is a man written by a woman.

Looking at him now, you aren’t sure that’s true, you think people just need to raise their standards. Namjoon is just… Namjoon. He’s intelligent and kind and up to date on modern feminist theory, is all. And, sure, maybe in the current political landscape that puts him far above the rest of men, but the way the internet has latched onto him is a little concerning.

“There’s another post about whether or not we’re dating,” you say, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

sooo let’s be real here, we ALL think they’re dating, right?? Posted by u/pod-shipper 2 hours ago

Just like he always does, Namjoon huffs out a soft laugh, makes his way around to your side of the table. Puts his large hands on your shoulders as he leans in close to read from your screen, snorting every time he reads a sentence he finds particularly amusing. Whichever cologne he’d chosen this morning is, admittedly, very nice.

It’s sooo obvious, especially in the episodes they film and post on YouTube. The way they look at each other?? I don’t even look at my HUSBAND like that! (+1264) ↳ omg ur sooooo right! i could MAYBE buy that they aren’t full on dating, but they’ve def at least slept together. Namjoon is so 🔥🔥🔥 (+791) ↳ um how can namjoon be dating her when he’s already married to me 😌💅 (+3) ↳ For the millionth time, can we not speculate on their personal lives? This is weird and reinforces really harmful ideas that men and women can’t just be friends. (-51)

“How come they never talk about how hot you are?”

You can tell by the look on Namjoon’s face that he hadn’t meant to say that—or, if he did, he didn’t mean to say it like that, with an entire pout, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Cursed to be ugly and dumb,” you joke to ease the sudden tension, reading the comment that simply says you’d have to be the dumbest person alive to not sleep with Namjoon.

He scrunches his nose at that. Returns to his side of the table. “Yeah, I don’t think so, lots of people haven’t slept with me.” Starts to unpack all the gear from his bag before he says, “Hey, all that stuff—does it bother you?”

“What do you mean?” you answer, the corner of a protein bar stuck in your mouth. Namjoon always insists on recording at the most inconvenient times.

“People thinking we’re together,” he clarifies.

You shrug. “I dunno. Not really. Comes with the territory, I think, not to mention how much you love to overshare—”

“Hello?”

“I’m just saying,” you retort, hands raised in self-defense. “There really was no need for you to mention you blew your grad school stipend on a porn scam.” Namjoon looks affronted, like he can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to bring that up. “Or that you lost your virginity at fifteen.”

“We have a relationship podcast,” he states simply. “That’s kind of what we do, right? Talk about relationships? And the spectrum of human sexuality is part of that.”

You slump back in your chair as you quirk an eyebrow. “No one said it wasn’t, I just said you overshare. Which you do.”

“And that’s why there’s a dozen Reddit posts a week discussing whether or not we’re dating? Because I overshare?”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the kind of behavior that leads to parasocial relationships. People latch onto that shit. Makes them think they’re your friend.” He glares. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. It’s bad enough you’ve word-vomited all this highly personal information about yourself, but to not even do it under a pseudonym? It’s like you’re begging for trouble.”

Another comment he doesn’t even realize he’s making: “I don’t beg. For anything.”

To this day, you’re not sure why Namjoon asked you to co-host a podcast with him.

His reasoning had been simple: “You’re my best friend and we don’t agree on anything.” Hard to argue with that. Namjoon has seemingly endless patience, even in the face of things he shouldn’t entertain, and you… do not, to put it simply.

You’re not a cold person. Your fuse isn’t short. You’re just a little jaded, is all. Have far less propensity for bullshit than Namjoon does, so the two of you play well off each other. You end a sentence with a well-punctuated full stop and Namjoon’s right behind you to sigh and say maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, not everything in the world can be so black or white.

Except some things are. Somewhere along the way, the podcast—which Namjoon had affectionately named Place Him Gently in the Garbage, even though some people should be shoved in there with force—had picked up a following. A big one. And now, every week, you’re inundated with emails ranging in severity. Sometimes people just want to vent after their tenth bad date in a row or share funny stories, and Namjoon lets you take the lead on those, but sometimes it’s a little more serious. That’s where Namjoon shines, all that endless patience, and people love him for it.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks, accepting a thick stack of papers from Jungkook.

Ah, Jungkook.

You aren’t sure what he actually does. Some kind of social media manager, which is obvious from the wildly out-of-context clips he posts of you to TikTok, and it’s his responsibility to go through the thousands of emails you get from listeners, but aside from that all you’ve got are your suspicions that he just sticks around to swindle Namjoon out of more and more money.

“I’m in a silly goofy mood,” comes Jungkook’s reply, and you let out a witch cackle as Namjoon winces. Nothing good ever comes of Jungkook being in a silly goofy mood, and that’s quite alright by you.

Fifteen minutes later finds you with a camera in your face that you greet with an unamused, flat stare. Jungkook is used to it by now. Just films for a few seconds before turning his attention to an unaware Namjoon. Head down, pen and highlighter going a mile a minute as he pores over the stack of papers with all the doggedness and eagle-eyed stare of a literature professor.

That’s the thing about Namjoon—he takes this really seriously. So do you, but not in the ways Namjoon does. He’s all skill and determination and you’re color commentary. It works. It clearly works, so you aren’t too bent out of shape about it, but sometimes you worry. Namjoon takes this really seriously and sometimes you worry that he takes it too seriously, that he carries the burdens and worries of all these strangers, that he’s trying to solve and fix things that aren’t his responsibility to solve and fix.

So he takes it really seriously and you don’t take it as seriously as you maybe should, and everything is by design. Balanced.

Twenty minutes later finds you staring across the table at Namjoon, who asks, “Are you ready?” and does one last equipment check before he launches into, “Welcome back to another episode of Place Him Gently in the Garbage with Namjoon and Piper. What’s new with you, Pipe? Any fun news?”

Pipe. It drives you nuts. Feels like nails on a chalkboard. “I see you almost every single day,” you respond dryly. “But for the sake of entertainment, I’m thinking about getting a cat.”

“A cat?” Namjoon parrots, and his eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe because he knows what that means.

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, but you’ve known him even longer.

Since your first year of college, which is also when you met Yoongi. Yoongi, your ex. Yoongi, the person you’d been with for six years and had planned a life around. Yoongi, now one of your closest friends, because the two of you still love one another but no longer in that way, which is fine. But also—Yoongi, allergic to cats.

So, yeah. Namjoon knows what that means, and he has the good sense not to mention it. Unlike him, you’re intensely private and keep your cards close to your chest. Your listeners don’t even know your real name, let alone that you’d gone through a breakup a year ago.

“What kind of cat?” he continues, like his entire world hasn’t just been turned upside-down.

You shrug. “Eh, I don’t know. Probably one that’s been in the shelter a long time, I guess. I’m not too fussy, you know?”

“Right, a cat is a cat,” Namjoon says, thinking he’s done something. You and Jungkook gasp at the same time. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because that’s a fucked up thing to say! A cat is not just a cat. They have little personalities, just like people. You’ve got—”

“But you just said you’re not fussy,” he interjects. “And I know they have personalities and that you have to find one that suits your lifestyle! Like, you can’t have one of those really cool cats that likes to go kayaking and shit, it’d never work—”

“What does that mean? Why couldn’t I have a cool cat?”

“Hey, all you cool cats and kittens,” Namjoon mocks, and you can tell he thinks he’s done something again, but his impression falls flatter than flat. An awkward silence fills the studio. He coughs. “Anyway. Do you have pictures?”

“Yeah. I also have a list of candidates ranked by how cool their names are. Number five, Casserole.”

“That’s cute.”

“Mhm,” you agree, “but Casserole is a kitten, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“They do say you should adopt kittens in pairs.”

“And that’s how they get you. You want one kitten and they talk you into two, and before you know it you’ve got, like, twelve cats. Number four, Party Girl.”

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

“And, finally, number one: Human Torch.”

“Yoooo.” Namjoon laughs. “You have to adopt Human Torch. Let me see.” You pull up a picture on your phone and hand it over. “Okay, for our listeners—Human Torch is a young, male Domestic Short Hair. He has stripes. I don’t know what that’s called.”

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

“Jungkook says he’s a tabby. He’s cute. Adopt him.”

You return your phone to your pocket. “Maybe. I still think I want an older cat, but I’ll consider it. What about you, though? Any new dating horror stories to share?”

Ah, the dating horror stories. Your most dedicated shippers are convinced they’re fake, that Namjoon just makes them up on the spot to keep them off your trail. If only. Not in the if only they were fake and Namjoon and I were actually dating kind of way, but the holy shit one of my closest friends is a fucking disaster and it’s a little embarrassing kind of way.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’ve got a date this Friday, though. Trying to decide if dinner and a movie is too boring.”

“It’s a classic for a reason. What are you gonna see, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3?”

“Three?” Namjoon emphasizes, truly sounding scandalized. “Since when are there three? I haven’t even seen one or two.”

“Okay, first of all, the original is a classic and it’s a crime you haven’t seen it.”

“And second of all?”

“There is no second of all. Repeat point one.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna see that, anyway. Maybe the re-release of Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

“I like both,” he chickens out. “Now, let’s stop wasting time and get to the point of the show.”

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

“I—no, we’ve just got a lot on the agenda today.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s lots to talk about on the celebrity front—”

Namjoon loves this part. As esteemed and educated as he is, not even he is immune to good old celebrity gossip. (Inside him there are two wolves.) Lives for it. Texts you about it at all hours of the night. Sends you links to Reddit threads with hundreds of comments. Has more opinions on Celebrity Big Brother than he does on Ludwig Wittgenstein, sometimes, and when that’s the case you know you’re in for a long evening. You’ve never even seen an episode of Celebrity Big Brother.

But Namjoon loves it, so you’ve become fond of it by association. Reminds you a bit of Yoongi and his love for sports and sports anime.

“—one should we start with?”

“Whatever you want,” you answer, because you haven’t been paying a lick of attention and you aren’t sure it matters anyway. Namjoon can talk to a wall on a good day, but he’s an entirely different beast once mundane, innocuous celeb gossip gets involved.

And even though you hadn’t been paying attention, it seems like this was the right thing to say, because Namjoon smiles so wide his dimples crater his face. “Cool. Let’s start with Taryn Manning. Did you see that bizarre—”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

Namjoon looks a little dumbstruck. Even Jungkook’s arching an eyebrow at you. “Are you serious? She was in Orange is the New Black and Crossroads.”

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

Your co-host shoots you a very pointed look. “I will, thanks. Anyway, she posted a video on social media talking about this affair she had with a married man. Like, she pulled over on the side of the road to record this. Said she can’t stand the man’s wife because she called her a quote-unquote lunatic.”

“I—huh, thought we weren’t supposed to say that anymore. Alright.”

“But wait, it gets even more bizarre. Listen to this quote—and this is direct. This is a direct quote from the video, I can’t stop thinking about it: ‘Don’t you ever threaten me when your husband came to me to get his butthole licked.’ Can you—”

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

“It’s crazy, right? She was gonna buy this guy a boat.”

“Namjoon, this is a family show, you can’t just talk about ass-eating unprompted.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, you still shouldn’t talk about ass-eating unprompted. It’s unbecoming.”

“You’re unbecoming,” Namjoon fires back, because he can’t help it. The words are out of his mouth before he can think. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

You sigh. Know whatever look Jungkook is catching on his camera right now is exasperated and pointed, the corners of your mouth probably tugged up just a hint. “Unbecoming, like I said.” Namjoon scoffs. “Anyway, so this actress was gonna buy this married guy a boat and was eating his ass?”

“Yeah. Apparently it was her friend’s husband? They all went to a Taylor Swift concert together.”

“Jesus, this keeps getting worse. Big year for Hollywood cheaters.”

“It is, right? Cheaters and divorces. Something in the water, I guess.”

“I saw the astrology girlies saying a bunch of planets are in retrograde, so—”

“Can you explain that to me? Like, what does it mean for a planet to be in retrograde? Why is it causing divorces?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an astrology girlie. That’s why I said the astrology girlies. What are your big three, though?”

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

“Ugh,” you intone, “don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. What time were you born?”

Namjoon rattles off a time.

You grab your laptop. Pull up the page, type in Namjoon’s date of birth and birthplace, and wait. Then you’re staring at a circle with a bunch of lines in it that also don’t make a lick of sense to you. You roll your lips to keep from laughing and school your voice into something deadly serious. “Bad news: it says you’re a virgin.”

“Virgo,” Namjoon corrects, not taking the bait. “I already knew that.”

You scroll a little further down the page. “Your moon is in Sagittarius. Oh god, listen to this, they’ve got you pegged: ‘The greatest need is to always search for something. In order to feel safe you need a philosophy or belief’—”

“Haaa, that’s not—”

“—’You need to have a goal or mission that gives your life meaning. Your faith must be voluntary and it is a paradox that fighting against dogmas may lead you to other dogmas.’ Yeah, that’s you.”

“That could apply to anyone,” he argues. “There are seven-billion people on this planet; I’d imagine a sizable amount of them would say that also describes them.”

“Hm, sounds like your faith in astrology is not yet voluntary. Did you know you’re a Scorpio rising?”

“No. I’m sure you’re gonna tell me all about it, though.”

You smile. “Correct. ‘People with Scorpio on the Ascendant need to fight against dark and destructive power in their life.’ Is that true?”

“Yeah, you’re the dark and destructive power. You keep sidetracking me and we need to get to the point of the podcast.” He grabs the stack of papers Jungkook had given him. Looks more highlighter than paper, if you’re being honest. “I guess Jungkook thought we needed a lighthearted kind of day.”

“That was nice of him, considering what he gave us last week. I guess we’re allowed to have faith in humanity today.”

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

“Alright,” Namjoon starts, putting on his Very Serious Podcast Guy voice, “first up we’ve got a question from one of our listeners in Canada. It says, ‘Hi, Piper and Namjoon. I recently agreed to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She said he was a bit old-fashioned but really talked him up so I thought I was in good hands—and then he showed up to get me in a ‘67 GTO and exclusively referred to me as doll. He didn’t use my name once. I’m torn, because he was really nice and I had a good time otherwise, but this is weird, right? Should I see him agai—’”

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

“You don’t have to. This guy sounds greasy.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “And why is that?”

“Ignoring the fact that this guy has arguably one of the lamest classic cars around, he didn’t use their name once? Not once, in all the time they spent together? That’s really disrespectful.”

“Some people are just pet name people,” Namjoon argues.

“With absolute strangers, though? It’s really giving the impression that he didn’t even know it, not to mention some people are uncomfortable with pet names. The whole shtick is super lame.”

“I agree it sounds a bit misguided, but—”

Ignoring Namjoon, you say, “Sorry you had to go on a date with the ghost of less-cool James Dean. Into the garbage he goes.”

And, just like he’s done a million times before, Namjoon rolls his eyes and says, “If you really like this guy and want to see him again, a bit of communication will go a long way. Tell him the pet name made you uncomfortable—if it did—and offer to pick him up for the next date. I don’t think he’s completely destined for the garbage, yet.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t have a license. You probably think a 1967 Pontiac GTO is the pinnacle of romance. That’s probably like picking someone up on a Specialized Aethos to you, eh?”

“That’s a fifteen-thousand dollar bike, I’ll have you know.”

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

I think Namjoon had the right idea on this one. Sure, the car can be considered lame, but I think a lot of men are deeply insecure and therefore overcompensate when it comes to dating. Women are hard to impress when they have unlimited options. You have to stand out, so I’m glad he advocated for him. Piper can come off like such a misandrist sometimes. (-649) ↳ just shut up bro namjoon would fuckin hate u (+204) ↳ Imagine caring about something like this when they’re getting a cat together 🙄 (+19)

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

Adopting a cat is certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had, and truth be told it’s been a little lonely, living by yourself. No more Yoongi in your space; no more Holly. So, having a new little friend around might do you some good.

It’s just—

It’s a big commitment, and there’s also the dog sitting-shaped elephant in the room. Ending things on good terms means you’re still Yoongi’s second-choice sitter whenever he has to go out of town, and while you love Holly dearly (the two of you had adopted him together, after all), he’s a lot like his father in a lot of ways.

Should I get a cat, you type out, and it’s only been in Yoongi’s inbox a few seconds before the most unflattering picture you’ve ever taken of him is flashing across your screen.

“Are you dying?” you ask, because Yoongi doesn’t call you for much else.

And you already know what his response is going to be. “We’re all dying.”

“Lighten up, Yoongi. One might say being so existentially nihilistic before noon causes wrinkles.”

There’s a split-second pause. “It’s nine p.m.”

“Sure, but it’s before tomorrow’s noon, so it still counts.”

“Whatever. Listen, before you adopt that cat, I need a favor.”

“You going out of town again?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long, though. A week at the most, five days if I’m lucky.”

“That’s fine, bring him over whenever. Yijeong’s busy?”

This pause is far, far longer. “No,” comes Yoongi’s eventual response, but it’s slow. Unsure. A two-letter word has never taken so long to say in the history of ever. “He’s, uh. Coming with me?”

Oh, you think. This is where your ex awkwardly and hesitantly breaks the news of his new relationship. You’ve known this day was coming, and this is what you get for staying friends with him. “This is a fanfiction plot,” you accuse. “Hot, mysterious man moves into a gaudy apartment complex after ending a long-term relationship and meets his equally-hot and mysterious neighbor and they fall in love.”

“I—that’s not—my apartment is not gaudy.”

“Yes it is. There’s a giant gold bust of a weird bird in the lobby.”

“Weird bird?” he parrots. “It’s a swan.”

“I see you’re not denying the in-love-with-your-neighbor accusations.”

“Am I on trial?” Yoongi retorts, and it’s such a Yoongi thing to say when what he means is, is this okay? He means, are we able to talk about this without it being weird? He means, I won’t ever say as much out loud, but your acceptance means a lot to me, and I’d like for you to give me this.

So you lower your voice and soften the edges because it’s not really something to joke about, and you say, “No, of course you’re not on trial,” and Yoongi knows what you mean. “And if you were, you'd get locked up for fifty years. You can’t lie for shit.”

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat, mutters a thanks that is so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “Send me pictures of the cats.”

Later on, once you’re freshly-showered and tucked into bed with a candle and a book (Eloge de l’amour by Alain Badiou at Namjoon’s insistence and request), your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi—

Yoongi: toddler is a fucking hilarious name for a cat but so is flat Yoongi: it’s a tie for me You: Okay well pick one 🙄 Yoongi: yijeong says get both You: Both???? Is he paying my vet bills? Yoongi: kinda out of line to proposition him for money. flat is also good with dogs, js You: If he’s now being raised by you two, my perfect, well-behaved son is probably long gone. Does he even count as a dog anymore? Yoongi: me and yijeong both say fuck off Yoongi: holly too. he says he doesn’t miss you anymore and he’s not coming over now Yoongi has added Yijeong to the group Yoongi has changed the group name to #ThirdWheelChat Yijeong: Please don’t drag me into this. Also I did not say “fuck off” You have changed the group name to People Who Have Seen Yoongi Naked Yoongi: fuck you

You should’ve known something was going on with Jungkook, because it’d started like this:

(When you and Namjoon started the podcast three years ago, it was in the living room of his apartment.

Surrounded by books and plants. He loved to record in the afternoons back then—Namjoon loved to say it was because of his grad school schedule, but you’ve always suspected he just wanted to preen in the golden hour light, much like he’s doing now.

“Is this really necessary?” Jungkook whines from his spot on the couch. He’s already swindled Namjoon out of two bags of microwavable popcorn and three cans of sparkling water. “It’s a Saturday afternoon; I could be doing something so much more fun than this.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Are you saying this isn’t fun?”

“Yeah. It sucks, actually. This could’ve been an email.”

And because Namjoon is accomplished, mature, and absolutely incapable of not taking Jungkook’s bait, the space between his brows creases as he sends a murderous glare Jungkook’s way. “Stop eating my food, then. And drinking my drinks. And lounging on my couch like that—”

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

“Well, knock it off! My couch is only for fun and people who think I’m fun!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “So you fuck on it?”

“What?”

“What other fun things could you possibly do on a couch?”

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

Jungkook groans, throws himself backwards against the pillows as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “Jesus. No wonder you can’t score a second date.”

“Okay, that was a little uncalled for. There are a ton of reasons a person might not want a second date, and no one is obligated to go out with me—”

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

You clear your throat. Try to hide your own can of seltzer you’d taken from Namjoon’s fridge in the midst of his and Jungkook’s bickering. “Not trying to be rude, but I have an appointment at the shelter at three. If, y’know. You wouldn’t mind speeding this up a little.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

“Oh, so you’ll speed this up for her but not—”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “She,” he begins, jerking his thumb in your direction, “isn’t needlessly complaining and actually has someplace to be.”)

It was just a quick little rendezvous in Namjoon’s living room to come up with a rough draft for the following month’s episodes. He couldn’t do it over text because he’d fallen down the steps at his office and landed on his ass on the corner of a step and his phone had been in his back pocket. Cracked clean in half. And he couldn’t do it over email because he—rightfully—knew Jungkook would ignore them because he has his inbox set up to send all of Namjoon’s personal emails to the trash.

But Jungkook holds onto things like that. Grudges. Loves to let Namjoon think bygones are bygones and pop up a few days later with some evil scheme. Hence:

“What is this?”

Jungkook smirks. Rocks back on his heels. “It’s fanfiction.”

“I can see that, but… why?”

This is where Jungkook shines: the ominous, cheshire cat grin; the aw, shucks demeanor that gaslights Namjoon into thinking Jungkook couldn’t possibly be fucking with him. “Well, you were having trouble coming up with ideas for episodes, and there’s an email in there from someone whose partner reads really expli—”

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Of all the weird shit you’ve seen on the internet (and there’s been a lot), fanfiction of people you know—your friends—was something you’d managed to escape. Probably by virtue of not knowing anyone famous enough to warrant fanfiction being written about them.

But you should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known.

“Oh my god?”

You’re not sure who says it. Could be you or Namjoon, but the sentiment is the same. He mouths a what the fuck at you that’s met with a shrug. You’re in uncharted territory now, too. “Where did you even find this?” you ask, taking the stack of papers from Namjoon. “And why did you print it out?”

“Because I’m going to track down whoever wrote it and get them to autograph it. Then I’m going to buy a nice frame and hang it on the wall behind him, so we never forget this historical moment in Place Him Gently in the Garbage lore.”

“It’s a podcast,” Namjoon deadpans, “how can it have lore? And how much lore can there possibly be?”

“It’s the internet,” you concede. “The lore possibilities are endless. Don’t tempt them.”

Jungkook nods sagely, well-versed in the degeneracy of the internet. “Yeah, that’s how you end up with shit like 4chan.”

“4chan? There’s Space Jam porn on there.”

As the youngest, all Jungkook can do is roll his eyes. “Sometimes explaining this shit to you feels like trying to teach old people how to rotate PDFs—”

Namjoon scoffs. “I’m not that bad. I know how to rotate a PDF.”

Wow, Jungkook mouths. “Anyway, back to the fanfiction—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Namjoon interjects. He looks at you. “It’s weird, right? Like, it’s weird that people have written this about us?”

About us.

Your scope of the world narrows to the size of a pinhead. It’d just been about Namjoon before. This is fanfiction about me, he’d said, and you hadn’t been included in that. Now it’s written about us and you’re included.

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

Jungkook rolls his lips. “It’s about the two of you fucking, to be specific.”

“Can you not—”

“Fucking a lot,” Jungkook continues. “So much fucking.”

Namjoon looks at you, and it’s all you can do to keep from laughing. The look on his face is pure bewilderment, both that Jungkook has cooked up this idea and is hell-bent on executing it and that he remains employed. And maybe it’s a little bit of nerves, too, because neither of you are ignorant of the risks. Reading fanfiction about yourselves—about the two of you as a couple, specifically, or at least two people who have sex—is weird. Not something you can unread.

And maybe it’s because you’re so determined to not make it weird that you send Namjoon a cheeky, exaggerated wink, shrug your shoulders, and say, “I’ll need a couple drinks, but I’m down.”

Jungkook throws his head back and cackles wildly, and that look of bewilderment on Namjoon’s face morphs into something else. Trepidation, maybe; definitely disbelief, because sometimes he lets himself get swept away in Jungkook’s schemes, but it’s rare that you follow suit.

As Jungkook continues to laugh, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

Namjoon has two stipulations: the two of you have to film the episode completely alone, and he, too, needs to be a little drunk.

The latter? Piece of cake, considering Namjoon has become some sort of whiskey aficionado in recent years. His drinking is streamlined and to the point—he knows exactly how much and what to drink to get him where he wants to be. You can’t say he isn’t efficient.

The former, though? Borderline impossible. From the second Namjoon states his terms, Jungkook is having none of it. Argues that he’s the one who found the story and the one who cleared it with the author, so he deserves to witness the fruits of his labor.

“No,” Namjoon repeats for the nth time, “no way. I’ll barely be able to do this with just her, let alone both of you.”

And that—that doesn’t bother you, right? You force a laugh, because why would it bother you?

There are few secrets between you and Namjoon, except your respective sex lives have been staunchly off-limits. Namjoon could be a virgin for all you know, and as you study him—the way he keeps bobbing his leg, the slight shake in his hands—you wonder if that’s the reason he’s being so weird about this.

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

Most people don’t have to worry about someone writing stories about them fucking their friends. If they do, you reckon even less actually read them. So, sure, it’s a little strange, but people from all over the world send in stranger stuff all the time, don’t they? It’s literally the reason you’re in this predicament.

Eventually Jungkook agrees. His whining has gotten him nowhere, so he just throws up his hands. Posts a cryptic little “u guys won’t believe what the next patreon ep is lmao” that sends the internet into a frenzy. Doubles your Patreon numbers almost immediately, and both you and Namjoon do a good job of pretending the pressure isn’t overwhelming.

Jesus. You have to read explicit fanfiction about yourselves. On camera.

Namjoon gets caught up with work and isn’t available until the weekend, so you’re forced to sit with the nerves for a few days. Not too bad at first, but you’re nearly coming out of your skin by Thursday with the need to know. You’re well-versed in the world of fanfiction, but this is fanfiction about you: your name, your likeness, maybe even your personality.

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

Will they get it right, the way he looks with his jaw clenched? How impossibly deep his voice can go, both when it’s raspy with sleep and when he’s fully at ease? Will the Namjoon in the story be closer to the Namjoon you know, or the version of himself he presents to the public?

And you’ve known him a long time—long enough that there are few secrets between you, but you don’t know the most intimate parts. All the parts the internet loves to speculate on. All the little gaps that, apparently, need to be filled in by fanfiction.

Will they know what Namjoon looks like when he gets off?

No, you scold yourself, jerking awkwardly like you’ve been burned, and neither will you.

Because you are not going to think about this. Your thoughts are not going to go there. Namjoon is your friend, and you’ve listened to him scold an endless amount of men on the podcast for exactly this behavior. Sexualizing their friends. You’re not going to do it, too.

Maybe that’s why you’re kind of seeing double when it comes time to record. Namjoon needed an extra shot and offered you one as well. You’d necked it without a second thought and now you’re here, trying to ignore the slight tilt of the room as Namjoon adjusts the camera.

“How’s the shot look?” he asks, gesturing vaguely behind him at his laptop screen because Jungkook had refused to lend you his fancy cameras if he wasn’t allowed to be involved.

It’s a completely normal question.

It’s a question you’ve asked and answered a million times.

Except—there’s something horribly distracting about Namjoon in this moment. The outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The way the sleeves are tight around his biceps. He’s always been a gym rat, always carries around a protein shake that smells and looks completely foul, but you can’t remember it ever being this obvious.

And you take too long to answer, because Namjoon straightens up just enough to send you a concerned look. Which does not help. You are not imagining what else might cause his brows to pinch like that, what might have his lips parting, have sweat dotting his hairline.

You swallow. Hard.

“Looks fine,” you manage to say. He’s still staring. Are you on fire? You feel like you’re on fire, which would make sense. Would explain Namjoon’s sweating and concerned stare and the fact that he cannot stop staring at you. “Maybe a tiny bit to the right if we’re being picky,” you tack on, hoping it’ll break whatever spell the two of you are ensnared in.

It works. “To the—the right, yeah, makes sense,” he rambles.

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

Recording hasn’t been this awkward since your first episode, or maybe ever. You’re sat across from one another like you always are, and usually Namjoon would be making quip after quip by now, talking endlessly until Jungkook shushed him long enough to get the intro filmed. Now, there’s just silence.

“Should we…?” Namjoon startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table and drops a string of curses. “Sorry, are you—”

“I’m fine,” he says, cutting you off. He gestures vaguely toward the camera. “I’ll just… yeah.”

Showtime.

You wipe your hands on your jeans, unsure of when they got so damp. Unsure of when you’d grown so nervous, too, because you’d been fine an hour ago. Had strolled in with two cups of tea and a little too much confidence, giddy at what you were about to do.

Maybe the nerves had shown up alongside the alcohol. This sounds reasonable, and you do not, under any circumstance or for any reason, think about Namjoon’s back. Or his biceps.

Namjoon makes it through the intro, dimples deep and wide as he smiles, and you also don’t think about the way his voice cracks and gets a little breathy when he introduces you. It’s only because he’d been drinking, and the flush on his cheeks attests to that. The same flush that creeps down his neck, still a little sweaty; disappears beneath the hemline of his shirt.

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

Now it’s your turn to startle, and there’s not much you can do to hide the obvious except ask Namjoon to redo the shot. Because it’s bad enough the internet already overanalyzes every move you make, every word choice, every instance you’ve stared at Namjoon a second longer than they thought you would—this is a blatant display of… affectedness.

“Sorry,” you say, “I wasn't paying attention. Can we redo it?”

You’re expecting a playful scolding. A ha ha, get it together, because that’s what you usually get. But there’s nothing aside from Namjoon studying you and nodding. Asking if you’re okay. Saying, “Is this—this is weird, right? Is it too weird? Maybe we shouldn’t—”

An out. Namjoon is giving you an out, and you should take it, you know you should take it, so there’s absolutely no reason at all you shake your head and say, “No, no, it’s fine! I think I’m just a little, uh. Drunk?”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“It’s fine, Joon,” you insist. “Besides, it’ll be good content, right?”

“Good content,” he parrots. “Yeah, for sure.” He fidgets in his seat, runs his hands down the span of his thighs. Very, very thick thighs. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You faceplant onto the table as soon as he’s out of the room. When did his thighs get so thick?

But the water helps. Cures whatever strange, insatiable thirst has come over you, because you feel much more human after a few glasses. Less drunk, too, which makes sense. Yoongi could barely escape your drunken, horny wrath when the two of you were together, so you chalk it up to a Pavlovian response.

Namjoon does the intro again. Introduces you strong and steady, not a hint of nerves, and explains, with a fresh blush taking over his upper body, what the episode’s going to be about. “Someone wrote fanfiction about us,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, pretty explicit. Jungkook thought it’d be funny if we read it.”

You snort. “He might get fired, depending on how this goes.”

“He should get fired regardless,” Namjoon deadpans. “Anyway, we have permission from the author to read this so don’t come after us, and, as always, we’ll put all the credits in the video description.”

“Special shoutout to Jungkook, though, who was not allowed to be here with us for this momentous occasion.”

Namjoon laughs. “I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun at home.” You both pause. “That’s not—I’m not implying anything with that! I just meant—you know, like. He’s hanging out and enjoying his day off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Moving on. I have two copies of this. Do you want your own?”

You grin, wicked and wide. “Nah, just read it to me.”

“Making me do all the work,” he huffs. “Typical.”

“There’s a stack of papers in front of you that might say otherwise.”

It’s clear you catch him off-guard. He cocks an eyebrow, opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a goldfish. An obvious question sits on the tip of his tongue: You think you’d be in charge? Instead he coughs, jerks his head to the side, and says, “I guess we’ll see.”

It sounds like a challenge.

Thirty seconds is all you get before Namjoon’s shuffling his stack of papers and clearing his throat. Asking if you’re ready and jumping right into it once you say you are. Reads the first few lines like they’re some old lecture notes, and they’re conservative and safe-for-work enough that you start to relax.

And then Namjoon reads, “A louder one wonders if Namjoon is a pet name person—if he’d call her ‘honey,’ or ‘gummy bear,’ ‘babe,’ or ‘baby,’” and you choke.

“Gummy bear?”

Namjoon laughs along with you—the weird one that almost sounds like a dog panting. “You want me to call you gummy bear?”

“I want you to call me a Lyft,” you snark. “I’m leaving.”

He continues:

And that’s how it starts, wandering thoughts, wandering fingers—the first time Piper comes to the thought of Namjoon calling her baby, pushing inside her, showing her that he definitely doesn’t beg, but she does… Well, she’s a little ashamed. She’s apparently got a reputation to maintain, anyway, not to mention a friendship.

His eyes leave the paper and lock onto you. “Or maybe you’d prefer baby?”

“Fuck off.”

Weeks after that first time, it’s become a habit, thinking about Namjoon as something more than a friend. It’s confusing and a little mortifying and it’s starting to affect her in ways she hadn’t expected. When they record, she feels fidgety—she’s jumpy when he gets close, has all the stupid obvious tells of an unwanted crush: her breath hitches when he whispers (why the fuck is he whispering in her ear, anyway? Doesn’t he know what that does to a person?) inside jokes to her so Jungkook can’t hear, her heart rate spikes when their fingers accidentally brush, she feels itchy and hot and a little embarrassed whenever he holds eye contact with her. It’s terrible, and it’s only made worse by the way he’s doing all of those things more than usual. Or, at least she thinks he is, thinks she’s not imagining the way his eyes linger on her more than she can remember happening before or the way she’s caught him staring at her lips when she chews on the end of her pencil mindlessly.

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

Namjoon’s staring again. You need to salvage this. He’s only on paragraph three and you’re already squirming in your chair and imagining things that are not appropriate. So you roll your lips, return his teasing. “Well? Do you stare at my lips?”

It works. “No,” he scowls.

“You sure?” you joke, morphing your face into something half-pout, half-duck face.

“We’re never gonna finish this if you keep making comments.”

“You started it,” you point out. “Go on, then.”

There’s some dialogue. Some prose that hits way too close to home, has you wondering who on earth wrote this and how they plucked every single thought from deep within your psyche. A pang of fear that maybe you haven’t been as subtle as you’d thought all these years. A moment to confirm to yourself that, no, you haven’t been harboring a secret, deeply-buried crush on Namjoon.

Then he reads—

And then he kisses her. It’s greedy and hot, his lips like a branding iron. She moans a little against her better judgment when he licks at the seam of her mouth, and in return, she can feel Namjoon’s lips curve into a smile against her own. It’s better than she’d been imagining it, really. He’s a good kisser—firm at the right times, soft when she needs it, careful but not cautious. He holds her jaw with one hand and keeps her right where he wants her beneath him (as if she’d want to move, anyway). When their lips finally part, he rests his forehead on hers. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t expected, and he looks at her as if she’s the answer to every question. Finally, he whispers, “What’re we doing, Piper?” His lips are still wet and pink and a little swollen from kissing, and she barely hears the question—she’s too busy thinking about kissing him again, about pulling his plump bottom lip between her teeth, teasing and… “Kissing,” she says finally. “What do you want?” he asks, sinking to his knees in front of her. And if that alone isn’t an answer to his question… “Whatever you’re willing to give,” she replies. It feels like she’s wanted this forever, this and so much more. Once she got the idea in her head, it’s hard to know if she ever felt differently, ever truly thought they could just be friends. Or, if in the back of her mind, in the dark corners that she never lets see daylight, she always knew she wanted Namjoon. Always knew she loved him.

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

Namjoon sits with those words for a moment. Scans the paper in his hands and frowns a little when he confirms what you already know. “The rest is, uh. Porn.”

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie. “Are you? You’re the one who keeps stalling.”

He huffs. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he retorts, and then nothing is all that funny anymore.

Because Namjoon was right: the rest is straight-up porn. He’s barely able to read the part where he goes down on you with a straight face, turning a deep shade of crimson. Stutters through the part where you pull his hair, and that is not something you needed to know about your friend. You think he loses his grasp of language entirely when he reads, “When he slides a long finger into her and brushes past her most sensitive spot, she arches into him and lets his name fall from her lips in a soft cry. Piper, notorious skeptic, is a babbling, trembling mess as she gets closer to her orgasm,” because all the words are garbled together, producing nothing but gibberish. You think he’s ready to keel over and die when he reads, “Namjoon pulls away briefly, lips slick with her juices, and licks over his top one, pausing to tell her how good she tastes before he dives back in.”

“That was nice of them to include. I appreciate their attention to detail in regards to my personal hygiene.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Gimme. I’ll finish it.” He hands over the papers immediately.

Except you regret it immediately. The words you’re staring at are not words you ever thought you’d read or recite in your entire life. Not even for a million dollars. “Oh,” you say instead.

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

“This is really embarrassing,” you confirm. “I might need another shot.”

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

Namjoon staggers forward obligingly, looks completely fucked out and pliant, willing to do whatever she asks. She remembers the sounds he made when she pulled his hair, wonders if he likes being bossed around, if he wants her to tell him what to do, to be a little mean to him. Maybe it’s different from her dreams, maybe he will beg her. She wants him so badly, she’d do anything for him. So, she pulls his briefs down to expose his absurdly large member, already mostly hard, and slaps it. Gently at first to see how he’ll react, and when he shudders and jerks his hips, she does it again, a little harder. “Look at you,” she whispers, “such a needy boy.” He whimpers at that, eyes pleading. “Please, Piper…” he whines. “Please what?” “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. She wants to, wants him so much, wants to feel him stretch her open, and from the looks of his cock, thick and long and drooling with precum, he could. “Should I?” she asks. She musters all her confidence to keep the condescending tone up. It feels wrong given how desperate she is to get him inside her, but it also seems to be getting him worked up and equally as desperate. “Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?” Namjoon’s cock twitches, and he begs, “I—I’ll fuck you so good, Piper…. I know how, I promise. Just… please?”

“Oh my god,” the two of you say in unison.

You so badly want to ask if this is biographical. How Namjoon feels about a little degradation; what he’d do if someone actually called his cock stupid. Ifsomeone has called his cock stupid. You dare a glance at him and conclude that someone’s had to. Namjoon just has that kind of energy.

But you can’t ask because it’d be weird, so you keep reading.

“How do you want me?” she asks softly when their lips part. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like he’s processing all the possible options out of everything he’s considered. And then it occurs to her. “Have you imagined this before? Thought about how you’d fuck me?” she teases him as she stands, stepping into him. Piper pushes one hand through his hair, brushing it back off of his forehead and wraps her other around his dick, squeezing a little for emphasis on her words. “Yes,” he groans as she strokes him, thumbing at the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want, then. Want me on all fours for you? Want me to show you how it’s done, to let you lay back and ride you so you don’t have to put in any work?” Namjoon’s breathing is getting heavy, pupils blown wider with each suggestion.

“I told you!” you shriek, laughing in between the words. “I told you I’d…” And then your gloating tapers off, because what happens next has your brain malfunctioning.

“All of that,” he whines as she lets go of his hair and brings her hand down to run a fingertip over his perineum. “Want all of that. Want to bend you over the table and fuck you right here. Hear your sounds in the microphone.” Even in her dirtiest thoughts about him, she hadn’t considered the microphone, hadn’t considered recording it. When she thinks about it though, it makes sense. Namjoon is exactly the kind of person that would get off to someone’s voice. So, she does. She makes a show of turning around and slowly bending over the table, sliding her upper body across it carefully until she can reach her microphone and turn it on. When she says into it, “What’re you waiting for?” she sees over her shoulder the way that Namjoon shivers.

This is… not good. You’re never going to be able to look at a microphone the same way, which is extremely not good for a person who supplements their income with a very popular podcast that requires them to speak into a microphone for extended periods of time.

This is very, very bad.

Namjoon must be thinking the same, because he lets out a strangled a-haaa that’s less of a laugh and more a plea to God, the gods, the entire gamut of higher powers that might be able to save him. No one’s going to, you think, staring down at the paper again. This godless piece of fanfiction will be preserved on the internet forever, will be seared into your mind forever, and no amount of praying is going to erase it.

“I should, uh. Just read the rest, yeah? Get it over with?”

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

Don’t say please, you almost say. You can’t take it; not after what you’ve just read.

So you put on a show. Steel your expression and your nerves and take it seriously. Use voices and sound effects and desperately try to stave off the awkwardness you know is inevitable because a smut fic is probably only going to end one way, and that’s with you acting out Namjoon having an orgasm.

Maybe you’ll have another one, too, if the author is nice.

It’s sweet, she thinks, the way he’s easy for her, takes his time with her. Strokes his fingertips along her sides and kisses the back of her neck reverently. As much as she loves it, part of her hopes he’s not always like this—hopes he’ll give as good as he takes, hopes he’ll put her in her place. She can feel his cock hard against the cleft of her ass, not even inside her yet, and still, she thinks about next time and the time after that. “Still okay?” He breathes into her ear as his tip rubs against her cunt. “Yeah—want you, Joon.” “Never thought I’d hear you say those words.” “I never thought you’d record them,” she teases, eyes glancing up to the flashing light showing the mic picking up all of this as he starts his slow slide into her. Piper falls even further forward when he bottoms out, letting her forehead rest on the table. He’s whispering filth in her ear, about how he has something to prove, how she’ll never want anyone after this, how no one can fuck her the way he does. She hates that he’s right. Each stroke brings a new sensation: sparklers, butterflies, nerve endings on fire as he fucks into her and licks and sucks at her neck, her shoulders, her ear. Piper can’t even think, and this is what people mean when they talk about being fucked stupid, she decides. It’s perfect. Every time she thinks she’s getting close again, he changes something: fucks her a little shallower, moves his hips just a little, slows down, speeds up… It’s driving her crazy. “Come on,” she whines. “I’m so close…” At least she can tell he is, too. No longer able to sustain the dirty talk, he’s breathing heavily, letting out broken moans and sighs of her name. He’s moving rhythmically now, thrusts consistently faster. “Oh, fuck, Piper,” he groans, “Gonna cum.” One of his hands finds her clit and he rubs careful circles over her, bringing her to her peak along with him, no more teasing. When she comes, it’s with a loud moan into the studio mic, and that seems to be what tips Namjoon over the edge, too. His hips stutter into hers as he comes, her cunt clenching around him for what feels like forever.

You deserve an award, you think. An Oscar. You didn’t even groan when you had to read the word “cunt,” and that’s a feat in and of itself.

“Is it over?” Namjoon asks, words muffled by the hands covering his face.

“Not quite,” you answer. “There’s some aftercare, and at the end you ask if I’ll piss on you.”

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

“Today’s episode has been brought to you by Stamps-dot-com—”

HOLY SHIT THE NEW PATREON EPISODE???????? Posted by u/pod-shipper 4 minutes ago NO WAY. NOOOOOOO FUCKING WAY DUDE THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY THEY DID THIS AS AN ACTUAL EPISODE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT HTE FUCK WHAT EHTU FKF DFGLKDG;L (+705) I wasn’t sure if they were messing around before, and I was quite critical of the “shippers,” but now I’m pretty convinced. (+423) ↳ we’ve been telling y’all for YEARS 😤 (+197) ↳ Glad you’ve seen the light, u/RandomAcorn2058! (+5) ↳ ugh. they weren’t messing around before and they aren’t messing around now. do you guys not listen to what they say? namjoon’s been dating, and piper got out of a six-year relationship just over a year ago. if they’ve had something going on for “years” that means they’re both cheaters, and that’s a really shitty thing to assume about them. not to mention it makes the entire point of the podcast moot. (-63) Why do you guys think Jungkook “wasn’t allowed” to be there? (+314) ↳ So they could fuck lmao it’s so obvious (+329) ↳ because it’s awkward af? would you wanna read porn about yourself w all your coworkers in the room? (+2) ↳ the “it’s awkward” excuse is sooooo lame he’s the one who found it and is the one who edited the episode, he’s gonna see it regardless. (+15) ↳ Tbh I’m more curious about how he even found it to begin with? Do they have a throuple thing going on? Like, why was he looking for smut fic about his bosses? (+38)

You do not get through recording unscathed.

You are very scathed. Perhaps the most scathed a person has ever been.

Jungkook texts the group chat sporadically throughout the week, cracking jokes and making memes at your and Namjoon’s expense which is par for the course and shouldn’t have you off-kilter, but something inside you feels deeply wrong. Feels like someone’s given you devastating news; feels like it used to back in uni when you knew you’d failed an exam and were just waiting to see how badly.

It both helps and doesn’t that the internet is so invested. All the clips Jungkook keeps posting have re-doubled your Patreon numbers, and jumping up a tax bracket never hurt anyone, you included. But all of those jokes and memes largely went unanswered by both you and Namjoon, still too close to the incident to find the humor in it from the other side.

The two of you had sex.

Not literally, of course, but you figure you might as well have with the way you’re feeling. The way you’re avoiding one another. Someone wrote a story about the two of you having sex and you both read it and something about that, days later, feels really fucking unsettling.

In a bad way? You aren’t sure. It’s not like you’re mad or upset or any other synonym. You just feel… off. Itchy from the inside out, and that’s far from the norm in your and Namjoon’s friendship. In all the years you’ve known one another, you’ve never once avoided each other, including the time you’d set him up with a close friend and he showed up 45 minutes late to their date and ghosted after.

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

Maybe it’s because Yoongi had always been there as a buffer. You aren’t of the belief that men and women cannot be platonic friends, but being in a years-long committed relationship nixed a lot of awkward interactions and assumptions off the bat. Even Namjoon had known Yoongi first. Had introduced himself to you in your shared 100-level psych course with a, “Hey, you’re Min Yoongi’s girlfriend, right?” because they ran in the same underground circles and Namjoon had idolized him from afar for years.

Pretty fucked up, then, that Yoongi’s off in Los Angeles with his hot new boyfriend and you’re on your couch, Holly at your feet, pointedly ignoring your texts.

“I’m gonna get a cat,” you say to the dog, trying to redirect his attention when he starts chewing on your sock again. Holly doesn’t offer any input, of course, and he’s a lot like his father in that way. “I can’t believe you have a stepfather. You’re a proper child of divorce now, Min Holly.”

There are a pile of unread texts you continue to ignore in lieu of showing Holly pictures of adoptable cats. A few more memes from Jungkook, one from Namjoon’s new phone asking to move the recording date a few days because “something came up at work,” one from the food delivery service you admittedly use too much offering 10% off your next order, and two from Yoongi. This reminded me of you, the first one says beneath a picture of an ice cream cone on the ground, and another one of him holding a water gun that says send me a picture of my son or else.

You eventually reply back with a picture of your middle finger, Holly nothing but a blurred brown blob in the corner of the frame.

That’s how it goes for the better part of a week. Namjoon’s work issue lasts four days. He doesn’t offer an explanation and you don’t ask for one, you just wait for the all-clear text and try to quiet the nerves once you get it.

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

The more popular the podcast became, the more money rolled in. The more money that rolled in, the more you could afford nicer things. That meant going from recording in Namjoon’s living room to a bona fide office space. Third floor, an expanse of windows and natural light, thirty-five minute commute by train.

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

You can hear Jungkook’s witch cackle from the stairwell, and your mind fills in the blanks of Namjoon’s exasperated sigh. It helps, your brain reminding you that you know these people. You know this is Jungkook’s late gym day, so he’ll be in a pair of sweats and a hoodie that drowns his frame. You know that when Namjoon has work issues and feels like an inconvenience, he always shows up with two boxes of baked goods from the bakery near his place, and you know both of them will save the best donut for you.

So you walk in and Jungkook’s in a hoodie and sweats just like you expect him to be, and there are two boxes of baked goods next to the coffee machine. Both of them say hello and wave and, for all intents and purposes, everything is normal.

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

Not in a bad way. Not in a bad way. He almost always dresses nicely, always looks polished and put-together, usually because he’s either going to or coming from campus—fitted shirts, either of the tee or dress variety, and earth-toned cardigans; tailored trousers that are sometimes corduroy; polished loafers. Sometimes, if he’s feeling extra casual, a stark white pair of tennis shoes.

Today, he wears none of those things.

No, today torture comes in the form of form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt a little oversized so he can roll the sleeves. His hair is brushed back off his face instead of parted down the middle. He’s wearing gold jewelry that glints in the sun. A pair of off-white Converse high-tops. And, much to your horror, he’s also wearing his glasses.

According to the internet, Kim Namjoon is peak husband material, which you can usually ignore, but not when he’s wearing glasses.

You avert your gaze, convinced you’ll burst into flames if you stare too long, not to mention Jungkook will notice and that’s a ribbing you’d rather die than take. So you avert your gaze and pointedly ignore Namjoon, who’s talking about his work crisis to no one in particular. Something about a co-worker going on an unexpectedly early paternity leave, and Namjoon being asked to cover some of his courses until they could find a more permanent fix.

Jungkook asks a question you don’t catch. Because paternity leave means his co-worker and his partner had a baby, presumably via old-fashioned methods, and it’s not a direct mention of sex but it’s close enough to send you into a coughing fit you have to blame on your donut. Neither of them buy it, but Namjoon is a good enough person to look genuinely concerned. Reaches out, probably to slap your back, but the thought of him touching you is just… too much.

So he barely gets out an, “Are you o—” before you choke down whatever’s left in your mouth and cut him off with a, “Yep, all good!” before you’re scurrying off to the opposite side of the room like a little rat.

It doesn’t get any better.

Both of you are so stilted and awkward during recording that Jungkook has to be the voice of reason and call it, suggest trying again tomorrow. Luckily he has enough b-side stuff he can release if need be, Namjoon’s work emergency providing a decent cover, and he sends the two of you home for the afternoon with all the exasperation and incredulity of a disappointed parent.

Thirty-five minutes back home.

Thirty-five minutes to sit in the embarrassment of not being able to do your job. Thirty-five minutes to catastrophize and wonder what you’re going to do if you can’t get it together. Namjoon will keep the podcast, of course; you’ll be replaced with someone else. Maybe someone less cynical, maybe someone more, but undoubtedly a man. After this mess, you can’t imagine Namjoon would want another female co-host.

But as embarrassed as you are, your traitorous brain keeps thinking about Namjoon.

Thirty-five minutes to think about his glasses and his rolled-up sleeves and the way the denim of his jeans contoured perfectly to his thighs. Thirty-five minutes to think about, “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. Thirty-five minutes to squeeze your thighs together and overanalyze the way he stumbled over his words today; how he could barely make eye contact. Thirty-five minutes to draft a dozen resignation texts and delete them all.

You groan, head thunking against the train window. You’ll take a cold shower as soon as you get home.

That’ll cure you.

You get home and walk Holly so long he gives up halfway through and you have to carry him back to your apartment. You take a cold shower and actually find it pleasant once the initial shock wears off, so it doesn’t work to keep all your rogue Namjoon thoughts at bay. You make a simple dinner and don’t think about Namjoon sitting you on the counter and having his way with you. You tuck yourself into bed far too early and consider going back to therapy, because clearly something very, very bad has happened to your psyche.

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

But it’s a new day, and you’re determined to get your shit together. Yesterday was a fluke, because you’re so normal and so capable of being in the same room as Kim Namjoon.

Except—you’re not.

Jungkook’s there when you arrive, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Barely looks up at you to say hello, and barely returns it when you do. You double-check the time, because you can count on two fingers the amount of times you’ve shown up and Namjoon wasn’t already there, jotting down extensively-detailed notes, circling and highlighting and chasing down Jungkook to ask questions.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

You roll your eyes. “Super helpful, thanks.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes right back. “You don’t pay me enough to also be his handler.”

You bite your tongue. Arguing with Jungkook means you’ve already lost the war. Not worth it. But it still eases your worries a bit that he doesn’t know any more than you do. That Namjoon hadn’t only texted him to say why he was running late because he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—talk to you.

So you wait. And you wait and you wait and you wait. Jungkook lets you talk to people on his dating apps and tells you about his new gym routine until your eyes are glazing over. Orders food delivery for the two of you because he gets hungry after an hour and had already eaten what was left of the snacks before you arrived. Cracks a joke that isn’t really a joke about calling the police, because Namjoon still hasn’t shown up and he hasn’t said anything and none of your texts are showing as delivered.

You’re halfway to hour two when the office door bursts open and Namjoon stumbles through, soaked with sweat and stammering over apologies.

“I am so sor—I broke my phone again so my alarm never went off and then I missed my bus? And apparently they’re not running the regular bus schedule today so the next one was a half-hour wait, but then I…”

You don’t catch the rest, because Namjoon is covered in sweat and breathing heavily and a week ago you could’ve survived this. A week ago you would’ve cracked a joke and handed him a towel and told him to get to work. A week ago you would not have been paralyzed in your seat, transfixed on the sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

You are fucked beyond belief.

Jungkook elbows you in the ribs, bringing you back to reality. “...even paying attention?” You startle, face warming in embarrassment. Namjoon still isn’t looking at you. “This is so sad to watch,” Jungkook mumbles, and thankfully it’s only loud enough for you to hear. “Like some stupid shit you only see in nature documentaries.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that, now can you?

But you’re a professional above all, so you hum an acknowledgment and take your regular seat. Pointedly ignore Jungkook. Wait for Namjoon to assume his position as well, and you’re surprised to see the space in front of him empty. No notes. No script. There’s just… nothing.

“Are you okay?” you ask, gesturing to the space in front of him when he seems confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a stack of notes in front of you.”

“I forgot them.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.”

Your tone is light and airy, not at all accusing or confrontational, but Namjoon’s jaw clenches nonetheless. He scoffs, fires a shitty little, “Were you not paying attention when I was talking about what a horrible fucking morning I’ve had?” at you that makes even Jungkook flinch. A few moments of stunned silence, and then, “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, that was rude—”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, and all of a sudden you feel too big for your body. Feel like there are ants beneath your skin, feel like everything is wrong, and you don’t want to be here anymore. “It’s fine. Let’s just—”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue, but he just sighs and says, “I—yeah, okay.”

This is where Namjoon would usually launch into the intro, a dimpled smile already plastered on his face that’d drop as he discussed another failed first date with that brand of self-deprecation that makes him so endearing. This is where he’d say what have you been up to, Pipe, and you’d try not to groan because how hard could it possibly be to add one more letter, another syllable, but Namjoon seems incapable of it. This is the part that, for three years, has been seamless and easy and instinctual, just two friends having a conversation.

There’s a red light on your microphones that indicates you’re recording. It’s on and it mocks you, because Namjoon is not doing the intro or telling you about a failed date. He doesn’t use that cringey nickname. He doesn’t say anything at all. His mouth opens and shuts and no words come out. What’s worse is that you know exactly why he can’t speak, because you’re thinking about it, too.

“So, uh,” you begin, and Jungkook makes a gagging sound from behind you. “Come here often?”

Namjoon ignores you. “Right, right, the intro…” He sucks in a breath. “Welcome back to another episode of Put Him in the Trash, I’m—”

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

“Piper. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

“You said Put Him in the Trash.” Namjoon just blinks. “It’s Place Him Gently in the Garbage.”

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

He looks at Jungkook, who is hiding behind his hands. “Is she right?”

A beat of silence. “I can’t do this,” he half-shouts, half-whines. “Are you two going to be like this forever? Because if you are, I’m quitting. I’m so serious. I’m gonna quit. I can’t take it anymore. The two of you are insufferable.” Another beat of silence, before Jungkook stands at full height and lords over you and Namjoon. “Forget today. Just go home and try again on Monday. This is so—I’m seriously gonna quit.”

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

Yijeong isn’t with him, which is almost disappointing. Now that he’s dating again, you were looking forward to seeing just how awkward it could get with the three of you in the same room, but he looks good. Refreshed. The trip clearly did a world of good for him, and you can’t even bring yourself to crack a joke at his expense.

He, however, has no such hang-ups. “You look like shit.”

“Weird way to say thank you.” You click your tongue and look down at Holly. “Do you see how your father treats me? You should bite him.”

“My son would never. But also, thank you.” He flops onto the sofa. “You do look like shit, though. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you, preferably.”

“Oh, gross, is it a dating thing, then?”

“I—no.” You pause. It’s not a dating thing, but you still feel like you’ve got motion sickness whenever you think about it. How would you even begin to explain this to Yoongi, anyway? Someone wrote a porn fic about me and Namjoon. You remember Namjoon, right? Namjoon, that I’ve known and have been friends with since college. Yeah, that Namjoon. Anyway, someone wrote fanfiction about us having sex, and it fucked me up so bad I can no longer be in the same room as him.

No fucking way.

“You look like you’re holding in a fart.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of you. Did you just come here to insult me?”

He snorts, but his smirk dissipates a few seconds later, a familiar seriousness filling the void. “We’re okay, right? Was the Yijeong thing too soon?”

“No,” you answer immediately, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “We’re fine, and if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” He still looks doubtful. “You want me to start singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ or something? It’s just… weird work stuff.”

“Depends. Are you singing the Dolly Parton or Whitney version? And real work or podcast work?”

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

Yoongi seems surprised by this, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe. “Like, the podcast with Namjoon?” He presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek when you nod your head. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Like I said, it’s weird. It wasn’t, like, an argument or anything.”

“How weird?”

“You’re so fake, Min Yoongi. You act like you’re so distinguished and above drama, but really you’re just as hungry for gossip as the rest of us.”

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

God help you, you’re going to rip off the band-aid. “Someone… Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Someone… wrote? Fanfiction? About us.”

