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buckybabesonly · 1 year

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I Wanna Be Yours

Summary: You are afraid to believe that someone like Bucky might actually love you back.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Shy!Insecure!Reader

Genre: Angst with happy ending

Warnings: Casual sex (?), misunderstandings, self-deprecation

A/N: I’m actually not very happy with how this turned out but I hope some of you might enjoy it anyway?

Word count: 4.8k

You had never fallen in love before until you met Bucky.

You had spent your whole life wondering when it would happen to you - when you would feel that heart-racing, mind-blowing, bliss-inducing love that you saw so often in movies and read in novels.

Falling for him had been unexpected, like you had been turning corners in an endless maze until suddenly - there he was. This unbelievably talented, unique, intelligent man who treated you with respect and kindness. He showed interest in you when you were too shy to approach him first, talking to you about the everyday mundane, making you feel special. Out of all the incredible people Bucky knew and interacted with, he made you feel like you counted, too.

You worked as a lab tech at the Avengers compound since landing the coveted job two years ago, working closely with Bruce Banner, and had witnessed first hand when Bucky joined the team. He had been quiet at first, introverted, but you watched as he blossomed like a flower. He revealed more of his great sense of humour, wicked smile and subtle charm which made you fall for him.

When you were around him, you felt like your nerve endings were on fire. Every touch from him on your arm, your shoulders, the small of your back, sent pulses shooting through your body and a flush of red straight to your cheeks. The power he had over you was undeniable, and you were certain he knew it, too.

The moment you realised you were in trouble was on a Saturday afternoon, four months after you first met him. He returned to the compound one day with a nasty gash on his forehead and blood crusting his hands, his eyes tired and face pale. The moment you saw him, you knew that if anything were to happen to him, you would have no idea how to cope. Even seeing him with relatively minor injuries made your chest clench in fear and anxiety.

Without a doubt, you had finally fallen in love.

Your first time with Bucky was unexpected. He was perched on one of the counters in your lab, snacking on a pack of cashews as he watched you peer into a microscope. You could barely focus on the work at hand, hyper aware of his presence and ocean blue eyes on your form.

“You’re not supposed to eat in here, you know,” you murmured, trying to hide your smile.

“I know,” he countered, continuing to chew obnoxiously.

You had been harbouring your secret feelings for him for over a year and a half. With every day that passed, you found it harder and harder to figure out what to do. Sometimes you felt that he reciprocated them - the constant flirting, the close touches, the excuses he made to spend time alone with one another. But you were too afraid to ask him outright how he felt about you, and too shy to make the first move.

“How’s your leg?” you asked, if only to distract yourself from your thoughts, referring to the injury he had received a few days ago.

“Much better. Strong as ever.” He kicked it out suddenly as to punctuate his words.

“Hey,” you exclaimed, alarmed. “I wish you would be more careful. Seems you’re always getting patched up lately.” You were frowning, and Bucky seemed amused at your concern.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Whatever. Just don’t bust open your stitches and bleed all over my lab. It’s just been sanitized.” You sniffed as Bucky cocked his head at you, flashing his adorable grin. “In fact I’m violating several health and safety rules just allowing you to be in here,” you said, trying to keep your face straight as Bucky threatened to tease a smile from you.

You turned back to the work at hand, working in comfortable silence as Bucky observed you. He soon seemed restless, however, and you looked up again when he jumped off his perch and walked over to you, bumping you with his shoulder. He smelled so good - like the forest after it had just rained. He looked down at you, giving you one of his trademark dimpled smiles yet again.

“What?”

“I’m bored,” he shrugged.

“Don’t you have top secret, dangerous mission stuff to do?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Your heart was beating fast as he leaned closer suddenly, eyes flickering from yours down to your mouth. He had been doing that a lot as of late.

“Rather do something else,” he said quietly, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

Time stood still. He suddenly closed the distance between you, and then you were kissing. His lips were soft, his hands gentle as they raised to cradle your face, sliding into your hair.

Your hands raised on their own accord to grab the edges of his leather jacket, pulling him closer, feeling surreal as he deepened the kiss.

He pulled away just long enough for you to ask breathlessly, “Is this actually happening?”

All he did was chuckle and pull you back against him again.

You were positively floating as Bucky grabbed your hand and led you to his private floor in the compound, into his bedroom. You thought you were dreaming when he lay you down softly on his bed, undressing you both because your hands were shaking.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, eyes searching your face as you nodded.

“Yes,” you said instantly. “It’s okay.”

That night, you had sex with him for the first time. He held you tightly as he thrust inside you, peppering your face with kisses, making you whimper with pleasure until you both reached the inevitable climax.

You felt you could die happy now as you fell asleep in Bucky’s arms, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

Insecurity was an ugly thing.

You woke up a couple of hours before Bucky, lying with your eyes wide open as the ink black sky slowly lightened, the sun bleeding across the horizon.

You looked at this man lying beside you - this perfect specimen, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he slept, his chiselled jawline, ruggedly handsome features. The reality of what had happened was slowly sinking in, bringing with it doubts and questions as to what this meant.

God, he was so beautiful. So perfect in literally every way. You were fully aware of his contrast to you.

You had never considered yourself a beautiful girl. You had always been very conscious of your flaws, the way your body didn’t look quite the way you wanted it to, the way you felt that no one really gave you a second look.

I’m bored, Bucky had said yesterday. Were you just a cure for his boredom?

You gnawed at your bottom lip, uncertainties flooding into your system as you recalled the conversation and events leading up to the steamy encounter yesterday. Had he pulled you tighter against him, or had you simply imagined it? Did he do this all the time, or were you an exception?

People had causal sex all the time. You knew that Natasha and Steve had fooled around before and continued as friends only, and a lot of the S.H.I.E.L.D agents you knew had been known to sleep around interdepartmentally, lending to some interesting work gossip.

You knew you were stupid to let yourself think something serious might be happening. You and Bucky hadn’t even spoken about feelings or been on anything which remotely resembled a date. Bucky had been a proper charmer back in the day, you were well aware.

Your heart plummeted as you continued to think. You were suddenly so relieved you hadn’t revealed your feelings for him last night in your stupor. You had been so happy to be held by him, to be kissed by him, but that’s all it was - just a bit of fun. It had to be.

You felt Bucky stir beside you eventually, and you clutched the covers close to your naked body as he opened his eyes and smiled at you lazily.

What was the proper etiquette? Were you supposed to leave as soon as possible?

“Morning,” he said huskily. He looked so adorable that the panic in your chest quelled momentarily.

“Morning,” you smiled.

He yawned, his dark hair unruly as he ran his fingers through it.

“What’s the time?”

You cleared your throat. “Just gone seven. I have an early meeting with Bruce.”

“Mmm. Okay. You have to go now?” He looked at you with what may have been disappointment.

“I should probably get going, yeah. Need to prepare,” you said, eyes scanning the room for your clothes as you blushed at the thought of dressing in front of Bucky, even though he had seen you in all your naked glory last night.

Bucky suddenly moved in close and kissed you, causing your breath to hitch. You felt self conscious about how worn out you probably looked first thing in the morning, but melted into his touch nonetheless.

"Are we going to do this again?" he managed to get out against your lips.

"If you like," you answered carefully.

"I would very much like."

“Me too,” you said shyly, pulling back from Bucky and ducking your head down.

"So you're okay with this?"

Your heart constricted then, wanting to shout loudly that no, it’s not okay, and you actually wanted a serious relationship. But how terrifying would that be to suddenly dump your confessions onto him when the poor man had no idea how you felt?

But you didn’t know what was worse. Just being friends with benefits, or actually confessing your true feelings and pushing him away completely.

“Sure,” you said finally, keeping your voice purposely light. “It’s just sex, Bucky. It’s okay.”

Bucky froze then, his expression unreadable as he stared at you. His eyebrows were slightly drawn together, his lips stiffening as he swallowed.

“What?” you asked carefully, feeling inexplicably nervous.

Bucky was silent for a beat before responding. “Nothing.” He gestured between you with his vibranium hand, frowning ever so slightly. “This is nothing. Right?”

He wanted affirmation. You felt shame flood your chest.

“Right,” you said weakly, turning away before Bucky could see the tears in your eyes. “I better get going.”

He didn’t say anything as you hurriedly pulled on your clothes and mumbled an imperceptible “Bye” before you let yourself out.

As it turned out, it didn’t happen again.

You had no idea what you had done or how you had messed it up, but you had.

You had never done this before. Never casually hopped into bed with a man without something greater at play. You had one ex-boyfriend from your college days who was sweet but you were never truly in love with, and sex with him had happened a few months into your relationship.

You didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to act around Bucky anymore. Didn’t know what he even wanted.

You thought he just wanted a fling. No strings attached. But after that day, somehow, the two of you were never alone again.

He gave you small, if a little curt, smiles now and again and sometimes spoke to you about work-related matters if necessary, but everything else had suddenly disappeared.

A monstrous, ugly feeling gnawed a hole in your chest, slowly over the next two weeks until it was a gaping cavern. Had you messed it up so badly that Bucky just wasn’t interested anymore? Or worse - had it been his objective all along to just get you into bed and then disappear?

No, he wasn’t like that, you decided, quickly dismissing the thought. The only logical conclusion, then, was that your performance had been so poor that he just didn’t want to be intimate again, but didn’t know how to tell you.

You felt so lost. This isn’t what you wanted, not really. You were never one for casual sex, and yet it killed you how Bucky was avoiding you now. You’d rather reduce yourself to his fuck buddy than nothing. That one night with him had been magical, had made you think about an entire lifetime of mornings waking up beside him.

Your misery was clear to see to all those around you, particularly Bruce, whom you had become very good friends with since you worked together in such close proximity.

“Are you okay?” he asked suddenly, exactly two weeks after your night with Bucky. You were prodding about with some equipment you were working on for Sam’s wings. “And don’t just say you are, because I can tell you’re not.”

You shrugged half heartedly. “I guess I’m not. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“You might feel better,” Bruce said, approaching you with a sympathetic tilt of the head. “You know I don’t usually pry, but I’m kind of worried. I can tell you’re upset.”

“Not upset,” you lied quickly, meeting his eyes. “Just…I need to get out of my own head, maybe.”

Bruce studied your face carefully but didn’t delve any further. “Tell you what. Maybe you’ll feel better tonight at the party.”

You wanted to groan loudly. Tony’s annual charity gala. You had looked forward to it before, the prospect of dressing up and maybe getting a dance with Bucky, but you weren’t quite in the party mood anymore. Still, you decided to maintain as positive of a mindset as you could, returning Bruce’s smile and promising yourself that you’d try and have a good time.

You left work with a slightly reinvigorated mindset as you headed back to your apartment to get changed. Maybe tonight could be a chance to relight that spark with Bucky again - if not that way, then you at least wanted some assurance that you were still friends.

You tried your best to uplift your mood whilst you got ready. You changed into a silky blue dress, one which complimented Bucky’s eyes, you realised. Perhaps this had been in your subconscious the day you’d picked it out. It was a long number, quite form fitting with a modest slit up the leg. You tried hard with your makeup and jewellery, the idea of impressing Bucky at the forefront of your mind as you tried to steady your racing heart every time he popped into your head.

Observing yourself in the mirror, you smoothed down the sides of your dress and tried to practice your smile. You managed to leave your apartment in a much better, optimistic state as you hailed a cab to take you to the gala venue.

It was being held in a new building commissioned by Tony next to Central Park, extravagant enough to rival the Met. You walked into the marble lobby, gaping at the high, vaulted ceilings and chandeliers hanging everywhere for just a moment, before you began searching the crowd for a familiar face.

You found yourself mingling with your other fellow lab techs who were buzzing with excitement to be invited to such an event, and you suppressed a frown as 30 minutes passed with no sign of Bucky.

Eventually, the crowd filtered into the main room filled with round tables where dinner would be served, and a huge glass bar which stretched along one side of the room. People were still socialising before food was to be served, and your eyes were roving non-stop, unable to focus on proper conversation with anyone.

Finally, just when your hope was dissipating, you saw him. He was standing in the middle of the crowded bar, clad in a black tux. This was the first time you had ever seen him in such an outfit, and it took your breath away. He held a flute of champagne in one hand, a complete vision and so different to how you usually saw him, typically fresh off the battlefield in his combat gear.

He was talking to Sam who had his back towards you. Bucky’s expression was unreadable but, as if sensing your burning eyes on him, he glanced towards you.

He did a double take, pausing mid-sentence to Sam, and you held your breath. He gave you a polite, if slightly terse, smile. He turned his attention away from you again, and your heart clenched.

It hurt more than you thought it would. It was just a tiny gesture, and he had acknowledged you, but why did it cause you pain?

No. Stop overthinking. You excused yourself from your colleagues and found yourself walking towards Bucky and Sam, reminding yourself that you were friends. You spoke to Bucky all the time - okay, maybe not in the last couple of weeks, but you had nothing to be afraid of. Just act normal.

“Hey guys,” you said lightly, watching as Bucky cleared his throat and gave you that same, tight smile.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Sam beamed, giving you a one armed hug. “You look stunning.”

You smiled shyly, twisting your hands together as you looked at Bucky.

“Thanks. You both look very handsome.”

As if answering your prayers for alone time with Bucky, you heard Clint in the distance beckon for Sam to go over, and he excused himself, leaving you two stood in a slightly awkward silence.

Bucky raised his champagne and took a sip as you tried to get him to meet your eyes.

“How have you been?” you asked finally. “Haven’t spoken to you in a while.”

Bucky shrugged, finally looking at you. “Been okay. Busy.”

You felt frustration rising. Usually he would be telling you all about the things that had occurred in his day, his daily arguments with Sam, anything and everything in between. But now he spoke to you as if you were merely acquaintances.

“Listen. Did I do something wrong?” you said finally, surprising yourself by cutting to the chase. You just wanted Bucky back, and you let your desperation take over.

Bucky seemed taken aback at your forward approach, but he composed himself quickly.

“Nothing,” he said, his tone ever so slightly blunt. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You felt like you were going to cry. You didn’t know how just a fortnight ago, you and Bucky had been locked in a passionate cinch in his bed, and now he was completely icing you out.

“Okay,” you said, deflating slightly. You knew that if he didn’t want to tell you, there was nothing you could do to squeeze it out of him.

“I’m gonna go take a seat,” he muttered, giving you one last look before he walked away.

You quickly hurried back to your colleagues, embarrassment searing your insides.

The evening passed painfully slowly. You found yourself sat quietly at your table after dinner service had ended and people were either having drinks, chatting out on the balconies or dancing in the middle of the ballroom.

You felt the gala could not get any worse. Until it did.

Natasha and Bucky were in the middle of the dance floor, swallowed up in the sea of couples and yet standing out due to their striking attractiveness. Natasha was dressed in a short, tight black dress, so simple and yet so gorgeous. Her red hair was straight and sleek, and she looked up at Bucky as they danced, his signature almost-cocky smile on his lips. A smile which he had not shown you since that day.

Natasha was effortlessly beautiful. She didn’t even have to try and she could get any man she wanted. Bucky included, obviously. You watched their movements closely as they danced, how they spoke to each other in low voices.

The emotions rising in your chest was like bile in your throat. It burned, it hurt, and it was able to illicit a terrible response in your brain.

You felt so ridiculous.

The dress you had on suddenly felt too tight, too uncomfortable around your stomach. You caught sight of your reflection in one of the large, ornate mirrors hanging off the walls and suddenly felt so ugly. You had tried so hard tonight, and for what? Bucky had barely given you ten seconds of his attention, and at the end of the day, no amount of effort could make you feel beautiful.

You didn’t know how you could’ve let yourself believe in something more. You had to make every effort to even just feel somewhat presentable, but women like Natasha didn’t have to. She was stunning and talented and intelligent, the obvious choice.

God knows why you had been questioning Bucky’s lack of attention. Maybe you had simply been misinterpreting your closeness all along.

You stood then, not wanting to cry in front of an audience. No one would notice you early departure anyway.

You left the ballroom, almost tripping in your stupid heels as you collected your things from the cloakroom.

Shrugging on your heavy coat as you marched through the empty lobby, you yelped in pain as you rolled your ankle clumsily, sending you crashing gracelessly onto the floor. You cursed, coat half-hanging off your body as you felt tears spring to your eyes.

It was the last straw. You were crying as you tried to stand, ankle throbbing, feeling mildly grateful that there was no one around to witness your childish episode. You thought you might have heard someone calling your name, but you ignored it, the roaring in your ears failing to stop.

Your tears didn’t cease, not even when you finally made it back home, ripping off the dress as soon as you could and crawling into the safety of your bed.

Bucky finally found you the next day in your lab on your lunch break. You were startled to see him appear in the doorway, your eyes tired and swollen from a night of crying. You hoped it wasn’t too obvious.

“Bruce isn’t here,” was the first thing you said.

He looked almost annoyed as he walked in and said, “Wasn’t looking for him.”

“Oh. What do you want?” The words came out harsher than you intended. Bucky definitely looked annoyed now, a scowl fixed on his face.

He shook his head. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Bucky!” Your voice came out loud and sharp as he turned back around. Frustration erupted. “You know what - you have no right to behave this way.”

“Excuse me?” He turned to look at you incredulously, forehead creasing.

“The way you’ve been treating me - the past few weeks since that night - you just ignore me now,” you were practically spluttering, all your feelings fighting to pour themselves out at once. “It’s horrible. I thought we were friends.”

“We were,” he said, looking almost torn.

“It’s not fair.” Your eyes were stinging and you were mortified, hurriedly lifting your hands to wipe them.

“Are you crying?” Bucky asked softly, looking nervous.

“Yes,” you snapped. “I thought we were close - I thought you liked me.” You were humiliated at your confession but ploughed on. “I thought that night meant something. But you -”

“Woah, hang on -”

“Don’t interrupt me!” you huffed.

Bucky took you in his arms, pulling you into his chest as you tried to pull back.

“Calm down,” he grunted, holding you still as you let out an exasperated noise. “Breathe.”

You knew he wouldn’t let up, so you let your anger reduce to a simmer as you focused on breathing steadily.

“Good girl.”

His presence was comforting despite your anger and frustration towards him. He always made you feel safe.

“I thought you liked me,” you repeated in a quiet voice. You were staring at his chest, refusing to look at him.

“I do,” he said, his voice tight.

“No, I thought you liked me as more than a friend.”

Bucky pulled back, lifting two figures under your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Can we rewind?” His request was soft. “Tell me. What did that night mean to you?”

“Are you really going to make me do this?”

His silence spoke volumes.

You tried not to let your frustration get the better of you. “I really like you, Bucky. I’m not a girl who enjoys sex with no strings attached. Especially not with you. I mean, I enjoyed the sex -” you blushed violently, “- but I - I want more.” Your words were rushed and you stared at the empty spot above his head, wanting to die from embarrassment.

“More?” he promoted.

“A relationship,” you clarified. “I know that’s not what you want. And that’s fine. But if we could at least just go back to how we were, where you actually spoke to me and spent time with me, I would really like that. Because I miss you.”

Bucky looked perplexed as he released you, mouth opening wordlessly. Finally, he uttered, “I don’t want that.”

Searing pain burst inside you, and your face crumpled.

“No, no, no,” he said hurriedly as your vision blurred. “I mean - I don’t want to be friends, because I want to be together. I want a relationship.”

“With me?” you asked, confusion marring your face.

“With you.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you said instantaneously. “Are you joking? This isn’t funny.”

“Would I joke about something like that?”

“You said you were bored,” you blurted. “You asked me if I was ‘okay with this’.” As you spoke, you realised how groundless your assumptions actually might be, but you refused to believe the alternative - that Bucky genuinely wanted to be with you.

Bucky threw his hands up in the air, looking defensive. “You said it was ‘just sex’! I never at any point told you that this was just fun for me.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face, sighing. “Okay, I think we may have had a breakdown in communication.”

“But I don’t get it,” you insisted. “Why would you want to be with me? I saw you with Natasha last night.”

“Dancing,” he said indignantly. “Just dancing.”

“You didn’t dance with me,” you shot back. “I - I only went to that dumb thing because I wanted you to ask me to dance.”

Bucky looked pained, biting down on his lower lip with regret. “I didn’t know.”

“I wanted to look nice for you,” you confessed quietly.

“You did. You were gorgeous.”

You laughed humourlessly. Bucky frowned.

“I’m being serious.”

“Sure.” You genuinely didn’t believe him.

“Stop that and look at me,” he said sharply.

His eyes were filled with both annoyance and affection, making you falter. You didn’t say anything when he sighed and stroked your hair.

“I wanted to tell you how beautiful you were. But I just couldn’t bear to be near you. I thought you just wanted something casual. And I don’t think I can handle that.”

“I can’t handle that either,” you confessed. “I really want to be with you, Bucky.”

Bucky beamed then upon hearing your words, relief washing over his face.

“Really?”

How could he ever doubt that? You smiled and nodded, but your smile was fragile and faded at the thought of Bucky and Natasha dancing last night. Even if there was nothing untoward happening, you still felt that he should be with someone as equally impressive as Natasha.

“Yes,” you confirmed. “I want to be with you, but at the same time, I don’t know why you would want to be with me.”

Bucky frowned. “Is it that hard to understand?”

You didn’t say anything, so Bucky continued, “I thought you knew how I felt. I’ve been making it pretty damn obvious these past few months.”

“I thought you were just being nice,” you mumbled. “I did think, sometimes, maybe you had feelings for me, but then I decided it just didn’t make sense.”

“Tell me why,” Bucky said gently.

You took a deep breath, knowing you could be vulnerable around him. “I’ve never felt that I was good enough for you. I feel so average, so normal. And you - well, you’re you. So outstanding in every way.”

Bucky shook his head, lifting a hand to cup your cheek. He smiled slightly when you blushed in response, skin flaming.

“Listen to me. Do you know how I view myself? I’m completely flawed, my morals are sometimes questionable, I’ve done terrible things -”

You were shaking your head vehemently in disagreement, and he smiled.

“See? You’re proving my point. We’re our own biggest critics. And maybe you don’t see how amazing you are, but I do. And I want you. I have pretty good taste, you know.” The way he looked at you made your self-doubt falter - he was observing you like you were so precious, the softness and tenderness in his face making your heart flutter.

You smiled then, Bucky taking a step closer, dipping his head to whisper against your lips.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you how brilliant you are, if that’s what it takes.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #avengers fic #Bucky one shot #bucky barnes x you #bucky fic

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kedsandtubesocks · 3 months

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your heart, a sonnet

Author!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: you discover there’s more to your boyfriend than you realize

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, surprise hidden identity reveal, grumpy but soft!Joel who has a secret love language of writing and love letters, mentions of unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but Joel is older & in his 50’s), light discussion of reader and Joel’s insecurities, reader is addressed as darlin/honey/baby, a few spicy moments where Joel gets handsy

word count: 5.3k

a/n: I know, I know… this doesn’t seem like the typical Joel fic but i blame Pedro’s look at the Hollywood star walk of fame ceremony because it immediately made me think ‘oh that’s Joel’ and now here we are lol I couldn’t have done this without my forever babe @the-wild-wolves-around-you and i can’t thank her enough along with @ahauntedcowboy for always letting me scream about all my wild ideas, and now to you, if you’re reading this too I also can’t thank you enough ♡

You first met Joel at a bookstore.

The weekend after your birthday you went in to treat yourself and wandered into the records section of the store. As you flipped through the selections, the sudden sight of a Fleetwood Mac album had you inhaling sharply in surprise.

“S’good one.” That’s when the sudden smooth drawl of a southern accent floated out to you.

A few steps beside you stood an absolutely gorgeous man. The evergreen plaid button up shirt he wore flattered him as if it was made to be only worn by him. Rugged and distinguished, he seemed like a romance hero plucked straight out from one of the books among the shelves. You even blinked a few times wondering if he was real.

“If you don’t take it, might have to fight ya for it.” Even with his gruff low voice, an underlying teasing nature radiated friendly and light.

Now, many months later, a piece of you believes you might have fallen for him right then and there.

Joel is a rare beautiful soul of a man. He’s strong and a bit rough around the edges. He used to work as a contractor, even managed to build a very reputable business with his brother. His hard work remains effortlessly etched into his hands that now type editing books, his current job. He’s kind, so deeply loyal and loves fiercely.

With a yawn, you slip out of bed to pull on his cozy Texas longhorn shirt.

Heading downstairs, you walk among the clouds.

Instead of working at his office desk, Joel sits at the dining table typing away. Just seeing him wear his reading glasses sends a delicious desire trickling through you like a soft rain.

His dark earth eyes flicker up over the edge of his laptop and his gaze softens.

“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna wake up.” His wonderfully smooth as molasses voice makes you want to get caught up in its sticky sweetness.

“It’s not even that late. You’re one who woke up wanting to get work done on a Saturday.” You scoff playfully yet press your lips to his, a soft good morning greeting.

“Besides…who’s the reason I slept in so soundly, hm?” You smile against Joel’s lips that now twitch with a smirk.

His large warm hand slowly creeps up against your bare leg and rubs soft against your skin. After a few sleepy kisses, Joel’s tongue smoothly slips into your mouth trying to now consume you with a syrupy heat.

Joel pulls you down onto his lap. Your hands run up his chest to his cherub curly gray hair. His lips leave yours to start nipping at your jaw.

“What happened to working, cowboy?” You sigh softly.

“Come keep me company, darlin’.” He breathes out and any hope of maybe making breakfast is happily forgotten.

The rest of the morning unfolds at a nebulous pace you bask in.

When a late brunch is finished and you start cleaning up the kitchen, Joel’s warm solid hands map out your hips with other plans in mind. He slides behind you, a towering comfort that you lean back against.

“You’re extra handsy today Mr. Miller.” You tease.

“I can stop?” Joel offers while his scruffy beard scrapes a path against your skin. Against you, his broad shoulders, his wonderfully built frame, wraps you in his protective cover.

You hum a content no and move your hands over his now.

“Just wanna enjoy being with ya before I get busy.” Joel mutters while his hand slides down your cozy lounge shorts.

You had forgotten about his upcoming work plans.

You already want to mourn the impending weekend without him, but that can wait for another day. Especially when his thick fingers delicately, so sinfully, run up and down your underwear playfully touching you.

But then that weekend arrives and it brings a hollowness.

Lounging on the couch back at the apartment you share with your best friend, you force yourself not to text Joel again. He’s busy and you know this. So you vow to hold all your yearning and longing chained inside like a Jane Austen heroine.

“Are you done sulking?” Your best friend teases from the kitchen and you glare at her from the couch.

“I get it, being awake from your hunky handsome older boyfriend is hard. What will you ever do?” She snickers playfully. You’re tempted to throw the nearby couch pillows at her.

“What did you say his job was?” She asks.

“He used to be a contractor, but now he’s a book editor.” You answer.

“A hardworking hot Texas cowboy who reads and is a good man? Yeah, keep him locked up.” Your best snorts and you understand exactly what she means.

Fanged temptation claws at you more to text him again. Joel promised he would call you tonight and you don’t doubt him. But you didn’t realize how badly you’d missed him.

“Alright,” your best friend declares. “No more moping! I’m dragging you out with me to that book signing I’ve been talking about.”

She’s been obsessed with this apocalyptic novel series for so long. You happily tag along and even perk up when you see how excited she gets.

“And the author is finally doing a book tour! He’s kept his identity hidden this entire time so I wanna get a chance to maybe just even see him!” Your best friend gushes the entire time she drives you both to the bookstore the signing would be held.

Just so happens it’s the same bookstore where you first met Joel. A deep surge of affection swallows you whole and you float on blissful lovesick nostalgia.

Then the impressive line already waiting outside the front doors stuns you.

“I told you! It’s a big deal! Plus the series is so good.” Your best friend exclaims. She has been trying to get you into the series for a while.

The core of it focuses on two young girls who manage to survive an apocalyptic fungal zombie outbreak. The series follows the girls growing up, the journey to live with each other, and how it slowly bonds them as sisters.

“I heard they’re trying to make a Netflix series on it.” Your friend adds hopeful.

You can’t help but snag your best friend’s book copy she also hopes will get signed. Flipping through the front pages you land to the dedication page.

“To my baby girls, this will always be for you two.”

The author must have based the series on their daughters. That’s adorable.

Now curious, you flip to the first chapter.

“After seeing the end of the world, after witnessing the carnage of life consume itself, Ellie thinks she’s seen it all.”

Your best friend's sudden excited laugh pulls you out of the book. She’s talking with the other fans in line and you decide to join in.

Everyone discusses how worth the wait will be and how most of them even purchased the newest released book to make sure they reserved a slot for the signing.

“So why’s the author finally doing a face reveal?” You ask quietly not wanting to seem too out of place.

“So apparently,” your best friend begins in her hush about to spill the good gossip voice. “Some random ass moron on Twitter came out and said they were the true author. It became a whole messy issue of who it really was.”

Your best friend goes into more detail about how even a couple of online sites had articles on it.

“That’s awful.” You sympathize with the author. It must’ve been a headache trying to enjoy the peace of anonymity only for it becoming something used against them. You can only imagine how heartbreaking it was to see others steal and take credit for your work.

Like a surprise strike of lightning, an electric excitement suddenly breaks through the air.

Glancing up, you watch the line rapidly move towards the front doors. Time to go in.

Unfortunately, the main seating for the reading and q&a fills up fast. The bookstore though manages to wrangle the remainder of the crowd that can fit on the first floor towards a section where they can watch. It’s more than enough for your best friend who’s about to burst with anticipation. The buoyant commotion in the room even pulls you into its current and you get excited to see the new surprise author.

Soon a chic handsome older looking man, the moderator of the event, scurries to the front of the gathered group.

Warmly he begins the introduction to the writer.

First, writing sweet children’s books, stories for his daughters, those works became the author’s first publications. After that he navigated apocalyptic writing and his hit series has earned critical acclaim.

“Simply known as the anonymous writer J Miller. I’ve had the greatest pleasure to know this man as both his friend and now agent and I’m beyond proud to introduce him to you. Everyone please help me in welcoming J Miller!”

The thunderous applause and screams of excitement galvanize the entire room.

Then Joel walks out from the side.

Your heart instantly leaves your body.

For a moment you think your lovesick yearning heart has you slightly projecting Joel in any man you might see.

But the minute you focus, truly watch him slide into the chair, you see him.

Soft gray grown out curls, a strong beautiful nose, the patchy beard with the spots you love to kiss, and his reading glasses - the ones he’s so self conscious about because of how they make him look “so good damn old,” yet you love how they distinguish and elevate his appearance. You even remember the first time Joel wore them while he read waiting for you.

Truth makes its way into your heart.

It’s Joel.

The famous mystery author is your Joel.

“Thanks Frank.” And when he takes the mic, thanking his agent, his slick southern sunset voice melts the crowd.

“So, uh he’s gorgeous?!” Someone behind you squeals.

“Who would’ve thought he’d be this hot?!” Someone adds.

The whispers and mummers swarm like wasps buzzing all around you and you want to swat at them.

You can’t wrap your mind around this or the amount of emotions rushing through you. You feel separated from your body, floating detached from the scene and trying to gather yourself back.

Why didn’t he tell you?

Did he not trust you?

