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notafunkiller · 2 months

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she chose me

Summary: Steve's hopes get crushed when he wrongly assumes you'd choose him over Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x agent!female reader

Warnings: 18+, no condom (but f is on birth control), teasing, pet names, jealousy, sergeant + sir + daddy kìnk, vibranium arm kìnk, language, degrading, praising, no mention of y/n etc.

Word Count: 6.9K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I really hope you’ll enjoy it! This was inspired by the "She chose me." TikTok trend.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You’re all quiet, watching the back and forth between Cap and Bucky. Not even Sam intervenes.

“You didn’t-”

“This is just not gonna work, Buck.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, with an expression you like to describe as bitchy. He’s so sassy without even intending to, and you wonder how bitchier he’d be if this wasn’t his best friend talking.

“Let’s see if people agree.”

He looks around waving at you and the rest of the team while Sam just snorts, covering his mouth with his hand.

But you’re not amused because you have no idea how to handle this diplomatically.

“Whose side are you on?” Steve’s tone is deep and authoritative, making you feel a little uneasy.

You don’t know how to talk to Avengers sometimes. You are on friendly terms, even when you train. Sam always cracks jokes, Steve shares stories and gives advice, and Bucky is Bucky. Nat and Sam call him The Machine for a reason. But he’s a really good professor and an even better observer. He pays attention to every recruit and remembers what they need to work on. You find him extra intimidating because he’s also the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. No exaggeration. And it’s not in the usual clean and golden boy way you are used to, anyway. He’s been through shit and it’s showing in the way he carries himself and doesn’t talk much when it’s not needed.

But you pay attention too, and this is why you think you were chosen to lead the recruits for this mission. You are on good terms with the Avengers, and Bucky probably approved the idea of working with you because you didn’t piss him off like most do. You know he hates chit chat, you learned how to read most of his stares and to not take it personally when he makes remarks about your fighting skills. They’re not your strongest asset, but you have a flair and you come up with the best solutions under pressure. You managed to pin him down once for a few seconds, and that is probably your greatest achievement.

But in moments like this, you don’t know how to say things without upsetting one side.

“You won’t get in trouble, don’t worry,” Bucky adds confidently. You’re not surprised when four out of your six colleagues agree with Bucky. They explain quickly why, emphasizing how much faster and efficient it would be if you followed that route, but their voices are still trembling. And you get it. Telling Captain America to his face you prefer his best friend’s plan over his will always be a risk. But if he gets mad, that says more about him as a leader than about anyone else.

Sam raises his hands in the air defensively, probably enjoying this as a show, but based on the looks he shares with Bucky, it seems like he agrees with him too.

You try to find your words, knowing you’re the last one from your team to speak, but before you can even open your mouth, Steve already smiles, pointing at you with his index finger. “Look at this, though! She agrees with me… She chose me.”

His grin is cold and a little arrogant. What you don’t notice, though, is the intention Steve had when he decided to use those exact words, but Bucky does. And he clenches his jaw at the same time his vibranium hand curls into a fist; a silent response to the not-so-innocent assumption that Steve made.

After a few seconds, Bucky leans in, his gaze steady and confident. “Did she?”

There is no way you would pick Steve’s plan. You are too smart and you have too much integrity to pick his side just to kiss his ass. He raises an eyebrow at you this time, a confident smirk forming on his lips. “Did you really choose him? You really think his plan would work better, doll?”

You feel surrounded by Bucky… attacked even. Your cheeks are getting hotter, too, and you know there is nothing you can do to hide your redness. Doll… He called you that when he turned you again on your back the day you managed to pin him down. It’s something about the way he says it that makes it absolutely deadly. Your first instinct was to be offended, but you reminded yourself he is a man born in 1917. He lived his twenties in the 40s, and doll was used as slang for sweetheart.

Taking a deep breath, you tilt your head slightly, directing your response to Steve. “It’s not about choosing sides, but considering all perspectives for the best outcome. And your plan, Captain, has its strengths, but I’m inclined to agree with Sergeant Bucky.” You bite your lip. “It’s about finding the most effective strategy for the mission, not a personal preference of any kind.”

Steve’s smile falls off, but your attention shifts back to Bucky’s grin that lightens up his face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Well, then,” Steve sighs. “Can I have a word with you in private?”

You don’t realize he’s speaking to you until he says your name.

Surprised, you jump. “Yes, of course.”

Steve leans back in his chair, a slight smile playing on his lips as you write down the last details. “You know, I value your insights on the mission.”

You look surprised because how can he value your opinion when this is your second mission only? He’s Captain America!

“Oh?”

“I trust your judgment, and your training is going great. If you and the team chose Bucky’s plan, then we do it.” You see his jaw clench, though, so you know it’s not easy for him to say it. Even if it’s his friend… interesting. “Maybe, when all is over, we could grab a cup of coffee and talk about other things. What do you think?”

You’re silent for a couple of seconds, trying to realize if he means it in the way you think he is. There is no way, right?

Just in case, you offer him a friendly smile, “Thanks, Cap! I value our teamwork too. Coffee sounds great after. It could be a good way for all of us to unwind as a team.”

He nods, sighing. “I’m glad you’re on board. I’m looking forward to that coffee, even if it’s with the whole team. And please, call me Steve.”

So he was flirting…

“Thank you,” you pause as you stand up. “I’m gonna talk with Sergeant Barnes so we can get things ready for tomorrow. Have a good night, Steve!”

You knock only three times before the door opens and a Bucky dressed in shorts and a white tank top lets you in with a smirk.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you nod as you take a step inside his bedroom. He only stays here before and after missions when he is too tired to go to his apartment, so you don’t expect to see any personal objects there except for a few clothes.

“What happened to Bucky?”

You look at him surprised, tightening your hold on the tablet you are holding.

What?

“Sir?”

Bucky closes his eyes for a second. “Earlier, during the meeting, you called me Sergeant Bucky.”

Shit!

Maybe you should start calling him Sergeant Barnes in your head as well to avoid these fucks up. You feel so embarrassed that you want to disappear. You don’t want him to think you disrespect him in any way. His rank carries a lot of weight and trauma.

You clear your throat, slightly flustered. “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes. It won’t happen again, sir.” You offer him an apologetic smile while trying very hard to maintain a professional tone.

Bucky’s smirk softens as he places his flesh hand on your shoulder. You feel your legs transforming into jelly.

“My point was, doll, there is no need to be so formal. We’re off-duty here, and titles aren’t necessary. Just call me Bucky.”

“Alright, Bucky,” you smile. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but I came to discuss the plan for tomorrow. I talked to Steve and we agreed it would be wise for you to lead the way as Mr. Wilson-”

“Steve?” Bucky interrupts before you can finish your sentence. He doesn’t even bother to look at your tablet, either.

“Yes, we talked in the office.”

“No, I get that. But you call him Steve? What happened to Cap?” Bucky knows that might sound really childish, but he can’t help it. What is Steve trying to do?

Was it some kind of test? Did you misunderstand everything with Steve?

“Oh, Cap allowed me to call him Steve earlier. I am sorry if it sounded disrespectful.”

He squeezes your shoulder even before moving his hand to your chin, raising your face, and you feel yourself blushing again.

The blue of his eyes is so intense that you can’t see how anyone would be able to survive it.

“You apologize too much, doll. I don’t like it.”

You can’t breathe. “Sor-” You pause, realizing he is right. Apologizing is second nature to you. It feels wrong when you don’t, and you do it without even thinking about it. “I guess I do that a lot. I’ll work on it, Bucky.”

“I’m not your teacher right now, doll.” He smiles, letting go of your chin. “Just remember, we’re not all about formalities here. Relax a bit.”

Easier said than done. But you need to keep it together and ignore the urge to grab his face and finally kiss him. So you focus on talking about the mission and the members of the team. You talk about all of your colleagues, and Bucky helps you take notes. He switched so easily from friendly to the sergeant mode, which is fascinating.

He explains step by step your positions, the way things are gonna happen and even two back up plans. Two!

You’re not overwhelmed by the amount of information, but you’re quite surprised by how much he talks and how well he answers every possible question any of you could have. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak for more than a few seconds continuously so you try to focus on every word.

Only when he finishes and you close your tablet after sending everyone the plan, do you see him relaxing again.

With a smirk, he asks you, “How did Steve take it?”

“He was fine with the plan, even suggested if we feel like doing it, to get one or two more members. But based on what you said, we won’t need it.”

“He has a point, of course, but if you said you don’t think you need it, good.” You try not to stare at his lips as he speaks, but it’s so hard. “And I meant how he took that you chose my plan. That you chose me.”

You meet Bucky’s gaze, trying to keep your composure, “Steve seemed more than okay with it from what I saw. He values the team’s decision. Plus, it’s not about choosing sides, and-”

“And not a personal preference of any kind,” he interrupts just to quote you, and you don’t know if you should feel flattered he remembers word by word or to prepare yourself for a negative reaction. To be honest, your head is spinning and him being so close makes it worse. “I heard you very well, but I’m curious…”

He extends his hand and carefully tucks your hair behind your ears. You swear you can hear your own heartbeat going crazy. And if you do, so does he.

“About what?”

“Would the answer be different if it was about personal preferences, doll? Would you choose him?”

You freeze. You are simply in shock because this cannot happen to you. From Steve asking you out earlier to your crush basically doing this. You’re confused and a little tired, but you didn’t imagine all of this. Does Bucky want you? Is that it?

You take a deep breath praying you won’t choke on the words. “In a hypothetical scenario based on personal preferences, Bucky, I would still not pick him.”

Your voice is trembling, but you maintain eye contact even after admitting it. You didn’t choose Bucky’s plan because of your crush, so you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or exposed. He’s the one who let you call him Bucky, who touched you and asked you that. You don’t know if he counts romance as a personal preference, but there is an urge inside you to find out. You wonder how he’d taste, if he’d kiss you back if you kissed him first, how your mission would be if you crossed the line. Your thoughts are foggy.

“So you’d choose me.”

You clear your throat. “Yes.”

“Over Captain America.” His grin is so boyish and cute that it makes you smile. He looks younger and less… burdened when he gets like this. Bucky chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Well, well, well. Looks like I got someone not kissing Captain America’s ass for a change. That’s really rare. You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?”

You mask your gasp with a cough, deciding to play along, a sly grin forming on your face. “Maybe I just have a thing for underdogs.”

Bucky’s eyes light up with amusement to your annoyance but also excitement, and he leans in, taking the tablet from your hand and placing it on the floor without a care. “Underdogs, huh? Ouch, that hurt a little. I thought I was your favorite super-soldier.”

You can’t help but giggle, feeling enough encouragement from his reaction to touch his vibranium arm just to feel it. You got the chance to do it only for a couple of seconds and it always fascinated you, especially the golden pattern. The fact he can feel everything because it’s connected to his nerves is insane to you. It probably is to him too. “Oh, you are. And my favorite teacher too. But a little competition never hurts, Sergeant Barnes.”

You can see he feigns offense. “Competition, huh?” Bucky’s playfulness turns into a serious tone as he adds, “Well, let me show you why I’m the only choice.”

And without warning, he closes the distance between you and kisses you.

You gasp, taken aback, but you bring your hands to his face and hip before you deepen the kiss. He’s not as gentle as you expected, his left arm flying to your ass and bringing your hips closer to his immediately.

You moan when you feel his hard on so close to your pussy, and tug on his hair a little.

“Aren’t you a naughty girl?” He lowers his lips to your jaw. “I could basically smell how wet you got earlier as soon as I called you doll. And so did Steve.”

You want to open your eyes and tell him to stop talking about his friend. You don’t want to be turned off, but he already continues.

“He thought he stood a chance with my girl.”

“Your girl?” You whimper when his teeth graze your neck before his tongue licks on the spot. He intends to leave a mark, you have no doubt, and you absolutely love it.

“Mine.” His whisper makes you shiver. “I want to mark you. The thought of having you covered in hickeys during the mission makes me so hard it almost hurts. Gonna show everyone you belong to me.”

“Do I belong to you, Sergeant Barnes?” You take a step back but let your hand linger on his chest teasingly. “Because I don’t remember you asking me to dinner.”

Bucky grins. “Dinner is a classic move, and I adapted very well to the present. But of course I can stop with the kisses right now, and we can have some late dinner.”

You roll your eyes at his unbelievably good answer. Fucker!

“This is not what I meant, Barnes, and you know it.”

“I don’t know it. But I want to know something else.”

You don’t even doubt he means something dirty because it’s too obvious.

“Like what?”

“Like how your pretty pussy tastes while you come all over my face.”

You gasp at the no-filter words. You’re so used to Steve’s warning you to use proper language, that you did not expect it.

“I thought men your age were all about being proper and refined… Don’t they teach subtlety in the 40s etiquette class or did you skip it?”

You tease him on purpose, and he knows it. You are well aware what a nerd he was in school. Such a nerd that it was displayed in the museum. You snort. You were a nerd too, so you love it.

Bucky chuckles, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he brings his hands to your pants, unzipping them without warning. Holy. Shit. The way you love this. He reads your body language very well and he has his super soldier senses.

“Well, doll, proper and refined went out the window with the 40s, right? Because otherwise you’d not be standing here letting me undress you.”

You raise your eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement on your face. His energy is so light, and he looks like a man without a worry in moments like this.

“You’re the one who offered to show me what the little upgraded version of you can do, after all.” You take off your shoes before pulling down your pants as soon as he drags them to your ankles. You can’t believe you’re about to fuck James Bucky Barnes! “Why would I say no?”

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride, doll. Gonna make sure you have the time of your life.”

You snort, amused by his eagerness, and decide to take off your shirt yourself to see his reaction. And he doesn’t disappoint.

He grins like a child, his hands flying straight to your back without taking his eyes off your chest. And before you know it, your bra is on the floor and Bucky cups your breasts, bringing your left tit to his mouth.

If you gasped when you felt the cold touch of the vibranium, now you moan loudly, enjoying the way he licks around your skin. He avoids your nipple on purpose, so you decide to take matters into your own hands quite literally and get a grab of the top of his hair, forcing him to suck on your nipple.

“Fuck! I didn’t expect you to be so whorish,” you say without realizing, and you feel his snort and breath on the wet patch he left with his tongue.

Bucky’s grin turns into a sly smirk. “This is what you call whorish? I guess I’ll give you an experience you won’t ever forget.”

“Talk less, do more.”

You want to enjoy more of this. You have a mission in a few hours, and it might be just a one time thing anyway since he is Bucky Barnes. You don’t want to get your hopes high.

Bucky lets go of your breast with a pop and moves up, raising your head so he can kiss you.

It’s electrifying, and desperate, and not enough. You move your hands to the bottom hem of his tank top and lift it, interrupting the kiss so you can take it off completely. You just want to feel him, all of him.

You step back for a second, wanting to look at him properly, but you notice a change in his eyes that he, of course, tries to mask.

“Why are you nervous? You look like a fucking god! I should be nervous here.”

Bucky’s eyes flicker with vulnerability.

“I guess I’m not used to someone seeing my scars or my,” he waves toward his vibranium arm, and you frown.

“I will sound totally weird, but they all make you really cool, Serge.” You trace down a few scars when you see he is completely relaxed and continue. “Do I have to lick them all to make you believe me?”

You move your hands under his shorts before he can answer, though, finally touching his cock. You both moan at the feeling. He’s hard and thick, and the head is wet. You bring your fingers to his lips, smearing some of the precome before leaning in to suck it off.

You’re not prepared for his moan or for the way he attacks your mouth, and definitely not for him to snap your underwear using his flesh hand. Not even his vibranium one!

You moan into his mouth. He makes you feel like you’re floating and you need to fuck him right then.

“You’re not just whorish, you’re a whore!” You pause when you feel his fingers close to your entrance. “No wonder why you didn’t belong in the 40s.” Then you move, allowing him to touch you. You don’t realize what you said, and when you do, in the middle of dragging his shorts down, you curse yourself in your mind. It sounds like the most disrespectful thing ever. This man’s fate was changed by monsters who cryogenically freezing him and brainwashing him, and you are selfishly talking as if he belonged to you. “I’m sorry that was awful of-” But he interrupts you before you can get a chance to properly apologize.

“You like that, don’t you?”

A wave of shame surges through your body. Your cheeks are burning.

“I’m really sorry,” you take your hands off his shorts and look away, not even peaking at his cock. You ruined it, didn’t you? “I will just go.”

Bucky shakes his head, puffing. “For such an amazing agent, you’re not a good room reader, are you?”

Your eyes finally drop to his cock, which you’ve been trying to avoid in the last minute out of shame, but there’s no need anymore since he’s teasing you. He’s just a bit longer than average, and he’s really thick, and the veins do not make it ugly at all. You are curious how it’d feel in your hand, how much it’d twitch, how Bucky would moan.

“You aren’t a good room reader, either then, Barnes, since I’m not getting dicked down and my hair pulled, am I?”

Something snaps in him, and it’s visible in his eyes. You don’t know what to expect so you just watch him. But you can’t. He is so quick that, despite your crazy training, you don’t anticipate his move. His hand wraps around the hair from your nape and fists it hard enough for you to move along with him.

“Wanna be dicked down? Fine by me, get on your hands and knees.”

You’re surprised, of course you are, but his tone is firm and you find yourself nodding and doing what he told you. You know you can say no; there is nothing in Bucky’s energy that makes you feel unsafe or as if you have no choice.

At the same time, he lets go of your hair just so he can take off his shorts completely.

“Are you not gonna make sure I’m wet enough for you?” You ask when you see him getting closer to you again, even though you are very wet. You just want to push his buttons.

“I can smell you if I focus on it, let me remind you.” He smiles. “I know you’re soaked, and you wanna be dicked down. Or are you backing off?”

Challenging prick!

You roll your eyes. “I’m not scared of your dick.”

“Good, because he wants to be friends with you.”

You close your eyes, cringing. “God, you were this close to turning me off.” You raise your hand in the air, putting your weight on the left one as you bring your thumb and index finger close to each other to show him exactly what a thin line this was.

Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you forget it in a second.”

Your first instinct is to want to tease him about the second remark, to ask him if this is how long he can last, but you’re too horny now. And you also need rest for the mission tomorrow.

“How, uh…” You pause not knowing how to ask this properly. “Can you, uh, make babies?” You cringe at your words. “I mean, widows can’t… and I just wanted to know if we need a condom to be extra careful since you might be extra fertile because I am on the pill and I have no idea how sex with a super sold-”

Bucky’s lips press against yours suddenly, making you stop talking.

“Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” you whisper and he cups your face.

“Not enough. We can use a condom if you want, but I’ll need to check where I can find one. Or we can go bare if you trust me… I can pull out and you are already protected, so there shouldn’t be a problem, I think.” He pauses to kiss your lips again. “But we can still use a condom anyway to be extra careful as you said.”

You frown at that, suddenly more desperate to feel him bare than ever before.

“No, I trust you. I have never done it without a condom before, and I assume you didn’t have much time to uh… have sex.”

Bucky snorts amused. “Now why do you assume that?”

“You look like you haven’t been fucked since 1945.”

The fact he doesn’t even deny it makes you feel even bolder, so you reach for his cock and place your thumb on his wet head while wrapping the rest of your hand around the length. “Are you gonna even last for a second once you’re inside me, Sergeant Barnes?” You snort when you see him trying to hold back his moan by biting his lip. It makes you feel happy. “Or do you even manage to get inside me before- ahh!” He is predictable this time as he pulls your hair, so you laugh.

“Are you familiar with this whole red, yellow, green color code?”

You gasp. “Yes, read about it, never needed it. But how do you know that?”

“I read about it, too.” His grin is so wide and beautiful that you melt again.

“Quite naughty of you, Serge. Reading dirty books. Needed some ideas?”

Bucky smirks, kissing you again and again. “Gonna need a review after I finish with you.”

“You finishing with me?” You smile. “Big words, Barnes, but no action.”

He knows you challenge him, and you don’t try to hide it. Do you have to beg for his cock for him to finally fuck you? He is edging you on purpose at this point.

You let out a whimper in anticipation when he moves behind you.

“Are you sure you’re fine with no condom?”

“Ihm, I’m not ovulating anyway,” you whisper, trying not to sound too eager. But you are. You want to get dicked down, indeed. And you wanted it for months.

His silence makes you a bit nervous, but the sounds of him dropping to his knees behind you, followed by his hand grabbing his cock and positioning it at your entrance while squeezing your hip with the metal arm.

You love the sensation of the coldness, but you love even more when he leans in to kiss your back before he pushes inside you.

It takes two tries, though, for him to be able to push halfway inside you because you kept pushing his dick out of you instantly. You managed to take him only when he brought his fingers to your clit and rubbed a bit.

You still laughed though because the sounds were too funny and his little frustrated whimpers were hilarious. The amusement turns quickly into more horniness when you feel him stretching you without even being fully inside you. You dreamed and daydreamed about it… fantasized about it, but it still wasn’t even close to how it actually feels. How full it feels. It’s like you cannot even think, your body is weak.

“Fuck,” your voice is cracking. “Deeper.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” he whispers.

“So?” You bring your hand to his ass, trying to show him you really need it deeper. “Why do you make it sound like a bad thing? Or are you trying not to come, Mr. Super Soldier?”

“You have quite a mouth on you, I think you need it-”

“You talk way too much. Are you nervous or-” It’s his turn to interrupt you with a thrust. Such a deep thrust your head is spinning. He’s not fully inside you, you realize, but he doesn’t try to, instead, he starts to fuck you, taking your breath away. His fingers leave your clit, grabbing your hips with both hands.

There is no question anymore, just fucking as you wanted.

And it feels like heaven. You try to keep your eyes open just so you look at him over your shoulder, but it’s impossible.

“Cat got your tongue?”

You groan. “No, you did, n-now fuck me harder.”

“Well, well,” he slows down and you almost wanna die. “This is not how you talk to your Sergeant, is it?”

He can’t do this!

“Fuck you!”

“What does my baby want?” His thrusts are too slow and teasing, just like his voice. “Use your words, beg for it.”

You’re not turned off, surprisingly. Not at all, on the contrary, the firm tone he uses, the words… you’re getting hornier, if that is even possible.

“I love your cock, Sergeant, so please give it to me. Fuck me harder and faster. Need you to pull my hair, and choke me, and… be rough.” You would be embarrassed if you weren’t so desperate. You know he wouldn’t make fun of you for this, so you trust him.

“Only mine.” You take a deep breath relieved when you feel his right hand wrap around your hair. “Do you hear me? Answer me.”

You nod, unable to say anything because he starts to thrust hard and fast, just like he did before he stopped. Your tits are jumping at the impact, and you have to dig your toes into the floor.

“Use your words. If you want my,” he moans. “If you want my cock and my hand wrapped around your neck, you have to use your big girl words. Tell me you’re only mine.”

You can’t hold back your tears this time. You love it so much, you can’t believe you waited so long to have him.

“Only yours.”

“No Steve.”

He lets go of your hair, wrapping his hand around your neck. No pressure, not moving it, he’s just holding it there.

“There’s n-no Steve, Sergeant. Only you. My pussy belongs to you. I o-only want to get filled by you.”

You know he’s smiling without needing to look at him.

“You love your Sergeant’s cock, don’t you?” You have no idea how he’s able to speak while thrusting so hard. He’s a fucking robot, indeed. “No one else could give you this, no matter how much they tried.”

You feel the building in your core. You’re so, so close already, so you try to place your weight on only one hand and bring the other to cover his, and before he can say something, you encourage him to choke you by pressing his fingers on the sides of your neck.

You moan so loudly you surprise even yourself. You sound like a cat.

“Please, sergeant, please, choke me.” You repeat your move and you close your eyes. “Please, daddy, I’m so c-close.”

He pauses for a second, and you don’t know why.

Before you can ask what’s wrong, he doesn’t just start to thrust inside you again, he dicks you down just the way you wanted. It’s as if he fucks the air out of your lungs every time you exhale. You’re crying and screaming at this point, so loud the whole floor must hear you. But you’re not ashamed. You feel so close you can almost taste it.

You barely hear his whimpers, but they’re there and they’re so beautiful.

You get no warning when he decides to squeeze the sides of your neck: gently at first, but then? Perfect. So perfect you come without warning, not being able to even say his name. You just scream some nonsense, your hand dropping from his to the floor so you can ground yourself properly. Your whole body is burning, and burning, and burning, coming alive for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t wait even for a second after you come down from your orgasm. Instead, he gets his dick out of you, grabbing you by your ass and raising you in his arms. Still weak, you barely have the strength to wrap your legs around his waist and your hands around his neck. He’s sweaty but not that hot. His metal arm is making you cool down.

“Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.” His lips find your forehead and you fight the urge to kiss his neck. You feel so small in his arms… and as if no one can hurt you.

You’re smiling like a fool when your back hits his bed, and so is he. Such a beautiful, blinding smile.

You let him spread your legs before you drag his face down so you can kiss him. You bite his lip hard until he opens his mouth, moaning when you feel him entering you again. This time, you’re relaxed so he thrusts inside you so much easier.

“Gonna make you come again around your daddy’s cock..”

His hands wrap your legs around his ass when he starts to thrust again.

“You’re quite… into it, Sergeant Barnes. So dirty!”

He gently grabs your jaw. “Tongue out.”

You do it, opening your mouth and waiting, and waiting until you finally understand what he’s about to do.

Instead of being grossed out, as you expected, you eagerly swallow the saliva that he lets drip from his mouth, which lands on your tongue.

You bat your eyes as you start to move your hips to meet his thrusts halfway, and that sends him into a frenzy.

“Fucking hell, you don’t want to sleep tonight, do you?” He asks sarcastically, but you don’t have enough air to tease him with a stamina comment. “You want me to make you scream and swallow my spit and come till we have to go to that fucking mission. Till your beloved Steve needs to come to us himself and hear us covered in come but still fucking.” You moan at the idea of your teammates finding out about this. You get awful comments anyway; at least you can get him for real and rub it in their faces. “You would like that, wouldn’t ya? Having all my undivided attention on you, not caring that my best friend is mad…” The thrusts are so deep that your head falls on the pillow instantly. You cannot keep your eyes open for even a second and you’re crying again. “Not caring my pal wanted you so badly he even tried to take you out tonight.”

“Sergeant-”

Thrust after thrust. You grab his forearm as tightly as you can so you can have something to hold onto.

“He thought he could have you, that you’d choose him. Come on, love. Come on, scream my name, let them hear. Let them all hear whose cock you cry for. Who is the one you belong to.” His balls slap against your skin so hard they tickle you. But not even that can distract you from almost reaching your orgasm. His words, his cock, his possessiveness…

“Sergeant, please. No one but you, can I… c-can I touch my clit? I’m so, so close.”

You don’t have to, though, because he is quick enough to bring his flesh hand between your bodies and rub your clit just the way you need it.

“F-fuck, coming,” you manage to warn him before the pleasure hits you. It’s so overwhelming you see white, digging your nails into his forearm.

You don’t know what you call him… daddy, Bucky or sergeant, but it doesn’t matter. You hear his praise, how you’re his good girl, and his words encouraging you to come for him.

When you can focus again, you kiss him with everything you have.

“Need you to come for me, Sergeant Barnes,” you whisper between kisses. “Need you to come inside me, need you to fill me up with your come, sir.”

He hisses loudly, his eyes being more grey than blue.

“Don’t tease me.”

“I mean it,” you make eye contact, wrapping your legs tighter around him. “Not the heat of the moment. I need your come, daddy. I’m on birth-”

He kisses you so hard your teeth end up hitting, but you don’t care. This is everything.

“Gonna come, gonna give you what you want. Gonna make you my come s-slut. Is that what you needed?”

“Yes, yes.” You’re so excited to watch him finish you don’t even realize how much you like being called his come slut until he says it again. “Come on, Sergeant, come for me.”

After you say that, it only takes him two more thrusts to finish, moaning your name.

His eyes close, and you notice how pretty his eyelashes are. And the little moles on his face… his mouth semi-open and his hair in all directions.

You want to witness this every day.

Before you can stop yourself, you lean in to kiss his nose and cheeks, letting your hips move at the same time.

“C-can’t… doesn’t stop,” he manages to groan, and you bring your hand to his nape, caressing his hair as he rides out his orgasm.

When he finally finishes, though, his head falls on top of your breasts, his mouth finding your nipple and playing with it before sucking it fully into his mouth.

“Easy, Bucky,” you moan, but he keeps going, though.

You have to pull his hair, to make him stop.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I need to uh… I’m tired.”

You’re back to your shy self. But his smile still makes you feel so relaxed.

“Got you tired, huh?” He winks, giving your breasts a kiss before pressing his lips against yours. “Fuck, I’ve never been so aroused in my entire life. Won’t even mention how happy I am.”

“Me neither,” you whisper.

“Well, we need to get used to it.”

You laugh so happily that you think your chest will explode. It’s surreal.

“You owe me that dinner after all.”

“A million dinners.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Trying to charm me?”

He pecks you one more time before getting out of you with a whimper.

“I’ve already done it.”

It’s weird to be empty like this again, but seeing your come and wetness on his pubic hair or dripping out of your pussy just to soak the sheets beneath you distracts you. You made a mess.

“We need to clean this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says distractedly as he uses his index finger to push some come back inside you. Jesus! “This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You smile. “You’re a whore.”

“Your whore.” He slowly gets out of bed, grabbing his shorts from the floor.

“Want me to go?” You ask all of a sudden, gaining a confused look from him.

“Why would I want that? Unless you do, of course…” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to fix it a little. “But I want you to stay.”

“Saw you dressing.” You bring your knees up just to put your chin on top of them. You feel extra shy.

He smiles. “Just gonna get you some water. I don’t want you dehydrated.”

Bucky knew Steve was in the kitchen as soon as he went down the stairs. He smiles casually, not giving him a second look as he goes straight to the fridge. It’s not like he hasn’t seen him in shorts or shirtless before, and Bucky knows he knew exactly what happened upstairs.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve’s tone is so obvious Bucky almost laughs.

“Not sleepy yet. What about you? You’re alright, punk?”

“Yeah,” he says, taking a sip from his own glass of water; his hands tightly wrapped around the glass.

“Still mad about earlier? You know I’m right.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s all good.”

Bucky sighs dramatically. He loves Steve, he is his brother, but sometimes he is so annoying.

“Well, try to get some sleep. I suggest you wear some earplugs or something, though,” Bucky suggests casually, taking a whole bottle of water. “We wouldn’t want you too sleepy tomorrow. And the night is young.” He even winks at Steve, making him clear his throat.

“Buck…”

“Not a super soldier perk, I know, but you understand, right?” The smirk he suddenly gives Steve is almost sinister. “She chose me after all, and I gotta let her test-drive me. Have a good night!”

Even though he turns around, Bucky doesn’t miss the way Steve’s hold gets so tight that his glass almost breaks.

Bucky doesn’t regret it. He had it coming when he thought you’d choose him.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x agent!reader #bucky barnes x agent!femalereader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #my stories #my fanfics #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x agent! female reader

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starlightxsvt · 7 months

Text

Sentinel's Serenade | c.sc

pairing ➳ bodyguard!Scoups x heiress!reader

genre ➳ drama, angst, romance, smut.

word count ➳ 29.5k (i'm sorry)

warnings ➳ car crash, ptsd, flashbacks of war, panic attack, murder, violence, guns, blood, death, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, female oral, arguments, coups is an a-hole but he has reasons, he was also in the military, Jun is a bad guy here(im sorry), jihoon blesses us with his special appearance.

synopsis ➳ As you start digging up an accident that has been brushed under the rug, you make an enemy who is out to get you no matter what. Amidst all the chaos you develop feelings for your bodyguard who has built walls of steel around him.

"This is your new bodyguard, Seungcheol."

Your head tilts upward, as you scan the man standing in front of you with careful eyes. He's tall and broad; exactly how you'd imagine a bodyguard to be, along with an emptiness in his eyes, so cold and robotic that would only be achievable after being through some heavy shit, you assume. Your father continues listing off his certifications and qualities but your brain doesn't capture much after hearing that he can speak sign language and is an ex navy SEAL; too busy getting distracted with his handsome features and dissecting him as much as you can just from looking.

The man isn't handsome in the typical sense, definitely not the handsome you're used to seeing in magazine covers and charity galas. No, he's ruggedly handsome, shielding himself with a tough exterior, his thick brows knotted in a frown and his full, red lips set in a grim line, blond hair brushed back neatly.

With the way he looks in that expensive suit hugging his body, he could pass as a business tycoon but his aura is completely different; alert, strict, impenetrable.

His hand reaches out for yours to meet in a handshake after your father is done introducing him. You watch his extended hand for a while, observing little scratches and cuts that seem to still be healing on his knuckles before meeting his hand. As expected, his palms are calloused but cool. His grip is firm, just like the look in his dark eyes and for some unknown reason tingles shoot down your spine.

"Choi Seungcheol, ma'am." His voice has a deep timbre to it. It'd be perfect for audiobooks, you muse idly. "He is to be with you whenever you are going outside till the foreseeable future." Your father states. There isn't much room for arguments here and you aren't too bothered having a shadow because this isn't the first time.

You had a personal bodyguard six months ago and the man sustained a serious hip injury due to...circumstances involving you. Now that you are back and ready to face the world, you know that keeping a personal bodyguard is a wise decision, even if your father may have assigned him with ulterior motives.

It's okay, the games are just beginning and you are playing for the long haul.

—

"Met your new guard on the way. Guy's a robot." Chan says as he strolls into the library with his hands in his pockets. You assume he's talking about Seungcheol, who is currently stationed outside the library room even though you told him to take a break.

A copy of Jane Eyre sits open on your lap as you look up to meet Chan's eyes. Offering him a small smile, you motion him to sit next to you. Your younger brother had been out of the country due to business for the past few weeks so it has been a while since you last saw him.

"So you are really going back to work?" He asks, a soft, concerning note to his voice as he sits down next to you on the divan. You sigh and give him an exasperated look.