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

“About us… uh. Having sex? Specifically.”

“Oh my god—”

“Jungkook found it and thought it’d be funny if we read it for an episode.”

“Oh my god?”

“So we did? And it was really weird, which I expected, because I’ve known Namjoon for a long time, and I never, ever thought about having sex with him because we were together and me and Namjoon are friends, so yeah, it was fucking weird. But now… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it? And now we can’t even be in the same room as one another.” Yoongi is a concerning shade of red. “So our show is gonna get canceled, because we can only release b-side stuff for so long until people realize something’s up, and it was Namjoon’s podcast to begin with so obviously I’ll get fired—”

“Oh my god, you want to fuck Namjoon.”

Yoongi sounds like a strangled cat when he says this, which does not help the way you feel like you’ve been hit square in the face with a frying pan. “No,” you argue, though it sounds more like a question. You do not want to fuck Namjoon. “No, no. No. It’s just because it was weird.”

“Did you forget I dated you for six years? I know what you look like when you want to fuck someone.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be weird if someone wrote fanfiction about you fucking your friend?”

“Not if I didn’t actually want to fuck them, no.”

“You’re a liar. Get your dog and get out of my apartment.”

Yoongi laughs as he stands. Pats you on the back in the most condescending way you’ve ever had someone pat you on the back. “Let me know how it goes. No need to give me credit for your moment of horny clarity.”

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

Unfortunately, as you come to find out, he’s also a correct bastard.

You want to fuck Namjoon.

Which is… not great, you have to admit, considering he can barely stand to be around you, so you take another cold shower and decide you’re going to take this to your grave. You’re going to spend the rest of the weekend getting your shit together, and you’re going to show up on Monday and be a consummate professional. You’re going to look at Namjoon and say, ha ha, isn’t it so funny someone thought we would have sex? I don’t think about it at all because I am so cool and normal about it.

You’ve got it all planned out. You’re going to show up fifteen minutes early with your own box of pastries. You’re going to look nice, if not a little pretentious—maybe a nice sweater. You’re going to be prepared with notes of your own. You might even be nice to the villain of the week so Namjoon doesn’t have to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh at you.

And then someone knocks on your door.

You find Namjoon on the other side, and all your plans immediately go to shit.

Has he always been this tall? You can’t remember. You can’t remember a lot of things, including how to speak, because Yoongi had launched you into a crisis of epic proportions and now here’s the source of it, standing right in front of you. With all of his… height. And thighs. And that heady, musky cologne he always wears, that you can still smell now even though there’s an unfortunate amount of distance between you.

“Uh, hi.”

You blink. “Hi,” you parrot, and it’s a little insulting how one single word seems to have sucked up all of your brainpower. “Namjoon,” you tack on, not awkward at all.

“Sorry to just show up,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. Very bad idea; makes his biceps bulge. You barely swallow your whimper. “It’s just—my phone’s still broken, and it felt bad leaving things how we did? So I was hoping we could talk.”

Talk. Namjoon wants to talk to you. Normally: not a problem. Currently: big problem. You manage a nod, open the door wider to let him in, and you don’t think about how jarring it is to have Namjoon in your space. You don’t think about how your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden, or what it’d be like if Namjoon bent you over the couch, or the kitchen counter, or the—

You cough. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, sure. Maybe just some water if you have it.”

If you have it. What kind of person doesn’t have water? But you tell him to make himself comfortable and get him some anyway, and you mull too long over the size of the glass. Ultimately decide on a smaller one, because if things get unbearably awkward you can excuse yourself to the kitchen to get more.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Namjoon says from the living room, and when you look up he’s sorting through a stack of books near the window. Some he’d lent you months ago, notes jotted in the corners, sticky notes in the shape of sea animals on important pages. “You ever wind up reading this?”

The Idiot. Namjoon had raved about it when he was in the midst of his 19th century Russian phase, right after he’d read a bunch of Tolstoy and Pushkin. You shake your head—though, judging from the title, you wonder if someone hadn’t written your biography.

“It’s good. If you have the time, you should definitely give it a shot.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, handing over his water. You take a seat in an armchair, pull your knees to your chest. Namjoon’s still looking through your books, isn’t looking at you, so it feels safe to say, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He moves to sit on the floor, massive thighs spreading until he’s comfortable. Thank god he can’t see the look on your face. “I just wanted to make sure we’re alright. Things have felt pretty weird since we filmed the, uh.” He coughs. “Thing.”

“Right, yeah.” You realize he’s waiting for an answer, and you offer up a very rushed, “We’re fine, Joon.”

“Are you sure?”

Yeah, you’re sure: sure you absolutely cannot be having this conversation in the safety and sanctity of your own home. It’s tainted now, contaminated by all your uncontrolled horny thoughts about the man in front of you. You’ll have to fumigate. Might have to pick up and move, actually, or call an exorcist.

“I’m sure,” you assure him. “The… thing… was weird, but it’s fine. Temporary.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t have done it?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because, in isolation, reading a porn fic about yourselves wasn’t a big deal. No one got hurt. Everyone who needed to be consulted was consulted. The episode made the two of you a lot of money, and Jungkook even promised to send some of it to the author, so your bases are beyond covered.

So, should you have done it? There wasn’t a good enough reason not to, because the story itself was never the problem.

The problem is staring you right in the face. It’s sitting on your floor, a book cracked in half at the spine and forgotten in his lap. The problem is looking at you like you hold all the answers to the universe’s secrets, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. The problem is that Namjoon is looking at you like that from across the room but you’re wondering what it’d look like from on top of you.

The problem is that you’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, have known him even longer, and you’ve just realized today that you want to have sex with him.

And you can’t say that, can you, because Namjoon came here to fix things which really does not lend itself to a hookup. Namjoon cares about your friendship and your working relationship so much he came here to try and salvage it, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut. You’re going to say, “I think it’s okay that we did,” and leave it at that. Because it is okay.

Because you’re the problem.

It feels like a small victory when Namjoon sags in relief. When he exhales and says, “Okay, good, because I think so, too.”

“It made us a lot of money,” you tack on.

Namjoon’s eyes widen as he laughs. “Right? Like, that was almost too much money. Just to watch us read porn?”

“About ourselves. I think that was the selling point.”

He stands. You do, too. “Never thought I’d be doing that,” he says, returning the book to where it belongs. “Definitely the most embarrassing thing I’ve done for money.”

“Being a man with a podcast wasn’t embarrassing enough?”

He snorts. Gets closer to the door. “Hey now.” You’re going to survive this. “Thanks for entertaining me, by the way. For a second there I was really worried we’d fucked it all up.”

Just the ending. Just one more thing to say and you’ll be done with this, and then you can take your third cold shower in recent memory and triple text Yoongi with a full-fledged mental breakdown. Maybe he’ll bring Holly back and you can register him as your emotional support animal.

And Namjoon must sense the awkwardness that’s crept back in, because he tries to cover it with a joke. Says, “Haaa, like you’d actually piss on me, right?”

Except it sounds like he’s got a mouth full of marbles.

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

Because he says like you’d actually piss on me but you hear like you’d actually kiss me, and there isn’t a universe that exists in which the following makes sense: you, stunned into silence in the doorframe, Namjoon saying his goodbyes, you thinking fuck it, last chance and saying, “Yeah, I’d kiss you.”

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

Your entire body is on fire. “Is, uh. Is that not what you said?”

“I don’t think it matters anymore what I said.”

“I’d argue that it does, for the sake of my digni—”

“You’d kiss me?” Namjoon… doesn’t look put off of the idea, which is surely a point in your favor. Interesting to note that his diction is crystal clear, now. Bastard. “You’d kiss me right now?”

There’s also no explanation for the way you say: “It’s only been an option for ten seconds and you’re already begging for it?”

You’d say there’s no explanation for the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the way he repeats I don’t beg for anything, but maybe the simple fact is: the two of you want to fuck each other. And, judging from the way Namjoon crowds your space, keeps dropping his gaze to your mouth, it seems very likely to happen.

All that fixating you’d done on Namjoon’s thighs was wasted, you think, as you take in the shape of his mouth. His lips. The way his tongue darts out to run along the bottom at the last second before he reaches out, tilts your head up, and finally presses his mouth to yours.

And you’ve got to laugh, because no piece of written fiction could ever accurately portray what it feels like. How soft his lips are. The way he touches you—gentle, but still dominant enough to have you moving the way he wants, have you backing up into your apartment so he can smile against your mouth as he closes the door behind him.

No piece of fiction would get it right, the way you’re unsteady on your feet, breathless at the way Namjoon’s kissing you. How he only breaks apart long enough to ask where do you want me in that throaty, deep voice of his. How you’re so overwhelmed you can’t decide: unsure if you want to waste the time it’d take to get to your bedroom, but if it’s only going to happen once, wanting to make it count.

So you decide to risk it. Plant your hands in the middle of his exceptionally broad chest and push him in the direction of the hallway, and if the two of you can’t wait, can’t control yourselves, well.

But the story had gotten one thing right: Namjoon does kiss like a branding iron, hot and greedy. Namjoon kisses you like there’s nothing else he wants to do in this lifetime, and it makes you dizzy. Has you off-kilter, stumbling into the wall as you try to remember where the fuck your bedroom is and why it’s so far. Just like the fictional version of you, you also moan when he licks into your mouth.

“Should I do it the way we did in the fic?” Namjoon asks as the two of you cross the threshold into your bedroom, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do it like this?” he questions, pushing you gently until you’re on the back in the middle of your bed, chest heaving as you lift your head to look at him.

Namjoon is so, so big from where you lay, just hovering at the foot of your bed. Cheeks ruddy, bulge prominent. “What’d you say you wanted?”

Takes a second to remember how to breathe, let alone what you’d read. What do you want, Namjoon had asked, right before he’d sank to his knees in front of you. “Whatever you’re willing to give,” you answer.

Namjoon smiles. Puts one knee on the bed, and the way it dips beneath his weight is unsettling. Why does he have to be so fucking large. “That’s right, baby.” Christ, you think, because there’s another thing that fic had gotten right. No one on earth would be immune to Namjoon calling them baby in that tone of voice.

The riposte biting at the back of your teeth gets swallowed whole as Namjoon grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed. “May I?” he asks, hands poised above the waistline of your leggings. You nod, and Namjoon drags down your underwear with them. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans, awe creeping into the edge of his words.

“You want me to do it the same way? Hm? You’re being awfully quiet; thought you were giving me shit about being the one in charge,” he chides.

Because you’re short-circuiting. Namjoon’s on his knees, just like you’d envisioned, and his mouth is dangerously close to your cunt. How can you be expected to think and speak under these conditions? But if Namjoon can find the brainpower to be a bastard, so can you, because what you’d read and the way he’d reacted can both never be forgotten. So you thread your hands into his hair and pull. The resulting moan is enough to sustain you for years.

“Are you gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna make me come on it?”

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

There’s precedent. Fictional Namjoon ate you out like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough. Had fictional you writhing and insatiable, so it’s a lot to live up to, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He hesitates for only a second, giving you one last chance to back out before the two of you set every last boundary on fire, and then he’s settling between your thighs and making you see stars.

Now you know what it’s like. Now you don’t have to rely on fiction, and it doesn’t matter because it’d never compare to the way Namjoon feels as he works to bring you to your ruin. The way he flattens his tongue to lick long, thick stripes; the way his lips suction around your clit. The way it feels when he groans against your core. The way he says, “Fuck, you do taste good,” like that’s a completely normal thing to say. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

But you need more and Namjoon knows it. His mouth doesn’t leave your cunt for a second, but his fingers find your mouth, so you put on a show. Wrap your lips around them, suck on them the way he’s doing to you, make sure they’re slick. Namjoon groans again, doubles his efforts. Slides one thick finger inside of you and barely lets you adjust before he’s adding a second.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Namjoon has you unraveling. Presses incessantly on a spot that has your vision whiting out. Has you trembling, a little panicked as you say, “Joon, fuck—Namjoon, wait—” as it builds and builds and builds.

You might black out for a second, because you come to and Namjoon looks… stunned. He looks like he can’t believe any of what just happened, and you blink a few times, try to come back into your body, and when you regain enough consciousness, you’re extremely aware of the large wet patch beneath you.

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

“Namjoon, that’s not—that’s embarrassing—can you grab a—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Presses the taste of you into your skin, and all those silly protests die in your throat, because if Namjoon was needy before, he’s desperate now. Covers your body with his own, hips dipping down low enough to press his erection into the juncture of your thigh, and the weight of him is delicious. Has you fisting the fabric of his t-shirt to pull him closer, has you pulling it over his head, his pants following. Has your hands skimming down every thick part of his body until you reach his cock, hard and aching and slick with pre-cum.

“I need to suck you off later,” you say, done with overthinking. Time to just be honest, and Kim Namjoon has a dick you need to feel down your throat. “Remind me.”

He whines, thrusts into your hand a little harder. “How could I forget that?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t know if this would be the only time,” you answer. “Did you bring a condom?” Namjoon nods, fetches one from his wallet and rolls it on.

He hovers above you again. Looks nervous, all of a sudden, like he can’t tell his lefts from his rights. All out of sorts. You’re about to tell him it’s fine, you don’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to, don’t have to do anything at all, when he says, “It doesn’t have to be.” You just stare. “The only time.”

There’s a conversation to be had. You know that. Both of you clearly have feelings you need to talk about and sort out, but you reckon they can wait. They’ll still be there in the afterglow, in the morning. So you nod, say okay, Joon, and kiss away the insecurities that still linger.

You think about the fic. Think maybe Namjoon would appreciate it if you cracked a stupid joke, just like he’d tried to do earlier. “Has anyone ever called your cock stupid?”

He laughs, breath fanning against your skin. “No. Wanna try it and see what happens?”

Might as well. You try to remember the exaggerated tone of voice you’d used. Repeat the line—“Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”—and wait.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

Namjoon swallows thickly. “I, um. Unfortunately, I think that really works for me.” You laugh. Pull him closer. Wrap your legs around his waist as he starts to move against you. Has jokes of his own. “Please. Please let me fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, laugh tapering into a giggle. “Do you know how?” Namjoon nods, looking all too much like a puppy eager to please its owner. “Do you promise?” He nods again. “Okay. Okay, come here.”

You expect him to move fast; expect the first time to be frenzied and a little awkward. It isn’t. Namjoon lines himself up and pushes the smallest bit inside, and then he’s leaning down to kiss you. Threads your fingers together, squeezes your hand. Pushes further inside and mumbles praise just beneath your ear.

It’s dizzying, the amount of care Namjoon handles you with. How soft he is. Does nothing to ease the discomfort of the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, but he talks you through it. Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you look. Spills a lot of words you’d probably be embarrassed to hear and he’d be embarrassed to say if this was any other time, but in the heat of the moment it all just works to unravel you faster.

He bottoms out. “Okay?” he asks, and you’re rewarded with a dimpled smile when you say you are. Namjoon is a devastating kind of beautiful.

But, as he gives you time to adjust and you give him the all-clear, he also fucks like a demon. What once was hand-holding is now your wrists pinned to the bed, your body caged beneath him as he rolls his hips at a pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’ve been deceived. Lured into a false sense of security.

It’s almost a shame this isn’t being recorded, because you want to memorize all the sounds Namjoon’s making. Want to hear them for the rest of your life. Don’t want anyone else to be the reason he sounds like this, and as he ups his pace and presses his lips to your neck, you don’t want to sound like this because of anyone else, either.

Maybe one of those times in the future, you can talk him into it.

Namjoon reaches down, rubs circles into your clit. Every time you think you might be close, he pulls his hand away, smiles like the devil. You let him have his fun for a while, let him think you’re keen to lie back and take it, and then you tighten your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back.

He doesn’t think it’s very funny. Looks up at you all bewildered. “What’re you—”

“You were taking too long,” you snark. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“Yeah? Shit,” he says as you begin to move. “Fuck, baby, like that. Ride me just like that.”

You do. Don’t change a thing, because Namjoon’s cock is long and thick enough to hit exactly where you need it to. You can feel yourself clenching, feel yourself getting wetter, and the sight of Namjoon beneath you does nothing to stave off the inevitable. He looks even better than you’d imagined: skin flushed, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, sweat-slick. You want to make him cry. Want to give him the entire world. You will.

Namjoon thrusts at the same time you roll your hips, and that’s what does it. Has you crying out, has stars flashing behind your eyelids. Has you saying fuck, fuck, fuck as he drives you over the edge for the second time. Has you on the brink of oversensitive as he thrusts a few more times to chase his own end, almost delirious at the way Namjoon moans as he spills into the condom.

Has you swooning, just a bit, at the dopey way Namjoon smiles at you, eyes half-lidded and crinkled at the corners.

“Was that okay?”

You snort. “Yeah, I’d say it was decent.”

“Maybe next time you could pee on me,” he jokes.

You whack him on the chest. “Sure. Or we could record it.”

Has you a little shocked at the way his cock twitches inside of you at the mention of it.

On Monday, you don’t wear a pretentious sweater.

When you stroll in, Jungkook’s already got the best donut shoved halfway into his mouth because he’s a shithead. He eyes you warily, probably hoping with all his hope that you spent the weekend finding God and getting your shit together.

And then he realizes you’ve got on Namjoon’s hoodie and he nearly chokes to death.

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

Namjoon appears at that very moment, and it’s so hard not to take credit for the way he’s glowing, the dazed smile on his face. But Jungkook notices, because Jungkook notices everything, and his gaze darts between the two of you: your hoodie, Namjoon’s face, your face. He opens his mouth, something inappropriate bound to spill out, but Namjoon beats him to the punch. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod.

It’s seamless.

No hiccups, no awkward stuttering. Namjoon gets through the intro without a hitch, and it feels exactly like it used to. Just two friends having a conversation. It’s obvious Jungkook still wants to say something, but after suffering through last week, he stays quiet lest he makes it worse and sends the two of you back to the bad place.

“How was your weekend, Pipe? Do anything fun?” Namjoon rolls his lips, tries not to laugh.

So you play along. “No, not really, just some dog sitting. How about you?”

“Oh, you know me. Had another first date on Saturday.”

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

It’s a blessing Jungkook isn’t filming this, because your eyebrows raise so far they nearly disappear from your face altogether. There isn’t even a hint of hesitation in Namjoon’s voice, and although you would’ve described it the same way, hearing him say it with such conviction has you a little stunned. “Wow. You gonna see her again?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, sharing a private smile with you. “I think I am.”

who the FUCK is namjoon dating Posted by u/pod-shipper 7 minutes ago This has honestly ruined my entire day. I thought all the stories he told about dating were a bit… Like, what kind of guy has a podcast about relationships but can’t seem to be in one? But you could just HEAR it in his voice how much he likes this woman he went on a date with over the weekend and I’m sick to my stomach. (+2195) ↳ bro you and me both 😭 i genuinely thought him and piper had something going on fr (+1302) ↳ Seriously might stop listening because of this! Any woman with self-respect would never let their partner host a podcast with someone they’re obviously in love with. If he gets serious with this woman, Piper will be gone within 6 months, mark my words. (+927) ↳ I wouldn’t worry about it too much! My cousin works at a really nice restaurant in the same city Namjoon lives in, and she said she saw this “date” on Saturday and that it wasn’t anything serious. (+788) ↳ Piper got a cat and Namjoon finally got a second date. Face it, it’s over. (+325) ↳ cannot believe him and piper aren’t dating.. do you think i should delete all my tiktok edits? (+4) ↳ this is unhinged lmfao i thought y’all hated piper? you’re in here bitching abt her being a “misandrist” every week and now ur gonna stop listening bc namjoon isn’t dating her? pick a lane and stay in it (-64)

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and reblogs/shares are always welcome! I appreciate you very much~ ♡

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel writes

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jaylver · 4 months

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LOVE AT FIRST SPEED — L.HS

SYNOPSIS: World champion, record breaker, winner of hundreds of races, what does Lee Heeseung want other than that? Apparently, love. Being the greatest when it comes to racing doesn't mean that he naturally has a flourishing love life. True, there were many girls already lining up for him, but he knew none of them were truly sincere, leaving him devoid of love and unconditionally craving it. That was until everything changed when he met you, his new next door neighbour that doesn’t even know he’s a famous F1 racer. Three dates. three different countries, but only one chance to make you his.

OR! in which a world champion tries scoring the girl next door.

presenting ... driver of scuderia ferrari f1 team

PAIRINGS: F1 driver!heeseung x afab!reader

GENRE: strangers/neighbours to lovers, love at first sight, he falls first but she falls harder, formula one au, sports au, romance, angst

WARNING(S): profanities, mentions of alcohol, drinking and partying, lots of feelings being self questioned, slight miscommunications/misunderstandings

WC: 29k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: it's finally ... here ... please leave your feedbacks and reblogs are very much appreciated !! your feedbacks will mean a lot to me since i'm lowkey second guessing if this is good LMAO enjoy ♡

part 1 of 'no brakes' series | series masterlist | masterlist

– MONTE CARLO, MONACO, LATE 2022

Lee Heeseung was drunk.

Going out with the boys was probably a mistake. Look, it was off season and everyone was back in Monaco, so it definitely sounded like a great idea to go out for a night out, right? Wrong.

Letting Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Yeonjun and some of the other drivers drag him to a well known club in the city was his first mistake of the night. The second was accepting all of the shots they offered, acting as if the celebrations of him winning his third world championship wasn’t over yet. The alcohol that took over his senses only made him stumble to the dance floor, dancing wildly with girls surrounding him, not giving a care if a camera was capturing everything. That was his third mistake.

By the end of the night, every one of them were equally shitfaced. It wasn’t a great look, and he was sure their personal trainers weren’t going to be happy at all. Heeseung, in particular, was taking it better than the rest, though still slurring and stumbling around, at least he managed to tell his address fully to the taxi driver.

Getting dropped off at the lobby looking absolutely destroyed was humbling. He kept his head low, reminding himself that he had a reputation to maintain and went for the elevator, pressing the number of his floor. He was leaning against the wall, holding it for support as he slowly sobered up, trying his best to feel around his body for his keycard.

“Fuck,” he cursed out, unable to remember where it was with that hazy mind of his.

The elevator stopped at his floor with a ‘ding’, grabbing his attention from his ongoing search for the moment. He trudged along the quiet hallway, dragging his feet and mumbling his regrets. One thing’s for sure was that he should not rely on Jake for claiming it was a ‘light party’. Light party my ass.

Standing in front of his door to the apartment, he was dying to get in and crash into his comfortable bed. However, he remembered what he was struggling to find: his keycard. God, why me, he thought.

His head was beginning to spin and it was not helping. He was slipping his hand into his back pockets, shirt pockets that didn’t even exist because he’s wearing a button up, then his socks, which was absolutely insane. No, Lee Heeseung was turning insane. At one point, he let out a sigh and leaned his head on his door, swearing that he was about to collapse out of fatigue.

“Uh—are you okay?” Was that a voice coming from the pits of his head? It couldn’t be, it was a woman’s voice. “Mister?”

Heeseung turned around in a blink of an eye, almost letting out a yelp in shock when his eyes landed on you. Even in his drunken daze, he was still able to make out how pretty you were. There you were, standing in a party dress that was enough to tell him you were out clubbing too, makeup that was intact and heels in one hand, creating a small height difference between him and you.

“Huh?” That was probably the dumbest thing he could let out at that moment. Wake up, he cursed at himself. “You’re not that old lady,”

“She moved away,” you guessed he was referring to the old lady that sold you her apartment, the one that was next to this … guy. “I’m guessing you were not here a few months ago to even realise I’m your new neighbour?”

Well, no, Heeseung was busy winning his championship in Abu Dhabi during then.

He didn’t say that though, instead he shrugged, liking the fact that you were oblivious he was someone well known. “I travel for work, so not really. My apologies,”

“I see,” you nodded your head, continuously cautious, he could see that. “Do you have trouble entering your own home?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You were searching for something—even in your socks,”

“Oh,” he licked his lips, currently embarrassed. “I—uh—don’t know where my keycard is,”

“Have you searched your pockets?”

“Yes,”

“Wallet?”

Heeseung paused. “No …”

“Try searching, I’m sure it’s there somewhere,” you were so confident in saying that, which made Heeseung uneasy and doubtful. How would you know it was there and he didn’t?

You pulled out your own keycard, pressing against the sensor and your door unlocked with a click, but before you went in and left Heeseung behind, you scrunch your nose up. “You should probably sober up … and also wash away the perfumes on your shirt. It’s heavy,”

Once you shut your door, Heeseung scoffed. He lowered his head to the sleeves of his button up shirt and inhaled, the smell of perfumes from the girls he danced with clung to the fabric desperately. He hated that you weren’t completely wrong. Then, he reached for his wallet, rolling his eyes at your voice in his head, but was once proven right again when he saw his glistening keycard there. For fuck’s sake.

Now, he was guessing he probably set a bad impression on you, making you think he was some stupid womaniser. Gosh, the way your eyes narrowed at him was burnt into his mind.

Heeseung was not getting much sleep that night.

“Slept well?”

Fate had a play in hand, somehow setting Heeseung and you up by having the both of you exiting your apartment at the same time. The only difference was you being fresh and awake, ready to start your day while Heeseung was the total opposite. Hungover, body sore and dark circles under his eyes.

“Great,” he seethed out.

No, Heeseung didn’t have a ‘great’ sleep. He was plagued by you. Yes, you. The neighbour that he didn’t even know existed until yesterday, the same one that had to witness him drunk and turning insane. It was funny knowing you probably didn’t even like him, but somehow, that was what bothered Heeseung. Everyone liked him. But you, apparently, or so your vibe told.

“Someone didn’t have their lucky charms this morning, huh?” you reached into your tote bag, Heeseung’s curious gaze following your every move. “Here,” you tossed a protein bar at him, the same brand that he eats occasionally. What were the odds?

“Don’t just stare at it. Eat it.”

Apparently Heeseung was staring at it too longingly, and until he heard what you said, he snapped up to look at you, mouth slightly agape. “Thanks,”

You smiled. You fucking smiled. Heeseung didn’t expect your teeny smile was enough to spur him on. This was cheesy, too cliche and very predictable. Did he think he was in a reenactment of Notting Hill except it’s called Monte Carlo instead? The feeling of falling at first sight was foreign to him, to have a crush on your neighbour was new to him, and he wasn’t going to take this well.

“Eat up.” you waved a little, turning your back to him and rushed for the elevator, leaving him on his own again.

The small encounter was enough to make Heeseung more curious about you. He knew nothing about you, you were his neighbour, his goddamn neighbour, but it felt like he was in high school with a crush again. Was it even a crush? Was it admiration? Heeseung didn't want to overthink it, it's too early in the morning for that.

He made his way to his sleek Ferrari 488 Pista Spider, the one car that he was devoted to. It was easily recognisable in the streets of Monaco, the design was a custom made and a favourite of his, any fans could make out that Lee Heeseung was the one driving it.

The usual bunch, Jay, Jake and Sunghoon had invited him out to brunch. Heeseung knew damn well all of them were just as hungover as he was, or even worse, he thought they were quite brave for stepping out of the house.

Making a few detours for grocery and miscellaneous items prompted him to be later than the rest. He was rushing to the cafe, seeing the back of his friends' heads from a distance. They were sitting at an outside table, as they always preferred, but what caught his attention was an extra head next to Jake's blond hair.

Was that the girl who followed Jake home yesterday? He wouldn't even second question it.

He was wrong.

Making his way to the table, Heeseung greeted them with a good morning before looking at their faces. Well, the boys looked like them, but the girl, oh … the girl.

It was you. His neighbour. What were you doing sitting next to Jake? Seriously, Jake?

“Hey, man, sorry for not letting you know earlier but I invited my friend, is that okay with you?” Jake grimaces apologetically, offering a smile as compensation.

“It's alright,” Heeseung stared briefly at you, then took a seat next to Jay, the one opposite that faced you.

“Heeseung, this is Y/N, Y/N, this is Heeseung,” Jake did a gesture between you and Heeseung with his hands, while you and him both looked at each other with a 'what the fuck is going on' expression.

“Hi—”

“She's my next door neighbour,” Heeseung didn't know why he blurted that out, he didn't even let you finish.

The boys and you stared at him, incredulous but to a different extent. You had annoyance in your eyes, the others had disbelief. Maybe you were mad he interjected, but he felt he needed to get that out.

“Uh—sorry,”

“He's your neighbour?” Jake cackled, his gaze flickering between you and Heeseung. “No, wait, you're his neighbour?”

You and Heeseung nodded in unison.

“Which means you guys knew each other already?”

“Not exactly,” you said, sipping a little of your latte. “I didn’t know his existence until yesterday, let alone his name,”

“Ditto,”

“Wow,” Sunghoon laughed at the side, both him and Jay witnessing everything in entertainment.

“Shocking,” Jay nudged Sunghoon.

“You guys will get along better than you’ll expect,” Jake said coolly, speaking from a deep knowing of you and Heeseung’s personality traits. However, you and Heeseung seemed doubtful, but didn’t comment on it.

“So … if they are F1 drivers, that means you are one too,” you pointed a finger at him, eyebrows raised in question.

“Yup,” Heeseung replied, popping his ‘p’ obnoxiously. “Three times world champion too,” Jake jerked his chin towards Heeseung, a look of pride on his face. “He’s literally insane,”

“It’s nothing,” Heeseung suddenly felt like he was put on the spot. Usually, he would be immune to all these compliments thrown at him, but this time with you around, he wanted to be lowkey.

“Did you hear him?” Jay scoffed, making the others, you and Heeseung himself included, laugh.

The conversation was interrupted with the waiter serving your orders. Pastries, bread, and Heeseung’s go-to hangover cure, a mixed fruit smoothie were placed on the table. Soon, everyone got comfortable and dug in, enjoying the cool weather of Monte Carlo.

“What brings you here, Y/N?” Heeseung finally got the confidence to ask you a question, letting his curiosity win over him.

“I moved here because of my new job—"

“Because of me,” Jake chimed in unceremoniously, catching everyone else's attention at the table. Now, what did he mean by that?

“Basically, Jake hired me as his personal trainer,”

“And assistant,” Jake added, increasing Heeseung’s fascination and wonder. Since when did Jake change his personal trainer? Oh wait, he mentioned it. Something about wife’s pregnancy that his ex trainer needed time off. How could Heeseung forget this crucial information?

“I’m going to have to keep him in check every race,”

“We’re glad you’re coming along,” Sunghoon clapped his hands, genuine happiness in his smiley features. “It’s time someone put this guy in place,” he snorted, pulling a laugh out of you.

Your laugh. All it took was your laugh for Heeseung to disassociate from everything happening around him and place his focus on you. The wrinkles around your eyes when your lips stretched into a grin, smile lines adorning your face that he found breathtaking. Every part about you and your happiness was enough to make him smile as well.

Pause. Was he hearing himself clearly?

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Jake rolled his eyes at Sunghoon, not appreciating the comment targeted at Jake’s known party behaviours.

“You know what I mean,”

At that, Jake eyed you nervously, already having a feeling that you were going to be strict on him, rightfully so. Meanwhile, Heeseung was dying internally. He wanted to speak to you, but how was he able to when he wasn’t close to you? Instead, he was stuck with the two bozos, half-heartedly chewing on his croissant as he and the guys listened to you talk about your job and degree.

Whatever Heeseung thought possibly of you dissipated. The sharp gaze you gave him that night disappeared once he came to the realisation that you were nothing like what his mind made you out to be: scary and hard to get along with. Heeseung would admit, he makes the worst assumption of the people he first met, but some were true, as for you, you were nothing like that. He could tell you were warming up to him, probably also having the same misconception of him in your head.

Once there were nothing but crumbs left on the plates, with the bill paid and everyone’s stomach filled, you and the guys got up from the table, making an exit. The awkward part arrived. Jay and Sunghoon were leaving on their own, Jake too, but what about you?

“Do you want me to drop you off—” Jake offered after Jay and Sunghoon were out of sight, leaving you, him waiting outside and Heeseung, who was still lingering in the cafe. You shook your head.

“You literally live on the opposite side of where I am, I don’t think that’s convenient,” you poked his shoulder, an unapproving frown pulled at your lips. “I’ll just hail a cab same like this morning,”

Clear worry was evident in Jake’s eyes. “You sure?”

“I can drive you back,” Heeseung suddenly appeared by Jake's side, an innocent look on his face as he shoved his wallet into his back pocket. “We stay next to each other anyway,”

“Yeah, sure, thank you,” you breathed out in relief, initially being nervous at the thought of having to be alone, thankful Heeseung came in to save your ass.

“Now that’s settled, I’ll see you for training soon, Y/N. And Hee, you should hit the simulator soon, practice so you don’t get rusty!”

“Shut up,” Heeseung clicked his tongue in annoyance, but couldn’t resist a cheeky grin.

“Alright, bye guys!”

Jake soon disappeared around the corner, and the air turned thick with awkwardness. You didn’t mind Heeseung’s presence, but honestly, you didn’t know this man, or at least not enough. Without Jake’s familiarity and his comforting aura around you and Heeseung, you were unable to function well. Not when he’s your neighbour that you didn’t exactly get off on the right foot with, and truthfully, he was hot, to simply put it. You know how hot people tend to scare you? Yeah, that was him. Curse Jake for having hot friends.

“Shall we get going?”

You snapped out of your momentary inner monologue, nodding and hoisting your bag higher up your shoulder, letting Heeseung take the lead. Even though he was leading you towards his car, he didn’t try walking faster than you, constantly maintaining the same speed as you. You noticed him taking peeks at you occasionally when his pace started to speed up, then he would slow down again. It was a small detail that you took notice, appreciating it more than you should.

The way to his car was quite a walk. He was walking beside you, always on the outside and made sure you walked on the inside. Was he always like this with everyone else? It was quiet between you two, but it was a comfortable silence. He was aware of your presence, you were aware of his; both were just too scared to be the first to break the ice, or so you thought.

“How did you meet Jake?”

“Hm?” You snuck a glance at him, processing his question. “Oh, Jake. He’s my cousin,”

“Your—what?”

A humorous laugh slipped out of you. You loved this part, where everyone gets shocked at you casually dropping the news about your blood relation with Jake. Heeseung, on the other hand, realised that he wasn’t actually familiar with Jake’s family besides his parents and siblings. Seeing Heeseung being thoroughly shocked, you took the opportunity to continue.

“Yeah, he’s my cousin. Usually people don’t expect us to be related so I totally get your reaction,” a smile rests upon your lips, one that Heeseung didn’t miss. “I’m an only child, and he was the cousin that constantly played with me, so that’s mainly why we grew close,”

Heeseung unknowingly smiled at the thought of little Jake and you running around. He knew what his best friend was like, and realising the fact that he maintained the same outgoing personality was absolutely heartwarming.

“Growing up, I knew he wanted to be an F1 driver, I’d occasionally tag along to his karting races. Soon, his F3, F2 races. It all went by like a blur, and suddenly he’s racing for an F1 team. That’s probably when I came to the realisation that I wanted to be a trainer too, I guess it was mainly because of that and him,” you shrugged, shying under the constant eye contact with Heeseung. He was all ears, never interrupting you once.

“And now you get to tag along to every one of his races full time,”

“Exactly,”

“Hey,” a thought suddenly sprang to his mind, wrinkles forming in between his eyebrows. “If you knew Jake was an F1 driver, then how did you not know I was one too?”

You snorted, shrugging your shoulders a little dramatically. “Well, sorry Mr Famous, I don’t like constantly watching cars drive in circles,”

“They’re not circles!”

“To me it is,” you heard a huff coming from him, laughing quietly under your breath. “I only kept up with Jake, but I guess I’ll start keeping up with you now, Mr three times world champion,”

“I’m honoured,” he placed a hand on his chest, flashing a toothy grin that made his nose crinkle, the sight unintentionally making your heart skip a beat. “You’ve got to support Ferrari,” he was referring to his own team, a sense of pride and honour as he said it, even you could tell how much he loved them.

“I don’t think Jake’s going to be happy about that,” you slowed down your steps as you approached a sports car that you figure was Heeseung’s, the Ferrari emblem shining brightly. “But, maybe I’ll have to make an exception,”

“You won’t regret it,” he said confidently, winking at you playfully, which earned him an eye roll from you. The change compared to his personality earlier on didn’t go unnoticed by you. The clumsy, shy and dorky him had a confident and cocky side to him. Noted.

Before you could reach down to open the door to the passenger side, Heeseung’s hand reached for it first, almost like it was his second instinct with how natural he was. He pulled the door open for you, and you turned to look at him, ignoring the minimal distance in between. Holding his eye contact for more than two seconds (yes, you counted) was intense. It took you everything to break his stare and enter his car, not missing his hand at the top of your head as you got in.

You watched as he circled the car to get to his side, waiting patiently and sneakily looking around the interior. The hood of the car was closed, and you imagined for a second what it would be like to drive with the hood open, feeling the wind brush against your face. It was a two seater car, despite that, it was big and comfortable enough inside, the seats had you melted into it the moment you got in. So, this was what expensive cars felt like.

Heeseung entered the car with a quiet grunt, revving the engine to a start and turned his head to check up on you, a small smile appearing on his face upon meeting your gaze. He caught you staring at him, didn’t he?

“Nice car,” you complimented a little too awkwardly, which also made Heeseung chuckle stiffly, seemingly caught off guard too.

“Thank you,” he smoothed his hand over the steering wheel, then pulled the car into drive. “Question, can I ask you something?”

You arched an eyebrow, wondering what was coming your way. Heeseung took that as a sign to continue, keeping his concentration on the road but actually, he just didn't want to face you as he asked the question.

“Be honest, that night when I was drunk, did that give you a bad impression? ‘Cause I swore your eyes was yelling it,”

Nothing prepared you for that. Not that it was bad, just unexpected. Moreover, you were surprised at him remembering the happenings that night, and not only that, to overthink it too? You couldn't blame him though, you would too.

“Okay, I'm being honest. Yeah, kind of? I thought you were some random drunk and I was scared for my life until I saw you were trying to get in—which I also thought you were breaking in at first—”

“That's harsh,”

“I had some drinks myself too, alright?” You snorted, remembering that night where you weren't fully drunk but intoxicated enough to think your next door neighbour, whose existence you didn't even know, was getting robbed. “You seemed fine, just maybe the heavy smell of perfume coming from you gave off a bad, and also odd first impression,”

“I swear I’m not some playboy,” it was a genuine misconception for most. Heeseung gave off the vibes of some womaniser that thinks he has power, money and influence just because he was a top Formula One racer, but truth be told, he was the opposite. The people closest to him knew that, not the one that the media created.

Judging from your sceptical raise of an eyebrow, Heeseung had a feeling you were doubting him. He feigned a shocked expression “Did you really think I’m the kind to bring a woman into my bed each night?”

“I didn’t say that! You’re a total opposite of what I thought you were—in a good way,”

“But your look was intending that you thought of it, about me being a playboy of some sort,”

“Maybe just a little, teensy bit,”

“I’m hurt,”

“It’s the aura,” you scrambled to pick up at the pieces, all while Heeseung enjoyed teasing you. “I mean, you’re cute, rich and talented, everybody wants you,”

“Doesn’t mean I want them either,” he pressed his lips in a flat line, shrugging lightly. Beside him, your eyes twinkled. What he said shouldn’t have set some small hope in you. Dude, you barely know him! But, you couldn’t help wanting him secretly. “Also, did you just call me cute?”

“I—” you sputtered, not expecting him to catch that. Heeseung was grinning like crazy. Oh, he was so definitely enjoying poking fun at you. You crossed your arm, turning your nose up at him. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,”

“I’m pretty sure you did,” he let out a chortle, finding your denial humorous and enjoyable. Just simply being with you was enjoyable. “I’m honoured … yet again,”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved him off, feeling your cheeks heating up just a bit. No way he caught you slacking like that. How did you even manage to pull that anyway? Whatever.

The conversation soon died down, letting the music from the radio overtake the silence between you and him. On the drive back, you couldn’t take your eyes off the bypassing streets and buildings. You were in Monaco. That itself sounded surreal and unbelievable, and something you didn’t have in plan until now. The change was unexpected, but maybe it was something you needed.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect myself to be here right now,” you said out of the blue, speaking your mind ever so casually. You didn’t even realise yourself getting comfortable with Heeseung overtime, everything just seemed too natural when it comes to hanging around Heeseung. Was that normal?

“What do you mean?”

“I originally thought I’ll end up as a trainer in some football club since it was something I wanted,”

Another fact that surprised Heeseung. He glanced at you. “Football fan?”

“Kinda, I guess you could say that,”

“Maybe it’s fate,” he decided, a lighthearted assumption that you once had in mind as well.

“Or maybe Jake saw I was unemployed and took the chances,” you wondered jokingly, but also having your suspicions.

Heeseung let out a laugh in incredulity, shaking his head. “Either way, it was meant to be, you being here and working for Jake,”

Nodding a little, you considered his words. It was most likely meant to be. Monaco, Jake, meeting Heeseung. Something was in store for you. “Well, I’m quite glad,” you purse your lips and paused, “I got to meet you too,”

“Huh—” his head snapped to look at you in a flash, the look on his face telling you he thought he might’ve heard you wrongly. That’s when he had to regain his composure and maintain a stable breathing, “me too.”

The weight of your words and Heeseung’s reply were on each of your shoulders individually, both of you were unable to get the moment from earlier out of your minds. Leading up to the part where you and him reached the floor of your apartments, he walked you to your door and stood there, waiting for you to turn to him, which you did after breathing in a deep breath. You met his eyes, ones that resembled a bambi, glistening under the dim light.

“Today was fun, thanks for letting me join,”

“It’s nothing. I’m glad you joined, actually,” he slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants, hiding the fact that his palms were sweating. “If you didn’t, we wouldn’t have properly met and on a much friendlier term,”

“That’s true,” you clutched onto the straps of your bag tighter. “And this won’t be our last meeting either,”

“Definitely,”

“I have a question,”

“Shoot,”

“This might sound odd but I feel like we didn’t properly introduce ourselves,” you looked at him expectantly. “Jake kinda introduced us to each other and I thought it would be wrong to not really get to know one another more personally. You get what I mean? Since we’re neighbours and everything—am I rambling?”

Heeseung grinned at your nervous and jittery demeanour. “Kinda,” he let out a small laugh, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “You’re not entirely wrong,” he extended his hand outward, “I’m Lee Heeseung,”

“Y/N L/N,” you accepted his hand, the coarseness of his skin from the excessive amount of driving over the years met your smoother palms, though it was a short moment, you could feel the contrast of his hand to yours in terms of size as well.

“It’s nice meeting you, neighbour,”

“You too. Heard you’re some hotshot formula one driver,”

“Nah, they’re all just rumours, I’m just your friendly average neighbourhood guy,”

“Who delivers milk,”

“Newspaper,” he corrected, playing along with the joke with a the widest smile, “Some say I might be spiderman,”

“Now you’re going too far,”

It was natural. All of it was. The flow of the conversation and the way you joked with each other. When you broke out laughing first, Heeseung couldn’t help but laugh along with you, the sounds of your laughter filled the empty hallway.

You didn’t want this to end. Talking to him and staring at him, no, you wished you could continue on. Yet, the words that left your lips were the opposite of how you felt. “I think I should head on in, I probably need a shower,”

“I—uh—same,” a breathy chuckle escaped Heeseung’s pretty lips, and hearing it only made you let out one as well. He was so dorky and awkward, it was cute, and a total contrast of what you had expected of him.

“See you, Mr World Champion,”

“Bye, pretty,”

Pretty?

Heeseung’s eyes widened a fraction, shock crossing his face. Did he just … call you that? It was the truth though, a truth that he unknowingly let slip. Lee Heeseung, you should’ve kept that in your mind and not the tip of your lips. He was chastising himself, but you, however, felt your knees weakened as you pressed your keycard onto the sensor.

He called you pretty. Pretty. Pretty!

“Hey, Y/N,” he called out right before you managed to shut your door, narrowly missing you as you were busy having a serious conversation with yourself regarding Heeseung’s pet name. You peaked your head out of the door, an expecting expression staring back at him. “Uh—if you need anything or any help, I’m always next door. Just—ring my doorbell or something, I’ll be there,”

What a sweetheart.

“Thank you, Hee, likewise,” you casted him your sweetest smile, then waved briefly and closed your door with a small click.

Hee? Hee! Oh my God. That just left your lips.

Heeseung couldn’t believe it himself. First, he called you ‘pretty’, and now, you called him ‘Hee’. He was winning, and never in a lifetime would he expect the day where he felt his heartbeat speeding up because of someone instead of racing.

Side by side, in different rooms with only a wall separating you and Heeseung, the two of you had your backs pressed against the front door. Processing and reflecting on what had happened, from the words said and the gestures made, all of them were taken notice and stored in each of your head. Butterflies and beating hearts overtook your bodies, the prospect of someone to look forward to now plagued your minds.

It was the start of something.

Whether it was a coincidence or on purpose, none of you knew the truth.

The times you've bumped into one another was more than imagined. Throwing out the trash? Oh, Heeseung just got back from the gym, looking absolutely scrumptious and waving at you. Going out for a morning jog? Heeseung coincidentally was doing the same and eventually joined you.

Were you complaining though? No, you took every possible chance to see him, even if it was a glimpse or a 'hi' or small talks.

There's one thing you've got to admit. He was unhealthy for you.

The months passed and the routine of the both of you bumping into each other somehow became standing outside the door to talk longer and progressed into exchanging phone numbers, which was long overdue in your opinion.

What amazed you most was him texting you first. It didn't even take him long to do that, in fact, it was on the same night you gave him your number. Wow. It then turned into you huddled in bed, stalking his Instagram profile and laughing at the range of pictures taken.

Obviously, pictures of his career and wins were the majority, ones that even included Jake who shared the same podium as him. With more scrolls, you discovered more natural pictures of him. 'Boys night' or 'chill days' captions under selfies or group photos. The recent one was ‘Happy New Years!’ with him in a party hat accompanied by some of his friends.

That night, you went to bed a little too giddy and hit the 'follow' button without thinking twice. The morning was even better when you saw him following you back, and that only prompted you to bake a load of cookies, which explained the reason why you were standing in front of his door, a box of fresh cookies in hand.

It took you only one ring of the doorbell to have Heeseung appear, a hand on the door, body dressed in a casual outfit of black tee and sweatpants. Okay, breathe.

“Hello, hello,” he greeted, not missing the box you were holding.

“Hey, kinda random but I baked some cookies and I have extras so I wanted to give them to you if it's alright,”

Heeseung visibly beamed at your offer, eyes shining like a little kid at the candy shop. “It's more than alright actually,” he looked behind his shoulder for a quick second, “if so, would you want to come in and have a quick bite? I'll give you my honest feedback,”

“That's very Gordon Ramsey of you, why not,”

He stepped aside to let you in, and you gladly did so, gaze flickering around to take in the interior of his apartment. All of which screamed his vibes. You caught sight of some formula one car figurines and a couple of trophies on a shelf.

“Cool collection you've got here. How much were these?” You pointed at his trophies, joking in an attempt to lighten the mood. You knew it was received well after you heard him laughing breathily as the door clicked shut.

“Just a couple thousands, no biggy,” he played along, ushering you to join him at the table with a wave of his hand. "I see someone's been stalking me lately," he said once you sat next to him, and you almost wanted to leave the moment you heard it.

“I did not stalk you,” you defended yourself, even if it meant you were lying. “I just wanted to follow you since we're more closer now,”

You swore you saw Heeseung's eyes soften at the mention of you and him growing closer. He let out a hum. “For a moment I thought you were thinking about me,”

Spoiler: you were.

It took Heeseung minimal effort for him to make you fluster. Judging from the way you nervously open the box and push it to him, actively ignoring what he just said. “Here,”

“Thanks, sweets,”

There it was again. Another pet name that slipped from his tongue way too naturally. It even caught him off guard, thinking he should be more appropriate around you since you two were just getting to know each other. But how could he? Not when you were giving him a hard time by taking over his mind.

“These look good,” he said upon opening up the box, a smile creeping up onto his lips. Without hesitation, he grabbed one and took a bite out of it, savouring the taste of the fresh cookie.

His nod of approval was the seal of validation for you. “Good, right?” him humming in agreement only made your smile wider in satisfaction and victory.

“Is this how you buy your way into people’s hearts? It’s definitely working for me,” Heeseung stared at the rest of the pile in awe, not realising how his words made you fluster even more.

“Not just anybody,”

His gaze averted to you, a tinge of pink painted at his cheeks. It was unnoticeable in plain sight, but Heeseung himself could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. The feeling was overwhelming till the point he had to let out a cough. You were staring back at him innocently.

“Preseason starts soon. Testing in Bahrain,” you switched the topic, noticing the both of you being equally caught off guard.

“Oh, yeah,” time passed by in a blur and Heeseung didn’t even realise February was coming along. “It’s really soon, huh? New Years was literally a few weeks ago? How was your New Year, by the way?”

“It was chill, didn’t do much since I don’t know many people here and all my colleagues are in other countries,” you mumbled the last part a little too sadly, but it was the truth, being alone in a different country was a new kind of foreign that hits harder than you expected.

“Ah. I didn’t know you were free and available that day, if I did, I would’ve invited you to the party the boys had—” that Instagram post, “You know what Jake said to me? ‘Take care of Y/N on my behalf too, she's new here and doesn't have many friends’,”

“He didn’t need to expose me like that,” you rolled your eyes in irritation at the mention of your cousin brother’s name, and what he said on top of that. It was partially the truth. “But it’s fine, Hee, he did bring it up over the phone but I chose to stay in. Too much testosterone concentrated in one party,”

“Not true, there were girls there too,”

“Does that make it sound better?”

Heeseung gulped, realising it in fact doesn’t make it sound better. “Well, no,”

“You athletes and partying and women scares me,” you played with the box, not wanting to imagine Heeseung with some other woman. There was one thing you had to remind yourself: stay away from athletes. For the reasons of them being unfaithful, rich, famous, snobby, womanisers, cocky—

“Not all of us are like that,”

Heeseung wasn’t like that.

“I mean, yeah, I know some of the drivers are like that but most of us aren’t,” he continued on, seeing the worry dissolving from your face. He knew what he was doing, you were aware too, he was trying to give you assurance, catching on to the underlying meaning of your words. “The guys I hang around with have girlfriends and trust me, they’re loyal as ever, the ones that are single only actively search for girls. Even if so, they aren’t as playboy behaviour as you think,”

“Genuinely?”

“Genuinely,”

“What about you?”

Heeseung pursed his lips. “I haven’t been in a relationship in years,” he shrugged quite pathetically, “I’m practically living like a man who hasn’t felt a woman’s touch in years, because it’s mostly true,”

“Come on, really? The Lee Heeseung is bitchless? I don’t believe it,”

“Ask my friends! It’s been a while,” he laughed that eventually turned into a sigh, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know, I admit, there were lots who tried hitting me up, but none of them truly meant it. You know what I mean? Especially after winning my championship, it felt like I could see through them and their true intentions. I just don’t think they see me as me. They see me as Formula One champion, famous and on the top of the world, but I’m none of that,”

Witnessing Heeseung getting vulnerable with you on a random 6 P.M. was not part of your schedule, but you were relieved he was comfortable enough to share these with you. Him, however, got panicked and didn’t even let you speak when he blurted out, “Sorry, shouldn’t have dumped everything on you—”

“No, no, it’s okay, Hee, really,” you reassured, almost placing your hand on his, but retreating your hand rather reluctantly. “It must be hard to not be able to have anyone see you as the way you truly are. You’re an amazing guy, genuinely. I might know you for a few months only but you’re one of the sweetest guys in my life, it makes sense why Jake regards you as a good friend,”

No words were able to form on Heeseung’s tongue, let alone speak. All he could do was stare at you, a kind of admiration and fascination in his bright irises.

“I hope you can find the right person soon, even if it takes a while, it’ll be worth it knowing they’re the one,” you bumped his shoulder with yours, and in his perspective, he was sure he would’ve fell if he hadn’t snapped out of his daze. “I get you though. I might not be a world champion but I prioritise my job a lot. Some men don’t see that, at least the ones that I’ve dated. That’s why I’ve been single for quite some time too, and it’s not helping that I’m travelling a lot more now,”

This mild relationship trauma bonding session wasn’t what you two had in mind.

“Just as you said, it’ll be worth it when we find the one even if it takes some time,” Heeseung bumped your shoulder just as you did, a small grin displayed on his pretty face. “We’ll get there,”

“We will,”

What you didn’t know was Heeseung screaming at himself internally. ‘We’ll get there’? No, Heeseung didn’t want you with someone else. Hell, he doesn’t want to see other people either. He couldn’t believe himself for feeling this way. In what way was this a sane man’s behaviour? He’s far from sane.

Worst part of all was the two of you were equally running in circles together. You were interested in him and he was interested in you, but none of you dared to make any certain moves. Was it the fear? Was it because you were scared Heeseung might break your heart? Was it because Heeseung was scared you’d be affected by him? It was only going to be complicated the more it went on. But were you going to acknowledge that right now? Absolutely not. As they say, go with the flow, right?

“Wanna grab dinner together? Heard there’s a new sushi place down the street,” you let Heeseung take the box from your hold, watching him place it on his coffee table so that he could enjoy it some other time.

“Sounds good.”

There was no denial that something was growing between you and him.

Time passing by in a blur wasn't a great thing at all. Not to you and Heeseung anyway.

The oncoming F1 season starting soon only meant having to travel more and moments spent being next door lessened. This fact was apparent and undeniable, one that both you and Heeseung were aware of, and an unspoken urge to hang out more developed.

It first started when you invited Jake over for dinner after a hard training session, and miraculously on the way to your door, Heeseung showed up, just on time. He was about to leave for dinner, and Jake being Jake, he invited Heeseung to join you two with no hesitation. From then on, even without Jake’s presence, you found yourself having dinner at Heeseung’s house and watching movies together. Wild, wasn’t it?

Maybe it was a good thing you were getting closer and more comfortable with him. You needed more friends other than just Jake in this line of work. For now, Heeseung was equally a great company that knew how to make you laugh and bring out the other side of you that you kept away from others.

However, no matter how close you were with him now, you were not prepared for whatever happened that day at all.

“Can I shower at your place?”

Opening the door to find a messy haired Heeseung in his grey sweatpants almost had you slamming the door in his face out of pure instinct. The sight was dangerous for you. You were just a girl after all. A man in grey sweatpants was a killer.

“Excuse me?”

“Hear me out,” he dramatically placed his hands out, putting on the most convincing look after seeing your doubtful expression. “My shower broke and the guy I called could only come by tomorrow to fix it, so I can't shower now, but, I need to shower,”

You considered for a moment, but unable to put up your front the more you glanced at Heeseung's pleading eyes and the desperation coming off him.

“Please, Y/N?”

“Of course, you can, Hee,” you patted him on the shoulder. “I'm not cruel enough to let you stink,”

“You're a lifesaver,” he sighed in relief, the desperation melted into gratefulness, you've never seen a man as desperate to shower as him at that moment. “I'll bring some ramen for us to eat after, sounds good?”

“Absolutely,”

“Great. Don't tell Andrew this though,” he was referring to his personal trainer, and you smiled.

“I won't, now hurry up before I close my door,”

Heeseung was quick to grab his items and rush into your apartment as if his life depended on it. A tray filled with his toiletries and a towel hung around his neck, he gave you a charming smile when he saw you approaching him after closing the door.

“Realised I've never been over much,” he said, eyes wandering around the corners of your living room.

“You never asked and I didn't offer, that's why I'm always at yours,”

“We need to switch it up soon, or else we'll have to wait months to be back,”

“Right,” you nodded a little solemnly at the mention of the long period of being away. “The bathroom's down the hallway, just walk straight and it's there,”

“Got it,” he snapped his fingers once he averted his gaze away from the direction you pointed. “Wait for me to cook the ramen,”

“You know I always do.”

That was exactly what you did: wait for him. You could hear the shower running in your quiet apartment, and it only made you think. He was in your house, showering. An F1 driver. If you told the you from months back that this would happen, you’d be livid.

The on and off conversation you had with yourself about Heeseung went on for a while until you heard some crashing noises that definitely came from the bathroom. Did he fall? There’s no way, right? The paranoia had you jumping out of your seat and jogging towards your bathroom. A knock from you once and there came Heeseung’s panicked voice.

“I’m okay! I dropped your shampoo bottle!” he yelled back, but most importantly was what he did next. He swung the door open, revealing him with only a towel hanging around his waist, hair visibly wet and his bare upper body on display. You shouldn’t look, you shouldn’t look, you shouldn’t—

You did what you couldn’t do earlier, which was closing the door on Heeseung. This time around, you finally found the strength and pulled the handle, closing the door and shocking both you and him. Okay, you needed that though.

Despite doing all that, the damage was unfortunately already done and the image of his bare body was burnt into your mind. Were you complaining? Secretly, you weren’t. But you were worried awkward tension might mess everything up.

Acting natural was what you could do, focusing on the screen of your phone even when you heard his footsteps against the wooden floor and his soft humming that was heading your way. Your attention strayed away from the video you were watching, instead focusing on his humming, recognising the song he was humming to. It was a Justin Bieber song. What was the title of the song? Off something? Off—

“What are you watching?” Heeseung was suddenly standing next to you, head leaned down and the scent of his shampoo invaded your senses. It wasn’t just that, his face was quite literally next to yours, one wrong move and you’d clash your face with his. When you turned your head, he was already staring at you, a smile tugged at his lips.