Joel suddenly laughs at something Frank says, that gruff wonderful laugh you hear after you show him a ridiculous video or his daughters tease him. It snaps you back into awareness.

“He’s about to read a section!” Your friend giddily whispers under her breath

Now you fully focus on this man, this almost stranger.

He’s so handsome it isn’t fair. He looks like a distinguished professor and your throat tightens seeing how broad his shoulders look in the dark casual suit jacket he wears.

“One of my favorite parts.” He admits quietly. “It’s when Ellie and Sarah realize they can make it outta Pittsburgh together.”

His daughters. He named his characters after them.

Joel clears his throat and begins.

He reads the passage with a magnetic cadence. The words slip from him like the smooth drink of whiskey that lingers on your tongue. When he finishes, an ache twists in your chest.

The applause he gets is shatteringly loud. The smallest bit of pride does float through you. But confusion drowns it out.

The floor now opens to quick questions. Some are about the book itself and the certain decisions made writing wise. Others are obviously about why he stayed hidden for so long.

That one perks you up quickly.

In such typical Joel fashion, he shrugs.

“Just couldn’t figure out Twitter, s’all.”

Everyone laughs at his playful reply and you do as well, but it sounds hollow and watery.

Soon enough the last question arrives.

“Do you ever see yourself writing for any other genres? I mean, we’ve seen horror and some moments of romance in the series. So I’m just curious if you’d write anything else?!” The lady asks brightly and now you simply settle your thoughts aside to listen.

Joel chuckes, a bit breathless and his gaze drops. This entire time he’s teetered between a sly southern charm that’s hypnotized you, to being guarded almost a bit nervous.

But now a boyishly hesitant grin falls over him and it’s so familiar.

”Uh, guess romance would be the next I’d maybe try.” He answers low, bashful.

The crowd erupts into fangirl like shrieks.

“Right?! I keep saying he doesn’t know the potential he has if he became a romance writer!” Frank, who has such a bright and lovely personality, adds.

Too many emotions clash in you.

You wonder if he wants to explore romance writing because of you?

Or a much harsher voice creeps out from the back of your mind whispering maybe you’re just being used for source material.

You quickly stomp those thoughts away.

The rest of the event shifts to the signing and you walk in a sort of guided daze.

“You okay?” Your best friend asks gently, noticing your slight mood change.

You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth yet. This was something she had been looking forward to and you didn’t want to ruin her excitement or experience. So you wearily just smile and tell her your head simply started hurting.

She sympathetically nods.

“Thankfully we won’t be waiting too long.” She adds and explains how the signing would be called by groups.

“We might not have gotten seats, but we did manage to sneak into group A for the signing.” She grins proud and it lifts your spirits.

The line curls against the sides of the bookshelves blocking your view of Joel. It becomes both a blessing and a curse.

Maybe you should wait in the car for his and your sake?

However, something inside you slightly bitter, raw and wanting answers, decides to stay. Besides you, your dear friend tries to keep herself calm but you can sense her bubbling nervous energy.

“I’d be calmer if he wasn’t so damn attractive.” She hisses and a jealous flare gently rises in you.

“Just think,” you reassure her. “He’s probably just as nervous as you.”

The relieved comforted grin she gives you makes staying worth it. But then all of that flies out the window the closer and closer you get to Joel.

Petrified dread claws its way in when you realize your best friend is next in line.

“He looks kinda familiar now that we’re closer.” The casual comment your friend says makes your heart sink.

“Maybe.” You mutter.

The times Joel has been to your place your roommate, your best friend, has been either at work or sleeping. You can only think of the first instant you introduce Joel to her when he picked you up on a date.

Your eyes flicker straight to Joel.

His hair seems so perfectly curled and his dark jacket highlights his wonderful grays.

Thankfully, any discussion of who he might look like gets squashed because your best friend gets called next in line. She turns to you squeaking excitedly and you beam back bright.

Joel lifts his eyes up, like a true southern gentleman wanting to give someone his full attention.

You wait on the side and watch the interaction unfold. Joel chuckles at something your best friend says and you’re glad she’s enjoying herself.

The book signing is done so fast. In a blink, it’s finished. With her newly signed book, your friend turns to you. She makes a slightly embarrassing but endearing noise of excitement that has you laughing.

That’s when your eyes flicker over to Joel and your gaze locks with his.

Instantly, Joel’s handsome face drops. His gorgeous earth eyes widen as he immediately recognizes you. His mouth falls open slightly and a flash of something close to fear fills the depths of his eyes.

He breathes out your name on a shaky exhale.

Everything seems to slow and stop. You don’t know what to say. So all you do is weakly smile.

The fleeting moment fades. The next group in line already giggles moving towards the table.

Time’s up. Turning on your heels to leave with your friend, Joel calls out to you, calls your name.

“Wait!”

You freeze.

Glancing back at him, Joel’s eyes pin you on the spot. An unspoken heaviness hangs in his deep eyes while he stares intently at you.

“It’s okay, we’ll talk later.” By some strange possession of slight bravery, or maybe delusion, you manage to speak.

But it’s all you can say and it’s all you can do before Frank, Joel’s agent, slides in to whisper something to him.

The moment again shatters.

Your best friend however grills you the rest of the day

That’s when you pull out your phone. You show her a photo you secretly took of Joel. It’s one where he’s adorably glaring at his ipad while he tried ordering take out for dinner.

Your best friend shrieks. “He’s your boyfriend?!”

He is.

Your boyfriend, Joel, is a writer, a very famous best selling author.

And that weight yanks you under a dangerous current you can’t seem to swim against.

Even after lunch, even getting back to your apartment and trying to settle your thoughts, your emotions are still so tangled.

You mindlessly scroll through your phone for the rest of the day and a blink, you notice it’s already early evening. Your plan to stay sulking is ruined when your phone starts ringing so loud.

It’s Joel.

“Hello?” You answer as composed as you can.

“Darlin?” His beautiful rich voice sounds hesitant and guarded.

“Hi.” You reply back quietly.

“Can we talk?” He asks just as low.

You agree, expecting to have the discussion on the phone. Except a knock taps on your apartment door and scares you right out of your body.

Ever proactive, ever the man who takes action, Joel stands waiting for you when you open the door.

You’re thankful more than ever that your best friend went to the gym for the evening.

“Wanna sit outside for a bit? Maybe get some air? S’really nice outside today.” He offers gentle.

He’s breaking up with you. That’s what your mind jumps to.

At least the weather is surprisingly kind this early evening.

You’ve sat out here on your apartment’s decent sized balcony with Joel before. But now the energy between you and him shifts strangely.

The sky stretches above a soft sherbet orange. A breeze comes, thankfully not too cold, but you think about maybe heading in to grab a blanket.

Joel however quickly slings off his jacket and drapes it over you. Always the gentleman.

The smell of his cologne, so comforting and masculine, wraps around you like a cloud.

You thank him with a soft small smile and Joel nods. Then he sighs and leans forward on the folding chair.

“Always loved the outdoors.” He begins, a small olive branch of a conversation to break the tension. “The girls and I love hiking the trails out by the lake. You ever been?”

You shake your head no.

“Maybe one day we can all go together.” The comment holds hope, a delicate thread of it. Yet you catch the hesitation.

Your eyes flicker to him, confused and cautious.

“Wait, you aren’t breaking up with me?” You blurt out, maybe just wanting to get it over with. You hate the way your voice cracks slightly.

Joel, with his beautiful concerned wide eyes, snaps his face to you.

“What? Honey no. Thought maybe you’d be the one maybe tryin’ to break up with me.” Joel, who Sarah jokes about how some of their neighbors question if he’s perpetually grumpy, stares at you with a tenderness that melts you to your core.

You can’t help but laugh watery.

“Why d’ya think I’d want to end things with you?” He asks patiently.

You can think of so many.

He’s a famous writer who’s about to maybe become an online sensation. He’s older than you, wiser and seasoned. He’s a full on father with young teenage daughters.

So you reveal your heart to him and all the fears that dwell in its shadows. You wipe away a few tears that manage to spill out.

Joel moves to hold your hands in his, a guarded warmth and protection keeping you stable.

With a heavy sigh, Joel’s attention fully focused on you.

“Honey…I’m so sorry for not telling you about my work, about me, sooner.” He earnestly apologizes and his words drip with comforing earnesty.

Now his gaze drops down to where your hand sits in his.

“Didn’t want it complicatin’ things with us. I knew I had to tell you eventually. But really…I was worried you’d see me differently once you knew. I know I don’t seem like the writin’ type anyway.” He mutters and you miss the hint of embarrassment coloring his tone.

You squeeze his hands.

This could never make you look at Joel in a negative light. If anything, you now feel proud knowing he’s a writer. You do explain your worries though and the ache you felt knowing he kept his from you.

“I know darlin’ and I promise,” he squeezes your hands now. “No more secrets between us.”

“You…us…means more to me than you’ll know.” He adds and you draw his hands up to your mouth.

You kiss his worn hands, his hard working beautiful hands that now move to hold your face so tenderly in their grasp. His thumb strokes your bottom lip delicately as if you’ll disappear from his sight.

“Can I kiss ya baby?”

You nod and in that same breath Joel pulls you towards him. He kisses you light, delicate enough that you feel so precious and treasured within his hold.

It seems like such a simple small kiss but it soaks into your bones.

You have so many questions. And as much as you’d like to make out with your boyfriend on the balcony, you’d like answers.

So you pull away and stand up.

Joel looks adorable as confusion paints his face.

“Don’t worry I’m just getting us a blanket.” You grin at him as you sling on his jacket claiming it as your own.

Blanket in hand you now curl up with him in the lawn chair, thankful for its sturdiness and cozy size. Your heart soars at how quickly Joel pulls you into his arms and basically onto his lap.

It feels like it’s been months since you’ve last been with him, or maybe that’s just how exhausting today was.

Joel sighs content and pleased once you fully rest against him. Hesitantly you ask if it’s okay if you can talk about him, about his work.

“Ask away honey. I’ll tell ya everything n’ anything.” He says firm.

You grin and your thumb starts stroking the back of his hand.

“So what made you decide to reveal yourself now? I heard there was an issue about someone saying they were you?” You ask, thinking of the discussions earlier with your best friend.

“Yeah..” Joel now sighs tired with an ancient weariness that settles over his handsome face.

“Sarah was the one who saw it first on Twitter or wherever it was.” He adds with a grumble.

Your heart aches knowing one of the girls saw it first.

“Didn’t help either that I ain’t online. So it became a whole fuckin’ mess we had to deal with it a couple months back.”

A light bulb goes off inside your brain.

“Was that when you said you had to visit a family friend out of town?” You connect the dots.

“Yup.” Joel nods. “Went to visit Frank, my agent, to try and figure this shit out. Could’ve let it all maybe die down but… ya know.” He huffs and you understand completely.

Joel is too stubborn, a bit too prideful. You almost snort amused just over the thought of him trying to let the situation blow over.

“Frank wants to meet ya by the way.” Now his voice dips with a bashful tone while his hands begin softly stroking your thighs.

“I’d love to meet him too.” You truthfully tell Joel.

“So, are you going to be online now? Should I start making secret accounts to follow you?” You now tease and Joel barks a beautiful amused laugh.

“Baby, I’m over 50. The only apps I need on my phone are candy crush and ESPN. Ain’t got the time or patience for social medias.”

Now you’re the one laughing.

It feels freeing, blissful, like this is the first moment you’re spending time with him all over again. Yet, there’s a deeper sacred connection that settles.

You can’t help but kiss him again and Joel eagerly welcomes you on his lips.

Now his lips move fervently, almost possessively, against yours, licking and trying to consume you. A small moan squeaks out of you.

“Come on baby,” he mutters, shifting you against his lap so that you fully feel his hardness straining against his pants. “Wanna taste ya.”

You’re thankful you manage to drag him back inside because you can’t imagine getting intimate with Joel on the balcony. Well, at least not yet. But that was a thought for another day.

Now in the afterglow’s soft relaxing peace you wish for more time with him.

But Joel must sense that ache too.

“S’late honey. Come back home with me. Even if it’s just for the night.” He mutters against your lips and you can’t deny him. You don’t want to deny him or the aching tug pulling you to him.

That night you fully embrace every inch of the man Joel Miller is and let a dizzying adoration for him swallow you whole.

The next morning, in the soft early still dark shade of his room, Joel wakes you with a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Gotta go meet with Frank for the day. I’ll see ya later, honey.” He mutters against your cozy heated skin.

You hum a soft agreement and sleepily wish him a goodbye before falling back to sleep. After that, you wake up later to a colder and empty bed.

Tugging on another one of Joel’s shirts you head downstairs already missing his presence.

And when you get downstairs, there on the table sits the most gorgeous floral arrangement. Its beautiful vibrant blooms make your heart flutter so fast against its cage.

A folded paper sits beside the flowers. Your name is written on the front in Joel’s slightly chicken scratch like handwriting.

You scramble fast to grab it.

A letter, he’s written you a letter.

“Honey,

I know I’ve already apologized and you’ve forgiven my old undeserving ass.”

You snort at that line but continue on.

“But I just wanted to fully apologize to you again. Might take me a while until I stop, but just be patient with my old bones yeah?”

You would. Your heart would and will always wait for him.

“Doesn’t seem like it but, I aint that good at talking about things, about my feelings. Shocker right?”

You smirk. You know he isn’t good with words - that’s why it almost feels ironic and a bit unreal that he’s an author.

You’ve discovered Joel shows his affection through his actions.

He spent an entire day rearranging a business scheduling conflict just so that Tommy didn’t have to worry about it. Joel never missed a single one of Ellie’s basketball games. Sarah only prefers a certain type of orange juice and Joel never fails to only get that one.

The first few weeks you started dating Joel you got sick with a nasty cold. He dropped off a whole bag of various items like tissues and cough drops. It was then you knew his heart shines through his actions.

He sometimes surprises you with an order from your favorite take out spot. He never lets you touch a door, always opening them for you instead. He’s the most generous lover and never fails to remind you of how tender, how consuming, his passion can be.

Joel does grumble, sometimes even seems grouchy, but he loves fiercely.

And now here he is showing you this side of him, this form of himself as a writer.

So you return to reading his letter.

“I got into writing because it helped me process all my emotions, my thoughts, the good and bad days - everything. And sharing my writing with others, especially with someone as important as you, still makes me feel so vulnerable. Funny how that worked out though huh? Guess fate wanted to drag my ass and make me face my fears and vulnerability and whatnot.”

Someone as important as you - The line makes your heart flutter.

“I know I told you the reasons why I didn’t tell you. But another reason was because I was afraid.

I was afraid of how much you mean to me. Telling you about this part of me would be taking a bigger step. And it scared me shitless. Cause darlin’ I haven’t felt this way in a very long time. Like, as Ellie loves to say, in such a long time that ‘dinosaurs weren’t even fossils.’

That makes you laugh a bit watery but you let his words carry you again.

“You make my damn heart race when you smile. I get so worked up just seeing you walk around my house as if you were always meant to be here. And I didn't want to lose that either. I still don’t.

You feel like a bright future, like waking up after a cloudy week and the sun greets you so nicely. And I just wanna stay in that warmth, your warmth.

Yeah sorry, that line might be too romance novel writer for my league…but like I said I’m thinking about it. And it’s because of you.

We said no more secrets yeah?

So I’m not lying when I say you’ve become so god damn important to me. And I wanna see more days with you, as many as you’ll have with me.

Fuck. This damn letter already feels too long and I hate my old ass for rambling and maybe not making sense. But I adore you honey. Plain in simple.

And I’m just gonna leave it at that.

Don’t miss me too much and I’ll see you soon.

P.S I picked that bookstore as the tour’s first stop here because it’s where I met you… and I’ll always be grateful for that

-Joel”

You now fight back an absolute ocean’s worth of adoration for this man.

Tears clog your throat and you try not letting them flood your vision, but it’s so hard. So hard when you’re this head over heels.

You don’t want to say it yet, and you don’t know if he’s even ready to say it, but the emotion filling you like a newborn star feels like love.

You barely manage to send out a text thanking him and hoping you’ll get to talk to him soon.

Joel, ever the endearing man he is, replies back with a simple heart emoji and you laugh.

You really might love this man.

And you hope, you so brightly hope, that he maybe loves you too.

You think of his book series, of how he became a writer simply wanting to tell his daughters stories. Those stories grew out of his love for them and now he gets to crystallize that among his pages.

You realize how writing truly is its own form of love.

After all, what better way for a writer to show their love, their heart, than to capture you in their words?

You think that’s where writers must live now, in the heart. Or maybe - your maybe gruff handsome one just does. And you happily welcome Joel’s place in yours and hope he resides there forever like a love poem etched into your very soul.

#hello hi if you read this know me and author Joel are writing you a love letter #Joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #author!joel miller #Joel miller fic #Joel 🤎

549 notes · View notes

zeltqz · 6 months

Note

hohihiwhshwh i have a request where y/n is the girlfriend of a rival gang leader but doesn’t treat her right but then ran is interested in her that way with rindou and sanzu banter about

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ temptations | haitani ran ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

pairing. tokyo manji!ran x fem!reader

word count. 8.1k

contents. gold digger!reader, toxic relationship (not with ran), misogynistic views, infidelity, reader's boyfriend is a gambling addict, possessive boyfriend. NSFW contents. dirty thoughts, fantasising, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, safe sex, oral (both)

The room was polluted with cigarette smoke, flashy lights and far too much testosterone for you to handle without feeling uncomfortable. It was hard to keep your poker face as you sipped on your glass of water, sitting lonely, by yourself on a plush l-shaped couch in the corner of the room.

There was boredom written all over your face as you watched your boyfriend lose at snooker over and over and over again. With each loss of the game came a loss of money. Honestly you’ve lost count with his losses, rolling your eyes every time he curses loudly and makes a scene of throwing the stick at someone’s head for laughing at how much money he’s lost tonight.

He’s surrounded by his friends, none of which you cared enough to remember their names. All you know is they’re gambling obsessed horny fucks that don’t respect your boundaries when your boyfriend isn’t around.

Being the only girl in the room is awkward enough and it feels like a slap in the face when you spot other women in the room, a small glimmer of hope flashing your face as you desperately try to make eye contact with then—hoping they can use that telepathic sense all women seem to have when it comes to each other—only for them to glance at you briefly, then ignore you and walk away.

At this point you’re so lonely you’ll handle even talking to men but they also make a conscious effort not to talk to you. It’s hard making friends when you have such a possessive boyfriend like Kozo; he’s practically barking at anyone that even bothers to approach you, not liking other men close to his property .

It’s like Kozo’s playing a constant game, getting you all dolled up and pretty, dangling you in front of other men at the club to grab their attentions, then the poor men who’ve fallen for the trap would get dragged outside by their collars and beat into a pulp on the streets for touching what’s his.

It was a daily routine for you. Kozo would come to the club every Friday, bring you along for pointers and soaks in the attention you receive from his friends as they brag about how much of an eye candy you were. You knew you were nothing but a prize in his eyes, nothing but an accessory Kozo wears to make himself feel better. They gamble, play games, smoke, do drugs in the clubs and you sit on the nice couch for hours and watch Kozo win money.

Why are you with him, your friends wonder? Probably for the money. He was…nice to you on occasion, whenever he was in a good mood and he’d fuck you like he meant it, even counting in your pleasure. But those times were rare; the main reason you stay is because he takes you on a shopping spree with the money he wins from gambling, buying you nice jewellery, clothes, pays for your nails.

You liked getting dolled up, he liked seeing you dolled up. The relationship was nothing but transactional. You came to that realisation that you had no feelings for him the day you came back from the bathroom and saw him with another girl, his arm around her waist as she hyped him up at the card table to win. You examined it for a moment, your presence practically invisible to all the men, and just wondered why you weren’t feeling angry that he’s practically got his hands on another woman. You watched deep in thought for what felt like five minutes and the only thing on your mind was if you’re still going on that shopping spree on Saturday.

For the record, you did.

And it was fun.

The ball gets hit into one of the holes and Kozo yells at the top of his lungs, loud enough to startle you; you watch the opposing team manhandle each other in a way that’s just so masculine , aggressive back and shoulder slaps that look like they sting.

Your expensive presence caught the eye of a creep at the bar. Glancing in his direction, he looked twice your age, grey hairs marking his hair and beard and wearing a very creepy smile on his face, cigarette bobbing from his lips as he eyed you down with what he probably thinks is an attractive face. You know his type. Being at these bars all the time, you had time to analyse everyone and what types of men come to these bars.

There’s the occasional addicts: drug, gambling or alcohol addicts that come here to fuel their needs, then there’s the creeps like him, looking old enough to be your father but crave young, attractive girls in their early 20’s to spend all their money on. Then there’s the rich men that come through once every month or so.

You’ve caught a glimpse of them a few times and there’s this one man that caught your eye many times, but he’s never looking in your direction. It hurts your ego a little bit, but you remember you’re in a relationship with a loyal (?), loving (??), giving—very much giving($)—boyfriend.

Kozo looks in your direction for what seems like the first time in two hours and sees your eyes are staring at the creep. His face scrunches up when he glances over to the guy at the bar.

“Hold my stick,” he grits out, slamming it firmly into his friends chest and rolls up his sleeves as he walks up to the bar. “Oi.” He slams his hand down on the bar top loud enough for everyone to stop doing what they’re doing and look over at the scene. “You got a staring problem?”

“What?” The guy puts his cigarette down. “No—no. I wasn’t looking at you—”

“Nah. Not at me. My girl .”

“Your…” The man tries to get another look at you before Kozo’s hand is on his chin, gripping it hard and redirects his gaze back to him.

“You’re really gonna look at her again while I’m here? Bold aren’t you.” Kozo cackles, slaps him on the back hard, ignores his yelp and leans in towards his ear, voice dropping dangerously low and whispers, “Meet me outside.”

From your seat across the room you could tell where this was heading and quickly stood up. Kozo looked positively murderous right now and you didn’t feel like running from the police tonight. Being the good samaritan you were, you stood up and walked over to Kozo, holding his arm tight.

He snaps his head back to look at you. “What?”

“I wanna go home.”

“Really?” He lets go of the man’s shirt and turns all 5’10”of him around to face you. “I haven’t won enough money yet baby. Don’t you want that new dress you were telling me about?”

“I do…but…” You bit your lip, stepping closer to him. “I wanna go home.”

“Whatever, you’ll live,” he grumbles, waving your concern away and nods back towards the couch. “Go sit down. I’ll be done soon.”

You attempt to plead at him with your eyes once more since your words clearly weren’t getting to him but his gaze was ice cold, unwavering, and you could see how serious he was about this.

This wasn’t a battle you could win, you knew that and you accepted defeat, shoulders slumping as you walked back over to the couch. Fifteen more minutes pass and they’re doing more talking than gambling at this point.

Kozo managed to hit the 8-ball too early and out of anger tossed his stick half way across the room, the impact snapping it in half as it hit the wall. Now they were waiting for another stick.

Guess no shopping spree this weekend, you thought. Kozo was losing badly.

“You might as well resign out now, Kozo. Better to leave broke but with your ego in tact.”

“I’m not fucking broke,” Kozo snaps, his bubbling anger slowly starting to spill out.

You can tell he’s one snarky comment away from losing it and you need to get him out of here before he hurts someone. The last time he was in a bad mood he took it out on a random man waiting in line at the club and you could do nothing but watch from the sidelines as he beat the man half to death.

Kozo’s anger is something that scares you, and also another factor that stops you from leaving him. He’d never lay his hands on you though, he doesn’t want anyone touching his property, even including himself. You’re too precious to be bruised. But that didn’t mean you were safe if you ever broke up with him, since you won’t be his property by then.

Too deep in your thoughts, you fail to notice him walking over to the couch.

“Get the fuck up,” Kozo frowns down at you. When you don’t move fast enough for his liking, he snaps. “I said get the fuck up !” He forcefully lifts you from the couch, squeezing your forearm in a tight grip that has you wincing, trying to pull him off.

“Kozo you’re hurting me—”

“Didn’t you wanna fuckin’ go? Let’s go .”

“I’m coming, okay! Just let go,” you whine, grabbing his hand, trying to pry it off your skin.

Once he let go, you clear your throat and move closer to him. In an attempt to calm him down, you run your hands up and down his chest, cuddling up to him.

“Are you okay?”

The soft whisper of your voice did wonders to calm him, and he exhales heavily.

“Yeah.” He kisses your forehead. “Sorry for snapping at you baby. I’m just…pissed off.”

You hum; your hands moving around his back and rubbing there. “It’s okay to get pissed. Just don’t get too upset. Control your temper, remember?”

He nods. “Yeah. I know.”

You pull away and wipe your sweaty hands on the back of your dress. “Alright, let’s go.” He pulls you towards the door.

“Oi, Kozo.” Kozo pauses by the door, looking over his shoulder.

“If you play one more round you can win your money back.”

Kozo wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Pass. My girl’s tired anyway. Gotta take her home.” He pulls you closer to his side and kisses the side of your face. Kozo was about to begin walking again before the guy at the table spoke up.

“That so? I’ll double it then.”

The mention of double the money had Kozo freezing on the spot. His body weight along was enough to make you recoil back to his side when you continued walking.

“Double, huh?” Kozo smirks and you panicked at the interest dripping from his voice.

“No no no, Kozo baby he’s bluffing. I wanna go home,” you said, trying to get his attention back on you and away from the world of gambling and addiction.

Kozo let go of your hand and your heart sank to the floor. He walked over to the table and you wandered back over to the couch, standard procedure as usual. Right now, you could only hope he wins because if he loses for the second time and embarasses himself, it’ll be ten times harder to get him to cool down.

Ten minutes in, the couch dipped and look to your right at the gentleman that sat down next to you. “You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls out in a low, smooth voice.

Your eyes meet his own and you spotted a hint of teasing in them. The shade wasn’t anything you’d seen before, and you couldn’t take your eyes off his.

The silence stretches out far too long to be considered normal and then you remember he was looking at you because he asked you a question.

“Oh. Yeah. I am.” You gave a noncommittal shrug to your already non-committal answer and sunk deeper into the couch. “I’m great.”

Judging by the bland tone of your voice, he had a feeling you were lying. His head tilts to the side to get a better look at your side profile as you kept staring straight ahead, glaring daggers at Kozo.

He readjusts himself in his seat, turning to face you. “Whatsa matter?”

You turn to look at him, your eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. “Do I know you?”

He grins, boyish and charming, and for a moment you regret your tone. “I’m Ran. You?”

Before you could say your name, a shadow falls over your face as Kozo stands over you, his eyes hard and seething as he glares at Ran.

“That’s my girl.”

It takes Ran a few seconds before he’s looking away from you and onto Kozo, curling his eyebrow at Kozo. “That’s nice. What’s that gotta do with me though?”

“Stop talking to her?”

Ran glances at you, looking embarrassedly down at your lap. He decides to stand up, trying not to smile as Kozo’s shoulders slump downwards, watching in real time as his ego deflates to negative levels as Kozo realises the height difference.

“She can answer for herself, can’t she?” Ran asks, cocking his head at Kozo.

This was probably the first time you saw someone stand up to Kozo and you couldn’t help but feel intrigued, readjusting in your seat to get a better angle of these two men fight over you.

Kozo’s eyes narrow slightly, too irritated to come up with a response.

Ran turns to look at you; your breath catches in your throat at the eye contact.

“What’s your name?” he asks again. Your eyes slide over to Kozo but Ran tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly. “I’m asking you sweet thing, not him.”

The pet name had Kozo’s nose flaring, temper rising to impossibly hot and you could tell he was two seconds away from murder. Regardless of that, you smile, shift your entire body to face Ran and tell him your name.

Ran’s smile turns wolfish before he sits down heavily beside you, even closer than before, his knees practically touching yours.

“That wasn’t so hard,” he looks smugly over at Kozo, “was it?”

Kozo’s fists tighten as he watches Ran raise his arm to rest along the back of the couch, his hand barely brushing your shoulder. He sighs, closes his eyes to control his temper and lowers his voice to sound softer, more approachable and says, “What do you want Ran?”

Ran shrugs. “Just being friendly and a good host. She seems pretty lonely by herself here.”

Kozo’s eyes narrow. “Go be friendly somewhere else.”

“You forgetting who owns this club Kozo?” Ran sings Kozo’s name as he asks the question; you notice Kozo’s eyebrow twitch at Ran’s tone.

“Are you threatening me Haitani?”

“Threats? Nah. Never that. ‘M better than that. My dad on the other hand…he’s not as kind as me when it comes to threats or kicking people out of his club.”

Kozo glares at Ran’s annoyingly smug face for a few more seconds before realising he cannot stand the sight of it anymore.

“Want me gone so badly? Fine then.” Just like before, he yanks you upright by your arm, making you wince loudly. “We’re heading home now.”

Ran grabs Kozo’s hand effortlessly and all but rips it off your arm, then tugs you back down to the couch next to him.

“I don’t appreciate you grabbing her like that.” His eyes were serious whilst his tone was playful. From this angle you couldn’t see Ran’s face clearly, only getting a good view of his side profile as he looks up at Kozo, but considering the way Kozo stiffens slightly as he stares at Ran’s face you could tell he was intimidated.

“It was a joke Haitani…jeez get a sense of humour. I don’t normally grab her like that. Chill.” Ran didn’t look impressed and Kozo swallows, nervously. “Okay…I won’t grab her like that again.” Kozo turns towards you, his voice softening a bit. “Come on baby. I’ll take you home now.”

This time, he grabs your hand as soft as he can and lifts you from the couch, making a show of readjusting your dress from when it rid up your thighs and heads towards the exit. You look back at Ran once last time, mouthing “thank you” with a small wiggle of your fingers, waving goodbye at him before disappearing from the room.

Ran exhales and leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes when his brother sits down next to him.

“There a reason you’re picking a fight with Kozo today or what?” Rindou asks, taking a sip of his drink.

“Do I need a reason? What if I was just bored?” Ran peeks an eye open at his brother who was looking at him unimpressed.

“What was the reason,” Rindou repeats, his tone indicating a direct answer asap. Ran doesn’t respond instantly and Rindou fiddles with his cup, moving it around to watch the liquid splash around. “It has nothing to do with that girl right?”

Ran stays quiet and Rindou scoffs. “Jesus christ.”

Ran laughs and shrugs. “What’s the problem? Can I not talk to girls anymore?”

“Single girls sure. You know how weird Kozo gets about that girl. The amount of dudes he’s beat up for even staring at her is wild,” Rindou says, reminding his brother of Kozo’s possessiveness as a warning, but Ran only takes it as a challenge.

“Yeah whatever.”

Rindou knows Ran isn’t fully listening, only digesting whatever he wants to hear to satisfy himself. “If you piss Kozo off, Dad’ll be angry. He comes here a lot and it’ll be a loss of money if he stops coming. Just…don’t do anything stupid.”

With that, Rindou stands up and left when Sanzu calls him over to play a round. Ran watches the two for a second, then begins thinking of his next move.

Meanwhile, Kozo slips into the front seat of his car after putting in more gas and turns to look at you, staring out the window staring into the night sky. He places his hand on your thigh to grab your attention.

“Baby,” he says softly, waiting for you to meet his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Stay away from Haitani, okay? He’s…weird…alright?” For the first time in forever, Kozo doesn’t feel any anger inside him and you feel like you’re looking at a totally different person, one that actually looks worried for your safety which is funny considering all the risky situations he’s put you in.