"I'm more than ready. Sitting idle hasn't done me much good." You sign.

His eyes watch the movements of your hands before he murmurs, "It will be tough, you know... without your... voice. I don't want you to get into any trouble, especially after everything."

"I'll manage." You sign. You will.

It has been six long months since the accident. Six months since you lost your mother. Six months since you have last uttered a word. Six months since you have been at work.

Six months since your life has completely been turned upside down.

You have been thrown entirely off track, the reigns of your horse being snatched away by a dark force plotting far worse things. But you will uncover them. No matter how long or what it takes.

"Dad thinks you're not ready yet," Chan comments, breaking your train of thought.

You huff out an annoyed breath.

"I don't really care what he thinks you know," you sign and your brother snorts, looking at you with a fond, amused expression. "It will be hard." He says absent-mindedly. "To adjust back to everything."

You nod because you know it will be. You have already heard the board members express their dissatisfaction over you returning as the CEO. Lee publishing has been in its prime since last year and they're afraid it's gonna lose its position with a mute CEO. Funny how they forget you are the one who brought it to where it is today. Lee Publishings, your family's publishing company was handed over to you by your grandfather. He started it from scratch and it became the first successful family business before he decided to hand it over to you when you became twenty.

Your bond with your grandfather was always special, maybe because you both shared the same love for books and sense of humour. You grew up watching him read and collect books and naturally you picked up on that habit. As you grew up you watched him work closely, helping him wherever you could with the company which led him to hand it over to you.

Not your father, your brother or any of your cousins but you.

He was lucky enough to watch you take on the role and make the company flourish for all three months before he passed away peacefully one night in his sleep.

The feud began after that as your uncle, Jin Lee and your father started expressing their concerns, saying that you wouldn't be able to rule over the company well now that your grandfather wasn't here to guide you. While your uncle wanted the publishing house for himself and his useless son, Jun, your father wanted to hand the company over to Chan, believing that your brother would be a better president, and offering you the role of the vice president instead. It came to you without any surprise because your brother was always your father's favourite child.

You, however, had stood your ground and promptly refused, challenging them to try and take it from you. Thankfully, your brother was on your side, saying that it rightfully belonged to you and you were more than eligible to rule over it. Chan's disinterest may have backed off your father temporarily, you can tell, but your uncle is still desperate, now more than ever.

"You are going to move back to your place soon as well," Chan complains with a pout, breaking your train of thought. Giving him a sad smile you open your arms, inviting him for a hug which he gladly accepts. After one week of staying at the hospital and your mother's burial, you decided that you would stay at the mansion you grew up in, essentially your father's house, instead of your own apartment in the city, for the foreseeable future. This mansion held a lot of memories for you, especially with your mother. Breakfast in the garden, late night talks in the huge library and sipping on tea while watching the sunset together through the large window in the west wing.

You could never imagine a life without your mother yet here you are, living one. But it is time you slowly start going back to where you belong.

"It will be lonely here without you…and mom," Chan whispers.

You can only blink back your tears and hug him tighter.

—

Just on your fifth day back, you realise that things are not going to be anywhere near easy for you, not that you expected, but still.

The moment you get to work on Wednesday morning, there is a commotion outside the main entrance of the building which leads your driver to drop you and Seungcheol at the underground entrance. You are greeted by the bleak face of your secretary as you walk to your office, who announces that the vice president is there to see you. Once you enter your office, you indeed find vice president Jun, your dear cousin, sitting on your seat with the face of a cat who ate the canary.

Seungcheol, who is always trailing behind you like a shadow, moves— to drag him out of your seat no doubt, but you raise your hand as a gesture to tell him to stop.

"Good morning, Miss Lee. Though it doesn't look like a good morning for you," He grins, standing up and rounding the desk lazily while tilting his chin at the coffee table where the morning paper is lying. You pick it up and in bold letters on the front page, the headline greets you with: "President of Lee Publishings Accused of Employee Mistreatment."

It goes on and on about some bullshit of how you have been treating employees badly and holding their salary because you have apparently returned with a nasty temper as you can't speak anymore. You can't help but scoff, because the reality is far, far from what the paper says.

Ever since you've been back at work, all you've ever done is stay inside your office and go through all the pending documents and close deals that were hanging. Your only human contact has been your secretary Hansol and your bodyguard, both of whom have more similarities to a wall than a human. Your previously bubbly secretary has turned awkward now, probably because you have lost your voice and holding a conversation with you proves to be hard. Seungcheol, on the other hand, is like a robot who stands by your door all day and only answers your questions as briefly as possible, most of the time with a yes or no.

Your hands form fists at your sides as you glare at Jun, who stands there, pridefully evil, watching you with a satisfied grin on his face. "Things are looking rather bleak for you," He tuts in mock sympathy as he strolls towards you, hands in his pockets. As he comes to stand right next to you, his hand reaches out for your shoulder to pat you but Seungcheol grabs his wrist and twists it, making him shriek in pain.

"Fuck! Let go, you asshole!"

"You do not have permission to touch her," Seungcheol calmly states, still not letting go. You sigh and sign Seungcheol to kick him out, which he does immediately while your cousin screams in protest as you walk to your desk and sit down, rubbing your temples in frustration.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Seungcheol asks after closing the door behind him.

You watch him for a while, your mind running a mile a minute as you think of a thousand ways of payback. But then you remind yourself that you have to approach this calmly. So you force a smile and sign.

"Send my secretary in. —

A couple of days later, you are not pleasantly surprised to see your father waiting to greet you at the front of the house when you return from work.

Just as Seungcheol opens the car door for you to get out, your father marches towards you.

"What did you do, girl? I told you to stay put! Your uncle Jin is here to see you!" His tone is not friendly. In fact, you pick up heavy disappointment, which you expected. This was bound to happen after you fired your cousin Jun from his position today.

You smile calmly at him before turning to Seungcheol and signalling to him that he is relieved of his duties. He looks at you warily and you have a feeling he wants to say no but he ultimately just nods and takes his leave, driving away the car to park.

"He's waiting for you in the backyard." Your father announces. As you start walking away he yells, "You better fix what you have done today! The company won't last if you keep on making hasty decisions like these!"

Deciding to ignore him you walk to the backyard with unfaltering steps and find your uncle standing there with arms crossed, feet tapping furiously. You approach him with a smile, not a friendly one but the subtle smile of challenge as he takes furious steps towards you when he sees you coming.

"You! What have you done, _____? You fired my son from his position!" He hollers, marching to stand in front of you, fury blazing vividly in his eyes.

Silently, you hold eye contact with him.

"You think you can do as you please after you get into an accident and we'll just let you? Who do you think you are to fire my son?"

You smirk before producing your notepad from your bag and start scribbling.

"I'm the president of the company and based on our investigation your son was found guilty of spreading fake news about me mistreating my employees. The reporter who got paid to write it confessed himself."

You hold out the notepad for him to read.

"How dare you believe a lowly reporter over my son? Over your own cousin?" Your uncle is livid. "If you keep behaving like this then I'll retract all my assets shared with your father. You know I can take over the Lee Enterprises anytime if I want."

You roll your eyes. Yeah, do whatever you want.

You start writing down. "If you have nothing productive to say I suggest you leave now and have a chat with your precious son. I have had a long day."

As soon as he reads the words written on the paper he bats the notebook away from your hand, making you gasp. The look in his eyes is akin to a madman's as he takes a threatening step towards you and leans in to whisper in your ear.

"If you don't want to end up like your mother I suggest you start behaving, ______." He sneers.

Your whole body freezes up like a block of ice as your breath catches in your lungs. Your uncle's eyes are cruel, threating, filled with a layer of secrets that you're desperate to uncover as he takes a step back. The look of panic on your face brings satisfaction to him as watches you for a few moments, letting his words sink in and challenging you to do something about it before he smirks and walks out of the backyard.

Your legs, which have been shaky until now finally give up and you fall on the perfectly trimmed grass, your breaths coming out in the form of pants.

The horrible realisation sinks into you.

Your suspicions were true.

His words just confirmed that which means you need to up your game. Immediately.

You're surprised at how quickly, how easily you think of one person when you need someone to help you.

Hands shaky, you type a message to Seungcheol.

— There's something different about Seungcheol the moment he arrives at your front gate in his BMW. As you watch him get out of the car and jog towards you, you realise it's his fit; he's not wearing his typical two piece suit.

No, he's dressed in a fitted white polo and black slacks, the polo so tight that you can see the bulging outline of his chest and arms. Despite the negative thoughts brewing in your head you get distracted for a second as you ogle him unashamedly and take longer than you should to respond to his question. "Are you alright, ma'am? I wasn't expecting you to call so late."

You roll your eyes. It's only like eight in the evening. Though you can see why it was unexpected for him because he is relieved from duty as you get off work in the evening. Not replying to him, you tilt your head towards his car, indicating to him to open the passenger side door. He looks doubtful for a second before following your instructions.

"Where would you like me to take you?" Seungcheol asks once you're both inside the car and he has started the engine. You sigh and sign, "Somewhere far and quiet."

His thick brows knot into a frown as he thinks for a few seconds before simply nodding. Then, surprising you, he reaches over and pulls your seatbelt across your chest, which you just realised you forgot to put on. His being so close lets you get a really good sniff of his cologne and once again you get heavily distracted as you start wondering what he'd do if you leaned into his neck and wrapped your arms around him.

Where are these thoughts coming from?

You have no idea. This is not the first time you've had them, though.

It is like this new disease you have caught. Your mind goes haywire whenever you look at Seungcheol for a second too long. The first time it happened was right after the rumour of employee mistreatment broke out and you were leaving from work. Even though you took the back exit through the underground parking, the press mobbed you, throwing a string of questions at you while their cameras kept flashing repeatedly.

Seungcheol, of course, managed everything very efficiently and got you away safely. The way his hand squeezed your shoulder, his face hovering near yours while he asked if you were okay was a feeling that has managed to stay with you very vividly even now. You were a bit spaced out but not for the reasons he was thinking; it was just that he looked too attractive and his touch felt too comforting, even though he was merely doing his job.

You are a tiny bit ashamed to admit that he has made your heart flutter since then, with every little thing he did.

You don't get to dwell on your day dreams for too long because he's leaning back in his seat and pressing the accelerator, making you jerk softly.

A quiet thirty minutes of drive later you discover that Seungcheol has taken you to the beach right on the outskirts of the city. It isn't something you were expecting but you realise it is something you definitely need.

As he parks the car on a small cliff overlooking the entire beach, you hear the soothing sounds of the wave crashing into the shore clearly.

And it brings back vague memories of your childhood, when your mother took you to this beach because she loved the air here so much. As if in a trance, you get out of the car and stand by the cliff, letting the cool sea breeze wash over you as the salty smell in the air invades your nose. Your bodyguard stands by you silently for a while and without looking, you can tell that his eyes are on you, watching you carefully.

Sometime later, he breaks the peaceful silence, "Would like to eat something? There are a few food trucks nearby." He moves his head to motion at the food trucks parked far away, their lights blinking. Shaking your head no, you fill your lungs with the cool night air by taking one more deep breath before moving to the back of the car and leaning against the trunk. Seungcheol follows you as you pat the space next to you for him to come and stand.

He does so and you let out a heavy breath before signing. "I need you to do something for me. Something that has to remain a secret."

Seungcheol raises his brows slightly before frowning. He doesn't reply immediately and you stand upright, holding eye contact with him. "It is very important to me, Seungcheol. I need to know if I can trust you to keep it a secret from everyone," you sign.

"Okay, ma'am." He finally responds.

"Even from my father," you sign. "I know you're working for him but for this task, I will pay you separately so you will only answer to me about this, okay?"

"Okay ma'am."

"Good." You huff out a breath. "You are from a prominent security company, right? I need you to look into a man for me. Jin Lee."

"Your uncle?" He looks bewildered. "Yes. I need his whereabouts on 23rd March of this year. And I need to know who he contacted before this accident. Any call or bank transfer that seems remotely out of place, you look into it for me, okay?" He pauses for a breath before replying. "Okay, ma'am."

"Just call me ____, Seungcheol."

— On the weekend, you have lunch with Chan in the garden of the mansion, the place where you two had lunch with your mother, as he eagerly asks you about how you have been doing and assures you that he is here if you need anything. After lunch, you see him off for a meeting before aimlessly strolling through the hallways of your house by yourself.

The cleanup at your place has been completed so you are planning on moving back tomorrow and you realise it will be a while before you come back here. Through your walk, you come across a painting hanging on the large hallway towards your father's office that makes you stop to stare.

It is a picture of your mother with you and Chan, taken when you were about twelve years old. It is your favourite picture in the entire house, maybe because you have a memory attached to it or maybe because it's simply magnificent, the three of your smiles shining so brightly.

It was a gift from your grandfather to your mother on her thirty seventh birthday and she had it hung here, right in front of a large set of windows that overlooks the garden. The afternoon sun falls right on the picture, casting it in an ethereal glow and it is almost like your mom is here, cheering you on with her beautiful smile.

With a soft sigh and tears withheld, you say goodbye to the picture and walk away. You are aiming to go straight to your room but the loud voices coming from your father's office makes you stop.

You realise the door is just slightly opened and you walk over to shut it but stop in your tracks when you hear your uncle's voice.

"You better get your daughter under control or it will not be good for you!" He is shouting.

"Are you threatening me?"

"I am warning you, brother."

"Jin, please, just let her be for a while. She has lost her voice. I am sure she will not be able to perform like before. Then you and the board can fire her."

You are somewhat hurt by your father's words but once again, they do not come to you as a surprise. "Exactly! Why should I let the company go to waste because of her poor performance? You tell her to fuck off or I will remove her myself!"

"Jin, please. You already got rid of Aileen. You do not have to go any further.

Your world has come to a stop.

You forget to breath, as you simply stand there, stunned, convinced that you heard wrong.

You had to have heard wrong.

"I got rid of her and I'll get rid of you too, if you don't listen to me! Don't forget I own the shares of the family hotel just as much as you do. It will not be a challenge to turn the board of directors against you. Imagine what will happen after that? Your most lucrative business will be completely mine and your dear son will become penniless."

There is no reply from your father. Or maybe there is but you do not hear it.

There is a deafening ring in yours ears as you muffle your sobs by clutching your mouth tightly and making a beeline for your room.

You cannot believe this. You absolutely can not. It is something you could not have imagined even in your wildest nightmare. Your father knows your uncle killed your mom, yet he is staying silent. Why? Why!

Granted, your parents were never happily married and growing up you have heard that your father has mistresses. It never bothered your mother because their marriage was only a business agreement in the very first place and she had all her attention focused on you and Chan. But to think that he is letting her killer walk free is unbelievable.

After all he lived with her, his wife, the mother of his children for so many goddamn years!

By the time you have entered your room, you are full on crying, ugly and loud. Tears are blurring your vision as you flail around the room, helplessly, aimlessly, devastatedly.

And before you know it, you are throwing the thousand dollar porcelain vase by your bedside to the ground.

The piece shatters into bits and the sound oddly satisfies you, prompting you to throw another one. And for the next few minutes you throw anything you can find in your room, not caring how valuable they are, not caring that a shard of glass has ripped the skin below your left thumb, making you bleed.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck all of you!" You yell at the top of your lungs, not caring to keep up the facade anymore.

Once you have run out of energy, you stop to look at the mess you made, glad that the messy room and the pain from the cut on your hand makes your mind go blank for a while.

But you do not miss the small, almost inaudible creak of the door to your room. Your head whips into the direction to see none other than Seungcheol, standing right out front, his eyes wide and his lips parted in a small gasp of surprise.

You forget to breathe as you realise he might have been standing there for a while and he witnessed everything.

Everything.

He knows your secret. He knows that you are not mute. Before you know it, your feet are moving as you push open the door and yank your bodyguard into your room, not before glancing left and right down the hallway to check anyone's presence.

As soon as you lock the door, you press him against it and lean on your tiptoes, inching your face closer to him as you whisper, "Keep. This. A. Secret."

You had meant for the words to come out threatening but your tear stained eyes and cracking voice doesn't help establish that image.

Seungcheol stares at you with a gaze you are quite unable to decipher. His eyes are soft, full of wonder and you think you can almost spot admiration and something more in them and for a moment, you find yourself lost in the sea of his gaze.

"______". He calls your name softly. His hands come to your upper arms to hold you gently as he puts some distance between the two of you before ushering you towards your bed and making you sit down. "Your secret is safe with me," he confirms as he sits next to you. "But I am glad you can speak again." He murmurs, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze as he looks around the room you just trashed.

You let out half a sigh of relief, knowing that your secret is safe and you find yourself speaking before you can even think. "I got my voice back quite a while ago. Two months after the accident, actually." Seungcheol's head whips towards you, his eyes widening in surprise.

"My uncle seemed very happy when I lost my voice and he was being weirdly nice to me. I already had my suspicions that the accident was an inside job so I pretended to act mute." You whisper, eyes trained on the floor.

How right you were!

It was an inside job but it had its roots spread out much farther than you thought. Your uncle killed your mother while your father sits there in silence despite knowing that!

The thought makes you shake your head as a dry, mirthless laughter wrings out of your throat. Your head falls back as you laugh like a mad woman as Seungcheol watches you, absolutely perplexed.

He gently tries calling your name. "______—"

"My father knew!" You are yelling between laughter. "He fucking knew!"

The poor man only looks more confused.

"He knew— he… he knows my uncle killed my mom but he is staying silent! He said it himself! I heard him! Do you understand, Seungcheol, my father is turning a blind eye! He is choosing to save his fucking business over me, over his children!"

Seungcheol looks absolutely baffled upon hearing your words as he falls silent with a bleak expression. He does not have the adequate words to respond to that and he simply does not know what he can do at this point to make you feel better. However, he takes notice of the cut below your thumb and reaches for your hand, setting it down on his thigh while he takes out a handkerchief and gently ties it around the injury. "You hurt yourself," he states quietly, almost to himself before meeting your eyes. "I know what you heard was painful but you need to take care of yourself. For your mother, at least."

And the damn breaks.

You break into a full on sob as you wrap your hands around his large shoulders, molding yourself against him as you cry unceremoniously in his chest. Seungcheol's arms wrap around your body in an effortless blanket of security as he rests his chin on top of your head and strokes your head while you try to burrow yourself deeper into his chest.

It takes a while for the messy array of tears to subside and once you have calmed down a little, you take notice of his white shirt which is now completely wet where you rested your face. "I'm sorry," you croak weakly, trying to pull away but he holds you by the arms and makes you face him by tilting your chin with his finger.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, okay? Now tell me what I can do to make this a little better. Just so you know, my team is almost done digging up about your uncle. We should have a solid update tomorrow."

A small sob of gratitude and relief escapes your throat and Seungcheol immediately shushes you, his eyes helplessly searching for yours. "C-can you please ask them to look into my dad as well," you hiccup, saying the words you never imagined would come out of your mouth. "I need to know his whereabouts before the accident."

Seungcheol assures you with a nod while his hand strokes your back soothingly. Exhaling a loud, defeated sigh, you wipe your tears and mutter. "Please help me pack my bags, Seungcheol. I am moving back to my place. Tonight. I cannot stay here a second longer."

The man looks like he wants to protest but goes against it and simply nods, getting up to retrieve your bags from your closet.

After hastily packing your belongings you waste no time to march out of the house with Seungcheol trailing behind you. You leave a note on the kitchen, simply saying something came up and you had to leave early.

You are extremely grateful that you do not come across your father because one look at him and the ticking time bomb inside you would explode and you definitely cause a scene.

As the night grows deeper slowly, you isolate yourself in your room once you come back to your apartment. Despite Seungcheol's insistence, you tell him to call it a day and lock yourself up in your room, throwing yourself a pity party. It has been a while since you had such a restless night— the last one being after the accident, and it takes a long long time for sleep to come.

When your eyes finally fall shut, hues of orange and blue have already grazed the sky.

—

You do not feel like your best self in the morning but the news Seungcheol brings is enough to get you back on track.

The manila file sitting on your desk is a gold mine, it's contents spread throughout the surface as you sit in silence, hands linked together under your chin, your brain finally connecting the pieces together.

Seungcheol's friends found a shady bank transfer made by your uncle, two weeks before the accident. The tip led them to an old gang who, after applying some tactics, admitted to taking money from Jin Lee in order to commit a hit and run. After digging around some more they found papers that now lie on your table, a clear proof of your uncle's deal with the gang, which they kept as insurance. Among the documents, one particularly catches your eye.

It is the information of the driver of the truck that hit your car.

The picture is like a jolt of electricity through your system as you are immediately taken back to the scene of the crash, the moments after where you were hovering over the brink of consciousness. You remember seeing a man peeking into your wrecked car, a man with a scar on his left cheek and all this time you could not fully believe that to be real.

But it was. You did not imagine it. The picture on the document is that of the driver you saw that morning, the man with a scar on his left cheek, his eyes dark and blank, his lips twisted in a line of malice.

"_____?" Seungcheol's gentle voice guides you out of your head. "My friend had his confession recorded. Would you like to hear it?"

"Of course."

"I need to warn you…it is pretty detailed. About the accident, you know." He looks guilty, even though he has no reason to be.

You swallow a lump in your throat as your heart beat picks up. Are you really ready to revisit that morning? Relive all those feelings?

You have to.

Seungcheol pushes a voice recorder towards you on the table, pressing a button to turn it on.

"I was told that there would be only a girl and her bodyguard in the car! I swear I didn't know her mother would be there as well! I did not mean to kill the woman! After I hit the car, I went to check and…and the older woman was dead! The girl looked barely alive and I didn't think she would survive…."

There is a buzzing sound in your ears. It is deafening.

You are transported to a void where these words keep repeating and repeating, pulling you down, sucking you deeper into a pit of despair. It hurts so much you are sure death would be easier.

Your head hangs low, silent tears trailing down your cheek as you stare at your lap. Seungcheol calls your name multiple times, asking if you are okay but you cannot bring yourself to form a reply.

The pain, the guilt, the shame, the anger— everything is overwhelming. These feelings consume you whole and dry you out until you are left with an unbelievable urge to scream and holler and cry.

"______, please, can you hear me?" Seungcheol's touch on your shoulder makes you jolt. You look up to find him standing next to you, eyes glazed with concern as he peers down at you.

"I am fine," you reply after taking a shaky breath.

"Are you sure? Maybe you should call it day—"

"Seungcheol?" You interrupt him. You wipe the tears clean and sit up straight. "Can you call my lawyer? I need him here as soon as possible."

—

Bad news awaits you the next day when you return home from work.

As usual Seungcheol walks you to the door of your apartment but you realise something is up when he abruptly stops after stepping out of the elevator and turning towards the door to your place. Following his line of sight you realise he has taken notice of the slightly open front door to your house.

Your heart drops as a small gasp leaves your lips.

Someone broke into your place. And it does not take a genius to guess who Plus it also confirms that your uncle has found out you have been snooping around. A calm man like him does not make a move unless things are really dire and this proves that he is desperate to get that evidence out of your hands.

Seungcheol tenses up beside you and uses a hand to push you behind his body in a protective manner as he steps closer to the door. With the other hand he pulls out his revolver, holding it out and pointing it straight.

"S-Seungcheol—" You start panicking.

He shushes you before you can say much, eyes trained forward as he takes measured steps. Swallowing the bubble of fear, you hold his back as you follow him into your apartment.

The storeroom which is right on the left after entering is the first place Seungcheol checks, and when he finds it clear he pushes you inside haphazardly.

"Don't come out until I get you." He commands, shutting the door on your face and clicking the lock before you can even process anything. Baffled, you stand still inside the dimly lit room, carefully listening for any sounds, while a thousand different thoughts run through your head. This building is one of the most secure residential buildings in the city and breaking in here is quite literally impossible. Which means it is clear your uncle bribed someone on the inside and the realisation of how scary things are getting dawns on you, making you chew nervously on your lower lip as you start to grow restless.

Thankfully, a quick while later Seungcheol opens the door, a wary look on his face and you can immediately tell something is wrong. As soon as the door opens, you push past him and head for your bedroom, only to find the place absolutely trashed. Everything is a mess; from your bed to your closet to your dresser and it is evident that someone took their sweet time to comb through every one of your possessions and as you take in the havoc, the last of your doubts go away.

They were undoubtedly looking for the documents and the recorder.

Your hands fist at your sides as tears of anger and frustration gather at the corners of your eyes. It only amplifies when you see one of your most precious belongings lying face down on the floor— a picture of you and your mother taken on your eighteenth birthday.

Immediately you kneel and pick the frame up only to find it broken, making you heave out a helpless cry of anger. As you clutch it to your chest, your eyes scan the mess around you and a sense of doom settles in your gut. So this is what your life has come to now.

"Come. You're not staying here." Seungcheol's quiet command disrupts your thoughts.

"W-what? What do you mean? Where am I gonna go?" You scramble to stand up.

"At my place. This place isn't safe, _____." He pins you down with a serious look. "Pack your essentials and I mean absolute essentials. Your passport and any important papers."

"Wait, I—"

"Now." He commands. "I am gonna make some calls to find out who did this. Be ready in ten." He is walking out of the room while dialling a number, leaving you flabbergasted.

A while later you sit on the passenger's seat next to Seungcheol as he pulls the car out of your underground parking and onto the busy street, eyes focused on the road in silence. The only sound surrounding you is the sound of the bustling city and it isn't enough to ease the thick tension in the car. Seungcheol's jaw is clenched and his lips are pressed into a thin line as you observe him while he stares straight ahead. "What do we do after going to your place? I can't just hide forever." You break the silence with your words, your eyes trained out the window. It looks like it's going to rain.

"You'll stay in my place until the threat is removed. I'll soon receive the CCTV footage and from there on we can track down who ordered to invade your home." He declares.

"It was my uncle." You say without much thought.

Seungcheol turns to look at you for a beat before focusing on the road again. "You sound sure." He murmurs.

"Who else would it be then? He is after the evidence." You reply. Seungcheol remains silent for a beat before agreeing with a hum. Another silence follows after that. You take occasional, shy glances at him while he drives and when the car stops at a red light in an intersection, you call for him, making him turn his head to look at you. "Seungcheol?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For today."

He stares at you quietly, not blinking. "I just did my job."

"No, you are doing a lot more. You are helping me out in so many ways and I can only keep myself together thanks to you."

He only stares more at you. His gaze is intense and his eyes are hypnotic; if you stare too long it unnerves you, dissects you open. "You will be fine, _____." He replies after a long pause. "With or without me."

His words trigger you.

With or without me?

You want to yell that he has to stick around however long you want him to but his cold demeanour makes your thoughts appear silly, even to yourself. You are clearly looking for something more, much more than he wants to give you. You know he would probably burn the world for you, not because he loves you but because he is a loyal person and probably because he pities you.

Just a little bit. And you accept that. — Seungcheol's place is a canvas of grey and black and white. It is minimalistic and clean, a one bedroom apartment on the tenth floor in a quieter part of the city. As he walks you through his humble abode, he gives directions on where everything is and finally opens the door to his bedroom, leading you in before announcing. "You take the bed. I'll sleep on the sofa."

You do not protest because you know he would never listen. Instead, you almost ask him to share the bed with you but prevent going with it because you cannot trust yourself to remain professional while he sleeps so close to you with that tempting body of his.

"I'll leave you to rest. I'm going for a grocery run. Do not open the door for anyone but me. If there is any problem, call me." He uses his no nonsense tone and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

"Okay, okay." You watch him leave before shutting the bedroom door and sitting down on the floor, letting out a deep breath, one you've been unconsciously holding for a while.

As you watch the orange sky from the large window of Seungcheol's bedroom, the events of the last forty eight hours wash over you. You can't help but admire yourself at how calm you are. You woke up feeling numb today and you've been functioning on autopilot the whole day. Seeing your place ransacked did evoke some emotion within you but then again, deep down you were expecting something like this to happen once you had the evidence.

You're running on pure adrenaline and you know you cannot stop until you have put your dear uncle behind bars.

And maybe, even your father.

He's an accomplice, no? He knows very well who killed his wife yet he decides to keep quiet, which makes him more vile to you. You find more hatred towards your father brimming within you, than towards your uncle. Yes, you expected him to play unfair but your own father knowing the culprit of your mother's death and simply burying it under the rug? That, you absolutely cannot tolerate.

A number of different scenarios run through your head on how you can bring them down. Despite having this irresistible urge to just run to the police with the recorder, you remember your lawyer's words.

It won't be enough.

A few documents and a tape of confession are not enough to bring a man like Jin down. He has very strong connections with law enforcement and an even stronger set of lawyers. You need a solid witness. You need to catch him red handed. You need to create a scandal he can't recover from. You need to gather more proof. Proof so irrefutable, that his entire empire comes crashing down.

And good for you, your uncle has already started setting up his doom. Trashing your place was his first mistake, the first piece of the domino. Now, it is a matter of time until everything collapses. You pray he will keep on making more mistakes.

In fact, you know he will. He will do anything to get his hands on the evidence and you will stack all his actions against him at court. And when the time comes for the nail to hit the head…

You're going to be the bait. —

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you wake up from your sleep. Falling asleep came to you easily after eating the dinner Seungcheol cooked and then curling up in his bed where the sheets smelled subtly like him. It led you to have the best sleep you had in a while but now that you are awake, there is an itch in your throat, making it dry.

So, quietly, you get up from bed and walk to the kitchen, a small light in the hallway guiding you to find a glass and pour yourself some water.

As you sit on one of the breakfast stools and gulp it down, you watch Seungcheol sleeping on the sofa. The blanket that was probably on top of him once has fallen on the floor, the small space clearly not sufficient for his large frame as almost half of his body hangs out of the sofa. You almost feel bad for him and wonder how he can sleep in such a tiny space but it is pointless to feel guilty. He would never take the bed, no matter how much you offered.

As you take the last few sips of your water, you catch the moonlight draping over half of his face, casting it in an ethereal glow. It's stunning how beautiful he is. His usual stoic face is now relaxed, his full brows not knotted in a frown, his long eyelashes resting against his cheek, his plump full lips parted just a tiny bit.

Unashamedly, for the nth time, you find yourself wondering how it'd be like to kiss him. You can't remember the last time a man made you feel like this, if ever. Your relationship with him should be strictly professional yet as you spend more time with him your mind keeps on entering forbidden territories. Which is sad because you know he feels nowhere near that for you. Maybe he even has a girlfriend, or a wife— though you see no ring in his finger. Maybe a divorced wife with whom he parted ways begrudgingly, someone who still haunts his dreams.

As you conjure up various scenarios of his relationship status, Seungcheol stirs in his sleep before a quiet groan escapes his lips.

You crane your head to take a better look at him, to see if he's awake but you soon realise he isn't as another pained groan leaves his lips, his large body shuffling in the congested space.

Is he having a nightmare?

You immediately get up and dash towards him, turning a light on the way and kneeling right beside the sofa. There's a light sheen of sweat coating his face and his eyebrows are marred in a frown as his eyes remain squeezed shut, his body writhing desperately "Seungcheol? Seungcheol!" You yell, grabbing his shoulders and trying your best to shake him out of whatever that's haunting him.

"No! No! Please, no!" The pain and helplessness in his voice halts your breath as you continue to shake him awake while his hands come to grab your arms in a tight hold, almost like an anchor. His grip only grows stronger as he yells in protest and you try your very best to wake him up once more. "Seungcheol! Please! Wake up! It's a nightmare!"

A set of blown out pupils look at you the next moment, and in a moment of silence a small shaky breath leaving his lips before they part slightly in shock. Then, before you know it, you are falling on your ass as Seungcheol shoves you away and scrambles to the farthest corner of the sofa.

Even though your ass hurts, you know it was an unintended reaction. You whisper in a voice so soft as if you're talking to a wounded animal, "Seungcheol, it's okay. You're safe. You were having a nightmare."

The man sits still, hugging his knees as he still tries to catch his breath, a horrified look on his face. Not being able to bear it anymore, you immediately move to him and even though he flinches and tries to move away at first, he gives in when you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Soon he's burying his face on your neck as his large body curls around you, his hands gripping your night shirt tightly as if he's trying to mould himself into you. You feel his harsh pants on your shoulder so you try your best to soothe him, rubbing his back in repeated motions while whispering words of solace.

"It's alright, Seungcheol. I'm here. I have got you. It was just a bad dream."

You don't know how long you hold him like that but it seems to be a while, which feels too soon to you because Seungcheol pulls away from your arms before scooting away, putting a little distance between the two of you. He doesn't meet your eyes as he sighs, annoyed and dejected, while rubbing his temples. "Are you okay? Would you like some water?" You offer. He shakes his head, looking down, his usual stoic mask settling back onto his face.

"Why are you up?" He asks, his tone somewhat snappy. You frown. "I got out of bed to get a glass of water. You were having a nightmare, Seungcheol. Are you sure—"

"It's fine. It happens."

You are stunned at his lack of care. Is this a daily occurrence? Does he wake up every night, alone and screaming from his nightmares? Why is he allowing this to happen? Does he have someone to talk to? You want to ask all these questions but then decide against it due to the situation. Instead, you shuffle a little closer to him and start fixing his messy hair with a soft touch.

Seungcheol completely freezes at first and you expect him to bat your hand away but he doesn't. So you bite your lip to hide your smile as you finish fixing his hair before wiping the sweat off his brow.

But you don't get to go far with that because Seungcheol grabs your wrist in a gentle hold, stopping you. His eyes scan over the length of your arms before he meets your eye. "Are you okay? I hurt you, didn't I?"

You simply shake your head and offer him a small smile which doesn't seem to convince him. His brows frown once again as you see him start overthinking so you put a stop to them. "I'm fine, Seungcheol, really. If you should be worried about anything, it is yourself. You're not on duty right now, you know. You can relax. I'm not a priority now." His eyes bore into yours and for a moment you see something foreign in his eyes. Something akin to vulnerability, longing, maybe even desperation.

"Go back to sleep, ____." His voice is gruff. "You've had a long day."