“J–Just a stupid video,” why did he have you stutter? Stand up!

“Looks interesting,” he noted, straightening up and was no longer torturously close to you. Thank God. “So, ramen?”

“Definitely,”

You watched as Heeseung shuffled around the kitchen, sitting leisurely on the high stool behind the counter. He, who insisted on being the one who cooked, was struggling to find the pots and pans, but somehow still managing throughout. As he waited for the ramen to cook, he had his hand resting on the counter top, standing faced towards you, gaze staying on you.

“Sorry for just now,” he started, getting your attention and your ears perked up. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,”

“It’s fine, Hee, stuff happens,” you tried your best at seeming nonchalant, but you were actually crumbling internally. You could tell the both of you were struggling.

“Well, opening the door and seeing me half naked isn't exactly just 'stuff happens',” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, but you couldn't help cracking a smile at his demeanour.

“You're fine. Everything's okay. It's not like I'm banning you from my home and filing a restraining order,” you reassured him for the millionth time, watching the distress on his face gradually melt away and shoulders relaxing. “It was a slip up and I'm not uncomfortable at all. For a moment I thought you fell and something happened, I'm much more glad finding out you didn't,”

“Thank God that didn't happen,” he breathed out a sigh of relief, closing the fire now that the ramen was done cooking. His back was faced towards you, and all you could focus on rather shamelessly was the wideness of his back.

“I would've saved you,”

“My knightress in shining armour,” he took a peek back at you, meeting your eyes for a split second before turning away, a smile plastered on his face evident from his voice.

It didn't take long before Heeseung was done with the ramen, serving two bowls onto the counter and joining your side. He even prepared two boiled eggs for you that you specifically requested every time you had ramen together. It only took once for Heeseung to remember.

“Are you prepared for the new season?” You asked, trying to crack your egg but was visibly struggling. Heeseung then wordlessly took it from you, knocking it against the counter and peeling it slowly.

He hummed. “Physically, yes. Mentally, no,”

You frowned at his response, eyes following his hands as he placed down one freshly peeled hard boiled egg and took the other to get rid of the shells. “How come?”

“I don't know. I think I've always felt like this before the season starts,” he pursed his lips thoughtfully, merely shrugging and taking bites of his ramen. “Think the car's going to be good—I hope—I'm bound to know in a week at preseason testing,”

“It will be! You'll do well,”

“You have that much faith in me?”

“Mr Three Times World Champion? Yeah,”

“Over your own cousin?”

“I have faith in both of you,” you scrunch your nose at the mention of Jake, having to pit him and Heeseung against each other was unfair

Heeseung clicked his tongue, letting out a 'tch'. “Not fair,”

“It is fair,” you rolled your eyes at him, naturally and smoothly putting half an egg into his bowl that he gladly accepted.

“Will you mostly be at the Mclaren hospitality?”

“Not during races. Will probably be at the garage. Depends on Jake though, wherever he goes, I'll go,”

He finished the last of his ramen, nodding at your response. “It'll be easier for me to find you, then,”

“You're saying it as if you've got something up your sleeves,”

“Hey, I just wanna see you,” he threw his hands up in mock surrender, a sense of sincerity visible in his gaze.

“I'm not opposed to that,”

“I'll come find you when you least expect it,” he noted, and you shook your head, laughing quietly. “I'll take you out to dinner too, wherever you want,”

“Even if it's just a simple ramen in your hotel room?”

“I'll be down,” Heeseung said without any hesitation. You couldn't tell if he genuinely loved ramen that much or he was just willing to be flexible for you. Maybe both.

“I'm looking forward to it,”

“It'll be on me, as a way of repayment,”

“You're already feeding me free ramen, I think you're fine,” you gestured at the two empty bowls that were only filled with leftover soup.

“Better food,” he added, eyebrows rising in an attempt to have you tempted as well. “At least, higher quality ramen," he paused, taking in your contemplating expression. “Come on, I want to do it, so let me, please?”

You were grinning at his determination, and at the same time, you couldn't entirely reject his willingness. “Well … if you're genuinely willing, then I'm alright with it,”

Heeseung exhaled in both relief and victory, smiling quite stupidly at his success. “Let me treat you, okay?”

You nodded, picking up the two bowls to place into the sink, swearing that you've got it and having to make him back down from washing them since had already done the cooking. “Yes, yes, Mr World Champion,”

He suddenly barked out a laugh, throwing his head back with ease. “You've got to stop calling me that. I might not even be World Champion this season,”

“Why not?” You steal a glance at him, noticing he was already watching you as you washed the dishes.

“Who knows? Anything can happen.”

Anything can happen.

Heeseung had a feeling that wasn't just referring to his upcoming season, but also insinuating a change between you and him. Anything could literally happen. That was what scared him but also excited him.

It was going to be a long season ahead.

– MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA, 2023

You finally understood Heeseung's popularity. Might've taken a while, but now, your eyes have been opened.

The season started off gracefully right after preseason testing. You found yourself running around quite a lot and being much busier than expected. The new life of working in a motorsport environment was humbling but also rewarding.

After the first two races, you slowly got used to the busier lifestyle, enjoying the trackside views and getting a better insight of what's happening in the garage.

Other than that, you weren't surprised Heeseung had bagged the opening races easily. You watched from the Mclaren garage as he crossed the finish line, leading up to him celebrating at the podium with some familiar faces. Jake almost came in close, but unfortunately, missed out on the podium. Still, it was a strong start.

That was the reason why trying to speak to Heeseung face-to-face was much more of a struggle than you'd initially thought. He was big, like big big. He was always swarmed post race, fans crowded him and constantly busy with many other duties. The only time you got to speak was congratulating him for his win, and the rest was left to iMessage.

Yet, you didn't miss his lingering gaze amongst the crowd of people. It was as if you were the only person there to him there and then.

The third race soon rolled around, meaning it was the Australian Grand Prix. Look, you loved Melbourne, but you swore your jet lag was about to take you out. It didn’t help that it was media day as well, which included having to partake in press conferences, video shoots and other promotional related things. Your legs weren’t getting much breaks either knowing you’d have to follow Jake around to all these.

Being Jake’s assistant almost felt like you were babysitting a child sometimes. The morning of media day was rough. You couldn’t find Jake after leaving him at the garage for only a few minutes, only to come back to engineers and no driver that resembled a puppy in sight.

A headache wasn’t the ideal to welcome the first thing in the morning. You decided to rush out and walk around, texting him feverishly as you rounded the place. It was then you rounded a corner and focused too much on your phone—people were right about not walking while using phones—when you bumped into someone.

Heeseung.

His expression contorted into a mixture of shock, relief and happiness. You, yourself, felt like your breath was knocked out of you. Just staring at him was enough to have you rooted to the ground.

“Hi,” you exhaled, not giving a care if you looked abysmal at that moment, dressed in a papaya coloured work uniform.

“Hey,” his eyes visibly brightened up, a sweet smile slowly spreading. “What's got you so busy with your phone?” He pointed at your phone, genuine curiosity sparkled in his irises.

“Jake, that's what,” you groaned, waving your phone in annoyance. “He disappeared from the garage and he's supposed to be getting ready for press,”

Heeseung suddenly looked guilty, which only prompted you to raise your eyebrow at him, signalling him to spill. “He snuck out to find me, and I think he's already snuck back to the garage. Sorry about that,”

“Why are you guys acting like a forbidden couple sneaking around?”

“What if we are?”

You rolled your eyes at him, a habit that you found yourself doing a lot around him. “Sure you are,” you replied sarcastically, and it made him laugh.

“When will you let me take you out for dinner?” Heeseung frowned, slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning back a bit.

“I'm free whenever,”

“That's a lie,”

“Fine. That is a lie,” you sighed, remembering your busy schedule that was just as hectic as his. “There's a few weeks break after this weekend, just before Baku,”

“Right,” the gears were turning in Heeseung's head, faintly recalling the season's schedule. “Will you be back in Monaco?”

“I will,”

“Great,” he was having a hard time hiding his true emotions, suppressing his big goofy smile into a nonchalant one. “I'll have a table booked, and I'll just text you the details,”

“Sounds amazing,” it was beyond amazing.

Even though you two acted like it was only a normal dinner, both of you had a secret feeling it wasn't just that. Not at all. It was clear in the air that a certain emotion and tension lingered in the air, getting heavier as time passed.

“I've been dying to talk to you,” he confessed out of the blue, taking you and him, apparently, by surprise. If you had to be honest, you felt the same. “Me being too caught up with everything and you adjusting to the job, I just wished we got to talk more rather than just texting,”

“Are you saying that just because you keep losing at 8-Ball?” It was true. Heeseung might be a good Formula One driver, but horribly skilled at iMessage games.

“No,” he was quick to deny it, but you knew he was just saving face, so you spared him and waved it off.

“Kidding. I really wanted to talk to you too. It felt weird,”

“What does?”

“You are so close but too far to reach. You’re constantly surrounded, and it feels like I can’t reach you, it feels strange and distant, very foreign,” you didn’t even realise you’ve let the pent up amount of pining slip into your words, but it seemed he felt the same, being able to understand as his gaze softened. You were clutching onto your phone for dear life, knowing sweat was forming on your palm from the nervousness. “But it's great to see you winning, the first two races were crazy,”

“You think so?”

“I know so,”

“Says the person who thinks the sport is just cars driving in circles,”

“Hey!” you exclaimed, holding in your laugh as you watched Heeseung raise his eyebrows with a grin. “Okay, maybe I’m slowly getting the hype,”

“So … not fully, yet?”

“You’ve got to show me more to fully get it,”

Heeseung’s ears definitely perked up at what you said, but he didn’t want to overthink it and overanalyzed the hidden meanings behind it, so he tried keeping his nonchalant front. “I’ll show you,” he merely said, winking cheekily at you.

“Alright, World Champion. I think it’s also time for us to leave, especially you. You’ve got press with Jake,”

“Right, almost forgot,” he chuckled awkwardly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “I should probably go,”

“You should,”

“I’ll see you,” he started walking backwards, not turning his back on you yet. “Let me know once you’re back. I’ll tell you the details once I’ve settled it,”

“You’ve got it,”

He nodded, still backing away stiffly and you wanted to burst out laughing at the way he’s acting. You crossed your arms, placing your weight on one leg, staring at him, amused. “You know the Ferrari hospitality is in the opposite direction to where you’re heading, right?”

He stopped in his tracks, then tilted his head, resembling a lost puppy. “Is it?”

“Yes, it is, Heeseung,” you sighed, beckoning him to come forward. “Let’s just walk back together,”

Heeseung was good at hiding his embarrassment. He could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck, but not reaching his face, instead to the tips of his ears. Yet, the moment he joined your side and saw your smile, every negative thought dissipated, and he let himself feel when he’s in your presence. His sly brush against your shoulders and hands didn’t go unnoticed by you. All you could do was hold your calm until you reached back to your own hospitality, seeing Jake there and you were silently grateful he didn’t stay in the garage.

“What’s got you so … glowy this early in the morning?”

You snapped up from your phone screen, meeting Jake’s narrowed suspicious gaze. “What?”

“Don’t just ‘what’ me, something happened, didn’t it? You seem so smiley and giddy,”

Was it that obvious? “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe it’s that overpriced smoothie I got for breakfast,”

“I drank it too!”

“Maybe it’s not working for you,” you shrugged, facing a pouty Jake that was displaying his best attempt at sad teary eyes. “It’s the sad truth,”

He huffed. “Whatever. We should get to the press before I get my ass beat,”

“Yeah, by me.”

Jake eventually forgot about his whole suspicion on you once the race weekend arrived and passed. You consider yourself lucky for that. It was probably fated for what happened next. Him and Heeseung managed to claim their spots on the podium next to each other that race weekend, earning points for their championships and teams. It was one of those times where you ran to pull Jake in a big hug, just like old times.

In the midst of it all, seeing Heeseung approaching you brought out the instinct in you to pull him in a hug as well. Despite him being covered in sweat and you in another team’s uniform, you and him both stood there as if it was only you two alone. You were able to speak to Heeseung for a bit, congratulating him and shaking him in excitement. Maybe it was a heat of the moment thing, but Heeseung pressed a kiss on your cheek, leaving you stunned. Before you could even give a reaction, he got whisked away, resulting in you and him each frowning and frazzled.

You stood there, all stunned and fingers softly touching the spot where his lips made contact with just a moment ago. The same lips that curved into a smile that you adored and spewed stupid jokes which never failed to make you laugh.

Snap out of it!

Oh.

You were utterly screwed.

– MONTE CARLO, MONACO, 2023

Nothing felt better than being back to the comforts of your own home.

It was odd, calling Monaco your home now. If you had to be fully honest, you missed your real home. The place where you old friends and family stayed while you were currently miles away.

The ping from your phone eventually brought you out of your reminiscence and diverted your attention. It was good timing, or else you would've broken down crying thinking about it more.

hee(neigh)bour: free tonight?

you: yes!

hee(neigh)bour: expect me at 6 pm ;) we're going fancyyy

Was that winky face necessary? Yet, it still somehow made you laugh. It didn't last long once you realised the little time you had to get ready. Five hours wasn't enough. You needed a day to fully mentally and physically get yourself together.

Heeseung was taking you out to dinner. Was it a date? Did he think it was one? No, don't overthink it, it's just a dinner, a friendly dinner.

You didn't want it to stop at that, though. Shamelessly, you wanted it to be a date.

You wished you were lying when you said you spent two hours trying on outfits and rummaging through your closet for anything that was fancyyy, just as Heeseung mentioned. In the end, you settled for a dusty pink satin midi dress that you got online not long ago thanks to some tacky fashion blog. It was something you've barely worn before, the open back and silky material was probably the most fancy you could dig out from your closet.

The clock was ticking close to six, you made sure your makeup wasn't smudged or your purse wasn't left on the side of your couch, carelessly stumbling around as you balanced on one leg trying to get your heels on. Your heart shouldn't be beating over the normal speed, but it was. The moment your hand twisted the doorknob, clock ticking right at six o'clock, and with one twist of a hand, the door opened and the doorbell rang, you stood still.

“Heeseung,”

“Y/N, hey,” he breathed out, gulping at the sight of you. The timing of your exit and his appearance collectively gave you and him a whiplash, but seeing him managed to calm your nerves a lot more.

Heeseung was dressed in a simple suit and tie, hair styled down, but still managing to be as handsome as ever. What really caught your eye was the small bouquet of flowers in his hand, explaining why he was shifting around nervously.

“I've got you flowers,” he held it up, gaze held with expectations and a sweet smile facing you. It was a pretty and delicately made bouquet with colourful flowers. Cute. Both him and the bouquet.

“Thank you,” you accepted them from him, smiling wider, and it almost felt like you'd be smiling non stop whenever you're around him. “They're really pretty,”

“You're really pretty too,” he was quick to compliment you, too quick that even he didn’t realise until a beat later, reddening in surprise. “I—”

“Thanks, Hee, you’re really handsome too,” you kept your cool, though feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks as well. In a third perspective, you two probably looked like blushing idiots.

He visibly straightened, clearing his throat and gradually regaining his composure. One thing Heeseung wasn’t going to do tonight was crumble, but with you around, it’s hard to say. “Thank you. Shall we get going?”

“Yes! After I put the flowers away, wait a minute, okay?”

Heeseung let out a soft ‘okay’ and laughed under his breath, watching you run back in and filling a vase full of water, proceeding to chuck the flowers in carelessly. Your heels were clicking against the floor noisily, and soon you were in front of him again, smiling abashedly. “I’ll make sure to deal with the flowers more nicer when I get back,”

Heeseung waved you off, guiding you forward. “No worries about that, I can always get you new ones.”

Heeseung might’ve not realised how lasting the effects of his words were, because you were a flustered mess while he continued on as if nothing happened. He couldn’t just say that and expect zero reactions from you!

The drive there might’ve been a little quiet from time to time, but you basked in the silence and admired the scenery of Monte Carlo. It almost felt like you were a kid in a new country again and was constantly wowed by new things. Apparently Heeseung could tell that about you. He occasionally casted glances at you, smiling mostly to himself when you were too caught up and blabbering about the most random things, listening to every one of them while you thought he wasn’t.

“No, I have to agree, I think pouring milk after the cereal is much more … normal than cereal after milk,” Heeseung was holding back his laugh as he agreed with you when you two were walking to the restaurant.

“I know right! Say that to some of my colleagues,”

“No way,”

“Yes way,” you displayed a horrified expression, but it only melted into a smile once you saw Heeseung's face.

You hated it. This unexplainable feeling you always had around Heeseung. It never faded away, but instead grew stronger and persisted as time passed. What was it? Why were you like this?

For the time being, you kicked aside the countless thoughts of Heeseung and actually tried to immerse yourself in the dinner with the real Heeseung in front of you. It was hard to concentrate entirely. Your main focus wasn’t even on the smoked salmon on your plate nor the ancient wine in your glass; it was on Heeseung.

He asked you about almost everything, putting the spotlight on you for most of the dinner, which was quite surprising for you. But what he failed to know was you having trouble formulating a proper answer considering how your mind couldn’t stop wandering over to him. It was annoying that he had completely taken over you and your head in the span of a few months.

It was even more annoying how nice and soft hearted he was. He proved that by telling you the bill was already paid and wholeheartedly declining your offer to pay back, insisting that he was the one who invited you out anyway. You could only accept your defeat, but promised him you’d treat him to some ramen.

The walk back to the car was excruciating. It was mostly silent, but that was not the problem, it was the tension filled air that made your skin crawl. You and him were both tired, and you’d said what you wanted to say during dinner, so comfortable silence eventually settled in the air. You could feel his lingering gaze on you, and you were sure he felt yours on him as well. It was just a waiting game for one of you to speak up at that point.

It must’ve been an unsaid rule. Heeseung didn’t think twice before opening the door of the passenger side for you, bambi-like eyes staring back at you, a small smile on his lips. “M’lady,”

You cracked a smile at his behaviour, shaking your head slightly and thanked him as you got in. Everything happening before you almost gave you a sense of deja vu from months ago where you were last in his car. Back when you were barely friends but somehow there was an undeniable spark between you and him. Nothing has changed, neither the dynamics nor you and him in general, all of it was the same, but probably better.

“What are you thinking about?” Heeseung’s voice drew you out from your small bubble of thoughts. It was then you realised that you were soon reaching the apartment complex.

“Us,’’

Heeseung was quiet for a beat, the both of you processing what you said differently. His head snapped to look at you, and you gulped, cursing at yourself for letting your tongue loose. “I mean, the time we met,”

“What about it?” he kept his composure, you could tell that he did.

“I’m getting deja vu to the time we just met. Me in your car and we’re driving back to the apartment,” you decided to be truthful, keeping your eyes straight ahead. “It’s nothing, really, it’s a little stupid,”

“It isn’t,” Heeseung reassured. “It’s normal to reminisce once in a while, and it’s weird, you know? How our emotions and feelings work, it’s all complicated,”

You glanced at him. Feelings and emotions were complicated, he said it almost like he had read your mind. He didn’t notice you staring at him, and continued on. “I’m just glad to have you here, in my life and … in general. Didn’t realise how lonely I was in Monaco until you came into my life,”

Your gaze softened at his words, unable to hide your small frown at the tone of his voice. He turned to look at you for a split second, then broke into a chuckle. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re a good neighbour,” he attempted at diffusing the heavy tension, eliciting a quiet scoff and an amused smile from you.

The rest of the journey was thankfully much lighter and easy going. Heeseung was too busy indulging in the music playing on the radio to notice you spacing out yet again. His words were dancing in your mind from time to time. You certainly didn’t miss the look in his gaze, even though it was merely a second.

As you let him hold your hand and lead you, you couldn’t help but feel giddy from a small action like this. Holding your hand tightly and offering his spare slippers to get you out of your heels were simple gestures, but why were they making you flush easily? Maybe it wasn’t just the actions, but also the person behind it.

Standing in front of your door, right beside his, you were facing him with a wavering attempt at maintaining eye contact. It was the same exact spot where you first met him, except this time around, you felt the complete opposite compared to then. Thinking about this spot, in front of your individual front doors, it was crazy that you and him had many encounters here. But at that moment, you stood with a different feeling and emotion, eyes holding a message for him to slowly decipher.

“I really enjoyed the date—” Did you really just say that? You swore you’d keep that to yourself!

Heeseung blinked, looking almost as if he was splashed with a bucket of cold water, totally shell shocked. “Date?”

You, on the other hand, were freaking out at your own mistake. “Ignore that. It’s a slip of the tongue, it’s stupid, oh my gosh—”

Heeseung was quick to wave his hands. “No, no, it’s fine. I—uh—I really liked this date too,” he was slowly smiling, not denying or correcting you. “I was hoping I can bring you out for another date again,” he made sure to enunciate that word, making his intentions clear. “If it’s all okay with you,”

“I’m more than okay with it,” you exhaled, needing to pinch yourself.

“Great,” he was good at hiding his joy, suppressing most of it into a smile and slipping his hands into his pants pockets to hide his clammy hands. “It’s time to clear out your schedules,”

“You sound like you’ve already got something in store,”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he simply shrugged. “Get ready to be sick of me during these few weeks,”

“Like I’m not already sick of you,”

“Hey!”

“Kidding. If you charm me enough, I’ll probably even fall in love with you,”

The gears in Heeseung’s head seemed to have turned, coming up with an idea that you couldn’t predict. You instantly recognised the familiar spark hidden behind his soft gaze, preparing yourself to hear him out on whatever he had hidden in his sleeves.

“Give me three dates,” he started, the sincerity in voice contrasted with his playful smirk. Screw that, you weren’t prepared for that. “I’ll charm you within these three dates,”

“Seriously? Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” he didn’t even bother to hide it nor make up excuses, being much more straightforward than you expected. Who gave this man the sudden surge of confidence? “Four dates. I'll plan them and it'll be spontaneously timed,”

“Do you have the time for that, though? The season's schedule—”

“Forget about that, I'll make it work. Just let me take you out on a few dates, how does that sound?”

“Sounds fantastic,” it felt like he had knocked the air out of your lungs.

Heeseung nodded slowly, seemingly digesting it all too, his smile never once slipped. “Fantastic,” he repeated after you, and it had unknowingly become a habit he picked up on. “I'll let you know when's the first date. Any preference?”

“I have faith in you, Hee,”

“I won't let you down,” his promise sounded like it had a deeper meaning behind it from the tone of his voice. He was serious about making you fall in love with him, but the thing was you already were halfway there. The effort coming from him only made you cave in more and more. “It's getting late, I'm sure you're tired. Should we …" he gestured at the front doors.

“Oh right, yeah,” you were too deep into the whole conversation to realise you were still standing in front of your apartment. It was embarrassing for you to admit that you weren't willing to leave so soon and wanted to spend more time with Heeseung. You could always invite him over—no, wait—that sounds wrong, you're not going for third base. All you could do was nod along and act casual. Playing hard to get, that was the plan, right?

“I had a nice time tonight, Hee, thanks for dinner,”

“It was my pleasure. I had a nice time finding out your punk phase in middle school too,”

“Okay, shut up,” you rolled your eyes, remembering the precise moment where you and Heeseung shared stories about each of you. Your big mouth just had to let it slip. “It was the past, and it was a phase,”

The mischievous smile persisted on his pretty face. “I would like to see it come to life again,”

“No you don't,” you poked his shoulder with a finger, and you let a beat pass, not removing it just yet. Heeseung arched an eyebrow in question, maintaining eye contact with you.

The fingertip pressed against his shoulder eventually travelled upward and your palm pressed onto the same area. Your touch was gentle, fingers holding onto his shoulder lightly. “Goodnight, Hee,”

He visibly gulped, surprised at how close you've gotten in a split second. Not to mention, your touch on his shoulder was burning into his skin. It was such a small and simple gesture, yet he was crumbling from the inside.

“Goodnight,” he mustered everything and managed to say, excusing the scarlet painted cheeks and ear tips.

Once you removed your hand from his shoulder, he felt like he could finally breathe again. Was it normal to feel this way? To be completely knocked out of breath in a way? To be enamoured of you?

With one last exchange of goodbyes, you disappeared behind your front door, leaving Heeseung there in the corridor to himself where he stood rooted to the ground, fingers grazing against the spot you had touched earlier, head tilted to one side and tongue wetting his lips in deep thought.

Then there was you, standing behind your door. Everything from the dinner up till now, you had to digest and process it.

Because, that was all you needed to know to realise that you liked Heeseung, and you could only let time make you fall completely.

— THE 1ST DATE, MONTE CARLO, MONACO, 2023

“He’s taking you out on dates? Three dates?”

Kim Minjeong, your beloved best friend who stayed miles away from you, was screaming into your ear through the phone at nine in the morning. She was one of the closest friends you have that you kept in contact with, considering the amount of years you’ve spent together too. Now, you were in Monaco while she was in London, yet you were glad the distance didn’t stop you from being friends.

“The Lee Heeseung? That F1 champion?” she had been gasping nonstop throughout the phone call, and you didn’t blame her, it was a lot to take in.

“Even you know him? Gosh, was I that oblivious? I truly think I was unprepared for the job,” you sighed, weighing the phone between your ear and shoulder as you attempted at picking an outfit for Heeseung’s first date.

“Way too oblivious. This was why I told you to come to the UK! Football is massive here, you’d be fit for a job anywhere,”

“Well, Jake practically begged me and I was unemployed so I took the chance,” you fling aside an overly fancy dress that was not fit for the casual, huffing quietly. Apparently, Heeseung had planned a dinner by the beach, taking you to watch the sunset before that too. Talk about being such a romantic guy, huh? “Besides, the pay was … convincing too,”

Minjeong barked out a humorous laugh that was mixed with disbelief, and you could almost picture her shaking her head, giving you that specific disapproving look. “Okay, whatever. Tell me more about this guy and the dates,”

“Heeseung? He’s nice, caring, funny, and just easy to be around,”

“Come on, there must be more than those plain descriptions,”

Of course there was. Heeseung was more than words could ever describe. He was a breath of fresh air on a summer's day, the type that was cooling and calm on a scorching hot day, soothing the burn on your skin. One look into his eyes was enough to fill you with contentment, everything about him was what you wished to have, but whether or not you could, you didn't know.

“There is…” your voice faltered into a whisper.

“Oh my God, you have a crush, don't you?” Minjeong practically screamed into your ear once again, making you recoil away from the phone for a second, wincing in pain. “You are just shy, I know it. You were always like this!”

You were in no place to correct her, she knew you through and through. “Fine, yes, I do fancy him—”

“You admitted it!”

“Well, yeah, after someone here egged me on,” you grumble quietly, listening to her giggles, knowing damn well she has a big wide grin plastered on her face. “I think I do like him,” you finally set down your chosen outfit, sitting on your bed in a slumped posture, mostly in defeat.

“You'll know over time, like, for sure. Based on my own experiences, when you're at that stage of thinking you like him, you tend to be in denial at first—” you rolled your eyes at that point, being heavily guilty, “then, you'd accept it, and fall harder and harder. Suddenly, you know you like him and boom, you're in deep!”

F.M.L.

Everything she said had struck a point, and you being in the denial stage was already proving one of them. “You're—I—I don't think you're wrong,”

“I know I'm not. Just do what you feel is right, 'kay? He's into you too, don't overthink it! Man's planned four dates just for you to fall for him is already a clear sign,”

“You think?”

“Don't be stupid, Y/N. Anyone can tell how much Heeseung likes you.”

Anyone can tell how much Heeseungs likes you. That was the only thing running through your head for the rest of the time you got ready. It finally hit you that you had finally accomplished a little progress: admitting your feelings, but the problem was you’re literally seeing him in a few hours. How were you going to act normal around him? All of this was bringing back to your highschool years where you last felt the same as you were now, all giddy and preoccupied with thoughts of him.

Leading up to the minute when your doorbell rang, signalling the presence of Lee Heeseung at your doorstep. Before opening the door, you did what you’ve never done, which was nervously tucking your hair behind your ears. What has gotten into you? The moment you pulled the door open, you were faced with him, the same man you were thinking about for God knows how long. He was in a simple outfit. White tee and light blue jeans, an outfit that totally complimented his tall and lean stature, plus his sun kissed skin that you ever so appreciate. He was absolutely gorgeous.

“I got you some flowers,” he revealed a small bouquet of tulips in different colours. “I figured the last one was probably wilting so I got you new ones,”

You accepted it from him, cheeks matching the pink tulips amongst the bunch. He stuck to his words, though you didn’t believe it was true in the first place, mainly treating them light heartedly. “Thank you. You didn’t need to, you know?”

“I want to, don’t worry. It’s not hurting my wallet anyway,” he shrugged, not missing a chance to sweep his eyes along your body. “Besides, I like seeing you smile whenever you get them,”

That only got you flushing a deeper hue of pink. One thing about him was the fact that he knew his ways with words, and he was aware that he has an effect on you, so what more than to use both to its advantage. “Thank you then,” you turned to rush back inside to place the flowers away, but in actuality, you needed to hide your blushing face from Heeseung.

The drive to Larvotto beach was calming. Heeseung’s convertible car had its sunroof open the whole time, the evening air was cooling against your skin, and the sun was soon to set. You let yourself look over at Heeseung, watching his hair flow along the wind, a carefree expression on his face. He was always pretty, but seeing him under the dimming sun, it only made your heart tighter and eyes brighter.

“Is it your first time here?” The beach was never the first place you’d thought to go to, especially when you’re not the biggest fan either. However, having Heeseung here made it an exception, or were you just biased? You weren’t complaining about having a personal tour guide either way.

“It is. I don’t think I’ve travelled much ever since I got here,” you kicked the sand with your feet, slightly thankful to have worn beach appropriate shoes.

“There’s a lot of hidden gems here, I’ll bring you there during the break,”

You raised an eyebrow at him, tilting your head to one side. “Are you suggesting something? Hey, Lee Heeseung, why are you being so nice to me?”

“It’s because I like you,” no sugarcoating, neither did he flinch nor cower as he said it, face remaining impassive. You, however, were standing there with a thumping heart, mind practically yelling ‘did he just say that’ and ‘say something’ over again. Almost every possible word died on the tip of your tongue, leaving you stunned.

What happened next only increased your confusion. Heeseung laughed. Right, you weren’t hallucinating whatsoever, he genuinely choked out a laugh, an awkward laugh, to be exact, and you were there questioning if his insanity was intact.

“Forget it, it’s nothing,” he waved it off, breathing deep and shaking his head.

“It’s not ‘nothing’, Hee,” you frowned, crossing your arms and nudging him with your shoulder.

“Okay, I drank a little before this,” he smiled, the same foolish smile that he sported around you, but soon it faltered. “You don’t need to say anything,” his voice softened. “Just … forgive me if I made you uncomfortable,”

“You’d never make me feel uncomfortable,” you were fidgeting with your fingers this time, unsure why you didn’t answer him back when you knew you liked him too. Were you scared? “Thank you,”

It was Heeseung’s turn to be confused. “For what?”

“For telling me, and … letting me know what I can do with my feelings next,” you needed time to sort everything out, and Heeseung understood that, but he also couldn’t resist being slightly curious about what you said. It was an unspoken fact that lingered in the air, from the first meeting until present, there had always been a spark between you two. You knew that, Heeseung knew that, but you were both just waiting for the right time to act on it.

Heeseung’s soft smile reassured you a little more, and you knew there was nothing that’d make it awkward between you and him. You turned away from him, hiding the tinge of red gradually spreading on your cheeks. “It’s really pretty here,” the sun was already setting, painting the sky a darker shade of blue. The bright lights coming from the buildings nearby illuminated the area, bursting through the dark, just the same as the stars connecting the both of you burning brighter.

You were looking around, unaware that Heeseung had his gaze on you instead, a faint smile pulled at his lips, a certain longing gleaming in his brown irises. “It really is.”

To your relief, the dinner wasn’t stiff or awkward, it flowed much more naturally than you expected. Heeseung’s sudden confession was truly out of the blue, but you blame yourself more for freezing like a deer in headlights. What could you do, feelings were odd, and you just weren’t fully ready right there and then. The scenery around got to take your mind off him though, basking in the bright lights and music, enjoying good food and company, you were thankful for it.

Just like the other night, you and him ended up in front of your front door by the end of the night. It was almost a reenactment of it too. He was staring at you and you stared back, both of you just standing there without wiping your stupid smiles away, as if playing a game about who would speak first. Spoiler, it’s you.

“Thanks for tonight … again,”

“My pleasure … again,” he mimicked your words, eliciting a scoff of disbelief from you, that grin on your face only widening, contrasting to your pointed glare. But soon it melted into a much more apologising stare, and you started biting your lips out of habit.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier by the way, I shouldn’t have kept quiet,”

Heeseung sighed, shoulders dropping a little, but he reassured you another time. “It’s fine, really. I get it, you were shocked, I shouldn’t have done it either,”

“No—well—yeah, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea of me rejecting you or something, I’m not, okay? I just need some time,”

Heeseung seemed to look amused instead, lips curving up into a wider smile, twinkling eyes filled with a sense of adoration that you failed to notice. “I know,”

“You know?”

“I know. Y/N, you don’t need to explain anything to me, you don’t owe me an explanation whatsoever. It’s your feelings and what’s mine is mine,” he reached over to brush a strand of hair that fell onto your face. His action rendered you motionless, you found yourself holding your breath for a split second, gaze wandering around his features screaming ‘you’re insane!’ He was, in fact, insane, crazy even to pull this stunt on you, whereas you were too buzzed from the cocktails to form a proper reaction to it.

“Oh,” you breathed out, realising you needed to get more alcohol in your system to fully take everything in. If only you had known earlier that having a crush would be this complicated, then maybe you wouldn’t have one in the first place. But it was impossible anyway, Lee Heeseung knew his way to your heart. Screw him. Unlike your mini rant in your head, your face lit up at the mention of his name, drawing his attention instantly. “Would you like to … join me for a drink?”

It was an invitation that meant more than what it seemed, one that told him you've opened your heart to him, letting him in.

“A drink?” from the sound of his voice, he already sounded convinced, but mildly surprised at your sudden offer.

“Yes, or maybe a few,” you smoothly unlocked your door, blinking at him with a teasing grin.

Heeseung let out a chuckle at the sight of you, so inviting and jumpy, absentmindedly filling his heart with more adoration, eventually having no choice but to cave in. Well, he has to push his trainer and nutritionist to the back of his mind and place you in the centre of it. “I can’t say no to that,”

“Be my guest.” you pushed the door open, dropping an arm around Heeseung’s shoulder as he passed, then closed the door to start a night of deep talks paired with red wine.

That night, you fell asleep at four in the morning, surprisingly with Heeseung by your side. One bottle led to another, and soon, you were both drunk, slumped on the couch in a stupor. Before Heeseung could realise or even form a single conscious thought, he had fallen asleep. Let’s just say the morning after could only be described with ‘hungover’, ‘dead tired’ but also, ‘filled with a new found love’. Maybe all it took was a drunken night with secrets told to get you one step closer to fully admit your liking.

— THE 2ND DATE, BAKU, AZERBAIJAN 2023

You wished your break lasted forever. In a blink of an eye, you're suddenly in a new country with a lasting jet lag. It wasn't just you who thought that either, it was the entirety of the garage.

Another day, another race. You had to remind yourself that the season's schedule hasn't even reached halfway yet and there's still more to come, which is why you shouldn't expect a quick freedom from work.

“What did you do over the short break?” Jake stared expectantly at you as you handed him his gloves, the garage was filled with loud buzzing noises of metal.

“I went on a date,”

Jake's eyes almost bulged out of his head at your casual response. “You what?”

“I went on a date,” you repeated a little harshly this time, handing him his balaclava that he didn't bother to put on until he was satisfied with your responses.

“I need more details,”

“There's not much details,”

“Who was it?”

“I don't want to say,”

“Why not? Is he some socialite? Monaco's filled with rich upper class people,”

Your lips were pressed into a thin line, narrowing your gaze at him, visibly unamused. “Rich? Yes. Socialite? Not really,”

“Why are you making me guess?” He crossed his arms, clearly agitated at your reluctance.

“Why are you butting into my business when you're supposed to be putting this—” you pointed feverishly at the balaclava in his hand, “—on and getting your ass into the car,”

“Can't your sweet ol' cousin know?” He grumbled, finally pulling on the white balaclava over his head.

“You'll know when the time is right,” you said with a finality in your tone, and Jake huffed in annoyance but not making another comment.

You wished him good luck and after you pressed an encouraging kiss against his cheek, he left to prepare for the race that was about to begin in less than an hour.

Sitting amongst your coworkers, you were discussing with them about the possibility of winning, watching the race on a screen. The orange Mclaren cars were seen zooming past, climbing higher on the scoreboard.

However, your eyes were particularly set on a specific name. 'LEE' paired with a Ferrari logo, was sitting high on top of the leaderboard. Of course he was, you thought.

An hour had passed and with one last lap to go, Heeseung was fighting with Jay from Mercedes to snatch first place on the podium. You held your breath for a minute, eyes flickering between the timer and the cars that were inching close to one another. Then there it was, Heeseung's red Ferrari overtook Jay's silver Mercedes and crossed the finish line, a chequered flag waving in the air and you fell backwards onto your seat.

“Lee Heeseung yet again,” one of your colleagues, Keeho, breathed out in astonishment.

“He's the ace for a reason,” Chaewon, your favourite PR manager and another one of your colleagues, added thoughtfully.

The garage still had a reason to celebrate nonetheless. Jake came in third, securing another podium for him this season, meanwhile his teammate, Dokyeom secured fourth place, missing out narrowly for a spot on the podium. The team was in high spirits knowing there were points scored and their efforts were not in vain.

While you were stuck in the garage celebrating with your colleagues, Jake and Heeseung were chilling in the cool down room, a place where drivers recover after a race, before heading out to the podium. Jake was eyeing Heeseung, a little thought in mind.

“So … what were you up to over the break? Didn't hear someone calling out for a small party or something,” Jake whispered quietly enough so that only both him and Heeseung could hear it.

Heeseung shrugged, unaware of Jake's intentions. “I trained, ate, went shopping and had a date—”

“A date you say …” his mind began to work, suspicions increasing further. “Funny, interesting …”

Heeseung pulled a face at Jake's odd behaviour, leaning his body away from the younger. “You're being weird,”

“Well, I'm just thinking,” he waved his friend off, smiling devilishly. “Plus, since when does Lee Heeseung go on dates?”

“Ever since a few weeks ago,” Heeseung grumbled, taking bigger gulps from his bottle.

“I see,” Jake smirked, enjoying teasing the hell out of Heeseung. “Treat her well, Lee,” he meant that even though he made it sound lighthearted. It wasn't hard to piece two and two together, he just didn't want to poke his nose into your business.

“I will, like my heart depends on it.”

The rest of the day eventually consisted of team celebrations and lots of picture taking with the media team. You accompanied Jake until the end and you felt like you could breathe once again when your back touched the bed of your hotel room.

It was barely evening time and you were already begging for sleep, even when Chaewon came in to invite you for dinner at some restaurant nearby, you had to decline and promised there'll be a next time. The silence in the room was what accompanied you while you texted Jake, rolling your eyes at some stupid comments he made, until you paused at the sight of a new notification.

championhee: up for an impromptu date?

you: i'm too tired to go out :(

championhee: who said we're going out? send me your room number and the floor you're in, i'll be there soon

That got you sitting up real fast.

Heeseung was coming to your room and you're dressed unprepared, looking equally unready. You threw on a decent looking outfit, one that didn’t seem that you tried too hard, but at least your effort could be recognised. It was a fact you never worked well with sudden plans, this was an example of it.

You couldn’t even concentrate on the screen of your phone, attention constantly diverting to the door, knowing Heeseung would turn up at any minute. At this point, tiredness completely disappeared from your body, leaving you awake and alert enough for a date.

Speaking of the devil.

The thoughts of him manifested into reality when you heard the knocks on your door, a quiet hum coming from the other side. It didn’t take a beat to know it was Heeseung. Your familiarity of him by now was astounding, almost as if you had his memorised and imprinted into your senses without your knowledge. You broke into a smile at the realisation of his presence, bounding towards the door to whip it open, meeting his smiling eyes.

“Hey, pretty,”

There it was again, that pet name he reserved specially for you, just you and no one else. It didn’t help that his messy, newly washed hair was falling perfectly onto his forehead, skin clad in a loose white t-shirt, a killer combo for you.

“Are you not going to let me in or …?”

You’ve stared too long, haven't you? Snapping out of your shameless ogle session, you opened the door wider, stepping away. “Come in, please,”

“I brought some takeaway,” he held up two bags of food, flashing you a toothy grin that made his cheeks puff cutely.

“Sweet,” you helped him with the bags, setting them on a low table, gesturing for him to make himself comfortable, and so he did.

Heeseung sat himself down on the carpeted floor, manoeuvring the table closer to him before staring at your every movement across the room. Stars were lingering in his irises, he was looking at you like you were the brightest one in the sky. You turned around just in time to catch his gaze, a feeling of fireworks bursting in your heart. He didn’t need any words to convey his emotions, all it took was a single look at you.

“Let’s eat,” he patted on the spot next to him.

You nodded, casting him a friendly smile and sat down at that exact spot. You accidentally brushed against his shoulder from time to time, even as you reached for the food, you would make contact with him, the touches alone were enough to send an electric shock between you two. Nervous glances and small talks were exchanged, you could feel the tension in the air and you didn’t know if it was the beer Heeseung brought or you were just going insane.

“Lee Heeseung,” his name contrasted to the bitter aftertaste of beer on your tongue. By then, a few cans of beer were consumed, your eyes were starting to droop and to you, Heeseung was the universe at that moment. “Your attempts to make me fall in love are failing…”

“Hm?” The much sober man sitting next to you was leaning over to catch a better glimpse of you, curiosity and dread welling up in his throat at the sound of your words.

“Because…I think I’ve already been in love with you since the beginning,”

Heeseung almost saw his life flash in front of his eyes. You were there in front of him, in all your glory, saying something that you probably wouldn’t remember in the morning whereas it would just stay with Heeseung until the day he dies. You couldn’t even sit straight, cheeks tainted pink and breath smelling like cheap beer, but you said those words with so much clarity that even Heeseung forgot you were drunk for a second.

“W–what?”

“Lee Heeseung,” you repeated his name again, and Heeseung swore he was much nervous now compared to fighting for his championship. “You’re right. Emotions and feelings are weird, I don’t know why but every time I see you … I just feel …” you pointed at your heart, “my heart feels full,”

“Are you drunk?”

“Yeah,”

“Did you mean what you say?”

“Yeah,”

Heeseung heaved a small sigh, lips forming a small smile. He got a hold of your arm, gently lifting you to your feet. “Let’s get you to bed, it’s late,”

“It’s only ten! Plus, they’re out clubbing, you can stay longer,” you pleaded, pulling on his sleeves despite barely having any energy left yourself. “I want you to stay,”

“I didn’t know you were this clingy when you’re drunk,” he mumbled under his breath, eyes following your movement as you climbed into bed, tucking yourself under the covers. “I’ll stay,”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Heeseung was always a man of his words. He sat next to your sleeping figure, having not much to do and thus was left to think about what you said earlier on. This was a first for him in a long time, to experience a complicated amount of feelings he’s never had until he met you and letting himself be vulnerable around you. What were you doing to him? Even when he left your room to walk back to his, all he could think of was your face and the look you had when you were with him.

It was the first time he has seen you so open to him. Maybe you were the same back when you drank together, but to be fair, Heeseung was equally drunk to even remember the full details. This time around, he got to see you and the secret messages hidden behind your gaze. That night, just like the first night he met you, he was in bed stuck awake just thinking about you.

— THE 3RD DATE, MIAMI, USA, 2023

You were sure you embarrassed yourself in front of Heeseung that night in the hotel room. Waking up to a headache with minimal recollection the next morning had you realising drinking was truly your biggest enemy. However, you were surprised to see water and aspirin already prepared on your bedside table, and no, it wasn’t Chaewon that placed it considering she was knocked out flat. It was Heeseung.

Groaning further into your pillow, you saw his messages asking if you were fine, to which you replied yes, but hesitating whether you should bring up the conversation you had. Look, you barely remembered it, but you knew you said something along the lines of being in love with him. That alone had you kicking your pillows in frustration.

Now here you were, in the middle of Miami, preparing for another week of work. The jet lag wasn’t even giving you a headache, it was Heeseung and the thought of him that caused it.

He seemed fine, completely normal both over text and in person, but you just had a feeling that night had shifted something in the air someway or another. Worst part of all, you were both ignoring it, or you assumed Heeseung had brushed it under the rug.

You pushed the thought to the back of your mind for the time being, going forward with the work you had on hand and busying yourself just to forget about him. But how could you do that when he loved announcing his presence at random times?

It wasn’t even the weekend yet, precisely the evening before media day when Heeseung sent you a message. ‘Date?’ was self explanatory, but once he turned up on the doorstep of your hotel room, you feared your heart wasn’t going to last at the sight of him.

“Hi,” you greeted rather awkwardly, trying to keep the door open while slipping on your shoes. Heeseung managed a smile, helping you hold onto the door and waited for you until you finally rushed out, joining his side.

“Hey, you good?” Heeseung turned to look at you, sincere concern laced in his voice. It was probably your stiff smile or unnaturalness that he noticed, not knowing that you were troubled by the things you said to him.

“I’m good, very good,” you assured, though partially lying, casting a side glance at him. “I didn’t think you’d bring me out on a date right before the race weekend,”

“It’s our last date out of the three I promised, and I want it to be on a day where we’re both not tired and fighting for our lives,” he leaned his head down slightly to catch your eyes, flashing you a playful smirk. “Plus, the date I planned requires a little more … energy,”

“Energy?”

Energy and strength were truly what you needed. Heeseung had planned a skating date all along, a disco skating one, not to mention. It seemed that he had done his research too, the place wasn’t far from the hotel and you were able to make it there by foot. In no time, the two of you entered the indoor skating rink, the dim coloured lights and loud music welcomed you.

You waited on a bench until Heeseung came back with two pairs of skates, making big steps towards you with an excited bounce in his steps. Watching him and that stupid grin he has on his face totally had your heart flipping, mind yelling at you and eyes shining brightly. If it wasn’t obvious to him, you were sure others would’ve already noticed either way.

“Have you done this before?” you took the skates from him and he plopped down next to you, turning his head at the mention of your question.

“Skate? I have. Sunghoon is really good at this, on ice too. He brought me and some of the guys skating before,” his hands moved fast, pulling the skates on and lacing them within a minute, then noticing you haven’t even got yours on yet. “Here,” he gently took the skates from your hold, getting up and kneeling down to put them on for you.

“Y–you don’t need to—”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Let me,” he was staring up at you, and at that moment, in the dim lights, shadows on his face drawing out his beaming eyes, you felt something new. Heeseung glanced up once more, hands tying your laces skillfully. “Are you okay? You look a little … red,”

You didn’t even realise how hot you were feeling despite being in an air conditioned room. Were you okay? No, thanks to the man before you that always successfully has you become a flustered mess. “Y–yeah, fine, completely fine,”

By the time he was done, you swore you had trouble breathing every time he looked up at you. Something so casual turned into something more than just that. You had to remind yourself not to give in easily, but seeing him offer his hand and feeling the touch of his skin made your knees weak. “Shall we?”

“Truth be told, I’m a little scared,”

“First time?”

“Not really,” you frowned, your other hand coming to grip onto Heeseung’s forearm once you entered the rink. “Just … balancing skills,”

“Hold onto my hand, I got you,” he squeezed your hand in reassurance, skating side by side and never loosening his hold once. “Listen to the music, it helps,”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. With the help of ABBA and some Fleetwood Mac, you found yourself enjoying this more than you expected. It was much better when you finally gained the momentum and were able to balance better. Okay, there were a few slips and trips, but it only gave you and Heeseung a laugh, and seeing the way his lips curve into a smile, eyes forming a crescent shape, your face unknowingly smiled along.

“Are you ready?”

You whipped your head to look at him, absolutely puzzled. “What?”

Heeseung let go of your hand, but before you could panic or slip, he slowed down until he was directly behind you, hands holding onto your waist. The foreign feeling of his touch on your waist had knocked the air out of your lungs, your body instantly turning still under his fingers.

“Hey! This wasn’t part of the plan,” you tried turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, but you only heard his laugh.

“I wanted to get closer to you,” at that, you could practically feel his front almost pressing against your back, and you wondered where he got the sudden confidence from. “Can I get closer to you?” his breath was basically fanning against the shell of your ear, and as each second passed, you found your will crumbling.

“Yeah, whatever you want,” you coughed, trying to seem nonchalant, but knowing you were gradually failing at that. You were glad your back was facing Heeseung so that he didn’t have any chance to see your reaction. You were left in a blushing mess, unaware of how Heeseung was stifling his laugh behind you.

Once your legs got tired from constantly skating around the rink and you were starting to be sick of the repeated songs, you and Heeseung decided it was time to leave. On the way back to your hotel, you were walking hand in hand, barely much space in between you and him. You glanced at him briefly, pursing your lips in thought.

“Thanks for taking me out tonight. I didn’t know you were skilled at skating just as much as driving a racecar,”

“It’s my side gig,” he joked, smiling when you started laughing quietly. “I hope you enjoyed it. I wanted the third date to be something special, but most importantly, for you to have fun,”

“I had fun, just not the times I almost fell and broke my ankle,” you exaggerated, but half of it was semi-true.

“I would be there to catch you if you fall,”

“Oh, my knight in shining armour,” you fanned yourself, leaning your shoulder against his. You felt his shoulder shaking slightly from chuckling, seemingly bemused by you. “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,”

“I don’t want this to be our last date,”

Heeseung gave your hand a squeeze, maybe out of reflex or instinct, you didn’t know, but it was definitely unconsciously done. He slowly turned to meet your eyes, you didn’t expect the constellations of hope, confusion and love weaved in his irises, shining brightly as if they were trying to tell you a message in an unspoken language that only he understood.

“Then it won’t be our last,” Heeseung almost sounded relieved, glad that it wasn’t just him that felt this way. “Who said I’ll stop talking to you after this? You’re unfortunately stuck with me whether you like it or not,”

“Sounds like a curse,”

“You’re not complaining either,”

“I’m not,” you bumped his shoulder with yours, flashing him a teasing grin that he reciprocated. “Are you walking me all the way to the door?”

Heeseung shot you a look of deadpan, as if asking ‘are you hearing yourself?’ “I’m not one to dump you down in the lobby and leave, am I?”

“Touche,”

All the way up to your room, you couldn’t help yourself from casting frequent glances at him. He was real, so real and breathing next to you. Yet, why did he seem so hard to have whenever your heart screamed for him? He was Lee Heeseung, a three times world champion that everyone loves and probably countless girls chase, you were just … you. Somehow, you were the one he chose.

“Will you let me take you out on a date some other time again?” Heeseung’s hand finally left yours, now standing in front of you and facing your hotel door, the number ‘111’ reminded him of his car’s number, number one.

“Well … I’ll have to see, maybe,” you placed a hand on your chin, playfully irking him on, liking the way his tongue poked against the insides of his cheek. “I’m kidding, of course you can, I love spending my time with you,”

“You do?”

“If I don’t I wouldn’t have gone on these dates with you, Hee, obviously I love being with you,” the words wouldn’t stop pouring out, whether or not you were aware of it, Heeseung felt heat travelling up to the tips of his ears. “Let’s just say the objective of this whole date plan was achieved,”

It didn’t hit Heeseung until a second later. Did that mean the things you said that night were true? Not that he didn’t believe them either, he just thought he had heard you wrongly, or more rather he tried convincing himself that. Before Heeseung could utter a response, you spoke first, fully aware of what you said and your intended meaning behind it.

“Thanks again, for tonight and everything, Hee. I do have the best time whenever I’m with you,” you breathed deeply, fighting the urge to just turn around and run away instead of being in this tension filled environment. “I should get going now, and you too. Text me when you’re back, okay? Goodnight,”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Don’t sleep too late.”

You nodded, turning around to unlock the door with your keycard, but the moment you heard a click sound, you didn’t immediately make a dash inside unlike the initial thought you had in mind. Instead, you faced Heeseung once more, noticing the confused smile he had on his face. Hell, you couldn’t believe you’re doing this.

Almost like a flash, you practically jumped towards him, pressing a kiss on his cheek that somehow landed much closer to his mouth. Your aim was ass, but it seemed neither of you mind. Heeseung definitely was the one who looked the most amused. His gaze was sweeping your figure, tongue poking out to sweep across his bottom lip.

“Bye!”

“Y/N—”

That was when Heeseung snapped out of his momentary daze, but he was too late, you had already made your escape by slamming the door behind you. Standing there, heart beating quick, adrenaline coursing through your veins, you broke into a foolish smile, giggling all to yourself.

“Have you gone insane?”

Chaewon peeped her head out from the bathroom, toothbrush hanging in his mouth, a humoured, yet concerned expression staring back at you. She most likely heard your hushed self talk and giggles, then presumed you’ve probably hit your head somewhere or got drunk.

You grinned at her.

“Insane? Yeah.”

— MONTE CARLO, MONACO, 2023

Being back in Monaco for the grand prix was both a blessing and a curse. For the pros, you get to stay in your lovely home instead of hotel rooms, as for the cons, work was all you could think of. At least you’d get a comfortable bed to sleep in after a long day at the circuit.

Over the course of two weeks after that night in Miami, you realised you haven’t seen Heeseung much in person. He was busy in Italy even though the race was cancelled, must’ve been a Ferrari driver thing that he claimed over text. You were equally piled with work and personal matters too. Who knew the role of being Jake’s trainer slash assistant was stressful enough to wish you were strangling your own cousin.

Thankfully, there was something better to look forward to compared to the current downside in your life. Minjeong, the person you’ve been waiting all month for, was finally in Monte Carlo, specifically in your house, catching up with the copious amount of drama about every aspect of your life.

“Okay, enough about the annoying team principal,” Minjeong held her hand up, catching you off guard and dumbfounded. “I need to cut to the important part, your love life. Heeseung! You’ve barely been telling me about him,”

“I—well—there’s some good and bad things about my encounters with him,” you winced, recalling your drunken moment and that time on the beach. “The dates are all good, but I think the problem is me,”

“How so? Spill,”

“He told me he liked me,”

“What did you say?”

“I panicked,”

Minjeong was rendered speechless, silence overtaking your embarrassed smile while your best friend stared at you, unamused. “And why would you do that?”

“God, I don’t know,” you threw your hands up in defeat, body falling back into the couch. “The thing is, I don’t think I was ready. I was still figuring shit out, and it just … happened? I feel like a dickhead,”

“It’s normal, your feelings weren’t clear. He didn’t even react badly, that’s a plus point,” you listened to Minjeong, nodding along in agreement. “So, have you set your feelings straight now?”

“I have, I really do like him, I think I’m going insane at this point,” you ran a hand through your hair, chewing on your bottom lip. “I even told him I’m in love with him when I was drunk. Can you imagine that?”

“No, I can’t! You professing your love to a man? That’s a first from you,” she shook her head, a knowing smile growing on her lips. “I don’t see you acting this way with your ex either,”

“It’s different…” you mumbled under your breath, feeling heat travelling up to your cheeks. Here she was again, proving and pointing out something you didn’t even realise until then.

“It sure is,” she threw a pillow at you, cackling almost maniacally at your cowering figure. You were doing a poor job at hiding your shyness and blushing face.

The timing couldn’t have been any better when you heard a buzz coming from your phone, checking it just in time to see Heeseung’s contact name coming into view. Of course, Minjeong was already making noises when she saw your eyes widening, further proving her guess. You skimmed over his messages, and it seemed he had invited you to Jay’s yacht party.

A party before race weekend? Risky, but who were you to say? Maybe you’d have to keep Jake in check first, remembering you’re still his trainer no matter what. Until then, you looked over at Minjeong, her raised eyebrow meeting your expectful gaze.

“We have a party tonight.”

Let’s just say it was your first time being at a yacht party. Yachts weren’t an uncommon thing to have in Monaco as long as you had the money for it. Now that it was the grand prix weekend, only more turned up at the docks, and to think some of them were owned by the drivers themselves too was surprising.

“Do you know anyone here?” Minjeong was sticking close to your side the moment you entered, being equally foreign considering a yacht wasn’t your typical go to party venue. You guessed you had to get used to it after knowing there would be a post race yacht party coming on Sunday.

“Other than Jake, Heeseung and some drivers, no,” you offered an apologetic smile that wasn’t assuring in any way either. “But I bet there’s going to be good food and drinks here,” that was quick to buy Minjeong’s excitement.

championhee: you here yet?

you: am hereee, wru?

championhee: i see you, give me a sec

You glanced up from your phone, looking around but only seeing masses of people you weren’t familiar with, and the neon lights weren’t making it better for you, it was harder to match people to their faces. One turn to the left and you were just in time to catch Heeseung’s eyes, finally a face you recognised that seemed to melt your heart every single time.

“Hey, pretty,” he ever so smoothly leaned down to swoop an arm around your waist, pulling you in a hug. If you had to be honest, it surely did surprise you, but you weren’t complaining. After that time you landed a peck on his cheek, you found yourself being much more touchy with him without your knowledge, and he surprisingly went along with it.