“Weird how?”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just promise me you’ll stay away from him.” He reaches out and grabs your hand. You meet his eye and see him staring intensely at you, awaiting your response.

“...okay, I will.”

The next time Kozo attends the club, he takes you with him as usual, standard procedure. It’s been a month since you’ve last been here, sitting on the same couch but you instantly slip back into routine, sipping on your water because Kozo refuses to let you drink without him next to you.

Instead of snooker, this time Kozo decides to waste his money on another game called roulette, watching intently while trying to figure out the odds, never touching the table itself except to place his bets. There’s a man at the other end who spins the wheel, successfully taking Kozo's attention away from you completely. Sometimes you honestly wonder if he remembers you're still here with how hard he ignores your existence.

Still though, it gives Ran plenty of opportunities to stare at you, wondering what Kozo would say if he saw him doing so. Rindou's words ring in his mind momentarily and he's about to stop himself from approaching you when you shift on the couch a little, the movement exposing your leg again and for some reason, this only fuels Ran’s desire to look at you.

He can't explain why exactly; it just makes him want to reach out and grab your legs, pull them closer to his body and let his lips run up the length of your legs until they reached the perfect spot.

He glances over at Kozo across the room once more; he's not even paying attention to you. Perfect.

With that, Ran strolls over towards your couch from behind. Your back is against the couch and he bends down, resting his arms along the back of the couch and speaks into your ear, "Sitting by yourself again?"

You jump at the sound of his voice right by your ear and let out a soft gasp, flushing hot before smiling. “Don't scare me like that!" you clutch a hand over your heart, letting out a giggle.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is deep and sexy, accentuated by the smirk he wears on his face as his lips brush the shell of your ear again. The hand that had clutched at your heart slowly falls to rest on your knee and you shiver at the contact.

"It's okay," you say in a quiet voice, trying to ignore the way your chest feels when he brushes against you. "I was actually starting to get bored." You smile and turn your head slightly to meet his eyes.

"Missed me did you?" He rests his chin on his arms folded on the couch, grinning widely.

"A bit," you admit, trying to look away but your eyes are magnetised to his face. A smile creeps across his lips and you know he's about to say something cocky.

"Then why'd you wait a month to come back here? I figured you'd want to visit me as soon as possible."

His words carry a certain arrogance about them, his smile revealing his intentions. If you didn't already know better, you'd think he wanted to get you into bed tonight. You squeeze your legs together at the thought, then your blood runs cold at the fact that Kozo hasn't even looked your way once during the entire conversation.

If you weren't so turned on by Ran's presence right now, Kozo's lack of care towards you would have bothered you.

"Who says I didn't want to visit?" you tease back, turning to face him fully, your leg shifting further on the couch.

"Then why didn't you?" With every word, he's shifting closer to you. Your thighs press together involuntarily when his eyes drop to your lips briefly.

"I kinda have a guard dog boyfriend," you say with a coy smile, looking at him with an almost teasing gaze, attempting to hide your obvious desire for him.

Ran looks past your body over at said guard dog boyfriend, Kozo's attention still focused entirely on the roulette game. He is rubbing his chin thoughtfully, eyes focused on nothing but the game. Ran has no idea how this guy could fumble so badly; he has a fine girl sitting on a couch and he’s busy winning money.

Your eyes never left his face when Ran looks away from Kozo back at you and you shoot him an awkward smile. “By the way I didn’t have the chance to tell you this last time but thank you.”

“For what?” Ran asks, backing away from your face to create a little distance and stands up straight, resting his hands along the back of the couch.

You look up at him, the height difference making your neck ache. “For defending me in front of him. It felt…nice. Thank you.”

Ran hides his surprise well and nods, unsure of what to say in the face of someone so sincere for doing the barest of minimums. He never considers himself a good boyfriend, having only had two girlfriends his entire life that never lasted longer than four months. He realised dating wasn’t for him but he knows for a fact he’s a better boyfriend than the shitty one on your arm. Honestly you deserved better, not only treatment wise but looks wise too.

Kozo isn’t ugly by any means but he’s average. Just average. In Ran’s eyes at least. Looking at you though, all dolled up tonight, dressed in what looks like an expensive dress, showing just the right amount of skin to drive him crazy. How Kozo’s attention is on a game rather than you makes no sense to Ran whatsoever. Even Ran’s hands are tingling to just touch the sides of your waist and thighs; they look so welcoming and have just enough space for him to slot his entire hand onto your thigh.

“Are you done staring?” you say, snapping Ran out from his stupor. His eyes were dreading to look away from your body to your face but he met your eyes, staring at him with those eyes of yours all shiny under the lights.

“You giving me permission to stare more?” Ran asks, smirking.

You try to hide your smile by looking down at your lap. After composing yourself, you look back up at him. “Flirting with me when my boyfriend is right over there?”

“Who said I’m flirting with you?” He rounds the couch and sits down heavily next to him, his colonge wafting in your direction. He smells so expensive you struggle to focus on anything but him.

He looks lazily at you with half-lidded eyes, and you felt your body tempertaure rising by the second, wondering if someone turned off the AC in the room. His eyes not-so-subtly drop downwards, over the swell of your breasts.

“If you’re not flirting with me then keep your eyes up.” You grin when he grins, both of you equally not taking the situation seriously.

He takes a sip of his drink before handing it to you. You didn’t hesitate to take a sip and the both of you kept passing the drink as you spoke to each other. He tells you about himself, you told him about yourself and how you dropped out of university because you couldn’t afford it anymore, and how Kozo basically took you off the streets to live with him in his house.

The more you drink, the more you loosen up and the alcohol basically forcing the words out of your mouth and you end up spilling how unhappy you were with Kozo, how money is the only thing keeping you around and the fact something deep inside you is just waiting for him to go bankrupt so you had an excuse to leave.

When it was Ran’s turn to speak, you found your self zoning out, your eyes wandering along his face, tracing the sharp cut of his jaw. Your mouth was tingling as you wondered if his skin felt as soft as it looks. His voice is what got you the most, it was so deep and seductive you couldn’t help but ask him pointless questions just to hear him laugh and respond. By this point your brain totally forgot about Kozo, in fact, it had you hoping some other girl caught his attention like last time just so you had an excuse to sneak away with Ran for even a minute.

Fuck, at this rate you’d be happy with even ten seconds of his time. As the alcohol raged through your body, you found your mind getting dirtier, imagining his voice in your ear whispering all kinds of dirty things he wants to do to you. He looks like he’d be good at dirty talk, knowing exactly what to say to turn you to mush.

You slide your eyes down to his hands resting on his lap and wonder just how big they’ll look on certain parts of your body. And just like that, you can feel them on your ass, squeezing and rolling the flesh between his fingers—those long, slender fingers—that look like they’ll fit wonderfully inside your pussy.

The thoughts were coming faster and getting dirtier and you shook your head to try shake the thoughts out but it wasn’t working.

Your body knew what it wanted and it was him . It never reacted this way for Kozo and for once you’ve never wanted to just rip your clothes off for a man right here and now. You blink and nod every time Ran says something, hoping and prating he didn’t see the way you completely zoned out and allowed lust to fully take over.

“Well?” he says after a few seconds of silence.

You blink again, confused. “Sorry, what?”

He chuckles (dear lord his voice) and speaks again. “I asked you a question.”

“A question…? Oh, sorry. I—”

“Was too busy thinking of me,” he finishes for you, that smirk back on his face as you gape at him, speechless.

“I wasn’t—” Your voice came out too high—a clear indication you were lying— and so you clear your throat and tried again. “I wasn’t.” He’s smiling at you again, though he looks insanely hot wearing that cocky smirk, it still made you irritated nonetheless. “I wasn’t,” you repeated, furrowing your brows.

"Think he'll notice if you leave for a few minutes?" Ran asks you with a grin, making no attempt to hide the lust that's clouding his voice.

You bit your lip and shook your head quickly. With that, Ran stands and holds his hand out for you to grab.

You take it gratefully, your heart racing and your palms clammy. In seconds, you're being pulled off the couch, towards the door. For some reason, you feel as though you should be worried, Kozo's warning in the car replaying in your mind over and over again, but then you glance at Ran once more, his tall, lanky frame walking in front of you and your worries seem to disappear.

Rindou watches his brother take your hand and exit the room and rolls his eyes, not even the slightest bit surprised Ran would listen to his dick first rather than care about losing Kozo as a regular of the club. He downs the rest of his drink and heads over to the roulette table, determined to keep Kozo's attention on nothing but the game and not on the fact his girlfriend currently disappeared from sight with his brother.

Ran opens the door to a room titled VIP room, letting go of your hand and lets you walk in first. You turn around to the sight of him shrugging his jacket off and you instantly head towards the couch, shifting backwards until your back hit the couch arm.

Ran follows, one knee on the couch as he cages you in between him and the arm. Your hands rise to his hair, looking up at him through hazy eyes before bringing him down closer. His lips brush against yours for a moment before he closes the distance.

You couldn’t keep your hands off him, his broad shoulders, down to his waist, grabbing whatever you could muster. He groans into your mouth when your fingers rake up to his hair, scratching lightly.

His big hands spread your legs open, your dress riding up your thigh exposing more skin he’s been dying to touch, and slots himself between your spread legs. Your legs close around his waist, locking him in place as his tongue devours your mouth, licking lightly at yours until every inch of your patience is going haywire.

The desire running through your veins make it so you don’t even care about what you’re doing, Kozo completely eliminated from your mind as you kiss him back as passionately as you can muster.

His hand slides down the sides of your body, your waist, to your hips and he pulls away from the kiss to sit on his knees. Reaching behind him, he unlocks your legs from his body and spreads them open. You bite your lip and wriggle your hips to help him peel your panties off quicker.

His fingers gravitate towards your cunt, soaking and ready for him. A small whimper leaves your mouth when his finger grazes your slit, moving upwards to your clit and rubs circles on it. Your mouth drops open as you pant softly at the sensation.

Satisfied, he inches forward, latches his lips onto your neck and sucks. His lips, plus the skilled movement of his fingers have your body working overtime, pleasure filling every pore of your skin as your back arches with every flick of his finger.

“Ran…” You’re the first to speak ever since entering the room and he hums in response against your neck, the vibrations echoing throughout your entire body.

“Yeah baby? Whaddya need?” His words, muffled from his face in your neck, still manage to reach you.

“I want…” you keen when his finger circles at your hole before pushing in, making your eyes squeeze shut at the intrusion. “Feels so good .”

“I know baby.” He pulls out from your neck. “Boutta make you feel even better.”

His hand pulls the top of your strapless dress down, revealing your bra. He kisses your breast exposed from the bra cup and bites down softly on the flesh. He hasn’t even touched your nipples yet and you were already aching for him.

You throw your head back against the couch arm when you moan, biting down on your lip hard as his finger inside you reaches a place that’s never been touched by your own fingers, or Kozo’s. You feel a whole new world of pleasure, mind so dissociated from reality that you don’t even notice he’s pulled your bra cup down all the way and latches his mouth to your nipple, sucking rhythmically with hollow cheeks as he gets the most out of your reactions.

He switches to the other nipple, flicking and rolling the other wet one with his spare fingers. He squeezes your breast as he sucks, adding another finger into your wet pussy and begins to fuck it faster just to hear the squelch and the sound of your moans getting louder, body squirming, writhing on the couch, unable to even function anymore.

“I’m gonna —ah fuck !” Your hand flies to your mouth and you scream into it, legs shaking uncontrollably, body twitching as his fingers keep thrusting in and out of you. It takes more than thirty seconds for you to regain control over your body and weakly attempt to push him off you.

“That was so hot baby.” He’s chuckling and bending down to your pussy, spreading your folds open with two fingers. He eyes the wetness in front of him, your juices leaking from your quivering hole, soaking the couch and your inner thighs.

You’re panting heavily, hand smacked over your eyes as you try to rub the stars in your vision away before yelping when you feel him blow cold air onto your bare cunt. He watches the way your hole spasms, laughing to himself before inching forward, sealing his lips to your folds.

He sucks and kisses along your pussy, his tongue flicking through your juices, your clit, and even protrudes your hole, entering without any warning. Your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him off while simultaneously grinding his face against your pussy.

His lips attach to your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves until a sound he’s satisfied with escapes your lips, then he’s re-entering his tongue into your pussy, licking around until you tug uselessly at his hair.

He loves seeing you like this, so broken and drunk on the feeling of his tongue and fingers. He had a feeling Kozo wasn’t satisfying you like he should be, and wants to raise the bar so high that you’ll never want to accept sex from a low-life scum like Kozo. Wants to raise the bar so high that you won’t be able to cum from a mouth that isn’t Ran’s, a cock that’s not Ran’s, or fingers that’s not his or your own.

He’s so preoccupied in making you cum for a second time he doesn’t realise your legs are shaking uncontrollably again, unable to control yourself and you release on his face again except its more liquid than you’d ever produced before.

You fucking squirt on his face, on his tongue, and you want to sink into the floor from embarrassment. Ran pauses, pulls his face away from your pussy, completely drenched and looks at you peeking at him through a small hole you made with your hands covering your face.

“I’m so sorry—I—I told you to stop…” you try defend yourself but he’s pulling your hands away from your face.

“And you’re apologising for what? That was so hot baby.” He wipes his face with his shirt, uncaring of the huge wet stain on his perfectly ironed white shirt and cages you back between him and the couch, his strong arms coming beside your head to hover above you. “You never done that before, right?”

You meekly shake your head and he grins, smug and proud of himself before bending downwards, capturing your lips in his. Your hands cup the side of his face and kiss him back softly, slowly, treasuring the feeling of his lips against yours, the way his tongue flicks playfully into your mouth.

“...Ran…” you whisper between kisses, obsessed with the taste, touch, feel of him. You can’t get enough. The way he feels against you, the sounds he makes when you make him feel good, the strength of his grip on your waist, the passion behind his eyes when he looks at you.

You’ve never felt anything like it before. Ran could get you off ten times in a row if he wanted to, and you’d happily let him.

Your hand travels from his cheek, around to his neck, eagerly meeting his kisses with soft moans, before running your spare hand down his chest to his pants, finally resting there and letting your fingers trail across the print of the dick poking through his pants.

Ran smiles against your lips, opening his mouth and running his tongue up your neck and onto your ear lobe.

"I wanna make you feel good," you breath out shakily, hand still caressing the outline of his erection. He moans a quiet "fuck okay" into your ear before shifting to sit on couch.

You get on your knees next to him, looking up at him and meet his lips again for another deep, intense kiss, then run your tongue down his jaw line, all the while unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out. Ran takes a hold of your head, moving your lips further down his throat, groaning softly when you begin to leave marks on his skin.

His cock twitches in your hand as you stroke it in movement with your lips on his neck, trailing the tip of your thumb on his shaft until you’re brushing against the slit, lightly swirling around. Ran jerks your head away from his neck and locks eyes with you.

"You drive me crazy," he admits quietly, watching you intently.

You bite your lip and take your spare hand, tugging playfully on one of his braids and lean in close, lips brushing his, "you're driving me crazy too." You shut him up with a kiss before he can respond, nibbling his bottom lip and slipping your tongue into his mouth hungrily. He moans into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours, spending sparks of electricity coursing through you.

You slowly strip him from his shirt, making sure you don't miss any detail about his body, memorizing every curve and shadow. "Wanna drive you even crazier," you whisper and kiss down his stomach.

Ran's breathing is becoming heavier and his skin has become flush as he watches you inch your way down his torso, sucking and licking the light trail of hair going down his abs, until you finally come to a halt at his crotch. Sliding off the couch, you got on the floor on your knees and bend down until your lips brush the head of his cock.

Looking up at him, you take the first hesitant lick of his cock and watch him quiver slightly. His eyes burn with desire, hands gripping the sides of the couch tightly, his eyes watching every flick of your tongue on his length. You begin to lick and suck, going deeper each time and taking all of him in, sending shockwaves of pleasure through Ran's body.

You wrap your lips around his shaft, moving them up and down at the same pace, humming softly when a low moan escapes his lips, vibrating against your tongue as you continue to lick, swirl your tongue around the sensitive head. The way he smells, tastes and feels is intoxicating. Every lick sends more and more tingles down your spine, adding fuel to the fire already burning inside you.

After a few minutes of this slow blowjob, Ran stands up and helps you stand as well. "Get on the couch," he says, caressing your hips as you look at him expectantly.

"Okay," you giggle, obeying him. He picks up his jeans and grabs a condom from his back pocket, slipping it on his cock as you crawl on top of the couch, on all fours and arch your back, inviting him to come closer, pushing your ass against him.

Ran kneels in front of you and guides the head of his hard cock to your wet entrance, rubbing it up and down over your slit, then pauses. You look back, about to ask what's wrong before he speaks first. "Actually, turn around. Wanna see your face as I fuck you."

His words send waves of heat through you and you lift yourself off the couch, turning around so that you're on your back. Ran licks his lips, spreading your legs wide open for him, eyes never leaving your own. The heat behind his eyes are so intense, you squeeze your eyes closed to avoid them.

His hands tilt your head up and then leans forward, kissing your forehead softly. "Open your eyes, pretty," he whispers, nipping your earlobe gently.

You slowly open your eyes and glance up at him, seeing a smirk spread across his face, seeing desire and need there. His voice is strained and thick when he asks if you're ready. You bite your lip and nod yes, biting back a scream when his hot, throbbing length slips inside you. It hurts a little but you manage to hide your wince by smashing your hand over your mouth.

"Shit," he curses under his breath and pulls almost completely out of you, only to slam himself back inside of you hard and fast. You gasp loudly, hands rising to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Ran's hands come to rest beside your head, thrusting into you repeatedly, each thrust harder than the last.

"Faster," you pant and arch your back.

He continues to thrust, letting go of your hips, wrapping his arms around you instead. He grinds his hips into yours, whispering, "Fuck, you feel amazing, baby. Just as I thought you would be." A small smile spreads across your face, "You alright?"

Your cheeks are flushed, feeling both turned on and embarrassed at the same time, "ye-yeah...I'm g—good," you stutter out when his hips start to move faster again. Your hips start to meet his and the familiar pressure builds quickly.

The first few thrusts of orgasm hit you hard, pleasure shooting through your core, soaking your insides and causing you to tense up as your inner walls clamp down on Ran's length. Your body trembles beneath him, moaning loudly as you clutch his arms tighter, not wanting to let go, wanting him to keep fucking you forever.

As your climax subsides, the pressure releases its hold and he slams into you one final time, letting out a deep groan suffocated by the press of his face into your shoulder. His hips stutter as he fills the condom, thrusting weakly into your body once, twice, three times before coming down next to you on the couch, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his skin.

You lie on the couch, body still trembling from the intense pleasure you just experienced, trying to catch your breath. The feel of Ran's weight pressed onto you makes you relax, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body, letting out a soft purr of contentment.

He turns his head, resting it on your chest. "That was good, huh?" His head snaps up at the sound of your laughter. "Yeah? You enjoyed it?"

"Best I ever had," you say honestly, smiling slightly, holding his head in your hands and looking earnestly at him.

Ran looks away for a second, biting his lip. After a moment he looks back at you, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Leave that guy," he says out of nowhere and you blink at him.

"What?" you ask with confusion.

"Kozo, Kazoo whatever the fuck. Leave him." He drops his head onto your shoulder childishly, his hands clutching your bare back as he tugs you closer. "Don't wanna share you with that guy."

"You're already assuming I want you back. Moving a little fast, no?" you tease, giggling.

"I already know your answer, pretty. Stop playing dumb," he sighs dramatically and you raise an eyebrow, pulling away from him.

"Confident aren't you?"

"Am I wrong?" he sits up, bringing his legs off the couch, coming closer to you. "That guy treats you like literal shit. There's no possible way you're thinking about staying with him."

You shrug and look down at your lap. "He buys me nice things. I don't wanna lose that."

Ran inches closer to your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. "Can buy you better things," he says, trailing his fingers along your jawline. "Can treat you better too."

He grabs your chin, turning your face towards his, planting a firm, chaste kiss on your lips. When he pulls away he smiles widely at you, biting his bottom lip. "Say it," he whispers.

You swallow nervously, looking up at him, debating whether or not you should give in. "Alright..." you mumble, looking up at him with a big smile on your face. “I’ll leave him. But you gotta take me out on a nice date.”

“Bet.” He presses a long, firm kiss on your forehead. “Now lets get you outta here.”

Ran helps you put all your clothes back on, and by help it means trying to slip them off everytime you tug them back on. After giving into temptation, another ten minute make out session on the couch—with your clothes on—you finally pick up the ten missed calls and texts from Kozo asking where the hell you were.

You look at Ran, asking for help on what to say.

“I have an idea. Give it here.” He held his hand out for you to give you his phone. You look at him sceptically, the look on his face screaming all sorts of mischief.

“You won’t do anything weird, right? I wanna end things with him but I don’t want him to hate me.”

“Uh-huh,” he responds, clearly not paying attention as he taps away at your phone. You wait for him to finish and turns the phone off and hands it back to you. “Ran what the hell did you do?”

“Blocked him.” He stands up when you gape at him, shocked.

“What the fuck? I told you not to do anything weird…” Your voice gets lower and quieter when his hand skirts around your hip, pulling you closer to him. “Ran…I’m serious. He’s going to be so mad at me when he—”

“He’s not gonna do shit. Now put your coat on, lemme take you home.”

You do as he says and when you’re leaving the club with Ran’s hand in yours, you pretend not to see Kozo eyes wide with shock, turning to anger when Ran smirks in his direction, his hand snaking to your lower back to help guide you out the door like the ever so respectable gentleman he is.

mr steal yo girl is back hehe

Not proof read so ignore any mistakes plz

#✰ : tr #—tr </3 #ran x reader #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokrev #haitani ran smut #ran smut

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sketchguk · 7 months

Text

part time lover; jjk (teaser)

➳ pairing: investigative journalist!jeongguk x daycare teacher!reader. alternatively, spy!jeongguk x assassin!reader

➳ genre: smut, fluff, angst, fake marriage au, dad au, spy x family au

➵ word count: 484 (teaser) / 30.8k

➳ summary: there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school.

only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time.

➳ warnings: themes of parenthood, raising a child, reader and jk are both orphans, reader has a past where she struggled with financially supporting her family, eldest daughter trauma, reader is insecure, fears of abandonment, mentions of violence and m*rder (but not explicit), mention of weapons (guns, knives, grenades, poison), jk has a bruise from boxing, descriptions of an explosion, blood is drawn twice (via kitchen knife and shrapnel from aforementioned explosion), (1) mention of weight loss, jk changes his appearance in an attempt to fit in, mention of a minor car crash, social drinking, scars (surgical/knife, bullet wounds), characters are liars for the sake of the plot, side characters are misogynists (satire), food descriptions, pet names (hers: angel, good girl, princess his: love).

➳ publish date: saturday, october 14th 8pm EST

➳ a/n: this fic is part of the "industry baby" collab hosted by the lovely @jeonjcngkook and @mercurygguk! i'm so happy to finally release this fic in honor of spy x family season 2!

smut warnings below the cut!

➳ smut warnings: virgin reader, sexual tension, body worship, nipple play, marking, oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex, jk has a big dick, praising, stomach bulge, spitting, use of the word slut, marriage kink(?) he loves his wife so much, reader wants to be bred, cumshot

It’s well into the evening when Jeongguk walks you home. The path is quiet. It’s illuminated by the dim light of the street lamps. It feels like a scene from a movie you’ve once watched ー the origin of all your teenage fantasies. But this is real. You’re just a girl, standing in front of a boy, and that’s where it all begins.

“y/n?” The way he says your name brings you to a halt. His voice, although usually confident, is timid and uncertain. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We still have a lot to talk about.” He looks at you with stars in his eyes, although none of them belong to you, and they could never be yours.

Your lips press together in a tight line, nodding your head in affirmation. As you bid your goodbyes, you wonder if it would be inappropriate to give him a hug. After all, you’ve only just met the day prior, and this is nothing but pretend. Yet how will you ever grow accustomed to the touch of your husband?

Your arms remain crossed over your chest. You look down at your shoes, kicking a loose pebble at the front of your door, contemplating.

But he reaches for your hand, lightly grasping around your fingers. You jolt back as if he set your nerves aflame. Your gaze lifts toward his eyes, but it quickly lowers as Jeongguk descends down to one knee.

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you pray that he cannot hear it.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a proper ring…” He begins. “I hope you can accept this for now, and I swear I’ll get a diamond on your hand one day ー As big as you want.”

Jeongguk carefully pulls a small metal band from his pocket. It can easily be confused for the end piece of a keychain ー perhaps it’s something that his daughter had left behind in his coat, never to be remembered. But for Jeongguk, he knows perfectly well that it’s the pin from a grenade he had tossed the week prior on an escape mission. He slides the ring onto your finger, and although it is slightly too large, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I may not have been your first choice of a partner, and for all I know, I could have been dead last, but thank you for sticking by me. I swear I’ll take care of you. I’ll hold your heart with gentle hands, and I won’t ever let it break.”

After all, this is just pretend.

But for some reason, his voice sounds so earnest, and you almost believe him. To be frank, you never really cared about lavish weddings and seven carat diamonds. If you were to ever look for a companion, all you could ask for is an honest partner.

Too bad Jeon Jeongguk is anything but that.

check it out here!

#jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts fan fic #bts fanfiction #bts fan fiction #spy x family au

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sunafc · 10 days

Text

That’s what you get for ditching me — ft. Toji Fushiguro

cw: wc 1.8k, NSFW, mdni, 18+, fem reader, fwb, toji calls the reader ‘kid’ and ‘little one’ as a pet name but the reader is very much an adult ! !, toji is obsessed with reader, mutual masturbation, a bit of spit kink, if there are typos ignore them 🙂‍↕️

To say Toji liked you was an understatement. After your first night together he wanted nothing more than to be inside you again, to taste you again, to feel your skin on his again. After a few more nights with you he got you a toothbrush to keep at his house, so you wouldn’t have to leave after the sex. One time you forgot your makeup remover and the next time he had gotten one just for you along with a box of cotton pads. Then, he dropped all his other hookups. So he didn’t just like you, he was pretty much obsessed. Toji doesn’t understand how it all happened, you entered his life and now everything is about you. Happened so quickly he didn’t even notice.

All of the things above brought him to this moment, sulking on a saturday evening alone at his house because you’re on a date with some random ass guy whose name Toji couldn’t care less to remember. He’s not jealous, he says to himself. He has no reason to be. You two are just friends and you assured him that, even if you started seeing the guy, you still wouldn’t be exclusive. So no, he’s not jealous. Toji just hopes that as you look in the guy’s ugly eyes you think of how many times you’ve complimented his green ones.

The familiar ding from your text notifications stops his overthinking and when he sees your text Toji can’t help but smirk to himself.

you: this date was shit

toji: yeah? that’s what you get for ditching me

Yeah okay, maybe he is a little jealous. Petty, too. Sometimes he makes you wonder if he really is the older one in your ‘‘relationship’’.

you: toji :(

toji: what do you want kid

you: are u home?

toji: what now you wanna come over?

you: please?

toji: ...

toji: the door’s open

toji: brat

He wishes he could show these texts to your date. A smug smile creeps on his face as he mumbles to himself how he won. He pours himself a glass of whiskey while waiting for you.

‘Can I come in?’ You ask as you open the door.

‘I’m in the kitchen,’ Toji says loud enough for you to hear from the doorway.

You make your way to him. He’s sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, drink in hand.

You drop your purse on the floor, ‘Hey.’

‘Hey, kid,’ he eyes you, ‘All dolled up, let me see you,’ he motions you to turn around for him and you indulge him before sitting on the stool next to him.

You look amazing in your short dress, thigh highs and heels. You don’t need him to tell you so as his eyes do the talk for him. He offers you a glass which you gladly accept.

‘It was so bad, he was so bad,’ you take a sip from your glass.

Toji’s face contorts in a grimace as he imagines you with another guy. His hand moves to stroke your thigh, he needs you to know he’s there.

You complain about your date for a while as Toji smiles to himself knowing that at the end of the day he’s the one you’re going back to. He’s glad the guy was a dick and shit in bed, he doesn’t care how selfish that is of him.

‘These heels are killing me, too.’ You whine.

‘Come here,’ he slides his hand from your thigh to your ankle so he can loosen up the strap of your shoe and slip it off. He does the same with your other shoe and when he’s done his hand goes back to rest on your thigh.

You lean in to leave a quick peck to the scar at the corner of his lips, ‘Thanks, Toji.’

He fears his heart is going to burst everytime you do that, ‘You drive me insane,’ he mutters under his breath.

You giggle and give him another peck, right on his lips this time.

He grabs the stool you’re sitting on and pulls it closer to his until there’s no more space between them, his face so close to yours, ‘How about a real kiss now?’

You gulp, suddenly feeling your cheeks getting warmer. He’s leaning in slowly, your lips part on their own and he smirks against them before closing the gap completely. He grips your thigh as you bite his bottom lip, his other hand grabs your jaw and as he forces your mouth open, he slips his tongue in. Toji loves your lips. He thinks they were made just to be kissed, by him specifically. It didn’t matter if you were wearing liptstick, lip gloss or chapstick, he would kiss you anyway. You pull on his hair to move his face away from yours, in need of air. You’re both panting but Toji doesn’t seem to be bothered by it and soon his lips are on yours again. He’s addicted, he feels like he could live off of your kisses. You, on the other hand, you really do need air.

You pull his head again, ‘Wait,’ you puff, ‘Give me a moment, Toji.’

You're breathless, your lipstick is all smudged. Toji thinks you look stunning like this. He stands from his stool, picks you up and sits you on the counter. His hands travel with faint touches on your thighs, then under your dress. Your skin burns under his touch. He kisses your neck, leaving marks behind them. His hands grab your ass as he sucks on your skin at the base of your neck. A whimper escapes your lips and Toji smiles smugly against you. He gently slides the straps of your dress off of your shoulders, sending shivers down your body. He’s doing everything so painfully slow, you’re getting impatient. You’re starting to squirm under his every touch. He holds your face with one hand and kisses you. With the other hand he unfastens your bra and then moves to massaging your boobs, fingers playing with one nipple then the other. You’re gripping his tshirt, pulling him closer. He breaks the kiss and lowers himself to leave more kisses to your chest, this time. He licks one of your nipple then sucks on your boob. More whimpers leave your lips as you feel his tongue on your skin, warm and wet. His fingers ghost over your skin failing to ever really touch you. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. He’s playing with you and you know it. You move to unbuckle his belt.

‘Eager, little one?’ He teases you. His hand under your dress, grazing your inner tight, so close to where you’d like it to be but not quiet there yet.

You unzip his pants, ‘Quit playing,’ you let them fall to the ground and you palm his erection through his boxers, ‘Need more.’

‘Ask nicely,’ his thumb brushes over your clit and your body follows his hands in search for more.

‘Please, Toji,’ you say.

‘Mhm,’ he kisses your jaw, ‘Please what?’

You slip your hand in his boxer and curl your finger around his cock, making him groan in return, ‘Please touch me.’