You want to protest but decided not to as huff out a breath and cast one more longing glance at him, hoping that maybe he would change his mind, before retreating to your room.

— It's ten o'clock when you wake up.

Your first thought is that you are late for work, which makes you sit right up, ready to bolt out of bed but the next moment you realise it's a Saturday. And you are not at home. You are at Seungcheol's place.

So you take your sweet time leaving the bed and freshening up, shuffling through Seungcheol's products in the bathroom. You also sneak in a sniff of his aftershave and cologne, smiling at yourself at your perverseness.

When you step out of your room, you find Seungcheol sitting on one of the breakfast stools, going through some documents with rapt attention. You stand by your door frame for a while, admiring his built frame from behind, his large back muscles and shoulders stretched beneath a white tee but you don't get to stare at him too long because his head turns around and catches you in the act.

"Good morning, _____." He greets.

You clear your throat, shuffling to the kitchen counter and pour yourself a glass of water, pretending as if he didn't just catch you eye fucking him. "Good morning, Seungcheol." Your voice is soft.

"Would you like to have breakfast now? I can make you some toast and omelette." He kindly offers. "There's also cereal if you want."

"I think I'll go with the cereal," You murmur, taking a seat opposite to him. You haven't had much of an appetite for the past few days which isn't really a surprise considering the situation. Seungcheol goes back to scanning the documents in front of him while you sit in silence, sipping your water. You wonder wether you should bring up last night, maybe ask him if he's okay now but you have a suspicion it won't be received well by him. As you chew on your lip and debate the idea, Seungcheol looks up to meet your eyes, his face ever so serious.

"You have to take a break from work for a few days." He announces.

"What? Why?"

Probably for the first time, you see him hesitate which stresses you out. "What's wrong, Seungcheol? Tell me."

"You have received a few death threats, _____. I found them in your mail. For the time being, you need to lay low, appearing in public puts you at risk. In fact, we're leaving for a safe house today."

"Wait- what?" Your brain is trying hard to catch up. "Safe house? What are you talking about? I'm not safe here?"

"They know your address, _____. It won't take them long to get mine. I need to get you to an untraceable place."

You don't know what to feel or even how to react. You're at a loss as you try to figure out your next move. "What do those threats say exactly? Can I see them?"

Seungcheol's face hardens. "No. They're not pretty to look at." His voice brings shivers down your spine as a wave of nausea hits you. You had no idea your uncle could stoop so low. But then again, he's a murderer so you shouldn't have underestimated him.

Seungcheol must have seen your face pale because he calls your name firmly, grounding your attention to him. "You are safe with me, _____. You just have to trust me, okay?" You find comfort in his eyes so you find yourself nodding immediately which satisfies him. "Get ready. We'll leave in two hours."

"Where are we going?"

"Don't worry about that."

"Does my father know?"

"About the death threats? Yes. He didn't seem too concerned about it though. Said it might be a prank."

Somehow, you're not surprised.

"But not about moving you to a safe location," Seungcheol adds. "No one needs to know about that. It's safer that way."

"Even my brother?"

"Yes. I suggest you call him and tell him you'll be out of reach for a while."

You deflate at that. Chan is going to be worried. And how on earth are you going to explain everything to him when all of this eventually unveils?

Seungcheol gets up, gathering all the papers and just as he turns to leave, he stops. "Oh, and ____? Don't come near me when I'm having a nightmare next time."

What?

"But Seungcheol—"

"For your own safety, _____. Don't. This is not a request." He doesn't wait for your reply but marches away as you silently watch his retreating form, lips pursed in annoyance.

The little appetite you had for breakfast is ruined as you go back to your room, cursing his stubbornness. As you pick up your phone to check for any important messages, a text from your dear father greets you. Your bodyguard told me you received death threats. Maybe it is better for you to stay at home and not work. For your own good, you should seriously consider giving your position to someone else. His flagrant attitude makes your blood boil as you fist your hands around your phone in a death grip before tossing it onto the bed in a fit of rage.

This day has not started off well.

— Two hours later you are well on your way to the safe house with a bag packed containing your absolute necessities. Your bodyguard has confiscated your real phone and gave you a burner instead just to be cautious.

Seungcheol, as always, drives the car in silence, the features of his face set to a grim expression. The air is thick with tension and you debate putting the radio on but even doing that feels too awkward.

"How long is the drive?" You finally ask, desperate to lessen this weird tension.

"We're taking a train from the station."

"Wait, what?"

"It is quite far. Driving there is going to take way too long." He calmly replies, eyes focused on the road. Sighing, you lean back and rest your head against the headrest. You let your eyes wander outside the window, watching the people, the view passing by while your mind runs rampant with all kinds of thoughts; anxious, restless.

A while later, you take notice of something in the rearview mirror and finally voice out the concern that has been bugging you for a while. "Seungcheol?" There's a touch of panic in your voice.

"Yes?"

"See that black Mercedes? It has been following us for a while…I think." You stare eagerly at Seungcheol waiting for his reply, waiting to be told that you are wrong but instead, a small, amused smile graces his lips.

"So you noticed, huh?"

It feels like your heart is going to drop out of your ass.

"What do we do?" You whisper, sitting up straight and craning your head back to take a proper look at the car. Sure enough, the SUV is right behind you, not even trying to be discreet anymore.

Fuck this crap, seriously.

"Trust me, I have got a plan. You just need to do as I tell you, okay?" He assures, his voice composed unlike yours.

"O-okay."

He turns to face you for a beat, giving you a reassuring look before continuing to drive in silence for a couple more minutes while the Mercedes stays on your tail. "Hold tight. I'm going to speed up. There's a parking lot about a mile from here. We're going to stop there."

"WHAT!"

You don't get your reply because the next second, the car is zooming forward as Seungcheol steps on the accelerator. You are gripping the dashboard and your seatbelt with your dear life as Seungcheol speeds through the lane like a madman, swerving every now and then. The Mercedes chasing you has a hard time keeping up with Seungcheol's viciously smooth driving because in a moment's time you are in the parking lot where Seungcheol parks the car in the corner farthest from the entry.

"Listen to me very carefully, ____." Seungcheol says as he turns the engine off and removes his seatbelt. "Crawl to the back and lay low, okay? No matter what happens, what you see, you do not make a move until I come get you, do you hear me?"

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you whisper. "Y-yes. Yes I do."

"Good." He squeezes your hand. "Now crawl into the back."

You do as you are told, moving into the backseat and crouching down as Seungcheol exits the car before locking it. You peek through the tinted window, watching with bated breath as the black SUV pulls up and two bald headed men exit the vehicle which parks right by the entry. They walk to Seungcheol, their stances predatory as they talk about something you cannot hear.

Next thing you know, one of the men is throwing an uppercut towards Seungcheol which fails to land because your bodyguard steps back, avoiding it easily.

Then, a full on fight ensues as the two men attack Seungcheol unsparingly. Seungcheol does not fail to keep up as he easily avoids them and counterattacks. Very soon, he is landing a kick on one of the men that throws him down to the ground with a harsh blow before grabbing the other guy and holding him in a chokehold. Soon, his body slumps to the ground.

Is he dead?

The other guy, meanwhile, recovers and charges for Seungcheol and you notice a bit too late that he has a knife because he manages to land a slash on Seungcheol's chest, making him stumble back. "Seungcheol!" Your hand unconsciously reaches for the door handle, tugging it to get out and help him. Alas, you can't do that. Fortunately, though, Seungcheol seems to not require any help as in the very next moment Seungcheol attacks the man, snatches the knife from him and bashes his head against the trunk of a car once, twice, thrice, making him fall into the ground, unconscious.

The breath you were holding finally escapes your lungs. Seungcheol dashes to the car the next moment, opening the back door and dragging you out by the arm before you can even say something.

"Come on. We don't have time."

"Wait, where are we going?"

"There's a five minute shortcut to the station from here," he says, leading you by holding your hand as his legs pick up speed. "We have to run because they are expecting us to move by car. Come on!"

And so, you let him guide the way, his hand holding yours tightly, as you take the underground exit of the lot. You run for your life, your legs going sore but you manage to keep going just because of the adrenaline. Soon enough, the station comes into view and Seungcheol picks up speed as the whistle of the train echoes through the air, informing its departure.

"Oh crap, we're not gonna make it!" You yell. "We will. Just keep running," Seungcheol hollers back as you both run parallel to the train that is slowly picking up speed. Suddenly Seungcheol lets go of your hand which throws you into a moment of panic but you keep running as you start to guess his plan.

You watch as he bolts for the entrance of the last carriage and in the blink of an eye, jumps inside.

"Holy shit." You curse. The next moment, he turns around and leans out the door, holding out one of his hands for you to grab onto while the other grips the handle by the door. "Come on! Grab my hand!"

Your legs are so tired they feel shaky, ready to collapse any moment. Still, you run with all your might, holding out your hand, reaching for his.

"Just a little bit! You can do it!" He encourages as the rhythm of the wheels intensifies, letting you know you do not have much time.

Oh shit.

Grunting in frustration, you put all the bridling remnants of your energy and dart forward which seems to be just enough, as your hand touches Seungcheol's. The next moment he grabs onto your hand and in the blink of an eye he is tugging your full weight and pulling you inside the carriage.

Upon entering, you collapse on the floor, panting loudly as Seungcheol lets go of your hand and cranes his neck out the door as if looking for something. Even though you are wheezing for air, you follow his line of sight and see two men running after the train as if they were chasing you. By now the train is moving at full speed, crossing the end of the platform, making them slow down and watch helplessly. "Who…are…they?" You choke between breaths.

"Your uncle's men." Seungcheol replies nonchalantly as he shuts the door and kneels next to you.

"How long have they been following us?"

"After we got to the station."

"Why didn't you say anything!"

"I didn't want to scare you." He replies, his hand wrapping around your shoulder. "Don't talk, just breathe. You did well."

You don't know if it is the intensity of the situation or the adrenaline crash or his words that make you slump in his arms, your body resting against his as you catch your breath. The feeling of his warmth against your body is something you are extremely grateful for at the moment.

"Please tell me you have tickets." You pant, resting your head against his shoulder.

"Of course. First class." _____ Five hours later, you are at your destination.

It is a cabin in a small town full of greenery and old architecture. It is very picturesque, located in between a vast area of mountains, somewhere you'd come to spend the summer with your family maybe. Even though your situation is the farthest thing from a vacation, it doesn't stop you from admiring the beauty before your eyes.

"The place is very beautiful, Seungcheol." You admire the surroundings as well as the cabin.

It's somewhat isolated from the town, shrouded by the forest, as the nearest market from here is about ten minutes drive.

"Thank you, my grandfather made it. He left it for me." He provides as he carries your small bag from the car he borrowed from a friend here and unlocks the door with a key.

"We should do something about your cut." You mention worriedly, crossing the threshold as you see him slightly wince while moving. The bleeding seems to have stopped after he put some pressure in the wound but it still needs to be cleaned.

Hearing your words, he looks down to see the wound before shrugging, "It's fine. The bleeding has stopped."

You expected him to say something like that so you take matters in your own hands. "Is there a first aid kit here?" You ask as you pad to the bathroom, looking around carefully and sure enough, inside the cabinets under the sink, there's a first aid box. Seungcheol murmurs grumbles of protest as you come back to the living area and ask for him to sit on the spot next to you on the couch. Thankfully he listens to you. As he unbuttons his shirt, you disinfect your hands while trying your best not to peek at the delicious row of abs that comes into display. As his wound comes into view you cannot help but wince at the sight, which doesn't go unnoticed by your bodyguard. His hand immediately reaches to take the cotton swab from your hand, murmuring. "I can do it myself."

You tsk in disapproval, sending him your best scolding glare before resting one of your hands on his shoulder for support and gently swiping on the wound with the swab dipped in antiseptic with your dominant hand. Seungcheol sits still all through it while you hold your breath, channelling all your focus on the task at hand.

It is scary; being this close to him and for some reason the act of cleaning up a cut is turned into something way too intimate by your brain. So, you don't dare to look in his eyes, afraid of what you'll see in them but terrified of what they will make you feel; something you can not resist or put a lid on, like the urge to cup his cheeks and kiss those irresistible lips.

You must be swiping at his wound with your face mere inches away from touching his chest for way too long because one of Seungcheol's hands comes to grab your wrist, stopping your movements. "I think that's enough," His voice holds the aloofness that you are used to which makes you sigh.

"Does it hurt? Do you want a painkiller?" You still find yourself asking.

Seungcheol frowns. "No, ____. I'm fine. It's just a cut, I won't die."

"Still—"

"Maybe you should focus on yourself. You have had a long day—"

"Why do you always do this!" It takes a few moments for you to realise you are yelling. You stand on your feet, hands fisted at your sides as the first aid kit falls on the floor from your lap, spilling its contents all over.

"What do you mean?" He asks and you absolutely loathe how his voice never changes, laced with that touch of monotony and indifference.

"Ugh, Seungcheol! Why do you always push me away! I want to help you! I'm just trying to take care of you!" This, however, seems to evoke an emotion from him because he is immediately on his feet, glaring at you, his large body towering over you.

"It is not your job to take care of me! If anyone here is going to take care of someone, it will be me making sure you are alive, is that clear?"

"I'm just trying to help you yet you keep pushing me away—"

"I do not need your help!" His voice is a roar of thunder, making you gasp as you take a step back. You've never seen him like this nor did you imagine someone so unbothered and composed had a side like this. "Who are you, huh? Why do you keep stepping over the line? Did I ask for your fucking help? I'm the last person you should be worried about, Ms Lee, you understand that?"

By now, angry tears have gathered in your eyes. Not wanting to cry in front of him you bite your lips and push past him as you run towards your room. "Fuck you, Choi Seungcheol!" —

You spend a long time in your room, crying and cursing him out before eventually falling asleep out of exhaustion.

When you are awake from your slumber, the clock reads 2 in the morning. Disoriented and irritated and hungry, the first thing you do after emptying your bladder is go hunt for something to eat. Even though you intended to avoid Seungcheol, it is impossible not to come across him as he sleeps on the couch in the living room, this one thankfully big enough for him to comfortably lie.

There's a small lamp in the corner of the room and the light from there is falling on one side of his face, highlighting his cheekbones.

You stand still for a moment to make sure that he's actually asleep, before tiptoeing to the kitchen. Pouring yourself a glass of water and you think of something easy to make that will not wake up the moody bastard in the next room.

However, you don't get too far with that thought because a moment later, you hear an all familiar groan float through the quiet air of the night. It is Seungcheol. And he's having a nightmare. Once again. It's like deja vu.

All his commands of not helping him fly out the window as you run to the living room. Before you can reach there, however, you hear a crash and upon entering you see Seungcheol, wide awake and sitting on the floor on his hands and knees, his entire frame shaking violently as he keeps uttering something under his breath, still stuck in his nightmare.

Your heart drops when you see the glass showpiece on the centre table shattered on the floor, along with the pillows and blanket that were previously on the couch. "Seungcheol!" You yell as you rush to him, carefully avoiding the broken shards of glass and sitting on your knees next to him as you try to get him out of his head and focus on you. His blown out pupils meet yours as his hands shake and his breath comes out in struggling pants.

He's having a panic attack.

"Seungcheol!" you call for him, trying your best to keep your voice stable which proves to be hard as your heart breaks for the man, hating seeing him in this state.

"Look at me. Listen to my voice. Breathe. Breathe with me. Look at me. Breathe, just breathe, you're going to be fine."

And so for the next few minutes, you try your best to calm the agitated man down, holding his body next to yours as you run your hands along his back, up and down, up and down.

You realise he's back to normal when the shuddering stops and his body remains immoblie next to you, as if he has fallen asleep. You know otherwise because when you pull back to take a look at his face, you find his eyes open, that familiar, empty and aloof gaze replacing the panicked ones. His lips are set to a thin line and you feel his whole body stiffen next to yours and just like you know he is back to normal.

This time, you do not ask him if he's okay or if he wants anything. Instead you get up from the floor quietly and go to the kitchen where you quickly make him a warm cup of tea.

When you return, he's still on the floor, sitting with his back against the sofa, hands resting on his knees as his head hangs low. Silently, you walk over and sit next to him before extending the steaming mug towards him.

You hold your breath, waiting for him to reject it and start spewing mean words at you but you are to be amazed.

Surprising you, he does none of those things but accepts the mug and takes a small sip. A tiny smile of victory graces your lips as you settle your gaze forward to the empty wall and sit in silence next to him.

As the steam gradually disappears from the mug and his dejected posture becomes tense and uptight, you know he's about to tell you off. Your guess turns out to be correct because just a moment later, he sets his mug down on the floor and turns to face you. His voice is stoic when he speaks, "I clearly told you not to—"

"Do you want to talk about it?" You interrupt him with a soft voice. He appears stunned as his mouth opens to say something but closes back to a tight line.

"I used to have nightmares as well, after the accident." You whisper, leaning back to the sofa, your unfocused gaze settled on the walls of the cabin as your mind disappears in the depths of the memories of those gruesome nights.

"I'd wake up screaming and crying. Every damn time I'd see the crash so vividly and the moments before it, my mom's desperate eyes at mine, her fading words, telling me to hold on, telling me that she loves me..." You lose your voice with a choke as tears blind your vision. A hand comes to rest on your shoulder gently and gives you a reassuring squeeze. It takes a few moments for your brain to process that it's Seungcheol and you are pleasantly surprised.

Your eyes search for him, and his face is solemn, his eyes showing just a reflection of kindness and sympathy. With a sad smile, you wipe the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. "It was horrible at the beginning when I couldn't speak. I'd wake up distressed and not finding my voice would make it even worse. For the first two months, Chan stayed with me every night. He'd try his best to calm me down but every night I'd be just as scared to go to bed."

"Eventually, the nightmares didn't come as often. Especially after I realised I could speak again and I was remembering bits and pieces of the accident and my suspicion was growing. I haven't had any nightmares for a while now but I remember how they made me feel. How awfully...real they felt." You sigh, shuddering at the thought.

A few moments of silence pass by as Seungcheol's hand drops from your shoulder. You don't expect him to spill his heart out but you are grateful that he didn't push you away and listened to you and comforted you. It is more than you ever thought you could get from him. Having this simple, somewhat bitter moment of intimacy is enough to soothe your love starved heart. However, you realise it's a night full of surprises when Seungcheol starts speaking. "I was in the military, as you know. I joined when I was eighteen. I lost my parents the year before so it was just me and my grandfather." His voice is quiet as he fixes his eyes out the window, looking at the dark night sky.

You follow his gaze and make a quick observation that there are no stars tonight, just an empty, dark sky, before setting your gaze on Seungcheol's face.

"My grandfather served in the military during the early years of his life and I wanted to follow his footsteps. The first few years were tough but good. I enjoyed them as they kept me busy and focused. During my fifth year in the military, my grandfather passed away peacefully in his sleep. I was on break at that time so I was there with him in his last moments. However, it still broke me. Sending him off was one of the hardest things I had ever done."

He pauses, making you hold your breath and anticipate his next words. His expression is unreadable, his sharp gaze focused outside when he continues. "I returned to the military a different man. My life as a soldier became everything to me. I worked ten times harder than anyone else as the military turned into my entire life. I jumped through the ranks very quickly and went on various missions as a SEAL. All of them were dangerous but successful as I led my teams out safely each time. Until Sudan."

There is another heavy pause as you feel the air thicken with tension. You know the worst part is about to begin and as you observe his gaze become more and more unfocused, you can't help but dread whatever is coming next. "It was a humanitarian mission. Me and my team were tasked to rescue some families from a group of local terrorists. They were held inside a camp in the middle of the desert. The infiltration was successful. But, just as we were escaping, the terrorists found out and came at us with double manpower. They had a couple of high powered explosives which we were unprepared for because they were not supposed to have such weapons."

"As my team and I were exchanging fire against them, a bomb went off right next to me. It is the last thing I remember before waking up in a hospital bed a week later."

"The explosion fucked up left leg. I needed three surgeries and months of rehabilitation. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part is that it cost three of my teammates their lives."

Oh Seungcheol. Tears are beading down your eyes as you let his words soak into you.

"It happened almost six years ago but it still haunts me. How I fucked up. How I killed them." "Seungcheol, no!" You scold, your voice not as powerful as you'd like it to be as it breaks mid way. "You did not kill them, you hear me? It was an accident. A horrible one but it was not your fault in any way. They died honourably and think of all the others you saved, all the times you led your team out of harm successfully. Think about all the lives you have saved, all the people you have helped." Your grip is strong on his forearms as you turn him to face you fully. His eyes meet you; bleak and hopeless and the urge to wipe away all his pain soars within you. It's a shame you can't do that so you do the next best thing you can think of.

You pull him in a tight hug. You wrap yourself around him, resting your chin over his shoulder as you close your eyes and hold him tight, the act a bit hard due his huge build. For several long moments he doesn't hug you back until you finally feel his warm hands creep on your back as he rests his face against your neck, cocooning your body with his.

You swallow a sob and blink furiously to drive away the tears, your hands stroking his hair in gentle motions. "It's alright, Cheol. You are going to be just fine. It is all going to be okay."

His response is to hold you tighter and you welcome his vulnerability, his pain and agony with open arms, breathing it in as if it is your own. Long moments are spent as you two remain in each other's embrace until you finally sit back to take a look at him.

"Maybe you should talk to a therapist?"

"I did," he sighs, running a hand through his soft locks. "After the accident, I saw one for almost a year. I was prescribed so many medicines and I almost got addicted to them even though they weren't doing much to help. So I decided to quit altogether and moved here, in his cabin. I stayed here for about six months, trying to pull myself together before an old friend of mine called, asking if I wanted to join his private security company. I agreed because I couldn't live in solitude any longer without killing myself and now, I'm here." You nod, watching him intently as you two sit with mere inches of space between each other's faces. In the back of your mind, you realize that this is the most intimate you have been with Seungcheol and probably you will ever get to be so you can't help but speak the next words. "You are so beautiful, Seungcheol. Inside and out. You are such an amazing person.I only wish you would know that." Your words can barely be heard because you speak so softly but it contains emotions from the deepest, rawest part of your heart. Sitting with him on the floor, in the middle of the night at a cabin in the woods, talking about your deepest traumas and secrets is something you never thought you would experience but now you realise, it is a treasure, a moment of profoundness that you will carry close to your heart for the rest of your life.

Seungcheol's eyes widen for a fraction upon hearing your words before he shifts, trying to pull away from you but your strong grip on his hands stops him. Once again, you find yourself confessing. "Ever since you've come to my life, I feel hopeful, even though we are going through so much trouble. I want to live again and I feel happy and hopeful when I look at you. And I can never thank you enough for that."

Seungcheol's Adams apple bobs as he swallows and the expression on his face is so vivid you realize you have left him speechless. A small, shy smile sets on your lips as you squeeze his hands softly, your thumb stroking over his bruised knuckles. While your mind swoons over how tender this moment is and how beautiful he looks and how soft his lips appear, he inches his face closer to you before pressing his lips against yours.

At first, you believe it's a dream.

It is bound to be, no?

Blinking multiple times, you make sure that it in fact is not a dream but it seems to take too long because Seungcheol is pulling away from you, the apology right there at the tip of his tongue. However, you do not let him speak the words he doesn't mean. Instead, you do what you have only done in your late night fantasies, you cup his cheeks and pull his face down to yours, meeting his lips in a fierce kiss. You do not even think of holding back, pouring every bit of passion and need and admiration for him into it.

Thankfully, he reciprocates, cupping your neck and jaw, tilting your face for better access.

And it's wonderland. It is everything you imagined and more, everything you want and need, everything that can heal you.

In the rosy haze of desire and desperation, your hungry hands travel down to the hem of his white t-shirt, tugging on it in a futile attempt to get it off. The action gets the attention of Seungcheol as he dettaches his lips from yours, taking a look at your face.

"_____—" he makes a weak attempt to stop you but his words die on his tongue as you hastily stand up, dragging him with him. Pressing a soft finger on his lips, you shush him as you bring your face closer to him and whisper in his ear. "Don't push me away Seungcheol, please. I need you. And you need me too."

There is a battle in his gaze as he stares at your longing visage for a moment with a clenched jaw before muttering a curse underneath his breath. The next moment, you are being carried to your bedroom and in the blink of an eye, you are standing in front of your bed with his frame towering over you.

"You wanted this?" He teases but his eyes are lit with a fire that is inextinguishable as he takes off his shirt and even in the dimly lit room, you do not miss the carved perfection of his body, littered with scars here and there. In vain hope, you pray that your face isn't visible as you ogle him but you know it is because his unrelenting stare breaks your skin into goosebumps.

As you are stuck in a trance of lust, he takes a step closer to you before his breath grazes your ear. "Lift your hands, angel."

The next moment, he pulls your nightshirt off your body, leaving you only in your sleeping shorts. He wastes no time, attacking them right next as they come off with a tug and you fall into your bed. You have no time to overthink or feel shy because Seungcheol cages your body underneath his as he crawls to you, a dark look of hunger on his face.

"You are a fucking temptress, you know that?" He grunts, a calloused thumb reaching out to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch, eyes falling closed at the contact as a soft sigh escapes your lips but the next moment Seungcheol is grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you in for a heated kiss.

It's all teeth and tongue as he devours your mouth, two tongues entangled in a fierce rhythm of tango before finally letting you gasp for air. "Crawl up," his voice is that of a quiet command which you follow instantly, letting him sit comfortably on his knees as he spreads your legs wide.

The very next moment a squeak leaves your mouth as Seungcheol pushes his index finger inside you, your wetness granting easy access. He makes a noise, something akin to an animalistic groan as his digit easily slips inside.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he murmurs as he inserts another finger and then another before curling them inside you.

"Seungcheol!" You yell, grabbing the sheets as your hips lift off the mattress due to the electrifying jolt of pleasure. Your reaction makes him grunt as he fastens his face and you feel your legs tremble, making you think that you are going to come already.

Your core tightens around his fingers as more wetness leaks from you, only amplified when he brushes his thumb against your clit. Another gasp and a shudder of your body makes Seungcheol smirk as he whispers, "Gonna come, angel?"

You nod your head aggressively, your hips chasing his fingers in their own rhythm and just as the tingles of your release soars in your body, Seungcheol removes his fingers.

"No!" Your protest is immediate but the man only gives you a cruel smile as he makes a show of licking his fingers clean. The act itself is extremely hot and you cannot help but release another groan of frustration.

"Seungcheol! Please let me—"

"You are gonna lie back and let me eat your pussy now, hmm? After I'm satisfied, I will let you come." He announces, lips hovering over your thighs, the touch of his warm breath giving your goosebumps. The low gravel of his voice paired with the way he keeps looking at you from between your thighs makes you swallow thickly before lying your head back into the pillow, a shuddering breath leaving your lips.

"Good girl."

Good girl.

Your core clenches deliciously. However, you do not get to soak in the warmth of his praise because the next moment he flicks your clit with his tongue and your scream pierces the night air. Your body writhes while he holds your thighs open in a strong grip, incoherent gasps and curses of pleasure falling from your lips. Seungcheol is like a man starved, as he eats you out mercilessly, his tongue going deep inside your most intimate parts. You can't remain still, tears of pleasure stinging your eyes as your body shakes and pleas fall from your lips.

"Oh f-fuck! Seungcheol! Please!"

You yourself do not know what you are begging for. It's the sweetest torture, one you want to end but also continue forever.

Your release has wet your inner thighs and paired with Seungcheol's saliva they drip down to your asshole but Seungcheol doesn't stop. He brings his attention to your hard, swollen clit now which he flicks repeatedly with his tongue.

"Fuck! I can't! Please let me come!" You are convinced your voice can be heard from miles away. "You wanna come?" He grunts between breaths, voice muffled.

"Yes, yes! Please!"

"Then come. Come for me, my angel." The command has your toes curling as he gives a harsh suck to your clit and in an instant, you go off like a firework. The heated coil in your belly snaps as your body twitches, sending you headfirst into an orgasm so good, so deep, tears drip down your eyes. All through it, Seungcheol keeps sucking your pussy, almost making you numb before stopping with a final, sloppy kiss on your clit and sitting back.

Even in the darkness, you see his lips shine with your release.

"You are an aphrodisiac, angel." His words caress your skin as he leans forward and presses soft, tantalising kisses on your jaw and down your throat.

"Please, fuck me now," your voice is a cry of plea as you chase his lips for a kiss. He entertains you, tangling your mouths in an embrace of passion as you taste yourself on his tongue. One of his hands moves down amidst the kiss and your foggy brain registers that he's taking off his sweatpants.

With a soft groan he takes off his lips from yours and frees himself from your entangled limbs, standing up to kick his boxers and sweatpants down his legs.

And oh dear lord is he a view. You admire him in his nakedness in the half lit room, drinking every inch of him. You can't stray your eyes from his cock, hard and leaking as you gulp and send a prayer to the sky, marvelling at his size.

Seungcheol crawls back into the bed, his movements akin to the grace of a panther, his eyes lit with ferocity and huger as he pins both your wrists over your head with one hand.

"I'm going to fuck you so good you will be ruined for any other man." He promises, giving you a delicious shiver on your spine. You want to scream that you don't need any other man, you never will but the thought dies in your mind when you feel his tip prodding at your core. He slides in easily, almost embarrassingly easy as your sopping cunt welcomes him with wide open arms. A guttural groan escapes from his throat as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, spewing curses. The sound makes you clench around him which makes him curse again.

"You are so fucking tight, fuck!"

You can only respond in an incoherent hum as he starts moving inside you, making you throw your head back and let out a loud moan. He raises his head to look at you and your eyes contact and in a second, everything becomes more intense. The look in his eyes is ever captivating and ruthless while he pistons in and out of you tirelessly, hitting that sensitive spot inside you perfectly each time.

"You're going to be the death of me." He whispers, almost as if he's talking to himself. His mouth works on your jaw, moving down to your throat and sucking harshly on the soft flesh, making you shudder in pleasure. "Seungcheol!" You cry. "Harder! Please!"

"Any harder and I'll come right now."

"Do it! Come inside me!" All other thoughts and worries have left your mind and beg him for more, already cock drunk.

"Fuck, you sure?"

"I'm on pills, Cheol. I'm sure," you pant, clutching onto his back as he increases his pace, leaning back to sit on his knees as his hands move to your waist, holding you in a bruising grip.

"Gonna fill you up then, angel. Make this pussy bleed my come." He promises with a snark, his eyes trained on your face as he delivers one particular thrust that has you arching off the bed and seeing stars.

Then there is a brush of touch on your hard clit and a quiet command of coming which has fireworks exploding all throughout your body. You cry out, from pleasure and pain so addictive that white spots dance in your vision, hands twisting the fabric of the bedsheet so hard it would be no surprise if they tore. The next moment you feel Seungcheol release inside you and the feeling of his warm cum coating your insides gives your body another round of shivers as you completely blank out. You are transported to a hazy place where you feel like you are floating through the air as you lose all sense of connection from this world.

It takes a while for you to recover and once you do, you realise Seungcheol has slumped over next to you as his breathing gradually returns to normal. You turn your head slightly to look at him and just as your eyes meet, he makes a move to get up. Your hand immediately latches onto his arm. "Don't go." You croak.

"I need to clean you up." His voice is quiet.

"Later." You whisper, begging with your eyes. "Just lay with me for a while." He remains still for a moment, probably battling with himself before lying back next to you. He stretches one of his arms and you quickly use it as a pillow, shuffling closer to his body and resting your palm on his chest. Seungcheol tenses next to you but you don't let it get to you as your hand gently strokes an old scar right beneath his chest. Just as you are almost falling asleep, you feel his hand wrap around your waist, holding you softly and a smile graces your lips.

I love you, Choi Seungcheol.

— The next morning, Seungcheol starts avoiding you like you are the plague. As soon as you step out of your bedroom, Seungcheol, who was sitting in the living area quite literally bolts outside with his laptop and everything, throwing a curt good morning to you and not even sparing a glance.

You are hurt, to say the least. While a silly part of you expected that maybe you would wake up with him in the same bed and have breakfast together before some more lovemaking, the realistic part of you did not expect him to act like this.

Like nothing happened.

Or worse, acting like what happened was a mistake.

Does he really think that last night was a mistake?

It hurts to even think that he might believe that so you push that thought away with all your might. Instead, you focus on making yourself a nice breakfast before soaking in the tub for a while as you try to focus all your attention on plotting your uncles demise.

Once you are nice and clean after the soak, you find Seungcheol in the kitchen, drinking something from his mug as he talks over the phone with someone. You wait for him to finish, using the spare time to admire how good he looks— slightly messy hair, an old grey t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Once again, your mind travels to how good he railed you last night but before it can travel too far, you shake yourself back to the present.

"I need to talk to you." You announce as soon as he sets his phone down. Seungcheol's head snaps up to your voice and a grim expression settles on his face before he murmurs.

"There's nothing to talk about. Last night was an accident. We were both vulnerable and it just... happened." It's like someone ripped your beating heart off of your chest or dumped you into a bucket of ice or better yet, did that together. Yet it still wouldn't hurt as much as his words pierce through you right now, leaving you utterly speechless as you just blink repeatedly, trying to make sure you heard that right. "It was not an accident, Seungcheol. You know it." Your voice is deathly quiet and you can feel yourself on the precipice of snapping.

"The hell it wasn't, _____." He snaps. "I am your fucking bodyguard and you are my client. I am not getting paid to take advantage of you!"

"Take advantage of me?" You seethe as an overwhelming urge to punch something, like his face, overcomes you. You have to take a deep breath in to form the next words. "I am not some helpless, pathetic girl that you can take advantage of. Whatever happened last night was real and with our consent. The man last night was the real you, the one you keep hiding, not this!" Seungcheol clenches his jaw, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Either way, it should not have happened. We, you and me—" he points between the two of you. "It does not work. It won't."

"Seungcheol— "

"That's enough _______."