“Hi, Hee. How’s the party?” he soon pulled away, the feeling of his embrace disappearing and the sweet scent of his cologne drifted further from you.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? After all I invited you here,”

“You’re here longer than me, I wanted an insight,”

“An insight?” Heeseung hummed, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Well, Jay is almost drunk even though it’s his party and his yacht. Jake is off somewhere, I told him you’re coming and I wished you saw the look on his face, he knew he was in trouble—”

“I’ll hunt him down tomorrow, don’t worry,”

Heeseung let out a snort, shaking his head at the thought of Jake getting a beating from his trainer. “The rest of them are just partying and dancing,”

“What about some of these other people?” you nodded at some girls at the side, then eyed a few guys shamelessly flirting with other girls.

“I’m not involved in Jay’s invite process, but I think some of them are models, friends or just—I don’t know—known? I don’t think I know these people either,” he laughed a little at the end, following your gaze but it only landed back to your face in the end. “I know you kinda hate partying on some random day before the race weekend, so if you want to, you can always tell me, and we can just dip to somewhere else,”

“I mean … I really want to take up that offer but—”

A cough interjected you. Talk about divine timing. Minjeong was back from her small trip around the yacht, a glass of cocktail held in her hand. Her piercing gaze was all it took for you to know what she was trying to say, so you pulled her close to your side. “Heeseung, this is my best friend, Minjeong,”

“Hi, I’m Lee Heeseung,” he offered a courteous bow of his head, smiling politely at Minjeong. She was scanning him eye to toe, trying her best to keep a stoic expression.

“Nice to meet you,” she raised her glass slightly, shooting you a knowing grin paired with her glinting eyes. Oh, that totally meant Heeseung had passed Minjeong’s ‘test’. “So … you and Y/N, huh?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” you let out a stiff laugh, narrowing your eyes at her as she continued to smile at you, fully aware of what she’s doing.

She leaned close to your ear, whispering quietly so that only you and her were able to hear. “I’m going to leave you to him and go around looking for my man for the night,”

“How are you getting back?” you whispered in a hushed tone, giving her a pointed look.

“I’ll have my ways. I’ll text you and you better text me too. For now, you have your fun,” there was a finality in her tone, and before you could argue on, she stood straight, staring ahead at Heeseung. “She’s yours for the night …” Minjeong gave your shoulder a light pat, leaving your side and brushing past Heeseung. “... loverboy,” she added teasingly, then disappeared into the sea of people.

“Ignore her,” you waved your hands awkwardly, but it seemed Heeseung wasn’t fazed at all, totally bemused on the contrary of what you expected.

“I think she’s cool,” he gave a thumbs up, prompting you to roll your eyes at him. “Come on, let me introduce you to some of the guys, then we’ll grab some drinks,”

“Sounds good,”

It was your first time being properly introduced to part of the drivers. You’ve seen most of them in passing and knew who they were, but not till the point of knowing them on a personal level, that was new to you. There was Jeno who drove for Ferrari alongside Heeseung that you got to meet, and also that really hot tattooed driver, Jungkook, from Mercedes. If Heeseung hadn’t pulled you away sooner, you would’ve probably swooned over Jungkook more, just like every other girl in the vicinity did.

Heeseung proceeded to drag you to some other place. It was then you saw some familiar faces that you were already introduced to since the beginning. Jay, the host himself, was genuinely pissed drunk by the time you went up to greet him, but at least he was sober enough to form sentences so you guessed that’s something. Then there was Sunghoon, the driver of Red Bull Racing that was accompanied by your cousin, Jake, looking a little cold at first glance, but his features instantly melted into a big grin at the sight of you and his friend.

Some small talks with them didn’t hurt, but it was the blaring music that did, mostly for your eardrums. The crowded area was unfortunately a no-go either, so you and Heeseung decided to seek refuge somewhere else, ignoring the interested whispers from his three friends that watched the two of you sneak away.

“Here you go, your shirley temple,” you were on one of those couches that were placed on the deck, most of them being empty since everyone was situated at some other place in the yacht, giving you and Heeseung a chance of alone time together. You were sipping on the mocktail Heeseung passed you, feeling his presence next to you.

“It’s been such a week,” Heeseung sighed, stretching his limbs. “Visited the factory back in Italy, then finished some business there and having to fly back to Monaco, I think this is one of my first relaxation times,”

“This party? You should be home sleeping instead, Hee, that’s proper relaxation,” you could see the dark circles under his eyes now that he’s mentioned it.

“Just wanted to find an excuse to spend time with you,” he leaned his head back slightly, wearing a wry smile on his tired face.

“You don’t need an excuse for that, you can always just tell me whenever,”

Heeseung nodded slowly, taking a sip out of his own glass, an obvious wave of relief passed through him. Your eyes, however, were stuck on him. No, there wasn’t alcohol that influenced you to do so, your mocktail was surely nonalcoholic, it was the fact that you realised how in love with Heeseung you were.

Uh oh, you like him.

Wait.

Oh, you're in love with him.

Under the changing hues of purple, blue LED lights, you found yourself coming to terms that you were truly whipped and flashing heart eyes at him. You watched his every movement, the way he blinked or even sip at his drink, you scrutinised them all, because to you, he was a nova that shined the brightest amongst the rest.

“You okay?” Heeseung noticed the change in your behaviour, the tiredness in his face morphed into concern as he leaned in close to check on you, not realising how near his face was.

“Huh?” That was the only thing you could manage out, gaze flickering between his eyes and lips, gradually shrinking under the intensity of his stare and the closeness of his face. He knew, you did too, but why were both of you holding back? What were you so scared of?

Magically and suddenly, the thoughts in your mind somehow manifested into reality when he started closing in. You felt your breath catch in your throat, conveying a sign of green light through a reassuring nod, trying to ignore your heart beating abnormally fast.

Then there it was, Heeseung’s lips on yours and a burst of butterflies swarmed your abdomen. Was it real? Was this actually happening? The lingering taste of his whiskey left a bitter tang on your tongue when you kissed back, wanting more but before you could let it progress deeper, it had already ended.

Heeseung pulled away, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. You thought he was going to kiss you again, and you tried smiling, thinking about the feeling of his lips on yours. But it seemed your sweet daydream was immediately crushed to the ground when Heeseung gradually got up from the couch, the look on his face was telling you things weren’t going great.

“Hee?”

An apologetic look flashed across Heeseung’s expression. “Fuck—I’m sorry,”

“Wait—!”

You couldn’t grasp onto him and he slipped right through your fingers. There you were, confused and feeling the opposite of what a kiss should give. Did something go wrong, you wondered, or were you just too late? Too late to realise your love for him when he had already told you earlier on about how he felt about you. What did he even mean by apologising to you?

You tried searching for him around the place, but he was nowhere to be seen, only managing to find a surprisingly sober Minjeong that sensed your panic and despair. There was nothing you could do but slump in defeat, pulling Minjeong out of the yacht and back home.

First kiss with the guy you liked went wrong. Sounded like some clickbait YouTube title, didn't it? Well, it was actually reality, your reality.

To your absolute dismay, the race weekend was horrendous, at least for you.

Ever since that night in the yacht, you came to the realisation that Heeseung was avoiding you. Right, avoiding you like a plague whenever you caught sight of him or vice versa.

How did you know? Well, there were multiple occasions to explain it but the most memorable was the time when you bumped into him one morning at your front door. It was actually the morning after the party, freshly awake and still confused from the night before, you wanted to question him once you saw him by his door, but from the way his door slammed faster than the speed for you to form a sentence, you could tell he did not want that confrontation.

Minjeong said maybe the kiss had shocked him, but he was also the one that initiated it. All of the guesses just seemed to meet dead ends. The day you dropped Minjeong off at the airport was when you knew you were left on your own to deal with Heeseung and your heart. No matter how you try to text him or get him to not run away at the sight of you, in the end it kept failing.

The sadness eventually turned into frustration, which explained your unannounced presence at the Ferrari hospitality right before the race. Were you insane? Totally.

You knew where he was, and it wasn't hard to spot when they literally had a room dedicated to their world champion, making it easier for you to locate and bust the doors down. If you had to be honest, you wished you did.

“Are you avoiding me?”

You took no time to fool around and got down to business the moment you closed the door shut behind you. There was no one other than him in the room, thankfully, or else you'd be dying out of embarrassment first.

Heeseung dropped his phone in shock, not expecting you to turn up there and then. “W–what?”

Was he serious? “Are you avoiding me?” You repeated, standing with a hand on your waist, staring accusingly at him.

“No …”

“You're lying,” Of course he was. You could tell by the way he was chewing on the insides of his cheek when he said it, and it definitely wasn't helping his case. “So … we're not going to talk about that night? The night where you ran away after we kissed?”

“It's not that—”

“Then what is it, Hee? Why are you making me feel this way? Are you mad at me?”

“No, I'm not,” he denied at once, eyebrows furrowing in distress. “I could never get mad at you …” he mumbled quietly, and it only made you sigh in further agitation.

“Why can't you just tell me?”

“Look, Y/N, now's not really the best time, the race's about to start soon and I have to be down at the tracks in ten minutes, we don't have the time to talk it over,” as much as you hate to admit it, Heeseung was right, there was barely enough time to talk. “How about we have a proper talk after the race?”

“You won't run away from me again, will you?”

“I won't,”

You couldn't exactly say he lied but he didn't stick to his words either.

Winning the grand prix naturally got him swarmed by an obscene amount of people after the race, giving you zero chance to congratulate him or even slip in a word. Leading up to the celebration on the podium and the time after that, you still didn't get to have that 'talk' with him, nor did you see him.

He wasn't home by the time you returned to your apartment either. It only made your heart heavier as each hour passed, your expectations seemingly getting crushed. You had to begrudgingly put on a presentable outfit for the yacht party, nearly forgetting about this matter until Chaewon brought it up and promised herself that she'd get shitfaced. Good for her.

Arms looped and hips bumping into each other, you and Chaewon made your way through the crowded yacht. The pool on the deck was the least surprising element of the yacht when there was literally a celebrity DJ controlling the music. You've taught yourself to be less surprised now that you're working here.

“To be honest, this is kinda overwhelming,” Chaewon whispered, glancing around.

“Parties are overwhelming in general,”

“Well, this one's on a yacht. A yacht, and there's a pool too,”

“You have a point,”

“I need a shot—several shots—and find Anton too, he's like, a baby,” Chaewon just really wouldn't let that intern engineer go, would she?

“Go, go, that kid is probably lost somewhere too,” you laughed, thinking about the new intern that happened to give everyone a lasting impression.

“What about you?”

“I'll be fine, I'll just grab some drinks and go. I'm tired,” you weren't lying, a day's work was enough to take you out, you were shocked to see Chaewon still having a crazy amount of energy left in her after that.

Tired was an understatement though. You felt your energy draining away when Chaewon left, and you were alone to wander around in a yacht with countless strangers.

There were a few familiar faces you recognised, both drivers and colleagues, but none were Heeseung. That was disappointing.

However, almost on cue once you weaved past a group of people, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you when you spotted him. Jet black hair, a black silk button up hung loosely on his frame, except he was sitting amongst a bunch of … models? Laughing?

Your expectations only dropped lower to the pits of hell.

Oh, you felt sick. A horrible feeling of jealousy and anger bubbled in your abdomen. If you could, you would've stormed up to him and grabbed him by his collar demanding an explanation, but instead, you were stuck to your position, unmoving.

How could he just sit there and laugh? All while you were promised a talk that never even happened. Why? Because he didn't bother to find you. Right.

Before you knew it, you were already walking away, the crack in your heart becoming bigger, tiredness overcoming you. Maybe this life wasn't meant for you after all. What if you and him weren't even meant to be in the first place? He was a worldwide famous driver, and you were just his friend's cousin that worked as his trainer, that alone sounded too different, too much of a contrast.

It didn't help that your mind was overthinking at that point onwards. All you needed now was your bed and a romcom to cry to. You guess that was your night routine sorted out.

Who knew liking someone everyone wants was this hard?

— BARCELONA, SPAIN, 2023

Lee Heeseung wished he was a little smarter.

He may be an ace, flourishing in racing and everything that life throws at him, he was good at anything and everything. Feelings, however, were another matter for a world champion like him.

That night, that kiss, had altered his brain in a way that he couldn't explain. Heeseung was always aware that he's into you. Hell, he was the one initiating the dates and flirty cues, who was he kidding? But that kiss got him overthinking.

Heeseung knew you were most likely interested too, considering you've never once rejected his advances. Yet, the problem wasn't there, it was whether or not you liked him, like actually like him. That kiss, did it matter to you just as much as it did to him, he thought.

That night on the beach where he confessed didn't help his case of overthinking either. Concerns after concerns piling onto one another. Heeseung knew you didn't reject him, but he couldn't tell if you reciprocated the feelings for him. Then, there was also that time when you got drunk and practically confessed your love to him, no what was that? Without any explanation either? See, Heeseung was trying to justify the mess going on in his mind.

So, being the person that he was, he chose to run before he had the chance to be dumped. Yes, Lee Heeseung was a coward in disguise.

It was an easy way out, or so it seemed at first, until Heeseung started to feel guilty, regretful and heartbroken over the fact that he was doing this. Truly the consequences of his own actions. But, he couldn't bear to face you either.

Seeing you filled him with emotions and thoughts that were simply unbearable. When you burst through the door to confront him, he was truly rendered speechless at the sight of you. It was as if his ability to speak and think was taken away from him momentarily, and that only made him a fool while he tried to explain.

He wanted to get close to you, he yearned to do so, to tell you how he felt and the entire truth, but he was holding himself back just because he figured he wasn’t ready for all that yet. It was indeed eating Heeseung from the inside out. That explained the reason why Barcelona was doing the opposite of cheering up, everything there was much duller and depressing from his point of view.

“Are you okay?” Jeno's voice broke Heeseung out of his trance. He wasn't even aware he was zoning out.

“Yeah, why?” Heeseung got up from his spot to join Jeno, figuring it's time to prepare for the race.

“Dude, you've been so out of it this whole weekend—no—whole week, actually. Practice rounds, qualifiers, you're not driving like you normally are, and you just don't seem like yourself,” Jeno patted Heeseung's back, and Heeseung himself had a whole new revelation thanks to Jeno's eye opening observations. Maybe it was also your lack of presence that bugged him. Heeseung hasn't seen you around the paddock the whole week, and neither did he bother asking Jake since their schedules were too full with interviews and what not.

“I'll try to tune myself back, don't worry,” Heeseung gave Jeno a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, offering a slight smile. “Thanks for checking up on me. I need to find someone real quick before I get to the track, you go without me first,”

That ‘someone’ Heeseung had in mind was none other than you.

Heeseung probably looked like an unhinged racer walking around trying to search for you. He stopped by the Mclaren hospitality, then the Mclaren garage, but none of them had you there.

He could only sigh, having to be forced to end his search since the race was starting soon. Was it bad to admit that he couldn't really think straight at that moment? All he had on his mind was you and you and only you.

Lee Heeseung was never once nervous for a race. But this time, he was.

The start wasn't the best for him, and he was having an overall weak start. The usual red Ferrari car that was meant to be leading the race suddenly fell behind there in Barcelona. He had a feeling the commentators were about to point it out.

Heeseung has experienced bad races before. Ones that didn't go his way, technical failures, DNFs, but this one was just a plain disaster. There was nothing wrong with his car, it was him. He couldn't wait to get out of the car now that he knew he wasn't getting on that podium.

What almost felt forever and countless rounds of driving, Heeseung ended up in seventh place. Not the worst, but obviously not his best. He didn't even want to engage in interviews after the race, going straight to his hospitality and changing back into his usual clothes.

“That wasn't like you,” Jake, being the caring friend that he was, had paid Heeseung a visit right before he left. Just like the drivers had done, the first thing he brought up was Heeseung's performance.

“I know,” Heeseung hummed, shrugging it off. “Just caught up with some … stuff,”

Jake didn't say much either, nodding in understanding. “I'll be here if you need anything, just so you know,”

“I know,” Heeseung said again, this time with a smile, then his mind redirected to a question he has been itching to ask Jake all week. “Uh—don't mind if I ask, where's Y/N?”

“Oh, Y/N? She didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She took a whole week of sick leave,”

“She's sick?”

“Well, she didn't say she's sick but she said she's not feeling well enough to work,” Jake scratched his head, oblivious to Heeseung's deepening frown.

“So, she's still in Monaco? She didn't leave at all?”

“Nope. After last week, she's still there,”

“Oh,” Heeseung knew what to do now. All it took was a disaster of a race and a whole lot of sleepless nights to overcome his fear and confront you once and for all. “I should get going,”

“You're not going to join me and Dokyeom for dinner?”

“Maybe next time,”

Heeseung was going to make things right. He wasn't going to run away again, nor repeat the stupidest thing which was pulling the avoidance card. He's finally going to be honest about his thoughts and feelings.

Flight booked and leaving in an hour. A two hour flight for him to collect his thoughts and soon he'd be back in Monaco, just in time to knock on your door and make things right.

Heeseung had a one way flight ticket to Monte Carlo, a whole dialogue he prepared in his head, and a dream. It was going to be alright.

— MONTE CARLO, MONACO, 2023

Staying in bed and mulling around wasn't a part of your original plan.

You thought having this time to yourself was going to be spiritually and mentally cleansing, giving you enough space to get yourself together, but it was doing the opposite.

To think that you're, in fact, being sad over a man was quite incredulous. But it was Heeseung, somehow or rather, he wasn't just a man. Curse him and his apartment next to yours, you couldn't stop thinking about him even though he wasn't there.

During the days you were at home, you thought it over, about Heeseung and your feelings for him, all of which returned to the same conclusion. You liked him, very much so, and you were hurting that he was physically ghosting you. The more you think about it the more you try to find solutions which end up failing. Thus, you were in a slump and merely survived by listening to Minjeong's pep talk over the phone.

“He'll turn up,” you remembered her saying, sounding so confident that you were somewhat surprised. She was actually confident in a man … that was a rare sight.

“How do you know?”

“It's Heeseung.”

It really was Heeseung. That was what you thought too when you heard your doorbell ringing, peeking through your peephole just to see his face. Was it the wrong timing to admit you've missed him?

There was no way you could be so heartless to not open the door, especially when you've been spending most of your time thinking about him and the possibilities of what he'd say. So, you opened the door, eyes meeting his much tired and saddened pair, a sense of familiarity ran through you.

It was currently almost nine o'clock, the sky was dark and the streets were more quiet, but how in hell was Lee Heeseung standing in front of you when there was just a race hours ago? You were literally watching the race too, recalling Heeseung's off-putting performance that shocked everyone, including you.

“Heeseung?”

He seemed to have broken out of his trance, mouth opening just a little, trying to utter a single word but nothing came out. You raised your eyebrows expectantly at him, wishing he could say something, anything at this point.

“Do you like me?”

When you said you wish he could say something, this was the least expected one.

“What?”

Heeseung heaved a breath, looking slightly disappointed … at himself? He rubbed a hand on his face, frowning deeply. “Fuck—I swear I had a whole monologue for this, but I saw you and I just … couldn't think anymore,”

You gulped, the edge in his voice paired with his longing eyes made you shift your foot nervously. “Why are you here?” It didn't come out malicious or rageful, instead it sounded like defeat and tiredness, as if you've surrendered yourself. “Weren't you in Spain a few hours ago?”

“I figured we should have our talk,”

“Took you long enough,” you grumbled under your breath, a sour expression unknowingly pulled at your features.

“I know, I'm sorry,”

You were silent for a moment, blinking furiously and formulating your words carefully. “You ran away from me, again, but you said you wouldn’t. You lied,”

“I know,” it came out as a bare whisper, emotions filled to the brim, regret and guilt evident in every letter.

You didn't know what to say next, all the emotions trapped in you melted through your gaze, a mix of sadness, anger and desperation was calling out to Heeseung. His 'sorry' didn't make you feel better in any way either. If you had to be completely honest, you wanted to be mad, you wished to be angry at him and yell out every one of your frustrations that built up over the weeks, but it never happened.

“Heeseung, I don't really get you. What do you want from me?” you started, nearly pleadingly, backing up from the door as a way to tell him to come in, and thankfully, he got the signal. The door shut with a click of the lock, his figure approaching slowly. “One day you say you like me, we kissed, you proceeded to ignore me, then I saw you with girls at the party, and now you're asking if I like you? What am I supposed to do? Do you just secretly hate me or something?”

“What? No!” Heeseung scrunched his face up in confusion, but it soon dissolved into a look of helplessness, seeming equally awkward and stiff as you, both not knowing what to do. “God, I didn’t do anything with those girls, Yeonjun dragged me there and tried to set me up but I reciprocated nothing. You’re the one I want, Y/N,” there was a recognisable truth and honesty behind his voice, and you believed him. “I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I did some thinking—a lot, actually—and I'm a dumbass for ignoring you and running away after we kissed. But it's for a reason,”

“And that is …?”

Heeseung's shoulders sagged, sighing deeply. “I was scared you didn't like me,” he started, eyes flickering between you and the painting behind you, “—I know it sounds stupid but I just couldn't help but think about it. That night I told you how I felt … I thought it was fine when you didn't tell me an answer, yet it ate me up gradually after you said you were in love with me? But you were also drunk? You didn't say anything after and I didn't too,

“When we kissed, I wondered if you'd regret it, or that you didn't feel the way I did, I guess it got the worst of me so I chose to run before you could do anything,” he finally admitted the reasons behind his whole avoiding game, leaving you rather speechless in a way you couldn't comprehend. “It's stupid for me to do that, I know, that's why I'm here now, and I swear to you that I'm not going anywhere until we talk it out,”

You took in his words, trying your best to absorb it all, but his voice saying 'do you like me' was the only thing running through your mind.

‘Like’ would be an understatement when it came to your feelings for Heeseung. There were no limits, no boundaries whatsoever, nothing that just stopped at the word ‘like’. You felt for him, in a way that was indescribable and deeper than you've ever experienced before.

“I want you, Y/N, but I want you to want me too, that's what I want from you. I know you're mad and I get it—”

“I like you too,” the confession flowed out much more naturally than you had anticipated it to be. It was a part of you that you've held onto for so long, and finally, you're able to let it go, telling Heeseung your true feelings.

Heeseung blinked, mouth slightly ajar. “W–what?”

“I like you, Heeseung, a lot.” It took more than just mental strength for you to come to terms and admit it aloud, but you weren’t regretting a single thing either way, finally feeling the heavy weight being lifted off your chest. “I like you and your obsession with ramen, the way you smile or laugh, or how your nose crinkles everytime you laugh. I like every part of you, I–I think I might be in love with you,”

Heeseung could see the nervousness coming off you, your voice already shaking a little. He wanted to just rush towards you and pull you into his arms, but it wasn’t the best idea considering the situation. So, he stayed rooted to the ground, his gaze turning softer as seconds ticked by.

“I want you, more than you could ever think or fathom. I always did. I'm sorry I didn't make it clear in the beginning when you told me. I was still figuring all of it out and how I felt, so I just … froze. Then drunk me decided to tell you what I was scared to admit, but all of it was true—the things I said—so there's that,” you tried putting on a smile, but it wasn't much either. “When we kissed, I didn't regret it, not one bit and never would I ever think that. You mean a lot to me, Hee, and I'm sorry I didn't make you feel that way but I really, really like you, and I wish I had told you sooner,”

Heeseung was silent for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed and he had an unreliable expression that made you unnerved. However, it all melted away in the second, the corners of his lips were pulled up into a small smile, a certain reassurance hidden behind it. You felt balance and peace being restored gradually. “Are you kidding? You do make me feel that way. You don't understand how insane you get me every time. Y/N, you could get me to drop anything and anywhere if you want, even if it's in the middle of a race I'm leading. You make me feel more than you know of it,”

It was one of those times where everything felt like a movie. Heeseung professing his love for you in the middle of your living room was the last you’d come to conclusions, and it was surreal to think about. He had already shown you his devotion by showing up at your doorstep, there was obviously no doubt in what he said.

“I’ll be honest,” you began, chewing on your lips at the thought, “I'm still a little mad at you for doing what you did though,” you admitted rather pettily, crossing your arms and staring pointedly at him. “I can't believe you'd think I don't like you when I literally kissed you back,”

Heeseung was relieved that the mood was lightened a bit more, being able to crack a smile and chuckle quietly. “I panicked. I was scared of ruining everything we had,”

You couldn’t help but frown, mainly out of the solemnity his words carried. Heeseung didn’t want to ruin the connection you and he had, choosing to carry the burden that ended up hurting the two of you. “I get it, I wasn't any better too for being so vague. I accept your apology, and I'm sorry too,”

“Apology accepted,” Heeseung started approaching you, taking strides across the space separating you two until he was directly in front of you, looking vulnerable and bare, laying his heart out just for you. “So … we're cool then?”

“Yeah, we're cool,” you nodded much faster than you thought, showing off an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm that you didn’t hold back, “but …”

He was intrigued, wondering what he was getting into. “But?”

“I don't want us to go back to being just friends,”

Heeseung paused, opening his mouth just to shut it again, the confusion turned into amusement, his grin widening. “I'd be crazy to come all the way just to friendzone you,” he shook his head, “We've done the dates, practically said what we wanted to say, all that's left now is …”

You knew what he was intending, and so did he. He has an eyebrow raised, one corner of his lips curved into a lopsided smirk. “So … what do you say? Can I be yours?”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped closer to him daringly, closing the distance between one another. There was a beat of silence, the only sound filling the air was your breathing and his shaky breaths. Then, you decided to do the craziest thing.

“I thought you'd never ask,” those were the last words uttered from your mouth when you threw your arms around his neck and pressed your lips onto his. You could feel Heeseung freeze under your touch, but it didn’t long for him to calm his nerves and relax, melting further into the kiss and letting his hands roam to your face and waist.

This was nothing like the first kiss you shared with Heeseung. It was something much more than that. There was a sense of urgency that you and him both knew and acknowledged. An overwhelming amount of longing and desire was finally conveyed through the kiss, telling you what you needed to know from the way Heeseung tilted his head to deepen the kiss, smiling against your lips after.

Fireworks exploded internally, your mind was blank, the only thing in your head was the thought of him and the feeling of his lips. It was a new feeling, his lips moving against yours was almost like a fitted puzzle piece, too perfect and incomparable. It was a feeling you craved to have forever.

Before anything could advance further, you pulled away slowly, catching your breath in meantime. Looking at Heeseung, he was already staring at you, eyes filled with love and admiration. It was just silence, but you were basking in it, relishing the moment and his presence.

Heeseung leaned down to peck your lips, then again, and again on both sides of your cheeks, nose, forehead, and back to your lips once more. “I like you so much, more than the feeling of my cold pillow, or ramen, o–or even winning a race,”

All it took was one look at your face and seeing your smile to have Heeseung's nervousness disappear, replaced with a love filled smile that resembled the glow of the golden hour. A kiss from you was enough of a response, expressing your feelings more than words were capable of, whispering cheesy compliments to each other in an attempt to get one of you to laugh.

“I guess I can say I'm a champion now?” Heeseung held you in his arms, his gaze holding yours.

“Not quite,”

“I finally got the girl I'm in love with. I consider myself as a champion, actually,” you were trying not to show how flustered you really were when he said he's in love with you aloud, catching you off guard for a second.

“You're never not going to be cheesy, aren't you?”

“Never,” Heeseung gave your waist a squeeze, admiring the way you laughed along with the crinkles of the corner of your eyes. “I'll win the championship for you too,”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “For me? Shouldn't it be for yourself?”

Heeseung hummed, pursing his lips a little. “I never really had someone other than my family to dedicate it to, and I want you to be that someone, my someone,”

Eyes rolling but that smile on your face gave it all away. “Well, I can't wait for you to win it, Mr World Champion … my world champion.”

Never in a million years would you expect yourself to be cheesily flirting with an F1 driver, but here you were. There was one thing that Heeseung made you feel for the first time in years, and that was love, irrevocable love that you would never trade anything for.

— ABU DHABI, UAE, 2023

It has finally reached the last race of the season.

Everyone in the stands, paddock and garage alike were all nervously moving around. Some anticipating the outcome, others betting money on it, the ones working in the garage were holding their breaths.

There were still a few hours left to lights out and you were giving your usual pep talk to Jake, except this time it was a little more harsher. Being third in the championship leaderboard, you were immensely proud of his achievements, and you were encouraging him to give it one last shot. He gave you a salute before walking away to discuss some last minute strategies with his teammate, so you took it as a chance to slip away under Jake's nose to find Heeseung.

Jake was rather oblivious about you and Heeseung, but to be fair, everyone was, maybe except Minjeong who definitely screamed into your ear when you told her everything.

Sneaking into Heeseung's hospitality has been one of your greatest skills over the past few weeks. You go in greeting the staff all friendly, pretending to be looking for a friend working there (which wasn't completely a lie) then you proceed to slip into his room. It was a day like before, but this time, Heeseung was already waiting by the door, and the moment you walked in, barely closing the door, he had you in his arms and lifted off your feet.

“Heeseung” You squealed at the sudden approach, his spin only making you kick your feet in the air, your hand hitting his back.

“Hey, pretty,” he set you down back on the ground, a playful grin drawn on his face, arm still looped around your waist. “Missed you—” he brushed his nose against yours, giving you a small peck that left you blushing, “—like crazy”

“Hee, I saw you physically two days ago,” you rubbed his back, letting him press gentle kisses on every part of your face.

“That's still a long time,”

You snorted at his never changing dramatic response, pinching his shoulder and he pouted at you like a wronged puppy. “Last race, you think you got it?”

“‘You think’? I know I do,” typical Heeseung, full of confidence and carrying himself with pride, you were to know by now to not doubt him. “I win this—all of this—will you let me ask you to be mine? Officially?”

Your gaze softened, your hand on his shoulder tightened a little, offering him a warm smile for more assurance. “It doesn't matter when or where you ask me, whatever the circumstances are, you already know my answer to it whether or not you win,”

Heeseung tugged you closer to him, your front basically pressed against his, only a few mere inches distanced you and him apart. “I know,”

“I’ll wait then,” your hand rested on his chest, your smile telling him there was nothing to worry about. “I’ll wait for the exact moment you cross the finish line and win it all,”

“Trust me, I'm going to.”

Situated in the Mclaren garage, you held your breath watching the fight between Heeseung and Jungkook for first place. Jungkook from Mercedes was second on the championship leaderboard, points only a fraction away from Heeseung, causing a tension-filled season of rivalry. For the last race, they were soon going to end it once and for all, concluding a winner of the season, explaining your sweaty forehead thanks to the nerves.

“Okay, Heeseung or Jungkook,” Chaewon brought up out of the blue when there were five laps left, Heeseung still leading but Jungkook occasionally giving many heart attacks by closing in.

“Heeseung,” you and Sakura both said in unison, clapping in excitement knowing you had the same picks.

“Boo, I’m team Jungkook,” Chaewon frowned, watching Heeseung and Jungkook’s gap widening.

“You’re kidding,” Sakura nudged Chaewon in surprise, whereas you kept quiet, a raised eyebrow being your response.

“Jungkook’s hot and beefy and tall, he’s also tattooed, you know?” Chaewon was practically drooling, dazedly starstruck. “Plus, he’s super nice and can drive,”

“Heeseung’s the same too,” you were quick to defend your man, though toning it down a bit to not come off too aggressive or suspicious. “Well … except the tattooed, beefy part,”

“That’s two points deducted,”

“It’s two against one so Heeseung won,” Sakura ended the debate, pointing at the screen to divert Chaewon’s attention. “He’s basically winning too,”

He really was. One lap left and he was inching closer to the finish line. The clock was ticking, your blood was thrumming, the shouts coming from people around you were tuned out. Your sole focus was trained on his red Ferrari car, the finish coming in view. One second passed, two seconds, three seconds, four …

“LEE HEESEUNG IS A FOUR TIME WORLD CHAMPION!”

Claps and shouts of congratulations rang throughout the garage for Heeseung. The Mclaren duo had come in third and fifth places individually, heightening the atmosphere to great heights at the news of grand results as an end to the season. You were on your feet, hugging both Sakura and Chaewon, them being unbeknownst to your actual elation.

All of you rushed out of the garage, managing to squeeze past the reporters and their cameras to the front of the barricade, seeing the top three drivers getting out of their cars. Jungkook who came in second congratulated Heeseung, but Chaewon’s fangirling beside you mostly distracted you. What can you say, her devotion to Jungkook was understandable in some ways.

It was then you caught Heeseung’s eyes in the midst of everything. Sweat covered his face and drenched his hair, but it only made him glow under the night sky and bright lights. You didn’t even have the time to process it all. He was taking big strides towards you, not giving a care if every pair of eyes were on him, all he had on his mind was you.

You opened your mouth to congratulate him as he approached you, but before you could say anything, he had already pressed his lips onto yours the moment he was in front of you.

Gasps and the clicking sound of cameras were heard, yet you gathered everything in you to shut your eyes and kissed him back. Kissing him wasn't hard, it was natural, far too natural like it was an instinct. His lips moved against yours gently, loving and pouring out his overflowing want for you.

All heads were turned over to gawk at you and Heeseung. It was hard to ignore the burning stares and flashes of camera lights, so you pulled away from him (reluctantly) to save yourself from being plastered everywhere on the media, which seemed a bit too late by now.

“Let me be your boyfriend?” He whispered quietly, but loud enough for you to catch on and flash him one of his favourite smiles.

Hard to hide your excitement and happiness, you nodded feverishly, the corners of your lips were pulled upwards. “Yes,” you pressed a swift kiss on his lips, your face burning to the brim, completely the opposite of Heeseung who managed to maintain his composure.

“My beautiful girl, what should we do now?” Heeseung cheekily commented, talking as if he wasn't standing right in front of a huge crowd right after winning another world championship. He knew damn well he had to get onto the podium and celebrate like there's no tomorrow.

“Well, my world champion boyfriend, as much as I wish to hoard you, you should go celebrate already,”

He leaned in close to you, whispering into your ear. “I'll let you hoard me all you want after,” shooting you a wink, he waved goodbye and left, disappearing into a crowd of people and leaving you flustered along with your dumbfounded colleagues.

“What was … that?” Chaewon slowly turned to look at you.

“Oh my God, you're dating Lee?” Sakura gasped for maybe the hundredth time already. “Okay, that's probably why he's a winner, huh? Because he has Mrs Lee here—”

“YOU'RE WITH HEESEUNG?”

Shit.

Jake came into view, strands of hair stuck to his face didn't help his distress look either. No doubt, confusion was written all over his face, a raised eyebrow that was expecting an answer from you.

“Jake! Podium!” One of the staff shouted over at him. He, who placed third, didn't seem like he wanted it now that he has something else to uncover.

“You owe me an explanation.” Jake wasn't angry at all, he just looked thoroughly confused at the fact that one of his best friends was with his … cousin? Slash trainer, slash assistant, you get the gist. But at the same time, he also had that 'I knew it' shit-eating grin plastered on his face that you were very familiar with, he probably knew it was coming, didn't he?

Jake was eventually pushed to the back of your mind for the time being, mentally taking notes to deal with him after, but for now, the celebration was the crucial part of the night.

Watching Jake on that podium made you emotional, you couldn't lie. It reminded you of the many times you've seen him win at tournaments, and now, at F1 races, which was absolutely surreal.

Gazing up at the stage where the podium was, your eyes followed Heeseung's figure appearing, and listened to his name being called on the speakers, the title of world champion belonging to him. He stood high and proud on the podium, eyes searching for someone in the crowd. Turns out, it was you he was looking for.

He mouthed your name the moment he locked eyes with yours, face visibly beaming like a star in the night. 'For you' was what came from his lips next, his finger pointing at the trophy in his hand then back at you. He was dedicating it to you, just as he said.

The smile on your face was evident to everyone how whipped you were for him, even giggling as you waved at him. Heeseung, being the person that he was, blew a flying kiss at you right before the national anthem played, and you were stuck there in shock. At this point, you should be prepared for things like that.

The night eventually rolled into the early morning. Heeseung was back at the hotel with you, secretly hiding out in your room while everyone else was mostly still out partying. It was just the two of you, on your bed with some room service as snacks.

“Shouldn't you go party with them instead of being stuck here with me?” You shoved a french fry into your mouth, not regretting your choice of returning early from the party to have a mini one on your own, plus Heeseung as an addition.

“I would rather be stuck here with you than with them,” Heeseung leaned onto your side, face obnoxiously getting closer, “You know I'll always choose you,”

Even under the dim lights, you could make out the sparks hidden behind his stare. “You're my girl after all,” he added, ever so smoothly throwing his arm around your shoulder. “Isn't that crazy? You're my girl, my girl!” He dramatically gasped, feigning disbelief that you were, in fact, his.

“Yes, I am your girl, you idiot,” you reached to pinch his nose, and his face scrunched up, the biggest smile appearing on his face. Before you could retreat your hand, he had already grabbed onto it, fingers eventually making contact with yours and intertwined. “What are you doing?” It was a small whisper, curious and anticipating.

“This—” one pull of his hand, he yanked onto yours and pulled you into him, catching your face gently and pressing his lips onto yours.

The only way to describe your thoughts was insanity. His small stunt had left you fighting for yourself internally, blood pulsing and heart skipping. He was the death of you.

You pushed him away after a few moments, having to catch your breath, but mostly to regain your composure. “Oh my God,” you breathed out, neither of you looking away from each other. “You're … wow,”

“Too cliche?”

“Is it bad if I admit I eat it up every time?”

“I don't have any more up my sleeves, I'm afraid,” he laughed, joking light-heartedly, turning his head slightly to the side. “Can I have one more?”

“One more?” You hummed, fingers rubbing your chin in thought, continuously teasing him. “Why should I?”

“I asked nicely,” he poked at his cheek expectantly, lips jutting out in a pout. “Please?”

Only you could have Heeseung act this way. The reigning Formula One champion, could you believe that?

You didn't say anything, leaning in and pressed a peck on the spot he pointed out on his cheek. A satisfied smirk told you everything you needed to know, his hold on your hand tightening. “I'm in love with you,” he confessed, a spur of the moment kind of confession that you were already aware of, but to hear him say it again got your heart skipping in ways you didn't know. “I'm basically the luckiest man in the world right now,”

“Shouldn't I be the lucky one too?” You nudged at his ribs softly, unable to contain your laugh. “I'm lucky to have you with me, like super lucky,”

Heeseung crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows with a pinch of amusement. “Really?”

“Really. I get to have good ramen whenever I want,” you grinned foolishly at him, seeing his face morphed into a look of disbelief. You shook your head, stifling your laughter at his reaction. “But I like you more than your home cooked ramen,”

Warmth spread over his expression, a soft glow to his features under the light brought out the way he stared at you, irises written with words he couldn't convey with his mouth. He was undeniably head over heels, it was already clear from the look of his eyes, they never lie.

“I don't think Chaewon's coming back tonight, she'll probably crash in Sakura's room,” you gave his hand a light squeeze, glancing over at the clock for a split second, it was already past two. “Can you stay?”

Heeseung's expressions were filled with love and affection, a softness to them that he only had with you. You already knew his answer before he had to say it out loud. “I'll stay. You know I'll always do.”

Somehow, you knew his simple promise for the night carried something more to it. It wasn't just a promise that lasted for a night, it was for a lifetime ahead of you. Because you knew, no matter what, he would always stay.

From the front door of your apartment to a random hotel room in Abu Dhabi almost a year later, it was crazy to think that a Formula One world champion had scored his biggest win yet: the girl next door, his oblivious neighbour that wasn't even aware of him or his popularity in the first place.

Turns out, meeting his oblivious neighbour was one of his greatest moments in life ever, because now, Lee Heeseung might not know what to do without you.

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mellowwillowy · 2 months

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(gasps) he's a fae?? Part 1 MDNI

Yan! Butler who is skilled in practically everything, allowing him to serve you wherever and whenever for you.

Yan! Butler who is never even once considered to be intimidating in your eyes yet other people would always have a say about it. Why can't you notice the way he glares at all your suitors disapprovingly?

Yan! Butler who always has the last words of critiques toward your suitor, causing you to scrap them away in pursuit of a better suitor for your country's well-being.

Yan! Butler who is secretly working on his influence and status as he steals what is rightfully your scrapped suitors. Bits by bits, he has grown into a fine gentleman within the years he has served you.

Yan! Butler who has spent his entire life building everything from the day you took him into the shelter of your wings, allowing him to understand how it feels like to be home. Allowing him to unleash the avarice side of a human.

Yan! Butler who is never content with just standing next to you as a servant, no. He wants to stand on an equal ground as you do as your lover. He has to. He has spent his whole life keeping you safe from impurities, allowing you to bloom beautifully. Only he is allowed to defile you should the call come. Only he is allowed to have your lip against his and frankly speaking, his cock.

Yan! Butler who will sometimes walk out of the picture, hiding himself somewhere secluded, teeth clutching on a handkerchief you embroidered for him as he pumped his cock vigorously.

The perfume you were wearing was an anonymous present from a noble, someone you assumed to be one of the many suitors. You were unaware that the noble was the butler who had served you since you were children, the same boy you once had your eyes shaped in a heart.

The idea of you wearing a scent he crafted himself may not be as romantic as what others had in store but he knew that better than anyone. He was an orphan, true. But were you aware that the orphan was never a human?

Back in the country he once lived in, there's a courting habit that the faes pride themselves in doing so. And that was to give their beloved a perfume that was personally handcrafted in memory of the most cherished memory they had in mind.

And the scent you were wearing was the memory of you saving him, the smell of the rain that drenched him mixing with the flowers' smell from your basket, and the smell of love blooming from first sight.

His hip jerked upward as he relished in the memories. You might not realize it but seeing you wearing it so proudly rendered him helpless to the point he crumbled as nothing but an ejaculating mess. The smile that was so gentle and sweet as you coaxed him into the carriage... and the hands that were so warm when compared to his pale, cold ones.

Oh, how he would kill just to have you feel him all over while wearing his scent.

Soon he would be able to consummate with you as a spouse. Just one more year and he would present himself as a suitor who would outmatch the whole list, free of blemishes, critiques, and flaws.

Then just perhaps, the fae would be able to restore his kingdom and propose an agreement of bridging two countries through marriage.

#I wrote this in a rush so it's not pique perfect plus I'm having a terrible writing block rn #CatboX #Yandere Smut #Yandere x Reader #x GN Reader #Yandere Imagines #Yandere Scenarios #Yandere Blurb #Yandere Fae

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astrow1zar6 · 5 months

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Venus Sign Observations- 011

Venus in Leo’s are those girls in hs you think “how early does she get up to get ready?” You rarely ever see this placement have ugly days they are all so well kept & usually smell incredible. The types to wear their hair in really trendy styles, wear designer outfits and perfumes. BIG on luxury. In a relationship they LOVE being shown off and given lots of attention and compliments. they also love when their partner begs for their attention.

Venus in Libras are really easy to impress lol, all you really have to be is semi attractive. My libra Venus friend every time we go out would be like “OMG THAT GUY IS SOOO CUTE” but say that about 15 other guys that day😂 the women can be VERY obsessed with the opposite sex. They are such flirty people.

Venus in Taurus gives conventional housewife vibes lol. They are into classic feminine hobbies such as sewing, cooking, making jewelry/ clothes, art. If you marry a women with this placement you hit the jackpot.

Venus in Scorpio men tend to be cheaters. Everyone talks about their loyalty but they are only really loyal once they feel they’ve truly found their soulmate (in most cases are rare cuz they’re picky) a lot get bored of their relationships once the passion dies (similar to Aries Venus). They tend to prefer emotionally complex women to keep them on their toes.

Venus in Aquarius’s tend to look really good with circle frame glasses. They pull it off soo well. Also if you have this placement and are looking for new fashion ideas. Look up cyberpunk/Dystopian aesthetic. Y’all would look amazing in that type of style.

Most Venus in Virgos I meet are not big on the physical aspect of love. It takes them SOOO long to open up physically. This causes a lot to get friend zoned. They express their love very differently from most Venus signs which can cause some confusion in their relationships. They are big on acts of service & the intellectual side of love.

Venus in Aries usually always makes the first move when liking someone ( man or woman) they can jump into relationships fast just for it to end just as quick. They really date for the excitement and fun of having a new crush. But once that it becomes deeper than a crush and gets serious most usually back out. Also they can get turned on my arguing. When things become dull they will normally create some issue to keep the sparks alive. To more sensitive signs this can be very draining.

Venus in Geminis are very hard to pin down. I notice their feeling for their partners never seem quite genuine? I notice even in relationships they try to seek out attention from other people. They need a lot of mental stimulation to keep their full attention on one person. And if they’re partner fails to stimulate them they’ll find someone else who can. It’s very rare they catch true feelings for someone but when they do they’re surprisingly loyal.

Venus in Pisces kinda irritate me lol. The men are always talking to different women. They are big on following their heart, but if their hearts tells them to talk to five girls they would😭 it’s very rare to see the men of this placement settle with one woman. The women of this placement I notice are amazing lovers but tend to give it to usually terrible neglectful partners:( I’ve seen women with their placements bust their ass for men that barely give them the time of day.. y’all deserve a lot better than that.

Sagittarius Venus’s tend to date people who are a different ethnicity as them or date from foreign countries. They have a deep appreciation for culture and traveling. So they may also travel with their partner a lot. This is imo the most loyal Sagittarius placement. I’ve seen people be in relationships for years with this placement.

Cancer Venus’s are extremely sweet and nurturing in a relationship. Gives Mommy vibes 🥺. The types to bring you home cooked meals get your bath water running. A lot a notice tend to be very submissive/vanilla. They require a lot of emotional attention and babying even themselves. They types to prefer at home dates compared to traveling or going out.

Capricorn Venus tends to take partnerships like it’s a job (similar to Virgo Venus) they see attending to their partners needs more like a duty which is why they can appear cold in their affections even though they mean well. Emotionally it can be harder to connect with this sign but once they trust you they’ll show you a very sensual romantic side they’ve been hiding. They mostly express love through gift giving. These partners give some of the best most expensive gifts. Just know you’ll be taken good care of if this placement loves you 👌🏽

Venus in Scorpios look AMAZING in black. Any dark aesthetic look great on them. And they may prefer partners with a darker aesthetic as well

Venus in Aries women tend to feel more comfortable having male friends than other women. Usually we’re tomboys growing up

Libra Venus’s are usually really good at makeup or look amazing with a full face of makeup.

#astro observations #astrologist #astrology #astro community #astro notes #astroblr

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astroismypassion · 2 months

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Astrology observations 🌸🌸🌸

Credit goes to @astroismypassion

🌸 Ruler of the 2nd house in the 4th house: your mother might have got you your job. You have a job because of her.

🌸 Moon in the 4th house natives can be connected to female lineage of the family, like talking to mother, grandmother, an aunt. But that only if it’s harmoniously aspected. Some Moon in the 4th house cut off their mother.

🌸 Ruler of the 5th house in the 9th house: you are more popular abroad than in your home country.

🌸 Saturn in the 4th house natives often feel stuck. They might not be able to move as fast-paced as their peers. If they move to an apartment, they usually stay there for 4-7, even 10 years despite wanting to move earlier than that.

🌸 Ruler of the 2nd house in the 5th house: you might creative something within your workplace that gets limelight (gets talked about in the news, papers)! Such as for example you may work at a Michelin star restaurant and you are creating a dish that gets talked about in the press.

🌸 I noticed Saturn in the 4th house can very well indicate that the native has lost the mother. But often times I see that the native had a “secondary” mother like figure that emotionally nurtured them and supported more than their own mother. Usually the nurturing didn’t come from the primary source.

🌸 Whenever I see Saturn in the 2nd house, it gives me “old money vibes”.

🌸 The ruler of the 4th house in the 2nd house people often keep money in their home. These are the people to have a fairly large amount laying somewhere in the middle of book pages.

🌸 If you have Virgo North Node or NN in the 6th house you are basically learning in this lifetime how to keep a job. Very mundane, I know, but it’s true😂.

🌸 People with ruler of the 7th house in the 5th house often rush marriage or marry the person without really fully knowing them, for example after a year.

🌸 Juno in the 7th house native tend to work with their spouse, committed partner. Or finds a job due to an opportunity introduced by the partner. Usually is also a line of work connected with Venus, such as working together in a restaurant for example.

🌸 I noticed Pisces Moon men tend to be “the seductive con-artist” when it comes to luring a person into a partnership. And while this is often true, they also attract partners that see in them whoever they want to see. Usually how the partner of Pisces Moon sees them feels almost delusional in comparison how other people see the Pisces Moon native.

🌸 Venus in the 2nd house Synastry: 2nd house person might constantly compliment your outfit, even if you are not in a partnership.

🌸 Part of Fortune in the 1st house often need new beginnings in order to be successful in their endeavours, projects. They need to reinvent how they do things. They also attract more abundant energy when they start and finish the same project in one sitting, so that they use put their natural inspiration to good use.

🌸 Taurus Venus is always stereotypically describe, because Taurus it’s in his home here, so it feels the energy is easy for these people. But for these people it easily backfires if they are being inconsistent. They can’t really play the “ohh he didn’t reply in 2 days, then I won’t reply for 4 days” modern dating games. They really need to be the ones reaching out, being consistent to win someone over. Which kind of sucks, I know, because they will feel like they are always the one reaching out, so I hear you.

🌸 Venus in the 8th house can hook up with someone and in the midst they realize this person is their soulmate or lover. I’m not gonna lie, this native may not know whether they fully accept unconditionally their lover until they actually get physical with them. Venus in the 8th house hides their love nature, so they might not even know themselves.

🌸 Venus in the 9th house people can meet their future spouse, committed partner through your father.

🌸 Capricorn Venus: you might get hit on by clients, customers at work.

🌸 Cancer Jupiter, Sagittarius Moon might want to get married young or be a parent while they still are young and look good.

🌸 Meanwhile, Venus in the 4th house and Taurus over the 4th house can meet their lover through their mother. Or the mother will try to set you up with someone. Venus in the 6th house can meet the partner through your or their aunt or uncle. Venus in the 3rd house can meet the partner through your or their sibling, cousin.

🌸 Ruler of the 12th house in the 1st house: these natives can be perceived as passive. So that’s why people feel like they can control them. Another thing about this ruler not amount of drinking caffeine will help you in rising your energy. You are naturally low energy. You might also be more successful abroad.

🌸 Ruler of the 3rd house in the 2nd house people are often teachers, because it quite literally indicates speaking for a living. Also, you guys are great at voiceovers!!

🌸 Venus in the 10th house might have a partner in the same field, profession, for example both lawyers.

🌸 Ruler of the 7th house in the 6th house: your future spouse, partner could drive you to work and pick you from work as well.

🌸 The courting phase will be veryy long if you have ruler of the 7th house in the 5th house.

🌸 Mercury in the 5th house like variety when it comes to dating, because they get easily bored. However, I noticed they have a set preference for what type of dates they enjoy. They might always want to go for a coffee date, wine and dine date or hike date. Something about their dates tends to be still repetitive despite needing variety.

🌸 Mars in the 9th house rarely have a good relationship with their father. But if they do, the father was very strict with them wanting them to learn how to be successful, but kinda doing it in a domineering manner.

Credit goes to @astroismypassion

#astrology #astroismypassion #astro notes #astroblr #astro community #astro note #astro observations #natal chart #astrology blog #chart reading

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dmitriene · 1 month

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john price didn't intend to be someone's sugar daddy, not knowing that well what it means, and not even planning to join a relationship — yet, that's till he meet you on a dating app his lads almost begged him to install.

or they even installed it themselves, taking his phone while they were off in some country pub, and it wouldn't hurt to open it at least once, price thought.

indeed, it wouldn't, because that's how he found you — the sweetest, soft thing his eyes ever fell upon and seen, reminiscent so much of all the images and scenarios he often dreamed about, but always pushed further away.

john thought you looked like a proper sunshine itself, well mannered darling with toothy smiles and small, yet so sweet description of yourself, and this is the first situation in his life in which he did not think twice, before deciding to write to you straight away.

he's an old man, price is a captain inside and out, with warm heart and sincere smiles, yet bloody hands and fucked up head — he's seen everything, experienced everything, which made him the jonathan price he is right now, and still, it didn't pushed you away a tad bit.

all the time you were such a sweetheart, from the text's in the app and down the road to the first meeting, and if john didn't experience falling in love before — that was it.

it started by itself, after the first meeting there was another, with each of them you became closer and closer not only mentally, but also physically, and against the background of falling in love with you, there's responsibility that began to shallow.

john wanted to pamper you — pay for your lunches together at every meeting, then for your grocery's delivery, then it moved to fixing some little financial issues you had or even buying you something you couldn't afford right now, all of this was just for you, and you hadn't to do anything to receive it.

he had a good amount of money, the one he didn't exactly know where to spend, but there's you — you help john relax on hard days, take care of his health, comfort him when things don't go as they should, and wait for every new message from him while he's away on another mission.

shouldn't he repay to you for being his little pocket sunshine?

his, he always thinks and says, yet you don't exactly belong to him, you never talked about what exactly are you two — friends, lovers, or something else, because price never voiced his feelings and never crossed any possible boundaries, until you did it first.

a little kiss on the stubbled cheek to thank him for buying you some silly things you wanted so much recently, a warm hug against his bulky body, an innocent act of holding hands.

before it turns into messy tongue kisses, squeezing grasps of calloused palms, itchy mustache rubbing against soft flesh of your neck, sucking blooming marks to form a patch down your shoulders and to your cleavage, kissing, biting, moving away unnecessary clothing that gets into john's way.

you became his entirely, body and soul, with buzzing warmth inside your stomach and pleasurable soreness between your doughy thighs, with red marks both from price's fingers and beard, while waking up huddled under his heavy arm and under cool, silky sheets of his spacious bed.

john price fell in love with you completely and irrevocably, just as you in him — welcoming him home each time with soft touches and featherlight kisses, freshly cooked meal and tidy environment, light giggles and sincere words of love and adoration.

a dream come true, a place for him to return to, with light walls that hold only precious memories, with your gasping mewls that reverberate here at night.

from his grounding touches, soft roll of his broad hips when he nestles against your back at nights and curl his hands over the curve of your waist, hoisting your leg to probe against your sopping warmth, burrowing inside your gummy walls softly as john nuzzles his face against your shoulder blades.

price adores you, without planning it all in the first place, but now he is sure that he would not have refused to meet you in any of the circumstances.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

938 notes · View notes

spdrwdw · 2 months

Note

hi! I saw ur post abt accidentally deleting reqs and was scared since mine wasn’t answered yet (im not complaining bc ur other work is so so delicious to read 😍) anyways here it is. Ok imagine Miguel ohara being the heir to the mafia ‘throne(?)’ ima be so fr idk what they call it 💀 anyways and he’s in an arranged marriage w/ a girl from a diff mafia family as a way to make peace between the two families, except neither he or the girl are happy abt it. Enemies to lovers would just be majestic for the plot in my opinion 🤭. Anywaysssss thank u sm and remember to drink water 🫶🏻

Art by: Kimmy_art0912 Pairing: Mob Boss Miguel x Wife reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, very mild violence, no use of y/n Summary: You and Miguel come from different mafia families, forced to be married in order to form an alliance as threat from an outside. However, you and Miguel can only tolerate each other, at best. A/N: I swear I scratched and rewrote this like five different times.I am sorry it took so long. I am slowly making my way back into writing. I do thank anon and everyone else for their patience as I slowly make my way back to life and I will be writing more Miguel fics soon. I may do a part two to this, depending on interest recieved. I have been getting into mafia books so I am going to be looking into those for inspo if I do make more parts to this. Also, very very light editing was done. Word Count: 4.6k

Your family and the O’Hara’s have been enemies since your ancestors set foot into this country. Both immigrating from nothing but the clothes on their backs and pennies to their name.

Your family started working in the food industry. Working in restaurants, bakeries, etc. Anything that had to do with food. Seven days a week. Working from twelve to fourteen hour shifts just to make ends meet. Your great great grandfather worked at the local deli as well as a restaurant. When he wasn’t cutting up meat, he was in the kitchen making food. Your great great grandmother worked at the neighborhood bakery as well as the tailors. Her dream was to make clothes- dresses. She wanted to be a fashion designer. She started taking classes at the local college once they saved up enough money to invest in her studies.

Eventually, with their hard work and sacrifices, their dreams came true. Your family soon owned several restaurants as well as luxury boutiques. Everyone did their part in keeping the family businesses growing and going.

At first, it was all simply honest work. Your family stayed humble and grateful for their dedication. Then, with your great grandfather, things took a slight turn. He wanted to expand and turn into construction. Nueva York continued to go and grow, with more people coming to try to make a living and a name for themselves. And in that mix, people with bad intentions also tagged along. The family businesses were in jeopardy of being taken over or shut down completely by these power-hungry thugs. He did not want that. So, he and the rest of the family banded together and began hiring people who would be willing to work for them and protect them, whether they were military vets, criminals, or even cops. Anyone who was willing to protect the family.

Allyship with other mafia families also aided in the growth and protection. However, there was one family that yours always butted heads with.

The O’Haras. They immigrated from Ireland around the same time your great great grandparents did. They built their own businesses, casinos, hotels, and clubs- and wanted their own power and a spot with the elites of the criminal world.

At first, things were neutral between the two families. At one point, the two families were almost allies. However, one night, there was commotion going on at one of the O’Hara nightclubs. Members of your family got into a tussle with the O’Hara group and ended up being a blood bath, with both sides losing men.

Ever since then, things were tense, and the bloodshed continued to grow as oppositions rose.