He lifts your dress up and then slips it off of you completely. His hand moves in your underwear and his fingers glide between your folds. He slips a finger inside your cunt and, at the same time his thumb starts massaging your clit, he slips another digit in.

‘Were you this wet for him, too?’ He asks continuing to play with your body, making you moan nonstop.

You shake your head.

His fingers keep curling inside you, ‘Did he touch you like this?’, he hits the right spot again and again, a loud cry comes out of your lips, ‘Did he touch you how you like to be touched?’

You shake your head frantically trying to remain concentrated on stroking his dick but really, the only thing on your mind, is how his long fingers fill you up. How he really knows what you like and how you like it.

He holds your jaw, ‘Answer me with words, Y/n.’

‘N–No,’ you’re panting and there’s drool coming out of your mouth.

‘I know your body better than anyone,’ Toji whispers in your hear.

You grind on his fingers, ‘Even better than me.’

That strikes something inside of him and in a second his lips clash with yours, kissing you feverishly as he toys with your clit and his digits keep moving in and out of you in a rush. He bites your bottom lip and you can feel his hand all over your body as with the other one he curls his finger to reach that specific spot inside of you. Your body shakes in pleasure. You’re making all kinds of sounds and Toji is eating every single one of them as he moves his lips on yours.

‘Aw, doll,’ Toji says, ‘Already coming?’

‘S—shut up,’ you mutter under your breath.

Your hand on his cock gets slower as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climate. Toji doesn’t mind the way you’re starting to neglet him, right now he’s only interested in making you feel good, to remind you he’s the best fuck you’ll ever have no matter how many other guy you sleep with. He licks the saliva that’s sliding down your chin and leaves more wet kisses along your jaw and neck. You’re catching your breath, mouth agape. Toji loves when you’re breathless and disheveled because of him. He wishes he could take a picture of you right now, the lipstick that was on your lips is barely visible now, your hair is a mess, your cunt filled by his fingers, one hand gripping his tshirt and the other around his dick. You look perfect like this. He slips his thumb in your mouth, keeping it open, he presses down on your tongue and spits inside. It wasn’t the first time he did that but it still took you by surprise. Your fingers on his cock stop altogether and you look at him confused, you swallowed it nonetheless.

‘Don’t make that face, kid,’ he grazes your cheek with his thumb still damp from your mouth, ‘I know your dying wish is to be baptized in my spit.’

Your eyes widen and your cunt clamps thight on his fingers, a broken cry comes out of you as you finally reach your high.

Toji brings his fingers to his mouth and licks the cum off of them, ‘You’re so filthy,’ he smirks, ‘Cumming from that.’

You avoid his gaze feeling ashamed and Toji smiles.

‘Don’t get shy on me now,’ he rubs his tip against your clit, ‘We’re not done yet.’

notes: the ‘i know your dying with is to be baptized in my spit’ is actually lyrics from the song ‘funeral gray’ by waterparks ! !

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #minors dni #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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hgfictionwriter · 11 days

Text

Comfort

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie's surrounded by star athletes day in and day out - and you're not one of them. Sometimes you can't help but wonder why she chose you or if you fit in.

Warning: Smut. Language.

A/N: A bit of angst, but mostly comfort and reassurance. Written in response to this request.

“Okay, who’s ready for a game of pick-up?”

Your stomach sank as you looked over your shoulder to see Morgan holding up a ball before dropping it and skillfully lobbying it over to Sam.

Excited chatter started up and people started to move towards the field. You remained rooted to the ground as they navigated around you.

You were at a park with Jessie and a bunch of her teammates for a Saturday afternoon BBQ. The day had been fun so far, you got along with her teammates well and you’d been having a good time. You shouldn’t have been surprised that football would work its way into the day, regardless, you were hoping otherwise.

While everyone here was a star football player, most even Olympic medal athletes, you were just…well, you.

Somehow, you found yourself as the lucky recipient of Jessie’s love and affection. And for the most part, things were amazing. Falling in love with Jessie was easy and she said the same with you, but still there were moments, like this one, where you really felt like you didn’t fit in.

The girls were splitting themselves into teams and Janine waved you over.

“Come on. It’s just for fun!”

You gave her a wave of thanks and shooed her off, and she eventually relented. Yeah - like you were going to go out there and end up keeled over after 5 minutes of half-ass running while they sprinted circles around you. Worst part being that would’ve been them legitimately going easy on you.

“Here, split this with me.”

Your stomach fell further. Jessie. Your sweet Jessie. Who would never abandon you or make you feel left out.

“Go on, Jess,” you told her gently as you turned to face her, seeing her holding up a drink and two cups. You mustered up a smile and nodded to the field. “I’m okay, really.”

“I play football pretty much every day of my life. I’ll survive,” she laughed. “I’d much rather have a drink and conversation with you.”

“Jessie…,” you trailed off, some of the defeat bleeding into your voice.

“Come on, sit with me,” she encouraged as she set down the drinks and pulled together a couple of lawn chairs.

You offered her a tight smile and sat down. You should try to be graceful about it all.

“My bet’s on Morgan’s team,” you told her, trying to rid your voice of the heaviness you felt. “Loser buys dinner next.” Jessie gave you a dazzling smile.

“Deal.”

—————

“What’s on your mind? You’ve seemed a little off all afternoon.”

You sighed internally, disappointed in yourself for not better masking the funk you were in.

You nestled your head in a bit to Jessie’s shoulder as you laid in her bed together that evening.

“It’s nothing, really.” You answered and hoped Jessie would drop it. Her fingers idly grazed along the side of your arm, her head leaned against yours.

“Okay. But you’ve seemed a bit…I don’t know, yeah, just off, since the park,” she said. “Did I do something wrong?”

You lifted yourself up to look down at her with a concerned frown.

“Not at all. You’re amazing. Seriously,” you went on before laying back down and wrapping an arm across her torso. You exhaled slowly. “Maybe a little too amazing.”

This obviously caught her attention. You felt her shift and angle herself to try to catch your eye. You pulled her back down onto the bed and though she relented, she asked, “What are you talking about?”

You huffed, more-so in irritation with yourself than anything. Eventually, you sat up, though your legs remained entwined with hers. You distractedly played with the hem of your pyjama shirt.

“I-” You faltered and rolled your eyes. She sat up with you and grasped your hand gently. “I guess I’m just feeling a bit self-conscious.” You looked to her and she watched you quietly, giving you space to speak.

“I mean, I obviously knew going into this that you’re a title-winning, medal-winning, all-star athlete and I’m clearly not, but,” you paused, taking a breath to swallow your doubts and forge on, “I guess I just felt very out of place today.” You watched as a subtle frown formed on her face.

“In what sense?” She asked. “The team loves you.”

“I know,” you relented, “but don’t you ever feel a bit embarrassed that I’m the only one who's not an athlete? I'm, I don't know, average? You had to skip out on the game because of me. And if we ever do physical activities as I group I can’t keep up. And I can’t relate when you’re all talking about training and diets and all of that. I just don’t live in your world. I don’t want you to make accommodations for me or to hinder you in any way. I'm sure everyone expected you to date another athlete. Not even necessarily a football player, but anyone in that world.”

“Baby.” To your surprise Jessie was nearly smiling. “That’s what this is about? I’m so sorry that you’re feeling that way. Have you felt like this before?”

You looked away and shrugged. “Now and then. I try not to let myself get caught up in it.”

“Babe. I wish you would’ve told me,” she said, somewhat chiding but with evident affection. “But I’m glad you told me now. Hey, look at me,” she instructed gently as she grabbed your other hand, now holding both. She went on once you reluctantly met her gaze.

“I don’t need you to be an athlete. In fact, one of the things that drew me to you was how you aren’t one. I don’t care if you can run 2 minutes or 120. What I care about is that I feel so connected to you, how we can talk for hours, how we laugh together, how we support each other. And I’m sorry that I’ve left you feeling like you fall short in some way when it’s just the opposite.”

You gave her a small look and she lifted a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’m surrounded by football players and sports people all day every day. If that was something I was looking for, I’d say I’d have my pick. But that’s not important to me. And even if it doesn’t seem like it right now, there is life after football for me. Above everything I just need you to know that I love you and I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

You leaned in and wrapped your arms around her, tucking your head into the crook of her neck.

“Thank you. That means so much. I’m sorry I got in my head,” you told her. She kissed your crown.

“Please tell me anytime you’re feeling a little down or insecure. I’m here for you. And I’m happy to reassure you any time you need.”

“Even if I don’t have a 6-pack,” you joked.

“Mm, come on, baby. You know how irresistible I find you,” she said, tone now changing as her hand snuck under the back of your top and her fingers traced along the band of your shorts.

You hummed into her neck as a small shiver went up your spine. Your hips shifted restlessly as a sensation began to stir between your legs.

Jessie moved slightly, causing you to sit up with a pouting look. She smiled at you and leaned in to capture your lips before grasping your hips and shifting you both so she was sitting with her back against the headboard and you were leaned back against her torso, nestled between her legs. She gently brushed your hair to the side and began laying soft, tender kisses along your neck. A small moan worked its way up your throat.

"You're so beautiful." Jessie spoke softly as she continued to lay teasing kisses. "And I want you all the time."

One of Jessie's hands reached up your shirt and cupped one of your breasts, which she began to slowly knead. You let your head fall back against her shoulder, inadvertently opening your neck further up for her, which she took advantage of, now pulling the soft skin gently between her teeth and grazing her tongue along it.

"Jessie," her name already needy on your lips.

"Yes, my love?" She asked rhetorically as she brought her other hand up to rest on your stomach before inching down and sneaking beneath your shorts and the band of your underwear. You rolled your head back further against her in anticipation and you reached down, splaying your fingers out against her thighs and gently digging your nails into the firm muscles you found there. She instinctively rolled her hips up against you and groaned into your neck.

"Baby. You have no idea what you do to me. You get me so wet with just a touch," she whispered against you, goosebumps forming on your skin in response.

"Please don't tease me," you pleaded, hips helplessly thrusting up against the hand that lay achingly close to your clit, but refusing to go over the edge and make contact. You brought your hand up to cup the back of her neck before running your fingers through her hair.

She chuckled against your neck, breath warm and tickling, before she reached further down. Her fingers gently parted your lips, tracing down and you inhaled sharply with a hissing sound.

"I love the way you feel in my arms," Jessie said as she began to kiss the shell of your ear. A shuddering breath escaped you and you rocked your hips against her fingers, looking for more contact. "And I love the way you move for me."

You released a moan as she ground her hips against you and her fingers found your clit, two fingers settling on it and gently, but firmly circling.

"Oh God," you breathed. You could feel your arousal growing and starting to pool at your entrance as she continued to work your clit and trailed her tongue slowly along your earlobe. You began to claw at the back of her head and she groaned low in her throat.

"I couldn't want anyone more," she told you, now switching her hand to your other breast and pulling you tighter against her. Her other hand and fingers remained steady on your clit, dipping down between your folds now and then and prolonging your pleasure. Soft, wet sounds now came from between your legs with each motion of her fingers.

Soon, your hips were moving in time with hers as her breathing began to grow heavier in your ear and only turning you on more. Her fingers continued to attentively explore your slick lips and always returning to your sensitive bud, each time causing you to melt further into her arms and she embraced you without fail.

Your head was turned in towards hers now and you were tugging at her hair as your peak approached. Your hips began to stutter against her fingers, jaw slack and eyes closed.

Suddenly, she withdrew her fingers, your eyes reluctantly opening at the unexpected loss. You tilted your head back to look at her and you saw her eyes trained steadfast on you.

"I want to see you," she said, her voice thick and needy as she began to maneuver you both. She turned you around and kissed your neck hungrily as she began to peel off your clothes. "God, you look amazing," she breathed in admiration as her eyes devoured you.

She laid back on the bed and pulled you on top of her so you were straddling her waist. Her hand was cupping your heat, fingers languidly massaging you as you settled in and looked down at her.

You leaned down, bracing your hands on her chest as you kissed her deeply. The kiss was interrupted, your mouth falling agape as she sunk two fingers inside of you, her thumb now nestled on your clit.

You let out a high moan, tossing your head back and pushing your hips back against her hand.

"Fuck, baby. You're so wet," she said as her thumb began to circle your clit again.

"How can I not be?" You managed to say, pulling a small smirk out of her. She rushed up to meet you, kissing you deeply and wrapping her free arm around your waist before pulling you back down with her onto the bed.

You kissed each other hot and heavy, contact only breaking when high moans fell from your lips as Jessie held you close and steadily pushed in and out of you.

"I'll never get over how good you feel around me," she whispered into your kiss as you rocked against her, your arousal pooling in her palm. "You're perfect for me."

Her strokes were deep and measured, each sending waves of pleasure through you. Between that, passionate kisses and her words of adoration, it felt like she was engulfing you in the most amazing way possible. It wasn't long before you drew a deep, sharp breath and you began to spasm around her thick, generous fingers.

"Oh fuck," you breathed, clutching yourself to her, "Jessie. Oh my god."

"I love you," she responded as she held you tightly through your orgasm. She kissed your face as your body shuddered.

Several moments passed and you eventually collapsed on top of her. She held herself inside of you and slowly played with your hair, laying lingering kisses along your temple as you caught your breath.

You lay in each others arms, neither of you feeling the need to speak. You continued to rest your head against her shoulder and she relished the feeling of your body on top of hers.

Eventually, she spoke, her voice soft to not disturb the mood too much.

"Can I get you some water?"

You shook your head. "No. Stay with me." She nodded against you and gave you a light squeeze.

"Always."

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso #woso community #woso x reader #jflem #woso imagine #canwnt

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alotofpockets · 7 months

Text

The regular | Part 1 | Alessia Russo

Pairing: Alessia Russo x Reader

Summary: Your cafe gains a new regular after Alessia's move to Arsenal.

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | words: 2.1k

Part 1 | Part 2

Over the past few months you gained a new regular at your cafe. You loved seeing familiar faces and having small conversations with these people that showed your business love over and over again. You had recognized this new customer instantly as you are an avid watcher of women’s soccer, it was none other than Alessia Russo. When she first came into your shop, you greeted her with a smile, “Goodmorning, what can I get for you today?” You greeted her like you greeted every customer, understanding that besides being a famous soccer player, she was also just a person looking for a morning coffee. She ordered and took a seat in one of the corner booths.

She had come in almost every morning for the next few weeks. You were slightly suspicious of what the Manchester United player was doing here in North London, but again you were not wanting to impose and let her live her life outside of fame. So, when you came across the announcement that Alessia had transferred to Arsenal, the pieces clicked. Though, of course you continued treating her like a regular customer, letting her enjoy her personal space.

You opened up the cafe for the day and got to work on setting out the freshly baked pastries. You had opened the door for some fresh air, while you cleaned off the tables you didn’t get to last night. At the sound of footsteps, you turn around, you were met with the smile of none other than the newest member of Arsenal herself. “Hi, good morning.” You greet her with a smile of your own. “Hi, sorry I know you’re not officially open yet but I was wondering if maybe I could get a coffee to go?” The girl had such an hopeful look in her eyes that you could hardly resist, not that you would have resisted in the first place. “Yeah, no worries, of course you can.” You knew Arsenal was playing Manchester United today at Leigh Sports Village, the home stadium of her old club, and the players' bus likely had to leave within 30 minutes.

She gives you her order and you start working on it. “Thank you so much,” She starts as you hand her the cup. “you’re a lifesaver. Your coffee is the only thing that keeps me going in the morning.” You laugh with her. “Any time, I hope you have a great morning!” As she pays for her drink she tells you to keep the change for getting her a coffee before opening, you try to refuse but she insists. “Thanks again. I hope you have a great day as well.” And with that she’s out the door again.

That night you watch the match from home, you’re incredibly shocked at how rude the Manchester United fans are towards Alessia, every time she touched the ball the crowd chanted all kinds of boo’s her way. You felt for the girl, this was no way to treat a person. When you heard the Arsenal fans chant ‘Lessi Russo we’ve got - Lessi Russo we’ve got’ you were proud of your team's efforts to make Alessia feel welcome, and hoped that she was able to focus on the positivity instead of the negativity.

It was a busy Saturday morning at the cafe, still each time you heard the little bell at the door ring, you looked up to see if it was Alessia but it hadn’t been her all morning. You went around the shop seeing if anyone wanted refills on their coffee as your coworker Mandy helped the people in line with their orders. It was only after the lunch rush that Alessia walked through the door. The usual smile plastered on her face was replaced with a tired looking frown, your heart sank. When you notice her slumping down into a seat without ordering, you decide to go ahead and make her regular order for her. You set the cup down in front of her. “On the house.” You tell her when she looks at you in question.

When a group of middle aged men wearing Manchester United jerseys walked in your eyes quickly shot to Alessia, she had her backs to them so she didn’t realize. You hoped these fans weren’t like the rude ones you saw on TV last night as you took their order. The group walked past Alessia’s table and sat down a couple tables over. They immediately started whispering to each other and pointing Alessia’s way. Alessia noticed the group and looked up, the men started laughing loudly when she made eye contact with them. You saw Alessia look back down at her coffee with a sad expression on her face. “Hey, Mandy, can you take over for a bit?” Mandy agreed instantly and you walked straight to Alessia’s table.

You stand with your back to the men, and send Alessia an apologetic look. “Hi miss, that private table in the back is ready for you. If you follow me, I’ll lead you to it.” Alessia nods, grabs her bag and follows your direction. You hold open the door to the back and lead her to your office. “I am so sorry for them, Alessia. Please take all the time you need here. I can kick the group out if you want.” Alessia shakes her head, “It’s okay, they didn’t do anything yet. Wait, you knew something happened without them doing something and you know my name.” A slight blush reached your cheeks, there was no more hiding the fact that you didn’t know who she was. “I, eh- yes, I didn’t say anything, but yes. I’m y/n, to keep the name part even.” Alessia takes a seat on the couch in your office, “You knew this whole time and didn’t say anything?” You shrug, “Yeah, I’m sorry, I figured you got recognized enough and deserved regular interactions too.” Alessia smiled for the first time since she walked in. “No, no, don’t apologize. It is refreshing, just being able to order my coffee and stuff, it’s one of the reasons I enjoy your shop so much.”

“You saw the game yesterday then?” Alessia questions, once again looking down. “Yes, I did. Those Manchester United fans were absolutely horrible and I am so sorry that they treated you so badly during the game. I think you played really well, Alessia, you didn’t deserve that, no person does.” After a deep sigh, Alessia says, “Yeah, they were.” You sit with her, “For what it’s worth, I’m very happy that you joined Arsenal.” Alessia’s smile grows again, “You’re a Gooner?” In response you just say, “Lessi Russo we’ve got.” and you both start laughing. Alessia looks around, now that she’s calmed down a bit she realizes where she is, “The owner won’t mind that I am in here?” You decide to joke with her as your first answer. “Yeah, I don’t think she will mind.” She searches your face, “Are you sure?” The corners of your mouth perk up, “Oh, very sure.” You can’t hold your laughter in anymore. “I feel like I am missing something.” Alessia says with a confused look on her face. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Alessia, I am the owner, and I do not mind that you're here.” She rolls her eyes and playfully hits your arm. You talk for a bit longer before Alessia says that she has an appointment to get to. “Can I get you a coffee to go real quick?” She nods, “Yeah, I’d love that.”

You head to the front to make her coffee to go and see that the men are still there. “Here you go. They’re still here, we have a back exit if you want to ignore their presence entirely?” Alessia thanks you and follows you to the back exit. “You should come to one of our upcoming games, if you’d like.” You smile at her, “Yeah, that sounds fun.” She points to your apron, “Can I borrow your notepad for a second?” You hand it to her and watch her write something down. “Here’s my number, text me and I’ll get you into whatever game you’d like.” And with that she’s out of the door. You look down to the number with a smile on your face. When you hear Mandy call out for your help you quickly drop the note on your desk and head back to the front. “Thank you for covering, Mandy, I appreciate it.” After work that day you texted Alessia, and made plans to come see them play against Aston Villa.

The next day was slow, one Sunday it was super busy, and the other it was quite the opposite. However, soon after that thought the quiet got interrupted by the bell ringing, within seconds the room filled with chatter, you looked up and saw Alessia welcome in a group of her fellow Arsenal players. She sends you a quick wave and follows her teammates, Katie, Beth, Viv, and Leah to a booth. It was just you today, so you headed their way to take their orders. “Hi ladies, what can I get for you?” Beth is the first to talk. “Hi, Alessia over here has told us all about you, and we wanted to come see for ourselves.” After a warning nudge by Viv, she adds, “Your cafe, of course. She said the coffee was amazing here.” You smile and take their orders. “All right, coming right up.” You say not noticing the warning glances Alessia sent the other girls.

You make each of their drinks and bring them to the booth. Katie gets your attention before you turn back to the counter. “I heard you were going to come see us play next week.” You smile at the group, “Oh yeah, I am. Alessia is going to get me a ticket. I’m very excited to see you all play live.” You engage in some more small talk with the girl before letting them enjoy their coffee. As soon as you turn your back on the group, the table starts pushing Alessia to go talk to you.

Alessia walks up to the counter, you smile at her when she greets you. “Hey, did I forget something?” You ask in return. “Oh no, I just wanted to see how you were doing today.” You were happy to see that she was back to her smiley self. “I’m doing good, it’s been slow today, so I was happy to see you walk in. How about you, how are you?” Alessia leans on the counter, standing in a more comfortable position. “I’m doing well, we just got back from practice and when the girls said they wanted to get some coffee together, I told them this was the perfect place.” “Well, thank you for the compliment, I really appreciate it.” Alessia turns around and walks back to the table but you see her teammates pushing her back towards you, you smile at the scene in front of you, but quickly hide it when Alessia comes back your way. “Actually, I did have a question.”

You noticed the woman in front of you getting nervous. “Okay, ask away.” Alessia plays with the rings on her fingers. “I was wondering if you had any plans for tonight.” You smile at her, butterflies start filling your stomach. “That depends on your next question.” You joke. She stops fidgeting with her rings and looks up to read the expression on your face, when she sees you’re smirking she knows that she can continue. “Would you like to get dinner tonight? With just me, not the whole team, though we could do that too if you’d like that more.” She starts rambling. “Yes, I would love to. It’s a date, just you and me.” You discuss some details before Alessia heads back to the table. You hear them cheering her on and smile to yourself.

Not long after more people enter the shop. You help everyone with their orders with a smile that won’t falter. Alessia joins in the small line of customers. “Hi.” You greet her. “Hey.” She says back, you both smile at each other and hold eye contact for a moment before Alessia continues. “Can I pay for the whole table?” You put in the amount for the table and she pays, again with a tip. “I’ll see you tonight.” She says before joining the rest of the girls, you wave at them when they walk out. The rest of the day flies by as you are looking forward to your date with Alessia.

Continue reading part 2

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#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x y/n #arsenal women #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine

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taleasnewastime · 2 years

Text

What if I love you too much?

Summary: Jungkook. It’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. Before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. And though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. You don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. Because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. All the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff; angst; smut; single mum reader

Word count: 20.6k

Warnings: Single mum, small fights, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), safe penetrative sex, reader thinks Jungkook is cheating/playing the field, angst, but also fluff, child gets injured (though not seriously), talks of cuts and a small amount of blood.

Additional Drabbles!

Authors Note: Happy Saturday! Hope you’re having a nice weekend so far :)

“Ask him to mow your lawn.”

“What? Rosie, why would I –”

“Because look at your lawn, Y/N,” she twists to look at you with a flat face before looking back out your front window with dreamy eyes. “And then look at him.”

You look at the man in question, every glistening, no-tee-shirt-on, tattooed sleeved, square inch of him. Ok, so maybe you get her point a little. Still, you’re not about agree with her.

“I can mow,” you defend yourself instead. “And my lawns not that bad.”

“But can you mow like him?”

“Anyone can mow like him. He’s literally just going up and down the grass.”

“Y/N. Please. Just look at that body.”

“I thought you wanted me to look at his mowing.”

You catch her rolling her eyes as you twist to sit properly on your sofa, no longer wanting to objectify your new neighbour. You don’t even know his name and yet you’re already ogling at the beads of sweat that roll down the many abs he’s sporting. The feminist in you is ashamed.

“Then ask for some sugar,” Rosie continues, still looking out the window. “Or bake him some cakes to properly welcome him to the street, or I don’t know ask him to look after Zac.”

“Oh yeah, because that’s the way to any man’s heart. Please can you look after my four-year-old child?”

“Alright,” Rosie huffs, finally giving in and twisting to sit by you. “I was just brainstorming.”

“Well, thanks but no thanks.”

You stand, try to focus on the reason you came into the room in the first place. Before you spotted your new neighbour mowing topless you were cleaning the mess Zac, your four-year-old son, had left before he bulldozed his way into the garden. You love your son: he’s cute, caring, behaves and will happily entertain himself when you’re busy, but he has so much energy that sometimes he’s like a little tornado. You’re always cleaning up in his leave.

“You need to introduce yourself at some point,” Rosie continues, her voice taking on a more innocent tone, but you still know her game.

“He’s my neighbour –”

“Exactly.”

“– I don’t talk to all my neighbours. We’ll probably just smile if we happen to get out our cars at the same time.”

Rosie heaves a sigh as if you’re being utterly unreasonable. “You’re impossible.”

“You make it sound like I haven’t been with a man since Henry,” you’re still cramming toys into the plastic box you keep hidden behind the sofa when you say the name of Zac’s dad so miss the annoyed look that crossed Rosie’s face.

“Remind me who again?”

You stand up straight, twist to frown at her. Really?

“And don’t say Cam. We all know that was just a glorified blow job.”

You heat, shake your head as your frown deepens. You tell her everything but sometimes wonder if you should leave certain details out.

“There was Paul,” you begin but are put off by the look Rosie gives you. Ok, maybe she’s right, Paul was the IT guy at work that took you on two dates, the furthest you got was a kiss on your doorstep. “Urm, ok, fine. Though, dating a man is still being with him. But fine, what about Aaron?”

“Arrogant Aaron. That’s one.”

You don’t comment on the nickname, though she may have a point, you have bigger things to think about, your brain churning through the last four years to find any semblance of a relationship that will get Rosie off your back.

“James. One night, but it was good.”

“We’re up to two,” she says in a tone that implies you’re not doing well and need to improve.

“Ryan,” you almost shout the name at her when it pops into your head.

“Was Ryan really after Zac?”

“Yep, I remember Zac waking up screaming right when he was about to –”

“Auntie Roo,” you’re cut off by said screaming child.

Your lips seal shut, you both go stiff, if Zac wasn’t four, you’d both look incredibly guilty. Luckily he isn’t old enough to question it. Instead he does a light jump up and down in front of Rosie, eyes wide and smile broad.

“Please can you play?” The words are a little slurred together in his rush to get them out, some of the letters still not properly forming so when you’re with strangers you have to interpret for him. Rosie is fluent in four-year-old speak and the sentence was clear enough for you both to understand.

“Shall we play out front?”

You shoot daggers at the top of her head. She only smiles.

“But, I wanna play with Baby Boe.”

“Fine,” Rosie says still chipper, she stands to her full height rolling her eyes at you. “There’s at least no mistaking he’s yours.”

You give her a sarcastic smile as she twists and follows your son into the garden, Zac babbling on about something unintelligible, Rosie humming along as if fully engaged. You watch them disappear before going back to the task at hand, shoving the last toys into the box you collapse onto the sofa, happy to have even a minute of quiet to yourself.

Closing your eyes you can hear Rosie and Zac playing house in the back garden with his toy dog, Baby Boe. But there’s also that mechanical sound from earlier. You try to ignore it, but now alone you find it hard. Sitting up straight you make sure you truly are alone before twisting and looking over the back of the sofa.

Your neighbour is still there, on the last strip of grass now. You watch as he finishes, stops the lawn mower and then sweeps a hand through his hair. It makes his abs stretch and his arms flex. It only entrances you more. Rosie is right, he’s hot as hell, but what she doesn’t realise is that you don’t need that in your life. Sex is great, and though you’ve only had a few ‘relationships’ since Zac, there have been enough for you to know that however big the payoff may be, it’s never big enough.

You guess you’ll just have to appreciate the view with this one.

You feel sweaty and tired but unfortunately your son is a bundle of never-ending energy, so here you are kicking a ball around your garden in the baking sun with Zac.

He’s giggling as you half force a smile on your face. It’s not that you’re not having a good time, you love time with your son, it’s more that you’ve been kicking this same ball around for nearing half an hour now. Anytime you’ve suggested doing something else Zac has had a near meltdown. It’s better to play along with it sometimes.

Zac hits the ball towards you, trying to get it between the section of fence you pretend to defend. You leap the wrong way letting the ball hit the fence with a bang.

“And he scores!” You cheer.

Zac screams, hands in the air he does a little running celebration, one he’s done after scoring every goal so far. It still makes you smile.

“What does that make it now, Zac?”

“One million!”

You laugh, fetching the ball and lightly kicking it in his direction.

“Come on then, let’s make it one million and one.”

Zac continues to giggle and run around the garden a little before running at the ball. You can see it’s a bad idea before he even kicks it but are too late to say anything. Zac’s foot hits the ball and it goes shooting towards you. You duck, cover your face with your hands on instinct. But the ball goes over you and the fence.

There’s a beat of silence before Zac realises what he’s done.

“Oh dear,” you say gently, already trying to do damage control.

Zac looks from the top of the fence to your face, his eyes wide with shock.

“It’s ok, we have another ball,” you say.

“But I want my ball,” his eyes are welling up, his bottom lip pouting out.

You try not to sigh and make the situation worse. Instead you go over to the house and pick up one of the other balls. It looks exactly the same, yet Zac doesn’t look impressed.

“This is your ball, Zac,” you try to fill your voice with excitement rather than annoyance. “This one is just as fun. Look.”

You bounce it on the floor before softly kicking towards him. Even you’d admit you don’t do a very convincing job at showing how great the ball is and judging by Zac’s tearful frown, he hasn’t been sold on your pitch either.

“Ok,” you sigh, Zac still looking tearful. “We can go knock next door and ask for it back, but he may not be in and then we’re not allowed to just go around and get it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not our house, is it?”

“But it’s my ball.”

“Yes, but we still have to ask nicely for it back, don’t we?” You don’t wait for a response to that rhetorical question, just continue to plough on. “Come on then.”

You hold your hand out and are rewarded with a smaller one placed in it. You head to your side gate, trying and failing to think about what you’re about to do and who you’re about to meet. He’s just a man. Really nothing to stress about. But having Rosie’s words in your head makes it feel like meeting him is something it’s not.

“You have to ask him Zac. So, what do you say?”

There’s a second’s pause filled with the grinding of your gate on the pavement. You look down at Zac when you’re out front and can see his brain working a mile a minute trying to work out the answer to your question.

“You say: I accidentally kicked my ball into your garden. Please can I have it back?”

“I accidentally kick my ball. Please can I have it?” He messes up the pronunciation of accidentally, it’s cute.

“Kicked it into your garden,” you correct as you approach your neighbour’s door.

“I kicked my ball in your garden. Can I have it?”

“Please,” you remind him gently before looking down at him.

He whispers the word back at you, now stood in front of the man’s door he looks a little less sure about the situation. Still, however much you’re also dreading this you’re going to do. it You need to have the confidence for both of you.