"No, tell me. Enlighten me, please," Your voice drips with sarcasm as you take a step towards him, crossing your hands in front of your chest. "Why do we not work? What delightful, eye opening information has been revealed upon you which led you to this wise conclusion?" The twitch in his jaw clearly tells you that he does not appreciate your sarcasm but you've had enough of his stubbornness, especially when it is clear that he wants you as well.

"So far, I'll I've heard is that I can't have you not, I don't want you. Quit playing games with yourself Seungcheol!"

"I am a fucking loose grenade!" His scream is abrupt, making you jolt. The veins in his neck pop out as he steps back, his frantic eyes glaring at you. "I cannot keep you safe! Not from myself. I am a man whose past haunts him. I can't fucking sleep at night without getting nightmares and smashing things! I cannot pass a day without the guilt of my past following me! I am headed towards hell and I cannot drag you down with me. I am not the man for you, _____, try to understand!"

"I think that's for me to decide, no?" You take another step towards him, trying to calm him down.

"No!" He yells, stepping back. "Enough! Just— enough. This conversation is over. I'm going out and when I return, we will pretend that none of this ever happened."

"You fucking asshole!" You normally do not curse. Out loud at least. Your mother had a strict rule of no bad language and you and your brother followed that rule to a t. No matter what you have encountered so far in your life, nothing gave you the urge to curse half as much as you want to right now.

"That's right. I am an asshole." He states calmly, sparing you a blank look before turning and heading for the main door.

"You fucking son of a bitch! I did not want to talk about this in the first place! When I said I need to talk with you, I meant about my uncle, you idiot!"

He stops in his tracks before slowly turning his head to look at you. "What about him?" His calmness makes you absolutely livid and even though you try your hardest to form words, the only thing your tongue seems to want to utter are curse words.

"It doesn't concern you anymore, asswipe." Seungcheol's lips form a thin line as he watches you quietly for a few moments.

"Do not do anything stupid,_____." He has the nerve to order you before marching out of the house, slamming the door loudly behind him.

"Go to hell, dickhead!" —

The rest of the day is uneventful as you two mind your own business, avidly avoiding each other. After Seungcheol leaves and blesses you with solitude you pace around the house angrily before going for a walk in the forest behind the cabin.

It is not dense or uncomfortable as a walking trek has been premade and you take a long walk which helps you clear your head just a bit. It takes your mind off of your stubborn bodyguard and back onto your uncle as you think of ways to trap him in a position he cannot easily get out of, as early as possible. With the plan you have in mind, it proves to be a bit hard, because you are staying in the middle of nowhere and your uncle has no clue where you are.

You walk home an hour later with a less obscure mind and send Chan a text through the burner phone, letting him know that you are alive and well.

Your brother video calls you soon after and you almost forget that you are supposed to be mute at the joy of seeing your brother. It kills you that you have to lie to him but you bite your teeth and do it, telling him that work got too overwhelming and you are taking some days off and promise him of your quick return. You know your brother is not stupid and he has started doubting you but he is kind enough not to push you for more, which you are grateful for.

Seungcheol returns home a little after noon with more supplies. You act like he does not exist as you finish your lunch and retire to your room where you spend the rest of the day, lying in your bed and staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything and nothing. As the skies bleed to dark, dinner time rolls around and you two eat separately. Once again, Seungcheol makes no attempt to talk to you or acknowledge you just like you are doing but it still infuriates you, which you try to control by doing copious amounts of yoga in your room, before finally falling asleep quite late.

However, disaster strikes with the arrival of dawn, as the first rays of sun kiss the sky.

You are snapped out of sleep as you open your eyes and find Seungcheol hovering over you, shaking you awake.

"Wake up, _____! Your uncle is here. He found us!"

Immediately you bolt upright, half thinking that all this is a vivid dream. As your panicked eyes meet his, your shaky hands clutching his biceps and you whisper. "W-what? How? I- I don't understand."

"I don't know either." Seungcheol grunts, craning his neck to look out the window. "There are two jeeps heading towards us. You need to get out."

As if on cue, you hear the loud roar of the engines as they come to a stop right in front of the cabin. Seungcheol helps your shaky form out of bed and ushers you down the stairs.

"Take the back exit. Hide in the forest until I come for you. If I don't, call Jihoon for help. His number is here. And take this." he explains, handing his burner phone and a gun to you but your brain is stuck in a loop, not processing that there is a fucking gun in your hand.

"What do you mean if I don't? You are coming with me—"

"No. I will hold them off while you escape. Go, now." He orders, pushing you towards the back door of the kitchen.

"_____! I know you're in there! Come out while I am being nice and maybe we can come to an agreement! You do not want to end up like your mother, do you now?" Your body freezes as you hear your uncle yell from the front door. The anger evoked from his words makes you want to stay and confront him but Seungcheol keeps pushing you, telling you to run.

And so, sparing one last longing look at Seungcheol, you tuck your weapon in your waist and run. You have not gotten even fifty feet away from the cabin when the first round of shots echo through the air. Your blood freezes as you come to a halt, turning your head around to look at the cabin as gunshots echo through the air.

You have to swallow a lump in your throat as tears gather in your eyes, the temptation to go back increasing. But you know going back is not a good idea because it will put Seungcheol's life at risk, more than it already is. So you keep moving deeper into the forest, the treks familiar because you have been here before and you make your way through very easily. When you come across a small cliff shrouded by thick bushes you decide to hide there, waiting to see if your uncle's men come around here. Confirming your guess, they do, after a while as they jog through, looking around for you. However, they fail to estimate your hiding place and continue deeper into the forest down the trek and just then, an idea forms in your head.

You have to go back.

The universe is on your side because you realise after some peeking around and shuffling through trees that there is another road that you can use to go back to the cabin. This one is definitely unused and riskier but you are determined to make this work. So, with a deep breath you jog through the narrow, muddy lane and soon enough, you find your way back.

The cabin is now quiet, eerily so.

The back door remains open, granting you access and you carefully step one foot in, holding your breath.

It is a mess; bullet holes scattered around, a few bodies slumped on the ground, specks of blood all over the floor. The scene is bone chilling and you have to take several deep breaths to calm down. You can hear noises coming from somewhere in the house, grunts and yells, as if people are fighting, which is what is undoubtedly happening. No matter how severe your urge is to follow the sound and make sure Seungcheol is okay, you decide against it, putting faith in his capabilities instead and sending a prayer out to heaven. Careful not to step on any blood, you make your way through the mess and gingerly climb up the stairs, pausing to make sure no one is around. The coast is clear, thankfully, as no one is upstairs and you head straight for the little storeroom next to the bedroom, where you kept the very little belongings you brought with you.

You took special care to hide your prized possession, the evidence file. It stays secure inside a special compartment Seungcheol showed you that is situated under the wooden floor. Quickly removing the carpet, you open the hatch and look inside to make sure the files are there.

And they are, thankfully. Picking them up, you hold them to your chest and close the hatch, putting everything in its place while holding your breath through all of it. In the next second, the voice you dreaded echoes through the air.

"I believe I am going to need that, _____."

You whip your head back to see your dear uncle standing at the door frame, lips twisted in a diabolic smirk like he got you just where he wanted to. "I knew you would lead me to the evidence, niece. I just had to wait. And I knew you would contact your dear little brother no matter what so I put a little tracker on his phone and it led me here. Easy, no?" He shakes his head, laughing cockily at his plan.

Your blood runs cold as your fingers grip the envelope tightly.

"Over my dead body." You hiss.

"Oh yeah, and my men told me you could speak?" He taunts, shaking his head some more. "Can you imagine my surprise when I heard that? Tell me, were you faking it all along? To what, get some pity points?"

"You will rot in jail, asshole. I will personally see to it." You seethe, clutching the folder tighter against your chest. Your uncle's face loses its amusement as he stares at you for a while, cold and unblinking before reaching back and pulling out a gun. Your heart skips a beat as he points it right at you.

"The file, ______. I am not here to play games."

"Never." There is an immediate deafening noise of gunfire, making you squeeze your eyes shut and for a horrible moment, you think he has shot you. Opening your eyes, you see there's a hole in the roof where he has aimed his gun before pointing it back at you.

"Don't make me kill you like your mother. I need you alive for all the other plans I have."

"She was your sister in law!" You cry.

"She was a thorn in my way!" He seethes. "A conniving bitch trying to take the company from me and my son! Always challenging me! Always speaking against me!"

"It was never yours to begin with, you ugly old man! She knew you would steal it from us!"

"I dare you to speak one more word and the next bullet will be in your hand and the one after that will be in your leg. I won't do the mercy of killing you, _____. I will put you through hell on earth before I grant you the freedom of death." He sneers, eyes fueled with hatred. You swallow, your breath coming out in heavy pants as you decide on what to do next.

Finally, with a defeated sigh you raise your arms in surrender and take a small, tiny step towards him, trying to appear as meek and harmless as possible. "You could have not killed her. You could have sent her away if she was a problem." You whisper, voice cracking. "Huh," he scoffs. "As if that bitch would listen. The only way was to get rid of her. For good. I knew she would be in the car with you that day and I planned to kill two birds with one stone but alas, that didn't happen" He shrugs, pouting. "It's alright, though. I know how to use it in my favour. I have so many plans for you. You're gonna come with me and sign off—"

"Drop the gun, Jin."

Seungcheol!

It is Seungcheol, pointing his Glock at the back of Jin's head as he appears behind him all of a sudden. You are flooded with gratitude so big tears come to your eyes and hope flares in your chest seeing him alive, hurt and dishevelled but alive. However, your hope is quick to die down when Jin speaks the next words.

"You sure you wanna do that, son?" Your uncle remains unaffected as he slightly turns his head, his words directed to Seungcheol. "You pull the trigger and by the time it has hit me I can pull the trigger as well and her brains will be splattered all over these walls. You don't want that, do you? Besides, I know as a matter of fact your boss here wants me alive. She has grand plans for me, is that not right, _____?"

His eyes pan back to you, the evilest of smiles on his face as you grit your teeth, trying to keep yourself from doing anything rash.

You underestimated your uncle for sure.

"Drop the gun, son. I won't say it again." He orders, taking a menacing step towards you. "You drop it and nobody gets hurt. I need this bitch alive for everything I have planned." Seungcheol's eyes meet yours and the helplessness and frustration is visible in them. You watch with bated breath as he slowly points the gun away from Jin's head and sets it down on the ground, raising his hands in surrender. A satisfied smile sets on your uncle's face and he lets his guard down for a moment, a fraction of a second, which Seungcheol takes advantage of. In the blink of an eye, Seungcheol jumps on him, grabbing his legs and dragging him down onto the floor. His grip on the gun falters, letting it fall on the floor and as he makes a move to reach for it, Seungcheol kicks it to the farthest corner of the room.

A scuffle between them ensues and Seungcheol tries to overpower Jin and pin him down onto the floor. However, your uncle, the master of playing dirty, manages to pull a switchblade from his pocket and slashes Seungcheol on the arm, making him fall off of him. "I'm gonna fucking gut you, you son of a bitch!" He yells, charging for Seungcheol as he pins him down, aiming the blade towards his throat but Seungcheol stops him with a practised move. An intense battle of power ensues but you've had enough as you reach for the gun Seungcheol gave you, tucked at your waistband.

Pointing it straight at Jin's head, you yell. "Drop the knife, Jin! I really don't want to kill you!"

"You don't have the balls to shoot me, bitch!" He yells back, not even glancing at you, busy subduing Seungcheol as he stabs him in the shoulder. That motherfucker!

He underestimated you greatly.

Furious, you pull the trigger and the bullet lands right where you aimed it, Jin's knee. With a howl of pain, he falls off of Seungcheol who quickly gets back up and wraps an arm around his throat in a chokehold.

"You filthy little bitch! You fucking —"

Seungcheol tightens the grip on his neck and after struggling for a few moments, Jin passes out, making you sigh in relief as you step back and lean against the wall. "You shot him." Seungcheol's voice is laced with bewilderment as he watches you with a look of surprise and admiration. "Self defence," you shrug, closing your eyes and inhaling a deep breath. "Tie him up. I'll call the police."

— Fifteen minutes later the cops arrive with blaring sirens followed by an ambulance.

As soon as the ambulance comes to a stop, you are dragging Seungcheol towards it, yelling at the staff to get a look at his shoulder, around which you have wrapped a cloth to lessen the bleeding. As a responder attends to Seungcheol's injury, two policemen rush into the house when you tell them that the culprit is tied up inside.

You stand out front with your arms crossed, the morning sun now high in the sky, the warm rays caressing your face as you watch your uncle being dragged out of the house and into one of the police cars. He is yelling and cursing his complaints, his eyes filled with hatred as they come in contact with yours.

Your body goes rigid, the revelation coming upon you that he is done for and he knows it. You know he is definitely going to deny everything but he has another surprise coming his way.

An officer comes to you, talking about the next procedures and asking basic questions but you cannot quite register his words as your body finally gets off the high of adrenaline and realisation hits you like a bulldozer, it's over.

It is over. You got him.

I got him, Mom. I will make him pay.

Seungcheol, who sits at the back of the ambulance while a nurse gives his shoulder a temporary fix, listens to the officer carefully, answering his questions in your place before thanking him as he takes his leave.

"Are you okay?" Seungcheol's uninjured hand comes up to gently touch your arm, making you jump as you are snapped out of your reverie.

"Would you like me to look at you, ma'am? The responder offers as she takes off her gloves. "You look pale." You shake your head, swallowing as you wrap your arms around yourself. Seungcheol gives your hand a tug, making you sit next to him. "Please take a look at her." He says to the nurse, who nods while he shrugs off the blanket sitting on his shoulder and wraps it around yours with his free hand.

"Breathe, _____." He speaks softly, his hand holding yours. You nod, focusing on your breath for the next few minutes as the nurse does a quick check up on you. There are a lot of unshed tears within you and a lot of emotions you need to let out but you just cannot bring yourself to do that right now. There is this numb feeling all over you accompanied by an overwhelmingness.

And you know very well the war isn't over just yet. You have to make sure your uncle ends up behind bars. Even though you have some control over your emotions right now, you remember that you have to explain every hideous detail to Chan and you know will break down then. You know you will break down again when you visit your mother's grave but you know this time, you will feel less guilty of being the only one surviving, less in agony because you have avenged her.

"I have called my lawyer. He's preparing all the documents. We should head home now." You speak, eyes staring at the sun shining over the hills and the lush greenery.

This place is magical. You want to come here again, someday.

"Okay," Seungcheol agrees as his hand comes to rest over yours and he gives you a reassuring squeeze. Your eyes pan back to his face, littered with cuts before settling on his shoulder. You open your mouth to scold him for getting hurt when he sighs. "What were you thinking, _____? I told you not to come back to the cabin. Your uncle had you just where he wanted. You could have been seriously hu—

"I had a plan, Seungcheol."

"What plan?" He looks annoyed. A soft smile graces your lips as your hand travels to the front pocket of your shirt. You pick the pen sitting there and hand it to Seungcheol with a mischievous smile. Frowning, he examines the item carefully until it dawns on him as his eyes widen. "This has a camera!"

"Yep! It can record audio and video very clearly. I had it on me for a while and as I was hiding in the forest I suddenly realised that I couldn't get better proof against my uncle than right then. So I went back to be the bait."

"Still, you don't realise how risky—"

"Trust me, I do. But I had no option. Besides, my gut told me that my uncle really didn't want to kill me unless he had to because after everything that happened, I was more valuable to him alive than dead." Seungcheol stares at you, all a loss for words before shaking his head in disbelief.

"Wanna know something more fun?"

"What?" He is wary. "The documents I hid? They are not the real ones!" You cannot hold back a laugh as Seungcheol looks as you, more perplexed than before.

"I mean, come on! I'm not that stupid! I wouldn't carry them with me knowing my uncle is looking for them! I hid the original files in Chan's safe after I had him promise me not to touch them."

"Wow…" Seungcheol shakes his head in utter disbelief as he tries to wrap his head around everything. "Still, if I hadn't come for you on time…"

"I knew you would, Seungcheol. I believed that deep in my heart." You whisper, fingers lacing with his as your eyes meet. Seungcheol swallows and looks away, blinking. With a soft sigh, you stand up. "Are you sure you can travel this long in the car? Should I call in a helicopter for you?" Seungcheol rolls his eyes, standing up as well. "It's a fucking graze, _____. I have had way worse and I survived. I will be fine. I already feel fine." Your eyes narrow at him and you want to reprimand him but you cannot find it in your heart to do so. With a sigh, you usher him towards the car. "Let's go then. I'll drive."

— The next 48 hours pass by in the blink of an eye as you go through the most hectic time of your life.

The first thing you do upon entering the city is sit down with your lawyer for a detailed discussion on the next steps you are going to take and hand the video recording to him. After that you ask Chan to come over to your place where you explain everything to him from a to z. It proves to be one of the worst moments of your life as you watch your brother's face pale with every word you utter and by the time you finish explaining everything he goes as still as a statue before abruptly taking his leave.

The next day you are asked to give a statement to the police along with Seungcheol which takes quite a while as you explain everything in detail. During that time the news breaks about your uncle getting arrested and charged for both murder and attempted murder leading to a flock of reporters chasing you down wherever you go.

The stocks of the company are also affected as a side effect of the scandal and you have to spend a good amount of time in the office as you try to reassure everyone and get everything under control with your business partners.

On the third day after Jin's arrest, the police officially read out all the charges against him and announce the dates of the trials which sends the press into a second round of frenzy as they try to get your opinion on it, mobbing you whenever you step outside.

Your father is also taken in for questioning where he, thankfully, admits to his crimes and then he is also arrested with the charge of withholding information. He claims that his brother was blackmailing him so he had to keep the murder a secret. Whatever his reason was, you do not care anymore.

You refrain from engaging with the press as much as possible, other than the press conference arranged by your company that you had to attend but you do not make any comments about your uncle or father, just announcing that they will be punished accordingly and you and your brother will do your utmost best to protect the company.

Amid all of this, Seungcheol refuses to leave your side, even with his injured shoulder.

The wound was not deep but he was advised not to move the shoulder too much, an instruction he didn't pay any heed to when he was protecting you from the fleet of reporters. Taking it a step further than that, he called his friend over from the agency, the man called Jihoon, to be your second bodyguard because he believed that he was not functioning at his best.

Overall, it turns out to be a crazy, sleep deprived but exciting few days as you see all the pieces of the puzzle fall into its rightful place.

What is not exciting, however, is the straining relationship between you and your brother. After your confession to everything, he grows quieter and avoids talking with you unless it's absolutely necessary, which you understand and respect. He is processing the murder of his mother and his family members' participation in it and you also understand he feels betrayed because you kept so much information from him.

Still, it hurts.

This is why it is a surprise when you see him walk through the double doors to your office on a weekday morning as you were going through the legal statements of the company. "Chan!" You gasp, rising from your chair, eyes wide open in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

He gives a half hearted shrug before sitting down on the couch by the floor to ceiling windows, his gaze focused on the skyline. "I had some things to tell you." Okay... You chew on your lip as you walk over to him and take a seat in front of him. You watch your brother stare off into the distance out the window before he finally heaves a long sigh and looks at you. The sadness and exhaustion are clear in his eyes and it breaks your heart. This whole media circus has not been easy for him either, especially because he knew nothing of what was going on and the press attacked him like a bunch of piranhas.

"The week has been crazy for you." He states, matter of factly.

You give him a small, sad smile. "Same goes for you."

"Yes. I am feeling a lot of emotions together however..." he stops for a second before boring his gaze at your eyes. "I cannot help but feel betrayed."

"Oh Chan—"

"No, it's okay." He holds up his hand, stopping you. "I know that was not your intention and it is not your fault. It is none of our fault. I feel betrayed by this... family, this situation. I feel so angry that all of this happened right under my nose and I—" he huffs, dragging a hand through his hair as his voice fades. "I knew nothing about it."

"It is not your fault."

"It kind of is." He grunts. "I...I should have been more careful, more aware—"

"You couldn't have prevented it, Chan. It would only get you hurt in the process."

"Exactly! It would and that's how it should be. We're a team, you and I. So I should be equally responsible but only you got hurt in this process. You have been carrying all this burden with you since the accident. Not to mention the crazy stunt at the cabin. Are you insane, _____? I saw the video and he had a gun for fucks sake!"

"So did I!" You admonish. "Besides, he wasn't going to shoot me."

"You couldn't be sure!"

You drag out a sigh in surrender as you admire your brother for a silent moment as he suddenly reminds you of Seungcheol. "Whatever it was, it's in the past and I am safe now. However, I am sorry. For lying to you, for keeping you in the dark."

"Yes, I am actually quite mad at you for acting mute in front of me." He narrows his gaze at your face.

"Well at least you learned sign language because of it!"

He snorts and you chuckle, a more comfortable silence falling between the two of you as you stare at each other for a while with melancholic smile on your faces. After a while, he announces, "I am going away for a while."

"What? Where?" You gasp.

"I don't know where, actually. Somewhere with a beach and lots of sunshine maybe. Away from…here." He smiles faintly. "I just...I need to be away for a while and process everything and simply be in my own company. I just need some time, sis." Tears shine in your eyes. "I understand." You whisper. You really do but it still pains you because you feel responsible for breaking his heart.

"Take all the time you need. I'll handle the business while you are gone."

"Good. I know you will manage it well, maybe even better than me," he gives you a smile, a real one that reflects the shine in his eyes and you mirror it back. He stands up, buttoning his suit jacket. "Oh, by the way, what is going on between you and your hunk of a bodyguard?"

"Hm? What do you mean?" You feign innocence, avoiding his gaze, surprised at his observation. "Oh please." He gives you an it-is-very-obvious look. "The chemistry between you two has been explosive from day one. You always have that dreamy look in your eyes when you look at him."

"I do not!" You gasp. "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night." He shakes his head in mirth. You huff out a dejected breath of surrender. "It doesn't matter anyway. He doesn't want me."

"Should I beat him up?" He asks casually, making you snort.

"You would lose, you know." You roll your eyes. That makes him laugh before he takes a step towards you. "I would deprive you of a hug but since you are already heartbroken, come here."

You immediately get up and wrap your arms around your brother in a tight hug. You sniff, holding back tears as he pats you in the back, and you whisper. "I will miss you. Text me every now and then."

"Will do," he promises with a smile, pulling back and squeezing your shoulder. As he starts walking, he yells over his shoulder, "Do not think of getting married to that hunk while I'm not here though!"

"Yes, sir!" Rolling your eyes, you yell back and watch him walk out the double doors before plopping back on the couch, an eerie feeling of emptiness settling in your chest.

It takes a while for you to realise that tears are streaming down your face. Upon realisation, you simply hang your head low, letting them flow and stare at the floor, vision blurry as you play back the events of the last 6 months in your head.

A soft knock at the door makes you snap your head up, breaking your trance as you quickly swipe your fingers below your eyes, head turning to see who enters.

It's Seungcheol, composed in poise and grace as he steps inside before coming to a stand beside you. Silently, he asks for permission to sit, something you have told him multiple times not to do and when you give him a nod he takes a seat opposite to you. "You have been crying," he states quietly as he regards you with a knotted brow. You sigh and blink a couple of times before asking. "I'm fine now. What's the update? Any problems?"

He shakes his head. "Things are under good so far. You still need to give a formal statement at the fundraisers event next week, so you have to prepare for that."

"Hmm," you nod. "What brings you here, then? Are you feeling okay? I told you to take a day..." Your voice fades as you watch him produce a white rectangular envelope from his pocket and push it towards you on the table.

You have a sinking feeling in your chest that it is a resignation letter.

"I am submitting my letter of resignation." He says, as calmly as ever, his eyes straight on yours. Your mouth opens but fails to deliver the words as you tilt your head to the side, processing this action.

You have no problem with him resigning. In fact, you had planned to fire him after this hellish week ends so that you two could have a discussion about where your relationship stands, without all these professional restrictions limiting you. However, knowing Seungcheol, you have a sinking suspicion that he isn't quitting so that he can address his feelings for you but so that he can escape.

Still, you decide to feign ignorance.

"Good. I was planning on firing you anyway. Not that you were bad at your job, you were the best but you need to rest, Seungcheol. And I have Jihoon now so I'll be fine." You nod as you pretend to go through his letter but inside, your hearts thuds so loudly you are afraid it will burst.

"As of today, I am relieving you of your duties, Choi Seungcheol." You offer him a shaky smile. Seungcheol nods, his face as impassive as ever and you just cannot tell if he is heartbroken or relieved. His body language tells you that he is ready to get up and leave but you do not let that happen so easily.

"Now we can finally talk about our relationship." You speak, trying to keep your voice as stable as possible. Seungcheol visibly tenses as his face loses some of its colour and immediately you know this is not going to end well.

But you are adamant on seeing this through.

"There is nothing to talk about." His voice is quiet, almost inaudible as he sits there looking like a petulant child lying to his parents. You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself.

"You can do many things, Seungcheol but you cannot lie to me." You keep your voice as gentle as you can.

Your ex bodyguard seems to agree as he lets out a dejected sigh and stares at the floor very attentively. You watch him with intent for a few long moments, giving him time but ultimately when he remains as stubborn and unmoving as a mule, you break the silence.

"I will lay all my cards on the table, Seungcheol, since you can't seem to do that. I have feelings for you, Seungcheol. Feelings that are very, very deep and real and I'm willing to act on them. Do what is necessary to make this work— make us work."

He is quick to disagree. "Those feelings that you talk about, they are not love, ____. It is temporary. The last few weeks have been intense and it's just your body's natural reaction —"

"Do you love me, Choi Seungcheol?" You interrupt him, looking him straight in the eye. The man looks like he swallowed a sock and you would feel bad for him, maybe even laugh at his reaction if the situation was not so dire.

"It does not matter." He looks away. You have the urge to hurl something at his head; the lamp next to you seems very tempting, but you fight it by clenching your fists a few times, trying to put yourself in his shoes.

"Seungcheol, I heard you that day in the cabin. I hear you now and I completely understand your fears. But I am here and we will work through them. It will take time but I'm ready, no matter how long it takes. I just want you, Seungcheol, and it kills me because I know you want me too yet you keep punishing yourself."

By now you have learned to read the man well and what might be easily overlooked by others comes into your notice; like how he clenches his fists and how his Adams apple bobs as he heavily swallows. The look in his eyes is that of a pure battle, one that he is fighting against himself and it's hard to watch. You are about to stand up and hold his hand when he suddenly moves onto his feet, his posture rigid as he glares down at you.

"I do not want you. What happened at the cabin was a mere moment of weakness. And you don't want me either, ______. You will soon realize it."

This gaslighting asshole!

"So you are going to lie to yourself till the very end?" You hiss, standing up and stepping closer to him, meeting his eyes with an equal glare. "If anyone is lying to themselves here, it is you." He spits. "Our relationship was supposed to be professional from the start. I am a bodyguard and you are merely one of my protectees. Let us end it that way." He takes a step back while you watch him with a flabbergasted expression at his audacity. He uses your moment of weakness to say. "It was nice working with you. Hopefully, you won't need me again. Goodbye, Ms. Lee." The next moment he is pushing past you as his footsteps echo on the cold marble floor, the sound similar to that of your heart as it cracks.

"If you walk away now, I will never forgive you, Seungcheol!" You yell, voice cracking as tears gather in your eyes, your gaze focused outside the window, your back facing him. No reaction comes from behind you except for the footsteps which come to a halt.

"Do you really want to end it like this?" Your whisper is followed by silence but through the eerie quietness in the room, you know the words reach him well.

His reply comes a few seconds later, in the form of footsteps that echo farther and farther away from you followed by the sound of the door opening and then closing and then utter silence. —

The fundraiser's event is going in full swing, bustling with people when you arrive. Draped in a red silk dress and diamond jewellery you look like a million bucks but in reality you feel nothing like that and you have no desire to be here whatsoever. But you know it is necessary to make an appearance as the host because it is extremely important to show up after the scandal to assure everyone that things are going well. Except they are not. While your professional life has slowly started getting back to its normal place your personal life has plummeted because all that you have done in the past week is mope around and curse your ex bodyguard and bitch about him to your current one, Jihoon.

The best way you can describe Jihoon is a grumpy cat. He talks very little but whenever he does, he's always huffing and complaining. But you see his softer side peek through from the little acts he does for you like making sure you eat your meals properly, checking up on you after your crying session and preparing all your documents and briefing you every morning. His tsundere antics and his silent company have probably been the only driving force that has kept you sane after Seungcheol dumped you.

The event is taking place in a banquet hall in the city centre and once inside, Jihoon guides you to a private resting room where you get ready for the opening speech. "I don't think I will stay till dinner. It is okay I leave after the speech, no?" You ask Jihoon as you finish revising the script. "Maybe mingle with people a little bit. Behave like a human instead of a broken hearted ghost" he offers, his tone dry as usual. You sigh and shake your head at his reply as you smooth your dress and step forward, waiting for the emcee to call you on stage.

Once on stage, you stand behind the podium, the tireless flashes from the cameras giving you a headache and you have to try your very best to plaster a smile on your face as you greet the guests and start your speech. Jihoon stands a few feet away from you on the stage, his eyes scanning the crowd carefully as he receives constant updates in his Bluetooth. However, not even two minutes into your speech, a man causes commotion as he tries to get on the stage, yelling some nonsense about how you are a fraud and a money launderer. You are baffled as you watch the security planted at the perimeter of the stage get a hold of him and drag him out while whispers and murmurs echo among the guests.

"He looks drunk," Jihoon says as he steps close to you to make sure you are alright. "Ignore him. He shouldn't have been allowed inside. I will have a talk with—" He pauses midway in his sentence as his eyes focus on something behind you, on the other side of the stage, his pupils widening. You can barely process the change in his expression before he tugs you away and shields you with his body as you two roll off the stage.

The next moment, an explosion echoes through the air. There is a ringing in your ears as Jihoon covers you, the echoes of the blast intensifying the headache you already had. You feel disoriented as Jihoon helps you to stand up and ushers you towards the resting room backstage while you hear screams echoing from the guests, their heavy footsteps scattering all over. "Wha- what is going on?" You cry, confused as Jihoon shoves you inside the room. "It is your cousin, Jun." What!

"Lock the door. His men have blocked the exits. I need to clear them before I come get you. Do not open this door, is that clear?" He orders you and before you can form a reply, he is gone. Confused, scared and exhausted, you fall onto the ground, head in your hands as you fail to wrap your head around the situation. Of course, you knew your cousin was sour after his father's arrest but you never thought he would go this far. What is he thinking? What does he want?

You hear commotion spread outside, things crashing and even a few gunshots. As you step closer to the door to get a better listen there is a loud bang, as if someone is trying to break in.

Absolutely terrified, you step back, frantic eyes looking around the small space for a weapon.

If you knew the night would end up like this you would have brought a fucking gun with you.

Speaking of guns, a gunshot echoes through the air, making you duck your head as you scream. Another gunshot rings through the air and you realise whoever is on the other side is trying to come inside.

You can only pray it is not your fucking cousin, who is a maniac, apparently.

A broad, mean looking thug bursts through the door just as it opens and when his eyes land on you, he points his gun at your head. "Do not think of doing anything smart, woman. If you don't want me to blow your face off, you do as I fucking tell you to." Swallowing, you nod, holding your hands up in surrender.

So this is how it goes down, huh.

The man produces a handcuff from his pocket and tosses it towards you. "Put it on your hands! Now!" With shaky hands, you pick it up and just as you are about to fasten it around one of your wrists, there is a gunshot. You are sure you have been shot as you shut your eyes tight but start to think otherwise when seconds pass and you still feel your heartbeat.

Peeking open one eye you see the thug slumped over on the floor, a clean bullet hole on the back of his head. And in the doorframe, stands Seungcheol, a gun in his hand.

Choi Seungcheol.

Wait, what? How?

Your brain is struggling to catch up as you blink again and again to make sure of his presence. Indeed, he stands there, dressed in a black suit and tie, specks of red on his white shirt as he pants heavily.

What on god's green earth—

"Come on, you need to get out!" He yells, stepping inside the room, reaching for your hand and dragging you outside with him. You cannot get a word out as you let him lead you, absolutely thunderstruck because of his sudden presence.

What the fuck is he doing here? How did he even know what was going on?

You are so baffled that you cannot speak these thoughts out, simply following him as he carefully guides you towards the exit, his gun drawn in alertness. Just as the backyard of the venue comes into view and Seungcheol is about to usher you outside, you hear a voice yelling from the other side of the hall.

It is your cousin's voice. "Let me go you fucking assholes! I am gonna blow that bitch myself! I am gonna tear her up into fucking pieces! How dare she take what is mine! That's slut! I am gonna…"

Seungcheol almost pushes you to move as you get stuck in a trance of his mean words. "It is okay, Jihoon has him. Come on."

As if you are functioning on autopilot, you let him guide you outside into the open field and underneath a small sitting area where fresh air finally hits you, letting you breathe in a lungful. Seungcheol informs the other security about the update over his comms as you watch him in silence. When he is done, his eyes finally meet yours and in an instant everything that had gone down in the last month flashes through your head, giving you goosebumps.

There is a moment of silence as you watch him with a blank expression while he looks around uncomfortably. Finally, he decides to break the silence with a chuckle. "I leave you for a few days and this is what happens?"

His tone is full of amusement. The nerve of this man. You, however, find none of this amusing. It gets your blood boiling as you hear him say the words, your brain finally registering everything and you simply cannot hold yourself back anymore. The next thing you do is strike a clean, sharp slap on his cheek which catches him off guard as he stumbles a few steps back. His eyes widen in shock, his hand moving to cup the cheek which is turning bright red, like your palm.

You poured your heart and soul and all your pent up emotions into that slap so you pray it stings like a bitch.

Your hand does for sure.

"I deserved that-" Seungcheol starts to speak, holding up his hands but the moment he opens his mouth you are on him again as you grab him by the collars, triggered, "How dare you come here, you scum!" You hiss, tugging at the fabric of his collars while a bewildered Seungcheol tries to gently pry you off of him. "How dare you have the audacity to show up after everything you said?"