No one really knew what it was that started the feud that night. Some suspected it had been over a woman. Others thought it was simply because some members were drunk and careless words were exchanged.

Either way, the rivalry continued on. Until a new threat entered the city. And there was no choice but to come together.

—

It’s been six months since you moved into his house. Six months since you lost your freedom. Six months since you got married. To Miguel O’Hara.

It all happened in an instant. First, you were out abroad, having recently gotten your first major job as a fashion designer in a luxury clothing company, wanting to be as successful as your great great grandmother, and now you were out on a little vacation to celebrate, when you received a call from your father, ordering you to come back home.

You should’ve relished that Mediterranean breeze as long as you could, because once you got on that flight back home, your world was about to be flipped on its head.

“I’m sorry…WHAT?!” You screeched at your father, you only looked at you with his calm, cool, distant, expression as he inhaled into his cigar.

“You’re getting married to Miguel O’Hara,” he repeated.

“I heard what you said! But, why?!”

“The O’Haras had agreed to a truce. Kingpin is gaining on both of our families. We are losing men and traction left and right. We agreed by aligning our families together, we will gain strength in numbers and influence.”

“And you are shipping me off into an arranged marriage! This isn’t the medieval age or whatever!

Plus, with Miguel?! At least have me marry Gabriel. He’s not an asshole like his brother.”

“Miguel is to become head of the O’Hara family as he is the first born. Plus, his determination has been promising.”

You let out a groan. You could not believe this was happening. You never wanted to get sucked into this life. That’s why you went off to college. To try to get away and make a life of your own. Your efforts were proven to be futile as you felt the rug be pulled from under you and you were being dragged along with it to the same life you were trying to escape.

Your father’s eyes softened. A hint of sorrow filled them.

“I know, sweetheart. This isn’t what I was hoping for you, either. But, it is the only way. We are running out of options. I am sure Miguel will take care of you, and you will be able to fulfill your dream of following your great great grandmother’s footsteps. I am sure she would be proud to have someone actively expanding her fashion legacy..”

You still shook your head. It was just too much for you to take in. Plus, wasn’t Miguel in a relationship with someone? Xina? No..they broke up months ago. That’s right. But, wait..he was seeing someone else? Ugh. The guy has a new girlfriend every other day.

Besides, you two did have a thing going on in the past. It wasn’t serious. Mainly the occasional hookups. You two were of rivaling families, after all. You both did have your reasons for disliking each other. So, the sex was pretty much hate sex? If that made sense. It wasn’t out of passion. Unless you could call hatred a passion.

Never did you think you’d actually be getting married to him.

After the news broke out that you and Miguel were to be wedded, everything went by in such a blur. Preparations for the wedding. The actual wedding. The honeymoon- which was hardly a honeymoon because neither of you actually spent any time together. It was just too awkward, and you knew that he wasn’t happy with this arrangement as much as you were.

When you first moved into his house, you wanted to sleep in a separate room from him, and he agreed. However, when both of your parents found out about this, they were all livid.

“How will you two get to know each other more and become intimate with each other if you are sleeping in separate beds?” Your mom cried one day when she came to visit you. You assured her there would be other situations where you and your husband would bond. Public situations where you’d be surrounded by other people and talking to those people rather than each other.

You two simply avoided each other as much as possible. And during the times when you two were together, your company was either met with silence or bickering. And sometimes even being at each other’s throats.

He would call you names like ‘immature’ ‘wild’ ‘rowdy’ and so on, simply because you refused to listen to him whenever he demanded something from you.

You’d retaliate and tell him that he was controlling and a perfectionist. Because well, he was. He had to have things done a certain way or it would ensue chaos. And while he was right about you being a little more rowdy and wild, it was simply because you had the luxury of growing somewhat more normal. Your parents did not drill the life of the mafia into your head the same way it was drilled into Miguel’s. Which is why you both clashed when trying to communicate with each other.

Right now, you were at home in the library. You spend a lot of time there, and while Miguel’s taste in reading wasn’t usually to your taste, you’d sometimes find yourself reading some of the novels that he was currently reading, as well as reading some that you’ve been purchasing and adding to the collection.

Which reminded you, you had to head over to the mall and purchase the next book of a spicy romance series you’d been reading. As well as look for an outfit to wear at the next charity event you and Miguel would be attending.

One of the few things you liked about Miguel was that he was very generous and active in the community, helping those less fortunate.

Placing the book down, you rubbed your bag and keys and decided to head out for a bit. Saying goodbye to the house staff as you walked past them, you made your way to the garage, which housed Miguel’s collection of cars, ranging from vintage to sporty and modern to big black suvs that you’d use whenever a bodyguard was transporting you somewhere, like parties. You never understood why someone needed so many cars but, whatever, as long as it wasn’t your money being spent.

You made your way over to your car, glad that you were able to bring it with you when you got married. It was your baby. One of the few things you were able to bring with you.

Glancing over at the clock on the dashboard, you bit your bottom lip. You should have enough time to purchase some books before heading off to your parents for a bit. You did promise them you would show up. They were planning lunch for you. It was your birthday today, after all.

—

Miguel stood in front of the battered man that kneeled before him, hearing the groaning of pain coming from their mouth as blood pooled around the cement floor.

Miguel’s knuckles were bleeding. But, it wasn’t his own blood, but the blood of the poor bastard that withered before him. Miguel didn’t like to use violence. He thought it was a primitive way of negotiating with his enemies. However, there were times when a little violence was necessary to get his point across. And to send a message.

Why was this man being battered like a sack of potatoes?

The man spat blood, a tooth or two flying out with the glob of blood as he remained strapped to his chair. His face was covered in blood. Beat up and mangled by the hands of the tall, brooding man before him.

Miguel slowly knelt down before the man, taking a fistful of his hair, forcing him to look up into his almost amber eyes.

“ Eres un demonio! (You're a demon). Not even the devil himself will want you!” the man spat, a glob of blood landing on Miguel’s cheek.

Miguel let out a hum of disinterest. His eyes lacked any life in them. However, this was when he felt the most alive, seeing his enemies cowering and crumbling before him.

He took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleaned the blood from his cheek before tossing the now soiled material at the man’s feet.

“I take that as a compliment, you know. Maybe I want the devil himself to fear me.”

Miguel took out a cigar from his coat pocket and lit it before giving it a deep inhale and exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke at the man’s face. He couldn't believe that one of Kingpin's goons had infiltrated his circle and posed himself as someone who could've been trusted. Miguel was definitely going to send that fat son of a bitch a message, by killing this guy and sending his corpse back to Kingpin's front door.

Not only that, but it also meant that they were going to have to redo background checks on everyone working for the O’Haras. That was going to be a pain in the ass.

"Gabriel! Hand me my gun," Miguel called out to his brother.

Gabriel, Peter, and Ben were all standing several feet behind Miguel, all watching as their boss beat and battered the man before them.

Gabriel was Miguel’s right hand now that their father had stepped down as head of the O’Hara family. Many thought Gabriel was going to take charge, however, Miguel was much more brutal and cut-throat than Gabriel. It made sense for Miguel to take up the mantle, despite him being an illegitimate son.

Plus, Gabriel preferred being on the sidelines instead of making the decisions.

Gabriel made his way over to his older brother, handing him the gun before stepping back to his original spot.

“Now. We can do this the easy way. Where I ask you a couple of questions and answer them. Or, we can do this the hard way, when I ask you said questions and if you refuse to answer them, I get to shoot you anywhere I want.”

”I would rather you just shoot me! I will never answer to you!” The man croaked.

“You never got shot before, have you?” Miguel hummed as he removed the safety from the gun and cocked it before pulling the trigger, shooting the man on the foot.

The man let out a screeching howl as he thrashed on the chair, letting out a series of curses.

Miguel simply nodded his head. “That’s what I thought. So..shall we begin?”

The whole ordeal took only a matter of minutes, as Miguel wasted no time in trying to get his questions answered. The man was not sitting lifeless on the chair as bullet holes decorated his body.

Kingpin had sent a lower ranked grunt to spy on them, trying to scope up any valuable information to report back to his true boss. Unfortunately for Kingpin, those in the lower ranks didn’t really get to be part of the action and behind-closed door discussions, so, this man’s life was unnecessarily wasted.

“Send his body back to Kingpin. Just leave him on his doorstep,” Miguel said as he examined his suit, letting out a grunt when he saw small splatters of blood. He was going to have to go home and change. “Will do. You should start heading back home. I am sure you wife is waiting for you,” Gabriel said as Peter and Ben began placing the body into a black body bag and carried him out to the waiting pick-up truck.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t hate you, but he knew that you hated him. And you had every right. You got married to him out of force, and while that wasn’t necessarily his fault, he didn’t blame you for holding a grudge on him.

“Keep me posted on any activity. I need updated background checks on everyone working for us. We can’t let anyone else slip through the cracks,” Miguel stated as he made his way over to his car, with his brother following behind him. Gabriel nodded his head as he watched his brother leave.

He had to make sure no on in his inner circle was actually working for Kingpin. Is someone indeed was, might as well just shut everything down then and there.

No. Miguel wouldn’t give up just like that. He would just have to work harder and steer Kingpin off track.

But, for the time being, his main goal was to get back home and get to his wife. It was your birthday, after all.

–

You spent the majority of the day with your parents. You had gone over to your former home- which you still miss deeply. It was such a stark contrast from where you lived now. There was just so much character, so much history in this house. It was the same house your great great grandfather had bought as a gift to his lovely wife, your great great grandmother, once their businesses were booming.

It had twelve bedrooms and sixteen bathrooms. A library where your mother would take you to read. When you were young, you’d pick out a book for your mother to read to you in bed. Mainly a fairy tale story.

You always thought your life would be a fairy tale. You always imagined yourself as the princess or heroine, going on adventures and falling in love. However, the universe was not like those in the stories. Maybe in an alternate universe. But, not in this one.

Instead, you were forced to marry the enemy in hopes of forming an alliance. Which, depending on how you looked at it, could’ve been seen as a fairytale. It didn’t feel like it. You weren’t in love with Miguel. You tolerated each other at best. Plus, you guys had shared history which made things pretty awkward at times.

—-

You were back home, waiting for your darling husband to come home and wish you a Happy Birthday. He also supposedly promised to take you out to dinner. It was really an attempt for you two to get somewhat closer together. But, you weren’t sure how well that would play out. You both liked to push each other’s buttons. You were sure it would occur tonight. And honestly, you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. You wanted to be a thorn on his side. He was always so full of himself. Always thought himself to be this bigshot. Untouchable. Unweavered. You loved proving him wrong.

You continued to wait and wait. The house staff had left for the night, including Miss Cheryl, your personally favorite housekeeper. She was an older woman, possibly in her mid-fifties. You never cared to ask her- mainly because you didn’t want to be rude and you actually liked her.

Looking up at the clock in Miguel’s office, you saw that it was already seven thirty in the evening. Reservations were supposedly made for eight. Miguel had thirty minutes to get there.

A part of you didn’t really care if he had forgotten or just waved it off. You didn’t want to force yourself to be nice with him, because who knew, you might just throw a glass of wine at him just as you did during your wedding reception.

You could hear a chime coming from the Alexa that rested on Miguel’s desk, signaling that someone had entered the house.

Finally. You honestly thought he wasn’t going to come.

Raising from his chair, you decided to go ahead and greet your husband.

He was making his way upstairs as you made your way down the hallway, both of you making eye contact.

“You’re late. I thought you weren’t going to come,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

As Miguel stepped closer, you could notice blood splattered on his white shirt.

“I know. Let me get changed real quick,” he replied as he walked past you.

You knew Miguel had a way of dealing with those who wronged him. You have seen his blood-stained knuckles, bloodied shirts and a dangerous look in his eyes. It’s pretty much like in the movies. Some poor unlucky soul gets tortured to death by the boss or someone higher up. You’d like to think that Miguel isn’t simply killing people just because of blood-lust. While it wasn’t your business to judge, you didn’t want to be married to someone who is a little too eager to get blood on his hands.

You made your way to his room, standing by the door as you watched Miguel slip on a fresh pair of pants and button-up shirt, something more suitable for dinner. Once he was finished, he took another look at you, furrowing his brows a bit.

“What?” You questioned.

“What are you wearing?”

“What do you mean ‘what are you wearing’?” You asked, looking down at your dress.

“Don’t you think that’s too revealing?” He asked.

“What? Revealing? Where? Don’t tell me showing a little leg and shoulder is prohibited. Come on! This is the height of fashion right now, as well as demonstrating body positivity.” Miguel simply gave you a look as if in disgust. Not for the body positivity part. But rather your fashion choices. He was aware of your family’s success in the fashion industry. He even applauded it. But, he was also a man with much simpler tastes. Tastes that you would sometimes groan over.

“Well, I’m not changing, so let’s just get going,” you said as you grabbed a shawl to compliment your dress, and to shut Miguel up.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, save for the music that was playing on the radio. You two had very different music tastes. Not surprising. Sometimes you’d change the station or hook up your phone to Bluetooth. But, you tried to sit back and let him listen to his music this time.

When you two managed to get there, Miguel stopped in front of the valet and got out. The valet driver in-waiting opened the car door for you to help you get out as Miguel rounded the car, handing the keys over to the young man who then took the sleek black suv to the parking garage.

He gave you his arm to take. It had become routine. Show some sort of display of affection while in public. You never knew who could be watching. Sometimes cameras would pop out in front of you two.

The proposal was rushed. The engagement. The wedding. People grew suspicious, and rightfully so. Your families quickly came up with a story of how you and Miguel were seeing each other in secret despite the rivalry of the families. The alleged secrecy of romance and hurried marriage gave you two the the title of Romeo and Juliet. Two star-crossed lovers who went against all odds just to be together despite your families and their differences. But, unlike the story, your ending didn’t result in a double-suicide, but rather acceptance, wedding bells, and peace between the two families. Everyone bought it. Well..almost everyone.

As you two made your way inside and were greeted by the hostess, you were taken to a more secluded area of the restaurant. There, the table had been set up especially for you. A bottle of wine rested over a bed of ice, candles were lit on the table, as well as around the perimeter of your area. It would have been romantic, had you actually had romantic feelings for Miguel.

Still, he was a gentleman and he did go out of his way to reserve a nice place for you.

He pulled a chair out for you to sit and scooted you in before taking his seat across from you. The music from a live pianist in the main dining hall still reached your private area. Had it not been for them, the room would’ve been dead silent as you and Miguel silently looked through your menus.

“Can I pour you a glass of your wine?” A waitress asked onceshe approached your table. She was young. Tall and thin with big blue eyes and blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. And wearing way too much makeup. At least for your tastes.

You could see how she was looking at Miguel, batting her fake eyelashes. You thought they were either going to fall off or send her flying away. Either way, you simply rolled your eyes. You didn’t care if Miguel got hit on, but come on, at least not while you were right there to see.

“Yes, thank you,” Miguel said, giving her a charming smile. It made you roll our eyes again. Yes, he was being polite and all, but you could see right through him.

“Can I offer you both an appetizer to start?” She then asked, still looking over at Miguel.

Miguel then looked over to you, giving you a nod. “Would you like something to start with?”

”Yes, actually. Some bread for the table. they usually bring it out at the beginning,” you started. Which was true. You were just trying to be a little petty.

“And how about some crab cakes and a salad for the table?”

The waitress nodded her head, her smile now a straight line. So straight, you could swipe your card through it like a card reader.

“Yes, of course. I will put those in for you and bring you your bread,” she said before leaving the table.

You simply rolled your eyes once again as you settled back against your seat.

“How was lunch with your family?” Miguel then asked, trying to make conversation.

“It was fine,” you responded. Usually, your responses would be short, and Miguel wouldn’t entertain the topic further. You knew you should at least try to get along with him, giving that you are married and that you will be spending the rest of your life with him. You simply assumed that it just hadn’t kicked in yet. You were going to try, though.

One day.

“Ah, Mr. O’Hara! Mrs. O’Hara! A pleasure to see you two here tonight!” Someone behind you exclaimed. You could hear their heavy footsteps before turning around and seeing the owner and head chef of the restaurant. “Javier. A pleasure to see you,” Miguel said. “We were just celebrating my wife’s birthday.” “Ah! Of course! Happy birthday, Mrs. O’Hara. You look as stunning as ever,” Javier exclaimed. The man was five foot three, a mix of tan to sunburned skin, and all round. He kind of reminded you of the Pillsbury mascot. He looked so squishable and jolly.

“Actually, Javier. Would you mind me having a word with you, real quick?” Miguel then asked, scooted his chair back from the table and stood, easily towering over the man.

“O-oh! O-of cours! Of course! Come, come! Let’s step to the side,” Javier stated, now looking a little nervous as he led Miguel out of the room, leaving you alone.

All while Miguel was having his private conversation with Javier, the waitress came back with the bread and appetizers.

“We are going to need a couple of minutes,” you stated as she placed everything onto the tables.

“Of course! I’ll make my way back around in a few minutes,” the waitress said, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

You tried your best to not roll your eyes at her again as she left. Letting out a sigh, you decided to dig into the bread and appetizers. You sure weren’t going to wait for Miguel to come back to start eating. You never waited for him. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you knew you’d be waiting forever for him.

–

Soon enough, you were back home. You were still slightly curious about the conversation Miguel had with Chef Javier. But, you didn’t think you should press Miguel about it. Some things were meant to be kept in private. Besides, you wanted no part of this whole mafia stuff. It had stolen so much of your freedom already. You wanted to remain ignorant of what goes on behind closed doors as much as possible.

You both made your way upstairs, neither of you speaking as you made your way to your rooms for the night.

Tomorrow you were planning on heading over to the boutique. Your cousin was currently operating it and sometimes you’d go to help her out. It helped you get out of the house every once in a while. Plus, you were usually filled with inspiration when you were surrounded by your family’s clothing. You were still working on your portfolio to give out to various companies, in hopes they would hire you.

You were confident that they would. You were talented. Plus, you have your family’s name to back you up. Now, all you had to do was to make sure you get a good night’s rest so you could get up refreshed.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel spiderman #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o hara #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfic

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diordeer · 3 months

Text

౨ৎ HENRY, COME ON

“baby come on, do you think i’d really lose it on ya? if you did nothing wrong? henry come on,” - lana del rey (smau)

contains: charlie bushnell x songwriter!reader

description: i hope u guys know the lyrics has nothing to do with the plot of the fic i just love lana

requested by: anon 😧

Liked by honeymoon, iamcharliebushnell and others

yn.ln thank you so so so much lana for letting me work on your album ‘lasso’, love u so much ❤️ p.s. go listen in september!

tagged honeymoon

user1 any song you work on i automatically love

↳ user2 REAL YN SEES THE VISION AND EMBODIES IT

honeymoon love u forever 😘

↳ yn.ln every time i have any contact with u i need to remember my life is real and i didnt make up even knowing u

user3 yn and lana del rey?! The dream!!

user4 i mean henry come on!!!

user5 lana going country is something i never knew i was missing but i am now feeling empty until september

dior.n.goodjohn A PURE TALENT !! 😍

↳ yn.ln umm says YOU?!?!

iamcharliebushnell u did amazing !! 🩷🩷 (as always)

↳ yn.ln 😘😘

↳ walker.scobell ew

user6 they look SOOO good omg

user7 us trying to zoom into the last photo to see the new songs

↳ user8 LMAO SAMEE

↳ yn.ln its too blurry you guys will never know 🤫 (until september obvi)

Liked by honeymoon, dior.n.goodjohn and others

yn.ln life lately, greece edition!

tagged iamcharliebushnell

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leahsavajeffries i see u went to my cafe 😍

↳ yn.ln always!

↳ iamcharliebushnell the coffee there was SOO GOOD

user1 charlie and yn together is so random but so perfect and everytime i remember they are together it makes my day

user2 mans GLOWING

user3 oh to be dating charlie on a holiday in greece

dior.n.goodjohn you guys are so cute. stop it.

↳ yn.ln never

walker.scobell i cant believe you guys didnt invite me with you to greece

↳ iamcharliebushnell its pre research for when i join Kronos 😊

↳ walker.scobell ok so now u ruined it

user4 the aesthetics 😍

user5 me patiently awaiting a new song or even better album from yn ☺️

↳ user6 girl stop exspecting yn to be working 24/7

↳ user5 ….there are song lyrics on the post?

Liked by yn.ln, walker.scobell and others

iamcharliebushnell yn evenings photo dump 🫣

tagged yn.ln

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user1 mans crazy for posting a paparazzi pic of him and yn

↳ user2 hes down BAD

yn.ln whos that cutie in the second photo 😧

↳ iamcharliebushnell he’s taken sorry

↳ yn.ln omg what a loyal man 🥰🥰

↳ iamcharliebushnell stop flirting with me i literally have a gf!

user3 THE WOMAN IN THE FIRST PIC LMAO

↳ walker.scobell shes a real one, they need to get a room!!

↳ iamcharliebushnell WOWWW WALKER

↳ leahsavajeffries im on his side!

user4 the way hes holding her?! stop this

user5 why is he wearing sunglasses in the dark 🤔

↳ yn.ln im actually an angel, so when you look at me in real life i burst into a lot of bright lights which is why you need to wear sunglasses around me

↳ dior.n.goodjohn true! not clickbait!

taglist: @lostinhisworld @lizziesfirstwife @auttumnsayshi @silkenthusiasts @taygrls @kidkrowk @kanojous @niktwazny303 @m00ng4z3r @highfidelities @b0ok-lover @vamplyle

#charlie bushnell x reader #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #smau #social media au #aesthetic #charlie bushnell #in the know #x reader #lana del rey

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gurugirl · 4 months

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Can We Start Over? | Ch. 2 The Job Offer

Series Summary: From the first day you and Harry meet, your relationship is beyond complicated. A one night stand leads to hurt feelings and then a job opportunity that you simply can't pass up is offered. But can you handle working for a man like him? rich!harry x plus size!reader | enemies to lovers

A/N: This is a 5 part series commissioned by @justfattiethings (thank you hon!).

Chapter 2. Summary: You can't stop thinking about what happened the night you met Harry and how much you hate him. But then you get some really good news about a new job. Except there's a catch.

Word Count: 9k

Warning: 18+ only, angst, alcohol consumption

Can We Start Over? masterlist

“Oh my god, Y/n. What a fucking dick. But your response was gold! I wish you’d stayed to see what happened. Holy shit!” Brandy laughed as she clinked her glass with yours, “That was some gangster shit right there!”

You both laughed at your recount of what had happened with Harry. You met your best friend Brandy for Sunday brunch at your usual spot. You had called her on Saturday after your exit paperwork was taken care of with Mr. Spector and said you had some very interesting news to tell her but that you wanted to share it in person. This wasn’t over-the-phone kind of gossip. It was a with-a-martini-in-hand face-to-face kind of gossip.

“And besides… the most important thing is at least you got off. Typical fuck-boy, good in bed but an absolute slut.”

You nodded, “Exactly. And it doesn’t bother me too much, really. Not now. Plus Mr. Spector gave me a really nice parting bonus. And I’m sure I’ll be matched with someone soon for another gig but even if it takes a few months, I won’t have to dig into savings thanks to him.”

And it was true. Mr. Spector presented you with the check and a hug and well wishes and you were nearly in tears by the time you left his estate. The movers were there the whole time, taking furniture out of his lovely home. A home you’d gotten to become very familiar with over the years. You held events and small parties there, you helped him redecorate the master suite and all the bathrooms (well you organized it all and helped the decorators and builders with the design and material selection). You even had your own room there. Not that you often needed to stay but that was part of your job description as a personal assistant. Sometimes you needed to stay. But usually, you’d go home at night.

The service that you worked for assured you there were a few clients in need of a personal assistant and if it was a good match, they’d refer you. That was important. To have the right match. You were lucky you were single and without kids. That meant you were more flexible. But that didn’t guarantee a good match.

You were sure you’d be enjoying a couple of weeks off work off to do nothing. It sounded fantastic.

. . .

You hadn’t expected to get an offer so soon. When Monica emailed you on Monday afternoon with the file and details of your new assignment (if you accepted) you perused the document with your mouth agape. You’d been matched with someone with what was known as stealth wealth (most were), who traveled frequently. You’d need to keep a bedroom in their home (not out of the norm) and travel with them from country to country. You would negotiate holidays and time off once meeting in person but the salary offered was the first thing you saw when you looked at the contract. There was no pressure to sign but how could you say no to an offer that would erase your college debt and allow you to buy a home in a year? You couldn’t let this one slip away.

You emailed Monica back right away that you’d accept it and like to move forward. The next step would be to meet in person. Then, you’d find out more about who you’d be working for. The service was very discreet. The client was always given absolute anonymity until it was time for the first meeting.

You stared at your computer screen as if to will Monica to respond faster. Sipping your coffee you tapped your foot against the floor in anticipation. You kind of would have enjoyed some time off. A week or two of downtime. Sleeping in. Catching up on all the movies and shows you hadn’t had time to watch on Netflix. Order in pizza and Chinese, and day drink in your pajamas. But this opportunity wouldn’t be on the table for much longer. Another person would snatch this up in a heartbeat. That dollar sign alone would see to it.

When Monica finally responded you placed your mug of coffee down, held your breath, and clicked the email.

You’ll be meeting with the client tomorrow at 8:00 am at an address that will be sent to you via our private messaging app at 5:00 am. He requests you bring a physical copy of your resume and if you both agree to terms tomorrow he’ll bump up your salary 10% automatically. Confirm this is okay and I’ll set up the rest. Monica

You squealed as you quickly typed back a resounding Yes! Book it! Thank you!

You stood up and paced. Okay. So you learned the client was a he. Well, you’d blow him away. You’d make him want to hire you on the spot with that lovely little 10% bump.

You already knew the outfit. Thanks to working for Mr. Spector, you’d been allotted a stipend for very nice, and well-tailored outfits for when you needed to look chic and professional. Great for a first meeting, your double-breasted jacquard wool coat in neutral colors with a pop of blue, and your blue silk button-up tucked into your jacquard wool skirt, matching the coat. Stylish, flattering, and appropriate for meetings with a wealthy man who would undoubtedly be dressed very nicely as well.

It was perfect. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d gotten. A new assignment so quickly and one that paid so well? It felt like fate.

. . .

Harry had his house manager, Lucio, contact a highly recommended service to find a personal assistant for himself. He hated to find someone new because that was just one more person who knew his business. And he preferred having very few people in his circle. But Thasi was dumb. He couldn’t bear to have her working for him another minute. She had trouble with very basic tasks, like adding events to his calendar. She’d even missed two flights that he had booked for her and the last flight she missed he only realized it when she came into his study with a folder asking him about an account he needed to close out.

He stood from his desk and looked at the girl in astonishment, “Thasi. Why are you not 30,000 feet in the air right now? Why are you here standing in my house asking me this question? You are meant to be headed to New York City.” His voice was firm. Irritated.

The girl dropped her mouth open and blinked her eyes until it had finally dawned on her that she had forgotten to make her flight to meet with an art dealer on Harry’s behalf.

“I take it by the look on your face that you now realize your irreversible blunder. You’re fired. I’ll have your things sent back to your home by tomorrow afternoon.”

The poor girl couldn’t even argue with him. She knew she’d blown it. That was her second missed flight, of equal importance. And Harry felt he’d been quite generous and patient with her by giving her another chance. But he shouldn’t have.

So when he learned about Personal Premier Services from a few of his colleagues he decided to look for a PA that way rather than on his own like he had with Thasi. Harry’d had good luck finding staff for everything he needed for the last five years without help. The personal assistant was something rather new to him as he usually did most of his own errands by himself or had Lucio do them. But things were changing in his business and he needed an assistant quite desperately.

Harry woke before the sun rose and took his morning jog. He loved getting his day started earlier than most people. It meant he had time to do things like, exercise, catch up on world news, meditate, shower, and eat breakfast all before most other people would even be out of their beds. He also wished he could just stay awake forever. Wished he didn’t need sleep. There were so many things he could accomplish during the hours he wasted sleeping. But, being that he was only a mere human, his body required sleep.

“Sir? Y/n Y/l/n has just arrived. I have her waiting in the sitting room. Would you like me to bring her up?”

Harry cocked his head and looked to Lucio as he sat his pen down, “What did you say her name was again?”

“Y/n Y/l/n.”

Why did that name somehow feel so familiar?

“No. That’s okay, Lucio.” He stood from his chair, “I’ll go and greet her myself. Thank you.”

Harry’s immediate instincts told him that name was familiar. But why? And oddly, he first let his mind wander to it being you. But it couldn’t be. You were at the ball and he was certain you were wealthy just like him based on your outfit and your demeanor. He’d only gotten your first name that night, not your last name. And while Y/n was your name, the person looking for a job waiting for him downstairs certainly wouldn’t be the same woman who had put a used condom on his hotel door’s handle only to have his now ex-friend-whatever-she-was find it.

Yes. The ex-friend. Aster. He knew he should have stopped their little arrangement before she got too attached. It was never meant to be anything serious. From the start, he told her he was seeing other people but she never wanted to hear about anyone else he might have been sleeping with. And when he realized she started getting attached he should have recognized it was time to end it. But he didn’t.

Harry clenched his jaw and swallowed.

The knocking on his door had come a lot faster than he’d hoped. Aster wasn’t even supposed to be there. Her flight had been canceled so she wasn’t going to make it to New York City. He told her he’d see her the following day when he flew back. But of course, she rebooked a later flight without him knowing. As a surprise. And the call from Aster telling him she was on her way had shocked him and really put a damper on the night he thought he’d be enjoying with you. He just hoped she hadn’t passed you on her way to the door.

As soon as he opened it up, Aster slapped him across the face and held up a napkin with a blush-colored lip stain on it and a scribbled note. But what really had his attention was a droopy condom on his doorknob. Fresh with his come.

“What the fuck, Harry? What the fuck?!”

“Aster, I don’t… what is this?” He knew goddamn well what it was. It was you. “I think someone is just playing a joke on me. This isn’t mine…”

“The note, Harry? Whoever it is knows your fucking name.” Aster pushed passed him to make her way into the room.

Harry looked down the hallway and then cringed as he pulled the condom from the knob with the discarded tissue he picked up off the floor.

“Babe, this was just a cruel joke from someone–“

“Don’t you dare call me babe! And I don’t believe you. Who is going to play this kind of joke on you and then write your name on a napkin from the event you were just at?” She tossed him the napkin, “Hmm? I bet I know who. Someone you just fucked and kicked out because you didn’t think I’d come.”

Harry looked down at the napkin. Sure enough, it said A Secret Garden in the City with Alfred Spector’s company logo printed on it, as well as the note you’d written – Thank you, Harry xx. Bitch. He dropped the napkin onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

He didn’t know what to say. And it wasn’t like he’d been all that serious about Aster to begin with. She was gorgeous and they’d known one another for a while but that was where his attraction ended. In all honesty, he didn’t like her that much. Perhaps this was for the better, as much of an asshole as that made him seem.

“Aster, look…” he sighed and sat down at the edge of the messy bed, “You and I weren’t exactly serious. It’s always just been casual. You know that,” he looked at her with her hands on her hips, red in the face, tears just breaking her lash line. “I’m sorry. You and I were never headed for marriage. It was just some fun for a bit.”

“Some fun? I flew out here to see you on a whim. Not because I thought you were just a bit of fun but because I actually did like you. But you know what? You’re right. I don’t think I could have ever pictured myself marrying someone like you. Selfish, pathetic, overly regimented. You’re doomed to die alone, Harry.”

She pressed her lips together and waited for a response but when it didn’t come she stomped toward the door, slamming it behind her on her way out.

Harry smoothed his expensive blazer out and brushed off the feeling he was getting as he walked through the hallway to the foyer and then peeked into the sitting area where his interviewee would be sitting and waiting for him.

He nearly jumped back when his eyes met yours. Both of your faces held the same expression. Complete shock lined with minor disgust.

“This must be a joke,” you stood up from the plush silk-lined chair you’d been sitting in and looked around the room as if someone were going to pop out and tell you that you were on that show, Candid Camera, and it was all for a good laugh.

But the only person in your sight was the man you had a one-night stand with. The cocky asshole who’d treated you like garbage and then kicked you out of his room when he got a call from someone.

“I think there must be a mistake… You’re… are you a personal assistant? I’m confused.” Harry mimicked your body language, pivoting himself to look around to see if he could find someone and demand answers.

“Yes. That’s what I do for a living. But clearly, I have no intention of working for anyone like you, so if you don’t mind…” you picked up your briefcase and began to walk toward Harry to move past him and see yourself out.

But just as you walked through the threshold of the sitting room to the foyer Harry spoke, “Y/n.”

You stopped and turned to look at him in question.

“Come. Let’s have a chat,” he turned and began walking toward the grand stairwell that led upstairs, turning back to make sure you were following.

You blinked your eyes and scoffed as you looked down at your red-painted nails. Should you follow him? What would be the point? Just to hear him insult you and turn you away at the end anyway?

“You are looking for a job, are you not?” Harry spoke from the bottom of the stairwell, his hand on the lacquered wooden banister.

“I am. But… I don’t think this would work out.” You gestured at him.

“You and I are professionals and you come highly regarded. I’m in great need of an assistant. At the very least we can have a discussion and see where it takes us. I don’t like my time wasted and I’m sure you don’t either. You came all the way here. Let’s at least talk.”

Harry thought you looked cute and he could see the gears turning in your head. He could deal with the one night he’d had with you and the very improper thing you’d done which outed him to Aster if you were good at what you did.

“Yeah, but we…” you chose your words carefully, “Friday night? I honestly don’t think–“

“I can look past that if you can. This is strictly professional. I’ve no interest in anything more.”

What were you to do? He hadn’t just been a one-night stand. He was an asshole. Could he really pretend that none of that had happened? Could you?

But. There was the matter of the salary he was offering. An enticing and frankly irresistible number that could have you swallowing your pride.

“Fine. But I can assure you I will not tolerate being treated like…” you paused to carefully choose your words again. You were certain his house had staff listening in.

Before you could find the word you were seeking, Harry spoke, “Like an assistant who is paid to do her job flawlessly?” He began to take the steps upward and you followed.

You frowned at his description. As if you wouldn’t do your job flawlessly. You weren’t sure what he was implying but you had a bad feeling about this.

When you followed him into a large study with dark woods and big windows with heavy drapes, a huge walnut desk with an expensive chair and bookshelves lining one of the walls he closed, and locked, you noted, the door behind himself, “Sit.”

You looked at the plushy green velvet chairs with tufted cushions and ornate carvings in the arms and legs and placed your bag down on the chair next to the one you sat in. He sat in his own chair at his desk and looked at you, a harsh expression on his face. He was far more intimidating in this setting.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he spoke clearly as he kept his eyes pinned to yours, “What you did when you left that night is unforgivable in a personal setting. And because of that, you and I will never be friends. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work well together as boss and employee. I expect complete discretion and a professional attitude from anyone that works for me. Is that a problem for you?”

You felt your ears growing hot as your anger slowly rose, “I am the most professional and discreet personal assistant you’ll ever find. Anyone else will disappoint you and I would also expect that any employer would treat me professionally and fairly. What you did to me that night was insulting and something I will never forget nor forgive. So don’t worry, I’d never want to be a friend to anyone like you.”

Harry clenched his jaw at your response and nodded, “Fair enough. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk job details and salary.” Harry looked down at his folder and opened it up.

“Salary? That part was already determined. Plus 10% on top if we come to an agreement on terms of employment today.” You reminded him.

Harry laughed and looked up at you with his head tilted to the side as if he were curious about you, “That was before I knew who I was offering such a generous salary to.” He looked down at the paper in front of him, marking something out and scribbling over it. He held the sheet of paper out to you.

You squinted at him and leaned forward to take the paper and your eyes widened at the new number he’d written in on the contract. You laughed and crumpled the paper as you stood from your chair, dropping it onto the floor and lifting your bag, “Goodbye, Mr. Styles.”

Turning and walking over the grand Persian rug that took up most of the floor you reached for the handle and when you pulled realized the door was locked. You placed your fingers over the keyhole and turned back to the smug fucker. He sat comfortably in his chair with his brows raised at you, unimpressed.

“Unlock the fucking door. This conversation is over.” You were fuming.

“And why’s that? I feel like that’s just a starting place. A negotiation if you will. Tell me why you deserve more and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“This isn’t a game. You had a perfectly fine offer that I was willing to negotiate off of but now you’re just insulting me, once again might add. I’d never work for anyone for that wage. Much less a self-absorbed man who treats women like rubbish.”

Harry folded his lips into his mouth as he tampered his grin. His cocky attitude was infuriating, “Oh please. Save the dramatics. Sit.”

You scoffed and shook your head, “No. You’re an overly egotistical moron with nothing to back it up. I will not stand for being insulted this way.”

Harry pushed himself out of his chair and began to walk toward you, “Nothing to back it up? Wrong,” he grinned as he looked around his extravagantly decorated room and back toward you, “This home is a great example of what I’ve got to show for my accomplishments. My bank accounts as well,” he slowly walked to your side and put his hand onto the heavy oak door you were standing in front of as he licked his lips and looked down at your outfit before looking directly into your eyes, “And I’m pretty sure I had you crying my name over and over again when I made you come. I’d say that’s a great reason for my inflated ego. You certainly thought I was great when I had my dick inside of you.”

You swallowed and then scowled at his nerve to bring up such a thing, “Well, like you said, I’m a bit dramatic. I was overplaying it that night because I didn’t want you to feel bad. Now open the fucking door.”

Harry’s smirk didn’t fall as he leaned in closer, “Liar. You loved it,” then he backed away, giving you enough space to breathe, “Not that you’ll ever have a chance to experience it again.”

“Like I’d want that little thing anywhere near me. Now, are you gonna open the door or do I need to call 911 for attempted kidnapping?” You dug into your bag and pulled your cell phone out.

Harry laughed and you watched in dismay as his dimples appeared. He looked too handsome to be such an asshole. He put his hands up in surrender, “Okay. Fine. We’ll go back to negotiating off the original salary plus 10%. Okay?”

You sighed. You hated that you were even considering it. The salary he was offering was too good, though. You could handle him if he kept personal matters out of your working relationship. The worst-case scenario would be that you quit and told the service about him and how he treated you (of course you’d gather evidence so no one else had to put up with his shit) and then find another job working for someone else.

You rolled your eyes and moved past him to go back to your seat.

Harry rounded the desk and sat down, putting his elbows on the desk once again, just like he’d done when you both first sat down to negotiate terms, “There we go. Money talks doesn’t it?”

Unfortunately, he was right. Money does talk.

You rolled your eyes again and looked at the back corner of his office to relieve yourself from his intense gaze.

“Less attitude, Y/n. Let’s begin, shall we?”

You suffered through an hour of going back and forth on expectations with Harry but at the end realized it wasn’t that bad. Once you both got out your frustrations at the beginning it seemed to flow smoothly after.

You even talked him into paying you 15% more, rather than just the 10%. Which you felt was a big win. Harry didn’t seem that phased by it.

He led you to what would be your room, which had your jaw dropping to the floor. It was… gorgeous. Like the rest of the house, it was grand and old but well-kept. The wide plank dark floors were covered with a light cream wool rug with small yellow, green, and blue flowers woven into the fabric. Long soft, lacy drapes hung from the ceiling and brushed against the floor over the tall windows that overlooked the massive back garden full of trees and flowers and fountains. The king-sized four-poster bed had a pale yellow, silk canopy with tiny blue birds sewn into the material. The bedspread was white silk with the same yellow and blue birds sewn in. Ornate, heavy wooden side tables, a dresser with a big vanity and silk-covered cushion sat across from the bed. An antique chandelier hung in the center of the room, high above the bed. Flowers and potted plants with green leaves rounded out the space. There were two closed doors. One led to a small closet (not a surprise it was so small for the period of the house), and the other to a fully updated, spa bathroom which… you really had to pause for a bit as you took it all in.

Harry handed you keys to the house and a fob key that would allow you in the gates that surrounded the home and told you to arrange to have your things moved in by the following day (on his tab) and that you would start work at 8am sharp.

You called Brandy the moment you drove out of the gates to tell her what had just happened.

“It’s him. It’s the asshole one-night stand. I just accepted the offer to be his assistant.”

“I’m coming over with a bottle of wine. I need details in person.”

“Brandy, I’ve got to make arrangements and get everything ready, I don’t know…” you hemmed as you drove down the road with your heart beating fast in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d just accepted to work with Harry Styles.

“Don’t make stupid excuses with me. You can do all that with a glass of wine in your hand.”

. . .

“I see why you took the job. Damn. I’m jealous,” Brandy spoke as she stood in your bedroom doorway while you packed up things you’d need right away. Harry explained that you’d be staying at his house more often during the week than your own apartment. He ran a tight schedule and driving an hour to his house every morning didn’t sound appealing and he didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“Yeah. I was going to say no. I really was but… how can I turn down that offer? I’ve never made so much in my life and honestly? Probably never will again. I figure it’ll be like a trial run. We’ll see if he can be professional.”

You called around and found movers and arranged for them to have everything delivered to Harry’s address the following afternoon. It was still early in the day so you scheduled to have a set of your spare keys delivered by a courier by 5 pm so they could have access to your apartment the following day as you’d be gone.

You were busy the whole time Brandy was there but you were glad she was with you. You marked items you needed to have delivered and printed out a sheet of paper for a checklist for the movers.

But by the time your keys were picked up by the courier and you were halfway through the bottle of wine, you’d finally had time to sit and relax.

“You two are totally gonna fuck again,” Brandy grinned as she looked at the TV.

You scoffed and smacked her arm, “We are not. I’d never go near him again. Not after that night. I actually, fully despise him.”

“Yeah… sure. I mean… I know he was an asshole but also the way you spoke about how good he was in bed? How do you turn that down? You two are gonna practically be living together and traveling together. I don’t know… I looked him up. He’s hot, Y/n. An asshole but… we all have needs.”

Shaking your head you sipped your wine and ignored her. The thought had very very briefly crossed your mind but it was quickly pushed away because the reminder of how he treated you Friday night couldn’t be ignored. You’d never ever forget the way he made you feel so little and so disgusting.

“He literally cheated on someone while he was with me. He had a girlfriend. He fucked me as she was on her way over. Like…” you flailed your arms dramatically, “how could I possibly sleep with someone that is a cheater? I mean willingly? Now that I know?” You shook your head.

Still, Brandy didn’t seem deterred in her assumption, “Yeah… but we don’t really actually know who called him. And if it was someone he was seeing? I mean… come on. It’s not as if they were married. We can gather that much. Yeah, he’s shit for what he did but like… I don’t know,” she shrugged, “It’s not like he cheated on his wife or something.”

Brandy had always looked at things through rose-tinted glasses which was annoying. Where you were more practical and stubborn. There was no way you’d end up in his bed ever again. You didn’t know the excuse for why he kicked you out after he spoke on the phone and called someone babe. But that was beside the point. The more important factor was the way he treated you and that was simply unforgivable.

. . .

You were running late. You couldn’t believe it. Your alarm had gone off on time. You showered, ran through your quick morning routine, double-checked that all your things would be delivered to the correct address, and then you were on the road by 6:45 am. You allotted an extra 15 minutes in case of extra bad traffic.

But traffic is unpredictable.

“Hello?” Harry spoke into the receiver. You had your phone on speaker.

“Harry? Mr. Styles!” You corrected yourself, “Um… I’m stuck on the highway and it’s a bit backed up. I’m just giving you a heads up that I’ll be like…” You sighed and looked at the clock trying to make some kind of conservative estimate, “twenty minutes late?”

You heard him grunt in response and then sigh, “Fine. Please come up to my office the minute you walk in.” And then he hung up. That was it.

And of course, you half expected such a response. He gave you little indication of his opinion on you being late. You just hoped he didn’t hold it against you on your first day. It had genuinely been out of your hands. But then again, you being at the house with him on subsequent mornings would mean that being late in this way wouldn’t happen ever again.

When you parked at the front of the house you finagled your suitcase out of the backseat and lugged it up the front steps just as the door opened, “Good morning, Miss. Can I bring this to your room for you?” An older man stood with a smile as he scooped your suitcase away from you.

“Oh. Uh… Okay. Are you sure?” You followed him inside.

“Absolutely. Mr. Styles is expecting you right away.”

You swallowed and watched the man walk away as you took a breath. Your first day working for Harry Styles. Possibly also your last, depending on how everything went.

You climbed the stairs toward his study and knocked twice before pushing the door open gently.

“Come and sit.” He spoke right away. He didn’t even glance your way as he continued typing at his computer when he spoke.

You sat in the same chair you had the day previous and waited for him to finish whatever he was doing.

He cleared his throat and squinted at his computer screen, “I’m an art dealer as I mentioned yesterday. But… it’s more complicated than that sometimes. I deal in art and cultural artifacts that can sometimes be a bit…” he looked at you, “morally grey in the way they are handled. It’s rare but I do occasionally have opportunities and come across certain pieces when a collector is willing to pay an exorbitant finder’s fee for the item.”

“Morally grey. Which means illegal.” You corrected, keeping your eyes on him.

He shook his head, “No. Nothing I do is illegal. Some take issue with some of the items I procure and where they come from, but ultimately, everything I do is technically legal.”

You nodded. You didn’t know what he meant exactly. But you assumed you’d be finding out soon enough.

After Harry explained in detail your schedule from day to day, he had Lucio give you a quick tour of the parts of the house you didn’t see the day before. He even had a binder with your tentative weekly schedule, important numbers to have on hand, addresses, passcodes, a new laptop, and passwords to his login details for various online accounts. He also handed you a credit card, “You’ll make all your own arrangements as well as mine. The limit on this card will cover the cost of flights and accommodations. You and I will be traveling frequently, as I mentioned yesterday.”

Your morning was filled with short bursts of Harry giving you information and what to expect, but half of that consisted of you waiting while he spoke on the phone and typed out emails. You couldn’t imagine why an art dealer would be as busy as seemed to be. Clearly, he was making lots of money so there was no doubt that he was busy with clients. But why?

You researched the ins and outs of being an art dealer the evening before, once Brandy’s Uber arrived to take her home. The typical art dealer did not make the kind of money you knew Harry had. Most also typically worked through auctions, galleries, and museums. Harry seemed to be his own entity doing deals as an individual. So you knew he wasn’t typical in his field.

At lunchtime you were hungry. You’d eaten something small before dashing to your car that morning but that had long been digested.

“Mr. Styles?” You looked at him from your spot in your chair as you closed your new laptop.

He looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s lunchtime for me. I was hoping I could get something to eat if that’s okay? You should probably also eat. I can bring you something if you take your lunch up here.” You honestly couldn’t have cared less if he ate, but you were so used to making sure Alfred ate that asking Harry was automatic.

Harry’s brows scrunched together and he looked at his computer screen, “Hadn’t realized the time. Sure. Feel free to make something for yourself or you can ask Carl to. I’d like a vegan cassoulet.”

You stood and looked at him in confusion, “A vegan… what?”

“A vegan cassoulet,” He pronounced the word obnoxiously, “Carl will know what I want. Just tell him.”

You repeated the word to yourself. Cas ooo lay – cas ooo lay… You thought it sounded like one of those French dishes you’d never ventured to try.

In the kitchen, you found Carl right away and told him what Harry wanted.

“And what for you?” He began to pull out pans and got to work right away.

“I can manage. I think just a sandwich. Is everything here in the fridge?” You opened up the door and immediately were overwhelmed by the amount of groceries and items packaged inside. The fridge itself was state-of-the-art. Everything in the kitchen was.

Carl laughed and stepped up behind you, “You can find everything you might need in this kitchen yes. But perhaps we’ll leave the cooking to me today, just until you get used to where everything is. What kind of sandwich would you like?”

“Oh. Maybe that’s a good idea. You don’t mind?”

Shaking his head, Carl reached passed you to pull out some vegetables, “Not at all. This is what I do. How about a French bread panini? I can slice up some turkey and Swiss, load it with vegetables? Or maybe you’d prefer grilled chicken and pesto? Egg salad? Or are you vegetarian?”

You laughed and shook your head, “I’m definitely not vegetarian. And the first one sounds fine. Turkey and Swiss panini. Any veggies you put on it will be good. I just don’t like mayo.”

It was wild to be having lunch made for yourself by a professional private chef. And Harry’s cassoulet looked divine but after googling it you learned it’s usually made with various kinds of meat and that the duck confit is what makes the dish. But since his version was supposedly vegan, you couldn’t imagine it tasting anything like it was probably supposed to.

You also learned that Carl wasn’t just a personal chef. He also did all the grocery shopping.

After lunch, your belongings arrived. The movers placed everything in your new bedroom and handed you the key to your apartment before they left.

“This is it?” Harry asked standing in the doorway as he looked around at the boxes and bags you’d had delivered.

“Yeah. I don’t have much I need to keep here. You’ve got the room fully furnished. Just my clothes and essentials.” You shrugged as you opened up the box near the bed.

You could feel Harry’s eyes on you as you dug into the box and pulled out your potted Pothos plant. “What?” You looked at him as you placed the plant on the floor.

“Nothing. Um,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I think it’s a good stopping point today. We’ve got you set up on everything so you can unpack and relax. Normally our days will be longer but since it’s your first…” he put both arms down by his side and stopped fidgeting, “It’s good for today. And like I said earlier, you are free to watch TV in the main room downstairs or get anything from the kitchen you need at all. You don’t need to just stay in your room all night unless you choose to.”

You squinted at him, wondering if there was some kind of catch. He was rather pleasant, you had to admit. After you both got everything out of the way the day before things had been fine. Normal even. But you still had to keep your guard up around him. And all it took to remember who you were dealing with was what he’d done that night.

You decided against going downstairs to watch TV. Maybe you’d feel comfortable enough to do that later on but that night, it felt nice to take a long bath and listen to music and then curl up on your soft, silky bed with your laptop and Netflix.

Though you did get thirsty. And a bit hungry around 8. So you ventured down and hoped to not run into anyone.

Except of course, you ran into someone. When you entered the kitchen you saw Harry standing in front of the refrigerator looking in. Apparently, he had the same idea as you.

You cleared your throat and Harry turned to see you there, “Oh, hey.” He closed the fridge and faced you, “Need something?”

You nodded and stepped toward the pantry, “A little hungry and thirsty. Is it okay?”

“Of course it is. Help yourself to whatever. I was just about to make some pasta. Something simple. Would you like some?”

“Yeah. I can help you make it. What do we need?” You neared the fridge and opened it up, pulling out a glass pitcher of water.

Harry ran down the list of ingredients, which weren’t many, and you helped him slice garlic while he boiled the pasta and poured a can of San Marzano tomatoes into a small pot.

Everything came together quickly and you both sat at the island to eat the late-night meal together.

“Tomorrow we’ll book a trip to Vancouver. Someone has a few pieces I’d love to see in person.” Harry explained what to expect on the trip as you listened.

Then you got to talking about your parents and then college. Harry shared a little about himself but it wasn’t much. You didn’t expect that he would, but he did tell you about his mom and sister. You could tell how important they were to him just by the way he spoke. It made you feel warm toward him in a way knowing that he cared about people other than himself. Something you hadn’t been sure about as he seemed so cold.

When you were both done you tried to help him clean up, “You don’t have to do this, Y/n. I’ve got a housekeeper who will be here in the morning. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“Are you sure? Are you headed to bed?” You asked as you placed the forks into the sink.

He nodded, “Yeah. Time to call it a night.”

“Do you always go to bed this early,” you grinned as you refilled your water to bring it with you to your room.

He raised his brows, “Yeah. I get up at 4:30 in the morning to start my day so 9:30 or 10 is about when I go to bed.”

You cringed to yourself. 4:30 in the morning? That sounded like hell.

You both went your separate ways as you bid Harry good night.

. . .

You had a busy morning. You booked a trip for the following week to Vancouver for yourself and Harry. Two nights at The Four Seasons (2 separate rooms, connected), first-class airline tickets, a reservation for the 2nd evening at a nice restaurant for four people, an on-call driver for the whole visit, and set-up details with someone’s assistant named Lana for the meeting.

Harry wanted everything to be perfect so you had to work at extracting as much information from Lana as possible. At first, Lana sent you an itinerary that was rather simple and would have most people feeling good about the meeting. But Harry took one look at it and knew he needed more information. So you spent the majority of your morning speaking with the young woman and filling in details that appeared to be missing.

“This is excellent, Y/n,” Harry looked up at you as he stood from his desk. The itinerary and all the bookings were taken care of. “I’m leaving to take care of something personal. You can have the rest of the day off. Thank you.”

You felt pleased. So far, working for Harry hadn’t been all that bad. He was picky and hard to please but you could handle him. You just hoped that the momentum you two had would continue into the weeks ahead.

. . .

You met Brandy out at your favorite club. You wore a cute black dress and black booties and your black leather jacket.

“Oh damn, girl! You look good!” Brandy called to you when she spotted you through the crowd.

“I can’t stay all night! I have to work in the morning, so I stop at 2 drinks!” You spoke loudly so Brandy could hear.

Brandy’s side eye told you that your friend would be trying to get you to enjoy yourself for longer. But you couldn’t. The last thing you wanted to do was to be on Harry’s bad side and be hungover the next morning.

But, Brandy was convincing. Too convincing at times.

Four martinis in and you were painfully aware that you wouldn’t be driving back. You’d need an Uber and that kind of sucked because Harry would know when your car wasn’t there. But… since you’d already need to Uber and you were already out, you had a fifth martini and danced with Brandy and forgot all about your promise to yourself.

The night grew blurry and you couldn’t stop talking about your boss.

“He’s so put together too,” you slurred as you and Brandy leaned into one another, too drunk to dance or drink anymore.

“I know. You keep saying that. And how big his cock was,” Brandy laughed and you pushed her, causing her to stumble back dramatically so you reached out to steady her but wound up falling with her to the floor in a fit of laughter.

Yeah, you’d gotten sloppy drunk.

“I need to go,” you pushed yourself up to stand as you reached for your cell phone. You could hardly see straight, and pulling up the Uber app was simply not going to work. Instead, you called the second to last person you’d texted, Harry. You really hadn’t put much thought into it.

He answered the line and you pushed your way toward the front of the club to go outside, dragging Brandy with you, “Harry!” You howled loudly.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Club Yega. Can you pretty please come pick me up? I’m so drunk.” Your voice was scratchy and your words were watery.

Once you got outside you repeated your question, unable to hear what Harry had responded to you.

“Okay. Just wait for me outside. Is there anyone with you?” He sounded concerned.

“Brandy is here and the security guy standing by the door,” you said matter-of-factly before hiccupping.

Harry told you he’d be there soon and Brandy wobbled into your side as she used one eyeball to call an Uber for herself.

You were unable to recall how long it took for Harry to arrive, or when Brandy had gotten into her Uber and left but when you saw him, he was standing over you with his hand out, “Up you get,” he grasped your hand and helped you stand up. You’d been sitting on the sidewalk.

“Should be more responsible,” Harry chided you as he helped you to his running car, “No one’s watching over you. Where’s this friend you had with you?”

“She was here I promise but her Uber came to get her,” you stumbled into his car and plopped down into the seat with an umph!

Harry looked back at the front door security person and nodded to him as he rounded the car and got inside.

“Harry, I’m sorry. I was going to only have 2 drinks. Swear.”

“It happens. But you should have called me sooner. Don’t like that you were sitting out there alone like that. It’s late. And we have an early day tomorrow.”

You turned to look at him as he pulled into the street and reached a hand up to the curl that covered the top of his ear, “You’re so pretty. Which is weird because you’re such a fucking dick.”

Harry shook his head and laughed to himself as he kept his eyes on the road.

“I’m serious. You’re too pretty for it to be real. Your voice even.” You croaked.

Harry glanced at you quickly, “Oh yeah?” His grin widened. He knew the alcohol was talking but he certainly didn’t mind hearing your thoughts about him while you were inebriated.

“Yeah,” you lowered your finger to his shoulder and then poked at his bicep before dropping your hand back into your lap, “Nice everything. Except you’re not actually nice are you?” You let out a garbled laugh and closed your eyes for a moment.

“Hey… Come on. You’re drunk. Just close your eyes and we’ll be home soon.”

You shook your head and looked back at him, “Bossy too. But it sucks because it was so good that night. God I still think about it… and then I remember how you kicked me out like I was filthy. That was mean. Hurt my feelings.”

Harry sighed and stayed quiet. He was not going to engage in this kind of conversation with you while you were drunk. He was sure you wouldn’t remember any of it anyway.

But you didn’t stop there, “I wish I could stop thinking about it, though. S’not fair.”

Harry kept his eyes on the road and listened.

“The way you sounded when you were coming. I keep hearing it,” you squeezed your thighs together and looked out the window with a soft sigh. “Never had it like that before. But fuck you.”

Harry swallowed and blinked his eyes. He was a little surprised by your drunk confession. He liked that you thought fondly of some aspects of that night. Clearly you had enjoyed the sex. But to hear you saying how your feelings were hurt and that you were still angry about it all?

He looked over at you and down to your thigh where your dress had ridden up quickly before looking back at the road. He still refused to engage in this. You were drunk. Very much so.

“And your hands, Harry…” you reached over to brush your fingers over the back of his hand that was gripped on the steering wheel, “Oh god…” you breathed your words, “Your fingers. How good you are with them,” you bit your lip and leaned your head back into the leather seat and closed your eyes. “But still fuck you.”

When you were silent for a few minutes Harry looked over at you and noticed you were asleep.