You take a breath before looking up and pressing the doorbell. There’s silence as you wait, neither you nor Zac saying anything.

Then the door’s clicking and being pulled open and then there he is. On a slight step above you, you have to look up a little to take in the wide smile he’s showing you. He’s got on a large white t-shirt, baggy black trousers and yet, even though he’s completely covered compared to when you saw him mowing his lawn and the top is not giving you even a hint of what lies beneath, you still feel flustered by his presence.

“Hello,” he says, eyes flicking between you and Zac, smile on his lips but a question in his eyes.

“Hi,” you squeak back, voice too high. “I’m Y/N and this is Zac. We’re your neighbours and uh, Zac here wants to ask you something.”

Both your eyes go down to your little boy who’s now clinging to your leg. He looks up at you unsure, his eyes quickly going to the man and then back to you. Your heart melts.

“Come on Zac,” you say in a far softer tone, your hand going to brush the back of his head. “Can you remember what we said?”

He mutters something that you can’t make out, his lips hardly moving, his eyes on the ground. Still, you look at the man to see his reaction. You’re surprised when you find him leaning in and down towards your son as if to better pick up on what he’s saying. Your heart does something funny and you have to mentally slap yourself to refocus.

“You’ve got to speak a little louder baby.”

Zac addresses you when he says, “Please can I have my ball?”

Well, at least it was louder and he used the word please. But it’s no surprise when you look at the man and he’s looking at you nonplus.

“Zac accidentally kicked his ball into your garden. We were wondering if we could go get it back?”

“Please,” Zac pipes in and while you flush the man seems to light up from within, a mixture of amusement and utter joy at your son embarrassing you.

“Yes, that’s right Zac,” you manage to keep your voice steady. “Please can we have our ball back?”

“Of course,” the man replies, looking between you both. “Why don’t I open up the side gate and you can go find it Zac?”

You look at Zac and he looks back at you unsure what to reply. You give a little nod of your head for encouragement and are rewarded with him looking back at the man and repeating your gesture.

“Give me a sec then,” the man says, standing back straight. “I need to do the bolt from the other side. Why don’t you go wait for me over there?”

You both look to where he points, the gate in question. Zac, now less nervous around the man starts without you. Glancing back at the man to be met with another smile, you swallow before following Zac.

It only takes a second for the gate to grind open. The ally is much like yours, concrete slabs leading down the side of his house to the green of his garden. The man stood in your way bends to look at Zac.

“Why don’t you go run in and have a look? See if you can find your ball in all my long grass?”

This time he needs no encouragement from you. It seems the man has gained his trust in the few minutes you’ve been in his presence. You feel him slip away from you and then watch as he runs down the ally into the garden, leaving you and the man alone. You scramble for words to fill the silence to make it less awkward, hope it doesn’t take Zac long to come back to you.

“Sorry about this,” your eyes flick to the mans which are already on you. “I promise there’s not normally balls flying over the fence.”

“Doesn’t matter if they do,” he replies with a small smile.

Ok. That’s that topic exhausted then with no sign of Zac coming back.

“You enjoying the new house?”

He flicks his head to the side to look at the house in question as if to remember before looking back at you. “Yeah, it’s a great neighbourhood. House needs a lot of work, but I’ll get there.”

“Ah, yeah. I can’t imagine Lindsey and Ron having the same interior style as you.”

“You could say it’s a bit dated for me.”

You giggle, actually laugh at the words as if they’re some amazing joke. It’s more trying to picture this man, this big, buff, man with such a pretty smile living in a house that was previously occupied by two seventy years olds that you don’t think decorated since they moved in forty years ago.

You cut the laugh off short when you realise how odd you must look. The man’s smiling back at you, a different smile to any you’ve seen so far, one you’re sure is him questioning your sanity and who he’s living next to. You cough, shift your weight from foot to foot as you peak over his shoulder praying for Zac to hurry up.

“Well, you’ve certainly managed to tame the front garden.”

“Just the floral carpets to go then,” he smiles at you, his eyes glinting with what looks like a thousand lights.

“Well, if you need a hand with anything, I’m happy to help,” you regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. You really don’t need to get tied up with your neighbour. “Though I have no DIY knowledge, so would probably be no help.”

He doesn’t look put off by your obvious U-turn. “I’ll keep you in mind.”

And you’re screwed. Honestly, is that all it takes? A good-looking guy, some smiles at you and your son and a bit of kindness? Rosie is right, it’s been way too long if a simple smile turns you on.

“Mummy.”

And just like that it’s broken. You bite back the warning of being careful running down the cement paved ally with the ball in his hands. Instead, just smile at your beaming son.

“You found it. Good job. Now come on, I’m sure,” your words slope off, only just realising you have no idea what your neighbours name is.

You look up at him and he fills in your silence with his name, “Jungkook.”

“Right. I’m sure Jungkook has things to do,” you say to Zac. “What do we say now?”

Zac goes a little timid again, squeezing the ball to his chest. “Thank you,” he mumbles before twisting and running back to your house.

“Sorry,” you wince, turning back to Jungkook. “And thank you.”

“It was nothing.”

“Well, thanks anyway,” you grow awkward and decide now is the time to follow your sons lead. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“I’m sure you will,” he smiles back at you.

Twisting you start walking back to your house, already trying to forget everything that just happened. When you’re safe in the walls of your house you pull your phone out and type out a message to Rosie.

This is why I didn’t want to meet my neighbour.

As usual, it only takes a few seconds for her response to come – you swear she’s attached to her phone.

Tell. Me. Everything.

There’s a knock on your door. You leave Zac colouring on the kitchen table so you can go answer it. You feel relaxed until you see who’s there. Your whole body going taunt at the sight of Jungkook at your door. Mind flicking through the possible reasons for him to be here.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted me to mow your lawns?”

It takes you aback, you’re pretty sure you might even recoil a little from the seemingly simple question. It might take a second but you end up smiling, have to bite your lip to hide how amused you are. It’s half due to how nervous he looks on your doorstep, but more because of Rosie and your conversation from when you first saw him. He must take your beat of silence the wrong way if his increased twitchiness is anything to go by.

“I was just doing mine and thought yours needed doing,” he almost cuts himself off in his haste to clarify. “Not that it looks bad or anything. Just that it could do with a cut. Or more that it saves you the job. And as I was already out doing mine, I thought it would –”

You properly laugh now. Loud enough to cut Jungkook’s ramblings off. He looks like he’s about to throw the towel in and head home but you stop him with a wave of your hand.

“Sorry,” you continue to laugh. “It’s just … of course you can mow my lawn.”

There’s a beat and then Jungkook’s face is turning more serious, a hint of amusement in his eyes as his head cocks to the side. Oh, god. Maybe that sounded like too much of an innuendo. You stand up straight, the laughter dying on your lips.

“I just mean I won’t be offended.”

“Ok,” he says, positions swapped, him amused and you awkward. “Need anything else doing while I’m here?”

“Uh,” you look behind you into the house as if to check before looking back at him. His smile seems to have grown in those few seconds. “Nope. I think we’re all good.”

“Just the lawns then,” he grins, seeming to relax into his position in your door.

“Just the lawns,” you squeak. “Please.”

He nods but still lingers. How does someone go from a rambling nervous mess to this? Though you’ve passed each other coming and going, this is the first time the two of you have properly spoken since Zac kicked his ball over the fence. You wouldn’t have predicted it would go like this.

“Want me to do the back too?”

You almost choke. “If it’s no trouble?”

He shrugs. “As I’m here.”

“Ok,” you look behind you again, for an escape, for a reason to look away from those shining eyes and cocky smile. You’re pretty sure he’s one of these guys that realises the effect he has on people and enjoys it. “Want me to bring you out a coffee or something?”

“I’m good. I’ll just get on with it.”

“Ok, well, thank you.”

“No problem, Y/N.”

You close the door and resist the urge to collapse on the floor.

“If you kick it too hard, you’re going to have to get it,” you warn as you do another light kick of the ball in Zac’s direction.

As if in spite of your words or maybe because it’s no fun not kicking the ball hard, Zac launches the ball in your direction. Still, you laugh as you manage to leap to the side and stop the ball before it goes off down the hill behind you.

“Maybe we should go and play in the back garden?”

“No,” Zac half screams the word. “There’s horrible fences there.��

He’s referencing the time he kicked the ball over the fence and then had to go collect it. Apparently it was such a jarring experience that he doesn’t like playing there anymore, though you would have thought being able to go in the neighbours garden would be exciting for him.

“Ok, then we have to kick a little softer.”

He follows your request a few times before once again deciding playing by your rules is boring. You let it go for a bit, giggling along with Zac as you leap and try and save each of his kicks. You do a few of your own rouge kicks just so he has to run a little and it gives you a minutes piece. Award for mum of the year over here.

You’re shouting something about how great one of Zac’s kicks is when you hear a door slam. You don’t think too much of it until you hear a voice shouting out.

“Already training for the Premier League?”

You look over to the voice and are met with a beaming Jungkook slowly walking towards you, baggy trousers and just as baggy a top blowing in the breeze. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him not smiling.

“I think we still have a way to go if that’s the aim,” you joke back, looking back at Zac just in time to see him kick a ball that goes miles to your right. Luckily, it’s not a missile like some of his others, but it still feels embarrassing having to jog after the ball with Jungkook now as an audience.

By the time you have the ball back in possession and are back to where you were once stood Jungkook is only meters away. Still smiling and you catch the end of him telling Zac what a great kick he just did. He goes shy, something you always find funny as he’s always a screaming ball of energy around you and other’s he knows, you love seeing this other side of him. Still, it means you need to hold the confidence for both of you.

“Is there room for one more?”

The question takes you off guard, even though he’s made the effort to walk the short distance to be stood here.

“Uh, sure,” you say then look at Zac. “That’s ok, isn’t it Zac?”

Zac doesn’t look sure but luckily he’s currently too shy to dispute you. You also don’t give him much time to disagree with you, lightly kick the ball in Zac’s direction before he can think.

He’s gentler when he kicks it back to you, his aim surprisingly good for once. You feel a small amount of pressure when you kick the ball to Jungkook, trying to include him. It feels like when you were once in school and were laughed at for throwing the rounders ball miles off the mark. It doesn’t go badly, though Jungkook has to step a little to his left to pick it up under his feet, he expertly flicks it between his feet and then knocks it on to Zac.

Zac looks mesmerised by the simple move that you’d never be able to replicate. You can see his nerves slowly cracking with a small smile going to his lips. He still kicks the ball to you, but as the game goes on and as you and Jungkook try to change the direction a few times, Zac finally completely lets loose.

He’s giggling and doing big kicks again. He’s laughing at Jungkook doing more little tricks with the ball before he kicks it on. And he even starts to shout little bits, imitating the words the Jungkook cries out, what a save, that was close, such a good touch.

Soon enough you’re out, you’ve lost your son to your neighbour and a football. Neither of them are kicking the ball anymore, their running at each other trying to do tackles. At least Jungkook seems to realise he’s playing a four-year-old and not someone his age, his tackles are light and he always kicks the ball a little too far and is a little too slow to pick it back up letting Zac get it.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” you say to seemingly no one. But you don’t really care because your son looks so happy.

His laughs fill up the street as you make your way back to the house and when you look back you watch as Jungkook tackles him and lifts him up into the air, easily tossing him around in the sky making Zac laugh even harder.

You may take a little longer than necessary to make the drinks.

You’re out-front playing with Zac again. Well, less playing and more sat on the curb watching Zac play. You’ve had a day at work, still need to cook yours and Zac’s dinner but you promised you’d come out and do something first. Given Zac is a ball of energy it’s better to let him get all of that out now, so he’ll go to sleep earlier. That’s always the aim anyway, sometimes it’s just not the reality.

The back garden apparently isn’t good enough for him now. After playing out front and Jungkook joining him on more than one occasion you think he secretly hopes that’s going to happen every time. He doesn’t outright ask for it, but you know your son and you can see the utter joy whenever he gets to play with your neighbour.

You watch Zac run around with one of his teddy’s, rambling on about how the dinosaur is going to get them so they have to go to the volcano.

Even if you’re not necessarily playing with Zac, you love this time spent with him. It’s always just been the two of you and though that’s been hard at times, there’s never been a moment you’ve truly regretted it. You thought you loved his dad, but that was nothing compared to what you feel for Zac.

The sound of a car pulls your attention from Zac. It’s rounding the corner onto your road, still far enough and going slow enough to not panic you, but you know Zac will be oblivious.

“Zac,” you shout, standing up. “Zac. There’s a car coming, you have to wait on that side of the road for it to pass.”

Zac looks over at you, wide-eyed as he takes in the information. You can’t deny that your heart swells a little at the fact he so obediently runs to the side of the road, even picks the side that’s closest which is opposite you.

You smile at him as the car gets closer but it stops before reaching you. You can see the confusion on Zac’s face about what he should do. The car’s stopped but it’s still so close, is he allowed to continue to play?

“It’s ok Zac,” you say just as the door to the car opens.

Zac runs along the pavement for a second, obviously still not entirely sure, but when the car door opens, he must deem that good enough to know the car’s not going to move again and runs out into the road.

You watch him for a second before glancing at who got out the car. You smile at the woman you’ve never seen before. Dressed in a nice skirt and top, you shouldn’t be surprised when she makes her way to your neighbour’s house. You look away as she goes up his drive and rings the bell; it’s none of your business who Jungkook chooses to spend his time with.

Zac obviously doesn’t feel the same.

“Jungkook,” your son shouts out the name, the k sound more like a g and the last one isn’t pronounced so it sounds more like Jun-goo then anything.

Still your neighbour looks over at the shout. His guest too. Now stood on the doorway, in the middle of greeting each other. Jungkook instantly smiles while it takes the woman a second longer. You just feel mortified.

“Zac, darling, I think he has a guest.”

“But I want to play.”

You glance over at your neighbour’s front door; both are still looking at you and though you’re sure they can hear your conversation they seem to be having their own more silent conversation. You feel hot when you look back at Zac. Though you shouldn’t feel embarrassed, you somehow do.

“He can’t play right now because –”

You’re cut off by a scream that sounds like the name Jungkook as Zac goes running in his direction. Truly mortified now you turn to jog after him, calling his name as you go. You manage to catch up to him as he reaches Jungkook’s lawn, place a hand on his shoulder to try and settle him.

“Zac,” you say firmly but as quietly as you can. Jungkook and the woman can definitely here you, you’re only a few meters away, but you’d rather they didn’t. “You don’t run away from me like that and you don’t cut me off when I’m telling you something.”

He looks wide-eyed up at you, lip pouted as if there are about to be water works soon. He’s at the age where everything he asks, he assumes he can get. No isn’t a word unless he’s saying it. And when you tell him anything other than yes, he gets stroppy. It’s a cute age, but it’s tough.

“I just want to play,” Zac mumbles.

You hold your hands out in a silent question that he accepts. Leaning down you pick him up under the arms. It’s more like lifting some weights at the gym then the baby you once had but settled onto your hip and arms cuddling your side make it all worth it. You’re about to speak words of comfort to him before apologising to Jungkook and his guest but a different voice changes that.

“It’s ok,” you look up to see Jungkook stepping towards you, the girl in his entry way looking at you over his shoulder. “I’d love to play with you too, Zac, but I can’t right now. Can I maybe play with you a different night?”

You feel Zac’s head nod against your chest where it’s lay. You run a soothing hand down his arm while you shoot Jungkook an apologetic look.

“You really don’t have to do –”

“No, I mean it. I love playing with Zac.”

You doubt the twenty something year old really enjoys playing with your four-year-old son. Especially as it has just become apparent he has a girlfriend. But the way he says it and the way he smiles; you can almost believe it.

“Well, we need to get in and cook dinner anyway don’t we, Zac.”

There’s another small nod against you and you look between Jungkook and the girl again. You feel so incredibly awkward, though Jungkook looks a little worried if anything.

“Sorry, for ruining the start of your evening,” you say to them both, twisting and carrying Zac back to your house before you can gain a reply. You’ll distract Zac with food. Your own embarrassment might be harder to hide.

“Hey, let me help you with that.”

The weights that were your shopping bags are lifted out of your hands before you can protest. Soft, warm fingers run along yours to grasp the handles and then they’re gone. You turn to look at the man responsible.

“Jungkook, you really don’t have to,” but it’s like you’re talking to a wall, or more a back, as Jungkook has already turned and is heading to your front door.

“You get the others and it’ll be done in half the time,” he says over his shoulder.

You huff, still not exactly happy with the assumption you needed help, but you don’t audibly protest as you pick up the last remaining bag and follow Jungkook.

“You really don’t have to –”

“Just unlock the door,” Jungkook cuts you off, giving you a small smile and adding. “These bags are starting to get heavy.”

You roll your eyes as you do as asked, placing your bag on the floor before unlocking your front door and letting Jungkook in. He waits for you to come in before he follows you to the kitchen.

“You can just place them here,” you say before turning to look at him.

He’s all smiles again and you’re not sure why you’re so irked by the whole thing. You should be thanking him, but it’s more about what he’s slowly started to make you realise. Zac doesn’t have a man in his life and Jungkook creeping in even in these small ways has made you see how much that might be affecting him. Jungkook hasn’t done much, he’s played football out front with your son, he’s smiled and told him jokes in passing, he’s asked him a few simple questions about his life. And yet your son has lit up with every interaction.

It's ever since the incident the other day when Zac went running to him that got you thinking. You thought you were embarrassed because it looked like you couldn’t control your child, but since you’ve realised that it’s more because you’d started to get used to Jungkook in the same small ways as Zac and seeing him with a woman, presumably his girlfriend, made you realise that Jungkook probably doesn’t feel the same way. You’re just his neighbour and Zac’s just a cute kid. It’s not like you’re dating, or he owes you anything, but having had no help outside your family and Rosie since Zac was born has made even the small gestures massive.

You thought you were enough for Zac. You knew that you were possibly stopping him from experiencing something by staying single or not letting any of the men you’d dated briefly into Zac’s life, but you didn’t think it would matter. And yet so little from Jungkook has shown you how much it can mean.

You don’t mean to be rude or short with him, but these simple acts of kindness are starting to feel like an agenda. Like he’s out to prove that you’re not everything Zac needs.

You can make your son happy on your own. You can play ball with him and have fun and ask him questions about what he likes. You can carry bags into your house on your own; you’ve cooked and cleaned and worked and kept yours and Zac’s lives together longer than Jungkook’s been around. And yet Zac has never run to you the way he ran to Jungkook the other day.

“Zac not here today?”

“His Nan is looking after him.”

You can sense him looking down at you as you start to unpack your shopping. “That must be nice for them both.”

“Yep,” you say popping the p. “Certainly is.”

The silence elongates, tension rising in the gap. You can sense Jungkook watching you even though you don’t look at him as you start to unpack your food. You hear his feet shuffle on the lino floor and can see him leaning against the door frame out of the corner of your eye.

You should break it, should say something and stop being so childish, but you find you can’t, the longer it goes on the more it builds in your head. It’s as if every male that’s been in your life who hasn’t been interested in meeting Zac, everyone that you didn’t feel comfortable meeting Zac, every insecurity you had about stopping Zac from having the chance of a male figure in his life, has built up into Jungkook.

Still, you don’t ask him to leave, don’t say anything, just silently unpack as Jungkook watches you.

“Is everything alright?” It’s Jungkook that finally speaks.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You just seem a little upset is all.”

“I’m fine.”

“Ok. Let me clarify, you seem a little upset with me,” he pauses, when you don’t reply he carries on. “Have I done something to annoy you?”

“Nothing,” you say finally looking at him.

“Just tell me Y/N,” he looks a little pissed himself now and you realise how unfair you’re being. You can think all these things and build it up in your head and realise how stupid you’re being, but to take it out on Jungkook and then not explain why; that’s not fair.

“I just don’t appreciate you coming in and treating me like I can’t lift some shopping bags on my own is all.”

“I never said you couldn’t do it alone. I offered you help.”

“Yeah, ok, it’s fine. I’m overreacting,” you say in a tone to imply the opposite.

“No, come on. That’s not everything, what is it?”

You pause, wondering how much to tell him. “I’ve been looking after myself and Zac far longer than I’ve known you.”

“I know that.”

“So you can stop coming into our lives and being Mr Perfect,” you wave your hands at his whole person at the words.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Mr Perfect?”

“Carrying my shopping in and playing with Zac and acting like you have your whole life together and we don’t.”

“I really don’t know how you got that impression. My life isn’t together. And I enjoy playing with Zac and being around you, but if you’re uncomfortable with that then I can stop.”

You sigh, mentally slap yourself as you twist and pull a chair out. Plonking yourself down you run a hand down your face. When you make eye contact with Jungkook again his face still holds annoyance, but he looks a little softer now.

“Sorry,” you start, body slumping with the all the fight leaving you. “I’m being ridiculous. You don’t make me uncomfortable playing with Zac, I guess I just realised how much he’s grown to like you and yet I hardly know you.” You pause then add with a small smile. “Though you really do look like you have your whole life together.”

Your comment seems to be enough to break the tension. Jungkook chuckles again, this time looking more genuine. He takes the couple of steps to close the distance between you and pulls a chair out so he can sit.

“Well, the first thing I can tell you is I really do not have my life together,” he doesn’t speak as loudly now you’re sat with no background clattering and the wide smile he shoots you has you looking down at your lap to hide your smile. “And you know, maybe we should get to know each other better. We’re neighbours for one, but I honestly do love Zac and if it would make you feel more comfortable then I can do a whole DBS check.”

You look at him, smile wider on your face. He seems to relax at the look, less tense now you’re no longer being annoyed with him.

“You don’t have to do a DBS check,” you assure him. “I guess it’s just been a really long day and my insecurities got the better of me. Sorry.”

“Really?”

“What? Been a long day or are you struggling to believe I have insecurities?”

His eyebrow lifts and you swear his cheeks tint pink. “Well, both I guess.”

“I arrived at work to a snotty email from someone telling me how to do my job and then I didn’t have time to buy lunch so had to have one of the crappy cafeteria sandwiches. To top it all off I had to go food shopping, arguably one of the worst chores.”

Jungkook smiles, nods and waits. You’d kind of hoped you’d be able to sweep the whole insecurities bit under the rug. Guess Jungkook is taking the whole getting to know each other seriously.

“As for insecurities,” you begin, words elongated as you grow more awkward. “I mean doesn’t everyone have them? But, uh, yeah. I mean Zac’s dad has never been in his life and I’ve never properly dated anyone since having him, or at least never thought anyone was good enough to introduce him to. And I’ve always wondered if I’m somehow stopping him from having a second parent.”

Jungkook cocks his head to the side. A small movement as if he’s deep in thought at your comment. Before he can say anything though you let out a small laugh and try to move on.

“Anyway, at least I have lots of food in the house now.”

“Zac’s not missing out on anything.”

The smile dies on your lips. The words are so deadly seriously. Like he means every word. You feel yourself heating even though he’s probably just saying it because he thinks it’s what you want to hear.

“You’re an amazing mum, Y/N. Zac isn’t missing out on anything by just having one parent.”

“Thanks,” you continue to flush. “You really don’t have to say that, but thanks anyway.”

“I don’t have to say it. But I mean it.”

“Well, ok, thanks. Moving on,” you say. “Can I get you something to drink to fully apologise?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a tea.”

You nod, getting up to turn the kettle on. You’ve got an hour of your mum looking after Zac before you’ve got to pick him up. Time you were hoping to spend on tasks you actually need to get done around the house. You can’t retract your offer though and as you settle into easy conversation you find you don’t want to.

An hour passes easily with your neighbour. Laughing and drinking your teas you find you have more in common than you’d have guessed. He’s a similar age to you, took the house on next door because it was within budget, big and something he could easily do up. You normally find that people around your age feel so different in age, are at different stage in their lives as you have so much responsibility in looking after Zac and they’ve just got themselves. But Jungkook feels different. It’s still just him and you can tell by some of the things he says that he’s considering things in his life you couldn’t, but he’s bought a house, has committed to doing it up, has a steady job he wants to progress in. He’s settled. It’s small things but you find your respect towards him grows as well as the amount you like him.

An hour later, you leave him with a wave as you head to your car and he takes the short walk back to his house.

“Oh, who’s that?”

You fight the urge to look as soon as the words leave Rosie’s mouth. You still don’t want to appear too keen around her. Though you and Jungkook have grown closer, there’s still nothing between you and you still don’t want her getting the wrong impression.

“Who’s who?” You ask, playing oblivious.

She waves you over, doesn’t even turn to look at you. She’s in much the same position as when you first spied Jungkook. Body leaning over the back of the sofa, face almost pressed against the glass of your front window. If anyone were to look at your house, her face would be front and centre and while you imagine you’d die at being caught watching your neighbours so plainly, you imagine Rosie wouldn’t care, she’d probably wave at them.

“Just come look. Some girl is going to Jungkook’s.”

“Oh right, that’s probably his girlfriend,” you say flatly, unbothered, though you still make your way over to where she’s sat to take a look yourself.

“He has a girlfriend?”

The question goes straight through you as you watch the girl in question walking up his drive. Ok, maybe it’s not his girlfriend because this girl has different coloured hair, her skin is slightly darker, she’s shorter, just as beautiful as the other girl you saw, but she is not the same person.

“Of course he has the hottest girlfriend.”

The words pang even though you shouldn’t care, you shouldn’t even be looking out the window at her, yet you find yourself leaning forward to get a better angle to try and see Jungkook’s front door. Is he there? How’s he going to greet her?

“That’s not his girlfriend,” you reply.

“What? He’s cheating on her?” Rosie’s interest peaks, if possible.

“No. I mean, I don’t know,” you try to explain, Rosie looking at you with a frown. “I don’t know if he has a girlfriend. Someone came to his house the other week and I just assumed, but that’s not her.”

Rosie hums, focus going back outside. “Well, that makes sense.”

“It does?”

“A man that hot does not just settle down. He’s a player.”

“Right,” you say flatly, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

“And I mean, with a body like that, why wouldn’t he?”

“Careful not to get your drool on my window,” you say as you push yourself to stand, no longer interested in watching whatever’s happening out front.

You go back to whatever you were doing before, trying to get the image of the girl out of your mind. You shouldn’t care. But it only seems to add to everything in your mind, becomes another reason in your mind to not get too close to the man.

“Who the hell talked me into this?” You mutter to yourself as you apply the last bit of lip gloss.

Stepping back, looking at yourself in the mirror, you have to admit you scrub up nice. When you make a bit of an effort you don’t look half bad.

You’ve not been on a proper date in a couple of months. Life has been busy and it’s not been top of your list of things to do, but when someone at work said they knew someone they thought you’d get on with you reluctantly said you’d meet them. Maybe not reluctant, you’re excited to date, to have a night out with someone that isn’t Rosie, to enjoy yourself. There’s just still niggles in your mind about the whole thing.

You’ve still got half an hour before you need to leave. Your taxi booked, completely dressed and ready to go, Zac in bed, all you need now is Rosie to turn up to baby sit for a few hours.

You’ve only managed to take a single breath to try and calm yourself and have a couple of sips of the glass of wine you decided to pour yourself when your phone rings. Rosie’s name pops up on your screen and you smile as you answer it.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be late.”

“Uh, worse, possibly.”

You sit up straight, move your glass of wine so you don’t accidentally knock it. “What do you mean possibly?”

“Ok, definitely,” Rosie sounds nervous, and you’re not surprised given the desire to kill her right about now. “But, honestly, it’s unavoidable. My car’s died and I thought I could get a taxi but the quote I got was for £50 one way and I’m not saying you’re not worth it, but, on top of it all my mum called and she’s not feeling great and I just thought I’d see if you really need me or if someone else could possibly step in, just for tonight?”

You resist the urge to wipe a hand down your face or pull at your hair; you’d just spent ages so you could look like this. But it sounds like it doesn’t even matter, the date obviously wasn’t supposed to happen. You check the clock, it’s still twenty minutes until your taxi should arrive, still forty minutes until your date.

“I’ll cancel, it’s fine, go be with your mum.”

“What? No, don’t cancel.”

“What am I supposed to do instead?”

“Can’t your mum look after Zac instead?”

“She has book club tonight.”

“Your brother?” She says, her tone already implying she doesn’t hold much hope there.

“Away on business.”

“What about someone from work?”

“Rosie. Honestly, it’s fine.”

“Jungkook,” the name throws you so off you don’t respond immediately. “What about Jungkook?”

“I can’t ask my neighbour to look after my son.”

“Why? They seem to get on great and Zac will be asleep the whole time anyway.”

“He’s probably busy.”

“But you don’t know. You should go ask before you rule him out.”

You chew at the inside of your cheek, torn. You really don’t want to ask Jungkook, but Rosie makes a good point. She seems to cotton onto the weakness and pushes.

“Please, Y/N. I feel so guilty that you might have to cancel this date because of me. I’d ask Jungkook myself, but I don’t have his number. I could find him on Facebook though, just have to hope he sees the message in time but I’m –”

“Ok,” you blurt to stop her.

“Ok? You want me to message him?”

“No,” you sigh, not believing what you’re about to say. “I’ll go round and see if he’s free.”

You can almost see the beaming smile that Rosie is surely sporting. She doesn’t let you hang around on the phone for much longer now you’ve made the decision she wanted. A quick comment to let her know how it goes and a goodbye and she’s gone.

Your eyes flick to the clock as if it’s going to hold some sort of information that’ll help you out. It doesn’t. Just tells you what you already know; you have less than fifteen minutes till your taxi arrives.

Nerves at an all time high you decide the whole thing will only take five minutes either way so Zac is ok in bed. Leaving the door open, you make the short trip from your house to Jungkook’s.

Are you really doing this?

You can hear the noise of the doorbell going around the house. It seems you are doing it.

Sweat builds on your palms. Heat seems to leave your body while gathering in your face. Your throat feels so tight that you wonder if you’ll be able to get any words out if Jungkook answers. Seconds feel like minutes and then when you hear his footsteps approaching they seem to thunder.

The door swings open. You watch in silence as his face goes from curious, to eyes wide in recognition, to a steady sweep of your body. His eyes are still wide when they meet yours but there’s something else in them now as well as a slight flush to his cheeks.

You’re too nervous to take much notice.

“Hey,” you start, but begin talking too fast for Jungkook to say anything. “So, I know this is asking a lot and I want to say straight away that if you’re busy, or if you just don’t want to then please don’t feel like you have to say yes. But I have a date tonight, hence the outfit, and my childcare has cancelled on me and I was wondering, if you’re free, if you could maybe look after Zac? All you’d have to do it is just sit downstairs and listen out for if he wakes up. Again, it’s fine if you don’t want to.”

His cheeks are still pink but there’s a smile on his face now. You honestly have no idea what he’s going to say.

“Y/N, I honestly don’t mind looking after Zac while you go on your date.”

The shock, the relief, the surprise; whatever he see’s pass your face makes a low chuckle leave his lips.

“Do I need to bring anything with me?”

“Uh, no. Not unless there’s something you need?”

His smile is gentle and kind as he looks at you. “Let me just grab my keys so I can lock up.”

You wait the few seconds it takes for him to grab his keys and then watch as he locks his door. You still feel weird as you wait for him, still nervous just in a different way now.