"_____, you are gonna hurt yourself—"

"You quit! You made it clear that you had no interest in me, Seungcheol! So what gives you the right to come here and save me, huh?" You are seething, emotions so strong you feel like choking and if you were a cartoon character, visible steam would be coming out of your ears.

"_____, please—"

"Who gave you the right to be a hero, huh? What made you come here? Tell me! Talk, you asshole!" You yell, shaking him, tugging on his collars repeatedly as a wild rage takes over you.

You are going to murder him.

"Because I am in love with you!" He yells back, making your grip falter for a second which he uses to quickly free himself, taking a few steps back as you stare wide eyed at him, panting.

When you finally get enough air in your lungs and process his words, really process them, your wry laugh echoes through the cold night air like mockery. "Fuck you, Seungcheol. I have had enough of your bullshit." You spit, pushed to your limits.

God, give me patience.

"I know," he whispers, taking a step closer while you take one back. "I understand what I have done and I do not expect you to forgive me at all. I just need you to know that I fucking love you and I am so fucking sorry. I know I am late but I am here to stay—"

"No you are not," You snap. "Get the hell away from me before I take a gun and fucking shoot you."

"If that's what will make you happy..." Seungcheol calmly reaches for his gun as you watch him, alarmed. He takes it off of the holster and holds it out towards you. "Shoot me as many times as you want. I deserve it.

This fucking man—

"Guys, can we do this weird foreplay somewhere else," Jihoon yells from behind you as you spin to see him jogging towards you two. "You need to get out of here, _____. He's saying that there are still explosives in this compound."

"What!" You shriek but before you can get another word out, Seungcheol is grabbing your hand and dragging you with him as he starts sprinting. "Keep me updated," he addresses Jihoon who nods, talking into the comm to get a car at the rear entrance for you.

"Let go, you asshole!" You hiss, trying to pry his fingers off your wrist which proves to be a challenge while running full speed in high heels. "God damn it, Seungcheol, I will fall!" And you almost do so, as you misstep and stumble but the man is quick to catch you and before you can even think, he is throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Put me down, you pig!"

"As soon as we get to the car, angel."

Which is quick, thankfully, because the next moment he is putting you down and holding the passenger side door open for you and despite wanting to resist him, you know the wise idea is to leave right now. As soon as you are inside the car, he shuts the door before running to the other side and before you can even put your seatbelt on, the car is moving.

"Jihoon will be fine, right?" You ask half mindedly as you turn your head back to look at the venue which gets smaller every passing second. "He will be fine," Seungcheol grunts. "The police have been informed as well as the bomb disposal team." "What about my cousin?" Seungcheol remains quiet for a moment, only staring ahead on the road. "Him? He's alive, unfortunately."

"What do you mean?" You ask warily.

"I shot him. The bullet hit his abdomen. He won't die, don't worry. That depraved asshole doesn't deserve that mercy." You sigh, rubbing your temples as you lean back into your seat. "What the hell was he thinking?"

"He wanted to hurt you, humiliate you, _____. He had plans to hurt you horribly." Seungcheol huffs out a breath, shaking his head and clenching his jaw. "He has gone insane." That is all he provides, making you fall silent for a moment. "When will this stop." You whisper to yourself. "I never considered him to be a threat."

"I should have. You locked up his father and made sure he could never take over the company. He was a huge threat that I failed to notice." He murmurs.

"Don't start, Seungcheol," you snap at him, irritated. "I'm still tempted to shoot you. Your duty was over the moment you handed in the resignation letter and walked out of my life."

"My biggest mistake." He whispers to himself but you hear it.

Tired, frustrated, scared and angry, you decide not to engage in this conversation further as you look out the window and wonder what is coming next. Another media storm for sure. More interrogations, more meetings with your lawyer. At the same time, however, the edge that you have been feeling for the last week is gone. The fact that your cousin never came up to you or tried to retaliate his father's arrest in any way made you wonder but it never occurred to you that he could turn violent, insane.

Jun was after all a puppet, who only did things after his father made the way for him his whole life.

Today was a different case, it looks like. Anyhow, it is somewhat of a win for you because you miraculously got out unscathed and the threat has been neutralised. However, you are sure many have been injured and your reputation has taken a severe hit today. The upcoming months will be very hard, harder than before…

The next coherent thought that comes upon you is that you fell asleep. You open your eyes realising that the car has stopped and the time on the dashboard says about thirty minutes have passed. Blinking, you shift in your seat and find Seungcheol, sitting next to you, watching you with a look that is foreign on his face, something close to adoration. Clearing your throat, you remove your seatbelt and sit up straight.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Not long enough. We just got here." He announces as he moves to open his door. "Come on, let's go inside."

Once you are out of the car, you realise Seungcheol has taken you to a five star hotel and seeing the confusion on your face, he explains. "It's safer here. Can't take any more risks tonight."

He casually slips his hand into yours, making you frown and drags you towards the hotel. Your tired body cannot put up much of a fight so you follow him begrudgingly and you are quickly escorted to the penthouse suite thanks to his prior booking.

Upon entering the suite you walk straight to the master bedroom where the king sized bed calls for your tired self as you sit down and take off your heels, throwing them away on the carpet over the floor with a soft thud, exhaling a loud sigh. Seungcheol follows you and remains quiet as you sit in silence at the edge of the bed, too wired, too disoriented to do anything. Normally, after everything that happened with your uncle your decision making skills have significantly sharpened but having Seungcheol near you, his stupid confession ringing in your head is fucking with your brain. And as if that goddamn man can read your mind, he kneels in front of you on the floor, one of his hands softly touching your knees as he utters. "You need to rest, ______. I will handle everything else. It is all under control now, trust me."

"Why do you do this?" You croak, pushed to the limits of exhaustion, your eyes trained somewhere in an unfocused gaze as you fidget with your hands. "Why do you push me away and then come back running at a time like this?"

He is silent for a long time while you fight to keep your tears at bay.

You will not cry in front of him.

"I am sorry." He only whispers, his fingers softly stroking your knee as his head lowers and his gaze falls down on the floor. "I was foolish and...scared. That night after we slept together you…you said out loud you loved me and I panicked. I was— I am a danger to you. But being away from you for a week was a pain unlike anything else. I went back to that cabin and I slept in your bed and the sheets had the faintest of your smell. Weirdly, your scent and everything you left behind soothed me and I didn't have any nightmares in the past week. But every morning I woke up and there was a sinking feeling in my stomach that only grew each day until I couldn't bear it. I realised that you really were an angel who saved me, brought lightness back into my life, and gave me a new purpose, a new dream. I realised what an idiot I was and I came to the city on Wednesday night. Believe me when I tell you that my intention was to just stay away and make sure you are okay. I knew what I had done and I was in no way worthy of showing up in front of you but I had to intervene tonight, _____. Your life was in danger."

The air conditioner in your room suddenly feels chillier as goosebumps prickle your skin, making you shiver. Seungcheol takes notice of it and stands up quickly to take off his jacket before draping it over your shoulders. He stands in front of you in silence, fingers hovering over your now covered shoulders while you stare at his shoes, your head going blank but also running a mile a minute. The frustration and overwhelmingness bleed together until you can't tell one emotion separate from another.

All of a sudden, Seungcheol's thumbs caress your cheeks while the rest of his fingers softly cup your jaw and it is only then that you realise you have been silently crying. He oh so gently wipes your cheek dry while uttering, "Please don't cry. I know I hurt you. I promise I will leave as soon as I make sure you are going to be okay." Instantly, a part inside your brain is flooded with panic as it screams no. You don't want him to leave when you remember how hard the past week was on you and how many times a day you would revisit that night in the cabin, the moment you two shared and how it proved to be the anchor for you throughout everything that happened after.

You were— are mad at him but you still want him near, crazy is it not?

You keep thinking of how safe you felt the moment Seungcheol found you in tonight's chaos, how just his presence made you fall asleep so easily when for the last week you could not fall asleep without the fear of nightmares.

Yes, they have returned. But you don't see the accident anymore, you see your uncle chasing you around the cabin while you call for Seungcheol but he doesn't come, no matter how much you beg.

And after tonight, you wonder what more nightmares await you. So when you utter the one, very powerful word, you tell yourself that you are doing this for yourself, to be selfish and not for him, which is not a lie entirely.

"No."

Your left hand reaches to grab the fabric of his shirt and you fist it tightly in your hand. "Don't leave." You don't dare to look at him, scared you will break once you do and instead focus your gaze on the patterns of the carpet while holding onto his shirt. The next moment Seungcheol is sitting next to you and in the moment after he gently wraps his arms around you, your head falling perfectly against his shoulder while your arms snake around his waist after a moment's hesitation.

His warm touch soothes your back as his other hand cups the back of your head, softly stroking it with his thumb. A small whimper comes from your mouth as quiet sobs escape from you and you hide your face and weep, trying to stifle the sounds.

"I am so sorry, _____. I am sorry for everything." Seungcheol whispers, voice thick with emotion. "I will make everything better, I promise. I will stay as long as you need me and then… " There is a moment of heavy pause. "When you don't, I will follow you around like a lost puppy for the rest of my life." Thinking about the rest of your life and not having Seungcheol in it makes you sob harder and if you had energy you would scream at him and tell him to just shut up. Instead, you cry, cry your heart out, promising yourself that from tomorrow you won't.

Tomorrow another battle begins.

As the night grows deeper, Seungcheol holds you tighter and your sobs gradually fade and before you know it you fall asleep on his shoulder. Seungcheol stays still for a while longer to make sure you don't wake up before gently picking up your sleeping form and setting you down on the bed, fixing the pillow underneath your head and covering you with a blanket. Despite his desire to crawl into bed and sleep next to you, he resists it and instead takes the loveseat in front of the window, where he sits and watches your peacefully sleeping form, before falling asleep himself with a heart full of gratitude.

— You watch the steam from the mug evaporate into the air before taking a small sip. The tea is slightly bitter and hot, just as you need it.

After waking up and taking a quick shower, here you sit, by the window of your penthouse suite, sipping tea, treating yourself to a quiet peaceful moment before your hectic day, which you are frankly not prepared for, begins.

You woke up to an empty suite, with no sign of Seungcheol and it almost made you wonder if last night was an entire elaborate dream. But then you found his tie lying on the loveseat which acted as a reassurance of his presence, weirdly bringing solace to you.

After waking up, you realised your phone's battery is dead, which became another source of peace for you, because you know otherwise, it would have been blowing up with calls and you wouldn't have gotten the good night's sleep that you got.

There's a sudden sound of the door opening that alerts you, making you crane your neck to see the visitor. Seungcheol walks in, dressed completely differently from last night, looking delicious in a light blue polo and white pants. On his hands are two shopping bags and behind him is a hotel staff member who pushes in a huge breakfast trolley. "Good morning, _____." Seungcheol meets your eye as he sets down the shopping bags on the edge of the bed and thanks the staff as he takes his leave. You watch Seungcheol take off the lids covering the food while speaking, "Breakfast is here. I have asked for a bit of everything you like. And I have got new clothes and some necessities for you. They are in the bag," He points to the general direction as he starts stacking pancakes on a plate for you. You are quite surprised and flattered and you cannot come up with anything else to say but, "Thank you."

For some weird reason, you feel shy and awkward around him as if you are a newborn fawn. Maybe it is because none of you are addressing the elephant in the room; last night's conversation and instead acting like you have known each other for years. "It's my pleasure," he smiles at you, a genuine smile that shows his dimples and makes your heart gallop like a horse. Handing you the plate, he takes a comfortable seat in the chair in front of you and watches you dig in, a look you can only describe as fondness sitting on his face. Feeling shy, you cover your mouth as you chew. "Stop looking at me."

"You look a bit tired. Did you not sleep well?" He asks suddenly. "I had a good sleep, thank you." You inform, surprised how he noticed. You have been feeling a little sick after you woke up despite having a very good night's rest. A headache has been creeping up on your temples but you are trying hard to ignore it because this is not the time to get sick.

You have a long day ahead of you.

Making you jerk, Seungcheol places his palm on your forehead out of the blue as he checks your temperature and an unpleasant look settles on his face. "You are getting a fever." "No, I'm not." You direct your focus on cutting your pancakes, using too much pressure. Ignoring you, the man dials a number on his phone and asks for some cold medicine to be brought to the hotel room to whoever is on the other side. "I just told you, I am fine." You frown, annoyed. He hangs up and stares at you as if you are speaking a different language. "You are not. You need to take the medicine and get some rest."

"Now is not the time for me to sleep! Do not play doctor!" You snap, setting the plate down with a loud bang as you clutch the fork and knife tightly in your hand. Seungcheol does not react to your outburst but simply changes position as he comes to sit next to you.

"Your cousin is in custody. I talked with your lawyer this morning, he is preparing everything well. There is no way he is getting off. Jihoon and his men already testified to the police so you do not have to meet with them unless you want to add something. If you do, I will arrange a phone call with the station. The legal department is working on a statement and it will be released today in a press conference. The CFO will read it out." He informs, casually.

"You are sick, _____. And it's okay .You went through a lot. It is okay if you take a break today. No one is asking you to go out there and face the demons. You need to rest. Your body is asking for it."

His voice softens as one of his hands comes to rest on your thigh gently. The assurance in his voice paired with the tenderness in his eyes makes you swallow a lump in your throat and blink back tears. "Still..."

"Finish your breakfast." He says as he reaches for the plate while taking the fork and knife out of your hand and cutting it into bite sized pieces. "And you should probably call your brother today, by the way. The news of last night's events will reach him sooner or later and I think it would be best if he heard it from you."

You nod, feeling sad. Chan just left for a vacation one week ago. When he hears about this, he will definitely catch the next flight home.

"If you do not want to call him, I can do it for you." Seungcheol offers as he finishes his task and hands the plate and cutlery back to you.

"No, I will do it." You murmur and silently go back to eating. Seungcheol watches you in silence for the rest of the meal and after you are done, the staff returns to clean up and drops your medicines. You take them and then sit in your bed idly, watching the city skyline through your window, trying not to overthink anything. You can hear Seungcheol talk over the phone in the other room before he steps back into the master bedroom to check up on you.

"If you feel too sick, let me know. I will take you to the hospital."

You softly nod and turn your head to look at him. He appears worried, his eyes glazed with concern, his brows forming a knot as if he's trying to read you. After a moment, you silently motion him to come sit by you on the bed which he diligently follows.

His hands reach out to hold yours, his thumb gently stroking your skin as he gazes into your eyes, leaning closer to you, his eyes searching for something in yours. His bangs fall forward, cupping his temples and you itch to brush them away. "Tell me what you are thinking." He whispers.

"You have pretty hair." You reply honestly and he chuckles, shaking his head before his face becomes serious. "I missed you." His voice is low, almost inaudible as his gaze falls down to your linked hands, as if he is ashamed to meet your eyes when saying that. "I missed you too." You reply honestly, once again. Seungcheol seems surprised to hear that and you cannot help but roll your eyes.

"Oh please, Choi Seungcheol. Don't act like you had no idea." Your head rests against the headboard as you make yourself comfortable and scowl at him. "You knew very well how much effect you had on me and you knew damn well how much I loved you."

"Loved me?"

"Okay, love you—"

"Wait, no— you...love me? Really? You didn't say it that night in the heat of the moment?" You only realise then how you just casually spat it out, again, and immediately, heat blooms on your face. You avoid his gaze, snatching your hands from his grip while he looks absolutely stunned.

"Whatever." You mutter, scooting down on the bed, reaching to grab the sheets and hide yourself in them but Seungcheol stops you as he cages you between his arms, his face hovering dangerously close to yours, his perfume and aftershave blending into an addictive scent that makes your brain hazy with need.

Control yourself, woman! "Answer me. You love me?" "Ugh, you heard me the first time," you groan, trying to twist away from him but he stops you by cupping your chin and making you face him.

"Wanna know something?" He whispers, inching his face closer.

"What?" You are breathless.

"I love you too, ____." He replies, his lips ghosting over yours. You anticipate a kiss but he doesn't, instead tucks your hair behind your ear as he whispers in your ear. "I am so deeply, madly in love with you it is embarrassing."

The words are music to your ears and your insides swoon as you close your eyes and relish them, pressing your lips tight to prevent yourself from breaking into a maniacal grin. Seungcheol shifts his weight back and rests himself on his one palm as his other hand softly cups your face. "And I am sorry, once again, for what I did to you."

"Good but I am still mad." You try your best to appear stern.

"I know." His expression is solemn. "I plan on making it up to you until my dying breath."

When did he become so romantic?

"You may start by cuddling me," you whisper, almost shy, carefully watching his reaction. He immediately proceeds to get under the sheets with you and carefully engulfs you into his large arms, your face resting against his solid chest as his hand strokes your hair soothingly. Your arms move to snake around his waist as you feel yourself relax, his arms feeling like the safest, most comfortable place in the entire universe and you never, ever want to leave.

"I love you, Seungcheol." Your voice is muffled against his chest.

"I love you more, angel. So much more."

1 month later

The view around the cabin is just as pretty as you remember it. The setting sun of dusk casts it in a beautiful glow which you stop and stand to admire.

Beside you, Seungcheol finishes parking the jeep and unloads the overnight bags from the trunk.

"What are you looking at?" He asks when he comes to stand next to you, fishing for keys from his pocket in one hand.

"It's very beautiful." You murmur, eyes glancing over the view before settling down on the man next to you. He is dressed in a grey t-shirt, his blond hair looking as gorgeous as ever, if not more in the golden hour and you know, he is undoubtedly the epitome of beauty.

Seungcheol meets your stare with equal sincerity as he reaches to hold your hand, whispering. "Yes, it is." You know he is talking about you.

A light, gleeful laugh escapes your lips as you playfully push him with your shoulder. He grins and drags you with him inside the cabin.

It is hard to believe that this place was a crime scene about a month ago. Seungcheol did some thorough renovations and now the place looks more beautiful, cozier than ever.

As much as your heart wishes to stay in this little piece of green heaven forever, this is a small weekend getaway that Seungcheol organised and initiated by picking you up early from work today. You did not complain because the past few weeks were tough.

Getting your company back together after the fundraiser's incident and making sure you are still in the market is taking a lot of well thought plans and manpower and instructions. You have help, of course, from Chan who immediately rushed home from his vacation when he heard about Jun's attack on you. Seungcheol also has been helping you a lot, though you officially denied him the position of your bodyguard.

He then started working as a security consultant at his friend's company and has been assisting you however he could throughout the past month. He also started therapy again and so far his progress is remarkable. He is a lot less self sabotaging and he has not had a nightmare ever since you got back together, much like you. Not to mention he has been working extra hard to make it up to you, always catering to your every little need and never asking for anything in return or initiating anything, even though you have noticed multiple times how his eyes trail you around hungrily.

So far, you have only rewarded him with kisses because it was too much fun to watch him silently suffer. However, you plan to change that this weekend.

"Let's watch the sunset together," you propose as Seungcheol drops your bags in the bedroom. He agrees and you two walk back outside to the patio, hands linked where you stand and gaze at the setting sun. Seungcheol's arms wrap around you protectively from behind and his chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

"We need to get groceries." He murmurs absentmindedly as he presses a soft kiss on your neck that makes you sigh in pleasure. You hum, offering that you could just order takeout. As the sun dips beneath the horizon, Seungcheol takes occasional peeks at your face, admiring the mesmerised look in your eyes. His heart beats loudly, wild in love as he imagines the rest of his life with you and how it would be to watch you watch the sunset.

Delightful. Like the delightful secret he is hiding. A huge secret that has been burning holes in his pocket for a month. After the night of the attack, the next morning when he went to shop for your clothes at the mall, a ring caught his eye in a jewellery store and he purchased it right there, intent on putting it on your finger someday.

He has been carrying it ever since, waiting for the perfect moment to get down on one knee. Maybe this weekend will carry that moment, maybe not.

Either way, it is fine. He is not in a rush. He knows he will get down on one knee when he deems himself worthy enough of you. Though, logically it might never happen because no one is worthy of a person as beautiful, as amazing as you. But he will work very hard to be worthy of you, now and every day that he has on this planet. Seungcheol smiles to himself, agreeing that he's a very lucky bastard. "Cheol?" You call him by his nickname, breaking his train of thought. "Hm?" "I love you." You whisper. His next words are the sweetest serenade. "I love you more, angel."

A/N: If you have made it this far, congratulations and a huge thank you for taking the time to read this mammoth of a fic! I genuinely put my blood, sweat and tears into this and believe me when I tell you that my wrists hurt like hell. Still, I am glad I could share this with the world and I'm very proud of myself for successfully putting the conjectural idea from my head to the paper. It took a lot of time to come up with the idea, finalize it and stitch the pieces together so please leave a review and reblog! Your thoughts and comments really make my day. Wishing you a happy October! As a side note, I am swearing off of writing fics over 20k words. When I tell you that this app whopped my ass while posting this! My god! I was seriously considering breaking it into two parts. If you are reading this now that means I have hopefully posted it without trouble. Anyway, toodles!

#seventeen smut #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #choi seungcheol #scoups imagines #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios

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lightsoutletsgo · 1 month

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flowers are a language of their own — mv.1

pairing: max verstappen x reader word count: 4.2k warnings: slight angst

four times max gives you flowers and the first time you reciprocate, a childhood friends to lovers oneshot this is basically inspired by gwen and for gwen 😭 @verstappen-cult once again thanking you for my max brain rot bc these conversations are just DOING something to me skskksjsj but MWAH! I hope you like it my love 🤍 happy reading! mimi

i. daisies; new beginnings, innocence, cheerfulness (age 6) You hadn’t been at your new school very long, having moved to the town recently. You’d struggled with making new friends, the new language making things even more difficult. But this had really ruined your day. Your bottom lip jutted out and began to wobble as you looked at your drawing you’d spent the whole morning perfecting before tidy-up time. What had once been a beautiful explosion of scribbled crayon colours across one page now lay in two halves. It was more than your poor six year old brain could handle and so you immediately burst into tears. Wailing and sobbing, your teacher hurried over to see what the issue was. Between gasping inhales and snotty sobs you pointed to your crumpled torn drawing. She picked it up and turned to address the class of wild six year olds, “Alright class, does anybody know what happened to Y/N’s picture?” Your teacher’s voice was gentle, “You won’t be in trouble but our friend is very sad so we need to apologise and make it right okay?” Your bottom lip wobbled as your sniffles quietened a little and a small voice could be heard from the back of the classroom, “I didn’t mean to!” A small boy stepped forwards, bright blonde hair with blue eyes and you glared at him. He looked down at the floor as he awkwardly scuffed his shoe against the carpet. The teacher approached him and crouched down, “Thank you for being honest Max… Can you come and say sorry?” He nodded and took the teacher’s hand as she lead him over to you, “I’m sorry…” His apology was accented by a slight lisp and you frowned, arms crossing in front of your chest. “Thank you Max, Y/N? Max said it was an accident and that he’s sorry okay?” You let out a slight ‘hmmph’ as the teacher straightened up at the sound of the lunch bell. Max was quick to run out of the classroom with his friends but you plodded behind the group, still sad about your artwork.

You grabbed your lunchbox from your locker and looked for a chair in the lunch hall. Spotting your favourite yellow chair you couldn’t help but gasp as your little legs headed over as fast as they could carry you. You sat down and opened your lunchbox, legs swinging under the table. You’d barely taken two bites of your sandwich before a boy approached the table. You looked up and saw Max standing there, his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry I broke your drawing.” Max did his best to speak so you’d understand. “‘S fine.” You grumbled, annoyed he was talking to you. Six year old you could really hold a grudge… His cheeks tinted pink as he removed his hands from behind his back to hold out a small bunch of daisies he’d clearly picked from the playing field. Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open. “Here, for you…” He took a step closer and you held your hand out for him to gently place the flowers in your palm. Your eyes looked at him and you noticed how his knees were slightly muddy and there was a streak of dirt on his cheek. You giggled and he beamed back at you, you suddenly felt very shy,

“D-do you want to sit here?” You patted the seat next to you, “We can eat lunch together?” Max nodded, racing off to grab his lunchbox. He dashed back and sat next to you, unzipping his lunchbag to compare the contents with yours. “Are we going to be friends Max?” He nodded enthusiastically, taking your hand in his, “Mhmm! Best friends Y/N! So you can call me Maxie!”

ii. yellow amaryllis; pride, happiness, strength, determination (age 18) “Smile!” You stood with your friends, taking pictures in your graduation gowns and giggling together. But your heart panged, something - or rather someone - was missing from your day. Your eyes scanned the hall, desperately looking for a familiar blonde head. Despite knowing he was currently halfway round the world at a Grand Prix, “Boo!” A hand covered your eyes and a grin spread across your face at the familiar voice, “Maxie!” Turning around, you jumped into his arms and he laughed out loud, “Easy there bug!” You could hear your friends and family laughing and taking pictures of the two of you behind you but you still didn’t pull away, too embarrassed to let anyone see that you had tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be able to make it…” Max squeezed you a little tighter, “I left as soon as the race was over, there was no way I was missing this!” You pulled back and he wiped the tear that had slipped down your cheek. He let go of you and extended his arm towards you, holding out a beautiful bouquet of yellow amaryllis flowers, complete with yellow and white ribbons.

“Max,” you gasped “they’re so beautiful!” he nudged your shoulder with his, “Hey, you deserve it. They stand for pride, strength, happiness and determination.” “Determination” You spoke at the same time, finishing the sentence together. His eyes stared at you so adoringly, you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath. The moment was broken by your parents urging you to stand together for a picture. “What a beautiful couple!” You heard a teacher say as they walked past, “Oh no we’re not-” “Me and him? No way-” Both you and Max spoke over each other, completely missing the knowing looks your friends and family all gave each other. You couldn’t help the fresh wave of giggles that overtook you as Max pulled you into his side. You could have sworn that for the briefest of seconds, butterflies took flight in your stomach but you quickly brushed it off, blaming it on the excitement of the day.

iii. - yellow roses; friendship | bluebells; comfort (age 22) Max couldn’t deny the way that panic flashed through his entire body when he answered your call and heard nothing but your sobs on the other end. “Maxie!” You hiccuped, “Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?” He stood up, not caring that he was interrupting an important team meeting. His alarm grew even more when your only response was to cry even harder. He looked back at the group of people sat around the conference table, “I’m sorry but it’s a family emergency, I have to go.” He raced down the corridor and poked the elevator button far more times than was necessary. “Talk to me bug… I can’t help if you don’t explain what’s going on.” “He cheated Max! I went to his place and he was in bed with my roommate.” Max felt a weird combination of calm and anger wash over him at the same time. Calm because he knew you were safe and anger because who the fuck did your boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend, think he was? Fuck the elevator, Max headed for the stairs, wanting to get to his car and book a flight to you as soon as possible. “Oh Y/N…” “Said he only did it because he knew that I’d been cheating on him with you.” You heard Max scoff, “God he’s so fucking dumb Y/N… I never really liked him, you know that right? You’ve always been too good for him…” You heard Max sigh on the other end of the line and you curled up into an even smaller ball in your bed, pulling Max’s hoodie up even more as your nose inhaled the comforting scent of him,

“Can we move to facetime? Just wanna see you.” You choked out and he obliged, quickly filling your request. Max felt his heart breaking as he looked at you in your bed. “Hey! Is that my hoodie, bug?” You nodded with a sniffle as he did his best to cheer you up even just a little, “Traitor! You told me you didn’t know where it had gone…” A watery smile spread across your face. “Look, I’m gonna come see you okay?” You sat upright and stared at him hard, “Max Emilian Verstappen, you cannot do that! You have important meetings this week.” “Ooo full name?” He hissed through his teeth, “I am in trouble.” You shook your head at him, “You’re incorrigible.” “Big words we’re using today hmm?” You flipped him off and he laughed, “I’ll be there soon, bug okay?” You nodded and he smiled at you once more, “Just hang in there for a little longer.” He ended the call and immediately your smile dropped. In those brief few seconds you’d forgotten why you’d even called him in the first place. But now in the quiet of your apartment, the sad feelings crept up once more, smothering you and dragging you down.

You weren’t sure when you’d fallen asleep the night before, but the combination of the doorbell ringing and the knocking on the door jolted you awake. Rushing to the front door, you threw it open, still slightly disorientated from your rude awakening, “Hey bug.” “Maxie!” You felt wide awake staring at Max who now stood on your doorstep, a warm smile across his face. You immediately felt like bursting into tears once more and Max was quick to see that, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you as he rested his head on top of yours. “It’s okay bug,” you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head, “I got you.” He waddled with you in his arms, through your doorway and into the hallway to close the door and give you some privacy. As he held you, he felt his heart race a little, thinking how he would never make you or let you cry like that if you were his girl - wait what? Now was not the time to be thinking about those kinds of things! Max held you until your sobbing had quietened down again, “Sorry,” you sniffed all snotty and he just poked your nose and laughed gently, “It’s okay Y/N.” His hand gently rubbed your arm as he watched you take a few deep breaths to compose yourself, “Here.” He pulled a somewhat squished bouquet of flowers out of what seemed like nowhere, “Sorry, they got a little uhhh… too involved in the hug?” You let out a breath of laughter and took them from him, a finger gently tracing the petals, “Yellow roses? For friendship right?” Max nodded with a smile, “Yellow roses, because I’m always gonna be your best friend who has your back and bluebells because they’re comforting.” You couldn’t help the way your heart clenched hearing his words. It seemed that Max not only bought you flowers often but he even thought of the meaning of what he was buying. For some reason, the thought had those pesky flutters appearing in your stomach but you quickly reprimanded yourself and shook them off. You hadn’t even broken up with your ex for more than 24 hours yet, but here you were thinking about Max romantically? You shook your head, that was a line you could never think of crossing, no matter how much it seemed to be crossing your mind more and more the older you got.

iv. pink tulips; perfect love, affection (now) Now that you were living in Monaco, not too far from Max, movie nights were a common occurrence, with evenings being split between your apartment and his. Food would be ordered and wine would be drunk, movies would be played but barely watched as the two of you would end up talking into the night and continue long after the credits had finished rolling. If there was one thing you could count on Max for, it was his promptness and so when the clock read seven o’clock exactly, you knew it would only be a matter of seconds before you heard his footsteps down the hallway to your apartment. You were proven correct as Max let himself into your apartment, calling out as he did so, “Hey bug! It’s just me!” “In the living room!” You called back, smiling as he appeared in the doorway, holding something behind his back, “What have you got there hmm?” Max’s smile wavered for a second and you frowned, sitting up on the couch, “Max?” He exhaled and bit his lip nervously, “Maxie?” You tried again much more softly, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, “I’m about to say something and…” He sighed, “I just want you to let me finish okay?” You nodded confused as he came to sit next to you, holding out a bouquet of pink tulips as he did so. You felt yourself gasp as you stared at the flowers, admiring the pretty wrapping and how the ribbon matched the flowers. You wracked your brain as you stared, desperately trying to recall the meaning, Max always gave flowers with meaning. Appreciation? No, apology? Nope not that... No. It couldn’t be? Could it? “Affection?” You didn’t even realise you’d spoken the word out loud but a sharp inhale from Max was enough to tell you he’d heard you. Your eyes shot up to his face and noticed he wouldn’t even look at you, instead choosing to gently trace over the bouquet ribbon, “Yes.” His cheeks were pink and you could have sworn you stopped breathing. It was silent in your apartment. The only noise coming from the traffic outside and the thump of your neighbour as their work boots clunked over the floor before their door slammed. The noise pulled you out of your silence as you stared at Max, “What did you just say?” Max finally dared to look up as he gazed into your eyes, “Pink tulips, affection, perfect l…” “Perfect what?” There was no way he was going to say what you thought he was going to say… “Perfect love.” You stood up from the couch, immediately pacing back and forth as your hands started to fumble together, “Max…” You breathed, finally stopping to look at him sat staring at you. “Okay so this is the part where I need you to listen…” You let out a laugh of disbelief but said nothing as he swallowed, hands nervously rubbing the legs of his jeans. “I like you.” You froze as he continued, “I like you and I think I honestly have for a while… I know that this might not be the best time to tell you but I just can’t keep kidding myself anymore. The feelings I have for you? They’re not things I would be feeling if you were just a best friend to me Y/N. God I think I always knew it was you… From the day I ruined your drawing and then when I surprised you at your graduation… And then that horrific breakup,” You both winced, “I swore then that I would never let you cry over another man like that again. Because I wanted to be the only man that you had from then on.” Your lips parted as a nervous exhale left you. He stopped his rambling, panting slightly as he looked at you, “If you have anything to say, now would be a good time to say it…” You looked at him. Max, your Max. The boy that had been there for you through everything, your best friend.

“No…” You whispered out, your own heart breaking at your words, “I can’t…” Max looked absolutely crushed, “No?” His voice was quiet, “Why?” You shrugged, bottom lip trembling, “I can’t risk losing you.” Max scoffed, “Losing me?” “What if we break up hmm? You’re telling me we would be able to go back to being best friends like nothing ever happened? What if it doesn’t work hmm?” Max shook his head as your spoke, “You think I would say this to you if I didn’t think it would work?” “I-I… I don’t know!” You exclaimed as Max stood up, “You won’t even try?” “I’m too scared to Max…” He nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets as you stared at him, “I’m so sorry.” You whispered, “Me too.” he said before turning and walking out. The door hadn’t even closed behind him before you’d collapsed to the floor, your legs giving out. You’d never cried so hard because of him before. Not when he’d ripped your drawing, not when he'd surprised you at graduation, not even when he’d held you after your breakup.

You stared at the pink tulips as they lay on your couch, their bright happy hopeful colour taunting you. You stalked over to them and picked them up, heading straight to the trash, pulling your arm back to throw them away but you found yourself physically unable to do it.

i. flowers are a language of their own You weren’t sure whether it was convenient or not that Max had a double header after that conversation. Usually you would spam him while he was away and he would pick things up when he could. Often late at night in his hotel bed, a goofy grin plastered across his face as he opened your fit pics and food diary pics of the day, reading through your spam about work, friends and cute cats you’d spotted on the street.