He was glad you’d stopped staying the things you were. Your words had him confused. You were going from hot to cold fast. But he knew you wouldn’t ever reveal such things to him if you hadn’t been so far gone.

Waking you up gently, he put his arms under yours to help you out of his car, “We’re home, Y/n. Let’s get you up to bed.”

You were able to use your legs, but things were spinning. You clung tightly to Harry as he slowly brought you upstairs to your room.

When your bottom hit your mattress you laid back and sighed, “I might throw up,” you said.

Harry laughed quietly and shook his head as he helped you out of your shoes. He knelt down and unzipped the leather to pull each one off. He didn’t intend to let his eyes wander over your legs and your thighs, but your dress had gotten bunched up so he could practically see your panties. And then they were fully on view when you scooted yourself into your bed further.

Harry leaned over you and pulled your blankets up over your body, “I’ll be right back with water.”

He couldn’t believe how adorable he thought you were. Even though you were still angry at him over what he’d done he liked the sass a little. He was definitely attracted to you. There was no doubt in his mind about that. He tried not thinking about that night with you but after you’d brought it up he couldn’t help himself but to indulge in thoughts of the way you felt and how wet you got for him. Your body, your voice… You were good with your hands too, he smiled remembering your comment about how you liked his hands. But of course, the smile fell from his face when he remembered how the night ended. How shitty he’d been. But now things were too complicated and he wasn’t sure that any kind of apology would ever be enough.

When he got back to your room you were asleep. Out cold. He placed the water on your nightstand and brushed his fingers along your forehead. You were cute.

He plugged in your cell phone and smiled at your sleeping face.

“Good night, pretty girl,” he whispered as he turned off the lamp next to you before leaving the room and closing the door behind himself.

Part 3

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seonghrtz · 3 months

Text

𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 ✶ sukuna ryomen

꒰ true beauty ! ꒱ an arrogant prince falls under the spell of an enchantress, who turns him into the hideous four-armed beast until he learns to love and be loved in return.

❛❛ in the end, she was his salvation and his downfall ❜❜

pairing. prince!sukuna ryomen x (belle)fem!reader.

contents. the beauty and the beast alternative universe, fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers (?), he fell first he fell harder, royal!au, sukuna true form as the beast, occ sukuna.

amy's note. hi sweetie, this is amy!!! this is the first story in the fairy tale series, starring sukuna ryomen in the beauty and the beast universe. initially i was going to put sukuna in the cinderella story, just because of the fandom memes (jjk x disney princess), but i think he as an arrogant beast who has never loved anything would make much more sense and fit in better. anyway, that's it, i hope you like it!!!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

𝕺𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, in a kingdom far away, there was a handsome young prince who lived in a magnificent castle, and even though he had everything he wanted, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and rude. But one winter night, in the middle of a storm, an old woman came to the castle and offered him a simple rose in exchange for shelter from the cold and rain. Disgusted by her ugliness, the prince scoffed at the offer and sent the old woman away. But she advised him not to be deceived by appearances because beauty lies within people and in their hearts, and when he sent her away again, she was transformed into a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, as she realized that there was no love in his heart. And as punishment, she turned him into a hideous four-armed monster and plagued the castle and everyone who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous appearance, the prince hid in the castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she offered was enchanted. It would bloom until the twenty-first year, if he learned to love someone and it was reciprocated by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be undone, otherwise he would be doomed to remain a monster forever. Over the years, he fell into despair and lost all hope. After all, who could love a monster?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

The day began with a flurry of activity in the small village. Residents greeted each other as they went about their morning chores, and others opened their shops. Y/n, a beautiful young woman, made her way through the crowd with one goal in mind: to get to the village library. After buying some fresh bread and gathering the missing parts for her father's latest invention, the young woman made her way to the small library to return the book she had borrowed last week.

"Good morning, Mr. Higuruma." Y/n said as soon as she saw the man from the shop holding a pile of books. "I'm here to return the book I bought last week."

"Miss Y/n, good to see you again," the brunette said, placing the pile of dusty books on the table in the corner of the shop. "Unfortunately, the delivery of new books has been postponed until next week."

"Oh, no problem." Y/n approached the bookshelf, put the book she had picked up the week before back in its place, and ran her finger along the spines of the other books, looking for one in particular. "I think I'll take this one!" She took the book from the shelf and showed the cover to Higuruma, who just laughed.

"That must be the tenth time you've read that one."

"But this is the best book, certainly my favorite. Distant kingdoms, battles, and a princess who saves the prince. Sometimes, it's hard not to see myself as the protagonist. Living an adventure and finding her true love, something much bigger than life in the country.”

"Since you like this one so much, I'm giving it to you as a present."

"Mr. Higuruma, I can't accept that!" she looked at him, astonished at the idea, while the man in front of her just smiled.

"You're my most loyal customer. You've read all the books I have in the library. And maybe the only one with a real interest in reading."

"Thank you, that's very nice of you." Y/n smiled happily at the gift and the bookseller's gesture.

"You're welcome. Next time I'll have some new books for you!"

"Thank you, Mr. Higuruma!" Y/n waved, smiled, and left the shop. The young woman stared at the cover of the book, the worn blue leather and the worn gold lettering, it was a simple book, but with an extraordinary story behind its simplicity.

The young girl was so busy studying the book that she barely noticed Gaston's not-so-subtle appearance at her side.

"My beautiful lady!" Gaston said, thickening his voice and stopping in front of Y/n, preventing her from continuing on her way.

"Gaston..." she rolled her eyes and looked away from the book in her hands to the man in front of her.

"My beautiful Y/n, when are you going to realize that we are soul mates and forget about these books, which by the way have no figure, how can you like this so much?" He said, taking the object out of the girl's hands and giving her (or trying to give her) a gallant smile.

"Well, you just have to use your imagination while reading and I think you're reading the wrong signals about us," the girl took the book back and turned away from the man, "I have to go now, have a nice day, Gaston."

Y/n walked quickly back to her house, which was a short distance from the village. When she got home, she left the fresh bread on the breakfast table and picked up the tools her father had asked for before going down to where he was conducting his experiments and inventions.

"Dad? I brought what you asked for."

"Thank you, dear!" The girl's father came out from under the machine and took the object his daughter had offered him.

"Dad..."

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you think we'll live here for long?"

"Oh, dear, when I become a great inventor, we'll travel the world!" Her father stepped out from under his invention, ready to finally put it into action. "Let's hope it works, dear!"

As soon as the machine was turned on, the parts began to move and a sound was heard, the axe on top moved down and cut the wood on the bench.

"Dad! It works! Your machine works!" the young woman said excitedly.

"And the axe didn't fly away!"

"Dad, you're going to be a great inventor!" The young girl hugged the older man, finally her father's dream would come true and he would become a great inventor.

"Oh dear! I must run and pack my things to go to the city!" The old man said excitedly, pacing back and forth, "You don't mind being alone for a few days, my child?"

"Of course not, Dad. Go after your dreams." The young woman smiled openly and hugged her father once more. "Come, let's pack your things for the trip."

Together with her father, the girl went up to the house and helped him prepare the small suitcase along with some snacks for his trip to the city. Ever since they had moved to this small village in the countryside, her father had been working tirelessly on various inventions that had failed one after the other, causing his reputation as a madman to grow among the locals. However, she had seen him fail and never give up, that was his dream, to become a great inventor and help people with his inventions and there was nothing that would stop him until he managed to make his inventions work. And if his invention surprised the judges in the competition and managed to win first place, maybe Y/n would not have to settle for a life in the country while her father could work on his "crazy gadgets".

The young woman stroked the horse's copper-brown coat while her father checked the bag with some tools.

"Be careful on your way, Dad." Y/n hugged him and helped him onto his horse.

"I'll be back in a few days, don't worry about me!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ✶

The next day, Y/n awoke in high spirits, hoping that her father's trip to the city would be smooth and without danger. She put on a simple blue dress and headed for the kitchen, but before she could prepare breakfast, a knock on the door echoed through the house, along with a voice she knew well. On tiptoe, Y/n reached the door and looked through the peephole, seeing Gaston from an unfavorable angle.

"My dear Y/n! Are you home?" Gaston thickened his voice and puffed out his chest, even though no one could see him, "I have an offer you can't refuse!"

The young woman took a deep breath and opened the door with a fake smile on her lips. "Good morning, Gaston. Don't you think it's a little early for one of your proposals?"

"Oh, my beautiful lady, it's never too early for my irrefutable proposal!" Gaston said as he walked past Y/n and sat down in the dining room chair. "You know, my dear, I think you've noticed by now that I'm the best suitor in the village. It would be a shame for you to let me go. And lately, I've been thinking of certain ways to take our relationship a step further."

"Our relationsh–" The young woman's speech was interrupted by Gaston, who abruptly rose from his chair and spoke again.

"Think about it, a little house in the country, a small herd of cattle, a plantation, seven, no, ten children with my beautiful face, and you know what else I see?" Gaston looked at Y/n, but before she could answer, he continued, "My beautiful wife greeting me after a day's hunting.”

"You've been using your imagination a lot..." the young woman whispered to herself.

"And do you know who my wife is that I see in this beautiful future of mine?" Gaston approached the young woman, pressing her against the wall.

"How could I imagine?"

"It's you, my beautiful Y/n."

"Oh, Gaston!" Y/n held back the urge to make an expression of disgust at the scenario the man in front of her was describing, "I'm... flattered...? Yes, flattered by such affection, but I think this is wrong, you know, I think you've made a mistake.”

"How can I be wrong? You're the only one in this village whose beauty is on my level.”

"Beauty? Is that all you care about?" Y/n looked at him confused, she knew Gaston was shallow and self-centered, she just didn't get that he was trying to get her to marry him just because she was "the most beautiful girl in the village".

"And what else should I care about?"

"Well..." The young woman took a deep breath, "I think it's time for you to go... oh, I just heard Lefou say he's spotted a huge, fast deer that can't be caught!”

"A huge, fast deer that can't be caught?" Gaston's eyes widened. "Well, call your crazy father later so we can decide about our marriage."

"That won't be necessary because I'm not marrying you!" Y/n closed the door and locked it with all the locks her father had created. Ignoring Gaston's cry that she would be his one day, the young woman turned, leaned her back against the door, and slid to the floor.

Marry Gaston? It was a terrible nightmare. Not even if Gaston was the last person on earth would Y/n marry him. She had so much to do, so many places to explore, so many people to meet. And if she was going to get married, it certainly wouldn't be to someone as shallow as Gaston; she wanted someone who really liked her and her personality, not her looks.

The girl slowly got up, unlocked the door, and looked outside her house to see if the man had already left and wouldn't come back when he realized the huge deer was a lie. She did, however, notice a familiar copper brown horse galloping quickly toward her house.

"Phillipe?" She left the house, closing the door behind her, and walked toward the animal. "Where's my father, Phillipe?" The girl said, noticing her father's absence and the horse's exhilaration. "Phillipe, take me to my father, please!" Desperate to think of the worst that could happen to her father, the young woman pulled out the cart containing her father's invention and quickly mounted the horse, asking him to lead her down the path to where her father was. Phillipe raced through the dark paths of the forest, causing Y/n to shiver at the eeriness of the forest, while her mind wandered far away, worried about her father's current situation.

Phillipe began to slow down as a huge castle appeared on the horizon. It was so large and terrifying that it looked like something out of a horror book, though it seemed to blend into the desolate landscape around it. But perhaps what intrigued Y/n most was that she had never heard anyone in the village talk about the place ⸻ and it intrigued her even more because the castle didn't seem to be secret at all.

Y/n dismounted and looked around, trying to find the courage to open the gate in front of her. She would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't afraid of this dark, unknown place. But the important thing there wasn't to prove her courage, but to find out where her father was. The gate was cold and made a terrible noise when it opened, but that didn't stop her from continuing.

"Hello!" The young woman said loudly as she entered the castle. "Is anyone here?" She narrowed her eyes, trying to see in the pitch black, but quickly found a lit candelabra. "I'm sorry to barge in uninvited, but I just came to get my father! Please... help me find my father!" Y/n walked aimlessly through the castle, following only her faint intuition of where he might be. "Hello? Is anyone there?" She spotted a staircase that seemed to lead to the top of one of the castle's towers. "Dad, are you there?"

"Y/n, my daughter?" Her father's weak voice called out.

Quickly, Y/n left the chandelier on the stone near the wall and ran to her father, who was trapped. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"My dear daughter..." the girl's father coughed before continuing, "You must run before he arrests you too..." Before the girl could say anything, footsteps echoed through the room.

"Who's there?" She looked around for the person who had just entered the scene.

"I'm the one asking the questions, impertinent girl." The stranger's gruff voice sent a shiver of fear down the young woman's spine.

"Please let my father go!" The girl pleaded.

"I'm not in the mood for that."

"What? How can you be so cruel? Can't you see he's in bad health?"

"He should have thought twice before he broke into my castle."

"Please let him go! I promise we will never see each other again!"

"Empty promises. I'm not really interested in that."

"Then..." the young woman took a deep breath, "let me take his place."

"My daughter! Don't do this!" her father said with tears in his eyes. How could he lose his daughter right before his eyes.

"Things are getting more interesting..." the person in the darkness laughed. "A fair trade, the old flesh for the new... uh, I'll take that trade, impertinent girl."

Before Y/n could speak, her body was thrown into a cell. The young woman quickly approached the iron bars and watched as her father was brutally removed from where he lay. Her father screamed her name and tried to get away from the person, but it was impossible to escape.

In the darkness, the girl could see the castle owner's back. The broad shoulders were adorned with black lines that ran the length of his back and, most shocking to the young woman, the four muscular arms that protruded from the side of his body.

Y/n was not only the prisoner of a shady castle owner with a serious personality problem but also of a giant monster with four arms who could finish her off with a snap of his fingers.

Minutes later, the owner of the castle reappeared and abruptly opened the door to the cell Y/n was in. The girl looked up at him, her eyes watering, afraid of what might happen to her from this moment on.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to follow me?"

"Where are we going?" she asked confused and scared as she followed the four-armed man.

"The basement..." his voice came out loud and clear, making the young woman shudder. "Shall I take you to a room, or would you rather stay in the tower?"

The girl had no answer, just followed him through the dark corridors of the castle.

"What's your name?" Y/n asked without thinking and quickly pressed her lips together, regretting her sudden action.

"Dinner will be served at eight." He said, opening a door at the end of the corridor, "If you don't come, you won't eat."

"Do you want me to have dinner with you?" the young woman asked him incredulously.

"It's either that or starve to death. You're lucky I'm giving you a choice..." he rolled his (four) eyes.

"I'm not having dinner with you!”

"THEN STARVE!" The four-armed man shouted angrily, frightening the girl, and slammed the door with a loud bang.

The young woman stared at the door in front of her, feeling tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She began to feel overwhelmed and staggered to sit on the bed. She had lost the two most important things to her on the same day: her father and her freedom. Now, she would have to live with an arrogant and rude being. Slowly, she raised her trembling hands to her face and wiped away the hot tears.

"Who's there?" she asked, startled when she heard a knock at the door. The girl got up and opened the bedroom door to find nothing there. She breathed a sigh of relief, but was startled to see a pot of tea and a cup in front of the door. "Tea?"

"Hello, Miss!" The cup said smiling, startling the girl.

"Itadori, what did I say about scaring our guest?" The teapot said, rebuking the cup's attitude.

"I'm sorry, Nanamin, and I'm sorry, Miss, for scaring you.”

"What... what's going on?"

"Forgive our rudeness," the teapot said, "I am Nanami Kento, I work as a mentor for the young Itadori Yuji, who is the younger brother of the master.

"Master?"

"Uh, Sukuna, the big guy with four arms."

"Sukuna..." Y/n whispered his name. The name actually suited him. "So this is like a magic castle?"

"You could say that," Nanami said, "Anyway, we came to ask you if you would like a cup of tea."

"If you don't mind, I'd love to." The teapot approached the cup and poured the warm liquid into it.

"Miss..."

"Please, just call me Y/n."

"As you wish, Y/n." Nanami said, being quite serious for a teapot, "I apologize for Master's inconsiderate and rude attitude."

"Mr. Nanami, please don't apologize for his actions, it's your master who should apologize, not you."

"She's right, Nanamin!" Itadori said with a cheerful voice, "My brother should stop being such a jerk and start learning not to be rude to people!"

"You two are quite different, Itadori," the young woman smiled at the cup in her hand.

"Let's just say I got the good genes from the family."

"Well, I'm afraid we've talked too much already, we have a feast to prepare. Come on, Itadori."

"Do you need any help?"

"Of course not, Y/n, you are our guest of honor!"

The young woman watched as the teapot and cup left the room, then threw herself back onto the bed. She had just been talking to a teapot and a cup... perhaps the things in there were not the most conventional she had ever seen in her life.

Filled with curiosity about the place, Y/n got out of bed and walked almost on tiptoe to the door, slowly opening it. She poked her head out of the room and looked around to see if anyone was guarding the door to the room she was in. When she realized that no one was there, she left the room, closing the door behind her, and began to wander around the castle with a curious look on her face.

This castle was certainly different from all the castles that appeared in the stories in the books she used to read. The decor was gloomy. The curtains looked as if they hadn't been opened for years, leaving everything in a darkness that the young woman was beginning to get used to.

Y/n climbed a flight of stairs and continued her exploration of the place. When she reached a dead-end hallway, she was about to turn around and return to her assigned room, but a faint glow from the slightly open door piqued her curiosity. Before entering the unfamiliar room, she looked around to make sure no one was around and entered, making as little noise as possible.

The darkness of the room prevented her from noticing the clutter and some upside-down furniture in the corner of the huge room, but also the glow of a beautiful rose near the glass door of the balcony that had captivated her. Before she could touch the glass that held the rose, Y/n felt a large, strong hand grab her wrist.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE?" Sukuna's hand closed tighter around Y/n's wrist.

"I was just–"

"I THINK YOU BETTER GET OUT OF MY WAY BEFORE I KILL YOU!" Sukuna let go of the girl's wrist, not caring how much force he used against her, and turned to look at the rose in front of him.

The words frightened Y/n more than Sukuna's tone. Fearing that the threat would become reality, the young woman ran as fast as she could, looking for an exit from the castle.

When she found the huge door, she opened it without a second thought, feeling an icy wind against her body. Her thin dress wasn't enough to keep her warm in the cold or protect her from the falling snow, but it was all she had and she wasn't going back to the castle just to find something to run away with ⸻ the chances of meeting Sukuna were high and something she didn't want at the moment.

A wolf's howl echoed through the forest, and Y/n tried to run as fast as she could in the snow. Her body was freezing more and more with each passing second, and her head was spinning since the only thing she had eaten during the day was the cup of tea Nanami had offered her. Dizzy, the young woman's vision blurred, and she stumbled over a branch that was in her way. Turning around, she saw a wolf staring at her with a hungry look and wished that the animal in front of her wasn't staring at her. But before she could get up and run away in a lousy attempt to save herself from a natural predator, Y/n noticed a huge figure coming up behind the wolf and picking a fight with the animal.

Gradually, the young woman felt her body tremble with fatigue and the cold, but she soon regained some consciousness when she felt large, muscular arms holding her. "You've come to kill me, Sukuna...?" her voice came out weakly.

"Shut up, you impertinent girl."

Before she could respond to Sukuna's words, the young woman felt her body give way completely, and everything went black.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ✶

When Y/n finally regained consciousness, she felt something soft underneath her and a pleasant warmth, but the sound of an argument brought her headache back. Sukuna's voice, the only one she could recognize, was loud and angry, and he didn't seem to mind shouting.

"I SWEAR, GOJO, THE NEXT TIME YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH, I'LL MELT YOU INTO LIQUID WAX AND THEN BREAK YOU IN HALF.”

"Master, I'm sorry to bother you."

"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT'S WRONG, GETO?!"

"Miss has just woken up."

"So you finally decided to wake up?" Sukuna turned to the young woman, his four arms crossed in front of his broad chest, and approached the sofa where she lay.

"What happened?"

"You fainted"

"How long was I unconscious?"

"About three days."

"What?" The girl looked at him, startled by his answer. Could she have been unconscious for so long just because she hadn't eaten?

"It's been two hours at most, now stop complaining because the food is getting cold." Sukuna turned his back to the young woman, allowing her to notice several scratches along his length, surely acquired in his fight with the wolf.

"Excuse me, miss, it is a pleasure to meet you, I am Gojo Satoru, currently your candelabra, but always at your service!" The talking candelabra approached the young woman, "If you would allow me, I would like to take you to the dining room, as some are incapable of doing such kindness!"

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Gojo," Y/n smiled slightly and got up from the sofa, following the chandelier into the dining room. She sat down at the end of the table laden with food and shivered slightly when she saw Sukuna join her in the meal, taking a seat at the other end of the table.

Dinner took place in deep silence, on the one hand there was Sukuna who didn't know how to start a conversation politely and on the other there was Y/n who was in an internal discussion with herself about Sukuna's heroic act of fighting a wolf hand to hand after she had run away. He saved her life even when he didn't have to ⸻ and even after he threatened to kill her.

When she finished her dessert, the girl picked up the glass bowl filled with water and a cloth from the table and slowly approached Sukuna, "Do you mind if I help you with those bruises?" she asked in a low tone, but audible enough for the man to hear.

"Whatever." Though he seemed indifferent to the girl's request, Sukuna moved and turned onto his back, giving her better access to his bruises.

"Does it hurt?" she asked as she dipped the cloth into the water and gently wiped the bruises.

"Not a bit."

"I'm sorry, I'm to blame for what happened to you.”

"I'm glad you know. If you hadn't had the stupid idea to run off in the middle of the night, I wouldn't have been hurt," he said in a rude tone.

"Well, I wouldn't have run away if you hadn't scared me and threatened to kill me."

"And I wouldn't have yelled at you if you hadn't entered the forbidden wing."

"You have never forbidden any wing of the castle, just like you never said I couldn't explore it." The young woman's words left Sukuna speechless. In fact, he had never forbidden her to go to his room. She had done nothing to deserve being cursed and threatened. "You should learn to control your anger. Otherwise, you'll only drive away those who love you." The room fell into such a deep silence that neither of them dared to speak for several minutes. When she had finished cleaning Sukuna's bruises, the girl placed the cloth on the table and turned to leave. "I think I'd better go back to my room. Have a good night," she whispered.

"Y/n..." Sukuna's calm voice brought the young woman to an immediate halt. It was the first time he had called her by name.

“Yes?”

"Have breakfast with me tomorrow."

"Was that supposed to be a request?"

Sukuna rolled all four eyes, "Could you have breakfast with me tomorrow?"

"Yes, we could." she smiled broadly, showing her teeth, amused by Sukuna's frustrated look, "I would love to, thank you for asking."

"Yeah... whatever." Sukuna looked away to some random point. "Go to sleep, impertinent girl."

“Good night, Sukuna.” The young woman smiled openly.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ✶

When Y/n rejoined Sukuna the next morning, her first reaction was to examine the cuts on the man's back. The young woman felt guilty about the injuries, for if she had thought twice about what she was doing, the fight might never have happened, and Sukuna might never have been hurt.

Breakfast was eaten in silence, with discreet glances exchanged. For some reason, after being rescued by Sukuna, the young girl had a new vision of the four-armed monster. It's true that he was rude and arrogant most of the time, but there was something about him that had the potential to be a kinder being. Sukuna wasn't purely evil. She could see that at dinner last night when something started to blossom between them. Sukuna, on the other hand, tried to remember that the girl was kind to everyone around her. He was no exception to her kindness and sweet touches.

"I want to show you something." Sukuna said, controlling his tone, which surprised the young woman.

"What is it?" She said curiously.

"Could you..." he sighed deeply "Could you come with me?"

"Of course!" She smiled at Sukuna's attempt to be polite.

Sukuna led the young woman through the castle, which, unlike the day before, had its curtains and windows open and didn't look so frightening in the light.

"This is... an apology... for scaring you yesterday..." Sukuna's voice was lower than usual, and the tips of his ears turned red as he looked away from the girl in front of him. He certainly couldn't look into the young woman's eyes, not when he thought her eyes were as beautiful as the starry sky.

The four-armed man opened the doors in front of him, revealing to Y/n a vast library filled with books from floor to ceiling.

"Oh my! That's wonderful!" Y/n smiled and looked around, "How did you know I liked books?"

"A hunch."

"Sukuna..." The girl approached the man, "I accept your apology, and thank you for showing me this place. I admire you for trying to change." The young woman's hand reached Sukuna's upper right arm, and she gently smoothed the boy's skin under her hand, sending a shock through Sukuna's huge body. "So, which book shall we read first?" she asked after noticing the sudden and strange silence of the man in front of her.

“We?” Sukuna looked at the woman in disbelief.

"Yes, us!" Y/n smiled, pulling Sukuna with some difficulty to look at the books in the large library. "I think we started our relationship in a very bad and strange way, but I think we can change that... if you want to, of course."

"You are too good for this world..." Sukuna whispered.

"What did you say?" Y/n turned to Sukuna, puzzled by what the other had whispered.

"That you talk too much and that you're very curious," he crossed his four muscular arms.

"Aren't you the least bit curious about the world?"

"The world is a cruel place full of arrogant men who dream of being gods, I don't think that arouses my curiosity.”

"You have a very dark view of the world..." The young woman looked at him in surprise.

"It's just reality..." Sukuna shrugged.

"And why don't you try to change that reality?" The girl ran her finger along the back of the books, "Maybe if you looked for a new perspective, you might be surprised by the result."

"I have a feeling I don't have time for this anymore.”

"And why not? There's a whole world of possibilities out there, behind the bars of the castle."

"Do you think I've been stuck in the castle all these years because I want to be? Ever since they turned me into that four-armed monster, I've been hiding. What do you think would happen if I walked around the village like a normal person? People would hunt me down and try to kill me.

"I'm sorry, I hadn't thought of it that way..." Y/n stared at the floor as she clutched the book in her hands, ashamed that she had never thought of it from that perspective.

"Whatever"

"Why did you turn into a monster?" The girl's words were out of her mouth before she could think twice. "Oh, I'm sorry for being so pushy."

"An old witch cursed me..." Sukuna shrugged as he sat down on one of the sofas in the library.

"And there's no way to break the spell?"

"It's more complicated than you think..."

"Sukuna... why are you hiding under this rude and arrogant personality?" The young woman approached him and sat down beside him.

"I've always been like this, so stop giving me a hard time." He rolled his eyes and looked away from the girl.

"You can trust me, I won't tell anyone. Everything you tell me here will stay here." She put her hand on Sukuna's hand, which was resting on his thigh.

"Which book did you get?" he asked, diverting the subject.

"One of adventure and romance," the young woman smiled, respecting the man's decision not to talk about his past, "would you like to read it with me?"

Sukuna sat down on the sofa with a false expression of disinterest and watched as Y/n smiled excitedly as she opened the book, ready to tell her favorite story to the man next to her.

Neither Sukuna nor the young woman noticed the passage of time, and they were only slightly surprised when Geto, the clock, and Gojo, the candelabra, entered the library to announce that lunch was served.

They ate lunch and dessert in silence, both afraid to break the pleasant atmosphere between them. When they returned to the library to finish the story, the young woman noticed the snow falling outside the castle.

"Sukuna... instead of reading again, why don't we go outside and enjoy the weather?" The young woman suggested with a slight smile on her face.

"Do you want to go outside?"

"Come on, it'll be cool!"

After they were properly warmed up (this was the first time the young woman had seen the boy with some kind of cloth covering his upper body), they both went out side by side into the castle's huge garden. Slowly, the girl walked away from Sukuna, and suddenly, in her actions, she bent down and picked up a handful of snow in her hands, forming a ball, and then hit the four-armed man in the face.

"Is this a request for war?" Sukuna bent down to form two snowballs with his four hands.

"Are you telling me you're too old to have fun?" she smiled, hiding behind a tree as she made another snowball.

A snowball fight ensued, with the young woman laughing every time she hit Sukuna with a ball. Y/n ran through the snow, laughing awkwardly, until she felt her body thrown to the ground and pinned by a body more than twice her size.

"What? Have you run out of things to do, you impertinent girl?" Sukuna smiled sideways, bringing a blush to the girl's cheeks beneath him.

"If you stand over me like that, it won't be as much fun..." Y/n looked away.

"Ah, but I find it very funny," he laughed anasally. One of his hands reached for the girl's chin, pulling her face (gently) so that she was facing him again.

"You have beautiful eyes..." the girl whispered, but because of the short distance between them, Sukuna was able to hear her perfectly.

"All four eyes? Or just a pair?" He smiled provocatively but was secretly curious to hear the girl's answer.

"Hm, I meant all four."

Sukuna's heart skipped a beat and he felt a warm feeling grow in his chest. He knew from the moment he saw her that his heart had chosen her, it was as if it broke into song every time she appeared in his field of vision. He knew he was lost the moment she was kind enough to take care of a monster like him and tend to his wounds. But there was still a problem. There had to be reciprocity, and he knew it wouldn't be possible to be loved, not by someone like her. In the end, she was his salvation and his downfall.

Sukuna stepped down from the young woman and lay down on the snow beside her, looking up at the clear, cloud-filled sky. "My parents never loved me. They said I was useless, a scum, a terrible curse in their lives. They never cared about me or Itadori."

"You deserve so much more, Sukuna, I can see it now." Y/n turned her head to meet the man's face in profile. "It can't have been easy, but I'm glad that you're here now," by my side, she added mentally.

“Y/n…”

“Yes, Sukuna?”

"Is there anything you've always dreamed of doing if you were in a castle?"

"Ah, well, there's only one thing I always dreamed of when I read fantasy books..."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ✶

"That dress looks magnificent on you, miss!" Shoko, the wardrobe, said with a slight smile on her face, she had chosen a long, voluminous yellow dress that looked like gold.

"I love the dress," the young woman smiled sweetly and smoothed the skirt with her gloved hands, "It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen. Thank you for helping me, Shoko."

"Go ahead, dear." Shoko said with her calm tone and a lazy smile on her lips, "Have fun with Master Sukuna."

Y/n left the room, feeling her heart beating hard against her chest. It was as if the organ was ready to jump out of her body and run away. Perhaps the girl was worried about the extent to which her feelings had grown since meeting Sukuna ⸻ and especially after the new vision she had after being saved by him. Though he had his monstrous appearance and rough manner to keep his vulnerability from being exposed, the girl knew that deep down, Sukuna could be good and kind.

"Not bad." Sukuna smiled sideways as he met the girl in the hall. He was wearing one of his prince suits, which had been transformed for this very situation.

"Can you really dance?" she asked, trying not to sound so doubtful about the supposed waltzing skills of the man in front of her.

"Since I was five years old." Sukuna replied, taking the girl's hand and placing it on his shoulder while holding her other hand tightly. His lower arms found a place around her waist together with the upper one that was already there. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." She said with a smile.

The music echoed around the room, and Sukuna led Y/n, swaying from side to side until the girl got used to the dance moves. Their eyes met for a moment, and Sukuna lost himself in the depth and brilliance of the woman's eyes before him. The man had always found her beautiful, ever since that dimly lit night in the tower when they first met, she was certainly the most beautiful woman in his eyes, there was no beauty that could compare to hers. As time passed, Sukuna realized that her outward beauty was perhaps only comparable to her own inner beauty, which managed to be much more beautiful. Y/n was much more than a pretty face, her manner, her personality, and her admirable kindness and empathy were some of the things about her that enchanted him every moment he spent with her. And sometimes he thought that maybe he could have a place next to her, even with his monstrous appearance and questionable personality ⸻ she always made him want to be the best version of himself, even if he didn't know what that was yet.

"Y/n..." Sukuna's voice came out with a softness that startled him, "I want to take the chance to tell you something."

"You can tell me anything you want, I'm all ears."

"I..."

"MASTER! MASTER!" Gojo, the candelabra, ran toward the couple, who were lost in their own world.

"What is it, Gojo?" Sukuna's voice came out harsher than the tone he had used before.

"The castle is being attacked!" Gojo said in despair.

"By whom?" Sukuna's hands tightened slightly around the girl's waist, pulling her closer to his body.

"I think they are villagers, and your father is with them." Gojo turned to the young woman.

"My father? Is my father here?"

"Yes, but it looks like he's under arrest."

"Gojo, take Y/n to a safe place. If they want to come, let them come."

"What? But what about you, Sukuna?" the young woman looked at him worriedly.

"Don't worry, just do as I say." Sukuna slowly released the woman from his arms. "I'll take care of any disturbances, just stay safe."

"But I don't want to leave you."

"You're not leaving me, you're just protecting yourself from danger. That's what's best for you."

"I can decide what's best for me!"

"I'm well aware of that." Sukuna laughed weakly, "Just let me take care of it, and I'll get back to you safely."

"Promise me?"

"I promise."

The young woman followed Gojo to one of the farthest rooms in the castle, promising the chandelier that she would stay there until everything was settled. As soon as Gojo left, Y/n paced the room, thinking of a plan to rescue her imprisoned father. Sukuna and the castle staff would be busy fighting the townspeople, and it would be the perfect time for her to act in secret.

Determined, she opened the glass door leading to the balcony and assessed the distance; fortunately, she wasn't too high up to take a fatal fall. She opened the wardrobe and took out all the cloth she could find, tying the end of each into a tight knot to make a makeshift rope. With the rope in her hand, she threw it across the balcony, tying one end to the railing. A little clumsy, this being the first time she had done anything so radical, she jumped off the balcony, holding tightly to her rope, and climbed down calmly, looking straight up. Once on the ground, Y/n ran as fast as she could, looking for an exit ⸻ or entrance ⸻ that would lead her to the castle gates.

"Dad!" she cried in a low tone so as not to draw attention to herself when she spotted a cart stopped near the entrance to the castle.

"Daughter?" Her father's weak voice caught her attention.

"Dad!" she ran to the wagon, worried. "Are you all right?"

"I wonder if you're alright! Did Gaston manage to save you?"

"Gaston?" she asked as she searched for a stone to break the lock.

"Yes! When I returned to the village, I asked Gaston and the others to help me free you from that monster."

"Dad, Sukuna is not a monster!" The girl used all her strength and smashed the stone against the padlock, breaking the object and freeing her father.

"How is he not a monster, dear?"

"He's kind and brave, he can be polite when he wants to be. I realized that he's not a monster." The young woman hugged her father.

"Oh dear, you're in love with him..." the older man said more like a statement than a question.

"What? No, we're just friends." She looked away, embarrassed by her father's words.

"I think we'd better stop Gaston then, he's come with the intention of killing him," her father said worriedly.

"What?" she looked at her father wide-eyed, "Father, stay here, please!" The woman grabbed the hem of her dress and ran to the castle entrance, watching the chaos unfold around her. The townspeople were fighting the castle furniture, which was actually its bewitched inhabitants.

"Miss!" Gojo's voice caught the young woman's attention. "You're supposed to be in your room. What are you doing here? Master Sukuna will kill me if he finds out you're not safe!"

"I have to find Sukuna," she said desperately, climbing the stairs, "Gaston will attack him, I can't let that happen!"

"But Miss, that's dangerous!" Gojo tried to stop the girl, but to no avail.

"And Sukuna is in danger!"

The young woman ran until her feet hurt, and when she reached the hall where she and Sukuna had danced minutes before, as if they were the only two in the world. However, the sound of a gunshot and an agonizing scream caught the girl's attention and pulled her out of her thoughts.

“SUKUNA!”

"Y/n?" Sukuna turned to the girl, looking frightened, as if he had seen a ghost.

"Gaston..." the young woman whispered as she saw the brunette stand up and point his gun in Sukuna's direction.

Without thinking, the young woman ran up to Gaston and threw herself on him, knocking the gun out of his hands. Y/n stood up and threw the gun out of Gaston's reach.

"Oh, my beautiful lady! I've finally found you! Your father has been worried about your disappearance!" Gaston stood up with a smile, "If you'll excuse me, I have a monster to kill!"

"He's not a monster, Gaston!"

"Oh dear, don't tell me you're going to defend that monster?"

"Like I said, he's not a monster. And if anyone is the monster here, it's you, Gaston!"

"What did you say?"

"That you are the monster here!"

"You bitch–" Before he could finish his speech, Gaston punched Y/n in the face, and as the girl fell to the floor in surprise at the sudden impact, the man kicked her in the stomach, sending her rolling across the floor of the hall. And before Gaston could do anything, Sukuna punched him in the face.

"I'll make sure you never lay a finger on her again." Sukuna grabbed Gaston's neck and led him out onto the balcony.

"Please! Please don't kill me!"

"You should have thought twice before you touched her with your filthy fingers."

"Sukuna!" The young woman's voice made Sukuna lose focus on the man he was holding by the neck. "Don't kill him!"

"But he-"

"Please"

Sukuna took a deep breath and looked back at the man, who was almost out of breath. Sukuna left Gaston on the ground, coughing to catch his breath as he turned and headed for the girl on the ground, but something hit him in the side of his body. He staggered backward in fear, seeing the dagger in his waist, and fell with someone else. Gaston, who was behind Sukuna, overbalanced and fell off the balcony, letting out a pained and desperate scream.

"SUKUNA!" Y/n ran over to the man crouched on the ground.

"Are you all right?" Sukuna asked, reaching for the young woman's warm cheeks."You should be safe. Why are you here?"

"I was scared..."

"How could an impudent girl like you be afraid?" The man smiled provocatively as he lay on his back on the floor, feeling the blood run down his side.

"I went to save my dad," Y/n controlled the urge to cry, "and I wanted to know if you were okay."

"Did you really think I would lose to a guy like that?"

"Sukuna... I'm scared..."

"It's okay, I'm here. I promised I wouldn't leave, I'll keep that promise."

"I want to be with you... by your side." The young woman leaned down, resting her cheek against the man's bare chest.

"Y/n... I have something to tell you." Sukuna felt his heart beating heavily against his chest.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"Do you..." Y/n stood up in surprise and looked at Sukuna, "Do you love me?"

"Very much."

"I... I love you too." A broad smile formed on the girl's lips.

Sukuna's hand reached Y/n's face before reaching her neck and pulling her into a soft kiss. Sukuna's heart, which had been celebrating the mutuality of the girl's feelings, melted as soon as the young woman's soft, delicate lips met his ⸻ a warm, comfortable feeling settled in his chest. When they pulled away, Sukuna found his forehead on hers, and their breaths became one. Slowly, Y/n pulled away and opened her eyes, surprised by the sight before her.

"Sukuna... you..."

"What about me?" The man looked uncertainly at the woman before him.

"You no longer have four arms and four eyes!"

"What?" He stood up quickly and looked down at himself. The wound from Gaston's dagger had disappeared, as had a pair of arms. Around him, the castle was angelic and glowing again, shedding its monstrous appearance.

The spell was broken.

And he was free again.

"Thank you..." Sukuna hugged Y/n tightly.

"Why do you thank me?" The young woman broke the hug and got up from the ground, standing in front of Sukuna.

"For loving me even when I was a monster." His voice was lower than usual. Maybe he wasn't quite used to all this new feeling.

"As I said, you deserve many of the good things the world has to offer."

"Speaking of which, I think we can get to know the world now, as you said, look for new perspectives."

"We?"

"And why shouldn't we?"

"You really want to take me with you to see the world?" Y/n looked at him excitedly.

"I promised to stay by your side, didn't I? And by the way, I don't think I could have a better partner than you to look for a new perspective on things." Sukuna smiled and pulled Y/n around her waist, pressing their lips together once more in a sweet, quiet kiss. "I want you by my side, forever."

"If you thought that impertinent girl would ever let you go, you thought wrong." Y/n wrapped her arms around Sukuna's neck, bringing their faces closer as she smiled, "I love you too much to let you go. Whether you're human or monster, I'll stay by your side, forever."

"Just so you know, there's no turning back. You'll be by my side forever from now on." Sukuna smiled teasingly.

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea." The young woman quickly sealed her lips with Sukuna's.

Sukuna was free of a spell that condemned him for his past actions, and now he would fall under the spell that was the love he felt for the girl in front of him without any regrets.

#꒰ 🪷 ꒱ ࣪𓂂 ׅ ⤿ 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 !#☆ . . seonghrtz !!#sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna fanfic #sukuna ryomen fanfic #sukuna ryomen fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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chrollohearttags · 3 months

Text

TRACK 01 ❥ RIDE • J. KIRSCHTEIN

your love with jean didn’t start out with perfect beginnings but he’ll make certain it has the story book ending.

❥ content + warnings: paramedic!jean, patient liaison reader (black coded), mentions of illness, pain, etc, very brief mention of infidelity, Jean being a complete lover boy, he has a heavy country/creole accent (he speaks French once or twice) hotel sex, alcohol use, fingering, foot play, bondage, dirty talk, squirting, blindfold, wax play, pet names (my love, my girl, sweetheart) daddy kink + heavy dom, nipple play, breeding/pregnancy, mating press

word count: 6.2K

“Take off those heels, lay on my bed…whisper dirty secrets while I’m pulling on your hair..”

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there were so many words that could be used to describe the enigma of a man that was Jean Kirschtein. For the longest, he was a mystery to you..not being able to take him one way or the other. You couldn’t quite figure him out or really see him for who he truly was. And just when you’d thought you had him all figured out; pegged as one thing, he swayed your mind in the opposite direction. Granted, that was before you knew him beyond being your ex’s homeboy. Keeping yourself at arm’s bay from any man that wasn’t him as to not make him jealous. Of course, that was prior to learning that it wasn’t Jean or anyone else you had to worry about. It was him. It was only a year and a half ago that you learned the heartbreaking news of your ex’s infidelity and by the mouth of none other than Jean himself. It came as such a shock to you that as he spoke, you found yourself almost collapsing onto the pavement but he quickly caught you. You’d never felt so humiliated and betrayed before in your life. The weight of it was almost too much for you to bare..that was until Jean caught you within his grasp and never let go! He assured you that Connie or no other man would ever harm you again as long as he was around. A promise he kept true to..even severing ties with his best friend altogether. It was easy by no means and you felt guilty for being the reason their friendship ended but the only thing you were met with was laughter and a very simple statement in response:

“Any man that could hurt a beautiful woman like you could never be my friend.”

that wasn’t all though..as Jean explained, the two of them began falling out over his constant womanizing and cheating. Granted, he was no saint himself and the two of them were no strangers to having multiple ladies in their lives or even having threesomes with them. But all of that changed when Connie got with you…or so he claimed! Turns out, he only amped up his infidelity through the roof and left you in the dark about all of it. Jean, although a bit of a ladies man himself, couldn’t sit idly by and allow you to be harmed by his actions. But honestly, none of that mattered now. Hell, it all seemed like a far off past that you had but repressed from your memory. Especially when Jean had all but spent this last year and some change not only atoning for Connie’s mistakes but treating you like the absolute goddess you were. The two of you were both employed by the same hospital; you worked as a patient liaison who saw to the non medical needs of the patients. Ensuring that they knew how much they were being billed and offering assistance if it were needed, making certain that their rooms were up to par, even helping out with diet plans..if someone were vegetarian or pescetarian, you’d relay the message to the kitchen staff and make sure they’d have those options for them. It was equally as important as their medical care and it was a job you did exceptionally well. It most certainly took a special person! Which Jean appreciated and respected when he watched you work..always so kind and empathetic. It was no wonder why he felt the innate sense to spoil you in return.

he himself worked as an EMT. Transporting patients to and from the hospital, dealing with high stress situations and quite frankly, enjoying every bit of the adrenaline rush that ensued. Sometimes, it was so intense, he questioned if he were meant to pursue this. But you were his safe haven and once he was with you, he felt as if he could conquer the world!

however, just for the evening…you were setting aside your workplace concerns and stories to be solely devoted to one another. It was a rather special occasion, for many reasons. One being Valentine's Day. And the other? The six month anniversary since you guys began seeing one another officially. When he asked you out after a late night shift and you found yourselves at one of your favorite spots to eat. He handed you a small gift and asked properly; despite hooking up several times prior. Stating that he knew it wasn’t ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but he just couldn’t wait to make you his. It was so thoughtful, you nearly burst into tears right there. Fast forward and life only got better! You had never experienced love the way you had with Jean..endless affection, fancy dates when permitted, small gestures to brighten your day and of course, sex on an entirely different level! This man knew your body like the back of his hand and he always knew the right things to do to make you tick and turn you on. Still, he’d always have his reservations. He wanted to prove that you were worth far more than late night rendezvouses and backseat hookups. He wanted to give you the absolute world on a platter. A goal he had in mind as he made his way to your place; a small house you shared with an older sister and nephew. He pulled that blacked out two seater up to the curb of your driveway..hopping out to open the passenger door just as you made your appearance!

“Well..my my..and they say goddesses don’t walk this earth. I’d hafta’ disagree..not when my baby exists.”

your face completely flushed in a sheath of warmth and your stomach fluttered with butterflies as you flashed that pearly smile and strutted closer. He wasn’t exaggerating because to say you looked divine, wouldn’t be an understatement! Face done up in the most beautiful shimmers and red lipstick that complimented that beautiful dark skin tone, those normally tight curls styled into an updo and gleaming jewelry he had brought dangled from your neck and ears. Dressed in a thigh length red dress with a slit on the right side, tall, strappy heels that wrapped around your calves and a handbag to match. However, you wouldn’t be opening that unless it were to touch up your makeup. Because he had plans that involved spoiling you rotten in more ways than one..and best believe he wasn’t empty handed when getting out to greet you either. No, he was brandishing what seemed to be the largest bouquet of roses he could find!

“You’re way too sweet, baby..thank you!”

“No such thing..here, these are for you, my love. Happy Valentines..and anniversary.”

delicately lacing your cheek with a peck..accepting them, you’d thank him once more and right there, in return..shove your tongue between his lips whilst caressing his cheek. Jean would feel the rush of ecstasy that came with your touch rush his veins. Each kiss, hug and caress took his breath away. Needless to say, dinner was merely the appetizer to the main course to which his pallet desired!..

“Ready to hit the town, my lady?” Garnering quite the adorable giggle from you. He was such a charmer..constantly wooing you despite the relationship nearing a year old.

“Well of course, sir. Lead the way.” you’d return his sentiment, grinning from ear to ear. With that, he’d make haste in opening the door and allowing you to take your seat in the passenger’s side, easing you in. And afterwards, he’d make his own way back to the drivers to start up the ignition. Tonight was sure to be one that would forever be embedded into your memory and heart for many years to come..

page break and time skip

“Jean Rene Kirschtein, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you..dammit, and I said I wasn’t going to cry tonight.”

the only response that you could muster at the moment as you cupped a hand across your mouth, feigning tears and hysterics as you glared down at the crushed velvet box, seated in your lap. Inside, resided a sparkling ring..glistening with princess cut diamonds and a twenty four karat silver band. It was absolutely gorgeous and not to mention..all yours. A piece of jewelry that set him back about nine hundred or so dollars but it was fitting for a promise ring. Not to mention all the other countless gifts he had bestowed upon you tonight. Once he dropped to that knee, there would be no expense spared. He’d grasp your hand as he reached across the table and intertwined your fingers. After he slipped it on for you.

“Well, you could start by drying those pretty eyes of yers’…no need to cry, baby. You deserve this and so much more..” the words permeated your ears and heart like arrows shit directly from Cupid himself. Currently, the two of you were at the rooftop restaurant stationed at the Blaise Hotel, located on the opposite side of town and near the outskirts. It was so lavish yet so intimate at the same time…dim blue illumination outlined the cursive sign hung atop the building. Marble and gold embellished the lobby and everything was so beautiful. It was rather apparent that Jean had spared no expenses when it came to making this night as special as possible. To say you were grateful would be an understatement. “Listen..I know that you and I didn’t exactly start this thing off right and hell, maybe in another life, ya’ would’ve been mine in the first place. But (y/n), baby. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure that I’ll be your last. One day, I wanna replace this with the real thing. I wanna marry ya’, have some babies..grow old together. The only thing I want is to spend the rest of my life making you happy. I love you.”

and you knew that he meant every single word that left his mouth. Unlike your ex, there was no doubt that you were his one and only. And you were about to see the great lengths he was willing to go to just to prove that!

“I love you more, Jean..thank you, for making this past year or so, the best I’ve ever had. You pulled me out of a dark place when everyone else was willing to let me sit there..you did things for me that you didn’t have to and I’m forever grateful. I don’t know what I did to deserve to be this happy but…I hope it never ends.” Ending your speech by hoisting your glass, in hopes of not becoming emotional once more. The two of you would toast and take generous swigs of that red Cabernet. Sweet yet strong and the perfect beverage for an occasion like this. “Well..it’s as my granny used ta’ say..’ Même toutes les étoiles du ciel ne pourraient pas briller aussi fort que toi, ma bien-aimée.” Meaning that you shined brighter than any star in the sky and he wanted to spend all night showing you just how special you were to him. Because unbeknownst, there was a second portion to your surprise. One that would undoubtedly embed this night in your mind for a very long time.

“Say, why don’t we get outta here and head upstairs? I gotta lil’ something for you.” Whilst you were finishing up the remnants of your wine, Jean stood from his seat; righter leaving both the bill and hefty tip inside of a black leather booklet. There was no need for you to concern yourself with it or the price inside. This was your night..to be celebrated, to be spoiled and to be loved properly. Something he planned to do in more ways than one. Grasping your hand and the cusp of your arm with the gentlest touch, he’d help you from your seat and pushed it back in. The signs of a true southern gentleman if you’d ever seen one. You knew that his folks had raised him right in the way he carried himself. Although you’d seen Jean act the fool as any twenty something year old boy would, he was always so polite and respectful. Always holding doors, never making you lift a finger to do anything and of course, charmed you to no end. “A lil’ something, huh? Something tells me you went all out..again!” Teasing him as the two of you exited the rooftop to take an elevator down to your suite. Hand in hand with your free one occasionally raising up to stroke his chest. As his own, cradled your waist..holding you close.

“Now now, sweetheart…a man never reveals his secrets. You just relax and let me worry about everything.”

honestly, there was no attesting Jean once he got something set in his head. He was stubborn but there was never a moment where he didn’t see something through to fruition. He also had the habit of sparing no expense to take care of someone else. Maybe that’s what made him such a great first responder..and lover. He was a dominant man. Not the possessive or overbearing type but rather the kind to step up to the plate and handle business without so much as a second thought. Which is why you felt so safe and secure around him..for once, it felt nice to be soft..vulnerable. To let your guard down and let someone else take the lead. So with that, accepting his answer, you’d await patiently as the elevator descended and the down arrow illuminated. Finally, it would come to a halt on the fourth floor..where Jean stepped out first to offer up his hand so he could guide you along. Your heels clicked briefly against the tile flooring before it quickly transitioned to carpet. The hall was decorated with vibrant white and blue paints, vivid imagery plastered onto paintings and sleek, modern lighting illuminated the path to the rooms stationed on the right side. Although Jean’s chivalry seemed to be never ending, there was another reason as to why he was so adamant of stepping ahead of you.

“Before we go inside…there’s one more thing I have for ya..turn around.”

414. The room number in which you two would be residing for the evening..although, you were certain not much sleeping would be taking place. You were stopped in your tracks right by the door as he grasped your hand. Even so, you’d do as your man instructed and spin until your back was facing him. It was then that he’d instruct you to step forward and fully devoting your trust in him, you knew he’d guide you in the right direction. With those strong hands cradling your waist, you’d step forward until you heard the door close behind you. A couple more steps and you could hear soft music playing..until you felt your calves graze what seemed to be a soft cushion of sorts.

“Take a seat, sweetheart..I’m right here.” That deep drawl ringing out in your ear and sending shivers tingling up your spine. Upon bending down to let your backside hit the bed, you’d await his next command. Patently and completely devoted to him. You trusted Jean, more than anyone. So you’d do exactly as he instructed. With your hands resting on your thighs, (y/n) sat straight upright as you felt his fingertips grazing your shoulder blades. You could feel his breath against your neck and his stubble just barely grazing your skin.. “..you’re so beautiful, baby. Ya’ know that? God, I feel like I don’t ever get to say it enough.” His voice dropped to a low vibrato as he continued caressing you. Soaking you in, drinking in your scent and just enjoying being in your presence. Taking his sweet time to fill your head with all of those beautiful words..affirming the things he felt about you on a daily basis. Whilst he did so, Jean’s lips trailed further south. Going from your neck to your shoulders..where he removed the straps of your dress and slid them down gently. His hands trailed the sides of your body and every square inch where he removed an article of clothing, he replaced it with subtle pecks. You couldn’t see a thing but you could feel it all..the warmth of his breath against your flesh, your ensemble slowly slipping away from you and his hands roaming around your torso. Including those supple breasts. Your nipples had begun to stiffen up as he toiled with them between his fingertips. You’d raise your hand to caress his head as it rested on your shoulder. Whilst toying with your newly exposed tits, Jean continued nipping at your ear and rattling off in it. Only this time, his words were far more risqué than before!..

“..ya’ know..I planned this night out in my head several times. I thought of all the ways I wanted to make love to you. How I’d be all gentle and sweet with ya’..but I gotta be honest, sweetheart…”

it was in the midst of his speech did you feel that same hand snake down between your legs and part them with a single pop to your thighs. His movements switched from delicate to a slightly bit rough in only a matter of seconds! He couldn’t hold back any longer..he needed you. He craved you..and desperately!

“..I just wanna fuck the shit out of you. I know that’s not all sweet and romantic. But I can’t help it..I just wanna give you what you deserve. The type of dick you should’ve been getting a long time ago, baby.” Whilst his words seeped to your head, your core was feeling the effects as well. With that center exposed as he tugged your thong to the side, it was no secret that you were already leaking from the sound of his voice and teasing alone. That was exactly where he wanted you! Vulnerable, soft..melting within his grasp. “..Jeannn…” “shh, shhh it’s okay..” He didn’t want you to do a thing. So much so, it wasn’t long before you felt your wrists being bound together in front of you as well. Right now, you were completely under his control and you could bet, that trust you placed in him wasn’t something he was going to take lightly or abuse. He would spend every waking second he had within this room pleasing you to the utmost of his ability.

“..god, those titties are so pretty, sweetheart. I just wanna suck on those nipples, get them hard.” Declaring as he gently grabbed your already sensitive buds and squeezed. He could sense that your body was already coming undone and he hadn’t even begun to toy with you yet! But alas, you had all night and you could fall apart as many times as you needed to..he’d be right there to put you back together! “And this pussy…fuck, it’s so wet for me already…” it was blatantly obvious that he was in the mood to play the long game. To spend hours if needed to build you up to your breaking point, only because he knew the release would be that much sweeter. “Yer’ gonna feel so good, I just know it..” In a sheer moment of haste, your lover would tear that dress from your body as if it were nothing more than a slip of paper. Soon, every other article of clothing would follow suit shortly after and Jean was quick to make his next move. Pulling you back towards his chest; still clothed with the black button down, he’d snake that tattooed arm down the center of your torso. Where he’d revel in toying with your slit. Spreading those puffy lips apart with his index and middle fingers. The sensation of cool air immediately made contact with that dripping warmth and needless to say, you were shivering instantly. Whimpering and huffing as he massaged that clit. Rubbing yourself against those finger pads and grinding on it. Pushing up and slowly gliding back down when he added a single finger. With just that one digit alone, you began writhing and begging him for more but it wasn’t time..you weren’t ready. “Baby, you can barely even take my finger right now…look at how she’s squeezing me.” Chuckling as he watched your movements. You had a habit of being restless..once you became aroused, nothing could tame that salacious appetite except the most intense, passionate sex that he could offer. “I knowww, but pleaseee—“ “..if you know then let me take care of you. Cut it out.” cooing into your ear and reaffirming his point with a gentle hand around your throat. “So are ya’ gonna relax and lemme handle it, sweetheart? Tell me..” and with that subtle dominance, what other choice did you have? That unwavering resolve of his wore you down rather quickly. “Yes, daddy..please take care of me..” “..that’s my pretty girl..” But alas, the foreplay and teasing was far from finished! Keeping you reigned to his chest, Jean continued to work that little cunt over with calculated touches and subtle pushes. Pressing into that sensitive core..his knuckles would become coated in that sticky sex, hoping to drum up more as he persisted. For now, he was ready to move on to his next task on the docket! His movements would come to a halt and suddenly you’d find yourself spasming on nothing more than air. It left you with a yearning..a longing for more. As you awaited his next move, he’d prompt you to open your mouth before placing those fingers between your lips and allowing you to not only clean them off but pacify those pathetic whimpers. “Taste yourself..there ya’ go. So fucking sweet..” You were still shielded from all the surroundings, your eyes covered by that satin cloth. Drool would seep from (y/n)’s jaws and shallow breaths escaped your throat. It was apparent that you were close but prolonging that orgasm would only make the moment that much better. For now, he had but one simple command:

“Hands in front of ya’, sweetheart.” The sharp tone in his voice causes a tingle to trickle down your spine. But naturally, you complied..submitting yourself to him entirely. Once you place your arms to your stomach, you’d find your wrists bound and tightly secured. You were completely at his will and before he proceeded, he’d reposition you to the mattress, placing you flat on your back..as you laid there, sprawled out and completely exposed, the gentle, familiar brush of his fingertips grazed your cheek yet again. Your arms, now outstretched and lying dormant above your head. You had no way of telling what it was that your boyfriend was planning..no sense of your surroundings but that was the entire point. He wanted complete autonomy over you..ensuring that you could trust him and for the next thing he had planned, he wanted you to be fully submissive to him.