It’s silent as you walk side by side back to your house. You feel unable to look at Jungkook, though you can feel him glancing at you.

“You look nice by the way.”

“Oh, thanks,” your nerves seem to give Jungkook confidence.

“Where’s your date?”

“Just at The Botanist.”

“That’ll be nice. Is it a first date or ..?”

“Yep, first date,” you say as you enter your house. “So, there’s drinks in the fridge and help yourself to any food you find.”

“You might regret saying that,” Jungkook jokes but you’re struggling to find much funny with your emotions all over the place at the moment.

“And I’ll give you my number if anything goes wrong. Like I said he shouldn’t wake up but if he does you can give him some hot milk or read him a book.”

“We’ll be fine, Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice is calm as he leans against the wall and watches you shuffle around the room. “If Zac wakes up, I’m sure I’ll cope. I’m sure I’ll be able to find anything I need and work the TV. My house is literally meters away and like you said I can just call you if I need.”

You still feel almost shaky. You trust Jungkook but it’s one thing to leave him playing with your son for ten minutes out front and wholly different to leave him home alone for a few hours. Still, you trust him and know he’ll be fine.

“Just go and enjoy your date,” Jungkook continues. “Are you nervous?”

“I – yeah,” you admit. “It’s my first date in a while.”

“Well, you really do look great. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you say softly, meaning it for so many different reasons.

“It’s fine. Now, go on, get out of here.”

You do one last sweep of the room, slip your shoes on at the door and the linger for a second. Jungkook’s already made himself at home on the sofa, smile still on his face as he watches you. Your hand pauses on the door. It still feels weird to be leaving. But you give Jungkook a nod and head out the door.

Your key slips on the lock. You sway gently side to side. Closing your eyes, you take a long, slow breath. When you open your eyes, the world is still spinning.

You try the key again. Fingers fumble, it takes a second, but you manage to get the key where you need it. You turn the key, but it doesn’t go as far as you expect. Your hand goes to the handle, you pull down and tumble forward into your house.

Giggling you pull your key out of the door. Why did you think the door was locked? Of course it wasn’t locked.

You bite your lip as you right yourself and try not to slam the door closed. You need to be quiet, Zac’s asleep upstairs and you’d hate to be the reason for waking him up.

You make the mistake of trying to balance on one foot as you take your shoe off. It doesn’t last much longer than a second, you sway so hard that you have to throw your arm out to grab the wall so you don’t wipe out on the floor. You keep hold of the wall as you safely remove your shoes this time.

Shoving your bag on the table by your door you close your eyes for a second, take another breath and then will yourself to go get a glass of water before bed.

It takes you far longer than it should to realise you’re being watched. Are stumbling through your living room to your kitchen when you spot him and you jump in the air.

“Fuck,” you curse, clutching a hand to your heart. “Jungkook. What the hell?”

“Have you had a nice night?”

You huff, a noise that sounds half like a no and half like a yes. “It was ok.”

Jungkook laughs and moves on the sofa so he’s sat up straighter. “That sounds like a rave review.”

You close your eyes and throw your head back. Water forgotten you move towards Jungkook instead, plopping down on the sofa next to him. Your eyes feel heavy but you feel awake enough to talk to Jungkook for a while.

“It was good.”

“But?” Jungkook turns towards you as you lean your head back on the cushions.

“Just that it was just good.”

Jungkook hums and you turn your head on your neck to look at him. He’s closer than you thought but it doesn’t make you pull away from him, however much that wide smile makes your heart stutter.

“You must know what I mean.”

His head cocks to the side. “And why would that be?”

“Because you’re always going off on dates,” the alcohol is loosening your lips, you’d never say anything of this if you hadn’t drunk.

“How much have you had to drink?” He laughs.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “It was two for one.”

“So that’s what made it a good night?”

You giggle, the noise escaping you with little to no warning. “No, the guy was nice too.”

“Was that opinion formed before or after the alcohol was consumed?”

This time you reach round and slap his arm as you laugh. It pushes you closer to him, the knee you have folded on the sofa pushing into his leg. Your hand lingers on his arm and he doesn’t push you away. You feel the heat coming off him and realise what you’re doing. You pull away and the heat transfers from your hand to your face.

“God, sorry, maybe I’m more drunk than I thought.”

You pull away, twist so you’re facing forward again. Now you think about it your head is really spinning. Looking after Zac tomorrow is going to be fun.

“Want me to get you some water?” Jungkook’s asking the question even as he stands to do just that.

You watch him walk away from you and disappear into the kitchen. He looks so at home.

You close your eyes again and rest your head against the back of the sofa. Water sounds good, maybe it’ll clear your head a little, because now you think about it, being drunk and loose lipped around Jungkook probably isn’t the best decision.

“Here you go.”

A pint of water is in front of you when you open your eyes. You sit up straighter, hold your hand out to take the glass and then down nearly half of it before taking sips from it instead. Jungkook is still stood in front of you, a small smile on his lips as he looks down at you.

“Better?” You nod at the question and Jungkook’s lip curls at the edge. “You ok to look after Zac like this?”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Ok,” he says with a small laugh, as if he doesn’t quite believe you. “I’ll leave you and Zac alone then.”

He only moves a little, is only standing up straighter, but the movement coupled with the words is enough for you to panic and reach out and grab his hand. Or more grab his wrist. And because he doesn’t move you can slip your fingers lower and land on their intended target.

“Wait. Don’t go.”

His smile has slipped now, his face flat as he stares down at you. He’s not gripping your hand back. You suddenly feel a lot more sober, feel like you’ve made a mistake.

“You’ve not told me how your night was yet,” you say in a much softer tone, your hand slipping out of his.

“I haven’t heard anything from Zac. I even went to look in his room to make sure he was actually there. He’s been fast asleep while I’ve watched trash TV all night.”

You nod, feel like you’re turning into a nodding dog at this point. But you don’t know what else to say. You’ve just asked him to stay and that short, closed sentence is clearly him telling you he’s heading home.

“Well, thanks so much for looking after him.”

“It was no trouble.”

You look up at him, wait for him to move, to leave you sat here alone. But he still doesn’t. It gives you enough confidence to keep talking, or maybe the silence is just eating too much into you that you feel a need to fill it.

“Do you want me to pay you?”

His eyebrows shoot up his head and you giggle, realising what he must be thinking and go on to clarify.

“I mean for babysitting.”

“Oh, no. I was only going to be sat next door doing the same thing anyway.”

“Right,” you swallow, mind whirling. “Well, I still feel a need to pay you back some way.”

“You really don’t need to do anything.”

“But you’ve done so much for me and Zac since moving in.”

“I’ve told you before I like playing with Zac.”

“And the mowing our grass?”

“It only makes sense when I’m already doing mine.”

“What if I want to pay you back?”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Nothing?”

He pauses, his eyes dark as he looks down at you. The air seems to thicken and though you don’t know how, you know you’ve got him.

His eyes follow as you push yourself to stand up. He doesn’t move to give you space as you come toe to toe with him. His eyes flick around your face as yours remain steady on his. You don’t touch him straight away, but you get close enough that all you’d need to do is lean forward and you’d be against him.

The silence feels loud now, both of you holding your ground, the anticipation rising.

“Are you sure you want this?” He swallows his eyes flicking to your lips.

Subconsciously you sweep your tongue along your bottom lip and are rewarded with Jungkook unable to take his eyes off the movement.

If you were completely sober maybe you wouldn’t be so brash. If you hadn’t just been on a rubbish date, thinking about how much better it could be if only the person sat opposite you was the man currently stood in front of you, maybe you wouldn’t be this bold. If Jungkook hadn’t been so kind, so thoughtful, so good looking, maybe you wouldn’t be doing what you’re about to do, maybe you’d be thinking twice about what a mistake it could turn out to be.

You close the gap, move slowly to let Jungkook back away if he wants. But he doesn’t. When you’re close enough, he places his hands on your hips and pulls you into him.

He tastes salty, like crisps. His lips mould to yours the way your body moulds against his. Your back arches up into him, his hand goes to the small of your back and his tongue slips into your mouth.

“Are you sure about this?” Jungkook whispers again.

You don’t have time to answer, now you’ve kissed him, you want all of him. You twist both of you so that when you push yourself into him and he has to take a step back, his knees hit the sofa. His eyes are wide, full of surprise as he lowers himself backwards. You don’t let yourself be shocked, this is so unlike you, but honestly you don’t care or overthink it.

Placing a knee either side of Jungkook you straddle him, place your lips back on his as you grind down into him. His hands fall to your hips again, squeeze the flesh there every time you drag yourself over his length. You can feel him, all of him, hard and long, pushing up against his joggers and right into you.

You need him. Now.

All rational goes out the window as you push yourself up enough to try and push his trousers down. Before you can get very far, Jungkook’s hands are encompassing your wrists, stopping you. He doesn’t seem angry when you look at him, there’s only an amused smile on his lips.

“What’s the rush?”

“I –” you pause, it’s enough time for you to come back to reality and realise how desperate you must look right now. You plop yourself backwards, sit on Jungkook’s knees as his hands slip from your wrists to encompass your hands. “I don’t know. Sorry.”

He pulls your forward enough to kiss your lips. You can feel the smile is still there.

“Let me at least go get a condom,” he mumbles.

You let out an embarrassed huff of air, your face scrunching in mortification while Jungkook just chuckles. He moves his hands to your hips, pushes you up and then gently gets you to lay on the sofa while he stands. You look up at him, embarrassed, but still don’t want him to leave.

“I’ll only be a minute,” he says before disappearing from view.

You’re left in the silence of your own embarrassment. Lay on the sofa you keep replaying the last ten minutes over in your head. Sure, it was great, kissing Jungkook has definitely exceeded expectations so far. But what must he think of you? Pouncing on him after a failed date.

You place your hands over your face and let out a small groan, missing the noise of the front door quietly closing.

“Don’t tell me you carried on without me?”

You peel your hands off your face, look up surprised to see Jungkook back. Part of you honestly thought that was an excuse to up and run. But there he is, beaming down at you, small foil packet in hand.

“You still wanna?” His voice drifts off, unsure.

You’re still in shock. But a quick glance down shows that he isn’t lying. His trousers are still straining at the groin.

You look back at his face, suddenly feeling very hot. You nod. Jungkook smiles.

“Good,” he mutters before taking his top off. “Because you still owe me.”

You watch as he takes his trousers off, leaving him only in his boxers. And then he kneels before you. Hand on either knee, he twists you so that your feet hit the floor and you’re sat in front of him. As he toys with the hem of your dress, you dutifully lift your arms to let him know he can take it off.

His eyes are near black, focused purely on your chest and the light lace that is covering you, when your dress is on the floor.

“Were you hoping to go home with him?” His voice is as dark as his voice, a husky quality to it that has you clenching around nothing.

“No,” you say honestly, the word enough to have Jungkook drag his eyes up to yours. “I wore it to feel good.”

He nods. His eyes flicking back down to admire your body. You feel good, slightly self-conscious but you must admit that it feels nice to have Jungkook look at you with that much lust on his face.

His hands reach out, lightly run down your sides at the same rate as his eyes. He toys with your lacy pants for a second, eyes flicking up to yours before he starts to pull them down. You lift yourself up a little to help him and then they’re joining your dress on the floor.

Your breaths come out faster. Your head leaning back into your sofa as Jungkook places his hands on your knees and pushes them apart.

How is this happening?

You can’t believe this is happening.

You can’t pull your eyes away from the sight of Jungkook’s head moving towards you. You swear you’ve had a wet dream about it. And now it’s happening.

His tongue is just as delicate as his fingers as he swipes it through your folds. His hands hold firm on your knees as you try to clamp them together around his head. You can feel his smile as his lips go to your clit, his tongue drawing patterns of the bundles of nerves.

When he deems it safe to, one of his hands moves from your knee and with his lips still on your clit, he begins to push into your entrance.

Your hand flies to his head, pushing him further into you while fisting the strands of hair on his head. You moan at the ceiling and push your hips further into Jungkook.

It feels amazing. He feels amazing.

When he pushes another finger into you the coil in your stomach only grows tighter. You moan out again and then realise that the two of you aren’t alone in this house.

“We’ve got to be quiet. Zac’s upstairs,” your voice is breathy, almost husky.

There’s a mumbled noise against your skin, hopefully in recognition of what you’ve said. And despite your words it’s you that’s the noisiest. You can’t help it, however hard you try Jungkook’s lips around your clit and his fingers inside you make it impossible.

You can feel his lips turn into a smile when you let out a particularly loud noise. You wouldn’t care if it wasn’t for the fact that Jungkook pulls away from you. His fingers still in you, his face looking up at you with a certain smugness.

“How we going to get you to be quiet then?”

As if to prove his point you moan out when his fingers push deeply into you. He chuckles, you frown at him. Hands reaching up, you have to push yourself off the sofa a little to wrap them around his neck to pull him up off the floor and into you.

“Like this,” you say before attaching your lips to his.

This time when you moan out it’s swallowed by Jungkook’s mouth.

He expertly works you both sideways, fingers still in you as he manoeuvres you to lay down on the sofa with him hovering over you.

His hand doesn’t become enough. There’s pleasure there still, but you want more, you want all of him. He didn’t go all the way back to his for a condom for nothing.

Placing a hand on his shoulder you get him to pull away from you. “Where’s the condom?”

It takes a second for him to understand, but then he’s doing a scramble to find it. He finds it between the layers of your dress. As you tear it open, he pushes his boxers down. You try not to be intimidated by his size, because as he rolls down himself that’s all you can think.

He is fucking massive.

Jungkook looks smug when you look back at him, as if he’s seen where you were looking and read what you were thinking. You roll your eyes as you pull him back down to kiss you.

“Just shove it in already,” you mumble against his lips, earning a chuckle from him.

He reaches between your bodies, runs his tip through your folds and pushes just the tip inside you. You moan and arch up into him. It already feels like a lot.

“Sure you can handle it?” He jokes, confirming he knew what you were thinking earlier.

You think he probably has a point. But the desire to prove him wrong, or at least wipe the smug smile off his face, is larger. Wrapping your legs around him, you push him down deeper into you as you push your hips up. He must only move a couple of inches, but it’s enough. This time it’s him, not you, that lets a moan out and you don’t have to encourage him to sink the rest of the way in.

There’s a small pause in movement. Your breaths the only noise in the room. You realise you still have your bra on when you feel Jungkook’s chest move along yours. But then he’s placing his lips against yours and delicately kissing you. Softly and slowly, he begins to move.

It’s not the rough, heavy sex you’d imagined. He doesn’t toss you around, or man handle you. He’s slow as he pulls out and though there’s power behind each thrust in, it’s still not rough. A thought flicks through your mind, it’s more like making love than having sex. The thought there one second and then gone when Jungkook thrusts back into you.

It feels good. His lips still on yours, his thrusts building up that feeling inside you, the small moans he keeps letting out only driving you closer to oblivion.

It doesn’t take long. It’s no surprise. Even if his body didn’t look the way it did, his cock is big enough that he wouldn’t need to have much skill to make anyone feel good. But, as if to make it completely unfair, he knows what he’s doing, knows exactly how fast to go, exactly how deep to push into you, knows where to touch and where to kiss to drive you completely insane.

When you come, you come hard. You become a mess in his arms. He swallows every one of your moans as he thrusts a couple more times and then you feel him twitching in you, his own moans rumbling through his chest.

Still inside you, he rolls you so you can lay side by side. You should go to the loo, should put some clothes on or something. But when Jungkook reaches up to pull a blanket off the back of the sofa over the top of you, you find it hard to even keep your eyes open.

You were hoping Jungkook would be gone before Zac woke up, but when you hear the small feet thundering down the stairs all you can think is how happy you are you both have clothes on.

Zac jumps off the last three steps, a habit you tried to stop early but probably only encouraged him. He runs nearly as far as the kitchen before he realises there’s someone other than you sat on the sofa. He’s too surprised to say anything straight away, his eyes wide as they stare straight at Jungkook.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” You draw his eyes to you. He pauses then with a guilty look nods. “Have you?” You get another less delayed nod. “Come here then.”

He doesn’t move, he knows he’s been caught out. You raise an eyebrow at him and he tries his hardest to hide his smile but fails.

“Go and clean your teeth and I’ll make you breakfast. What do you want?”

His eyes flick to Jungkook before settling back on you. “Why’s Jungkook here?”

Your heart stops before starting at a more rapid pace. “He just slept here last night.”

“You had a sleepover?” He looks hurt as if you purposefully left him out.

“No, well, yes, but it was nothing Zac.” You can feel the way Jungkook tenses next to you, and you know if you were to look at him, he’d be stifling a laugh. “Just go brush your teeth.”

He pauses a second longer, eyes continue to flicking between you but one look at your stern face has him moving back to the stairs.

“And what do you want for breakfast?” You shout after him.

“A ham sandwich, crisps and sausage roll.”

“That’s lunch,” you shout but don’t get a response.

Zac fully out of view now, Jungkook lets out his laugh. When you turn to point your frown at him, you’re met with his face a lot closer than you’d thought. Without much thought he leans in and places his lips against yours. When you stiffen and try to look over your shoulder to double check you really are alone, Jungkook’s hand goes to your head to stop you.

“It’s fine,” he whispers before pressing one last kiss on your lips and drawing away.

You remain stiff even as Jungkook removes himself to a safe distance. It’s just that you’re not used to this. Sure, the morning after stuff is awkward but it’s more that Jungkook looks so relaxed in what should be an incredibly awkward situation.

“You going to go make that ham sandwich?” He smiles at you.

“You going to head off?” You counter.

He raises an eyebrow. “Do I not also get breakfast?”

“Do you want breakfast.”

“Uh, yeah?” He chuckles as if it’s obvious.

You could ask him to leave you guess, but after a moments pause you figure there’s really no reason. Your main worry was Zac seeing him here, but that’s happened now anyway. There really isn’t any reason to force him to leave.

Standing up, you head to the kitchen, Jungkook following in your wake.

“Scrambled eggs on toast?” You ask, already getting the ingredients out, heading to the counter with them.

Jungkook comes up behind you when you’re cracking one of the eggs. His body presses into your back and he leans round to place his head on your shoulder so he can watch what you’re doing. When you twist to ask what he’s doing he only sees it as an opportunity to kiss you.

“Jungkook?” You ask, pulling away.

“What?” He chuckles, staying where he is.

“Zac could walk in any second.”

“I’ll hear him coming down the stairs, it’s fine.”

You’re not as sure and while it’s one thing for Zac to see Jungkook here early, it’s wholly different for him to see him all over you like this. Jungkook seems to get the idea and with a smile and another quick kiss he peels himself off you.

You would never have thought Jungkook the clingy type. But then you wouldn’t have guessed he’d have been so soft with you last night too, so maybe you just have to realise all your assumptions about the man are probably wrong.

Feeling flustered you focus back on your eggs. And when you hear Zac’s feet running down the stairs you realise how unprepared you are for this breakfast.

“Have you washed your hands?” You say over your shoulder.

“What’s Jungkook doing here?”

“I’ve already told you that. Have you washed your hands?”

One glance over your shoulder tells you enough. They’re the words you say before every meal and every time you get the same guilty look. Before you can tell him to go and wash them though, Jungkook’s speaking.

“I haven’t done mine either. Maybe you could show me where the sink is?”

You catch the small nod Zac does before he’s zooming off. Eyes still on the door you miss the fact that Jungkook walks over to you before following Zac and can only freeze when he presses a light kiss to your cheek.

“See, I’ve got this,” he says cockily before disappearing after Zac.

You remain frozen for a few more seconds before realising the eggs are catching and you still need to butter the toast.

Though you’ve managed the whole, looking after a toddler while also doing one hundred other things, it’s not wasted on you how much of a help Jungkook is. He occupies the time it takes for you to get breakfast ready and then helps Zac lay the table for you. He keeps up an easy conversation over the food. And then, when you start to clear up he easily takes Zac out of the way and entertains him for a bit before coming back to help you.

They’re small things, stuff you wouldn’t have even picked up on before Zac was around. But you can’t deny that his easy smiles, coupled with watching him wipe down the table really gets you going. You really are a mum.

“Oh shit,” you moan, body creeping up the bed.

Jungkook only grunts in return, his hands tightening on your hips to stop you from moving away from him. With the way he’s slamming himself into you, it doesn’t help and you continue to move up the bed.

He slows to a stop, leaning down into you so his chest is against you, face above yours and cock fully in you. His hair is slightly damp from all the effort he’s put in. You’d feel slightly bad if it weren’t for the fact he’s been making you feel extremely good and that he looks incredibly hot with damp hair. He also doesn’t seem to be complaining about the fact you’ve just been laying on your back the entire time.

“Mum’s going to be round soon with Zac,” you manage to get the words out just before he presses his lips to yours.

Slipping his tongue into your mouth, he moves his hips in the same slow but deep rhythm. You try to grind your hips up into his, deepening how far he goes into you with every thrust.

“We’ve got time,” Jungkook mutters back, his lips moving from your mouth to press around your face. “I just need you a different way if I’m going to come any time soon.”

“Mhumm?” You moan, eyes closed, head tilted back to let Jungkook have access to your neck. “How’d you want me?”

He hums, teeth nibbling a little bit of skin as his hips push a final time into you. “On your hands and knees.”

He looks up at you, trying to gage your reaction but when you clench around him, he gets the idea. You hum a little when he pulls out and when he’s given you enough space you turn onto your front. Wait patiently, exactly how Jungkook wants you.

His hand runs down the arch of your back, stopping only to feel the globe of your ass. He lets out a satisfied hum before you feel his cock tapping you.

You arch back and up into him and you hear a little satisfied chuckle as his hand moves to your hip. He keeps you where you are as he runs his tip through your folds.

“I’m not going to last long when I get in you,” he warns.

“Neither.”

“Ok,” he breaths, stopping when he’s at your entrance.

His hands tighten on your hips and he lets out a low whine as he pushes into you. He feels so different from this angle, somehow bigger than he felt before. The first few thrusts are slow, you both are getting used to the feel of it. But when you fall onto your elbows, half exhaustion, half because your hands were starting to ache, he hits a particular spot in you that has you moaning into the sheets.

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook asks and you can only let out a gurgled noise in response.

It’s enough. His thrusts grow faster and every time they hit that spot. His balls slap against you, only adding more pleasure. The whole thing is enough to do as you both warned. You come first, hard and out of nowhere. And the feeling of you clamping down is enough to get Jungkook to follow close behind.

Collapsing on your front, Jungkook pulls out of you and gets rid of the condom before lying next to you.

“I should really sort myself out before mum gets here,” you say, though don’t move.

“We’ve got time.”

“Yeah, no offense, but you also need to be gone before she gets here.”

He chuckles, the noise causing a smile to appear on your lips. “I’ll jump the fence if I need to. Stop worrying.”

You roll onto your side and Jungkook flops his head so he can look at you.

“She’ll be able to smell that you’ve been here,” you say and Jungkook grimaces as if weirded out by the comment. “I know. But nothing gets past her.”

Jungkook rolls onto his side. “Well, I can stay and meet her if you want?”

You don’t know why the thought terrifies you so much, but it does. You don’t even know why Jungkook’s offering, but he seems so sincere about it, as if it’s a perfectly normal thing to offer. Surely, it’s too early to be thinking about meeting each other’s parents?

“I can just say you need help putting some shelves up.”

“She’ll make some comment about that being an innuendo,” you roll onto your back.

“Well come on then,” you feel the bed dip and move and when you look back over at Jungkook he’s already standing. “Let me at least help you clean up the evidence.”

There’s a wide smile on his face as he starts to pull on the clothes you all but threw on the floor earlier. He doesn’t look bothered by any of this and while you worried this was only about the sex for him, with all the little things he’s doing, he’s slowly convincing you that maybe it’s not.

“But you better hurry,” he teases when you continue to lay staring at him. “She’s going to be here any minute.”

He does a poor imitation of your voice and when you throw a pillow at him he only chuckles as he catches it. It hits you square in the face when he tosses it back. By the time you’re sat up and moving Jungkook is already out of the room and beginning to tackle the mess you’ve been putting off.

You continue to sleep together whenever you can find the time without Zac being around. But when there isn’t any, Jungkook is still there.

He plays with Zac outside so you can have some peace while you prepare dinner. He washes the dishes up when he occasionally stays for food so you can go and get Zac ready for bed. He buys you bunches of flowers and little boxes of chocolates. He does things around the house, mows the lawn, stops the cupboard squeaking and makes it so the shower doesn’t leak water out of one side.

He seeps into your life in every way and though you’re cautious, you completely let him in.

You convince yourself it’s nothing serious, mainly because you never discuss what the two of you are. But it’s fun and you live in the moment, enjoy the sex as well as the help you’re getting around the house.

However, you look at it though, you know you’re doing what you said you wouldn’t. You’re letting Jungkook in. Not just into your life, but into Zac’s too. Somehow you can’t seem to feel bad about it.

You don’t notice him until you round your car to check that Zac is strapped in. It’s barely 7am, not a time you’re used to seeing Jungkook but the movement at his door has you glancing up. You do a double take as you come to a stop by Zac’s door.

There’s a girl looking like she’s just stepped out of his house, she’s close enough to Jungkook to look like they’re about to embrace or make out or maybe both. He’s stood just in his pants looking down at her, you’re too far away and the girl is blocking your view to work out the expression on his face. Or maybe it’s the cool feel of embarrassment that stops you looking too hard.

Still, you can’t pull your eyes away from the scene. As the girl is talking and Jungkook is listening, neither notice you staring.

It’s not the same girl you’ve noticed at his before, no, this is someone you’ve never seen. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse. What you do know, is how big an idiot you are. Because of course while you were growing to like him, while you were letting him further into your life, he only saw what you had as something else, a bit of fun, a convenience.

It’s your own fault for not talking to him about it. Your own fault for reading into it more than you should have. You’d known who Jungkook was, what he was like, the sort of man he was and yet you’d still been blinded by his words and smiles. You stupidly thought that you were different. One of those stupid girls that thought you’d be the one to change him.

And there he is, after a night with someone else and he doesn’t even care that he’s flaunting it on his front doorstep.

“Mummy, why aren’t you trapping me?”

Zac speaks loudly enough to not just draw your attention but your neighbours too. You catch Jungkook’s eyes dart towards you just before you twist to your son. You don’t correct his wording, you just want to be out of this situation, don’t want your embarrassment to be witnessed by anyone else.

You duck down to Zac’s level and pull the belt over him and his car chair. Satisfied he’s strapped in you stand. Your traitorous eyes can’t help but flick to your neighbour’s door, however hard your brain is screaming not to look.

The girl is a step further away from the door now, her head looking between you and Jungkook. Jungkook’s gaze is firmly on you. It looks like he’s about to open his mouth and shout something at you. That or take off in a run in your direction.

Springing into action, blood coursing through you, you leap into the drivers seat, buckle yourself in and take off in reverse.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you start down the road. Though you know nothing is going to happen there’s thoughts of Jungkook opening your door or banging on your window. None of that happens. When you flick your eyes in the rear-view mirror, he’s not even left his doorstep.

Your heart falls into the bottom of your stomach.

“I know what I saw Rosie.”

“Well talk me through it one more time.”

You sigh, look down at the tea in your hands before flicking your eyes to your son. Zac is still playing with the little girl who approached him fifteen minutes ago and is happily getting bossed around in a game with her. It’s sweet to see the bundle of energy that is your son be so placid sometimes. It’s also great to be at one of your favourite coffee shops, kids play area and all with your best friend moments after the most embarrassing time of your life. Though you don’t want to relive every detail of what happened in the car before coming here, it’s kind of nice to hash it out with Rosie.

“There was a girl, all dressed up as if she’d had to put on the clothes she was out in last night, stood on Jungkook’s doorstep while he stood basically naked saying goodbye.”

Rosie hums, her head bobbing up and down in thought. “Yep. I’ve got to admit I’m struggling to see any good angles.”

“That’s because there are no good angles,” you whine.

“Well, I’m guessing the nearly naked bit was good.”

The glare you shoot at her has her sitting straighter in her chair, her hands almost raising in defence.

“Yep. Agreed. Definitely one of the worst bits. Ok.”

You sigh, eyes flicking once again to Zac.

“And what the hell am I supposed to tell Zac?” It’s the first time you’ve thought about it, because although this is your issues, it’s also going to affect Zac. “I can just ignore Jungkook, but Zac will still ask questions and while I’d dive away from him in public Zac won’t do the same.”

“Right,” Rosie says with the air of a woman with no children, therefore lacking all understanding of your predicament. “Well, my first thoughts in all of this, and please don’t kill me when I say this. But, why don’t you talk to Jungkook first?”

“Why would I do that?” You ask flatly.

“Because you clearly have no idea what you were looking at this morning.”

“What gave you that impression? I’ve very obviously stated just how much I saw.”

“Yes, and while I admit it didn’t look great, neither of us can fully explain it. The only person who can happens to live only a short trip from your house.”

“Not going to happen,” you say, taking a sip of your tea and looking away from her. It does nothing to convince her to change the topic.

“You’re both adults. Maybe what you thought you saw wasn’t exactly what it was,” when you continue to not look convinced, she sighs. “Fine, give him a piece of your mind, walk away from him and avoid him like the plague. But what if you’re building this up to be something it really isn’t?”

“I know Jungkook, and I know what that was.”

“From what you’ve told me about him, I really don’t believe it for a second.”

Your ice-cold glare does nothing, she just levels her gaze right back at you. In the end it’s you who give in first.

“I’m not going around to his only to have what I already know laid out so plainly for me. You don’t understand how mortifying it was this morning.”

Rosie’s eyes turn softer, a glint of pity seeping into them. When she speaks her tone is softer and her body starts to lean in towards you.

“I get it. But I also get the impression that Jungkook would never do that to you or Zac.”

The mention of your son’s name makes your heart pound. You look over at him, he looks so happy sat on the floor piling blocks high with the little girl. It makes your heart hurt to imagine him asking after Jungkook and you having to tell him that he can’t see him anymore. The laughs and giggles that always came out of him when Jungkook is around. The manly figure in his life gone like that. This is why you didn’t want to get close to him. This is why you didn’t want anything to happen. Because although you’re hurting right now, you know it’ll feel nothing in comparison to breaking it to your son.

“Will you just think about it at least?” Rosie asks, dragging your eyes back to her.

You sigh and then nod. “I’ll think about it.”

You think about it all of two seconds and know you will never be knocking on Jungkook’s door, nor will you be hanging around outside long enough for him to catch you. No, you will be doing exactly as Rosie suggested and avoiding him like the plague.

This is why you never wanted to get involved with him. Because you knew what would happen in the end, you knew what type of man he was. And why you may have accepted that in the past, gone with the man for a bit of fun. Now, things have changed, it’s not just you that you have to think about.

You spend the time alone thinking it through. The more time you have, the more certain you are. Jungkook was a mistake. But now you know that you can move on as best you can. He doesn’t want you, that’s fine, you can accept that and do your best to pick up whatever pieces of Zac that break.

Surprisingly, for nearly a week, it works.

Unsurprisingly, when there’s an unexpected knock at your door Saturday evening when Zac is in bed, it’s Jungkook.