But this time there had been nothing. From either of you. It had been strange and hurtful. You sighed as you checked your phone again for the millionth time that day, already knowing there would be no new notifications from him. Why would there be? The guy you liked had confessed to you and you’d broken his heart because you were too scared he’d break yours. Groaning you dropped your head to the kitchen counter, thumping your forehead against it a few times in the hope of gaining some sense of clarity. It didn’t work. You sighed and stood up straight. You were still kicking yourself for shutting him down so quickly. Yes, he was your Maxie, your best friend, but wasn’t that the point? He knew you so well, he cared for you and loved you, in whatever capacity. He would never intentionally hurt you. You couldn’t lie to yourself, there had been a continuous pull in your stomach and a slight ache in your chest the longer you went without talking to him. You knew if you could do the situation over again you would give a completely different answer. You didn’t want him to break your heart but now you had lost him completely.

Your head shot up as a plan began to form in your head. Grabbing your phone you looked up plane tickets for the country you knew Max was in at the moment. You knew things would be tricky without his help and you didn’t even know if it would work out, but for him you had to try. Selecting your seat you rushed to pack a bag, noticing how the now dry and dead tulips still lay on your bedroom vanity, the pink now much less vibrant and tinged with brown. Your stomach flipped and you hoped to god it would all work out. You knew which hotel the team usually stayed at when they were racing in that specific country and so after making a quick stop you headed straight there, planning to just wait until you were spotted by someone from the team who recognised you and took pity on you. You didn’t have to wait long as one of Max’s race engineers was exiting the building just as your taxi pulled up. Clambering out of the vehicle as you spotted him, he smiled and waved, “Hey! Didn’t know you were coming this weekend? Max usually says something.” “Ah,” you shuffled awkwardly, not wanting to give anything away about your strained relationship, “it’s a surprise!” His eyes widened and he grinned at you knowingly, especially when he spotted what you carried in your arms. “Well… Seeing as it’s you, I’ll give you his room number.” After obtaining the information you needed you thanked him and headed inside, getting on the elevator and pressing the button for his floor as you thanked whatever higher powers there were that so far the plan was working. As the bell dinged for your floor you gulped, a whole new wave of nerves and anxiety washing over you. What if he didn’t want to see you? What if he got angry with you and sent you away? But what if he heard you out? Oh crap, what were you gonna say?

Through your internal rambling, you had somehow managed to walk to his door and now you stood frozen. Unable to knock and unable to move. Swallowing the lump in your throat you knocked the door gently. You heard a crash and then a curse in Dutch came from inside and you winced. Oh god, if he was already in a bad mood… This wouldn’t help. The door swung open and a tired looking Max stood there. Dressed in cosy sweatpants and navy hoodie, no logos in sight but still fitting his team colours. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of you in front of him. “Y/N?” You gave the softest of smiles nervously, “Hi Maxie.”

You weren’t sure what you’d expected when you saw him. You’d thought about how he might yell or cry or get mad or slam the door in your face but you certainly hadn’t expected him to grab your arms and pull you into a hug, burying his face in your neck, “Fuck, I missed you so much I’m so sorry…” You sniffled, pulling back and looking at him, “Why are you sorry?! I’m sorry! I never should have doubted you-” “I never should have pressured you-” “You didn’t! I never should have jumped to conclusions about how things would end. God. It’s been so miserable without you…” You noticed his eyes growing tearful. “Here, come in.” He gently pulled you into the room and closed the door behind you. Your eyes swept the room and zeroed in on an object on his bed, “Is that my t-shirt?” You asked incredulously, mouth gaping at him slightly as he rushed to shove it in his suitcase, “N-no!” “Max Emilian…” Your voice was low, “M-maybe…” You gave him a pointed stare and he relented, “Okay yes fine it is.” He sighed, “I found it at my apartment that night when I got back and… I just… I didn’t have you and it was the closest thing…” He trailed off, sitting on the bed. You padded across the room to take a seat next to him, one hand gently rubbing his back, “I know Maxie… Me too.” His head rested on your shoulder and you inhaled shakily, it was now or never.

You looked back across the room at where your things lay in the entrance. You stood up and made your way over, picking up what you needed before turning back to him with your arms behind your back. “I’m about to say something…” His head shot up to look at you, “and I need you to let me finish.” You gave him a tearful smile and he swore he felt his breathing quicken as you practically echoed his words from a few weeks ago. You approached him and offered him the bouquet from behind your back. He stared at it for a moment before his eyes flicked up to look at yours.

“Red roses?” You nodded, unable to keep looking at him - partly shy and partly terrified of his answer, until he gently held your chin and tilted your head up to meet his gaze once more, “Red roses.” “You know what they mean don’t you?” “I picked them for a reason.” He stood up and gently took them from you, one hand sliding round your waist to pull you into him, “Baby’s breath?” “Baby’s breath.” You looked down, breathing your answer as his face got closer to yours. “Is this your speech then?” You let out a breath, “I figured I would let the flowers speak for themselves, god knows you’ve been doing it long enough.”

His lips were practically on yours and it took everything in you to keep standing as his next words were brushed against your lips, “Is this your answer then?” You nodded, “No schat, please… Let me hear you say it…” His eyes closed as he felt your shuddering breath, “Yes, Max. Yes, I want to try with you, I love you and that’s enough to tell me we should try-” Any further words you had were cut off by Max’s lips meeting yours. His grip around your waist tightened, the flowers sliding from his other hand to the floor as he gently cupped your face, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheek. You couldn’t help the way you smiled against his lips and he laughed at the feeling, the two of you giggling and grinning between kisses like the lovesick idiots you were.

Red roses; declaration of love, Baby’s breath; eternal love.

#mimi.writes #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 angst #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #f1 x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen fanfic

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ryukatters · 5 months

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a/n: Inspired by that one scene from the apothecary diaries of jinshi interrogating maomao lamaksomsosk (kaiji tang you will always be famous) but with a diff twist

pairing: satoru gojo x gn! reader

content: jealous! Gojo, Gojo really likes reader but reader is kind of dense, reader is a grade one sorcerer younger than Gojo

You give Yaga a quick yet thorough debrief of your mission. You made Nanami go home, insisting that you’d handle all the technical work, since he went out of his way to save your ass when you called him for backup. Your mission had taken an awry turn from a simple investigation of some odd activity near a detention center to having to fight off not one, but two special grade curses.

Sometimes missions don’t go the way you expect them to. That’s normal. Checking in with Yaga after coming back from said missions is also customary. What isn’t normal though, is the way Satoru Gojo is standing behind you grumbling under his breath with each sentence you speak. You can practically feel the menacing aura emanating from his very being. It seeps into your bones and you have to suppress a shiver.

There’s not much you can do. The Jujutsu world’s strongest sorcerer can do whatever he wants. And if he wants to breathe fire down the neck of his poor junior? Then so be it.

“That’s all for my report, sir.”

You bow to Yaga before turning around to get the hell out of the office, far away from him. You give Gojo a slight nod of acknowledgment with the full intention to skitter out of there, but you’re stopped by a large hand gripping your shoulder firmly.

Satoru leans down to whisper into your ear, “I’ll be waiting for you in my office.”

You can’t suppress the way you shudder at his touch and the low timbres of his voice.

And with that, Satoru whips around with a slight ‘hmph’ before sauntering down the hall.

You hear Yaga sigh behind you as you shut the door. You take your time walking, dragging your feet as the ball of anticipation in the pits of your stomach sinks deeper and deeper. You take a deep breath as you grip the door handle leading to Gojo’s office.

Gojo’s sitting down when you enter. Even with his blindfold on, you can tell that his expression looks miffed. His body language too— impatiently drumming his fingers against his thigh. His uncharacteristic silence seeps into every nook and cranny, filling you with an even deeper sense of dread.

Was he upset with you? You hope you’re overthinking things.

“You asked to see me?” You start.

“So…your mission. Heard you had to fight two special grade curses.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Which gives you the inkling feeling that Gojo isn’t all that interested in actually speaking about your latest assignment.

“I did.”

(You want to remind him that he was in the room when you told Yaga, but you bite your tongue.)

“I see,” he hums noncommittally.

“…And?” You can feel the way his six eyes sear into you even with that stupid blindfold on. You wish he’d just cut to the chase already.

“And when you needed back up, you decided to call Nanami?”

“Yes,” you say with a slight hint of hesitation. You’re not entirely sure what he was trying to get at here. “He was the first sorcerer I saw on my recent calls.”

“Funny how I called you this morning yet you didn’t think about seeking me out for help,” Gojo pouts, idly playing with some empty candy wrappers that were on his coffee table. “Or do you just prefer Nanami over me?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say,” you respond honestly. Because you don’t. Why is he making such a big deal out of this in the first place?

Gojo looks at you, flabbergasted. He groans in exasperation. Were the random (but constant) phone calls, lunches (and dinners), and just generally wanting to be with you not enough? What more does he have to do to make you realize?

Jealousy is a fickle thing. Satoru hates uncertainty, especially when it concerns him. It makes him feel weak. The good thing about fickle feelings is that they can be replaced by something more consistent, more complete, more gratifying. And he’s pretty fucking sure that he loves you by now, even when you’re too thickskulled to recognize that.

Satoru stands up and makes his way in front of you. He towers over you easily, bringing a hand to cup your chin and look at him.

“The next time you need something, and I mean anything— you tell me,” he says. He lacks his usual air of playfulness, instead replaced by a more stern tone— one that forces you to listen. “I can give you whatever you need.”

It’s your turn to stare now. You can feel your ears run hot at the implications with what your senior just said. “Okay, I will,” you whisper. “Thank you, Gojo.”

“Satoru.” he all but demands.

“Thanks, Satoru.”

*throws this into the tags to distract everyone from the fact I haven’t finished his bday fic*

#loser boy gojo and loser reader LMFAO #loser writer too #kat’s writing #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #satoru gojo x you #satoru x reader

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samandcolbyownme · 6 months

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Summary: anon request - "Can u make a colby one where him y/n Kat and Sam are live and y/n and Colby are drunk it can be fluff or smut Idc"

Warnings: strong language, alcohol consumption, heavy flirting, sexual innuendos, sexual tension between reader and Colby, drunk actions, fluff with a dash of filth containing fingering, handjob, sensual stuff but hottt

Word count: 4.9k | somewhat edited I don’t really know if I like this one all that much… I might rewrite it after I get more requests out.

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

"I can't believe you talked me into doing this." You look at Kat in your mirror as you rummage through your clothes.

She laughs, "Oh come on. There will be alcohol so you can just relax, drink and hang out."

"You had me at alcohol." You laugh and hold your a top, "Hows this?" She tilts her head and purses her lips, "mm. It's cute, but I think you need something different."

"Is that what you're wearing?" You point to her outfit and she nods, "Yes." You hold your hand up, "Hang on."

You walk out to your living room, grabbing a box of clothes that you got sent, "There might be something.." you dump the box, ".. in here."

"Oh yeah. Most definitely." Kat nods with a laugh as she goes through the clothes, "Ooh, this. Definitely this."

Your eyes move over the black, lacey tank top that's in her hands, "A cute skirt or a pair of jeans will make this so much better." She adds and tosses it to you.

You catch it and nod, "I'll try it on."

"Well hurry up, we have to be at Sam and Colby's in the next hour." She lays back, scrolling on her phone as you change.

"Did you say Colby?" You walk out slowly and she smiles up at you, "I did.."

"He's doing this livestream with us?" You fix the tank top so it sits right, "Is this some sort of set up by you and Sam?"

She sits up with a sigh, "You got us." She raises her hands, "I think it'll be fun. Plus we'll be live, so it's not like anything crazy can happen.

You drop your hands and they slam on your thighs, "have you seen your livestreams?"

She holds her hands up, "it wasn't my idea. It was Sam's." You scoff, trying not to laugh, "But you went with it."

"If it makes you feel any better, it'll be just you and me at first. Sam offered for him and Colby to join us once they got back from meeting someone about a place they're going next week. Also. Speaking of. We're going with them."

You groan and turn to look in the mirror, "Fine." You smirk at her in the mirror, "But only because you're going."

"Whatever you say, y/n." She rolls her eyes and laughs, "Now come on. We gotta get going. I tweeted that we'll be on by six and it's almost five thirty."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

"Ready?" Kat looks over at you and you fix yourself in the screen of the computer, "Okay, yes now I'm ready."

You lean back in your chair and watch as she starts, waiting for people to join, "Hi guys! How are you?"

"Hey!" You smile and hold up your hand, reading the comments that are starting to flow in, "Oh thanks. Kat actually dressed me tonight. So tell her."

You laugh and look over at her. She smiles, "Yeah, I'll take credit for that because you look.." she licks the tip of her finger and lays it on your arm, "Tsss."

You laugh as she makes a sizzling sound, "I do. I do."

"Alright. So Sam and Colby will be joining us a little later, but for right now. I figured y/n and I could start off with a little game."

"Oh god." You mumble and watch as she puts a bottle of alcohol and two shot glasses on the stand in front of you two, "Oh no." You laugh and look over at her, "What game do you have planned?"

"Just a little.. do or drink." She smirks, "Nothing bad I promise." She pulls out a small box containing cards and opens it, "Alright. You want to go first?"

You sigh, "You know what? I will." You laugh and pull out a card, "Hmm. Okay." You turn to her in your chair and look up at her, "what is one thing.. you dislike about me?"

"Oh gosh." She blinks as she thinks for a moment, "Honestly, I hate the way that you can just roll out of bed and look good."

You smile and bat the air, "Stop it."

She laughs, "I'm serious. You're just that pretty."

"Well thank you." You laugh slightly and motion towards the box, "Pick your poison."

She reaches up, picking one of the cards, "Ooh my god." She giggles and lays the card over her lips. You lean forward, "Oh no. What is it?"

She smirks, "Send 'can't wait to see you' to the last person you texted or drink."

You pull your phone out, and go to your messages, looking at the threads, "The last person I texted was.." you laugh slightly, "Katrina."

"Who is it?" She wheels herself over and leans around to look at your phone, "Oh. You have to. You freaking have to, y/n."

You bite your lip as you tap on Colby's name, Can't wait to see you.

You lean forward after locking your phone and read the comments on the screen, "Sorry guys. That's a secret." You laugh and lean back, looking up at Kat when your phone goes off.

She motions for you to read it and you can't help but laugh, "They said, are you and Kat playing that stupid drinking game?" You shake your head as you type back, maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm excited to see you.

"Y/n. Damn. You're not even drunk yet." Kat looks at you shocked and you shrug, "Oops." You smile and reach up to pull a card, "Name a couple that you think should break up."

Without any hesitation she pours a shot, "I cant pick just one.." she laughs and takes the shot, instantly chasing it with her water, "Oh gross."

She grabs another card and smirks, "Y/n."

You tilt your head, "Kat."

"Out of.. let's say, me, Sam, and Colby, who is your favorite?" She smirks and you sigh, "I know I'm going to hurt feelings with this one.." you pause and look into the camera then back to Kat, "..pour me a shot."

"Are you not going to answer?" She laughs and you shake your head, "No because it'll hurt their feelings when I say you." You laugh and she throws her head back laughing, "Oh my god. That's great."

You read the comments and see that people are debating on whether it's Colby, even from the previous question.

"Oh god." You groan and take your shot, cringing at the taste, "That's so gross."

She leans in, whispering quietly, "We're you going to say Colby?" You smirk and lean back, looking at her as you nod.

"Ha. I know who her favorite is." She says in a sing song-y tone before she laughs, "It's still me."

You laugh and grab a card, "Katrina. Who was the last person that seen you cry?"

"Like, a sad cry or happy cry?" She asks and you shrug, "Just in general I think." She hums, "Probably... Sam, I think. Or you. I'm with you both so much."

"We might as well just live together at this point." You laugh and she nods, "Honestly. Okay.." she grabs a card and clears her throat, "Have you ever been to a strip club?"

"Like working or visiting?" You try to not smile but fail, "I'm joking you guys. Relax. No I haven't ever been to a strip club."

"I can see it." Kat laughs and you gasp, "Hey." She lays a hand on your knee, "If it makes you feel any better you'd definitely have a big client list, and I know who number one would be." She winks and tries not to laugh so she covers her mouth, "I'm sorry."

You laugh, "oh my god. I need more alcohol for this." You get up, "I'm going to get a white claw, do you-"

"Yes." She cuts you off and points, "Please."

You give her a thumbs up, "I'll be right back." You quickly make your way down the steps and into the kitchen. You open the fridge and grab as many white claws as you can carry.

Colby's voice makes you jump, "Thirsty or something?"

"Goddam it, Colby. I didn't hear you guys come in." You laugh slightly and he walks over, offering to help, "I'm heading up there now, I can take some of these for you."

"Okay." You hand him a couple and look up at him, "Thank you." He smirks, "So.. did you mean to text me earl-"

"I have to get back to Kat." You cut him off, "We can talk about this later." You smirk slightly as you walk away and Colby follows you, "Oh we definitely will be talking about a lot later I can guarantee that."

His words make your cheeks red and warm as you walk into the room Sam and Kat are in, "Out of my chair, Golbach."

You kick it and he spins around, "Excuse me?"

You smirk and hand him a drink, "Now move." He laughs and gets up, moving to sit behind Kat in the beanbag chair. Colby next to him, behind you.

You hand Kat her drink and you both crack one open, cheersing before you each take a sip.

"What the hell. You guys are like.. that was so in sync." Sam shakes his head looking between you and Kat.

You laugh, "That's what happens when you're best friends for this long." Kat tilts her drink towards you, "Correct. Okay. Now where were we?"

"My turn to ask you or one of the boys a question." You smirk as you pick up the card, "Ooh. Colby." You spin your chair towards him, hiding the card so he can't see it, "what's the last thing you googled?"

"Oh snap. Um. Can I look?" He asks pulling his phone out and you nod, "Yes, but you have to show us."

His mouth drops slightly before he sighs, "Fine, I have no shame around you guys anyway." He unlocks his phone and laughs, "oh my god. I totally forgot that I even searched this.." he turns his phone around, showing you and Kat, "I googled if dogs can understand me."

Sam laughs loudly, "Are you serious?" He grabs the phone and starts laughing again, "Oh my god, Colby!"

You and Kat are laughing in your chairs and Colby sighs, "It's a valid question, damn." He reaches up between you and Kat, kinda close to you.

You chew on the inside of your lip as you smell his cologne. It's the same one you got him for Christmas a few months ago.

He moves back and sighs, "Alright. Sam. This one is for you." He turns towards Sam, "What is the most embarrassing things you have ever done?"

Sam sighs, "twerking on that cruise."

You and Kat look at each other and laugh, "Oh my god." You look at Sam, "I forgot about that."

Sam chugs some of his drunk, "Yeah, I haven't." He laughs and leans forward, giving Kat a kiss on the cheek as he reaches for a card.

You glance up at the screen, looking at Colby through the camera, and he smiles at you, looking away, "who's it for?"

Sam laughs slightly, "y/n. What's the dirtiest text you ever sent to someone?"

Colby clears his throat, "Yeah, y/n. What's the dirtiest text you've ever sent to someone." He shrugs as he smirks and you lean up, pouring yourself a shot and taking it.

You wash it down with your drink and sigh, "That's for me to know and no one else to find out."

You grab a card, laughing slightly as you look at Kat, "Katrina. If you had to kiss someone who isn't your boyfriend, who would it be?"

She shrugs and laughs slightly, "That's easy."

Sam leans forward, "Oh is it?"

She looks at Sam, laughing as she points to you, "Y/n."

He raises his eyebrows, "Huh. Not where I thought that was going."

"Prove it. Prove it. Prove it." Colby chants quietly behind you guys and you look at him, "Maybe when I'm a little bit more drunk."

He chuckles, "Mhm."

Kat picks up a card, glancing at Sam before taking a deep breath, "y/n. What's your biggest turn off?"

You suck air between your teeth, "Probably insecurity. Like..for example.." you shift around in your seat, "..if I wanted to wear this out to a bar or something, who ever I'm with shouldn't get mad at me for it you know?"

Kat nods, "Oh hell yeah, girl. Like who ever you're with.." she glances to Colby and smirks, "They should know that you're only looking good for them. Not fight with you about it."

"Exactly. Yes." You can feel the alcohol settling in, along with Kat because you're both super giggly.

You pick up a card and read it. You can tell Colby is staring at you, you can feel it.

So you turn to him with a smile, "Colby."

"Y/n." He smiles and tilts his head as he brings his drink up to his lips.

"This is actually an easy one. Take three shots or quit playing." You watch as he nods, "Give me three shots."

One by one, you pour him shots into your shot glass and hand them to him.

"Still got it." He laughs and points, "Hand me a card please." You reach up, grabbing a card and handing it to him.

He leans back, "Kat. What is the biggest secret you kept from your parents growing up?"

She sighs, "oh no." You lean forward, "Oh Katrina. Do tell." You rest your elbow on your knee, chin in your palm and she sighs, "I was somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. I was to be at my friend Lauren's house but we were at a party in some persons basement.. drinking."

You bat the air, "Oh we've all done that."

"Really? You partied when you weren't supposed to?" Colby laughs, "I don't believe that." You roll your eyes and stand up, "Pause. I have to pee."

Kat laughs, "Enjoy your pee."

"You guys are drunk." Sam says, and you can tell he's moving to your chair.

You go to the bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror. You take a deep breath, but you can't help but giggle as you think about Colby.

His hand around his drink when it really should be around your neck.

His rings pressing against your skin in all the right ways.

His lips, dragging up and down the skin or your neck.

You bite your lip, laughing slightly as you shake your head, pushing the thoughts out to do your business.

Once you're done, you make your way back to the room and take Sam's spot. You sit down, and they all look at you.

"What?" You ask pointing to your drink. Kat hands it to you and she shakes her head, "Nothing. We were just waiting for you." She laughs and hands you a card.

You read your card to yourself, smirking as you look at Colby, "What is your least favorite thing about me?"

Sam gives a low, "Oooh shit."

"Bold." Kat whispers and you can tell she's secretly cheering you on. She crosses her leg over the other, staring intently between you and Colby, "Well? Colby. Are you going to answer or.."

He smirks and shakes his head, "I'll say it. But I'm not saying it for everyone to hear."

Your heart rate picks up as you perk up, unsure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"Where's the fun in that?" Sam groans, "Say it. Say it. Say it."

Colby reaches over, grabbing your arm to pull you over to him. You lean into him naturally and he rests his cheek against yours, whispering as quiet as possible, "The only thing I don't like about you, is the fact that you're not mine."

He slowly leans away, smirking at you as you look at him, "Really?"

He nods, "Yeah, it's real annoying, actually."

You look down as you try not to smile, but you fail so you cover it with taking a sip of your drink.

"What did he say?" Kat leans forward, almost falling off her chair but your laughing distracts everyone until Sam yells, "Colby!" He hands him a card, "your turn, brother."

Colby takes it, nodding as he laughs slightly, "this one is for both of the girls."

You and Kat look at each other, "Oh no."

"The girls must take three shots in a row, or quit playing." Colby tosses the card down and looks between you and Kat.

"Give me the glass." You hold your hand out and Colby gently places it in your hand, he still had it from when he took his three.

Sam pours both, you and Kat's shots and you clink the small glasses each time before taking the shots, laughing as you finish the third.

"They're about to be fucked up." Sam laughs and Colby shakes his head, "Yeah, yeah they are." He looks to you, winking as you lean back in the chair, "Kat, you can go."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

At this point, you all are feeling pretty damn good. If you stood up, you feel like you could fall over, but you had no issue moving closer to Colby.

The drunker you got, the more you wanted to be with him. Next to him. Anything.

Kat and Sam are talking, reading the comments and laughing together as you and Colby have a quiet conversation behind them.

"Did you mean what you texted me earlier?" He whispers leaning in and you nod, "yeah..yeah. I did actually." You look up at him with a smile, "if I'm be-"

"Y/n!" Kat yells your name and you look over at her, "What?!"

She laughs, "Tell them.. tell them about when we went to the mall and that lady who walked into us."

Your eyes go wide, "Oh my god." You start to laugh, "We were walking out of the one store and this lady ran into us, started bitching that we needed to watch where we were going and not even ten seconds later, fucking walks right into the one sign." You laugh with Kat, "Fucking smacks her face and spills her coffee all over her white dress. Ah. It was hilarious."

Colby stares at you, smiling as he admires how pretty you are when you laugh, "She sounds like she deserved it."

You look at him, leaning over as you nod, "Oh yeah. Totally deserved it."

Colby leans in, whispering in your ear, "You know you're so pretty when you laugh." He leans back and smiles at you.

You roll your eyes and lean over, laying a hand on his knee as you support your weight to put your lips next to his ear, "I'd look even prettier under you."

You were way past feeling bold.

He laughs slightly, taken aback by what you said, "Really?"

He spoke loud enough to catch Sam and Kat's attention and he looks up at them. You look up at them and start laughing, "Oh my god."

"Wanna share with the rest of the class?" Sam laughs and you shake your head, "No not really."

Colby leans over, resting his head on your shoulder, "We're just having our own little convo back here so mind ya biz." He laughs and you laugh, resting a hand on his head as you lean into him more.

Colby moves his head up to kiss your neck and you giggle, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Whoooaaaa colbyyyyy!" Sam drags out his yell, "Whoa whoa whoa."

Kat's mouth is open, staring as Colby leans up, "Oh stop it. How can you not look at her."

"Colby." You lean over, "You're drunk."

He leans in, close to your face, "So are you."

"So are we." Kat laughs as she leans forward, resting her head on Sam's leg, "This is so much fun though." She sits up, "We should play a game. Just one more game."

"Ooh, I'm down for another game." You bite your lip and nod, "Whatcha got in mind?"

"Most likely? The person that everyone votes. Drinks." Kat smirks, "Please."

"Only because you're so pretty." Sam reaches over squeezing her chin and she smiles, "Alright. Sam you start."

He chuckles, "Alright.. uhh.. let's see.." he snaps, "who's most likely to accidentally find a portal to another dimension?"

Instantly everyone points to Sam, laughing.

"Wh- oh come on." He groans, "Why me?"

"Because you're always going off on your own when we're doing investigations, Sam." Colby laughs and Sam sighs, taking the shot from Kat, "I walked into that one."

"Yeah, just like you will a portal." You mumble and fall over onto Colby's lap as you laugh.

Sam glares at you and Kat pats his leg, "She said what we're all thinking." She sighs, "Okay. I'll go." She leans back in her chair, "Who's most likely to get a random tattoo on a night out?"

Colby points to you while the rest of you point to him and he scoffs, "What the hell?"

"I honestly think I would, so I'll take a shot with you." You smile and take the glass, holding it up for Kat to pour you and Colby a shot.

He smiles, "Aw how sweet of you."

"You have no idea." You mumble as you cheers him, taking the shot like nothing, "Alright. I'll go." You set your glass down, biting your lip as you think.

You laugh slightly as you sigh, "Who's most likely to have handcuffs in the bedroom." You raise your eyebrows and smirk, "one.. two.. three."

You and Sam point to Colby and Kat and Colby point to Sam.

Sam and Colby look at each other and start laughing. Kat turns to you, "They have matching ones." You look at Colby, "Do you?"

He shrugs, "Maybe." His eyes move to you as his bottom lip pulls between his teeth. You raise an eyebrow, "Mm."

Colby leans back, "Who's most likely to lose their clothes on a night out?" His eyes move to you and everyone is pointing to you.

"Huh!? Why me?" You point to yourself, "I don't lo-"

"Yes you do. Last weekend you lost your coat and one of your shoes." Kat laughs, "I'm not judging but it would be you."

You laugh, "Okay. Okay. That- it was a coat and a shoe." You argue, "But fine. I'll take it."

"When you lose it here at least you'll know where to find it." Sam mumbles and you about spit out your shot, "Shut it, Golbach."

He laughs and shrugs, nodding to Colby, "I'm just saying."

Kat looks at the screen and taps Sam, "They want to know what you said."

"No." You say quickly, "It's fine." You laugh and rest your head back, "who's most likely to have a new ghost up their ass each week." You lift your head and look at Sam, "Hmm?"

"That is so.. that's so not true." He huffs, trying not to laugh. You tilt your head, "Oh yeah? Then why does everyone you do an investigation with say you're the one they'll go for?"

"You know what?" Sam sets his drink down on the desk and turns, staring at you while Colby and Kat are dying with laughter over you and Sam arguing, "Who's most likely to.." he pauses, trying to think of something, but just sighs, "I got nothing."

"Ha! Suck it." You laugh and sigh, "I need to lay down. Those shots are kicking my ass." You stand up, holding onto the back of Kat's chair, "Goodnight party people, y/n is tapping out."

"Night!" Kat yells before yawning, "Yeah I might.. I might be done too."

You walk out, hoping Colby follows you, but you can still hear him talking to Sam and Kat.

You bite your lip, making your way into his room, shutting the door quickly behind you. You turn, eyes scanning over his room as you walk over to his bed, unbuttoning your jeans.

You walk over to his dresser, grabbing one of his shirts and walking over to the bed. You toss it down, stripping down to just your panties before sliding his shirt over your head.

You move the blankets, sitting down and swinging your legs onto the bed before covering up. You move around, getting comfy before you take a selfie and send it to Colby.

You lay your phone down, turning away from the door as you hear footsteps coming closer. His door opens quietly and you bite your lip, not moving.

You feel the bed dip down next to you and you feel a hand lay on your waist, "Whatcha doin' in here, pretty girl?"

You slowly roll over onto your back, "Your bed is comfier than the one in the guest room."

"Is that so?" He brushes hair from your face, "You can sleep here anytime you want."

"I plan on it." You smile as you giggle and he tilts his head, "Yeah?"

You nod, "Oh yeah." You lay a hand on his, slowly dragging it up and down his arm, "So you really weren't the last person I texted.."

He furrows his brows, "Huh?"

"Kat was the last person I texted, but I wanted to text you so I just said you were." You look up at him and he smirks, "you're so pretty."

His thumb brushes against your cheek, "What made you change your mind?"

You let out a sigh, "I'm happy when I think about you. When I'm with you. Talking about you." You shrug, "You make me happy. I was just too stu-"

He cuts you off with his lips on yours.

He leans back slightly, "You're not stupid."

You laugh slightly, "If I wasn't we would have been to-"

"Don't. You had your reasons and now we're here." He turns your head to look at him, "Drunk in my bed.." he kisses your cheek, "Speaking those sober thoughts."

You laugh slightly, laying a hand on his cheek, "Mhm."

He turns his head, kissing the palm of your hand, "You have no idea how many times I've wanted to just come pick you up and bring you to my bed."

You bite your lip, "really?"

"Not even for sex or anything.. I mean, yeah.." he laughs slightly, "I've thought about you in so many ways, but mainly just to be with you. Holding you." His hand slides down your body, slipping under the covers, "Tell me to stop and I will."

"Don't." You say quickly and spread your legs, "Please don't."

He leans in, kissing down your neck, "Tell me what you want, babe."

"You." You whisper and look up at him, "I want you."

He slips his hand into the band of your panties, "I've dreamed of hearing those words."

You whimper slightly as his fingers press down to your clit, "Colby.." you moan quietly as he draws small circles.

"You're all I think about." He gently bites down on your jaw, "I swear, you've taken over my life but in the best way."

You turn your head, crashing your lips onto his, making out slow as he slowly slides his fingers down, dipping them inside of you

You dig your nails into his arm, arching your back as you pull yourself closer to him. You slip your hand down and slip them into his sweats.

He groans lowly as you stroke him, “That feel good?” His voice is low against your lips, “Tell me.”

“So, so good, Colby.” You squeeze his fingers, whimpering as you feel yourself growing closer to the edge, “Fuck..”

“Your sounds are so beautiful.” He leans back, moaning as you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, watching as your face scrunches and your eyes flutter shut.

“I-I need you..” you whimper, squeezing your hand around his cock, “Please.”

“Let’s just take it slow, babe. We’ll get to that.” He kisses your lips, “I promise.”

You nod, tilting your head back as you moan, “Fuck, fuck.”

“Cum for me, pretty girl.” Colby rests his forehead against your temple, “You’re so close.”

You turn your head, looking over at him. He presses his lips to yours, moaning against them as you continue to slowly stroke his cock, “C-Colby.”

“All about you baby. I’m okay.” He speeds the thrusts of his fingers up, watching as you squirm under him, “Come on, pretty girl. You can do it.”

His words egged you to cum more, “Fuck.” You whimper and the knot that’s been working in your belly snaps.

You gasp, arching your back as your thighs squeeze his arm, “Shit, shit, shit.”

“That’s it, baby girl. That’s it.” Colby whispers as he peppers your face with kisses, slowly pulling his fingers out.

He brings them up to his lips, licking them off with a groan while you watch in awe. He reaches down, slipping your hand from his sweats and lays next to you, pulling you into him.

Your body fit perfectly into his, like you were made for him.

“I just want to lay with you.” He whispers as he twirls your hair, “We can get to that other stuff later.”

You weren’t going to argue with him. You’re just glad you’re there.

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Hi hello sorry for the late update. I’ve been super sick lately. I hope you enjoy this!

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

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f1goat · 1 month

Text

more than friends ; lando norris + part seven

In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.

masterlist - playlist

fem!y/n x lando norris

warnings: smut with a plot. minors dni! probably grammar or spelling errors due to english not being my first language.

requested: yes, based on this request: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six

Lando almost spits out the sip of his drink he just took. Did he hear that correct? It can’t be, right? His face fall flat when Pierre looks al him while waiting for his answer. Does he really need to answer this? Pierre just asked him if you’re - or in Pierre’s words: his friend, still single. Oscar is also looking at Lando, waiting for the boy to react. The boys are having dinner with each other to end this race weekend and chat. You’re still at the hotel, not wanting to interrupt Lando his boys night. He did however try to get you along with him. He should have stayed with you.