“M’ gonna need you to hold still f’r me. Okay, sweetheart? You’re gonna feel a lil’ something dripping..and I want you to let me know if it hurts. You trust me..right?” without a shadow of a doubt, the answer was clear but he wanted to hear you say it. He needed that explicit consent that you wanted this just as badly. Just above your swollen, erect nipples, something hovered about you. It felt warm..which led you to one conclusion:

“Yes..please. Do it.”

and with that, he’d proceed! Brandishing in his hand was an already illuminated candle..one of which was already flickering upon your arrival to the room, as he had requested. This one was beginning to melt but to help speed up the process, Jean retrieved a lighter from his pocket. The same one he used to ignite his cigarettes and blunts on very rare occasions. A sterling silver one with his initials engraved..sparking the flame, the sandy blonde took both items and dangled them only inches from your body. Your frame wiggled around on the bed in anticipation; your chest heaving but breath shallow…you could sense what was coming and for a brief moment, the room fell silent. That’s when it happened…

plop!

the single sound of a wax droplet making contact with your flesh. Your reaction followed a split second later as you sucked your teeth and whimpered. He had to make certain that it wasn’t painful to you. But all reservations subsided when underneath the flicker of that flame, he’d watch that gorgeous smile appear and suddenly, he was at ease and confident that he could keep going! “How’d it feel, mama? That didn’t hurt, did it?” Cooing with a swipe of his thumb across your cheek as he awaited your response. “Y-yeah..but it felt so good! Please…more.” And he didn’t hesitate! Jean continued whittling down that candle with his flames. Soon, the beads multiplied as they fell and before long, your gorgeous dark complexion was marked with cream colored, hardened splatters of wax. Akin to a portrait, you were like a masterpiece..one he wanted to frame and keep forever. Your tits gently swaying as you squirmed around and the sounds of your adorable giggles, along with the lilt in your voice was satisfying enough for your boyfriend. Those beautiful nipples protruding and hardened beyond belief, only caused you to squirm as he grazed them. “That feel good, my love?” “Yes! So good..thank you!” That single show of gratitude made the tent in his pants grow larger..as well as his desire for you! He was fighting the urge to strip down and fuck you senseless right now but he was almost where he wanted you. Where he needed you..

“Good..that’s all I wanna hear..”

just then, Jean would kneel into the mattress to propel himself up. Only after he set aside the candle and lighter, extinguishing both. Where he’d begin to undress. Peeling off his clothing layer by layer. You’d hear the sound of that designer belt buckle clinking as he unfastened it. Tossing it to the floor first and his pants followed suit. Next was his button down he undone. His shoes and everything until he was sporting nothing but that gold Rolex and rings that looked so aesthetically pleasing as it contrasted your skin. Lying a flat palm on your thigh when he crawled back up and parted them. He had been waiting for this moment. Biding his time in anticipation for what was to come..he’d often spend his shifts thinking about you. Trying to feign off his thoughts and desires because he knew he’d have you soon enough. There were so many things he wanted to do with you. On one hand, slow, sensual lovemaking underneath the candles…feeding you gentle strokes. And on the other hand? Pounding you into this mattress until you made a mess of him! Squirting and leaking all over this bed until you convulse of one too many powerful orgasms..

“So tell me, sweetheart? What is it that you want now? Just looking at ya’…I can tell you’re hungry for more. You’re leaking, baby..” teasing as he brushed over that mound and only a mere inch away from that clit. He’d resort to spreading you open again just for his own pleasure. Whispering and murmuring as he sucked his teeth in awe of the sight. He couldn’t believe it..how silky and wet you were.. “..goddamn..look at that. So beautiful..would look even better with me inside of you. Don’t ya’ agree, baby?” Prompting you to lick your lips and nod profusely. You were so needy, you were practically rutting yourself on thin air..seeing as how he refused to directly touch it. Afraid it’d send you flying over the edge if he did. He needed that reaction strictly for himself. He wanted to see you twitching, squirming and writhing all on his cock. “Yeah..fuck..I do..” those pathetic little whines only fueling him more. So much so, as he kept you speaking, he’d coil the base of his shaft and stroke upward as he awaited his answers. “Then convince me, baby. Tell me where ya’ want daddy to put it. Where you need me right now. C’mon, talk to me..”

and you spared no details! You’d quickly plead for him to spread you open and fill you full of his cock. To stretch you out and make you conform to his shape. What couldn’t fit, he better make you take it..that nut? He knew exactly where you wanted it. You wanted him to completely wreck you tonight!

“So that’s how it is? That’s what you feel?” “Yes, baby!..come fuck this pussy, please..” it was obvious that you were becoming anxious and Jean was aching so badly from his own edging that if he didn’t get inside of something soon, he was going to explode. So with one forceful tug, he’d bridge the gap of space between your bodies before placing a leg on your shoulder and folding you back.

“Of course, pretty girl. Whatever you want..this is your dick after all.” Chuckling with a smile on his face, it didn’t take long before his tip was brushing against your slit and casually rubbing on that bud to further stimulate you. “So take it..” suddenly, that subtle teasing turned into full blown penetration! You’d find yourself stuffed to the brim and the gasp and expletives that simultaneously left both of your mouths signified just how good it felt. His thick length throbbing inside of your heat and that tight cunt clutching him upon entry. As if you two were designed for one another. “F-fuck..gonna start moving, baby..you ready?” He didn’t have to see your eyes to know your reaction..it was written all over your facial and body language. You’d give him the go ahead and seconds later, Jean would grasp your waist to keep you steady as he began thrusting up into you. Sounds of smacking skin along with faint moans arose and filled the air. He had to pace himself..go far slower than he would like to if he were going to last any amount of time. Long, deep, well paced strokes were the best move right now. And did he make certain you felt each one!

“G’ahh..so tight, baby..this pussy’s squeezing me..” tossing his head back on his shoulders, Jean would persist and push through the tight bundle of nerves..the sensation constricting his shaft and making him even more so vulnerable than before. He’d consistently dote on you, telling you how pretty you were taking his dick..how good you were opening for him and how he couldn’t wait to fill you up. Saying everything you needed to hear..cream began to pool around the rim of your opening; a result of the slow repetition of his cock slamming into you. Meanwhile, your legs and ankles rested on his broad shoulders. They’d tremble within his grasp as he laced them with sensual kisses. “You have any idea how good you make me feel, my love? How wet you are right now…I just wanna fill you up..I swear. Hell, I think you’d look so beautiful with my baby inside of ya’…” the low vibrato and his accent making the statement even sexier when he uttered it. The response was you twitching around him but not out of pain..you loved the idea. Being stuffed full of his seed, even if you weren’t exactly ready for the latter yet!

“Mmmph...I love when you nut in this pussy.” Declaring with your lips only inches apart. Eventually bridging the gap with soft, sensual pecks. Tongues swirling around and clashing with one another as strings of saliva formed between them. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” “Yes, baby. Keep fucking me. Make me take that dick!” Steadfast in your words, you’d claw at the pillows behind you..the only thing within your confined grasp as his movements progressed. He’d begin to speed up that dormant pace and get deeper into your core. It would seem that your lecherous words had pushed him to the next level..driving him to repeatedly stab at your sensitive core with deep, sharp, unrelenting thrusts. On top of rolling his fingers against your clit, drumming up more of that slick. The moment was perfect..the way your round tits swayed with each thrust, your skin riddled with wax and sweat, your legs coiling his waist..the only thing missing were your nails clawing into his back and marking him up. “J-Jeann…mm, gonna cum! Fuck!..” So he’d make the decision to untie your wrists and lift that blindfold. He needed to see your pretty face whilst he was in it. All of those authentic reactions..

“Then come, baby!..and look me in the eye when you do it.” Prompting you to release that shower of sweet rain all over him and while he was still buried to your hilt nonetheless. Only pushing him back when you could no longer keep him inside, and he’d retract to tap that tip against your slit. “I love when you squirt on this dick..feels so fucking good.” But your boyfriend wasn’t letting up..he was still vying for his own orgasm. Desperate and utterly desiring to fill you full of his seed. Repositioning once more, Jean hovered over your frame and pinned all your limbs back in one fell swoop. He couldn’t pretend to be composed any longer and that suave romantic had shifted to a salacious deviant..hungry to claim your womb for his own. That much apparent by his brutal thrusting and incessant growls as he took full dominion over you. Your feet and wrists were once again restrained as to avoid any attempts to stop him. But he knew you were equally aching for it..aching to be bred and stuffed full, so he’d persist. Spouting off lewd remarks and sloppy kisses to quell you. The bed jolted around with the headboard smacking the wall. Your bodies entangled as he folded you into that mating press. “You're gonna take it f’r me, sweetheart?! Take all this nut..it’s all yours..just tell me where you want me to put it, right now.” Through gritted teeth, he’d plead and try to maintain the last semblance of dominance he harbored because just as his resolve was fading, his stamina was slipping as well. Those thrusts became sporadic in rhythm and he was faltering in his speed. That once deep voice was a sending in pitch and Jean was on the brink of collapse as he held out for a few more strokes. “Gah! Fuck..so tight, I’m coming, baby!—“ “Nut in me, please..give it to me!” And with that command, he no longer felt the need to restrain himself. Coming to a complete halt, you’d watch those deep set eyes become wider and his body stiffen up. He was frozen in place but that long rope of warm semen spilled into your womb. He’d release your hands and you’d be quick to quell him with a palm to the face, thanking him for it and telling him how amazing it felt.

“I need a kiss, c’mere..”

“Of course…”

finally back into reality and consciousness, you’d join together one more time for a searing, passionate peck that solidified your love. Right here in this room, he made certain that you knew you were his forever and always. Regardless of your pasts, who may have been in it before or otherwise. What mattered most was the here and now.

“I’m starting to think I should’ve skipped the promise ring. I wanna marry you right now.” Prompting you to chuckle into your hand before stringing a finger down his chest. “Well that’s quite the jump.” But rest assured, you’d be right here until the actual day came along. Proposal or not, you knew who you wanted to spend the rest of forever with so for the time being, you could revel in his presence and never grow tired. You could definitely get used to it.

“I love you, Jean..” “I love ya’ more, sweetheart.”

and he’d spend all night of the rest of his life proving so.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@honeybleed @spaceforher @dezibou @nanamiscunt @sweethoneycream

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ystrike1 · 3 months

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My Beloved Oppressor - By 서사희 (8.5/10)

Having royal blood is a curse if you have no protection. A death sentence if the people are angry. Our protagonist isn't even a Princess. She is merely the daughter of a Marquis. She is also the only royal left, in a newly democratic nation. Her revolutionary husband is keeping her alive for some reason, even though he hates royal blood.

Annette Rosenberg was a pawn. A blushing bride. A pretty idiot. Her only real hobby and talent is useless. She was never strong academically. She was the perfect noble wife. Pretty, useless, and skilled at making pretty noises on the piano.

It was not her fault. She didn't know the men in power had pushed the people too far. She didn't know a revolution was brewing. Heiner Valdemar courted her and married her to spy on her father. Nothing more, nothing less. Now she is the last royal in the country, and people cry for her blood every single day.

Heiner Valdemar supported all of the death. He made the country better for the people, and he sacrificed her family to do it. He tells his stupid princess the truth. Her beloved father had child slaves. Child slave assassins and soldiers who died often. He was one of the only survivors, and he only survived because he was useful. A genius with a strong body.

His friends were fodder.

He did get revenge for them, and yet Annette Rosenberg is still alive.

He was a great actor too.

Annette Rosenberg truly loved him.

When the royals began to die out she trusted him wholly. She only, finally noticed his true loyalty when his love faded away. Yes, the second he stopped spoiling her. When he stopped drowning her in love she did two seconds of research.

She didn't randomly meet her husband.

He carefully planned their love and marriage in advance.

He's convincingly cruel.

He really is, but there's one problem.

She's not dead.

Everybody wants him to divorce her as well. Annette Rosenberg even asks for a divorce, right after the truth comes out. Anneli is another revolutionary. An inspiring political figure for the people. Annette Rosenberg is well aware that Anneli doesn't like her, but Anneli also doesn't love Heiner.

It's all politics.

She's tired.

She's tired of being afraid. Being the last royal makes her suspicious. Everybody thinks she's using blood money or spare child soldiers to stay alive.

The screwed up part is they're actually right. Heiner, a former child soldier, is protecting her as if she is his master. Not his wife. He doesn't even go near her most days, but he is personally in charge of her fragile security situation.

Other young nobles managed to escape tp foreign countries. A friend comes to pick Annette Rosenberg up, but Heiner won't even let her go then. This offer of freedom is a tipping point.

We see why she's not dead.

Little Annette Rosenberg was very cute. She played on her special pink piano with her special teachers, in her special dresses. She laughed in her ribbons, and she ran through the hallways.

She had an admirer.

Heiner Valdemar used to spy on her, in between deadly child soldier missions.

He wants to believe he's punishing her.

He wants to believe that torturing her with loneliness is his goal, but she's been his only love his entire life.

To him, the romantic part of marriage doesn't matter. Being her husband and fake lover was such a strange and twisted reward, after years of observation.

He doesn't want to let her go.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon

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chronically-ghosted · 3 months

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go west, to the southern plains, go west to breathe (lover, share your road - part i) series masterlist | AO3 Link | prologue | part ii

chapter rating: T

word count: ~21K

chapter summary: at the end of the line, you make a business proposition to Joel Miller. He brings you and Ellie home to the last sanctuary left in this world in exchange for your skills. What you find there and what you find out about Joel Miller is not what you expect.

chapter warnings/tags: depictions of going hungry and poverty, sexual harassment, period accurate sexism, depictions of a sick child, reader depicted as skinny but due to lack of food not her natural body type (and this will change), allusions to domestic abuse, hurt/comfort, pining, the beginnings of a praise kink, let the idiots in love begin

a/n: shout out to the ever incredible @jennaispun for beta-ing the prologue and this first part!

“After a long walk in hell, I found you. You made hell feel like home, you made the flames feel warm. It’s true, you haven’t saved me but you were the closest thing to heaven.” — Maram Rimawi

part i:

Beneath the soot-gray fingertips of your gloves, the dust of the high plains sits coarse and heavy on the tattered, yellowing strip of paper. You hold it down flat as a brutish wind snakes up the empty dirt road through the center of Dalhart, grabbing hold of the brown dust that clings to everything — and tugs. Underneath your pale blue dress, with the hemline torn and the collar in need of stitching, your heart pounds as you read the small, almost guilty, advert:

Help wanted. Can pay.

Contact Joel Miller.

The promise of actual money should have had every able-bodied American scrambling to answer the advert, but by its place near the bottom of the announcement board outside of the country store, buried beneath slashed prices for milk and eggs and headlines out of Washington – it seems certain to be relegated into obscurity.

For all you know, this could be months, even years, old. Miller, whoever he was, could be long dead, or gone with the rest of the exodus to California. Or he could have gone the way of your “Uncle” Robert – a huckster, discovered too late; one of many who prey upon the desperation that sticks to the country like the acrid smell of smoke. Your hand shakes as you pluck the yellow card from the wooden plank. There is no contact number, no address. Another trick? Dust stings the corners of your eyes when you pinch them close, your breathing quickening, your pulse sharp in the sleeve of your ratty glove.

Oh, God, what are you going to do? What if this is nothing, just like Robert’s promise? What if there’s nothing here for you? What if –

A small hand on your forearm centers your spiraling thoughts. From beneath a faded blue baseball cap, two brown eyes peer up at you, firm and reassuring.

“You okay?” She keeps her voice low, just like you asked.

“Yeah, El–Ellie, I’m fine.” You squeeze her too-thin hand, your stomach toiling with guilt and its own emptiness. “Just figuring out what to do next.”

“Is finding and murdering this asshole Robert still off the table?”

You frown, your niece’s quick temper more from your dead sister than you. “It is. Now, I’m going inside to ask about this advert. Maybe this Miller still has a job or two open.”

Ellie’s eyes fall to the slip of paper in your hand, her aggressive scowl tightening into something that too closely resembles fear. She knows what’s at stake just as much as you do and you hate that that knowledge ages her youthful face.

“You stay close and don’t let anyone get a good look at you, okay?”

Ellie nods, already familiar with the routine, and scoops up your luggage case, her tattered satchel hanging off her other shoulder. She had been wearing pants long before reaching Dalhart, but it soothed you to think the eyes of cruel men passed right over her, their interest rarely in young boys.

A bell above the door tinkles when you open it, but by the dull, muted sound, it most likely has a few dents. Behind you, the afternoon heat follows you in, the sunlight illuminating the floating dust mites in the air. The door whines as it closes, brightening the inside of the store, where the mites settle back into the silver layer that sits over cans of tomatoes and peaches, linens, boxes of gum and cigarettes. Nearly everything sits untouched and unmoved, old dust settling between cracks and grooves, patrons not having enough money to buy something and the owner not having enough to change out stock. Struck still, frozen in a single, long exhale. The slow, creaking death of the economic system has reached Dalhart too. You shudder, suddenly cold as if in a mausoleum.

The further away from Boston the train took you, the further back in time you felt. Here, you are reminded of the old general stores of cowboys and pioneers. But maybe, that is exactly where you are: out of time.

A man in long white sleeves, coiffed hair, and perfectly round glasses, looks up from the wilted newspaper spread out over the counter.

“Can I help you?” His accent hails from the east, North Carolina most likely. However, his manners are not reflective of that famous southern hospitality. He looks at you like you’re a bad dream and it unsteadies you.

“Y-yes. I, uh, I’m hoping that you know a-a Miller. Joel Miller? I have his advert and I’m, um, I’m looking for work.”

The man’s thin eyebrow jumps mockingly. Aren’t we all, sister? But eventually, he shakes his head.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re doing all the way out here, but this ain’t no place for a young lady out on her own, job or no job. Where’s your husband?”

“Dead.” Your voice doesn’t waver, but then again, why would it?

The clerk’s eyes soften, if only slightly. “I see. But I’m sorry to say, there is no job here for you.”

Your mouth instantly dries out. “What do you mean? Where’s Mr. Miller?”

“He’s a mean ol’ sunuvbitch, livin' God knows where. Comes in twice a month for supplies and he’s back out into the prairie.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see why that’s a problem –,”

“He ain’t fit for civilized life, ma’am.” The clerk drops his nose, eying you seriously over the rim of his black glasses. “Whatever he’s offering, you don’t want no part of it.”

“I think we’ll be the judges of that.” Beside you, Ellie drops your suitcase and it loudly clatters to the ground. “Thanks for the tip though.”

The clerk’s eyes widen – this is terrible behavior even for a boy – his mouth unfurling to give a nasty tongue-lashing, when you interject, your voice thick with pleading.

“I would just like to meet the man. Please, sir.” The clerk, like most men without scruples, can barely resist the sound of a woman begging. Those uncanny blue eyes find you again. “Has he come in recently?”

You can feel Ellie’s wicked sneer behind you, the clerk’s gaze switching between the unlikely pair in his shop. Finally, he shrugs. Who gives a fuck if one more woman goes missing?

“He’s due for a resupply.”

“How soon?” Your palm sweats under your gloves.

He narrows his eyes, evidently annoyed that a woman would reject his warnings. “Soon. We have a parlor in the back if you’d like to wait for him. But you have to buy something,” he adds vehemently.

You nod, unsteady on shaking knees as you walk towards the door in the back of the store.

“Thank you, sir. You have been so kind. We very much appreciate it.”

Any chance that the clerk finds you sincere is lost when Ellie wraps her knuckles on the counter as she passes.

“Buh-bye, dude.”

The parlor is small, dark, damp, and smells faintly of kerosene and leather. A woman, most likely the wife of the clerk you just annoyed, glares from behind a counter as you and Ellie walk in.

“Lunch.” Not a question.

Ellie looks up at you, eyes wide, fearful. You hadn’t let her see what is left in your purse, but she knows it’s low.

With your stomach in knots, you wouldn’t be able to eat anyway. You pluck out a dollar, bringing your total down to three dollars, and giving it to your niece.

“Order whatever you want.”

The beating heart of the blazing Texas sun edges downward across the open sky, falling, until it drops completely behind the harrowingly flat horizon. Purple erupts in its wake, the last pump of blood of a dying muscle, and nearly instantly, the temperature drops. You watch the explosive coronary of the sky from a table at the back of the parlor, your own pulse doubling the later it gets. You squeeze your hand between your thighs to keep your fingers from drumming uneasily on the table. But for once, Ellie doesn’t pick up on your nerves.

A dollar went farther out here and, as a result, Ellie is allowed her first big meal in months. Twice now, she’s nearly forgone the silverware to shove food directly into her mouth with her fingers, had it not been for your glares to remind her to slow down.

“This is slow,” she grumbles as she licks her bowl of mashed potatoes clean. Of course, half of what she ordered sits waiting for you, but you know she needs this meal more than you do – even if your rumbling stomach disagrees. You’d already had lunch at the train station; one more missed meal won’t kill you and less for you means more for Ellie.

Suddenly becoming a parent to a very opinionated fourteen-year-old girl was not something you had anticipated, and most times you figured you were doing it all wrong. The least you could do is give her everything you could.

“You think he’ll show?”

You tear your eyes away from the parlor door, blinking back into your body out of your cloud of thoughts. Ellie’s little hands grip the bowl, a white smear sitting on her bottom lip, her eyes dark as they watch you.

You grin as her pink tongue swipes up to lick her mouth clean. How easy you forget she’s only fourteen, with her loud mouth and provoking eyes. “Eat your food, Ellie.”

The words have barely left your mouth when the door to the parlor bursts open. Two men, clearly drunk and smelling of it, stumble in. This is the part where you wish you too could believably dress up like a man. Your pulse thrums in your neck like a heightened prey animal.

One pushes the other’s shoulder, smirking, and grunting something. His friend, also in a cowboy hat but half his size, nods and makes an unsteady line for one of the tables, while the other does his best to get to the bar.

The man at the table has light green eyes, overly thick eyebrows, and a flat mouth, loose with drink. He flops into a wooden chair and you watch as the Texas Rangers badge on his chest flashes in the firelight behind him. Your stomach tightens.

He stretches out, feet crossed over his ankles, limp hands crossed over his denim jacket, hollering at his friend and the woman working, who looks equally displeased to see them as she did you and Ellie.

Smirking, his eyes slide from the wooden bar top, over the back wall, and right onto you.

You watch as his gaze blurs for a moment, a film of beastial hunger smothering the color of his eyes. You can feel your pulse in your ankles now.

“Well, now, what do we have here?” The lilt in his voice calls out two unspoken words: fresh meat. Distressingly steady, he climbs to his feet, his hat tilted obnoxiously on his forehead. “Where did you come from, you pretty little thing?”

He saunters over, his thumbs stuck in his belt, the gun at his side snug in its holster. The grin on his face is hideous. You’d smack it off if you weren’t suddenly overcome by a debilitating fear. A look like that on a man is never, ever a good thing.

“Whatcha got there, Lee?” his buddy calls out from the bar, beard drenched in beer foam.

“I dunno quite yet, Knapp,” he says over his shoulder, his livid green eyes never leaving your face. He nearly folds in half to press his spider-like hands on the surface of your table, coming inches from your face. His breath smells like corn whiskey and cheap tobacco. “Guess I’ll have to find out. What’s your name, pretty thing?”

“Or she could not tell you her name and instead, you could fuck off.” Ellie’s scowl wrenches her mouth open, her knuckles white around her spoon. There’s a part of you that fully acknowledges and accepts that if given the signal, she’d scoop the fucker’s eyes out with the silverware right here. “We’re eating here, or are you too busy smelling like a fucking whiskey barrel to notice?”

As with most adults when Ellie decides to show her teeth, Lee stares stunned before the self-righteous anger sets in. Your heart stops for a moment when you think he’s going for his holster, but instead, he uses the flat of his hand to swat her hat off her head.

“Shut up, you little fucker, where’d you learn your fucking ma–,”

Ellie’s long hair tumbles down her shoulders, the baseball cap on the floor behind her.

Lee is stunned into silence once again. The parlor goes deathly silent.

It’s Knapp who sets off the explosive spark again. “Holy fuck, you’re a little girl.”

Ellie snatches up her hat, cheeks flaming red, but Lee’s hand grabs her wrist.

“A kinda cute one at that,” Lee sneers. He twists her arm and she yelps. Knapp at the bar laughs, his paunch shaking as beer sloshes over the side of his glass. The woman is cleaning something with a rag, turned away from the scene, her shoulders hunched to her ears. You’re on your feet, your hand on her purse. “What are you thinking, hm? Dressing this sweet little girl up like a boy?”

The trigger clicks and Lee and everyone else in the parlor freezes. The edge of your lash line is wet, fear rolling through you like fog on the bay. Your hand is steady, miraculously, but your voice isn’t.

“L-l-let–,” your voice cracks and you try again. You only have one gun drawn on Lee and you pray to whatever god is listening that Knapp doesn’t remember his. “Let her go.”

This small pistol is your last line of defense against those who would take everything from you. You couldn’t keep your sister safe, your husband didn’t want to be saved, but you’d die before you’d let anyone come within an inch of Ellie. You pawned off your wedding ring long before you ever considered selling this weight in your hand. You couldn’t physically win a fight but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to take someone out with you.

There’s more than one reason you never let Ellie look into your purse. You won’t make eye contact with her now.

Lee’s eyes harden into black flints in his head. “Yeah? You’re shaking like a leaf. You ain’t gonna do shit about it.”

He twists harder, forcing Ellie to her knees, his mouth smearing into a sickening sneer, Ellie’s cries loud – “get off me, you fucker!”

All you have to do is miss. Once.

Your arm shifts right and you fire. You meant to hit the floor, but instead the leg of a chair at a nearby table shatters, wood and smoke sparking into the air. Lee and Ellie jump, their struggle broken, but Ellie’s quicker, smarter. Hunched to avoid debris, they are nearly eye to eye and Ellie doesn’t hesitate; she jerks her head back and then launches her forehead forward – square into his flat nose.

The crunch is sickening and it turns your already empty stomach. Lee shrieks, releasing Ellie, his hands flying to his misshapen nose to staunch the river of blood pouring from his nostrils.

“You bitch!” he whines, voice wet and gummy as blood trickles down his throat, eyes watering. You hear a roar of anger as Knapp stands, no longer finding any of this funny.

“Get behind me, Ellie.” You snap, eyes on Knapp as he lumbers forward. She hesitates, looking like she’d like nothing more than to kick Lee up the balls, but obeys the closer Knapp comes. She slots behind you, eyes sharp on the squealing man on the floor.

“She broke my fucking nose, man,” he cries, face already purpling.

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it, you fucker!” She snarls over your shoulder. One hand holds your elbow, and the other brandishes her mother’s knife that had been at the bottom of her satchel seconds ago. Fuck.

Ellie Williams is not, and never has been, nor will be, one to deescalate a situation. Knapp responds in kind. His drunk fingers fumble with his holster, his face contorted with rage.

“Shootin’ at an officer of the law – you’re gonna hang for this, you thieving little c–,”

“Knapp.”

A fifth voice – low, deep, a mammalian bark that grinds the chaos of the room to a halt. The large man stalls, his engine snagged by the rough grain of that voice. On the floor, Lee lets out one quiet whimper as he cracks open a pulsating black eye.

In the glow of the firelight, you watch as beads of sweat swell on Knapp’s big forehead beneath his wide-brimmed hat. His wide eyes flash between you and the man who just walked in.

“M-Miller, the fuck you want?”

Your heart seizes in your chest. Miller.

Joel Miller.

You never thought your saving grace would come in the shape of a hulking, dark-eyed man.

A well-worn handkerchief around his neck, crusted over with dust, his broad shoulders stretch a denim work shirt, the unbuttoned collar loose and just as dirty. Worked-over hands, dry and brown as the earth, curl into fists at his side. Tight jaw, flared nose, eyes black, his presence expands in the cramped room, a leviathan cresting dark waves to command the roaring void.

“Back off, both of you.”

Knapp sneers, desperately tugging at some misguided sense of bravery, with sweat running hot and fast and smelly down the sides of his rubbery face. “Y-yeah, or what?”

“You fuckin’ know what.”

Knapp visibly swallows and lowers his pistol, hands trembling. Lee whines from the floor, his eyes open as wide as the swelling will allow, abject terror on his face as he stares up at Miller. Neither of them move.

A guard dog satisfied by the corralled sheep, Joel’s heavy gaze roves from the two men, across the room, to you.

His expression doesn’t change.

The weight shifts across the stiff planes of his shoulders, and he turns, leaving as quickly as he appeared. Beneath his thick boots, the wooden floor creaks and it rouses you. Your mouth is so dry you can feel the skin of your lips split apart.

“Mr. Miller, w-wait.”

He doesn’t.

With a single glance to the men still frozen in terror, you follow him through the now-dark and empty store. The cold desert air cracks hard against your overheated cheeks when you burst through the door, into the black night. The moonlight illuminates the threads of silver hair in his beard that the dark parlor hid. His fingers work slowly, unhurriedly, as he tightens the leather buckle beneath the wide girth of his off-white horse. It lifts its head as you stumble out onto the dusty road, its round eyes watching you with more interest than its rider. White ears twitch forward, a snort from the long snout, and Joel rubs the soft place between two giant nostrils without looking up.

“J-Joel – Mr. Miller, please, I need your help.”

“Already got it.” His shoulders flex and roll as he loads up another loose sack onto the rump of the horse, then tightens the securing belt. It snorts again and shifts on its hooves, its long tail flicking back and forth.

You shake your head, swallowing the hot rush of embarrassment. The wind licks at your ankles and you fight back a shiver, bringing a hand to your shoulder to warm the goosebumps. “No, sorry, I mean – I’m here to help you. I saw your advertisement and I was wondering if the position was still open.”

The buckle quiets. The dirt at his feet crunches as he faces you.

There are no trees in Dalhart, Texas. There are barely any clouds, no coverage. Overhead, the few buildings not yet folded up in the wake of the financial collapse throw shadows over his angular face, but you can still feel the trace of his gaze over you. A curious search, the investigation of scent.

Then he shakes his head.

“No.”

Your entire chest tightens. “Has the position been filled?”

“No.”

“Then why–,”

“I don’t need you.” He lifts up the third and final sack and you feel your hope being carried away with it. “Need a farm hand. You’re not the type.”

“N-n-no, I’ve worked on a farm. I-I’ve only planted seeds but I’m a quick learner and I–,”

“No.”

“Sir – please, I’ll do anything–,”

“Then go home.” He unties the reins from the wooden post and clicks to the horse. Its big eyes watch you as he turns them for the road. “There’s nothing here for you.”

You absolutely will not cry in front of this gruff stranger. Panic icing down your spine, you follow him on weak knees. In the wake leftover from the wheat boom, Dalhart is quiet as soon as the sun goes down. Empty of people, of light, of any sort of guiding hand, you try to appeal to the last human you’ve found at the end of the world.

“Mr. Miller, there must be something you need. I’m a hard worker, smart, you won’t have to train me at all. Please. I’ve been a housekeeper, a seamstress – a nurse. I —,”

The horse huffs when Joel pulls tight on the reins.

In the moonlight, all of his hair looks gray. Your heart plunges in your throat. You can feel your stomach trying to digest your spine.

“Done any work with kids?” He asks, after a moment.

His brisk question is not what you expected. You can barely hear him over the pounding in your heart.

“Y-yes. I’ve treated children before. A-and I was a teacher, briefly. I’m very good with children, actually.”

The scarred hand at his side tightens, flexes open and closed, the tips of his thumb and forefinger twitching over the other. Over his shoulder, you think his head tilts a centimeter towards you.

“You know what? Fuck this.”

Out of the shadows of the county store, Ellie tears down the steps, her face pink and her hair stuffed back up her ball cap. She loops her small hands around your forearm and tugs, her eyes like chips of bark, glaring hatefully at the man in the middle of the street. Faint dust churns beneath her faded sneakers.

“She’s fucking begging you and you don’t give a fuck, you old shithead!” She tugs again. In the flash of the moonlight, a glassy film has settled over her eyes. “C’mon, we don’t need him. We – don’t need – him.”

“Ellie, please!” You grab her by the shoulders, a soft hand in a swirling tempest, and she settles, her mouth twisted up in anger and embarrassment. She hates that you have to beg anyone. “Please.” Shielding her from him, you squeeze her shoulders. “I know, Ellie. I know. But I have to keep you safe.”

Ellie finally turns that hot glare at you, eyes damp. Petulant when terrified, your sister was the exact same way.

Fuck, Anna, it should have been me.

“She yours?”

Joel rests his weight on his left knee, fingers loose around the reins. He’s lowered the mask around his mouth. You snap your head up, your voice thankfully steady. “She’s my niece. She . . . I’m responsible for her.”

Below your palms, Ellie stiffens.

Fifteen feet from you, Joel nods, the muscle in his jaw tight. The horse huffs and he glares at it like it just yelled at him too.

“I’m not in the habit of pickin’ up strays,” he says as if that means a lot.

Hope springs in your chest and it snags the air in your lungs. “We’re not. I-I mean, we’ll work hard. Please, give us just one chance.”

“And you expect me to take on the both of you.” It isn’t a question, but his eyebrow arcs all the same. “That’s two mouths I gotta feed, ‘steada one.”

“She can have mine.” In the silence, you think you can hear the faint choir of crickets. You remember the tarantulas and centipedes that lived inside the walls of your husband’s prairie dugout, and your stomach twists. “Ellie can have whatever you give us.”

She makes a brief cry of protest, but you squeeze her shoulders. The sharp flair of his nostrils smooths and the corners of his eyes pinches, tilting his eyebrows up. He’s still glowering, but somehow, his expression has suddenly opened, just a crack.

And then he nods.

“Stay here a night. I’ll be back in the morning with the wagon.”

And that’s it. You have a job.

You’re so elated it takes a minute for his words to sink in. He turns back down the road, the horse's hooves clipping on the dry ground. You follow after him, hand outstretched.

“Oh, no, w-we can walk, it’s no trouble. Let me just get our things and–,”

“Too far to walk. And there’s things out in the dark more dangerous than those fuckin’ rangers.” He nods to the country store, eerily quiet. It sits, ugly, like a brown old frog. “There’s a hotel just up the road. It’s not much, but it’ll do for one night.”

“But, sir, we really can’t stay. I don’t – there’s no –,”

You stumble to a stop when those merciless dark eyes root you to the ground. The leather reins squeak when he tightens his fist around them. Again, you are under the impression of a dog sniffing out your scent for any deception, any treason. He takes you in, all of you in – your ratty gloves, your torn hemline, your tattered collar – and by some miracle, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, the groove above his nose softens.

Wordlessly, he reaches into his back pocket and takes out five dollars from a brown leather wallet. He offers it to you between two fingers.

Take it, his eyes command.

You do, with a shaking hand. You hate charity, you hate that you’re at his mercy –

But Ellie has a bed for the night. Inside, warm. Where, hours ago, she didn’t. You smother your pride and nod, gaze at the scar on his cheek that you only now notice at an arm’s length away.

“One night,” he says. “For you and the kid.”

You nod again because that’s all you really can do, his pity clutched in your fist and held against your heart.

Ellie scowls as he swings up onto the horse and readjusts his mask.

“What a guy,” she murmurs to you, her eyes still narrowed. Joel clicks his teeth, and the horse trots off into the dark, a lone man riding out into the featureless night.

Evidently still feeling slighted, Ellie sticks her tongue out at the denim back.

“Better keep that tongue in your mouth, kid,” he hollers before digging his heels into the horse’s flanks. “Liable to be chopped off like a copperhead.”

Ellie’s mouth snaps shut.

The money Joel gave you is more than enough to cover a room and another plate of food. You even spurge your own money on some small candy for Ellie, determined to give Joel back every cent left over and then some, once you’ve proven you can earn your keep.

For you and the kid.

You shake your head, lost in your own thoughts, the gnawing hunger in your belly satiated, as you pull back the covers to the twin bed. The metal frame squeaks as you climb in, your night dress thin and ragged as the rest of your clothes.

“C’mon, Ellie, time for bed.” When she doesn’t move, you stop rearranging the pillows and look at her. In her own white nightie (because she’d outgrown all her other pajamas), she sits in front of the roaring fire, her chin on her knees, and her arms wrapped around her shins.

She’s quiet - either a good sign, or a terrible one.

“Ellie, sweetie, we’ve gotta get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

You watch as her narrow back expands and falls in one slow breath, her skin bright in the firelight.

She nods mutely and climbs into the space beside you. She rolls onto her side, away from you, her hands tucked up under her head, her knees curled up beneath her.

This is where Anna would know what to say. How to soothe this girl with so much awareness in a world that is raw to even those willfully ignorant. You can’t bullshit Ellie the way you can some kids. She knows too much. Seen too much.

You settle down next to her in the shadow of her shoulder. Your fingers hover, locked between the yawning gap of touching her and not touching her, when she finally speaks.

“Is this really going to work?” Her voice is quiet, soft, dust-covered and buried. “Is Joel really gonna . . . are we safe?”

You cannot bullshit Ellie Williams.

“I don’t know. I’d like to think so. I know you don’t like him, but I think we can trust him.”

She’s quiet again, only this time because there’s something she doesn’t want to say.

“Not like Uncle Robert – or Robert, if that’s even his real name. I’d never met the man in person, but I wanted – so badly – to believe . . .” You swallow, your own shame boiling your skin. “I think we’re safe with Joel Miller.”

The god’s honest truth.

She hears it in your voice.

Ellie tips back to look you in the eyes. She’s lost so much weight recently. “Yeah?”

You tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, the ghost of your thumb across her cheek. She allows the show of affection. “Yeah, El. I do.”

You want to say: you can trust me. I’ll always take care of you.

But you know it would only come out hollow.

Neither of you would think it was honest.

She pulls away from your grasp, her eyes almost golden in the firelight. She nods and stares at the burning wood.

“Okay.”

“So . . . is your car, like, broken or something?”

You elbow Ellie and she sits up from hanging over the edge of the wagon. She frowns at you – what? – and you both glance at Joel at the front of the wagon. If the question annoys him any more than he perpetually already is, he doesn’t show it.

“Don’t have one.” He says to the back of the horse. The wagon rocks and sways over the clods of dust and stone in the road. “Never did.”

“Uh, why?”

“Cars break down in the dust storms. Short out. They end up being more trouble than they’re worth.”

Again, that half-centimeter turn, his tone implying what his eyes can’t, faced away from you. Ellie narrows her eyes at the back of his head. She wrenches her mouth open, fire in her eyes, but she catches you glaring, and her mouth snaps shut. Pouting, she chucks a lone pebble off the back of the wagon.

The sky is strikingly blue, bright as a livewire, the air warm and crackling with the early summer heat. Away from Dalhart, away from the collection of dust on every surface, dripping through every crack, you find the clarity and distance of the southern plains to be . . . unexpected. So careless and abrasive one minute, but then, in moments like these, it became hard to believe that nature could ever be so cruel as to make the earth rise up and swallow it all whole.

You swing your legs off the wooden edge, the sunshine warm on your knees. It’s no use trying to hide how badly your socks need darning, so you lean back and stretch your legs as far as you can, your face tilted towards the sky, the still air peaceful. This morning, you’d put on your yellow plaid dress, torn cotton lace around the sleeves that stop at your elbows. You tucked your hair up and pinned your straw hat to your head. It was a reflex, to present your most beautiful self to a man, even one you barely knew. By the way Ellie had rolled her eyes, she felt no such compulsion.

Demure, your mother always told you, you’re not very pretty, you’re not very bright, the least you can be is demure.

The wagon shudders, clicks, over the empty road and you open your eyes. Ellie is turned away from you, eyes out to the fields on either side of you. You don’t understand what she’s looking at, until you realize that’s exactly it: there is nothing to look at. On the other side of those loopy barbed-wire fences through cock-eyed posts, there are miles and miles of nothing but churned-over dirt. A lazy wind spins over a patch of emptiness, tossing clods and sand into the air, an aimless sadness as tangible as the dust itself. Phone lines stand, corroded and chipped, along the side of the road like tangible manifestations of a deadly infection.

“There’s no crops here either.” Ellie says, voicing loudly what you only thought. You can’t see her face but she sounds as stunned as you are. “What happened?”

You watch over her shoulder, eyes level with the earth bleached of all material, all life. With the drought, your husband’s field shriveled up in months, the cracked ground peeling away from the sodhouse in some places. You still have nightmares about waking up with grit between your teeth, choking and coughing up bloody chunks of mud.

This is desolation on an epidemic scale.

“Ask different people ‘n they’ll tell you different things.” Joel says in his slow drawl, the crackle of the earth soft beneath the wooden wheels. “No one really knows. But nothing like this happened when the buffalo grass was here, ‘steada wheat.”

“Wait, you were here before Dalhart?” Ellie twists on the wagon, leaning over the lip where Joel sits and drives the horse.

“My family was. Here before anything. My grandpa befriended the Comanche Indians and –,”

“You got to hang out with Indians?” Ellie nearly hurls herself over the edge of the wagon to try and look him in the eye. “What are they like – did they teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow – can they really ride horses like that –,”

“Ellie!” You want to grab her by her collar and yank her back into the wagon. “Not so many questions.”

The noise Joel makes is somewhere between a grunt and the word no.

“It’s fine –, “ he looks down at Ellie, still curled around the back of the seat, her eyes wide with a giant smile on her face. His ever present scowl doesn’t seem any deeper, nor does it deter her. Joel turns away again and in the sunlight, his hair is gooey, caramel brown. You stare at the dirt road while listening, the back of your neck hot. “They’re good people. Didn’t deserve what happened to them – to any of ‘em. But they taught my grandpa and grandma how to take just what they need, nothing more. But then everybody needed grain, offered money for cheap, easy labor. They poured in here, into the prairie, and in years, it became this. Folks blame the drought, but it’s more’n that.”

Ellie’s inordinately quiet. She knows exactly what your husband did to you, to your family, and now, maybe to the entire land.

“‘Next year’ people, they claim,” Joel continues, his voice deepening with anger, “‘next year’, things’ll be better. ‘Next year’ the rains’ll come. ‘Next year’ the wheat’ll return.” He shakes his head, boots creaking against the toeboard. “Anyone who thinks that is lyin’ to themselves. Anyone’s who’s been here, seen what’s here, for us it’s been –,”

“The end of the world.”

The silence that follows your words stretches long, an anchor dropped off the end of the wagon and rattling around the wheels. You swing your legs, fingers curling around a tear in your hemline. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words to describe the state of things. That’s what your husband called it and you believed him.

Evidently, Joel agrees. His wide shoulders taught, the denim blue faded beneath the boundless sky, he nods.

“Griiim,” Ellie mutters as she curls up and drops her chin on her knees.

You’ve been watching a single cloud chase the sun from the floor of the wagon when Ellie, silent for all of about fifteen minutes, lifts her head from her hands draped over the edge. Her eyes go wide, her ears pink from the sun, and says:

“Whoa.”

The horse huffs as you sit up, a soft wind snagging the loose hairs on the back of your neck, and your mouth drops.

Grass.

Fields of it.

The air is fresh, warm, and filled with the scent of living, breathing earth. Tipped with lush purple seeds shaped like paintbrushes, a sea of stalks bend and ripple in the cooling breeze, undulating like waves on solid ground. The wind is soft here, teasing, rolling through the tall grass, carrying the scent of growth and green in the air. You’re suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is, cracked and padded with dust.

“We left it be.” Joel offers simply, voice too gruff to surely be filled with pride. “It’s endured and survived, and so have we.”

Further back, you can see where the line of his property ends – a harsh division of paradise and purgatory – and marked to the north by a dip in the ground and even over the crunch of the wheels over the ground, you hear it: water.

A river. An oasis in a wasteland.

Ahead of the white tufts of hair on the horse, the road curves, disappearing into the sea of grass, but letting your graze drift up, you see an a-frame home, white like a lighthouse at the edge of a storm. The instant the home comes into view, Joel clicks his tongue, urging the horse faster – eager.

He leads the horse up through the road, through the grass, and on the other side, by the river, two cows chew up the green, oblivious. Beyond them, tucked behind the house is a barn. Low to the ground but wide, hunched like a fighter with a heavy center of gravity, it looks ready to endure and survive. As this entire secret world had.

Joel tugs the horse to a stop, the wagon rattles as it slows, by the wide porch of the a-frame. It sits also low to the ground, wider with a dark roof, held together with something black and smeared. You’re so distracted by the unique qualities of this house in the middle of paradise that you miss it when the door creaks open until you’re staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

“Who are you?” The voice behind the gun is deep, even if the barrels shake slightly. In the dark of the doorframe, you can’t quite see their face, only their short stature.

You see Ellie’s hand twitch towards her knife, which she now carries in her sock since the night of the county store.

However, Joel is less concerned. In fact, the boulders of his shoulders loosen, ease to simple muscle and blood. He makes a noise that on anyone else, it might be considered a laugh, a chuckle, but he isn’t even capable of smiling –

He slings down from the seat and pats the horse.

“Easy there, Annie Oakley, it’s just me.”

The shadow in the doorway stiffens.

“Dad?”

The shotgun lowered, the shadow staggers into the light. Brown eyes, just like his, scrunched against the blinding sunlight, a girl with the most beautiful head of curls blinks at Joel, her thin hand held up to shield her face.

“Hey there, baby girl.”

In a single leap, she jumps down from the porch but all too quickly, the smile slips from Joel’s face.

“Hang on, not too fast–,”

She stumbles towards him as best as the metal braces around her knees, down to her ankles, will allow, defiant and smiling, despite the beads of sweat that have swelled over her forehead. Joel surges forward, faster than you thought possible, and reaches for her, nearly on one knee.

“Slow down, please, Sarah.”

“Dad, I’m fine,” she huffs before tossing her arms around his neck. “I’m fine. Just – missed you, is all.”

You can’t see his face, but he straightens up still holding her. With one hand he flattens those curls to her cheek, and kisses the other.

“Enough to forget all the things I taught you about gun safety? You just tossed that thing aside,” he scolds fondly. She rolls her eyes as he sets her down.

“Okay, but if you didn’t know it was me, you would’a been totally scared, right?”

She watches as he chuckles, a deep, warm sound, but her own smile flatlines when she spies Ellie climbing down from the wagon. You ease off the edge, your lower half sore from the ride.

The girl, Sarah, narrows her eyes.

“Who are you?” She positions her body slightly in front of Joel’s. “And why are you dressed like a boy?”

Joel’s soft scolding – “Sarah” – is lost beneath Ellie’s scoff. She adjusts her satchel.

“Why are you dressed like Raggedy Ann?”

Her father’s massive hands clench down on her shoulders, Sarah’s scowl evident that she’s about half a second away from launching herself at Ellie, leg braces be damned.

“Now, let’s slow down here.” Joel’s deep baritone is light, but just as firm as his grip. If you knew him better, you’d think he is about to laugh, the lines around his eyes thick, while his mouth stays flat. “We got off on the wrong foot. Sarah, this is Ellie and her aunt. They’re going to be staying with us for a while to help out with your schooling.”

Those curls go flying, her frown now pinched in worry. Another girl caught between a child and adult – for the sake of their single parent, you notice, your chest tight.

“I thought you needed a farm hand. You were going to teach me.”

“You know you already read better than I do.”

“Dad–,”

“Miss here is also a nurse.”

“Oh. Oh.” She glances down at the metal braces as if she’d forgotten they were there. The skin on her knees is chaffed, rubbed pink. “She can . . . help me?”

Twin pairs of brown eyes settle on you, one hesitantly curious, the other aggressively determined.

You can, right?

Ellie’s staring at the braces, her gaze distant, heavy. She’d seen this before, but everything back then moved too fast. Back then, there was no time for braces.

Braces only help a small percentage of polio patients. The lucky ones.

You nod, your heart hammering under your chest bone. “Yes – yes, sir. I think with Ms. Kenny’s therapy, we might be able to alleviate some pain.”

Those eyes, exactly like and so unlike her father’s, widen.

“Really?”

You introduce yourself with your first name, pressing the crease in your glove between your nail and your thumb with your other hand.

“I’d like to try, Sarah.”

You suddenly understand that Sarah is Joel Miller’s most guarded secret, out here in paradise, paradise as the most beautiful prison in the world. He continues to stare at you from under thick eyebrows after Sarah moves away from him. Ellie, caught off-guard by her forward movement, takes a significant step back.

“I, um, got some marbles out back,” Sarah starts, thumbing over her shoulder, and every other word sounding like an apology. “If you wanna play.”

Ellie jerks forward, her eyes round with excitement, but stops. She looks at you.

“Can I?”

Soft when eager, just like her mother. So unlike you. You nod.

“Stay close, okay?”

You and Joel watch as Ellie and Sarah toddle around to the back of the house, Ellie quietly narrating every thought she has as she keeps pace with Sarah.

Those look actually really cool, you know?

Yeah?

Totally. Have you read Amazing Stories? You look like you could be part of the Space Family Robinson.

Who are they?

Oh, you’ve never read those!? Okay, so they’re a family who live in space and they go on these awesome adventures together to different planets and . . .

The farther they go, the faster Joel turns back to stone. His gaze lingers just a hint longer before those dark eyes pin you to the ground.

“You said you can clean? Cook?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, sir.” Guard dog Joel. Stocky pitbull, teeth long and wet Joel.

He tilts his chin towards the house.

“Kitchen’s in the back. I gotta clean up the wagon and the horse, then gonna tend the field. I’ll be back in a few hours, but Sarah knows where to find me if y’need somethin'.”

You nod again, but he misses it, turning away to unbuckle the horse. You slide your trunk and Ellie’s satchel off the end of the wagon and head into the shadow of the house.

The white clapdoor snaps shut behind you, followed by the softer snik of the screen clicking into its frame. Slipping the bobby pins out of your hair to release your hat, you take in the Miller home.

The air is cool. Dust motes float in the sunlight streaming in from the second floor over a staircase with wooden wainscoting leading away from the open front room. With a brief glance up, you can see the faded white walls of the upper hallway, some not-yet-seen window drawing in bolts of morning light that pierce the air in bullet holes. It’s quiet and it smells warm, like lace kept in the back of a drawer near a wall that faces the heat outside.

A blue two-seater couch faces a squat fireplace, with a Queen Anne table sandwiched between the two. Behind you, a large grandfather clock ticks and waits, a server waiting in the shadows with a watchful eye to report back to its master on the going-ons of the house. With only a cedar hutch, a few daguerreotypes, a smattering of books, the room is sparsely decorated, but kept clean and organized. You could see Sarah, a focused look in her eyes, sitting on the steps of the stairs and making Joel move and rearrange furniture over and over again until the room felt right.

Through a white arched doorway, you find yourself in the kitchen. The light sparks more brightly here, the sky a stark blue through the four square window over the kitchen table and above the sink, reflective of the sun. You realize then the house runs north to south at an angle, where there are limited windows in the walls on the east and west sides, thereby limiting direct sun exposure and, more importantly, heat. Both the kitchen and the front rooms had been built out of the line of the sun, making cooking and cleaning and living bearable without a painful glare.

A thoughtful and patient consideration.

Someone had attempted to add some levity with brown and blue plaid wallpaper around the cove of the dinner table, all the way to the other side of the room around the kitchen counters and stove. But unfortunately for everyone else, the wallpaper is hideous, only tampered by the off-white counters and cupboards.

The cupboards have glass doors, blurring ceramic cups and plates on the tops of the shelves.

It reminds you of the small apartment Anna and you lived in back in Boston, when it was just the two of you. It wasn’t much, but it felt sturdy, secure. Safe.

A door to the right of the stove has a latch, and you lift it and poke your head inside. A chilly darkness greets you, along with the scent of wet, deep earth. A basement? No. Not this close to the kitchen. Curiosity pulling you forward, you descend the sturdy wooden stairs, into the sunken darkness. You count ten until a draft licks your ankles. You keep going, one squeak of wood after another until - you touch soil. The heady scents of pine bark and peat moss soothe the air from where your feet press into the ground, fertility thick like mushrooms in the gut of a lichen-drenched tree. But it’s dark, too dark to make out much, barely your own hand in front of your face. With your fingers outstretched, as if you’ll bump into a gas lamp conveniently on the ground, you shuffle forward and almost immediately a cold chain tickles your face. You grab out of instinct and pull.

Nearly blinded by the light that erupts from an exposed bulb directly in front of your left eye, you stagger back, wincing, your footsteps muffled by the earthen floor. You blink through the tears as the secret at the end of the stairs finally reveals itself.

A pantry. A cellar.

At least twenty feet deep and ten feet high, with rows and rows, stacks and stacks, wood shelves cover nearly the entire length of the underground room. In between the rows, large barrels sit, quiet and sturdy, with bottles of vinegar and olive oil sitting on their rims.

You realize two things within seconds of each other.

This house has electricity. It stands above the ground, proud, independent, full of heat and light. So unlike your husband’s dark hole in the ground.

and

there is so much food.

Pickling jars. Seed pouches. Culled wheat. Cans of fruit and vegetables and eggs. Olives with squash and pumpkins. Crates of potatoes and half bottles of wine and syrup. Onions and carrots and spices and garlic.

A feast. Meals for days and days and days. The bounties of earth stored, safe beneath the ground, like a secret.

It’s more food than you’ve seen in years.

A hunger like you can’t remember having roars in your stomach out of nowhere and everything pitches to the right. The edges of your vision blurs, your shoulder knocking into stone wall, and breathing becomes a nearly impossible task. You turn, nearly stumbling up the dozen steps that have turned into a thousand.

The tacky memories that stick to the crevices of your dreams yawn awake, bringing with them dry mud in your mouth and thick salt to your eyes. Mud, dirt, dust – everywhere. In that stinking hut in the ground, the dust replaced your molecules, your atoms, until you too might blow away, until you are cracked and empty and dry. The static from the dust storm memories shoots down both of your arms and you sway on your feet. Your heart suddenly pounding so achingly fast, you have to drop your forehead against the flat surface of the closed door to keep the room from spinning.

You had forgotten what safety looked like.

You had forgotten what living could be.

You know the ringing sound of that gunshot is just in your head, it’s not real, but you shudder all the same, your hands curling into claws under your chin, your nails tearing up the white paint.

You’re here, not there. You are safe. Ellie is safe. That house and him have been entombed together under piles of dirt, with the bugs and the rot and the stench from the weak stove. Rivers of sweat rolling down the back of your neck, you beg yourself to stop shaking. You feel like cheap terracotta pottery – made from dirt, left too long to bake in the sun and made brittle; one good tap and you’ll shatter.

You breathe in and taste wet salt. Breathe out and cry – cry from the fear and the dread and the relief and the hope. God, that hope tastes worse than all the dirt in the Panhandle of Texas.

You cry and cry and cry until you don’t feel so brittle anymore.

Sunlight has struck copper, heavy, tangy in the mouth, when the back door opens and the house is instantly filled with the sound of girls’ rabid conversation. You step back from the stove, cheeks warm and arm sore from continuously stirring the rice and vegetable soup. It’s not as thick as your mother once made, but without milk, it would be nearly impossible to improve. You smile at the girls as they tumble in, more dust mite than human, whispering about some secret.

“Having fun?” You ask with a grin on your face as Ellie helps Sarah take off her shoes, already attentive to what a girl with her health concerns might need.

There’s an overlap of chatter as Ellie and Sarah both answer you and then, answer each other.

“Well, good,” you say, turning back to the stove, making sure the bottom of the soup doesn’t burn, “but whatever you got up to, it’s all over your faces so please wash up before dinner.”

“It smells real good, miss,” Sarah says as she hobbles over to the sink and starts rinsing off her arms and cheeks, while Ellie takes off her own shoes. “What is it?”

“Something my mom used to make when the cupboards were bare.”

Sarah stills, the water rushing over her soft skin. Those inquisitive eyes are just as captivating, just as forceful as her father’s, but for entirely different reasons. She tugs the words out of you by the sheer, needling strength of her gaze.

“I mean – I found the cellar, the house is incredibly well stocked, but I didn’t see any preserved meat or dairy and I didn’t – I didn’t think your dad would want me poking around out back.”

Immediately Sarah softens and rolls her eyes. “Dad’s all bark and no bite,” she huffs. “We’ve got stored beef and cheese in an ice chest downstairs. I’ll show you around tomorrow.”

You smile and those brown eyes go warm in the coppery light. “Thanks, Sarah.”

“Bunch up, I gotta wash my hands too.” Ellie none-to-gently bumps Sarah with her shoulder to get to the sink but before you can scold her, Sarah swings back, using her precarious momentum, and pushes Ellie back. They both giggle. Something that’s been cramped far too long in your chest loosens.

“So, Sarah, tell me where you are with your schooling. Do you have books, diagrams?”

She thinks for a minute as she opens a drawer that leaves her back to you and takes out two, then four thin cloth placemats. She hobbles back to the table to carefully spread them out.

“I was up to seventh grade before the school shut down. That was about two years ago, so Dad’s been trying to make sure I don’t forget anything. He got me a Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare a while ago and made me read it out loud to him. He has me work on my letters every day – including cursive.” She adds, with a bright spot of joy cranking her mouth open. You imagine someone like Sarah would have beautiful penmanship. “He shows me around the yard, asking me to identify plants and animals, especially anything that might be poisonous. I don’t think he really understands it but he explains what happens when you add water to a seed and keep it in damp earth. Oh, and he has me help balance the books for the farm – what we made, what we sold, how much we have left, stuff like that.”