You know it’s going to be him before you open the door, or at least have a strong feeling it is. Your face is already set in a grimace, so luckily it’s not a delivery man or an unsuspecting stranger. You open the door enough for Jungkook to see you, but only enough that your body is blocking any view inside.

“Hey.”

You raise an eyebrow at the word. Has he really come here after a week and the first word he says is hey? You can almost see the cold sweat breaking out across his forehead, but to his credit Jungkook remains calm.

“So, I was thinking it’s been a while since we last saw each other and I was wondering how you are?”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

You have half a mind to slam the door in his face and as if reading that thought Jungkook sticks a hand out and props it on the door. He doesn’t push it open, he doesn’t apply any pressure, he just rests it there so he can stop you closing him out.

“Can I come in so we can talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about?”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Given this reaction, there is clearly lots to talk about Y/N.”

“And if I don’t want to talk?”

He closes his eyes. You’re not sure if he’s praying or taking a second to calm himself down. Either way, when he opens them and looks at you, they seem darker, more intense, like he has more purpose now.

“Right, if you want to do it here, let’s do it here,” he says and doesn’t give you time to interrupt. “I know you saw me last week with Clare. I know what it looked like and I know what you thought. Maybe I’ve been utterly shit in not coming sooner but I wanted to give you space to figure things out on your own; I realise now that was a mistake.”

You’re so thrown by the last comment you don’t speak in the small pause. Should you be offended? Jungkook carries on, as if satisfied you’re listening to him.

“Clare is an ex of sorts, and she came over early, before I had chance to get dressed, and that’s what you saw. Nothing else. Nothing more.”

You don’t know how to feel. You don’t know whether to believe him. Because although he sounds like he’s telling the truth, he also sounds like he really wants you to believe him and for whatever reason you’re not sure why he’d cared so much about what you think.

“You always answer the door in your pants?”

It’s clearly not the words he was hoping for, but he still gives you an answer. “When I’ve just woken up, yes.”

“And she didn’t stay the night?”

The question, although spoken with a little less bite, a little less certainty, seems to be more what Jungkook was expecting. Though you’ve given him little reason to relax, his shoulders look less tense, his weight leans forwards so the door creaks open a touch. You try to hold your ground as your traitorous heart pounds in your chest.

“No one has stayed the night since I’ve been with you.”

Your eyes flick around his face trying to read the truth there. You can’t spot the lie, though you still don’t fully believe it.

“She didn’t even come inside,” he carries on. “In fact, she was at my door all of ten minutes before she left. If you hadn’t driven off, you would have seen that.”

“Ok.”

“Ok?” He frowns. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Yes. You’ve explained, so, ok.”

Jungkook remains, frown between his eyes, hand still on your door. And you stare right back at him, feet planted, door not swinging open.

“I don’t understand,” he admits, voice soft.

“Right, because you expected me to jump back into your arms?” The silence tells you the answer you already knew. This man’s ego is way too big. “I guess I just realised who you are and why we don’t work together. What happened between us was a mistake and I’m sorry if you’ve been pushing girls aside for whatever reason, but you don’t have to anymore.”

Jungkook continues to look confused. It only makes you drive the message home a little stronger.

“We were never going to work. You’re you and I’m me and while we had fun, that’s all it was ever going to be. I guess I just remembered who you are and why I can’t afford to have you around me and Zac.”

Jungkook’s hand slips from the door and the look of hurt on his face almost makes you regret the words. But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not sure what he was coming here to say, that he wanted to carry on sleeping with you for a bit longer? That you were convenient living next door and he didn’t want to give that up just yet? Aren’t the words you just said what he would have been telling you weeks down the line when you and your son were no doubt in too deep?

No. It was better you told him how it was now. It was better you ripped off the plaster. It was better you ended this now before Jungkook broke your heart. Because although you’re hurting now, although you want to drag him inside and let his explanation be enough, you know that it’ll only be worse later.

Jungkook’s hand now free from your door you see your chance.

“I’ll still see you around though,” the words feel bitter as they leave your lips and your tone lacks any conviction. “I’m still happy to lend you sugar like any other neighbour.”

Jungkook doesn’t speak, his eyes focused on something in the near distance, he looks like he’s trying to solve a puzzle or an over complex maths equation.

You swallow as his eyes finally move to yours. The frown is still there but they look dark and not in the same way they did earlier. No, the look in them now makes your stomach coil. He looks like he’s figured something out. You can’t tell if that’s a good or a bad thing.

You don’t give yourself long enough to figure it out. You need to be out of this situation. You need Jungkook off your doorstep. You need to make sure he doesn’t say anything to change you’re easily swayed mind.

“I’ll see you around,” you squeak and then you slam the door closed in his face.

You lean into the door as your chest rises and falls. You did it, though you doubted yourself, you told him what you’d been thinking the last week, that although you didn’t really want him out of your life, it was better he was out of it.

You don’t hear his footsteps. You don’t see his shadow move away from your door. You remain leaning on your door for a minute after closing it but you’re unaware of Jungkook leaving either. Heart in your throat, you twist and walk away, hoping that’s the last you hear from the man but knowing it won’t be.

It starts with flowers. A big bloom that gets delivered first thing in the morning. They get shoved in your hands and the woman is walking away before you can tell them they must have got the wrong address. Your names on the card though, and when you prize it open you know who they’re from even though it’s got no signature.

You never let me finish. Let me take you out for dinner?

You bite the inside of your cheek, send a glare at your neighbour’s brick wall.

You still put them in water. You still cut their stems and arrange them and then place the large vase on your countertop. It would be a waste to throw them away. But you don’t attempt to reply to the question on the card. That, you throw away.

It takes Jungkook a few hours to text you, chasing for an answer.

Jungkook: Did you get my flowers?

Y/N: They’re yours? I thought they must have come to the wrong house.

Jungkook: Is that why you put them in that pretty vase and up on display? What did you think about the note that came with it?

Y/N: It’s in the bin where it belongs.

Jungkook: Let me take you out for dinner.

Y/N: I’m busy.

Jungkook: I never even gave you a date or time.

Y/N: I struggle getting a babysitter for Zac as it is.

Jungkook: Then let me cook for you. He can sleep while we talk.

Y/N: I really am busy Jungkook.

Jungkook: Think about it. I just want to talk.

Sure, you think, I’ll think about it. The same length of time you thought about whether you’d go and talk to him before. All of two seconds.

No, you’re not going to have dinner with him. You don’t particularly want to talk to him ever again.

Maybe it’s childish given he’s your neighbour. What he did wasn’t awful, it’s more that you know if you give him even an inch then he’ll take a mile and you’ll just let him back in. You liked having him around, you liked the help, you liked being able to talk to someone your age, you liked someone looking after you. But it’s not just about you.

You’re bound to see him around and that doesn’t mean you won’t give him a neighbourly hello and nod. That will be it. No opening up about your life. No asking to babysit. No late night drinks. No kissing on the sofa. No anything more.

You can’t even think about it. You may be pretending to be hard and over it, but Jungkook had successfully wormed his way into your life and if it wasn’t for Zac, you’d more than happily curl up in your bed and mope for a few days.

You’ve successfully been played. And it feels shit.

“Mummy,” you look over at Zac. “You’ve been sat of that sofa forever.”

He never fails to put a smile on your face. And just like you were thinking before, he successfully gets you out of your slump. You could sulk all you want in private, but with Zac around you have to set an example.

You don’t go to Jungkook’s for dinner, instead make some half-arsed excuse as to why you can’t go. He must know you’re still pushing him away and at least this time he lets you. You get a simple reply to your text rejecting his invitation. No offers to rearranged. No accusations or callouts for your excuse. No attempt to carry on the conversation. Just an understanding message.

You’re not sure why but you feel a little disappointed. Even though it’s what you were hoping for.

It doesn’t take long for the next attack to come. This time it’s not flowers or offers of dinners but is instead small acts of kindness. Your lawn mowed without having to ask. Your bins emptied and cleaned. Your car cleaned. All things Jungkook’s done in the past and if you didn’t know him you’d find slightly creepy, but instead find endearing.

You hate that you feel that way.

His texts don’t start immediately. But when they start, they come in steady streams. There’s no pressure in any of them and while you hardly reply to any of them, they’re still said in the same tone, sweet and light. They all say pretty much the same thing, that he wants to meet to talk. But you’re not ready and you don’t want to. No matter what he says it won’t change who he is and it won’t change the fact that you’ll like slip again and you can’t afford to be with someone like that.

You see him in passing, him leaving while you’re arriving home. Again, he never pressures you into talking but always smile and waves at you.

You start to feel a little awkward. You know what he’s doing, guilt tripping you into giving in; you just don’t understand why he’s doing it. Surely he should have given up by now, surely if you’re just someone to sleep with this isn’t worth it.

You’re sat on your front garden watching Zac cycle around when you hear his front door open. You don’t look his way, but you tense with expectation. Zac hasn’t noticed Jungkook yet, he’s still happily going in the circle you’d allowed him to, from pavement pausing to checking the silent road for a car, crossing to the other side and going around. He’s babbling about something, shouting about being chased by a dinosaur as he whizzes around.

There are three footsteps before they go silent. And you prepare for whatever he’s about to say.

It’s been close to two weeks now and while he’s been doing small but thoughtful gestures, you have successfully put off talking to him. You’ve passed him in the street a couple of time, but every time have managed with a nod and a hello, the greeting you’d wished was normal for the two of you.

He doesn’t say anything this time though, just stands wherever it is he’s stopped. You fight the urge to look at him, foot tapping on the floor as you fight to keep your eyes on Zac.

Your restrain is only so strong. When you look over your shoulder he’s already staring right at you.

Your heart stutters. Your foot stops it’s tapping. He doesn’t look angry or sad, in fact there’s a small smile on his lips. His attire is much the same as you always see, an oversize shirt with sleeves that go to his elbow, letting you see his arm full of tattoos and skinny black jeans. He’s stood on his side of the drive; you can’t even accuse him of trespassing. The only thing you could possibly tell him is that he’s being creepy. But even that would be a lie.

“Hey,” his smile widens now you’re looking at him.

You don’t reply, can barely manage a smile. Every time before now you’ve been on your way in or out. You had an excuse for a quick escape. Now, sat on your front garden, you feel trapped.

“You alright?”

And yet, Jungkook still isn’t pushing you. However big a dick he’s been or might be, he’s never forced you to speak to him. Maybe you’re the one being a bigger dick. Maybe speaking to him won’t be as bad as you think. Maybe you’ll actually like whatever it is he wants to tell you.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, Zac beats you to it.

“Jungkook!”

You wince at the name screamed across the street. It’s not the volume that causes your reaction but the pure joy in which the name is said.

You’re still focused on Jungkook’s face, trying to conceal your reaction as he looks over at Zac with a wider smile when you hear it.

A crash. Metal scraping along tarmac. Silence for a second and then a scream, the noise so much louder than the name he shouted mere seconds ago.

Eyes wide, heart pounding, your head whips away from Jungkook in the direction of the noise. Zac must have turned too soon, distracted by the sight of Jungkook he’d lost control of his bike and left the pavement too soon, only to crash and fall off the curb.

You shoot to your feet, your focus solely on your crying son who has a bike now on top of him and is calling out for you. Time seems to slow. Your feet don’t move fast enough. Zac is too far away. And even though you run faster than you ever have, you still don’t make it before Jungkook. He’s pulling the bike off your son, trying to sooth him when you get there.

You swallow the tightness in your throat, the fear creeping up your chest, as you look at your scraped up son.

“Mummy,” he wails, eyes landing on you, tears streaming down his face as blood oozes in the cuts on his palms and knees.

You reach out for him, but again, Jungkook is too fast. He lifts Zac into his arms as if he weighs nothing and then he's ever so carefully handing him over.

“It’s ok, baby,” you hold him to your chest, hand soothing his head. “You’re ok. It’s just a little cut.”

But it’s more than that. It’s the shock of the accident, it’s more than a little cut and for you, it’s the fear that it could have been a lot worse. What if a car was coming down the road when it happened? What if he’d landed differently? What if he’d hit his head? You shouldn’t have been so focused on Jungkook. You shouldn’t have let Zac cycle around all on his own, he’s still so young. You should have –

“Come on,” a warm, steady hand squeezes your shoulder. “Let’s get you two inside and cleaned up.”

You look at Jungkook, your own tears welling in your eyes. As if sensing your rising panic, Jungkook’s expression changes and the hand on your shoulder moves to your lower back. He adds a small amount of pressure and is steering you in the direction of your house.

You let him guide you. Your feet, your body, everything but Zac in your arms and Jungkook’s hand on your back cease to exist. Mind racing about what you need to do you don’t realise Jungkook’s led you into your living room until his hand leaves your back. Eyes snapping to his already retreating body, he says nothing.

Panic still rooted in you; it takes you a second to react.

You need to calm Zac down. You need to clean his wounds. You need wipes, plasters and a blanket and hot bottle of milk. You need to –

“You need to calm down,” Jungkook says lightly as he comes back. “You can’t help anyone in this state.”

Hand back on your shoulder he guides you once again, this time until the back of your knees hit the sofa and then you’re sat. You look over Zac’s shoulder to see Jungkook kneeling before you, supplies in his arms. He has a hard look on his face, one that tells you to pull yourself together. You give him a small nod as you twist Zac around to face Jungkook, his arms tighten around your neck and your heart breaks a little.

“We’re ok, aren’t we Zac?” Jungkook says lightly. “Let’s have a look at that cut.”

You swallow as you watch Jungkook’s hand and eyes go to Zac’s cut knee. He waits a second and then lets out a loud, exaggerated gasp. Zac’s head pulls out of the crook in your neck to look at Jungkook and his wide eyes. Tears are still falling down his face, but the reaction has stopped the sobs.

“Oh Zac,” Jungkook says in another dramatic tone. You know he’s joking, you just worry that Zac doesn’t know that and Jungkook’s going to do the opposite of what he’s hoping. “I think you might survive. You know why?”

Zac’s little head shakes and you can only watch as Jungkook completely takes control of the situation.

“Because you’re being so brave. I mean look at you, I don’t know anyone braver,” Jungkook’s eyes dart up to you, a small smile now playing on his face at whatever look he’s seen on your face. “Don’t you agree, mummy?”

It takes you a second, mind scrambled, but you squeeze your hands on Zac’s shoulders. “So brave.”

“See,” Jungkook says. “Now, shall we have a look at cleaning you up? You have to be extra brave for me though, and if you promise me you will, then maybe after we can have some chocolate ice cream.”

Zac head nods and Jungkook smiles widely at him. You watch as Jungkook mutters how amazing your son is being while he cleans him up, he even makes him giggle at one point.

You stroke your hand over his head and try not to let your mind spiral. Jungkook is being so good and while you have no doubt that he would never let anything that may be happening between you get between him and Zac, it’s something wholly different to see. You’re not sure what you would have done had he not been there. And while you could pin some of the blame on him, not a single part of you wants to.

You’ve treated him like crap. Ignored him when all he wanted to do was talk. And yet he’s still here, acting as if everything is ok. That doesn’t seem like something the guy you’ve been imagining in your head would do. You’ve been way too harsh.

When Zac’s all cleaned up, you do as promised. While you help him change into cleaner, less cut, clothes, Jungkook finds him some ice cream. By the time he’s all tucked up watching Moana, there’s a bit more life in his face.

You don’t say anything as you leave him to it and head to the kitchen, and you don’t say anything when Jungkook follows you. Silently you flick the kettle and pull two mugs towards you.

“Can we talk?”

It’s what he’s been asking for days, in that same unexpecting tone. You’re in no doubt that if you said you didn’t want to talk, however hard Jungkook may find that, he’d still respect your wishes.

You make him wait a little longer now. Put a tea bag in each mug before pouring the just boiled water over them. When you twist Jungkook’s leaning against your counter, the portrait of indifference, though his eyes tell a different story as they bore into you.

“What do you want to say Jungkook?” You still have to force the words out.

He seems to relax while tense all at the same time. He takes a step towards you and looks as if he’d take another before thinking better and stopping. It’s as if now, finally given the chance, he’s not quite sure what to say. Or maybe he just doesn’t know where to start.

“I’ve already been through the whole what you saw wasn’t what it looked like thing. But you never let me carry on,” he pauses, as if expecting you to stop him again now. When you don’t, he carries on. “The reason I wanted to clear things up is because I don’t want you thinking of me that way or thinking that I was for some reason using you or Zac. I really like you Y/N. It wasn’t just a fling for me, I thought you got that?”

Clearly you didn’t. You’d hoped, sure, but the minute there was even the smallest of hints to say any different, you’d jumped on it. Jungkook seems to read that even though you don’t say anything.

“Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

You shrug feeling awkward, but Jungkook waits for you to say it verbally. “Well, because I’m me and I have a son and a really messy life.”

Jungkook’s lips twitches at the edges. “You know I love Zac too, right?”

“Playing in the street is something wholly different to going out with his mum.”

“You make it sound like I’m a kid too,” he laughs. “But of course I get that.”

“He’s not always happy and playful.”

“I think we just established that.”

“Yeah, but he’s hard work and needy and rowdy.”

“Where’s the downside here?”

“Jungkook,” you warn but he just laughs and takes another step towards you, now close enough to grasp your hands and lift them between your bodies.

“I honestly get it. You two are a package deal. That doesn’t put me off.”

You struggle, look at your hands laced together. You don’t pull away from him, but you also don’t fall into his arms. Something is still hold you back.

“What is it?” Jungkook encourages.

You take a breath and then look up into his eyes. “What if you don’t always feel that way? What if one day you decide it is too hard and isn’t worth it and just leave?”

He detangles one of his hands with yours so he can reach up to cup your cheek. His eyes look so soft now, though his features look hard and set with whatever thoughts he’s thinking.

“I would never just leave you two,” he says, thumb moving over your jaw. “Listen, I can’t promise anything about the future, maybe we won’t work and if we don’t I wouldn’t just up and leave you and Zac – I live next door, I wouldn’t be able to get very far,” he tries to lighten the mood and when you let out a small laugh, he looks happy that he succeeded. “But what if we did work? What if this is it? What if we’re meant to be together? Won’t you at least give it a try?”

You can see the hope swimming in his eyes, can see the desire and the truth behind every word he’s spoken. He really means it. He wants to be with you and he doesn’t care that you’re a single mum with an over enthusiastic child, that hasn’t put him off.

And you know he’s right. You’re pushing him away on what if’s and though you may not work out, should that be enough to stop you from having happiness in the here and now?

Jungkook patiently waits the few seconds for you to mull it over, but really you’ve been a sucker all along. You wouldn’t have been able to deny him for much longer, no matter what happened.

“Ok,” you finally say and watch as Jungkook’s whole face lights up.

“Ok?” He repeats, unbelieving.

You giggle and before you can confirm it a second time his lips are on you. Hard and heavy and a whole lot of teeth, it’s not the sexiest kiss you’ve ever had but it’s definitely in your top five, even given the fact it only lasts a second.

Jungkook stays close, his hand still on your jaw, his nose nearly brushing yours, a wide toothy grin on his lips.

“Can I take you out for that meal now then?”

You can’t supress your smile even as you roll your eyes. “I’ll look for a babysitter.”

“No,” he stops you. “I want Zac to come too.”

Your heart stutters, breath caught in your chest. It’s the three of you now and Jungkook already knows how important that is to you.

You lean in to kiss him again before mumbling against his lips. “Ok.”

#btswritingcafe #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #Jungkook oneshot #jungkook fic

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leclsrc · 1 year

Text

see it through ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, fake dating au, fluff!, humor, slight angst, slow burn-ish, yearning

word count: 9k

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.” Or: you go from social media manager to girlfriend in under a day. Keeping up appearances for Charles’ family isn’t easy, until it is – and until they’re not really appearances anymore.

notes... internet translated italian ahaha

auds here... this fic is quite long! i hope you all like it. title from this bee gees song which reappears in the fic later. few music references here so if you like to listen to music, just look for the titles, they’re famous!

You’d gotten the phone call on a Saturday morning.

Barely morning, you realized when you were digging for your phone in the sheets, half-asleep—it’d been five minutes past noon. You’d swiped, pressed the phone to your ear, and waited for the other end to speak, eyes shut.

“Good morning,” a vague voice had said on the other said, distinctly American. “This is Jenna Griffin, newly appointed PR specialist for Ferrari. Your boss told me you were free for lunch on Monday, so can I pencil you in for a one-thirty meeting?”

You click your tongue. “Um, yeah.”

“Wonderful. Monday, one-thirty. Apologies for the weekend call, it’s for Mr. Leclerc.” The line buzzes dead after, and you flop backwards onto your bed, confused out of your mind.

Your job for Ferrari was simple—create social media content, do the occasional damage control, have a pre-interview discussion with journalists, and generally stay out of everyone’s hair. It’s not a high-maintenance job, but it pays well, and you get to travel; plus, you’re young, and you figure this is just a stepping stone for a more legitimate post. Your point is, you’ve never gotten into trouble before, and are only at meetings to take minutes or get assignments.

Which is why a Monday lunch meeting—on your vacation, nonetheless—seems so out of the ordinary. And arranged by a PR agent from Ferrari? Last you’d heard, cars were objects and didn’t need publicity. The whole affair gives off a vibe of semi-mystery, almost, like you’re in the MI6 and taking lucrative calls in alleyways.

You feel through your bag for your hotel key card, wallet, and phone, and finding them all there, you leave and make your way to the restaurant. You’re not too nervous; you’ve had to have your own sit-down talks with higher-ups and even Charles or Carlos before, but none of the “you’re fired” variety.

The restaurant isn’t far from where you’re staying, so you shove sunnies on and trek there, managing to make it inside unscathed.

Table 17, the text reads, and you’re quickly ushered into a private section of the place. It’s empty, save for a couple and a far-off table seating one guy, whose back is to you. You realize it’s Charles when you squint your eyes harder. The waitress doesn’t give you much of a choice and seats you across him, promising to return with noontime champagne.

You slide your sunglasses onto your hair and look up. “Hi,” you say politely.

“Hey,” Charles says back casually. He wears a Richard Mille and a few other bracelets, a linen blue polo, and jeans.

“New PR thing?”

Charles smiles, shrugging. “Man, I’ve no idea. Wake up on Saturday and I’m due for a meeting. Is this for social media?”

Huh, so he doesn’t know either. “I don’t know. It was a super random call for me, too.”

He shrugs. “Both clueless.”

“Right. So, to be clear, we’re waiting for—”

“I am so sorry I’m late,” a woman says sheepishly, her heels clicking along the tiled floor. She definitely looks the part for a PR officer: pantsuit, heels, a blond bob, ridiculously expensive handbag, eccentric sunglasses. “Scusami, really.” Her Italian apology has an American twang.

“All okay,” says Charles with a small smile. “We were barely waiting, no?”

You nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

She slides into the seat beside him and waves a waiter over, ordering in quickfire English; clearly, she’s been here before. Absently, you wonder if her previous affairs in this restaurant were also to have clandestine meetings. Your reverie doesn’t last long, though, because immediately Jenna’s starting her agenda. “So, are introductions in order?”

“I, um,” you say, “I’d say so, yes.”

“Alright, spectacular. I’m Jenna Griffin, just moved to Monte Carlo after living and working in SoCal. I’ve been appointed as a PR manager for Charles here, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands. I’ve handled three Kardashians, two NBA players, two One Direction members, and a lot of nepo babies.”

“Wow,” you say, nodding.

“Cool.” Charles says, clearly impressed.

Jenna’s gaze flits between the two of you, both smiling at each other. “Right,” she says. “Let’s get down to business.” She clears her throat and pulls out her phone from her handbag, scrolling for a few moments. While the silence settles, you steal another glance at Charles, and hide a chuckle when you find his eyes already glancing back at you.

“Aren’t we waiting for Carlos?” He asks, taking a sip of water.

His PR agent looks up briefly, then answers. “Actually, it’s just you two today.”

You nod slowly, burrowing even further into the confusion you’d been feeling since Saturday. It wasn’t like you were expecting Carlos, per se, but a meeting with just you and him—now, that’s a bit strange.

“So, I know this is all very confusing. But it’s happening for a reason,” says Jenna. “Charles—and I really only feel qualified to say this because I’ve done my research—has been on a streak of…erm, well, lady-related scandals lately.”

“Oh, God,” Charles groans across you, and you chew your lip. You’ve seen the headlines, but you’re still clueless as to how this concerns you.

“As a PR agent, I think it won’t do good for his public image to be seen as somebody who sleeps around.”

“It was two headlines,” Charles cuts in with a laugh. “And they were both fake. Please don’t misunderstand.”

Jenna clicks her tongue. “Yeah, the public definitely has some thoughts.” She turns to her phone and reads off of it. “‘Charles is a playboy and not a driver’, ‘Leclerc is too busy pulling girls’… times ten thousand. So, yeah, it’s a bit of a smear.”

“Right, okay. Listen, I’m not sure I understand,” you say with a stuffy laugh. “What has all this got to do with me?”

“Everything,” she answers with a smile. You raise a brow. “Well, you see, we PR managers always have a network. We keep tabs on who’s who, and who needs what. As a new manager, I need to implement some of my strategies around here. Go digging, you know? Find something good. And when I found your pretty little face in the background of many of Charles’ paddock photos, I realized you could help create something newsworthy.”

“Are you talking about a PR stunt?” You ask, your frown deepening.

“Well—virtually, essentially, yes.” She opens her mouth to explain but is interrupted by the serving of champagne and appetizers. “Okay. Don’t think this is a haphazard decision. Naturally, we had to find out if this would even be a good idea…”

“Which it’s not,” you say, taking a swig of champagne.

She nods. “The thing is, your bosses and I really did go over several scenarios, and this one seems the most likely to keep your fans engaged. This way, the appearances won’t look so staged.”

“—Jenna,” Charles says, clearly having detected your hesitance, “I don’t think she’s interested.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but you still sound off-put. It’s not fine, not really. “I don’t see how this is going to help Charles, though. I’d think the idea of him being committed to somebody would just further alienate his fangirls.”

Jenna chuckles. “While that is, to some extent, true, the number of fans who would go gaga over the two of you far, far outweighs the opposing population. This is a special case. A girl next door social media manager with a social media presence—and a wildly popular, totally charming Formula One driver? I mean, talk about Harry and Meghan! Everybody loves love. And, might I add, Charles’ male fans might actually like seeing you two together.”

You sigh, a quick huff of frustrated air. “So, what is this then?”

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.”

You reach for champagne, but find you’ve totally drained your glass. The room falls into muted silence, and you can’t bring yourself to look at Charles. You didn’t expect this on a Monday afternoon. You thought maybe it was a job termination. Or a leaked text message. Somehow, this is the strangest of all possibilities.

“So, good?” She chirps. “I’ll send you the primer.”

You both stare at each other. “We’re not actually going to. Right?”

“Right. We are not dating.”

—

“We’re dating!” You chirp, practicing your appearances in front of Carlos and Lando, who had visited the former.

“You two look like two people dating pretending to be friends,” Lando observes.

You grumble. Many of your shots had been staged pap photos outside his apartment, or fans happening to catch you two together; no official statement had been released, according to Jenna’s “masterplan.” For the most part, it was a good dynamic of putting up a façade for the public and settling back into a platonic relationship within minutes.

Nothing really goes wrong at first—and then Charles ruins it.

It happens after a Ferrari event in spring. You’re in Monza again, weather humid when you re-shoot the fifth TikTok for the day with Carlos. There are celebrities to and fro, even more journalists and a shitload of fans crowding the perimeter of the area. You’ve successfully pulled off the fake dating stunt, keeping a lowkey profile and doing your job.

There’s a green room for the drivers and close managers to wait and rest, where you stow yourself away to avoid the crowds. You review the reels and stories for the day, and cap it off with a “goodbye, Tifosi!” post with Carlos that’s enough to quell the many notifications.

Granted, many of the said notifications are of the speculative nature. Some are wondering if it’s you posting or if a new hire was underway to make room for the new couple. You ignore them anyway and take a seat on the couch across Carlos, sighing with exhaustion.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He teases.

“Ha-ha,” you say, unimpressed. You gesture to the TV behind him, showing a live feed of Charles’ last interview of the day with Natalie Pinkham. Once this is over, you’re free for the week: free of social media manager and fake girlfriend responsibilities. The thought alone makes you well up with relief.

You and Carlos both watch intently as Charles answers several event-related questions that, to your horror, simmer into personal ones. Natalie sounds excited when she goes, “Any plans for the week with a special someone?”

Charles has no thought behind his eyes, a muted wave of panic coming over him as he fumbles for a response. “My family’s staying up in Tuscany, in a farmhouse we own, stay in for spring and summer. We are actually visiting them for the week.”

We are actually visiting them for the week. Your look of pure, unadulterated shock doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos, who’s quick to snap pictures of you on his phone. What the hell is Charles talking about? Tuscany? No, family?

“I take it you didn’t know about this,” Carlos says with a laugh.

“You think?!” You holler, still appalled. Charles has a lot of gall to spin this without your permission, or Jenna’s for that matter. You know she’ll love it, though; it’s really, mainly, you who has a problem with it. Anxious, you get up and watch the broadcast end; not a minute later, Charles enters and offers a can of sparkling water to you.

“Thirsty?” He asks casually.

“Very,” you pipe, taking a gulp.

“You’re welcome,” he says teasingly.

“Oh, thanks! I think I’ve been busy thinking about the fact that I’m meeting your family!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yells, trying to match your agitated volume. “I didn’t know you were watchi—I was nervous! I didn’t know what to say anymore! And—you kno—well—and Natalie kept asking a ton of questions!”

Your face of disbelief matches his of sheepish apology, facing each other frozen. Across you, Carlos lets out an incredulous laugh, mumbles something about wanting popcorn. You honestly can’t blame him. Had you been an outsider, you would’ve relished in Charles’ slip-up, too. Instead, you’re the one who’s apparently going to Tuscany on Friday to meet the extended Leclerc clan.

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be”—you attempt to find an appropriate adjective—“bearable. At least we don’t need to keep up appearances there.”

You’re met with disagreeable silence. When Charles doesn’t chime in with an agreement, you turn slowly back to him. “No.”

“It’s only for a week—”

“No!”

“A week!”

You’re both standing up, pacing around the other frantically. Pretending to suddenly be bumped up from social media manager to Charles’ girlfriend was a daunting enough proposition. Getting hate mail and death threats was enough incentive to let you want to leave. Timing exits and entrances was difficult. And now, pretending to be together in front of his family? His family.

“Why can’t you just tell them we’re not actually dating?!”

“It’s just—it’s complicated having to explain why.” You remember his assortment of man-whore scandals and realization sinks into you. You sit on the arm of the couch, deflated and contemplative. Despite your own knowledge of the scandals being totally baseless and false, you understand it’s difficult to explain the lengths of tabloids and online rumors to older family members.

You might have to grin and bear it.

“Fine.” You digress. He cheers silently. “One week. Once our quickie breakup is finalized, you’re telling them it ended well. I don’t want to be in anybody’s bad graces.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Tuscany won’t be so bad, you think. What’s the worst that could happen?

—

Charles’ extended family greets you at their farmhouse when you arrive heaving two pieces of luggage. It’s populated by two aunts, three uncles, and two younger cousins, and their hospitality is contagious. They all somehow remind you of Charles, their faces, their laughs, their easy attitudes.