“Lando?” Pierre asks.

“Uh, which friend do you mean?” Lando reacts. He knows for sure it’s about you, but he hopes it’s not. He can’t even imagine who else Pierre could mean. There aren’t more female friends of his who are joining him to the races often. It’s always you. Fucking Pierre.

“The one who is with you almost every race,” Pierre says, “What’s her name again?”

Great Pierre wants to know if you’re single, but he doesn’t even know your name. It annoys Lando already. Before he can answer his question, Daniel is already speaking.

“You mean Y/N,” Daniel interrupts. Pierre starts nodding right away, “Yes! Is she still single?”

Oscar stares at Lando. He wonders how Lando is going to react to this. Whatever will happen next can’t be good. It doesn’t surprise him when Lando takes a big gulp of the strong drink in front of him before looking at Pierre again. Oscar lets out a small sigh, this can’t be going well.

“Yeah, she is,” Lando eventually answers. It pains him to have to say those words. Why are you still single? Why isn’t he making sure that you’re his? Then all this problems would have been solved. He only has to confess that he has been in love with you since he was ten or something, totally easy to do. Fuck.

“Great,” Pierre replies happily, “I’m thinking about asking her on a date soon.”

“You want to date Y/N?” Max asks confused, “Do you even know her?”

Lando is glad about Max his reaction. He wonders the exact same thing. Oscar is also happy about Max asking questions instead of Lando. Since his teammate is sending angry glares towards the Alpine driver, he almost looks like he wants to kill him. Oscar wonders what’s going on in Lando his head right now, but he’s pretty sure that it’s the same thing as when he told him about Logan wanting to date Y/N. He doesn’t understand why Lando isn’t already dating you.

“Don’t know her yet,” Pierre says with a small smirk.

“I don’t think you’ll match with her,” Lando states. Before Pierre or anyone else can question his statement, Lando already continues to talk. “You’re not her type and I don’t even know if she’s yours when I look at your exes. Y/N doesn’t like to go out all the time, she wants someone to settle with her instead of some meaningless relation which will last a couple months.” Oscar can’t withhold a small laugh, his friend really is the worst.

“I’m changing,” Pierre states, “I want to settle as well and with her.”

“Why her?” Max butts in.

“She’s really good looking,” Pierre answers without even thinking about a better answer. It causes Lando to let out another sigh. Does Pierre only want you for your looks? Doesn’t he even realize what you have to offer beside them? Lando thinks about all you actually have to offer beside being beautiful. He loves how smart you are, but how you can also match his dumb questions sometimes. You can read multiple books on a day, but have trouble with pronouncing the most simple words. Or the way you -

“So do you have her number for me?” Pierre interrupts his thoughts.

“My phone is empty,” Lando quickly replies.

Oscar notices the next big gulp Lando takes from his drink. He also notices the sad, annoyed look on his friends face. Maybe Lando thinks nobody is paying attention to him when he whispers again, but Oscar hears it perfectly. “Fuck,” Lando grunts annoyed, “”Why does everyone want her.”

The night doesn’t continue smoothly like before. Pierre makes multiple remarks about you, which causes Lando to get even more annoyed and to drink even more. The people who are a bit closer with Lando and know him pretty well - like Oscar, Max and Daniel, are quick to notice to jealousy which doesn’t leave Lando his mind anymore. He can only think about Pierre who wants to date you. When Daniel starts to order multiple shots in order to help Lando ‘forget’, Oscar is already afraid for the outcome. Lando is getting more drunk with the second. This can’t go well.

When almost everyone has left, Oscar is the one who still pays attention to Lando. He doesn’t dare to leave his friend alone like this. He wonders how Lando will ever get back to the hotel without any help. Eventually he takes Lando outside with him, walking towards a taxi with him. He sighs when he thinks about the other drivers who already left without even thinking about their drunk friend.

The taxi driver is glad to bring them back to the hotel, the only problem seems to be Lando. He doesn’t want to get in the cab. Oscar realizes that Lando is even more drunk then he already thought. He curses Pierre for his god awful remarks about you but also curses Daniel for all the shots. He’s all alone with Lando, who doesn’t want to get in any cab right now.

“You don’t understand, I want Y/N to come pick me up,” Lando states drunkly when Oscar asks him about his reasons to not want to take the taxi.

“If you’re getting in the cab you’ll be with her sooner,” Oscar states.

“I want her to pick me up,” Lando slurs.

“I can’t call her awake for this,” Oscar argues.

“Yes you can,” Lando argues back, “She’ll come.”

The taxi driver is already focusing on other people, who are actually getting into the car instead of arguing next to it. Eventually the taxi drives away. Oscar curses Pierre again, this is all his fault. Okay and maybe partly Lando his fault. Why isn’t he just honest about his feelings for you? The two of you should be dating already. How hard can it be.

“Are you going to call her?” Lando asks. It causes Oscar to snap back into reality. He looks at the hopeful eyes of his drunk friend. Eventually he shows him a small nod. Maybe when Lando realizes that you don’t want to pick them up, he’ll get him in a cab. He searches for your contact in his phone and presses the call button. When he hears the phone goes over, he thinks that it might have been smarter to call you with Lando his phone. Before he can change anything, you already pick up the phone.

“Hi Oscar, what’s up?” You ask him with a surprised tone in your voice.

“Hey, sorry for calling you this late. I hope I didn’t awake you?” Oscar says with a guilty feeling.

“Oh no,” you’re quick to reassure him, “I was still up, I’m waiting for Lando to get back. I can’t sleep peacefully when he’s still out.”

Oscar really wants to slap the both of you until you’re dating each other. Why aren’t you dating yet? He’s getting more tired about the obliviousness between you two with the day.

“Uh, okay,” he reacts, “Listen, Lando is really drunk and I can’t get him in a cab. He wants you to pick us up. Sorry. I already tried to get him into multiple cabs but with no succes.”

He doesn’t get a quick response this time. Oscar does however hear some vague sounds on your side of the call. Are you actually getting ready to pick them up? Oscar doesn’t believe it. It would be more logical for you to ask to speak to Lando and tell him he needs to get into the cab. He waits for you to say something.

“Can you text me the location?” You ask Oscar eventually, “I’m already walking towards the car.”

Oscar doesn’t know how to react at first. He feels extremely confused. Are you really this quick to drop everything so you can come pick up Lando? He now knows for sure that Lando needs to question himself. Lando should ask you to date directly. The two of you should be dating already. This is just plain stupid.

“Yes, yes!” He says to you, “Thank you so much.” Even with all his confused feelings right now, he’s still glad that you’re already getting into the car. You’re making his night a lot easier.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit,” you tell Oscar before ending the call. Oscar is quick to send you his location and sits down next to Lando on the pavement. Lando sends him a hopeful look.

“She’s insane,” Oscar tells his friend, he’s still confused by your simple reaction. “You really need to ask her on a date soon mate, because why on earth is she coming to pick us up at this time if she isn’t feeling anything for you?”

“That’s our friendship,” Lando answers, “don’t look into this too much.”

“You’re stupid,” Oscar sighs annoyed.

“But she’s coming?” Lando asks. His drunk mind isn’t active enough to realize that this means that you’re coming to pick them up. “Yes,” Oscar replies.

It doesn’t take you longer then ten minutes to arrive at Lando and Oscars location. When you park Lando his rental car on the sideway next to them, they’re quick to step in. Or better said, Oscar is quick to help Lando up and to get into the passenger seat next to you. After that he takes place on the backseat. In the mean time Oscar thanks you multiple times for picking them up this quick.

“Oh it’s nothing,” you shrug it off, “but why is Lando this drunk?” You could have asked the question to Lando himself, but he hasn’t said anything since he’s seated next to you. He is however quite touchy. His hand has found it’s way to your thigh.

Oscar doubts about his answer, he can’t really tell you about Pierre his statements right? Eventually he just tells you that Lando took to many shots. He doesn’t say anything about the earlier conversations with Pierre in which Lando drank away multiple strong drinks. You chuckle after hearing Oscar his explanation.

“He really can’t handle his shots,” you joke.

“I noticed,” Oscar sighs, “He kept asking for you though, is that normal when he’s drunk?” Oscar hopes you understand the hint. Since Lando isn’t doing anything about his crush, Oscar decides to help his teammate a bit by dropping some hints.

“Oh I normally pick him up after he drinks, so I guess it’s out of habit,” you tell Oscar without even thinking about it. Oscar realizes that you don’t get it as well. You’re just as clueless as Lando himself. “But I don’t get why he is this silent,” you continue, “normally Lando is rather talkative when he’s drunk.”

Oscar doesn’t think about his next words. “I think he’s a bit busy with staring at you,” he states. You let out a soft laugh and let go of the steer with one hand, softly giving Lando a small squeeze in his hand before returning to the steering wheel. Lando shows you a small grin. You realize that Oscar is right, Lando has been staring at you since he is in the car. That’s not his normal drunk behavior. You wonder where this is coming from.

When you’re back at the hotel, you start to realize how drunk Lando is. He’s barely getting out of the car by himself and he can’t walk without almost falling over every time. Oscar and you are both supporting Lando by a side while walking towards the elevator. Lando leans a bit onto you, causing you to almost fall over as well.

“Do you want to bring him back to his room together?” Oscar asks you.

“Oh it’ll be fine, we’re sharing a room,” you quickly answer, “You already did enough.”

Oscar shows you a confused look. He didn’t realize that Lando and you shared a room. Is this something that you do every time Lando takes you with him to a race weekend? Is this normal for the two of you? Everything about it screams ‘dating’ but Oscar doubts that either of you knows about that.

“You’re sure that you two aren’t dating each other?” Oscar asks even confused.

“Can I be honest?” You ask. Oscar is quick to say yes. “Sometimes I think we’re dating as well,” you tell Oscar honestly, “but to answer your question, we’re not dating.”

Oscar decides to push his luck with his next question. He needs to know it for sure. “Do you want to date him?” He asks you. You look at Lando before answering Oscar his question. It seems like Lando is in his own world right now. He isn’t paying attention to your soft conversation with Oscar. Something that causes you to have to opportunity to be honest with Oscar right now.

“Yes,” you confess, “Why would I otherwise drop everything to come with him to every race he wants me to? And why would I drive late at night in an unknown city to pick him up while he could easily take a cab?”

“Maybe you should tell him that,” Oscar says softly, “because I’m pretty sure that Lando feels the same about you. Don’t you think?”

The elevator makes a loud sound to tell you that you’re on the right floor. “Oh I need to get out here,” you tell Oscar, “See you later!”

Oscar sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “Thanks for picking us up again.”

When you finally reached Lando and yours hotel room, it’s another job to get Lando into the bed. You’re glad that you have seen him naked before, because this would have been the first time other wise. Lando is undressing himself, but almost falling over a couple times while doing so. You decide to undress yourself as well, it doesn’t take long before you’re only wearing Lando his shirt and a string.

Lando is quick to grab you and drag you into the bed with him. He pushes his body against yours, causing you to feel his member against your ass. Lando plays with your hair in the mean time. You notice the smell of alcohol every time Lando breathes. You stay silent about it.

“Babygirl,” Lando eventually says with a soft voice. It’s the first thing he has said since you have picked him up. He doesn’t continue with his question. You move yourself around, causing you to face Lando. “Yeah?” You ask him.

“Would you date Pierre?” Lando asks you without giving it a second thought. He’s annoyed about his own bluntness right now. You on the other hand wonder about his question, where did this come from?

“No,” you answer Lando without really thinking about it, “Pierre seems a fuckboy. He isn’t my type.”

“Thank god,” Lando whispers relieved.

Before you can say anything else, Lando continues to ask questions.

“What about Logan, would you date him?” Lando continues.

“No,” you answer rather quickly. “I don’t think that I’m made to be an American,” you joke.

Lando asks you another question. You can barely hear him. To be honest, you wonder if you did hear him correctly. Is he really asking you this?

“Would you date me?” Lando asks you as soft as he can manage. This time he really curses himself. Why did he just ask that? He doesn’t even want to hear your answer. You’re going to say no - just like you don’t want to date Pierre or Logan, you also don’t want to date him. “Just joking,” Lando says quickly, “I’m going to sleep. Goodnight baby.”

You’re confused by Lando his question, but even more confused by him stating that it was a joke. Nonetheless you wish Lando goodnight as well. You even press a soft kiss against his cheek. It doesn’t take Lando long before he’s deep asleep. Just to be sure, you listen to him snore a couple times. While laying with your head on Lando his chest and listening to his restful heartbeat and deep breaths, you answer his earlier question.

“I’d love to date you Lando,” you softly whisper, “You only have to ask.”

+++

The following morning Lando awakes with a massive headache. Memories of last night are quick to return to him. It doesn’t take long before he starts to feel ashamed. Why didn’t he just take the taxi? He is ashamed for his own actions, the whining until you picked them up but also the questions he asked you in bed later. The only feeling he can’t shake off is that he feels loved by you. He feels loved when he thinks about you actually picking him up that late in an unknown city. However when he realizes that you hate driving in unknown cities, he’s quick to replace the loved feeling for more shame. Why did he ask that from you?

He also feels ashamed for the questions he asked you before falling asleep. The shame is getting to him. But on the other hand, his questions did cause him to know for sure that you wouldn’t date Pierre or Logan. But still. There are many other boys with interest in you.

Lando moves a bit away from you to grab his phone. He notices that it’s on the charger, he probably didn’t do that himself. He grabs his phone and reads the texts he got. The first one causes him to already feel bad once again.

Pierre Gasly: Send me y/n her number?

Lando doesn’t even react to the text. Of course he’s not going to send Pierre your number. He’s not an idiot. He ignores the message and continues to read the texts Oscar has send him.

Oscar: you better remember what y/n did for you last night

Oscar: and you better think about a way to thank her for it

Lando is quick to reply to the texts from his teammate.

Lando: ofc I remember

Lando: how can I thank her?

Oscar: idk, thats up to you mate

When Lando feels you moving next to him, he realizes that you’re getting awake as well. He looks at you when you slowly open your eyes and adjust them to the bright morning light in the hotel room. You let out a small yawn. The tiredness hasn’t left your body after sleeping, maybe it’s caused by the lack of sleep from last night.

“Hey Lan,” you softly greet him, “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” Lando confesses, “Sorry for last night princess.”

“It’s okay,” you quickly tell Lando, “you always pick me up as well when I’m drunk, so I could finally do something back for you.”

“But I could have gotten into the cab,” Lando sighs while feeling annoyed with himself once again, “I know you hate driving in unknown cities and certainly in the night.”

“Lan,” you softly say while grabbing his hand and drawing small circles on it, “It’s fine, really. I don’t mind it.”

Lando shows you a boyish grin. You wonder what his next actions are. What is he going to say? His following movements cause that you can already guess it. Lando slowly drapes himself on top of you. He presses soft kisses on your face before lowering his face to other body parts of you. He toys with the waistband the waistband of your string. Happy that you’re not wearing anything else then that string and his shirt. Eventually Lando pulls away your string and throws it onto the ground.

“Maybe I can thank you like this?” Lando mutters. After saying those words, he’s already pressing kisses against your more private parts. When he presses a soft kiss against your clit and he hears a moan coming from your lips, he feels his own boxers tighten as well. He slides his finger through your slit. It doesn’t take him long to notice that you’re already getting wet. He makes sure to ignore your clit for now, just licking around it slowly. He know he’s a terrible tease, but he can’t help himself. He loves hearing you whine and beg for him.

“Lan,” you softly whine when he lets his finger enter you, but still uses a slow pace. It’s making you feel all kind of things, but not enough. Lando shows you another boyish grin. “Teasing me isn’t thanking me,” you tell him when his pace keeps unchanged.

“Patience babygirl,” Lando tells you. You let out a moan when he finally presses his lips onto your clit and softly sucks it inside his mouth. He adds another finger inside your pussy, causing you to let out hard moan. “Fuck,” you mutter. Lando increases his pace with his fingers. You can properly say that he’s finger fucking you right now. He is more aggressive then normal, but in a strange way you like this only more.

“Fuck Lan,” you let out when he adds another finger.

“Who’s making you feel this good babygirl?” Lando asks you. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but he feels the need to hear you say it’s him. Now that he thinks about it, he knows pretty well that this is happening because of (mainly) Pierre. And all the other boys that have showed their interest in you.

You show Lando a small smirk, “Hm, I don’t know,” you joke.

“You don’t know?” Lando asks you with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t expect this answer from you. Since when can you act bratty like this? He shows you a stern look, but increases his pace in the mean time. He’ll show you who makes you feel like this. Lando feels you clenching around his fingers. He sucks harshly onto your clit before releasing it to look at you.

You haven’t said anything again, the only sound leaving your tongue are moans. While looking stares at you and thinks about his next action, you feel your orgasm reaching. This time Lando decreases his pace. He removes two of his fingers and is barely doing anything that the finger that stays inside of you.

“Fuck Lan,” you whine, “Why did you stop?”

“That’s what you deserve for that answer,” Lando simply states. He knows that he should be a bit more patient and calm with you, not showing you all of his dominant side - but right now, he can’t really help himself. You show Lando a desperate look, “It was just a joke,” you tell him.

Lando removes his last finger as well. You can’t even help yourself and try to move yourself closer to him. Fuck, you want him to continue.

“Funny,” Lando remarks sarcastically.

“Sorry Lan,” you whine, “Please continue?”

“No,” he states sternly, “You can work for it yourself now.”

Lando pulls you onto his thigh. Making sure that your pussy is right on top of it. He feels your wetness on his thigh on only seconds. “Want to orgasm?” He asks you. You can only nod. “Then help yourself on my thigh.”

“How?” You ask helplessly, you have no idea what Lando means.

“Grind on it,” Lando explains with a softer voice then before, “move your body and you’ll notice what feels right for you.”

You try to act out Lando his instructions. It takes you a couple movements before getting what he meant. Now that you know how to do this right, it’s making you feel good. Really good. But not good enough for your orgasm to get closer then before. Lando continues to tease you into the mean time. His hands wander over your body while you keep riding his thigh. He finds your tits and starts to knead them. Suddenly he pinches your nipples, both of them at the same time. You let out a surprised squeak. You feel them burn a bit because of the pinch, but in a strange way it makes you feel even more horny. You try to ride his thigh faster then before. Lando watches your reactions closely, when he pinches your nipples again he can safely say that you like the feeling. He knows for sure when he does it a third time and it causes you to let out a hard moan.

“Feels good, doesn’t it princess?” Lando asks you.

“Yeah,” you tell him.

Lando knows you want to say more, he knows this isn’t the same as what he was doing to you before. And maybe, really maybe, that was exactly his plan. “But?” He asks you.

“It’s not enough,” you confess with red cheeks.

Lando lets out a deep chuckle. “That’s what you get after your bratty joke,” he tells you sternly. You show him the most pleading eyes you can manage, but Lando shakes his head at you. “Why do you deserve my help?” He asks you.

“Please Lan,” you whine, “I can’t do this myself.”

“Do what?” Lando knows perfectly well that you’re talking about reaching your orgasm, but he wants you to say it for yourself.

“Orgasm,” you whisper ashamed.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, “And make sure that I understand how much you need me.”

You ride his thigh even faster then earlier, but it’s still not enough. “Help me Lan,” you softly beg him, “Please?” Lando doesn’t reply. You continue your pleas. “I need you,” you whimper, “can’t come without you.” Even when those aren’t causing him to help you, you keep continuing. “No one can make me feel like you can,” you tell Lando without giving it a second thought. “Need you to make me feel good.”

That causes Lando to finally land his hands on your body. His ego is almost getting to big for himself right now after hearing all your pleas. He grabs your hips and helps you with your movements. For a moment he wonders if you can come undone just like this, but he decides he doesn’t want to find it. At least, not today. You deserve his help. Lando feels the wetness from your cunt dripping onto him. His thigh is unbelievably wet right now.

He removes one of his hands from your waist. You directly look at him, wondering if he’s going to stop again. But Lando lets his hand wander to your clit. He starts to stimulate your clitoris, pulling out multiple moans of you. He notices that you’re coming really close right now. His thigh is even getting more wet because of you. Before you cum, he takes a moment to take it in. You look so beautiful riding on his thigh like this, making it wet without feeling ashamed about it just for your own pleasure. His boner is almost bursting. He should picture you like this and show it to every other boy - that way they would know that you’re his. Not that you are. Maybe if everyone smelled his thigh right now they would already get it, since he doesn’t want anyone else to see you like this.

Fuck, he needs to make you his. Why aren’t you his already?

When you let out a loud moan, Lando realizes that you are getting awfully close to your orgasm right now. “Ask me,” Lando instructs you. He doesn’t even need to specify himself, you’re already asking him exactly what he wants.

“Can I come?” You ask him, “Please Lan?”

“Yes babygirl,” Lando answers, “You deserve it.”

That’s all it takes for you to come undone. Your orgasm is crashing over you. Lando pulls you into his arms and lets you fall down over his body.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter after a bit, “it’s actually insane how you can make me feel.”

“It wasn’t too much?” Lando asks you. Looking back at it, he did go further then he wanted. He stresses that he was a bit too dominant for you.

“No,” you reply without even thinking about it, “I don’t think it was even close to ‘too much’,” you add honestly.

“I can push more?” He asks you surprised.

“Yes,” you state, “I think I’d like that.”

Lando lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head. He really can’t believe it. You’re actually perfect. He really needs to tell you about his feelings. Maybe now is a good timing? In the mean time you grab your phone and look at it. Lando notices your surprised face.

“Any idea why Pierre Gasly is texting me?” You ask Lando confused.

Fucking hell. Lando lets out an annoyed sigh. Fuck. He shakes his head to answer you. You open the message and start to read it aloud to Lando.

“Hey,” you start reading, “Got your number from Daniel. You’re really hot. Let’s get to know each other on a date?”

Hot? Lando cringes by the words of Pierre. He doesn’t even know how hot you can be. In the mean time Lando also curses his former teammate, why did Daniel send him your number?

“What are you going to answer?” Lando asks you quickly. He can’t even help himself and starts to talk badly about Pierre. “You know Pierre is a terrible player right?” He realizes that his jealousy is showing, but he can’t help it. He needs to know that you’re not going to date Pierre.

“I told you yesterday that I wouldn’t date Pierre,” you tell Lando, “so that’s still the answer.”

Lando doesn’t react verbally. He pulls you back on top of him and presses kisses against your every inch of your face. Lastly putting his lips on your mouth. Thank god. He realizes that the universe is sending him all the hints he can get about needing to ask you to be his girlfriend instead of friend. He really needs to tell you about his feelings. But how? And when?

part eight

taglist: @booksandplushies @dinodumbass @formula1mount @words-are-cheap @allywthsr @inejghafawifesblog @chonkybonky @formulas-bitch @harrysdimple05 @vildetry06 @wherethefuckisthething @nonameishere @lauralarsen@meadhbhcavanagh @obliviatevamps @shy4turcs @fix5idiots @nightlockcornucopia @marialovesf1 @kapsylia @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @lanando4 @lauralarsen @leclercdream @agentadhd @rewmuslupin @allsouls-emma @iamshiningeuw @teenagedreams-cl@kiskso @loxbbg @vellicora @thomaslefteyebrow @avg-golden-retriever @amorydsmt @killjoynotes@barelytolerabled @starmanv @changetyre @kami10471633 @2bormaybenot @httpmrklee @buendiabebeta @aliceespector@ryiamarie @mickslover @sop-hie092 @miniemonie2001 @greymarvelskaikru @kapsylia@swiftiedrafts @thatchickwiththecamera @formulas-bitch @venisvendetta @t3a-3njoy3r @landowecanbewc

taglist p2: @chezmardybum @booksandflowrs @mineandneveryours @strawberryy-kiwii @noneofyourfbusinessworld @secretgal66 @trinity2058 @evieepepi08 @shutupmymomsc4lling @smiithys @nanamilkbread @hellowgoodbye @annie115 @random-1927 @sadmeal444 @christianpulisic10 @peachiicherries @toppersjeep @lovingaphroditesworld @kiskso @silentreader128 @lauralarsen @scopeiguess @trinity2058 @shy4turcs @moonlight-girls-posts @xjval @saachiep81 @leclercdream

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris imagine #ln4 #formula one #f1 #lando norris imagines #lando norris smut

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hijinxinprogress · 2 months

Text

Everyone in YJ is multilingual (mostly bc they’re nosy)

Everyone on YJ speaks at least 14 languages which is a skill they all use to fuck with the jl and their villains like oh??? We’re having secret conversations??? I would like to be included and everyone’s like wtf why do you speak this fucking random dialect of Russian?? This is Arizona??

They all speak binary for some fucking reason (they’re nerds) Also Kon tells people binary is Tim’s native language which starts a debate on whether it counts as Kons native language)

Diana is swearing in ancient greek under her breathe and Anita laughs before responding in ancient greek so Diana’s time monitoring yj is spent trying to make sure the public knows she did not teach those little miscreants to swear in her native language however she did teach them some technically lethal combat moves which is not better but she thinks it is

Anytime aliens come to metropolis or anywhere else on earth, occasionally Kon shows up and starts speaking to them in their native language so Clark’s like 🤨 …did Cadmus teach you that?? I don’t even know that language and kons so offended bc no?? Bart crashed our fucking spaceship and we were stranded in space for like 8 months…you didn’t notice??? I know their language bc we fucking hitchhiked back to earth (yj also pissed off multiple entire planets of people but 🤷🏾‍♀️) and Batman’s so pissed when Clark complains to him about this bc Tim told him they were doing undercover recon in Eritrea

the jl is trying to translate a threat from the league of assassins while batman is off planet but cissie showed up bc damian was insulting the jl in the leagues dialect and being purposefully unhelpful (he sabotaged the leagues plan like three hours ago and he enjoys making adults feel stupid esp if they’ve tried to baby him) so everyone else is confused when cissie laughs at damians remarks and casually corrects green arrows translation (she also invites damian to blow stuff up with yj which is immediately rejected but he changes his mind when olivers lets them know he can hear them and tries to lecture them)

clark is talking to Diana in kryptonian and he hears a collective gasp of offense from yj and he’s like ?? (Tim followed all the supers around for like a month to teach himself kryptonian and then taught Kon and the rest of yj)

J’onn walked in on Greta and Cassie discussing how to ditch their green lantern in the watchtower break room and snitched immediately bc they finished his secret stash of cookies but he also has inside jokes in martian with them (despite this yj does not listen to him in any capacity)

They all know Interlac (Bart kept cussing in interlac and decided it would be great if yj also did this) but really the rest of the jl is under the impression it’s some fucking code yj made except the speedsters are like Bart ☹️ no spoilers you promised!! and he’s like it’s not even a real language 🤨 didn’t you hear?? Rob made this fucked up cipher and I hate it 😞 it took me like six minutes to learn (they have to let it go when Bart goes oh so you don’t think tims smart enough to create a language on his own?? within earshot of the bats)

Or Anita starts muttering in patois while they’re being lectured by the jl and bart laughs and she’s like 🤨 someone cooked here and I don’t know if I like that

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husbandhoshi · 9 months

Text

title: eat. play. love.

pairing: seungcheol x f!reader

wc: 19.4k

summary: being one of new york's top food critics comes with a lot of perks: free dinners, nice awards, and a linkedin profile your parents could be proud of. that doesn't stop you from wanting a lofty promotion to editor, and the only person standing in your way is choi seungcheol. just one problem: his romance column has half of new york under his grimy little thumb. that, and you hate him.

in which your love language is food. seungcheol doesn't have one.

notes: romcom with mild angst, coworkers!au, slow burn enemies to lovers, playboy!cheol, suggestive (one moment in particular) + mentions of sex (otherwise sfw), swearing, lots of alcohol, also you will probably get hungry reading this. extra special thanks a million times over to my fav person @wuahae for bearing with me through literally all 20k words of this. i love you:')

It's underneath a layer of paper-thin egg yolk pasta where you think you see god.

Spoon meets whipped ricotta, white truffle, sage oil. A sip of 1979 cabernet, punishing and oaky. Rinse and repeat.

None of these words are in the Bible, yet you are having nothing short of a religious experience.

"Well, this seems like good news for the place," Jeonghan says. "Wine's tasty. Three stars?"

At this point, you're fairly sure Jeonghan has tuned the explanation of your elaborate rating process out (he's there for the wine, anyway), so instead you top him up and help yourself to a generous portion of his pappardelle.

"Four, then?" He leans forward on his elbows. "Or critic's choice?"

Candied lemon, pecorino, garlic. Derivative, but it's a good bite.

"You're distracting me." You point your fork at him. "You're like 80% alcohol, anyway. Bad opinions."

"Sue me," he laughs. "I would take a client here, is all I'm saying."

You pass on the opportunity to bring up that Jeonghan once brought a client to a Bubba Gump because he was craving coconut shrimp. But Jeonghan isn't a food critic—he's a business analyst and your best friend from college, back when all you cared about was Friday's house party and writing pizza joint reviews for the university paper.

It's a good arrangement. You appreciate his company, and he's never one to turn down a free meal. The both of you keep a small circle—such is the price of discernment.

There aren't many things that can come between you and a delicious meal. But, you have notifications turned on for just three things (all work-related) and you both watch the linen tablecloth light up under your face-down phone in true horror-movie fashion.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Popular on a Saturday night," he jokes. "Copy on your ass again?"

"Nothing's in production," you reply, letting the evil claws of your terrible work-life balance encircle you once again as you open your email.

URGENT: LIFESTYLE EDITOR TRANSITIONAL PLANS, it reads. It's from Wonwoo, your editor in chief, who has sent it with priority, as if the caps lock wasn't scary enough.

"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.

As you may know, Joshua has decided to step down from his position as our current Lifestyle editor.

Not a surprise, given his wife is having a kid. You had called it six months ago over the paper's Christmas dinner at Eleven Madison Park, when Joshua spent half of it outside on a phone call and the other half browsing the Baby Gap website.

I have decided to hire internally to fill his position. I and upper management believe you would be a good fit for the position. Please plan for a meeting 9 AM Monday to discuss transitional plans.

It's that part that you have to read over three times. And then you read it over a fourth, just for good measure.

"You're starting to scare me." Jeonghan puts down his glass, which is something akin to a baby separating from their bottle.

Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand Wonwoo, but the email seems clear as day to you. Good fit. Transitional plans. Suddenly you wish Jeonghan hadn't had so much of the wine because you're in desperate need of a drink.

"I-I think…I think I'm getting promoted."

How funny to think your lifelong dream would be realized over a 40 dollar plate of pasta. You want to cry and hug the maître d' and eat the entire complimentary bread basket.

"It's about time." The glass finds his relieved hand again. "You breathe journalism. I'm afraid one day you'll text me in AP style."

You read over all of it again, trying to memorialize the words that undoubtedly will launch your wonderful and long career in the upper echelons of media.

Looking forward to talking with the two of you.

Wait—two?

Then the proverbial cherry on top, the laughably convenient other thing your eyes had glazed over before.

CC: Choi Seungcheol.

"Choi Seungcheol?!"

Nothing is ever that easy and it then dawns on you that this is a competition type thing because never in the history of the printing press has there been two editors for a section.

Jeonghan stares at you blankly. It would be funny if you didn't feel like you were being double deep-fried like terrible fair food, all the thrill and elation of the moment boiled down to lead in your chest.

"I—he," you stammer.

Jeonghan mouths check to the poor waiter assigned to watch your table. God bless him.

"Words," he tells you. "You went to journalism school."

You take a syrupy breath that sits in your lungs unhappily. Your food is cold. This is a disaster.

"Well, actually, I'm not getting promoted."

Jeonghan's eyes soften, just enough without making you pity yourself more.

"There's this guy," you start. "He's the love and relationships columnist, the one I complain about all the time." Jeonghan makes a small ahh sound, your predicament finally dawning on him. "I guess we're both under consideration for the position. I didn't-I didn't even think of him. I—"

You slump into your seat, the arancini your only solace despite your complaint that the breading was too salty earlier.

"So? I bet you're a way better fit than him. It'll be a shoe-in. Easy decision."

Jeonghan's confidence in you makes you want to cry.

The problem is that Seungcheol is the human equivalent of Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't recall the last time he walked into the office with a fully buttoned up shirt. You also can't recall the last time one of his advice columns wasn't in the end of quarter recap for popularity.

It's not in you to explain this debacle to Jeonghan. This whole situation is so cosmically awful that all you can do is ask for dessert in a takeout box and watch Jeonghan calculate tip without a calculator because that's all you learn in business school.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeonghan asks when you're both in the Uber.

"Yeah." You have a headache. You also can't decide whether or not to give the restaurant three or four stars, and you always know by the time you're out the door. "It's fine."

The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email.

Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.

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The meeting goes exactly how you would expect.

Wonwoo, in his lanky taupe sweater vest, says that Joshua is leaving and you and Seungcheol are standing toe-to-toe in the space left behind.

"I'm sure you two are well-acquainted," he begins.

You stifle a laugh, but Seungcheol's cat-like grimace says more than enough. Neither of you have the heart to tell Wonwoo that your very first impression of Seungcheol was that he tried to hit on you at the new recruit party, or that Joshua probably deserves reparations for how often he mediated fights between the two of you during weekly meetings. (Maybe not reparations, but at least an Edible Arrangements.)

For better or for worse, Wonwoo's genius does not extend to social cues, and he follows with a blithe, "Therefore, I hope you two will treat this as a friendly competition between equals."

You almost laugh again, but this time it's because you need the promotion more than you need air, and you cannot allow some Buzzfeed reject with the face of a model take that from you. And you don't doubt Seungcheol wants it as bad as you do, considering how often you've seen him try to schmooze his way up the ranks.

He may have become a columnist by rubbing elbows with the right people, but you'll never forget the late nights you spent sifting through hours of interview transcripts, on the grueling climb up the totem pole to earn your position.