You smile at her over your shoulder as Ellie hands her bowls. “Accounting.”

“Huh?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “It’s so boring, don’t worry about it,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“What your dad is teaching you is called accounting,” you say a bit firmly, eyes tracking your niece as she shows no shame. “It’s a very special skill to have, especially if you work on a farm or in a business. Do you like it?”

She nods rapidly, those cork-screw curls bouncing around her thin face. “Yeah! I do! I’m much faster than Dad when it comes to figuring out the sums and dollar value.”

In the front hall, the clap door creaks open then slams shut, heavy footfalls proceeding the man that makes them.

“Does that happen a lot?” you ask softly as Sarah sidles up next to you to peer into the pot.

“Where I know more than my dad?” Sarah smirks up at you, all devious youth. “More often than you think.”

A mini sun bursts from the ceiling as Joel flicks on the light switch and is almost immediately tackled by Sarah. The copper sun on the horizon finally, in the distracted moment, slips down and drags the night behind it. It’s purple twilight outside when Joel lifts his head from the embrace around Sarah’s shoulders to stare at the two strangers in his kitchen.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you say brightly and you can almost picture your mother in the same exact position in front of the stove, stirring soup until her cheeks were pink, her hand resting low on her back, her tummy round and full in her second attempt to keep her husband’s rage diverted from her. It’s a boy, she promised.

The memory makes you so violently ill out of nowhere, you lose your appetite. But you persevere; you carry on and load up the bowls Sarah stacked for you. Ellie saves you from having to dislodge the prickly knot in your throat when she snags a bowl and eagerly yells, “get it while it’s hot!”

The arrangements from the stove to the table are a bit of a blur, the slick anxious weight from earlier today curling around your lungs again as you remember shadows in chairs like these, but so different from the flesh-and-blood bodies that occupy them now.

You’re dazed, a little light-headed, but not so much to miss the glance between Joel and Ellie. A junkyard puppy skirting the territory of an older watchdog, a bone in each of their mouths and dragged to opposite corners of the battlefield. Satisfied with the lines of demarcated territory that had been drawn, they call a temporary truce by eating in complete silence, until Sarah groans.

“Oh my god, this is better than it smells!” she hums, her mouth full of potatoes.

“Just wait till she adds chicken,” Ellie grumbles, mouth cupped open to keep from spilling. You watch her, a faint smile on your face, and the slippery feeling fades. When cleaning up, she missed a spot on her left nostril and you fight the urge to clean it with your thumb.

“There’s more.”

Your gaze snaps to Joel hunched over his bowl. The spoon that Ellie and Sarah have to both clutch in their fists to eat barely swings between his massive fingers.

Joel’s dark eyes trace down your nose, your chin, your neck, to where your hands lay flat on the table in front of you. Your own bowl and spoon sit on the counter behind you. You worry you might have upset him, with the way he’s frowning.

“There’s more,” he repeats, same tone.

“I'm sorry?”

He puts his spoon down and clears his throat, then nods to the pot on the stove. Ellie watches him out of the corner of her eye.

“I saw how much you made. If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

As though speaking a language only you could hear, he looks at Ellie the same time you do.

She frowns. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Sarah begins to giggle, nodding, when Joel starts again.

“You should eat. There’s enough.”

It’s like his eyes can see through your blue veins and clammy skin, to your yellow bones and clawing stomach. You choke on the mudball that’s been hovering in your throat for months and nod.

“Alright.”

You don’t know if you’re actually hungry – you can’t really remember the taste of warm food – or if you’re doing it just to appease him, but something about the heat of the bowl and solid spoon in your hand, it rouses you from this sinking you find yourself in. Your bones feel like jelly.

“How’re the fields, Dad?” Sarah asks with her big eyes, seemingly unaware of the layered exchange between you and her father, or kind enough not to address it.

He responds to her, his voice deep in the cavern of his chest. It’s an easy way he speaks to her, heavy with the seriousness she’s earned to be talked to like an adult, but gentle enough that for all his low grumbling, it comes out as a thick murmur. You find yourself listening to their conversation, their interactions, as soothing as music turned low from a well-tuned radio. Ellie is even roped in when Sarah tells Joel all about the Space Family Robinson and Ellie’s knife. “It’s really cool, Dad,” she says preemptively. “She knows how to use it and she’s really safe.”

“Well, if it’s really cool . . .” he fills his mouth with potatoes, tamping down the ghost of a grin on his lips around the spoon.

Ellie shuffles in her seat, her own hesitant smile glittering in her eyes, and with only minor prompting, she holds no prisoners when gleefully telling Sarah that she’s got the story of finding a mess of wriggling worms out by the back of the barn all wrong.

“Just keep ‘em outta my side of the bed, alright?” You grin at her, spooning another dribble of soup into your mouth. You’ve realized too much, too fast can just as easily twist your stomach so you focus on cradling a digestible amount of food – broth, potato, carrots – in the well of your spoon.

But the landscape beyond the silver lip has stilled. Both girls are happily slurping up the last bits of their meals, throwing quips back and forth, but Joel’s shoulders have locked up again, the bones of his wrists flat, a static alertness that you’re sure would travel all the way down to his ankles if he was standing up right. You aren’t sure if Sarah has picked up on the subtle change in his breathing – from the deep well of his lungs to shortened and shallow – but somehow you have.

You’re staring at him far too long.

Those thick eyebrows pitch down again. Beneath the loose button that pins your dress closed over your chest, you feel a swell of heat and you wish you were like Ellie, capable of making an easy joke – what, is there something on my face? The heat bubbles almost uncomfortably under his weighted gaze.

“I hate bugs,” you blurt out, desperate to give him what he wants, if only you knew. The girls glance at your sudden outburst. “I don’t like worms especially. I don’t mind straw beds, as long as they’re clean – I mean, I–I hope they are, the straw beds, not the worms.”

Another eternal second of being pinned down by Joel’s frown, this one decidedly less hostile, before understanding breaks open the harsh lines of his mouth and around his eyes. His eyes go wide for less than breath, then he drops his gaze to the bowl. His shoulders shift, muscle redistributing weight as he settles his thick forearm closer to the edge of the table.

Oh, that relief of muscle says.

“You’re not sleeping in the barn.” Joel says, head tucked down. At that, Ellie slows her ravenous eating and frowns at him.

“Then where are we sleeping?”

Joel lifts his head, a new, special emotion just for her tugging on his mouth: exasperation. “My room. You two in there and I’m takin’ the couch.”

Shame and embarrassment drip down over your skull, between your ears, like a cold, runny egg.

“No, we couldn’t possibly–,”

He shakes his head, eyes still on the split potato chunk at the bottom of the bowl. His hand flexes briefly and you think of it around the bridle of the horse.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

Beside him, Sarah frowns at him and you’d wonder how many times in her life he’s ever said that to her – if you could think properly over the roaring of blood in your ears.

“Joel,” you say, something syrupy under your tongue molding the words Mr. Miller into a tone you’d use for an old friend. “I can’t ask you to–,”

Hand flexes. The seat of the chair squeaks.

“You’re not askin’, I’m tellin’.” You’re still vastly underprepared for when those eyes - those deep, dark eyes - suddenly snap on you, as if your very presence commands his entire attention. You notice the dirt underneath his nails and around the knot of his wrist on the table. He’s filthy.

Quietly, with the surety of a dog slipping its snout between its paws, he cuts the last chunk of potato in half with the curve of his spoon. “The new mattresses’ll be here next week. We’ll make do ‘till then.”

The slurp of soup between his lips seems to signal the end of the conversation, but you can’t quite mash together your kaleidoscope-spinning impressions of the man across the table from you.

“Thank you . . . Joel.”

He nods, back teeth breaking apart the soft mush of the potato. He swallows and glances back up at you.

“It’s good,” he says, briefly holding his spoon aloft. “You did good.”

His words burst the choking bubble in your chest and warmth drips down your spine, splashing in the cradle of your hips. Hunger rises, but it’s a different kind of hunger. A growl of neglect. One you sometimes wondered if it was even possible for you to ever even feel.

Even while you were married to your husband.

You put your spoon down to keep your hand from shaking. The soup won’t feed this new churning hunger and, frankly, you don’t know what will.

You did good, he praised, parsed out like torn bread tossed across a black lake.

It makes you warm in places food never could.

The immediate next morning, you meet the sun early, eagerly. Eager to wake and rise and become so useful, you are intricately tied to this house; if you are removed, a vital piece of the land, the prairie is torn up along with you. Ellie sleeps softly next to you, curled up in the same position she was in the hotel bed, tucked in so tightly as if to take up the least amount of space possible. She sleeps, unbothered, blissful, and again you fight the urge to brush the hair that covers her sleeping eyes. You settle for tugging the beautiful quilt, with its stunning blue and red and green patches, up to her shoulders.

As you tie your dress up, your suitcase partially open and on the ground, movement from outside in the dawning pink catches your eye. A brisk shadow, those thick shoulders proceeding a taught waist are unmistakable as they move towards the barn. You stand, transfixed for a moment as broad hands slide open the barn doors, you hear a faint creak, and he disappears inside. The capability of those hands; the surety, where every action is deliberate and intentional – it makes something arc up your throat. A warm piercing that bursts through bone and muscle alike. Trembling fingers tug at the wilting lace around the cuffs of your dress, imagination stretching out into the dark morning, inspired by curious and impossible ideas of those hands.

Something – most likely Sarah next door – squeaks the floorboard and those tendrils of thought snap back as if someone had slammed a lid shut. You glance at the clock and make a mental note to wake up earlier tomorrow, to beat him to the kitchen.

You are also desperately eager to get out of the room where you can practically smell Joel on the walls. It’s simple, just like the rest of the house, but amongst the hand-drawn sketches of himself and birds (likely gifts from Sarah), the half-spent candles and well-read books, you find him in everything. You wonder, briefly, if the indentations made on the cotton mattress are from him or you – the scent of his hair in the pillow from sweat or soap.

The encroaching feeling that you don’t belong here in this house nearly swallows you whole as you dress in a room you definitely don’t belong in.

Joel remains a distant figure, a familiar shadow across the lightning horizon, long after you finish the eggs and toast. You consider perusing the pantry for blueberries or something similar, when Sarah comes down. Fresh-faced, dressed with the care most people reserve for church, she stumbles in, her braces clacking as she finds a seat at the table.

You notice a brief flash of pain across her face when you bring over a plate of food. She unconsciously rubs a circle with her thumb on her left knee as she picks up her fork.

“Pain today?” You ask, eyes on her knee, even though it’s obvious.

She nods, strained. “Just a little bit. But it’s nothing. I’m sure it’ll go away when it warms up outside.”

You doubt that is remotely true, but you let her hold the comforting lie. She doesn’t seem like the type to swallow pity with ease, and neither was Anna. You put on that detached but focused "nurse's" mask, your lips a straight line and brow furrowed, your voice slipping on something more commanding too.

“Let me see.”

Sarah blinks at you briefly, evidently surprised by your shift in demeanor but eventually, she obeys. She drops her fork and slides the chair back, the chair legs squeaking against the rough wooden floor.

You crouch in front of her, gathering up her ankle first and testing its mobility.

“When were you diagnosed?” you ask, as soft as you are firm.

“Never, technically.” She watches you and occasionally winces. You wonder how long she’s grown stiff like this. “The doc had left over braces that Dad bought before the guy skipped town.”

“So then how did you know it was polio?”

By her sudden stillness, you know this is the first time that word has been uttered under this roof in a long time. You lower her ankle, rising gaze meeting hers. Her mouth is pulled tight. You can practically read the familiar headlines as they scroll across her mind.

New Polio Cases by the Thousands

Polio Claims Life of Infant

Polio Outbreak: Thirteen Dead

“Not every case is serious,” you say, gently, using the word serious in place of fatal. You don’t want to scare her unnecessarily. But by her wide eyes, you know the word sits in her chest all the same.

“I know. And I know it can be made worse by moving too much. That’s why Dad’s always on me about resting and going slow.”

You return to your examination. Her skin is rubbed raw in some places by the braces. You remind yourself to ask Joel for some old sheets to make better padding.

“That’s not always true,” you say, shifting to her other leg. “Even though she was sore after, Anna often said she felt the stiffness go away after walking around the neighborhood block.”

Curious, Sarah tilts her head, those lovely curls swaying like leaves in a breeze. “Who’s Anna?”

Your skin around your eyes tightens – how could you be so careless with such a secret – when you hear feet thundering down the stairs and a second later, Ellie swings around the lip of the doorway.

“Is that toast?” She asks, eyes wide and hopeful. “If you got bacon, I’m gonna start kissing faces.”

You and Sarah exchange a small grin before you stand up right and Sarah returns to her own meal.

“No bacon today, but who knows what else is stored in the pantry?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Ellie exclaims as she slides into a chair, her own plate pilled far too for a girl her size. “Treasure hunt.”

You see the tips of Sarah’s ears go briefly pink at Ellie’s language but the muffled smile on her face hints at awe, impressed – so you let that one slide. A stream of light through the half-shut curtain tugs your thoughts outside, to the man literally toiling in the fields.

“Does your dad want me to bring him some food?” You ask, standing from the chair and glancing out the window. You can’t see him any more and for some reason that makes your chest go tight.

Sarah shook her bouncy curls. “No. He’ll come in and get it when he’s hungry.”

You didn’t like the idea that you weren’t going to be directly feeding the man who employed you literally to cook for him and his daughter.

“Does he like coffee?”

Sarah arches an eyebrow at you. “Yeah, he loves it. But I’ve tried for years to make it the way he likes and he always drinks it, but I think a little piece of him dies inside every time he does.”

“Then you must be a great cook too,” Ellie smirks up at her. In response, Sarah smiles impishly around a mouthful of eggs.

You hold that little bit of information about Joel - something you knew that he didn’t know you knew - close, like a dollar bill in your pocket. You drum your fingers, searching for memories of how Anna used to shoe-string coffee when you couldn’t afford a maker in Boston.

“Did you eat?”

Ellie’s voice tears your gaze from the window. Her plate is only halfway empty. Her fingers uneasily move the fork around.

“Yeah,” you answer truthfully. In fact, you are rather ashamed by how much you took, sitting at the table in the purple dark, before you remembered that you had to feed three other people. “I’m good, Ellie. Thanks.”

She nods, returning to her plate and shoveling two bites into her mouth without slowing down.

“What’s first today?” Sarah asks, her eyes bright. “I can show you my sums. We have a chalkboard in the barn.”

You smile at her eagerness to show off while Ellie dejectedly pokes at her remaining floppy eggs. She had never been one for school, another thing you found hard to relate to about her. Fortunately for her, Anna nor you ever had the time to be as diligent about her education as Joel had been for Sarah. And unfortunately for her, you intend to fix that as quickly as possible.

“I’d love to see them, Sarah, but would you mind showing me around the cellar first? Maybe there is bacon hiding down there somewhere.”

You don’t miss the small smile that creeps across Ellie’s face.

“Junk or keep?”

Sarah looks up from the tip of her stick dragging nonsense through the barn’s dirt floor, her chin flat in her palm, elbow on her knee. She frowns at Ellie holding up . . . something that might have been a tractor part at one time.

“I don’t even know what that is, so – junk?”

Ellie shrugs, tosses the piece back and forth in her hands, and then chucks it like a ball to the opposite end of the barn. It collides loudly with the wall and Flora, the white and black cow, lifts her head at the noise from her stable and lets out a low groan.

The entire barn smells of hay and animal but in a way that is warm, almost comforting. The two cows lazily munch from their troughs in their stalls, occasionally eyeing you as you carry items back and forth. It’s fortifying in a way only working outside and with your hands can offer.

You turn to her disapprovingly but she’s already back, elbow-deep, in the pile you had designated hers to sort. Sarah, to whom you suggested rest this morning, goes back to boredly drawing circles in the dirt. Even though she clearly hates the idea of being idle, you are surprised she takes your medical advice without any fight.

If you had successfully completed your duties as cook, now it was time to take on your other task as teacher. Sarah had a few textbooks, but mostly outdated and only one copy. You know trying to find a full library in times like these is laughably impossible, but there is nothing wrong with hoping for a blackboard. You’d made one before when the school district you tempted at didn’t approve new funding, and you feel confident you could do it again. Trouble is, you have nowhere to put it, much less set up a laughably impossible classroom for two students.

Until Sarah casually mentioned the unfortunate pile of junk in the back of her father’s barn, “taking up at least half the space in there.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Yuck – is your dad a hoarder?” Ellie asks with slight disgust as she pulls up a stack of newspapers held together by twine. “Why does he even have this stuff?”

Sarah grins, delighted by Ellie’s prickly teasing. “This place actually used to be pretty organized. This was his space for a long time – where he went to think, or figured out what crops we needed for the next year.”

Her smile crumbles. “But, uh, then I got sick and now he doesn’t come out here unless it's for work.”

Ellie pinches the soft of her cheek with her teeth, nodding, her eyes downcast.

“So . . . junk?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The stack of newspapers comes up to her knees and Ellie struggles, off-balanced, to carry it across the hay-covered floor.

You reach for it and she gives it to you gratefully. You take it with a smile; you never know what she’s going to appreciate or just see it regretfully as charity or pity.

“I think your dad is losing it,” Ellie says as she wipes sweat from her brow, shaking her head far too seriously. “Losin’ it, big time.”

Sarah giggles.

You drop the stack of papers in the corner, but when you let go, the string snaps and the papers spill everywhere. With a sigh, you kneel down and gather them back together, but not before a few headlines catch your eye.

Your heart twists.

Paralysis Takes Three Children

Join the Mothers’ March on Polio

QUARANTINE: POLIOMYELITIS

Why would Joel keep these? Everyone knew how devastating polio could be to children, even infants. Why would he –

Roughly dispersed throughout the article, sentences and phrases were underlined in blue pen. Sentences containing, “iron lung”, “bedrest”, “antibiotic” –

No cure.

Warmth spread out across your chest. Joel was looking for a way to treat his daughter, the only way he could in a town without a doctor: outside information. Something about this makes the space beneath your chest bone hurt so badly, you get a little nauseous.

Now you consider conserving these papers as if they are important historical documents. Behind you, where Ellie and Sarah are lobbying jokes back and forth, you see more stacks of neatly contained newspapers. He looked everywhere and found nothing.

You reshuffle the stack that fell, when you spot something else that hardens the warm feeling in your chest and makes it brittle.

Mob Over Breadline Kills FIVE

Experts Say There is No Way Out of This Depression

Mother of Drowned Children Claims She Did “What Was Best”

The rough floor hurts your knees. Eyes closed, you try to ignore the flood of images of what you witnessed in Boston, how desperate and cruel people became in Oklahoma. With each memory, your heartbeat pounds harder.

Red. Blood. Pink. Skin. White. Bone.

The riots got to be so terrible, but people were just hungry.

Ellie calling your name jerks you out of the sinking muck of memories.

“What? What is it?”

She eyes you with distant concern then glances at Sarah. “She wanted to know where you learned all this stuff.”

“About cooking, and teaching, and nursing,” Sarah clarifies. “I think I’ve read every book in our house probably four times and I still feel like I don’t know anything.”

“You probably know more than you think,” you offer as you scoop up the uncomfortable newspapers, easily switching tracks of thought to mute the swell of horrors from the rotting box in your mind. You leave them in the corner for Joel to do what he wishes with them and stand, dusting your dress off. “What do you call the process by which plants get energy from the sun?”

Sarah’s eyes brighten immediately. Where her body fails her, her mind is as sharp as a tack.

“Photosynthesis!”

“Good,” you nod, smiling. “And what’s the primary source of energy in animal cells?”

“The mitochondria!”

“Very good.”

Ellie sighs angrily from her pile and puts her hands on her hips. “I think I’m gonna make like mitosis and split, if we keep talking about all this boring stuff.”

Scorned for her love of learning a second time and already in a bad mood from the pain this morning, Sarah frowns.

“What’s your problem? Why do you act like school sucks? You had your mom teaching you –,”

“She’s not my mom!” Ellie snaps back, her knuckles white around a rusted bucket. “She’s just my aunt!”

“Yeah, well, I have an uncle I never even get to see!” Sarah stands up as smoothly as she can, but her knees and ankles are pink again. Her calves shake. “You’re lucky!”

Ellie’s teeth clench in the back of her jaw, lip curling.

You remember distinctly more than once having to pick Ellie up from school early because she’d been caught fighting and you take a step in her direction, even if Sarah could no doubt land a few solid ones in.

“And you’re–,”

“Ellie.” You know how rough Ellie can be. You remember the tone to take with unruly students, even if you don’t mean an ounce of it. “Don’t. Just let it g–,”

“Why do you always take her side?” That ire whips around to you. Loyalty, that was another trait her mother favored. Ellie’s shoulders roll forward, her fists clenched. “Why do you let her talk like she knows anything about us? About Mom?”

“I’m not taking a side, Ellie,” you say firmly, your chin tilted down to her. One day she’s going to be taller than you, you know it. “Both of you, this is enough.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ellie tosses the broken bucket in her hand to the ground and storms towards the barn doors.

“You just like her because she’s a fucking dork like you,” she growls under her breath before shoving open the large square door.

It swings shut, the metal clattering against the wood. The brief stream of light filtering in is shortly swallowed up into the shadows again.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah says almost immediately, her brown eyes swiveling on you. Her skin is tinged a little lighter and there’s sweat along her hairline. With a fleeting flash of worry, you wonder if she’s in more pain than she lets on. “I didn’t mean it . . . I mean, I think she is lucky to have – but . . . I shouldn’t have said that.”

She drops your gaze and you think those dark eyes might be softer, wetter than usual. She plucks at the hem of her dress, her mouth twisted to the side.

Where Ellie explodes outwards, Sarah implodes inwards. You never could understand Ellie’s inclination to destroy everything around her.

You hand her a broom, with a smile on your face.

“Do you want to tell me about your uncle?”

She takes it slowly from you, eyebrows furrowed down. This is a look you are familiar with, even when it comes to Ellie. She is stuck between answering like a kid, getting it all off her chest to be free of the emotional burden, and swallowing it all to please the adults in her life.

You’ve also found Ellie tends to open up when she doesn’t have to look you in the eye. Sarah’s own gaze is stuck to the floor as she vaguely sweeps at the hay.

“We don’t talk about Uncle Tommy a lot,” she mumbles.

You focus on untangling an old bridle. “Oh? Why?”

“Dad’s still pissed at him for moving out to California. Said he left what’s really important for a bullshit dream.” Her eyes pop up, wide and shocked. “Sorry, that’s what he said.”

Despite your limited time with him, you can easily see how Joel Miller might take something like that personally, but you just store that away too, another breadcrumb leading the way.

“Why California?”

“It’s–,”

The barn door opens again and Joel’s shadow breaks through the almost painful white light. Behind him, Everett (the horse) snorts and huffs, pulling along the giant creaking plow, the air suddenly pungent with the smell of warm dirt, leather, and animal sweat. Joel murmurs something to the frothing snout and wipes his own forehead with the back of his arm, smearing sweat and dirt across his browline. He stops when he sees you two staring.

By Sarah’s wide eyes, it’s clear Uncle Tommy is a subject that is not often brought up in this house either. Joel frowns, but just as he opens his mouth, you interject – you know how to deflate a potentially angry man.

“We were just cleaning up the back of the barn,” you say, careful not to use words like junk or scrap heap. “I’m hoping to use the space as a school, for Sarah and Ellie.”

His gaze settles on you, like the dust at his feet.

“Mhmm.” His tone scrapes something low in your stomach.

“I’m sorry – I should have asked – I didn’t think –,”

“No, it’s –,” he shakes his head. His eyes catch Everett’s foamy nose and he pats it, noting the long sweaty forelock. “Smart. Next spring, we’ll come up with something better, but there’s no time now, with the harvest comin’.”

You nod, peeling off what you were going to say from the back of your teeth with your tongue. Joel casually drags his fingers through Everett’s forelock before stepping back to unhook the plow’s leather buckles. It’s when he shifts towards Sarah, looking to her, that he grimaces.

He put his weight on his right knee and it immediately caused him pain.

“We could help,” you offer, eyes on his knee, his thick fingers rubbing into the muscle just above his knee cap. "Ellie loves being out in the sun and I can teach her how to plant–,”

“‘M fine,” he mutters gruffly, straightening up and wiping his hands on the cloth around his neck. “Sarah, go inside for a bit. There’s something she n’ I gotta discuss.”

His tone indicates this is not the time for eye rolling but she does it anyway.

“I’ve said for years that you need help, Dad. She’s just offering to–,”

“Sarah, inside. Please.”

Sarah scowls and drops the broom against one of the stalls. She hobbles out of the barn, first scrunching her nose up at Joel’s obvious smell, then muttering something about having to go look for the hell spawn. You finger the scrap metal in your hands, a fluttery nervousness growing in your stomach the closer Sarah gets to the door. With one more disapproving shake of her thick curls, she shuts the door behind her.

Everett nickers and paws the ground, eager to be returned to bed after a long morning of work. Light streams in gold from the slanted windows above the loft, separating the front stalls from the back of the barn where you stand, fidgeting. There’s no escaping the hot animal smell now, and it’s your turn to be intercepted by Joel.

Another apology is nearly out of your mouth when he speaks first.

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” He asks, his mouth set into a firm line. In the half-darkness of the barn, you can’t quite make out his eyes.

You swallow against the encroaching dryness in your throat. “I-I have a gun. Keep it in my purse, o-only for emergencies and I–,”

“That’s not what I asked.” He shakes his head, tone soft, almost gentle. He glances past you to the stacks of newspapers you had moved into the corner, the ones about violence and pestilence. He rubs his fingers between the bridle and Everett’s thick hair. “Found a hole in the barbed wire fence today.”

You frown, the tension of his voice indicating a severity you are utterly unprepared for. “What does that mean?”

“Someone tried to cut through.”

A white hot panic lurches up your spine out of nowhere. Fueled by fear, you see the outline of your husband shambling across the propertyline and you go cold.

“W-why would someone do that? What are they after?”

His hand stills as every muscle in his body briefly tenses. Eyes dark beneath a tight brow, the tightness in his jaw is an answer and a threat all at once. He looks almost offended by your question.

You know exactly what they would take.

All you can do is nod.

Everett nudges Joel’s shoulder, impatient to get out of the harness, for that bath he so very much deserves. As though you had disappeared, Joel unbuckles the restraints, taking a brush to the gray coat as he goes. Maybe you’d misread that last signal and he thought he told you to fuck off.

You move towards the back door when his voice, timbre deep and low, stops you again.

“I’m gonna to teach you to shoot.” He announces to the lathered withers of the horse. “But you keep that gun on you, at all times, especially when you’re out with the girls. You got that?”

He pauses just as he slides the hitch off the horse's back, his arms covered in dirt as dark as the leather. It’s minute, the shift in his weight, but you suddenly realize he wants verbal confirmation.

“Y-yes. Yes. I’ll take it with me.”

The minutia shifts again, a lessening of tension across his broad shoulder, his thick back. He nods.

“Good.”

The aching need for him to say more, for that good to turn into you did good or good job – or good girl – it sparks so fast and hot inside of you, you think you’ll choke. Instead, you leave through the door on unsteady legs, jaw locked tightly shut.

You find comfort in the monotony of sewing.

Anna always scolded you for it, that you were “giving into women’s work.”

How are they ever going to take us seriously when you actually like doing this dainty shit?

But where Anna seemingly delighted in her mile-a-minute thoughts, you need an outlet – some way to settle, to ground yourself in the here and now. Furthermore, you could sew anywhere – on the train, on the bus, in a foreign house in the middle of nowhere where you were, again, dependent on the kindness of a complete stranger –

It isn’t sewing specifically that you enjoy. If there was another activity where your mind could detach itself from your body, you would have liked it too. Here, in this space of blank concentration, you separate further from yourself with every stitch you pull together. Here, you are not a sister, a housewife, or an aunt. Not a nurse or a teacher or a failed fieldhand.

Not scared of living or scared of your husband or scared that you’ll fail your sister over and over and over again –

For a handful of minutes, you are not scared and you are the closest thing to yourself you can possibly be. You think, as a child that might have been the closest you’d actually been to understanding your own wants and dreams and desires, but now it is through this act of repetition, of delicate guiding, do you find yourself remembering what it was like to exist unafraid, as thoughtless as a child.

You sit on the edge of Joel’s bed, eased into something vaguely like relaxation by the needle and thread in your hand. You’d found some old pillows in the barn earlier today and surprisingly the stuffing was still intact. After watching Sarah struggle today, you knew you couldn’t spend another second watching the poor girl hobble around on painful braces.

It’s twilight, the sun gone beneath a blanket of scarlet and indigo, everyone fed and full – the girls almost instantly forgetting their first fight in favor of a discussion about their most effective marble-flicking techniques – and you already have at least one leather-bound pad that is twice as thick as her old one. You grin, excited to share your creation to her. You wonder what Joel will say.

Through the wall over your shoulder, in Sarah’s room, you can hear the low murmur of their voices, as quick and fast as two co-conspirators. You can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but the words don’t matter. It is the high joy in Sarah’s voice, or the creaky laughter from Joel. They could be speaking in a completely incomprehensible language but the sentiment is unmistakable: you make me happy and I love you.

I love you.

The needle and thread stills in your lap.

You glance out the window, to a much smaller shadow in front of the barn as it cuts and darts in the blurry half-light. The silver tip of Anna’s knife winks in the glint of the light from the windows as Ellie slashes and digs in the open air. Alone.

In the late hours, in the hours when the veil between life and death felt so especially fragile, Anna made you promise that you'd look out for Ellie, to raise her as your own. To finally give her a childhood like the two of you never had.

You had done that. You raised her. She’s alive and healthy and fierce.

But would she find your sentiment about her unmistakable? Do you know hers as intimately as you knew your sister’s?

Do you make her happy when both of you are constantly reminded of the ghost between you?

Sarah’s chatter echoes throughout the dark house, disembodied and entirely untethered.

It’s one week into this new, adjusted life in a house you haven’t yet found a home in when the unthinkable happens.

A loud, wet cry startles you awake and immediately your hand flies towards Ellie, panic like ice in your jaw. Your palm touches her shoulder, but she’s already sitting up, eyes towards the door. She glances at you and from your stumble out of a dreamless sleep, you realize it wasn’t Ellie who made that noise.

It comes again, as sharp as a bone crack, and you both scramble out of bed.

Sarah.

Up against the far wall, in the corner where her bed tucks up into the corner, Joel holds her like a lion clutches to prey.

Giant, fat teardrops pour down the sides of her ashen cheeks, those bright eyes clamped shut, her mouth twisted in agony and she claws at her father’s forearm across her shoulders. His other hand is going white from her fingers crushing his in a bone-cracking grip. His voice is soft, firm, and fast in her ear, comforting and scared as hell, as she whimpers.

Every muscle from her thighs down is stretched taut. Every muscle unwillingly tightened, flexed, the chemicals in her brain battling the commands of the bacteria. The pain, as described in medical journals, is crippling.

Ellie glances at you out of the corner of your eye. Muscle spasms.

“Sarah, darling, how long has this been going on?” She’s trembling from the pain and exhaustion. You wrap your robe around you before kneeling down to inspect her — and you feel Joel’s glare nearly singe the skin from your face.

“Don’t touch her,” he snarls and pulls her closer. Sarah whines and buries her face in his shoulder, trying to stifle her sobbing to keep from shaking and causing more spasms. “She’s–,”

“I can help her, Joel.” Your training became a bulwark – strong, immobile – in moments like these. Maybe it was all an act but that first rush of hope that you could ease pain, soothe what hurts, made you feel like you were made of gold. You let that unbreakable shine pierce Joel’s gaze. “But you need to listen to me.”

Sarah squeaks and you watch his resolve instantly break. Shakely, he nods.

“Ellie,” you instruct over your shoulder. “Go start boiling water. There’s a pail out on the porch.”

She is out the door before you finish your sentence. She knows exactly what you need.

Help on the way, you turn back to Sarah, her feet twisted in grotesque contortions.

“How long has this been going on?”

“About ten minutes,” Joel grumbles. She squeezes his hand so hard you hear his knuckle pop. She sobs, open mouth, and he presses his cheek to her. He murmurs softly, “I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry.”

“Is this the longest fit she’s had?”

Joel reluctantly nods.

“Sarah,” you say and gently touch her knee. She peels her eyes open, cheeks stained with tears, eyes wet with fear. “We need to loosen your muscles, okay? That’s what’s causing you pain right now. So, we’re going to use heat and pressure to do that.”

She nods, gaze solidifying with your every word, every word a new step out of the path of pain. Joel smooths her curls off her sweaty forehead, his own wide-eyed stare never leaving your face. You roll up your sleeves and curl up your hair off the back of your neck just as Ellie stumbles back into the room. She’s got at least five towels around her neck, and she’s red-faced and straining from keeping the pail of boiling water from spilling or burning her. She eases it down next to you and hands you a towel. Both of you each take a side and immediately tear the one in half.

Before you wore gloves, some sort of protection, but now there is no time. You hear Ellie inhale sharply, recognizing what you’re about to do a second before you do it.

You dip the towel into the steaming water, let it soak, and pull it out. You grit your teeth against the immediate burn on your palms, the trail of fire over your knuckles and wrists, as you squeeze out the dripping water, Sarah’s soft cries in your ears enough to push past your own pain.

Half-way between an inhale and an exhale, you think you hear your name.

Ellie already has another dry towel loose around one of Sarah’s legs. She glances at you, her brows knitted together.

Ready? She asks without words.

You drape the hot towel around her leg and Sarah yelps. She thrashes in her father’s arms as you wrap the towel tighter and tighter. Expecting Joel’s inevitable bark, a hard shove against your shoulder, get away from my daughter – but it never comes.

As soon as you tighten the towel as firmly as it can safely go, Ellie slides in next to you and begins to massage the muscles in her calves, her feet, her toes.

Sarah whimpers again, but the sound isn’t as sharp, pain-choked. Joel holds her tighter, as if her torso is also knotted and could be relieved with warmth.

On an inhale, you pick up the other half of the towel, drench it in boiling water, and wring it out with your bare hands. A silent prayer for lotion is fleeting as it drifts through the dense focus of your mind. You squeeze out the dripping water and wrap Sarah’s other leg, prepped again by Ellie. She watches you as you tug and tuck the steaming towel, her own focus as sharp as a tack, mirroring your motions as you knead and massage the muscles.

After a few minutes of faint whining, a couple of sobs, the room slips into an exhausted silence. Her breathing slow on his chest, Joel draws back her damp curls and finds her face relaxed, asleep. His mouth parts and the skin around his eyes goes slack.

Relief.

With a shudder, Joel knocks his forehead against hers, his thumb on her chin as if to feel her breathing. You look away, the moment so tender it shouldn’t be witnessed.

You realize then how badly your palms ache.

The towels have lost their immediate heat, so you unwind them. Ellie’s small hands overlap yours as she helps. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to look her in the eyes. The both of you fall back into roles most comfortable to you.

The wet towels gone, you wrap her legs more tightly this time, slightly past the edge of comfort. You ease her back, flat into the bed, and some small part of you is aware Joel is letting you guide her. He slips out from behind her when you tuck her in, tight with another blanket around her legs. She could be exhausted for days after this.

“We’ll need to keep heat on her legs every thirty minutes, fifteen if we can manage,” you say as you fold up the damp towels. Joel hasn’t moved. Stares down at Sarah’s small body. “I’d like to keep a warming pan here, to have hot water on hand if she wakes up in pain again. When she comes out of it, she needs water and food. Have her eat it slowly, small bites at first.”

You remember a doctor at the hospital where you trained as a nurse give advice to a newer doctor: medical mysteries and illnesses are one thing. Nervous parents are something else.

You call his name and he doesn’t move.

You step forward, touch his forearm, and he blinks at you. He feels so remarkably solid.

“Joel. She’s safe.”

“Do you want me to go get more towels?” Ellie’s gathered the damp towels off the floor, her chest wet. She stares at Sarah’s bed frame.

“Get breakfast first. Then I might need your help later.” She nods, turns to go, but hesitates. Her mouth is pinched tight, eyes wide, looking for something to ground her, to calm the vortex that the adrenaline in her veins widens with each beat of her heart. She looks so . . . childlike.

She looks so much like Anna.

The momentary fortified strength shatters and you're afraid again. What do you say to comfort her? What would Anna say? Good job, I'm proud of you, thank you -

But then she turns away, carrying the dripping towels, and you lose your chance to parent.

Joel has curled himself into the rocking chair by her bed, so close his knee touches her mattress. He holds her thin hand in the cup of his two massive palms. His heel taps loosely, quietly against her rug, every possible outcome of this morning striking him in the chest with each drop of his foot. His face is a blurred, dark shadow, hanging between his shoulders.

To describe Joel in this moment, nervous seems quaint.

In silence, you gather up the tepid pale of water and exit the room, closing the door after you.

The rest of the day passes in haze, tendrils of sleep still between the cracks in your brain left there by the harsh break into consciousness.

You have Ellie feed the animals, and you start a load of laundry. The ratio of dry towels to wet is rapidly becoming unbalanced and you know after the initial attack is over, pressure is more important than heat. Sarah has barely moved all day but she is responsive and drinks water when she comes out of her deep sleep. You’ve made soup again – a heavy meal that doesn’t require much managing and can be easily re-served – and it gives you time to think. Sarah mentioned the doctor skipping town, that he had all but dropped everything and ran. You wondered what else might be in the doctor’s old shop. Morphine seemed too valuable to have been ignored in any ransacking, but often doctors kept a secret supply, unbeknownst to even most nurses for special cases or when supply was low. You think about that and stir the pot as the sun crawls across the sky.

With your head bent over the pot, something moves in the field outside and you watch with surprise as Ellie leads one of the cows, Fauna, out of the barn. Through the rippled glass, you watch her talking to the cow, her face scrunched up in concentration, and shockingly, Fauna appears interested, her big ears flicking back and forth. But Ellie leads her only a little bit from the barn, in the grass but visible from the house. She drops to her knees and takes out a wooden stake and a hammer — nevermind where she found those – and then ties Fauna’s lead rope to top of the stake sticking out of the ground.

Ellie wags her finger, her back to the window, her stance very serious. You smile to yourself and to Anna as she marches back inside and shortly returns with Flora, the other cow, to do the same. She gives them both a stern talking to, as evident by her hands on her hips, before turning back to the house. You glance down, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it if you saw her babysitting the cows. It was what Joel did every morning – let the cows out to graze – but she did it in her own Ellie way: on a smaller scale and perhaps with a little more gentleness.

See, Anna, she’s all grown up.

By nightfall, both of you are exhausted. You don’t know how Joel manages to run this place by himself, especially with a sick child, but after one day, you’re ready to curl up into bed and never leave. Ellie looks like she’s about to face-plant into her soup, her eyes half-shut. You smile, stretching, before gently shaking her shoulder.

“Go to bed, Ellie. You’re exhausted.”

She blinks harshly, indignant and scowly, as you take both your bowls to the sink. “‘M fine. Just a lil’ –,” she yawns deeply, “sleepy.”

“You’re right. My mistake.”

“Besides, we got coffee coming, don’t we?”

On the counter, your make-shift coffee press gurgles, the cap steaming from the bubbling water over the grounds you found in the cellar. You eye her over your shoulder.

“You don’t even like coffee.”

“Yeah but you’re staying up, right? You and Joel?”

Neither of you had seen Joel leave Sarah’s room all day. Ellie eyes the ceiling as if she can see right through it.

“I’m taking him some food and a cup of coffee,” you say as you finish drying the plates. There’s a rigidness to your hands as you delicately lay the plates flat, unconsciously careful to keep them from making a sound as they touch. “But at St. Joseph’s, some of the nurses would offer to keep vigil, to give the parents a chance to rest.”

You know in your heart he won’t take it. You just hope he finds your coffee inoffensive.

But Ellie doesn’t respond. She sits still, staring at the ceiling.

“Ellie, she’s going to be okay.”

Those bright eyes fall on you. “You can’t know that.”

In your hands, you wind the damp towel between your fingers. They’re pink and still ache but the rough linen is a welcome distraction from the churning acid in your stomach.

“This isn’t going to be like last time,” you say, your hips against the counter. “Sarah’s infection is nowhere near her lungs. And she’s been responding to treatment.”

Ellie drops her gaze, her bottom lip curled between her teeth.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it. Unless you can swear to me.”

One of life’s simple truths: parents lie.

You recognize there is a part of her that wants you to look her in the eyes and lie. She’d be angry, eventually, if your lies were exposed, but in that moment, as she sits in an unfamiliar house, at an unfamiliar table, with you and this wretched ailment the only things she knows to be constant – she wants a comfort you can’t give her. You are not capable of parental truth.

“I can’t promise anything.”

She inhales, breathes shaky, and exhales, the spoon in her hand trembling. “I know.”

Hands full of a white, chipped food tray, you knock twice carefully with one hand like you had been trained to before opening the door. The lamplight has been turned on, but the room, blanketed in darkness and shadows, looks the same. Sarah sleeps deeply, if not well, her hand curled by her face against the pillow, her heavy storm of curls cradling her head gently. Joel watches her, as still and silent as the moon. His foot has settled, but now he breathes so slow he might not be breathing at all.

Of all the terrible things you had seen during your time as a nurse, witnessing someone like this is always the hardest. Feeling helpless is a sentiment you are all too familiar with and the thought of someone just sitting there and watching you with your grief makes your skin itch.

“Joel.” A formality, because those trapped in a cyclone of worry require a slow approach, easing a startled animal. “I brought you something to eat.”

Speaking, it lets him acclimate to your voice.

You set the white tray on Sarah’s dresser, a piece of furniture meticulously crafted. Like Joel’s room, there are books everywhere, but more animal drawings, some directly on the walls. Sarah’s brilliant personality expanded here, in the blues and pinks, not capable of being contained in a single body.

A body that seems so small and fragile in that little brass bed, while her father looms impossibly large.

“Joel.” Again, soft, but this time you put a hand on his bicep. Never near the neck, an older nurse warned you, that area is sensitive. His denim shirt is soft beneath your fingers, nearly bleached white from the sun and worn smooth from dust and dirt and wind. You think you smell churned earth and hot leather in the instant it takes you to kneel down beside him, your grip sliding from his shoulder to his forearm. With the other hand, you tip a steaming cup into his open palm.

“Sarah told me you liked coffee.”

Slowly, as though he had blinked and reality disintegrated and reformed around him, Joel’s gaze slides from Sarah’s waxy face, to yours, and then the hand on his forearm. The back of your scalp prickles, the bulwark of courtesy shaking, before you remember you’d done this hundreds of times, to people of all ages, men and women. He seems to understand this – a professional gesture – and he takes the mug from you. With an almost perplexed expression, he stares into the nearly black liquid, his jaw tight.

And then he drinks, without saying a word.

You think you might have heard a low rumble from him, a pleased groan as heavy as the plow in the barn outside, but the floorboards creak when you stand up, so you might have been imagining things.

“This tastes good,” he says bluntly, voice weather-beaten. You smile into the bowl of soup as you wave a hand over the steam to cool it down to something bearable. “How?”

Despite his monosyllabic responses, you take this as a good sign. Something tells you that you’ve made exceptional progress by getting him to talk at all.

“I got pretty good at making cowboy coffee, as my sister used to call it, before we moved to Oklahoma. You already had the beans in the cellar,” you say, shrugging as you bring the soup over to him. He eyes it warily, as if this is not the appropriate time to eat, as if his own suffering would make Sarah’s lessen.

You’d only ever seen that instinct in a handful of parents while in the hospital and it made something wide and warm press up against your chest bone.

So you don’t give him a choice. You push the soup into his hands with enough speed that he has to take the bowl or drop it entirely. He, like most people with common sense, takes the bowl. He has a second to frown at you before you turn away to Sarah.

“And I suspect they were hidden down there on purpose?” You ask as you take out another blanket from the basket beside her bed and flutter it over her legs. You remember stories about the women working with Elizabeth Kenny filling quilts with rocks or beans, anything with weight, and putting them over the affected limbs of polio patients. The compress soothed the ache.

Sarah snores gently in her sleep as her father behind you laughs, a soft rush of air from his nose, his mouth preoccupied with a half-grin.

“I try not to hurt her feelings,” he admits quietly. You hear the clatter of metal on porcelain as you fold and refold the blankets to carry more weight. “That girl is a lot of things, but good at making coffee isn’t one of ‘em.” He slurs around the soup in his mouth.

It’s hard to believe she’s only a year older than Ellie. They have both lost things, indescribable things at too-young an age. But where Ellie carries it in the grip of her hand around her knife, Sarah takes it on the chin.

Polio, a disease of freezing agony.

You wonder how much of Sarah’s inner world she keeps to herself.

Like with Ellie, you fight the urge to brush a lovely curl away from her cheek.

“You have a special girl here, Joel.”

You feel his gaze on the back of your neck and you drop your gaze from her pristine face, remembering it’s not your place to look at her like that. Not like how you want to look at her.

Not like how you might want to look at him.

Joel shifts on his feet, leaning forward to put the now empty bowl on the ground.

“I know.” By the strength of his tone, he admits to knowing that you see the bright light about Sarah like he does and so he lets you look. Your heart stutters at this silent transference and you grab blindly for that mask of noble duty.

“How has her breathing been?” You sit down next to her and pick up her wrist, feeling for that steady pulse. You relax slightly when it’s easy to find. The beat of it is a little faster than you would like, but it hasn’t woken her up.

“Good.” A disgruntled groan from the chair as he adjusts behind you. His voice is rich like molasses, dripping warmth down the knots in your spine. “Woke up here n’ there, like you said. Gave her food. Got her water. But she just went right back to sleep.”

“But she ate and drank?”

He nods out of the corner of your eye. You check the mobility of her joints and they seem to be back to their natural looseness. Whether she’ll feel strong enough to walk is another matter entirely, but it’s not good to worry him unnecessarily.

“That’s good, Joel. That’s really good.”

You smile at him and finally, finally, the corners of his eyes soften, his brows pluck up, and he breathes deep. The tension leaves his body the way steam leaves a lake in the hours before dawn, the cup of coffee resting on his thigh. His gaze falls from your face to hers, shrouded in shadow.

“She’s never slept this long after an attack,” he says quietly. “Always restless, pain flaring up. We once stayed up a whole day and night when it got bad.”

He shakes his head, clears his throat a bit as if the words in his mouth leave behind a mucky, sour taste.

“Thank you. For treating her properly.”

For doing what I couldn’t.

It’s true. But no amount of reassuring – I’ve just had training, you did the best you could – would dissipate that repugnant scent of guilt lingering in the air. You are forced to let it linger, unable to say a single damn thing that would mean anything to him.

As he finishes the last dregs of coffee, Joel unwinds his long legs from beneath the seat and his knees crack. Stiff joints after a long day of stillness, but immediately his fingers fly to that same spot he touched in the barn in that afternoon, his mouth tight from the unexpected flash of pain.

Immediately you kneel down, worried at the slight hiss he made, fingers inches from his thigh when he straightens.

“You don’t have to–,” he shifts as if he can pull away from your touch and stay seated. “It’s not that bad –,”

You frown at him. “Can the person here who has had actual medical training determine that?”

Something light flickers over his eyes, so fast it might not have been real, smoothing the lines around his mouth. Joel nods, glancing to the floor.

“Yes, ma’am.”

That single word almost splits your skull in half like lightning.

You are immediately grateful for the heavy shadows in the room. Your palms, smarting all day, are now blistering with heat. Mouth shut tight, you don’t trust whatever sits behind your lips, so you begin your inspection of his muscles. Thumbs down, you feel along the lines that lead down to his knee.

Hard, firm, you notice. Made solid by work and toil. A few of the bricklayers and farmers you’d attended to had muscles like these. Despite the rough denim and how unsettling it is to be this close to him, it’s easy to lose yourself in the methodology of the human body. You’ve learned to read sinew and bone and scar tissue like a map and you come to find that the topography of Joel Miller is mountainous.

“So, mhm, where’d you learn to make coffee?”

You thought the stiffness in his thigh was due to lingering pain, but when you look at him and his guarded expression, chin tilted into his chest, fingers tight around the bottom of the seat, you realize he is uncomfortable. He is made uncomfortable . . . by you. Something sharp pokes through a slot between your ribs and you sit up straighter, trying to make your touch even more clinical if possible. But what he says next, you aren’t sure if it’s genuine or genuinely meant to hurt.

“Your husband?”

You shake your head. “My sister, actually. Ellie’s mom. We’d trade night shifts when she was a baby. One of us would come home from our second job, and the other would leave for their first. Anna said she’d never have survived those first years without coffee.”

You can hear the question he wants to ask buzzing in his head, your thumb rubbing therapeutic circles around the inflamed area. But instead he asks:

“And you . . . you like coffee?”

You shrug. “I don’t think I ever slowed down enough to ever taste it in the first place.”

With Joel Miller, silence means a thousand things. It’s not the way he looks at you, but the way he looks into you.

“Anna always said we’d be fine, that two unmarried women with a baby could make it in the city. But I wasn’t so convinced. There wasn’t much time for something like enjoying the taste of coffee because I was always busy taking every job I could get.”

“Like treating sick kids.” He says it like he just found a piece of you off the ground and added it to a sprawling puzzle. He politely stares over your shoulder.

You swallow, throat tight. “Actually, um, Anna had it - polio - too. I took the job as a nurse to learn how to treat her from home.”

Those heavy eyes swing into you full force and you can feel your stomach roll and collapse against your spine.

“Every case is different, Joel. What I did for Sarah, it wouldn’t have helped someone like Anna.”

“But she died?” A third unwelcome presence.

“Yes. She went fast. There was nothing anyone could do to save her.”

There was nothing you could do to save her.

Your thumbs are starting to ache, but you don’t want to leave just yet. You want to sit and listen to his voice, even if it’s pitched in anger towards you.

But it’s not. His next words come out soft, if not a little bit disbelieving.

“Where did you come from?” Joel asks. “You said the city, Oklahoma. How’d you end up in fuckin’ Dalhart, Texas?”

You use your elbow on the thicker muscle up his thigh and he tries very hard not to wince.

“We grew up in Boston. City girls all our lives. We had big plans of catching the bus line and going all over the country, just the two of us, but then Anna got pregnant and overnight, everything changed.”

He nods, knowingly. You add that to your own Joel Miller mosaic.

“I met the man I’d marry while I worked as a maid in a motel. He was a banker, or so he told me, and he wanted to whisk me away. We were three months behind on our rent, so I told him yes, I'd marry him after knowing him for a week — as long as I got to bring Anna and Ellie with me. All he talked about was money, so I thought he had it. What he did have was enough to get us to Oklahoma, buy some farm equipment for the wheat boom, and then lose it all in a handful of years.”

“And then we lost Anna. We lost my husband. I went back to trying to find a job in town with no jobs.” You pull your hands back, the deep tissue of his thigh flushed with blood from your therapy, and having nothing more to do, little more to say, you drop them into your lap. “Just after we missed the payment for the equipment for the second month, I got a letter from a man claiming to be my long lost Uncle Robert. I hadn’t eaten in three days and Ellie just got tagged by the police for shoplifting. I sent him a letter back and he said if I sent him our last twenty dollars he’d get us set up in Dalhart where he had a successful car dealership. I did and he didn’t and if you hadn’t picked us up, I don’t know what we would have done.”

You sit with the hot truth of it and he sits with the both of you. It’s silent in a way that only a house in the middle of nowhere can be. Sarah stirs in her sleep, her legs rustling the sheets, but doesn’t wake up.

“You don’t have to do that here, you know.” He straightens his legs, just as quietly as the rest of the house. He crosses his arms over his chest and you think about the muscle just under his forearm, thick and immobile as sea-drenched rope. “Not eat . . . for Ellie’s sake. There’s enough for you and her. Always.”

You think of the cellar with its soft dirt, cool air, the endless rows of stored fruits and vegetables and meat, buried like a still-beating heart beneath the dust-whipped house in a paradise on the prairie.

“But I understand the inclination.” With you on the ground before him and Joel leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his broad back arching under the stripe of white moonlight, he looks at you.

Really looks at you.

Like recognizing like.

A passing in a distorted mirror that might be me but it’s not but I think I know you all the same there is a thing just like me out in the world and it sees me.

Slowly, hesitantly, as if he’s afraid you’ll bite, he reaches forward and takes your wrist from your lap. The calluses on his thumb brush roughly against the knot of bone as he twists your palm upward. Pink, too pink, a stinging color, even in the low lamplight. Joel works his jaw back and forth, staring at your palm with weary concern, as if it told him things he didn’t want to know.

His gaze lifts and your fingers curl instinctively in. He’s trying to make you look and you don’t want to. He sees your sacrifice and you don’t want it called that, there’s certain nobility in sacrifice, in a sort of suffering for other people, but it’s not sacrifice if you go willingly and despite you not wanting to look, not wanting to put a name to it, not wanting to take up any space at all, he looks at you like he, a man as broad and wide and powerful as he, is grateful.

For you.

Every bulwark inside of you, every foundation that you had built yourself because you never had the chance to grow hearty roots somewhere permanent, rumbles. Shakes, beneath a single solitary, rolling earthquake. A landslide of earth behind the strength in his eyes.

“For her, for Sarah, I’d do the same,” he says.

For her. For the children in your lives.

Do you even like coffee? All you know is how to make it. What would you do with it if you did? If you liked coffee? If you loved it.

If there was someone outside yourself and Ellie to make you coffee simply because you wanted it. Because you were in a circle of people for whom people would do things for. For her. For you.

The heart of Joel is like coffee: dark but warm.

Your wrist slips between his fingers, finding refuge again in your lap.

“I know.”

You wonder what it would be like to be within Joel’s circle of people for whom he does things. To be given coffee, just because you want it.

You bet it’s warm.

You stand up, collect the empty, used things, and wish him a good night.

A noise and sunlight startles you awake. Your eyes tear open, hand flat on an open pool of sunlight in the center of the mattress, head twisted and knees bent up by your chest. In your sleep, your body twisted itself into a Gordian knot, unable to escape the dreams about the cellar ground turning into coffee beans, and the cramped bloodflow leaves you disoriented until you can roll onto your back and remember where you are. The smells that surround you.

You hear the noise again and you think of Ellie and in that instance where complete consciousness returns to you, the weight of her is gone. Literally.

Ellie is not in the bed beside you.

The room’s brightness is suddenly too bright, the clear, electric blue sky too blue – it’s too beautiful and it lulled you into a sense of comfort. Stupid, so stupid. You ignore the warm floorboards against your bare feet, the faint birdsong from outside, as you rush towards the source of the sound, towards Sarah’s bedroom – oh god, I was wrong it’s too late it took her in the night and I –

The sound you do not recognize, the sound you could not comprehend while buried in dreams and memories, is the sound of laughter. Loud, full laughter.

The brass bed creaks as Ellie uses the mattress to fling herself into the air. On the other end, just as determined to reach the ceiling, is Sarah. Hands outstretched and reaching, her legs bend and flex and propel her up and up. Every time she gets within a handful’s reach of the ceiling, Ellie’s laughing, cheering her on, and then it’s her turn, Sarah giggling as Ellie’s face scrunches up as she reaches out towards the blue sky on the other side of the roof.

“Oh, hey!” Ellie says, pink-faced and causal, half-way out of breath. Sarah spins, mid-way through a jump, her eyes bright, sweat peaking on her brow line. “Sarah bet – I couldn’t touch – the ceiling — so we’re taking turns – loser has to shovel – the barn!”

You watch, dumb-struck, as the bet continues, the girls laughing and criticizing each other and offering techniques as they work in tandem to fling the other one higher. Sarah is flush with vitality, with life, with a dewy glow reserved for spring mornings when the earth stretches awake after the death of winter.

And Ellie . . . she looks her age.

The earth has shifted beneath your feet, while you were sleeping, and a seedling has been planted, the dawn of something new, something fresh and utterly unexpected. You can feel it in your bones. Hear it in their laughter.

“Not a bad thing to wake up to.”

Joel, arms crossed, eyes soft, leans up against the door frame, blue striped pajamas low on his hips, a thread-bare white undershirt cupping his biceps. He eyes you from toe to head and stops when he meets your eyes. You wonder how long he’d been standing there – if he too woke to noises he couldn’t explain, rushed in here, and found something miraculous.

The smile crinkles his eyes as it unfurls across his face.

“I haven’t heard her laugh like that in a while,” he says quietly, head tilted towards the bed, as if there could be any other meaning. “I owe you one.”

You could say the same thing about Ellie.

There’s the line, the boundary of the circle to the place of being warm. He’s not cleared the way for you, not invited you across, but he’s shown it to you. You can see it, feel it, and know what it takes to get there.

Your smile blooms. The girls’ laughter rings throughout the house and into the sunlight.

But, outside of paradise, away from the river and the white a-frame house, from the horse and the cattle and the long strands of prairie grass, where there is not enough to eat and the earth is in its death rattle, the wind blows. It swallows up dust, and dirt, and fine sand, gluttonous. It swirls and pulses, agitated and restless and seeking violence. Spinning with the power to blind with a single whip of dust, it spins up over the earth in its death rattle, where there is not enough to eat, towards the prairie grass. Towards the horse and the cattle. Towards the river and the a-frame.

Towards paradise with the promise of total ruin.

END OF PART I

series masterlist | AO3 Link | prologue | part ii

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