His aunts, Mia and Giulia, are the first to pull you in for a hug and inspect your face. Good eyebrows! Good lips! Healthy attractive child for you both!

You have to pry yourself off of them with giggles and smiles and pretend the kid comment was never uttered for your own sake. They’re kind, ushering you inside and serving dinner immediately, inquiring about the drive and if it was bad, if Charles had spotted any dead sheep or cattle on the way (none.)

His cousins are both little boys, eleven and six, shy and with thick accents. Charles’ smile is huge when he speaks to them in Italian, eyes comical and animated. His three uncles all eat fairly quietly, talking about politics, or racing, only when they feel like it.

They ask many questions, and tell so many stories, over limoncello and rigatoni that leave you stuffed after two platefuls. You didn’t think you’d be satisfied so soon after the drive, but you’re grateful for it. His uncle Giorgio leads the tour of the house, his voice slow and constantly sliding into Italian, but Charles is quick to supply a translation into your ear. Lit by terrace lights, you get a night view of the house, surrounded by the hills, the lemon trees, and a swimming pool in the back. Further back, there are two horses for riding, and bicycles for easier transportation.

A vineyard borders the other side of the hill, owned by a different family. You can’t digest the beauty of this place, even without the sun to provide a better view. You’re back inside, being shown the rest of the wide dining room and kitchen that lead out onto a balcony-terrace area, and then clambering the stairs to be shown your room—a beautiful one on the second floor that overlooks the hills.

“This is so beautiful,” you say honestly. “Thank you so much. And Charles will be staying…?”

“In my childhood bedroom!” He quips excitedly, already halfway out the door to review his living situation.

Giulia and Mia share a look and then the former goes, “Wait, Charles!”

He slows to a halt and turns, awaiting their words. “Ay. Bambino, because you have been in Monaco so long these days, and we have gotten a lot of stuff, your childhood bedroom is now more of a… storage room.”

“A storage room?!” He sounds scandalized.

“Bambino, mi dispiace,” she continues. “But—let’s not be conservative! You two have been dating now for a year, correct? Surely, you’ve slept in one bed.”

Your face grows warm. “Um, actu—”

“Shh,” Mia says kindly. “No need to make excuses. Charles, stay with your girlfriend. And we will wake you both for breakfast. Ciao!”

You barely voice your assent, managing to wedge in a thank you! before the door closes and leaves you and Charles alone.

In a room without a single couch. The only non-bed “resting” space is a single chair, and as much as you want to, you don’t want Charles to break his spine trying to sleep on it. The situation is clear. You need to configure the bed.

“We cannot sleep on the same bed.”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“No! I mean—ugh. I don’t want to risk you pulling a muscle. Also, more importantly, if any of your family walks in and sees you sleeping on the floor, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”

“The bed is big enough for us both,” he says, gesticulating. You narrow your eyes. If you’re going to be avoiding physical contact, it definitely isn’t. It’s like the gods had decided to bless the room with a bed perfect for two people snuggling.

You place your hands on your hips, analyzing the best way to tackle the situation. You won’t lie, you’d thought about the possibility of sharing a room—but a bed was completely different. You’d expected a couch, a loveseat of some kind, both of which are woefully missing. Thinking fast, you take the three decorative, cylindrical pillows and place them vertically on the centre of the bed.

You step back. “Okay. That’s our boundary.”

Each side is a bit small, but it’s the price to pay, you think, taking a long look at your handiwork. Beside you, Charles snorts. “That is not going to work.”

“I’ll bet you it will,” you say matter-of-factly, retreating to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When you emerge, Charles is fast asleep, half his body on your side of the boundary. You have to pour water on his face to shoo him away, and that’s when you’re positive your creation will work.

You place yourself gingerly on your side of the border, remaining perfectly still as you drift off to sleep. You wake up the next day on Charles’ chest, pushing him away before admitting you’d been in that position in the first place.

You slide him five euros over breakfast.

—

Charles is a good driver, skier, and biker—you can attest to this from being by his side, reviewing pictures and videos of him for a living.

But there’s one thing he absolutely sucks at, and it’s teaching. You thought you’d never have to attest to this, but here you are, with scraped knees and a smudge of soil on the hem of your shorts, on your sixth attempt to learn how to ride a bike.

It’d been his idea, like many of the odd things you’d gotten yourself into. “Let me make up for dragging you along,” he’d said, and then proceeded to commit attempted murder every time he sent you away on the bicycle. Five tries did you no good; Charles’ directions contradicted each other and came much too fast, causing you to crash into the grass or skid yourself to a halt, your sneakers coated in a light layer of dust.

“Why are we still trying?” You ask woefully, examining the scratches on your calf. And to think you would’ve gotten to go truffle hunting with his uncle had Charles not swept you away to bike.

“It is an important life skill. Just—don’t look at the ground. Okay. Andiamo!” He sends you off again, watches as you twist and careen into a bush. Again. Your groan of pain matches the ooof he lets out, jogging to help you up. You turn away from the ground and toward his face. His laughing face.

“Ow. What?” You ask, raising a brow. You flex your fingers, waiting for him to pull you upwards.

“You smashed into a bush and a berry’s all over your cheek.” He says, still laughing when he helps you up. You hold the tip of your pinky to your face, press down, and sure enough, when you inspect it again, it’s stained a dark berry color.

“Is this toxic?!” You ask, agitated.

“Che? Toxic? No, no. It’s a juniper berry.” He reaches over and swipes his thumb across your face, sending you into a frozen state. Your hands remain at your sides while he focuses on wiping the rest of the fruit off of your cheek, showing you his stained finger afterwards with a proud smile. “All gone.”

You turn and pick up the bicycle. “One more for good luck,” you say, shaking off the nerves and gut churning feeling deep in your stomach. You situate yourself atop the bike, trying to remember and re-remember all the tips Charles had given you.

“Don’t look down, just breathe, keep your eyes trained straight. If you crash, on the grass always. Better than this path.”

“Got it,” you say breathlessly, determined. You take off, eyes trained on the landscape in front of you, leaving the house behind and gliding quickly downhill. It takes you a beat to realize, however, that you’re not falling. You’re doing it—properly. You turn to voice your pride, but that’s what gets you caught in your thoughts.

Charles is cheering behind you, but once he detects you’re stumbling, he runs the few metres over. Still, he can’t catch you fast enough; you do manage to turn right and land on the grass. In his own rush, Charles trips on the horizontal bike, and lands right beside you, atop your arm.

Eventually you’re both doubled over laughing, your fingers finding purchase on the blunt grass. You both only quiet down when you hear his aunt’s car, old and rickety, grow louder. You look up to find Giulia peeking out of the driver’s window, her face as amused as it is confused.

Beside her, Mia yells. “Buon lavoro, Charles!”

“What’d she say?” You ask, still half-laughing.

“Good job,” he replies, entertained. “She said good job.”

—

Charles takes Giorgio’s Vespa and rides you both to town two days later, even with the offer of a car. He claims the motor ride is the best way to experience Tuscany at its finest. Nothing about the two-seater bike on the pebbly road feels fine, though, and you’re seriously contemplating broken ribs when he makes a sharp turn. It’s only a ten, fifteen-minute ride, but the downhill slope makes it seem faster—and more dangerous.

Your grip on his waist had gone from loose and hesitant to tight and anxious, your voice a mantra of possible death in his ear. He can’t help but laugh, revving harder and chiming in with a biting remark of his own.

“You know who this is named after?” He shouts over the wind whipping both of you.

“Mmm?” You ask.

“Apollonia, from the Godfather.”

“Oh, Christ. The girl who died?”

“Hey, she was beautiful! My uncle loved the movies so much, his Vespa had to be named after her.” You lean onto his back for purchase, still unused to the speed at which he zips through the countryside. Eventually, after a few turns, the terrain turns from rough to smoother, and he parks at the busy-looking town square, populated by locals and tourists alike, but not with the traffic of more popular cities. Alleyways lead to smaller corner stores and cafés; a chapel overlooks the area, and a market populates the centre.

“What would you name your bike, if you had to?” You ask as a follow-up, removing your helmet and shaking your hair out. You pull at your dress to straighten it out.

“Well…” He takes both your helmets and stores them in the bike, leading the way toward the bustle. “My uncles, and my father—they always say we name our most precious things after beautiful women. Apollonia. My other uncle, Leo, he named his sailboat after his mother, Bianca. Even my dad would name few objects after my mother. It’s a way of honoring them, you know?”

You nod, stopping at a produce stall and examining a bunch of tomatoes. “I think that’s sweet.”

“Yes, so I guess… well, I don’t know, really. My mother’s name, maybe?”

“She’s got a beautiful one,” you comment offhandedly.

“Yeah. Or, if we go by appearances, I suppose your name.”

You ignore the flush of nerves that well up in you and turn back to face him, confused and amused. “My name? Why’s that?”

“I mean,” he coughs, crossing his arms and smiling, “people think we are together, so if I get a bike, and they ask for her name, I must say yours, no?”

“Only if you want to,” you chirp back, amused. What had possessed him to suddenly bring you into the discussion? Neither of you are pretending for all these strangers. Here in town, you’re friends again, browsing the market, walking around stalls, eating free samples of pesto and cheese.

“I do want to,” he says. It’s a joke, you’re sure. Half-sure. It’s a joke.

The town square’s noise begins to die when the sun sets. City-dwellers leave to take trips back to main hubs of Italy, and with no nightlife in the area, many in the square are families or couples sitting down for dinner. The ride back, while short, might be dangerous in the dark; you tug on Charles’ sleeve to relay your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” he says dismissively. “I’ve biked here past midnight.”

“What were you even doing in town at midnight, hmm?” You tease lightly, following him around. There’s not much to do except eat at this point, judging by the way you’d both exhausted the stalls in the afternoon. He rolls his eyes, mumbling excuses.

“You womanizer,” you whisper in an exaggerated scandalous tone. You poke his bicep. “Bedding the locals.”

“I was not, ay!” He defends. You’ve noticed his accent is so much thicker here, where he has to speak Italian all the time, except with you. It sounds nice. “I would come to smoke weed.”

That’s even funnier, you think, throwing your head back to laugh. Thoughts of teenaged Charles, tinged pink and tan from summer, on a momentary break from a junior racing career, biking fast back and forth—for a joint no less—are both funny and endearing. “That is so cute, Charles. Drug virgin.”

“Don’t speak of those when we’re in front of the house of the Lord,” he says sarcastically, gesturing to where your cyclical walking had landed you: back in front of the town’s chapel. There’s a pot of holy water by the front doors and a rack of candles for lighting and offering. Besides that, there’s a coin drop box being manned by a priest.

In silent agreement, you walk in sync to the candles, lighting one each and whispering brief intentions. You’re not religious, you’ve never been; a church seemed foreign to you, always. But you figure there’s no harm in a candle and an offer to the big guy, if he’s there.

There’s a mural painted by the doors, which you observe silently while Charles goes to drop donations into the box. You catch bits of their conversation. Good evening. Are you a tourist. No, we live up the hill, visiting for spring, yes.

The rest you don’t catch, turning to Charles and watching him talk, animated as he is solemn. The priest smiles at you politely, turns to Charles, goes, “Siete qui insieme?” You rack your brain for the Italian you’d picked up recently but can’t match it to anything.

Charles nods. “Qui per cenare, ed esplorare.” Esplorare, explore? You fail again, but continue listening anyway, occupying your eyes with the mural.

“È la tua ragazza?” The priest asks with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, sì, sì.” Charles looks very sure of himself when he says so.

The priest nods once. “Se ti sposi, allora dovrebbe essere qui, no?”

Charles turns slowly, looks at you, then smiles. “Okay,” he says, still looking at you. “Farò in modo che accada.” Then they’re exchanging quick Italian goodbyes and he’s walking back to you, guiding you to a nearby restaurant for dinner.

“What was that about?” You ask, the curiosity getting the best of you. You don’t remember what they said, so you can’t plug it into Google Translate; your last hope is getting Charles to translate it for you. You figure it’s no problem. He’s always translated for you during your stay here so far, word-for-word recounts that have you feeling fluent in the language after decoding them. Whether it be a family anecdote or a market transaction, the language has never become an issue for you.

You walk beside him, awaiting the translation that never comes. Instead, he smiles, shakes his head, and says, “That was nothing.”

—

Your first, last, and only close call happens during a wine and poker night with Charles’ uncles and aunts. You’d spent the morning semi-cuddling (to beat the early a.m. cold, you both insisted), and then a majority of the afternoon in the nearby vineyard volunteering to help pick grapes, and they’d offered to let you wind down for the night inside.

It starts off well enough—you and Giorgio best the first two rounds, much to everyone else’s chagrin, and you rest on the sofa, reading Giulia’s cookbook with a glass of wine. At quarter to midnight, Charles’ six-year-old cousin, Marco, comes inside and slots himself beside Charles, eyes sleepy.

“Cugino,” he says. Cousin. His voice is squeaky and childish.

“Yes, Marco?” Charles asks, preoccupied with his cards.

“Put me to sleep,” he says in accented English.

“Later. You should wait.”

“Can she do it?” A chubby hand rises and points toward you. You offer a small wink, sipping wine.

“Only if she wants to,” Charles says, turning to face you. You chuckle.

“I’d be happy to, Marco.” You smile.

“Cugino.” Marco tugs on Charles’ sleeve to regain his attention. “What’s her favorite color?”

Oh, shit. Neither of you had really thought this would come up, so you hope Charles can fake it well. While you know everything about him, he knows not much about you, especially little niche facts like this one. Charles clears his throat and goes, “Blue.”

“Favorite song?”

“Uh. Marco, aspettare. OK?”

“Why should he wait?” Giorgio asks, gruff. “Your aunts and I are curious, too.”

Charles meets your eyes, and you try to signal for him to lie, which he ends up doing. “It’s Take a Chance on Me. ABBA, zio.”

You do know that song, but it’s definitely not your favorite. You close the cookbook and get up, pacing onto the seat beside Marco and leaning against it, smiling and nodding. Beside Giorgio, Mia asks sweetly, “Do you have any tattoos, dear?”

Just you, or are Italian aunts ridiculously straightforward? You open your mouth at the same time Charles does, and that’s what leads to your downfall. Yes, one, you say. No, none, Charles says at the same time. You both look at each other, eyes wide.

His uncle grunts. “Bambino, do you know nothing of this lovely girl?”

“You misunderstand,” Charles says. “I thought she wouldn’t want to share that yet, zio. I tried to cover for her, but, er—she seems okay with sharing it.”

It’s a flimsy excuse but it seems to work, and the poker game resumes without any more questions about you.

Still, you grow nervous, frustrated a bit, and, once you spot Marco asleep, you take him into your arms and mumble a polite goodnight, carrying him upstairs. The call was just too close. Why did Charles feel the need to interject like that? Had you been caught in such a lie, you’d need to reveal everything.

Something else tugs at your chest, but you refuse to admit it incites an unhappy feeling out of you. Charles’ lack of knowledge about you did nothing but remind you that in the end, he did know nothing about you, and this was just contractual and obligatory and for the press-turned-for the family. You pat Marco’s forehead, sighing. You shouldn’t be so upset, but you are.

You know a lot about Charles, but it’s a cold fact that he can’t say the same about you; at least, not to the extent that you know him. The doors and staircase creak, signifying the game’s end and everyone’s retreat to bed; you await Charles’ entrance, which comes after you hear him opening your room, finding it empty, and then—

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, hushed. You get up and walk past him, crossing the corridor and opening the door halfway into your room.

He says, then: “You really never tell me anything about yourself.”

You freeze, turn, suddenly frustrated all over again. Suddenly sad. “Yeah. You really know nothing about me.” It’s exaggerated, so it cuts deeper.

He’s upset, you realize. “Do I have to beg for these sorts of basic facts? I wa—I…” He pauses. “I want to know you more. I’ve always wanted to.”

“You didn’t even think to—to ask me the most basic questions before we got here.” You’re aware he didn’t owe you this, but your irritance doesn’t quell. “My favorite song, my favorite movie, color, anything. I could name all that on your behalf.”

“Every time I ask, you deflect. You never told me, either,” he says defiantly.

You scoff and ponder for a minute before shaking your head and clambering down the steps. You need some fresh air, having gotten mad so quickly. You know it makes no sense—he never needed to ask about you. Prior to last week, you worked with him. Still, everything’s changed now, and it feels hurtful knowing he can’t name these things about you.

You take a seat on the terrace chair, pretend not to notice when he sits beside you, separated by a table.

You hug your arms closer to yourself, sigh. “It’s, a koi fish on my hipbone. Hurt like a bitch.”

He looks at you, curious. You continue.

“My high school superlative was ‘most likely to be elected president’—embarrassing, I know. I won the local spelling bee. Thrice in a row. I love the color green, and the movie Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

You pretend you’re not feeling anxious from the sudden sharing, clearing your throat and keeping your gaze trained on the landscape of houses and hills around you.

“I love crosswords to a worrying degree, I’m a dog person but have never owned one, and my favorite song is Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. I kill it on karaoke.” Finally, your eyes slide slowly over to look at Charles. He’s already looking at you, smile soft on his flushed, pink face.

“I didn’t think of you as much of a singer,” he says, eyes crinkling from the size of his smile.

Huffing and stifling a laugh, you cross your arms defiantly over your torso. Your lips melt into a pout, and you flip him off in an attempt to stave him off. He just laughs harder, gulping the rest of his wine with ease.

“To be fair, I think I dance better,” you respond proudly. “It’s still bad, but it’s better. Better than you, anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asks, mouth half-open, still caught in a laugh. “Wow. Okay, d’accord. It’s on.”

“It is most certainly not a challenge, Charles!” You object frustratedly.

“Challenge accepted!”

Against your vocal protests, he gets up from his chair and reenters the house, exiting with his phone in one hand and the rest of the wine in the other. He browses his selection of songs, humming until he seems satisfied with one of them. He pours you both a glass of preparatory red, a grin lighting up his face.

You burrow into the chair, unrelenting when he stretches out a hand to invite you to dance. You only end up giving in when you’ve successfully finished your wine, getting up and straightening out the wrinkles in your dress.

Your hand is still loosely clutched around his when he plays the Bee Gees song he’d queued up, and then both of you start dancing.

It’s a bit fast-paced, but you catch up well, letting yourself move fluidly to the song. All the while, your hand remains looped around his, like an anchor, a saving point. You shut your eyes to immerse yourself in the song, a smile on your face. When you crack them open, you watch Charles dance goofily, with moves you’d be totally embarrassed by otherwise. This time, you’re strangely endeared.

Where you expected yourself—the both of you, really—to be stiff and awkward, you’re both loose and easygoing, chuckling and laughing as the song progresses. Your dress swishes by your knees softly when you move, letting go of his hand momentarily. It flexes with the feeling of his absence. Charles dances like he has no care in the world, with movements that would rival a fifty-year-old’s. You find that you don’t have a care in the world either, watching him with a stupid grin on your features.

Your heart swells and seizes, and you swallow, not wanting to realize why yet. He reaches for your hand again, seeks it in the evening light. You give it to him easily, cut his search short. You’re what he looks for.

He lifts your linked hands right as the song starts its ending, and you realize you’re supposed to twirl around them. With a laugh, you follow, letting your arms stretch out when you’re done. He pulls you back, with strength that sends you barreling into his chest. “Dude,” you mumble, giggling. “Charles, you ruined my flow.”

You both part, but barely; your hands are still clasped, your distance barely increased. You stare up at him when the next song clicks on.

It’s slower this time, a song you recognize from films and novels. You remember this specific rendition from two years ago in Silverstone, when Charles had shared over a meeting that he’d been busy teaching himself the piano—specifically, The Way You Look Tonight.

The song continues, your hands still together, your eyes boring into his. The moon makes his light eyes a different shade, all green and soft edges rivaling the intensity of his stare. “Come on,” he says. “Why stop, no?”

He raises your hands, guides his vacant one to wrap around your waist. It’s warm there, secure, belonging. With all the hesitance in the world, you wrap a hand around his upper arm. Your gaze is unbreaking.

“Thank you,” he says, steering you both into a slow, easy rhythm. The nerves melt away slowly when you continue to sway. You cock a head to the side in a silent request for elaboration.

“For sharing.”

“Oh. It was only right,” you reply. “Considering you know nothing niche about me.”

“Tell me…” He starts, but the words tangle in his throat, lodge themselves there in a fit of nerves. He breathes, breaks the gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind… if you told me more.”

A brief shine of surprise passes through your eyes, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright.” He smiles.

“Do you think, ” you say, swallowing the sorrow, “we’ll need to keep doing this when the week is ov—?”

“Let’s not dwell on that,” he says quickly. He sounds—sad, almost, at the thought of this being fake. In the days spent here, picking grapes, drinking wine, going on bike rides and practicing Italian, it was easy to let the lines blur. Perhaps he’d forgotten.

You realize, when he leans forward and slots his chin atop your head: you’d forgotten, too.

—

Despite the tension, the next day goes fairly normal, and Charles takes you to town on Apollonia late at night. The Tuscan air is crisp and clean when he parks by a pub, loud not with techno music or hip-hop, but Italians singing. Inside, it’s not so crowded, populated by regulars, few tourists, and several older people.

Charles orders himself a beer, and a cocktail for you after you request something sweet. The bartender gives you an extra one on the house, and you and Charles seat yourself in front, watching people sing on the stage.

“Vi piace cantare?” Someone asks, and Charles quickly supplies: he’s asking if we like to sing.

You wave your palm back and forth. So-so, you signal. Charles, of course, ever the social butterfly, slides into a natural conversation with him, about Italy, pubs, beer, and singing. The guy introduces himself as Antonio, owner of said pub and a man who is apparently more than happy to clear the queue of singers for you two.

“Wait, seriously?” You ask. Antonio nods, clapping Charles on the back. You’d have thought they’d been friends for years or something.

You immediately turn down the request, but Charles scrambles onstage, having downed two bottles of beer. You’re overcome with horror as you watch him walk across the small stage to the side of it to request a song, encouraging whoops from the crowd.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, no. This is not a good idea,” you say, gulping. “Plus, I’ve had a lot to drink. Your aperol spritzes have so much alcohol in them.”

Beside you, Antonio laughs. “Non si preoccupi—do not worry. He seems to be a confident guy. You’re in good hands.”

“Am I? He didn’t even ask if I wanted to sing. I don’t even know what to sing.” You watch him whisper a song to the guy in charge of the pub’s ancient karaoke system, half-sure that the song archive stops after 1990. The stage creaks when Charles reaches for another mic and then stretches his arm out to offer it to you.

You muster your best angry face, but he just laughs. “Come on. You will like it.”

Gulping the rest of your cocktail, you accept the mic, and then his hand, strong in yours as he helps you climb onstage. The crowd of locals and few tourists cheer for the both of you, and you don’t do much to hide your stage fright; even the buzz of alcohol can’t help you. You hope (and know, deep down) that Charles will.

“Buona sera a tutti,” Charles says, met with more raucous cheering. “Io e il mio amico cateremo per te stasera.” He bows, and you follow a bit stiffly, not knowing what he’s saying.

“Amico?” Someone jeers from the audience. “O fidanzata?!”

Charles laughs, and you know he’s truly entertained because his eyes crinkle the way they do. You fiddle with your dress, your hair, anything to channel the nerves. He waves the crowd off with a shush motion and then turns, gestures for the song to start. He catches your eye, anxious, quells your nerves by taking your hand and squeezing it. Don’t worry, he mouths. I’m here.

You identify the song before two seconds of it even play, and the realization is breathtaking: your favorite. You shut your eyes and let a huge smile come onto your face, laughing. You almost can’t believe him for this.

He starts off the song, taking your hand and leading you into a dance. Don’t go breaking my heart.

You twirl around him, exaggerating your movements and smiling. I couldn’t if I tried.

Somehow, you find dexterity, flow in the movements, the words. Maybe because you love the song so much. Charles matches your enthusiasm, singing loudly and exaggerating his accent to incite laughs from the onlookers. When he speeds up, so do you, allowing both of you to join in an upbeat rhythm that leaves you panting.

Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it, you both sing, laughing and shimmying toward each other. You both point and laugh, joining hands again when the chorus ends to sing your lines all over again. Charles always leads you well, alert as he is excited, letting you melt into him, adapt to the dance. You feel like you’re floating.

Don’t go breaking my heart, he sings.

I won’t go breaking your heart, you sing back, ducking underneath your hands, laughing.

The tension, warmth, spark between you grow as the song begins to close, your words breathless, faces flushed with alcohol and semi-exhaustion. Even if your face seems to show it, though, you find you’re not tired at all, smiling as your heart beats faster. You pull away, dancing to the last bits of the song, having let go of all your worries, nerves. Why were you ever nervous? You always trusted him.

The song fades to an end when you pull together, faces as close as they’d ever been. You’re both breathing heavy with the intensity of your dance, smiling. You shut your eyes, laugh, with the ecstasy of this moment. From the crowd, the bartender yells: “Ora bacia! Kiss!”

Both you and Charles turn to the crowd, who quickly cheer him on, and laugh. But they’re not kidding, you realize—they’re all yelling kiss in unison, intermittent whoops and cheers joining the chant. It’s like a rural Italian version of an MLB kiss cam.

You turn back to Charles, who’s looking at you already. His eyes dart to your lips. You’d never done it before—appearances never went that far—but the crowd is unrelenting, and you nod back when he cocks his head to the side in silent question. Like always, you’re nervous. And again, like always, he helps you through it.

Warmth blossoms through your chest when he leans in and presses your lips together.

That would’ve been enough to satisfy the crowd, you think, but neither of you pull away. Sparks ignite your stomach, your hands looping around his neck, his around your waist. You kiss him back effortlessly, like you’d done this a million times before. You feel him smile against your own smile, laugh when you laugh.

The kiss is nothing if not dizzying, the perfect kind, the kind of the fairytale variety. His lips are soft, a bit chapped, against yours; when your tongues meet, they taste like aperol spritz and beer. Your hands tighten around his neck, like you need him still against you, when you both pull away for air. The crowd cheers.

You barely even hear them, staring into his eyes.

—

The night becomes cloudy, raining softly over the hills when everybody’s done singing; Charles boards Apollonia and like always, you wrap your hands around him, leaning against his back. You’re a bit tipsy, but above all, you’re utterly conflicted with how everything’s seemed to turn in on itself within the last few days.

The rain only grows as Charles revs harder, and the Vespa skids to a screeching, horrible stop. Thankfully, you’re not far from the farmhouse, so you don’t walk much; still, both of you are drenched, Charles’ arms stained with motor oil that drips off with the force of the rain. He stows away the bike, turns back to you. You’re looking at him expectantly.

“What is this?” You demand, raising your voice.

“Rain,” he replies blankly.

“This.” You wag a finger in between you both. “We kissed in Antonio’s pub, Charles. And we might—we might tell ourselves it was because of the crowd’s pressure, but we know. We both know that kiss was for nobody but us.”

He wipes a hand over his face. “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, sighing. Your hair is dripping with rain. “I really don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” he says. And he pauses, like he always does when he’s unsure, nervous, bumbling, and then blurts it out. “You—I want you. I was a fool to realize it late. But years of being with you, around you… I should’ve known earlier, I—”

“Charles,” you cut in, not expecting the sudden rawness. “No, no.”

“You’ve got to realize,” he says desperately. “I do. I constantly think of you, feel for you, look for you, look at you. I’ve known you for so long, I always end up liking you all over again. Everything comes back to you. Seeing you here, a place I love—seeing you love it here—listening to you sing, dancing with you—don’t you—haven’t you gotten it yet—?”

You stare at him.

You’re faraway, on the clouds, dry from the rain, when he says it. I love you.

—

The morning after is quiet, muted. You drown in your own overbearing thoughts.

“Got a lot on your mind?” You emerge from them quick, eyes darting over to Charles’ two aunts leaning by the doorframe of the dining room. You offer a polite smile, hoping it hides the conflict in the recesses of your mind.

“A bit,” you reply.

“Come join us,” Mia offers. “We will pick lemons outside. For lunch.”

You take a basket from the entryway and follow them through the front door and onto the yard, matching their slow pace, relishing in the morning sun that hasn’t yet grown too hot.

Tuscany is beautiful. Despite your best efforts, you’d grown to love it here over the course of the week. The hilly terrain, the fruit, the constant goat sightings, the bike rides to town where you clutch Charles’ shirt out of fear you might fall off.

They seem to spot good lemons within milliseconds, balding the branches in minutes. Perhaps because of your own cloudy thoughts, or maybe their breakneck speed, you fail to catch up, and they notice.

Mia again brings you out of your thoughts, guiding you three to the next tree. “Are you upset, bambina? Is Charles being a pest?”

“Oh, God, no,” you say with a laugh. “We—he’s a great tour guide. I never explored Italy before, and it’s beautiful here. He bikes me to town, because I can’t, uh, ride, unfortunately. He transacts for me, because my Italian is hopeless. He buys wine and cheese and lets me pet sheep when we bike past them on the hills.”

“Bambini innamorati.” Mia sighs fondly. “What is it you like about Charles?”

You hum, thinking. There are lots of things you like about Charles, but surely his family share the same sentiments. What’s unique? What about him is just yours? “His humor, I suppose,” you say. “He finds the fun in everything, even in competition, in boredom. Everywhere else, his good traits—everyone knows them. A stellar driver, charming, kind. Good-looking. But his humor, I think… I think he reserves his weirdest jokes, his best laughs, for the best people in his life. I’m just glad I’m there.”

Giulia is the next to speak, slow and encouraging, prompting you with a question you’d once dreaded but now feel excitement to hear: “Tell me again, how you and Charles met?”

It’s a rehearsed story, with bits of lies that you and Charles had to insert to make it appear more romantic and less coworker-esque. But you’d only told the short version before. To some journalists, to his cousin. You figure you’ll lie less and tell a more unabridged version. “Oh, okay,” you say, nervous and collecting your thoughts.

“I work with Charles. I was spending time with him a lot, so naturally, we became somewhat friends. Not very close, but comfortable enough. I had to take pictures and videos for him and his teammate, so we really were together a lot. I suppose that’s how we met. How we became… something more, is a totally different story. I think the best thing about it was that neither of us were looking for it.”

You breathe, pausing. “It simply happened—despite both of us not expecting, not needing a relationship, it happened anyway. Almost funny, how young people like myself look for the moment of love at first sight. The staggering moment of eye contact and realizing you’ve met your soulmate. But—it wasn’t like that for me. It happened slowly, like I had to dissect what I felt. Like my heart had always known, so I had to catch up with myself and realize I…”

You pause. You really aren’t lying. “…I’m in love with him.”

Giulia and Mia exchange a knowing look over the branches.

—

“So, are you dating?” Natalie asks. It’s the first race of the season, and everyone’s excited—but this interview moves slowly, Charles dictating the flow of it himself. He smiles.

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, there’d been rumors a few months ago that this was a PR stunt, calculated by your new officer, Jenna Griffin. So, tell me again, are you dating? For real?”

Charles seeks you in the crowd of the meet-and-greet fans, finds you in the front row. You roll your eyes when he smiles fondly at you. A Tuscany trip and several months later, he thinks, has changed everything.

For the better. “For real.”

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