"We'll evaluate an article of your own submission at the end of the month before we decide. Best of luck."

At least Wonwoo knows to quit while he's ahead—he closes the meeting with a succinct nod before returning to his seemingly infinite unread emails.

"Exciting," Seungcheol says. He claps his hands together, Rolex gaudy under the office lights, and sends a nauseating smile your way. "May the best writer win."

He offers you a handshake. You think he has real life cooties, so instead you close your planner and shoot him a very pointed look.

"There's only one writer here. Thrilled to read your next thinkpiece on how men should spend more time on Tinder and not therapy."

That earns you a chuckle from Wonwoo, but Seungcheol is not easily fazed.

Instead he rushes to hold the door open for you on your way out, likely his favorite piece of advice to give his poor, indolent readers.

"I'll book a table for us at Avra next month," Seungcheol gloats. "Consider it a gift from your future boss."

"They don't have a kids menu, you know."

"No problem. I'll have my darling food critic order for me." He places a wicked hand over his polyester covered heart. "Ending misogyny in one fell swoop, huh?"

You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster. You feel it collect in your bones, enough to feel like you can physically hack it up and hurl it at him.

"You have no clue what you're talking about, huh? Do you actually attract women with that attitude? Or are you just a really good liar?"

You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.

Up close, he's worse. His hair reminds you of the sad, tired swoop of the washed-up lead of a daytime soap opera. And he has no pores, which is deeply upsetting because he looks like the type to wash his face with Palmolive and a prayer.

"You know what?"

His breath hits your lips and your skin prickles like you have an allergy.

"What?"

"You just gave me the winning idea for my next column." No way, you think. Mind games. Classy. "See you at dinner, sweetheart. Looking forward to it."

The pet name makes you seethe. There are a million things you want to say, all colorful and none workplace appropriate.

"I'd rather starve."

"Better not let Wonwoo hear you with that bad attitude. I'm sure management loves a team player." His cheshire grin somehow gets bigger, all white teeth and pink lip. "Try to smile a little, huh? Have fun writing about snails and black garlic and cwa-ssants, or whatever it is that you do."

you watch all the laminated syllables of croissant go through his paper shredder smile and you think you black out.

He spins on his heel triumphantly, almost bowling over Minghao from Arts & Entertainment, who is undoubtedly wondering if you did, in fact, kiss.

Seungcheol laughs as he walks away, linebacker shoulders rippling under his one size too small shirt.

The metal-red knot of anger swells in your gut as you watch his perfect silhouette and his tiny little waist disappear into the staff room. Then you realize what you've been looking at and let yourself get mad all over again.

He does have a nice ass, though. You'll give him that.

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"You'll never guess what I have."

"Is it better than this lox bagel?" You answer, mouth unattractively full.

Seungkwan's answer is the sound of a straw hitting the bottom of an empty cup and the grating jostle of ice. Phone calls with him are like ASMR because he's always doing a million things at once, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Infinitely," he finally says, after procuring the last milliliter of what's likely his second coffee of the day. "Besides, we all know pesto is way better."

"Wrong, but okay," you reply. "What is it?"

"You're not gonna thank me for being the best friend in the world? Me, an editor, keeping nepotism alive for you? A mere columnist?"

"Senior columnist," you laugh between bites. "You need me. Who else would you text during content meetings?"

"Whatever." His eye roll is audible. "I guess I won't tell you."

He shakes his cup again, all ice and no patience.

"Fine! I owe you. My career and my life."

"And a seat at Momofuku."

"And that."

You take another greedy bite, letting the everything on an everything bagel get all over your chin. You love dressing up and going to restaurants that cost more than both of your kidneys, but there's something sacred about eating a $10 bagel behind the shield of your computer screen at a cafe where no one knows you.

There's someone laughing really loudly somewhere, and if you weren't otherwise preoccupied, you would look for the offender and give them a hard glare. You don't know what could possibly be that funny at 9 AM, but, then again, you never were a morning person.

"So, I have intel. About Seungcheol." You can picture the glint in Seungkwan's eyes, glittery and caramel. Unfortunately, the news that it's related to your worst enemy makes you sit up a little straighter. "At today's content meeting, Joshua said that he's working on some kind of challenge to go on as many dates as possible. He might make it a series."

"How tacky," you say, but the information clanks around in your brain like shoes in a washing machine. The indulgent, clickbaity headline just falls together perfectly—I Went On 50 First Dates So You Don't Have To. Exactly the kind of article your mom sees on Facebook and sends to you.

"You have to admit it's a decent idea. Not as good as yours, but it'll get engagement," is Seungkwan's reply, but you can barely hear it over the swell of another sitcom-esque laugh, this time, from a woman. "The other editors are very invested in this whole thing, by the way. Of course, I'm betting on you."

You're about to very openly stress about people gambling on your success when your eyes wander to the backside of the Sports Illustrated model getting napkins at the counter. Not bad at all, you think. It may be too early for the comedy club, but appreciating the male figure has no schedule.

And then he turns around, and you're able to see past the curly hair, muscle tee, beauty pageant smile—it's none other than Choi Seungcheol, fully outfitted with the audacity to trespass on your bagel place. You have never been more disgusted by your heterosexuality.

You hide behind your computer screen.

"Helloooo?" comes Seungkwan on the line. "Are you making out with your breakfast or something?"

"Seungkwan, I gotta go," you hiss. Your eyes follow Seungcheol as he makes his way back to his table. "There's a…situation."

You watch him sit across from a beautiful girl in a sundress and Prada sunglasses, and her lips tumble into a brilliant red smile.

It would be really fucking funny if he was on a date, you think, but then you see him make the kind of eyes you last saw in the deepest, stickiest recesses of a frat house on thirsty Thursday. Then you realize he is on a date, that he's been on a date, and it's his laugh that is equally annoying as it is loud.

Seungkwan works hard, but the devil always works harder.

"Ok, talk to you later. Bye!" You can hear the beginning of one of Seungkwan's protests, but you hang up before he's able to properly complain. Maybe you'll have to do a little better than Momofuku—that's a problem for later.

Over the rim of your laptop, you catch glimpses of their conversation. You notice Seungcheol talks a lot with his hands, and you wonder if that's another one of his tips or if that's just him. Him and those big clown hands, illustrating a story that you're unfortunately too far away to hear.

But you can hear her laugh again, and you try to guess what he's talking about. His childhood dog. The insurmountable burden of being prom king and captain of the football team. This little not-competition and this little not-rivalry between the two of you. How the PB&J bagel is the best thing on the menu (it's not, but you see the berry compote all over his fingers and you know that's the hill he's dying on).

No matter how you spin it, it's a hard pill to swallow. Choi Seungcheol is good at what he does, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You hear the careening lilt of what seems to be Seungcheol whining, and there's a brief flash of something like endearment in your stomach before the repulsion sets in.

Nothing you can do to stop him, huh?

The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

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Beware the wrath of a woman scorned.

It's number 3 on Seungcheol's article titled Revenge and Other Stories. Unsurprisingly, he must not practice what he preaches, because you currently have all nine circles of Dante's Inferno inside you right now.

Play nice, Jeonghan had told you. Looks better to upper management.

And you did, until one of your photo requests mysteriously got deleted. Then Joshua told you to cut 500 words from this week's column because Seungcheol's just "happened" to be a little longer this time.

The knockout punch was yesterday when Seungcheol told you he was using your January critic's choice pick to take Wonwoo out for a friendly dinner, his treat. If you had known, you would've called ahead and told them to poison the hamachi. (No matter. Any foodie worth their salt knows Thursday is the worst day for sushi).

Now you sit on the C train, dressed to the nines, because you have a date with destiny at Nai. Sometimes destiny is a big pan of paella for one, but this time, it's Seungcheol and his next victim on date night.

Getting him there was so easy, it was almost criminal. An obnoxiously loud elevator phone call in which you name dropped the executive chef, a friend of yours, at least four times. Seungkwan very strategically asking you if a press pass can bypass reservations for a booked-out restaurant. Gossip in the break room with the intentional use of "intimate," "sangria drunk," and "affordable."

Affordable was a lie, but you're learning quickly that a hungry fish will take any bait. And seeing Seungcheol's face is never a joy, but you're not opposed to watching him open the menu for the first time.

"I have a killer Spanish accent," Seungcheol told you on the way out today.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The subway car rumbles under you. You're almost in East Village. You don't normally spend your Friday nights crashing dates—you actually don't really spend them outside your apartment at all, but Seungcheol is the exception to the rule and you're making a lot of them for him. A small price to pay for the glory of dethroning Casanova.

The plan is to "accidentally" run into Seungcheol and his Friday night exploit, and then to casually, non-bitterly mention a, that she is about to become a statistic, b, that his idea of chivalry was birthed in the basement of the Alpha Omega house, and c, that you're surprised he's still single because you always happen to catch him on dates. Something like that.

This is admittedly the best you could come up with. Like you said, you don't really crash dates. You don't really sabotage people either, but Seungcheol declared war the minute his Folgers breath hit your face outside Wonwoo's office.

Then you think of all the ways things can absolutely backfire. Seungcheol's warm, carefree whirl of laughter when he explains you're office rivals, or worse, lies and says you're nothing but a jilted, jealous ex. Or this whole thing could simply be immortalized in his winning article as a jaunty sentence about making the most out of a bad situation, yada yada yada.

You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella.

In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.

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Friday night at Nai is red and glittering and heady with saffron.

You remember when you first ate here, two weekends after the soft open, early in your career at the paper. After a three hour conversation over wine and octopus with the owner, you wrote the restaurant a glowing review that, to your surprise, helped land it several ritzy awards. Now the dining room is never empty, but they always find space for you.

That was the first time you learned that all of this work meant something. Yeah, you loved an excuse to stuff your face and get paid for it, but what was even better was the chance to tell the stories of a working father's hand-pulled noodles, the drunk, midnight origins of a tasting menu, the caramel-greedy fingers of a well-loved childhood.

This is the long way of explaining how you bypass the two hour standby wait time, and how you walk in on a first name basis with the manager.

You're fully prepared to see Seungcheol mid-churro, perhaps four pick-up lines deep and wondering if he still has a condom in his wallet.

That's why you almost miss him on your way to your table. His is empty, other than a lonely, watered down martini on the rocks and two menus.

"Seungcheol?"

He looks up at you, and something like genuine surprise melts into relief, then intrigue.

"Look at who crawled out of her dungeon," he chuckles. "You clean up good."

Whatever pity you may have felt for him vaporizes instantly. Although, when he beckons for you to sit in the empty seat across from him, you do take the bait—you're not about to pass up a good opportunity to humble your least formidable foe.

"Refreshing to see that our love guru isn't above dining solo," you reply. "I have to admit, your acting is impressive. What an elaborate ruse to get another poor, single diner to pity you enough to sit with you."

"It worked, didn't it?" He takes a sip of his cocktail, which is almost a brand new drink because it's 90% water, 10% martini by now.

"I'm no expert, but pretending to get stood up is not a tip I would give the general public."

"Who said I was pretending?"

No fucking way. Your jaw drops. It's too unreal to believe. Even if the slutty cut of Seungcheol's shirt wasn't persuasive enough, surely the prospect of enjoying a free Michelin star dinner would warrant an appearance, even for you. Breaking News: New York's Hottest Bachelor Ghosted at Top Restaurant. If only that were as wonderful to the average reader as it is to you.

Because waiters are trained to enter conversations at the best possible time, you're forced to pause and order a wine for the table and some tapas. (No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)

"You got stood up?" You cross your arms over your chest. "You may think I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb."

"You have no idea how flattering your reaction is." He laughs, and the air shifts around him, drawing you further into his eyes, inky under the lowlight. "I understand you think I'm irresistible, but, alas, not everyone shares your opinion."

"I never said that."

You hate how easy it is for him to push your buttons. You hate how in control he is, and you hate how he's looking at you like you're on the menu.

The waiter returns with the wine, and you decide you're feeling equally as terrible.

"Truly, you can't be that irresistible. After all this time writing about relationships, you would think you'd actually be in one."

Touché, you think. Normally, it would be too low a blow, even for you, except that his column-related debauchery is one of the four thrilling conversation topics he subjects you to at the office. And who are you to bury the lede?

"Coaches don't play," Seungcheol says, leaning back and popping the martini olive in his mouth offensively, as if he's not at a restaurant that takes months to get a good table at.

"Bullshit." You lean forward and chase his gaze. He doesn't shy away; rather, he meets you with an appraising raise of an eyebrow. "Coaches should at least know how to throw the ball."

"What do you think we're doing right now?"

"Oh, please." Your wrist twitches as you fight the urge to down your entire glass of merlot in a single gulp. You picture the title of his next article: Top 10 Ways To Get A Woman Drunk. And then the oh so charming punchline: 1. Be so insufferable she cannot last a conversation without her real life partner, wine.

"See? I've already got you laughing." He notices the generous sip missing from your glass and tops you up.

"No, you do not get to make this about me."

Somehow, you are laughing, but you chalk it up to the spiteful little man in your brain writing headlines for Seungcheol's column.

How To Antagonize Your Date In 5 Easy Steps.

"Need I remind you I'm only here because your actual date stood you up? Too soon?"

"I prefer you anyway," he answers, his expression half-challenge, half-something else that you don't really want to think about.

"Crazy, because I'd rather be literally anywhere else."

Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date.

"You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it."

"I'm no quitter."

Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece.

Definitely not that one.

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"So, before I try anything," Seungcheol says, leaning across the table. "Teach me how to be a food critic."

"Why, so you can steal my job?"

"You can keep it," he laughs. "I'm gonna be your boss, not your replacement."

You notice he'll linger on the tail end of his sentences, betting on the response you haven't even come up with yet. He's picking apart the furrow of your brow, the marrow of your brain. It's like one drawn out interview, but you suppose that's all dating really is. Maybe your journalism degree wasn't a waste of money after all.

You won't give him the satisfaction of a fight (plus, you don't want the food to get cold), so you change the subject.

"Well, I take pictures first," you say, waving away his overeager fork.

"Genius. They really scammed you out of your Pulitzer, huh?"

You ignore him in lieu of repositioning the chorizo. Unfortunately, Seungcheol is unrelenting. You hear the snap of his phone camera, clearly taking a photo of you and not the meal—clever, but you won't bite.

"Wanna be in my story? I can tag you."

In your periphery hovers his wry, wanting smile.

"Sure. So the world can know I'm a charity worker too."

He whistles, clutching his heart. If he weren't so annoying, you would find him a little cute. Just a little. You blame the kitchen for whatever aphrodisiac is in the food today.

"Live update: date with food critic going about as well as an episode of Hell's Kitchen."

He says this leaning forward, elbows on the table, so close to you that your knees might touch. You tense at the thought.

"Any date of mine would be on better behavior."

"So you're admitting this is a date?"

"This," you wave your hand over the table. "This is not a date. This is me regretting ever pitying you."

"Well, pity looks good on you."

And there it is again, that accursed, perfect smile. This time, it works, and you fight the losing battle of the wine flush undoubtedly all over your face. It bothers you that there's a little part of you that enjoys this, but that's a confession you plan on taking to the grave.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, because you're not getting any again."

"Fine. I'm still waiting for your grand secret," he says, now biting the tines of his fork like an untrained dog. No rest for the weary, you suppose. "Food is food. Prove me wrong."

Despite the betrayal of your basal human instincts, you're determined to make this a bad encounter. Maybe you hadn't anticipated the full force of Seungcheol's overgrown fratboy persona, but you came here for a reason and you do plan to see it through.

"There is no secret." You split apart an empanada, the guts steaming and fragrant. "You eat."

"Like this?" He crams an entire piece in his mouth, and you watch him recoil and huff the heat out. "Mmm, 's pretty good, though."

Your eyes almost roll back far enough to see the wrinkles of your brain. Of course he wouldn't get it, but you don't know what you were expecting from a guy who thinks Hot Pockets are fine dining.

You put on your most pretentious food critic face. "Eating is about respect. Storytelling. He's retelling the first time someone made him this dish. The ingredients—they're words on a page. An autobiography." Your hand finds your chest and you sigh, a final touch to your Oscar winning melodrama that would certainly annoy anyone with even half a brain.

"Huh. Poetic," he says. He's still fanning his (very full) mouth, but he chews a little more slowly. "I'm respecting. I'm taking it in."

You don't know if he's actually doing any of that, but, when he takes his next bite he asks about what's in it (tomato, raisin, egg) and if someone really made the chef an empanada when he was younger (yes, on the flour-printed counter, every Sunday morning).

You press on. It shouldn't take much to bore him, but with every question, food-related factoid, and snide comment you have, he matches you with genuine curiosity. Either he's an excellent actor or he's secretly culinary school-bound, because you can't actually imagine anyone putting up with any of that, nonetheless I like dick jokes and football Choi Seungcheol.

You spend the rest of the evening like this, spoon to heart to cherry mouth. The wine is abundant, and Seungcheol spends more time listening than talking, which he admits is a first for him.

"You really know a lot about food," he says, likely fighting the urge to use his finger to get the last of the chocolate sauce off the churro plate. "I like that."

It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.

"It's my job," is your reply, adequately distant for your liking.

"Fair. You gonna ask me about mine?"

"What more is there to know?" You hold up the check. "You're paying, right? Chivalry and all that?"

You're waiting for him to mention the company card, the only one allocated to your section that Seungcheol couldn't possibly have because it's sitting snug in your purse. The one you'll say you conveniently forgot so you get to see a grown man squirm at paying the bill.

"Already did. Gave the host my card when I got here. You're holding the customer copy." His chuckle disappears under the lip of his wine glass. "Bet you were excited to use the company card, huh?"

If shame were a physical object, you feel like your own personal Atlas. Your only option is to stare at the wasteland of empty plates before you and wonder how deep Seungcheol's pockets really are.

"Hardly. More excited that I burned a hole in your wallet." You click your tongue, out of options on how to ruin Seungcheol's night. You would spill wine on him but there's none left. "Anyway, I'm heading out."

"Running away?"

"Bored," you lie.

He calls you a taxi, and you walk out together, night heavy with the rhinestone glare of Friday night traffic.

"I actually had a nice time tonight," Seungcheol says, emphasis on the actually.

"Unfortunate."

"How do you think I feel?"

The taxi pulls to the curb, and he sighs, weighty with exaggerated relief. You can't even take it seriously because he's looking right at you and badly failing to push down the smile at the corners of his mouth.

It's only now that you notice his eyes are really brown, like he's from a cartoon or something. Worse, you'd daresay they're nice, less menacing, when they're tempered by a good meal and semi-public humiliation.

"Text me when you get back to your villain lair."

"If I were a real villain, you would have a lot more to worry about."

Seungcheol opens the cab door for you, and you catch a whiff of the cologne he undoubtedly smeared on in the toothpaste-streaked mirror of his five by five studio bathroom. Pine, leather, and citrus, which is the most pedestrian combination of smells to exist and yet you doubt it hasn't done him any favors.

"I'm terrified. Shaking." You clamber into the backseat, and he smiles at you again, as if you've forgotten what all his other ones looked like. "By the way—"

You have half a mind to shut the door in his face, but you can't find it within you—maybe it's the wine, or perhaps pure defeat. Probably the former.

"This job. It's—" He clicks his tongue and looks at the tops of his leather shoes. He's actually thinking, and you don't like it. "Never mind. See you Monday."

And then the words are gone. He shuts the cab door, and they're left in a plume of exhaust and Seungcheol's tiny waving figure in the rearview mirror.

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"So you're telling me you went on a date with your worst enemy."

It's 8 AM, and Jeonghan isn't pulling punches. Even through the phone, you can see his lazy grin, the pen he's flipping in his hand, the green ribbon of the Dow Jones on his desktop.

The newsroom is refreshingly near empty, except for Joshua, who hovers around the water cooler like a fly on the wall, if flies wore Armani ties and cigarette jeans.

"It wasn't a date, and I wanted to ruin it so he would have nothing to write about."

"No one goes on a date to ruin it. You could have just left."

"Clearly you haven't seen How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days."

"Are you serious." Jeonghan laughs, crackly and bright. "Care to tell me how that movie ends?"

"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."

Mid-laugh, you endure another beat of extended eye contact with your editor until he beckons you over. He'd likely been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt the conversation he was so subtly eavesdropping on—oh, how you love a newsroom with an "open floor plan" to "facilitate communication." Sometimes you think the reason Joshua's stuck around this long is because reporters can't stay away from drama, especially if they're not the ones reporting it.

"I gotta go," you tell Jeonghan, whose version of a goodbye is a triumphant cackle.

You find Joshua putzing around, plastic water cup incriminatingly full.

"I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?" he asks, eyes sequined with all the secrets they hold.

"Yup. Just working on that Dining Through The Years article." Not entirely a lie—you are hedging your bets on this story, one where you revisit the restaurants you wrote about when you first got your start at the paper (Nai included, although admittedly yesterday's food was the least of your concerns). "You needed me?"

"Glad to see New York's finest chefs are well-versed in Kate Hudson's filmography," he says, grinning something beastly. If he weren't your boss, you'd knock that little water cup clean out of his hand. "Anyway, if your interview is over, I need you to go on a field trip."

"Field trip?"

Surely you're better than a task for the interns. You wonder if they're off fighting their own demons, seeing as you missed the circus in the elevator this morning, the usual juggle of hazelnut lattes and lemon poppyseed muffins for the higher-ups.

"Wonwoo needs you to help pick out catering for the corporate event later next week." Joshua tips his head back at Wonwoo's glass-plated office, where you see him redoing his tie in the reflection of his computer monitor. "My guess is that Yerim is going to be there, and he wants to make a good impression. Like an 'I consulted a food expert' impression."

Classic gossip queen Hong Joshua, always with the unnecessary but incredibly cogent commentary on office politics. You think you're actually going to miss the bastard.

"Flattered," you remark dryly. "Catering from where?"

"That's the thing. It's from this Thai place like two hours out from the city."

Two hours: code for an all day endeavor. He wasn't kidding when he said field trip.

You graciously resist the urge to groan out loud. No one told you taking the high road is one big slog through the mud, but here you are. You tell yourself this will help your campaign to be editor—the stinky, dirt-smeared silver lining.

"Before you ask—yes, I know you cannot take the subway there." You blink at him, wondering why this all feels like the set-up to a terrible joke. "Luckily, as you probably know, Seungcheol drives here every day and has offered to help."

Ah. There it is. You look for the blinking applause sign hanging above your head and the chorus of riotous Seungcheols making up your own personal laugh track.

"Only back to the office, though—" Joshua adds, as if that provides you any solace. "There's a one-way bus going up there at noon."

"N-not both ways?" you croak.

"Something about funds," he replies, shrugging. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"You're not the one I'm thinking of shooting."

"Who knows? Maybe he is Matthew McConaughey." And when your glare turns sharp as the edge of a santoku knife, he holds his hands up like he's getting arrested. "I'm just saying. As your friend, not your editor."

Whatever.

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You have to admit, Wonwoo does have impeccable taste in Thai food.

Three noodle dishes, two curries, and the best mango sticky rice you've ever had: that's what it took for you to finally say "not all men." Certainly not Wonwoo, who's in deep enough to send his goons cross-state for a girl he's tried to woo for almost a whole year now.

A tamarind sunset blankets the countryside in milk and honey. You're sitting on a bench, ridiculously full with leftovers to spare, waiting for your chauffeur from hell.

Two years and you still don't know what car Seungcheol drives. Your last memory of it is it being flashy, impractical, and loud, much like him.

You know this, and yet you are still surprised when a gnat of a BMW rips into the curb in front of you. The passenger window crawls down, and Seungcheol has the gall to whistle at you.

For someone so predictable, he sure does manage to find new ways to piss you off. Unfortunately, on brand— according to him, Consistency Is Key (number 2 on Keeping the Spark Alive, August 2022 issue). You've done your reading.

"You're welcome," is the first thing Seungcheol says to you after cranking down the volume of the radio and watching you fumble with the seatbelt.

"You really didn't have to." You look at the array of gas station snacks bubbling out of the cupholders—Sour Patch Kids, a Big Gulp, and Flamin’ Hot Fritos. You didn't even know they sold Sour Patch Kids to full grown adults.

Still, you do feel a little bad. You can count on one hand the amount of people you would do this for and still have one or two cheese-dusted fingers left.

"But, thank you."

"Joshua made me," he says, and what happened this morning starts to make a lot more sense. "Plus, I was a little jealous. I would kill for a day frolicking in the sun, eating delicious food, far, far away from the big city. Not trapped like me in the newsroom, exhausted, toiling away on my magnum opus."

The sigh that crawls from his chapped lips practically shakes the car.

"I'm retracting my thank you."

"I'm devastated. Really."

You choose to watch the strip of shitty New York highway unravel through the greasy passenger window. No point in picking a fight when you're in a leather quilted jail cell for the foreseeable future.

It's at the thirty minute mark where Seungcheol casts the first stone of terrible, stilted small talk.

"Why'd you get sent all the way out here anyway?"

The red taillight flush of rush hour floods the car, an unpleasant reminder of the real sunset left far behind you.

"Thought you knew it was Wonwoo."

"Yeah, but why?"

Why does it matter? Is your first thought, but you realize he's attempting to actually have a genuine conversation with you, which you suppose is better than him flinging around another rude remark. Either that, or he's falling asleep, and you'd rather not have the last moments of your life be in Seungcheol's chick magnet car.

"Joshua thinks it's because he wants to impress Yerim at the corporate meeting this week. I guess she likes Thai."

Traffic is slow enough for him to turn to look at you, really look at you.

"Come on, he can't like her that much."

"Yes, he can." you try to read his expression, neon-glossy. "This isn't even that much effort."

"Nah," he shrugs. "There's gotta be some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he wants to move into corporate."

"Hot take for a romantic." You frown. "Not everything people do is a career move, you know."

You omit the unlike you that sits heavy in the back of your throat, although, his cavalier approach to relationships is starting to make a little more sense. You wonder if this whole thing—the dates, the watch, the Invisalign smiles—is just a long, drawn-out joke to him.

"Seems like a lot of effort to go through for an office crush." His gaze drifts back to the road. "The extravagant birthday present. Always having her favorite flowers in the office. That one cringe voicemail we all heard him re-record ten times. No one likes anyone that much. Come on. Her dad is the CEO of the company."

Suddenly his winning smile doesn't seem so triumphant. It almost feels like a betrayal, but you don't know why.

"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet."

"Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it.

"Who hurt you?"

"No one did. I'm just being honest."

You would laugh at the irony if it didn't feel like there was a vine wrapped round your throat. Life is funny, but never so funny as to curse New York's favorite romance writer with cynicism and a lying streak.

"Controversial, but I actually want to do nice things for the person I like."

"And when was the last time that happened?" He's deflecting, which is predictably on brand for him. His grin, now playful, is propped up by a pair of frustratingly well-formed dimples.

You can't even find it within you to protest because he's right—you haven't dated in a long time. Joshua stopped asking if you were bringing a plus one to office parties ages ago.

But it's not that you can't—in fact, the last time you did, you think it broke you a little inside. It's certainly not a story Seungcheol's privy to, though. You already feel strange, cut-open, trying to convince him that people are capable of meaningful relationships.

Childishly, there's also a part of you chasing the truth about him because it takes him further and further away from you. So you do what you do best and deflect again. Two can play at that game.

"Not taking criticism from a guy who's dated half of the city and has nothing to show for it."

"I wouldn't say nothing."

He opens his mouth then closes it again, as if he's revising the words on his tongue. Journalist behavior, which you didn't even know he could still exhibit.

Now you're really thinking. Who hurt him, and how? The development that Seungcheol is more than the playboy slime haunting page 3 intrigues you more than you'd care to admit.

Before you can pry, Seungcheol's stomach growls, almost offensively loud.

"Sorry," he says. "Who would've thunk that corn chips aren't a balanced meal?"

You stare at the takeout boxes snug in your lap. There is a cosmic message being sent right now.

Seungcheol's sad, Frito-filled belly. Fresh noodle that won't keep well in the fridge. Tax and tip for a four hour car ride back to the city. Expanding your repertoire of blackmail so that you can claim your rightful helm at the paper.

These are all the reasons you give yourself for what you ask next.

"You in a rush?"

"How could I be—do you see the blinding speed we're driving at?" He laughs at his own incredibly unfunny attempt at a joke. "No, I'm not."

"I may or may not have an actual balanced meal for you."

That’s how you end up in the parking lot of a random 7/11 off the freeway. In any other circumstances, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment, but you've already been whittled down enough to actually care about Seungcheol, even if just a little.

That's what you tell yourself, anyway, as you watch him finish the last of the takeout.

"So I'm bad at food, and you're bad at love. Why the fuck did Wonwoo even think of promoting either of us?" Seungcheol kicks his shoes off and props his feet up on the dashboard. You notice his socks have dogs on them, little linty brown ones, and you feel a little worse about openly bullying him about his fashion taste in front of the entirety of copy staff.

"I may be bad at love, but you're worse. Especially for someone who does it for a living," you retort. "Don't think I forgot our earlier conversation."

You try to read the tiny text on a receipt he's got stashed in the center console, among his graveyard of snack wrappers. (2) CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH…8.78. (1) M MT DEW BAJA BLAST…1.00.

Definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself.

"You think I'm not kicking myself right now? That I have a beautiful girl in my car right now, and all we do is argue?"

Now that—nothing could have prepared you for that.

It gets awfully quiet. The noise of the freeway seems to screech to a fever pitch, all horns and the thrum of the asphalt. You wish anything but John Mayer was playing on the radio.

You will the headlines man in your head to make you laugh. Instead, your brain presses the word beautiful into your neurons and you feel all the heat in your body float to your face, traitorously, dizzyingly. John Mayer croons, your body is a wonderland and your stomach knots into itself over and over again.

"Stop that."

"What?" Seungcheol's head lolls to his shoulder so he can look at you from the corner of his eye. " 's not a big deal. Never been called beautiful?"

A grin plays on his lips, expression dancing on something grim, like he's spoken his final words.

"I'm serious! Stop trying to get me to like you." You huff and cross your arms over your chest, like it'll somehow make you feel more normal. "I'm not some experiment for your column."

"Is it working?"

You don't answer. How can you? There's a yes resting on the roof of your mouth, surely the product of the handful of real, actual moments you've now had with him—far too many for your liking. This whole charade has been a balancing act on the razor edge between rivals and something else, and now you're feeling the sting.

"For the record, I have been called beautiful before."

"And for the record, you're not an experiment for my column. You never were."

There's a relief that pulses through your chest, a breathless, wonderful kind of dizziness. You grab hold of it as soon as it's reared its ugly head. You're flying way too close to the sun, chasing cheap validation from the same guy who ate your lunch out of the fridge last week.

He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings.

However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.

"Want any?" And when you shake your head, grateful to swallow the words pressed to your tongue, he says, "Should we wait out traffic here?"

This is an easier yes. You tell yourself you're getting sick of brake lights and reading the license plates on the back of other people's cars. Certainly that makes Seungcheol's gaze, lingering and moonlight-warmed, a little more tolerable.

For once, you don't talk about Wonwoo or your job. You don't talk about love, either.

Maybe this is the reason the next few hours slip through your fingers. Three folded takeout pagodas and a secret—somehow this is all it takes for you to hate Seungcheol just a little less.

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Usually, a good eggs benedict can solve the majority of your problems. Today seems to be the exception. The hollandaise is broken, Jeonghan is already laughing at you, and nothing will ever erase the fact that Seungcheol drove you home last night and now he knows where you live. If you wake up one morning and see a sniper laser pointed at your forehead, you have no one to blame but yourself.

"You look exhausted." An eighth of a buckwheat pancake disappears into Jeonghan's mouth. "You literally eat for a living. There is no reason for them to keep you late."

Jeonghan has a funny way of caring about you, but he's right. You did get home at 2 AM yesterday, but that was on you, not Wonwoo.

"I'm not going to let a corporate slug tell me what is and isn't a real job," you sigh, taking a swig of your half-flat mimosa and reminding yourself to figure out which staff writer gave this place 4 stars in last week's paper.

"Says the girl who needs the company card to afford bottomless brunch," Jeonghan replies.

"At least I'm not a slave to my career."

"What do you call this whole thing with your coworker then, huh? It's all you text me about." The smirk on Jeonghan's face is miserably, tragically righteous, and you can't even be mad about it.

"Seungcheol is my enemy, remember?"

"You sent me a five minute voice memo the other day ranting about how he went on a date with another girl." And just like the little shit he is, he even pulls up your mile-long text history, just to rub it in your face a little harder.

"Am I not allowed to wish for his demise? Since when were you the mature one?"

"I wouldn't call keeping track of his whereabouts wishing for his demise." Jeonghan takes a well-timed bite of your hashbrowns. "Something tells me you're wishing for something a little different."

You almost choke on a blueberry.

"Absolutely not."

You watch Jeonghan power down another mimosa, half-fascinated, half-appalled he would even dream of suggesting something so vile.

The memory of Seungcheol, leant back in the driver’s seat, lowering greasy spools of rice noodles into his mouth, crosses your mind. He had laughed until he cried when he asked you if a pineapple had really fried this rice. That was the kind of man you were dealing with. You can't believe you laughed with him.

"I think it'll be good for you to get back into dating again. Mingyu was, what, three years ago?"

And that's the chocolate chip studded, syrup-covered nail in your coffin. Of course all roads had to lead back to you and your relationship trauma Jeonghan considered unresolved.

You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on.

Mingyu was a chef. His hands, his lips, his eyes—that's how you fell in love with food. Strawberry kisses into fresh pasta into the first time someone had ever cooked for you. What a wonderful, terrible thing to see all your history on a plate, the I could never eat peas, the once I ate mangos till I was sick, the guilty spoon in the vanilla ice cream after a bad day and the dark chocolate you keep in your purse. He remembered that you like your noodles just a little bit overcooked, and you don't even think you told him that.

Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.

You opened a restaurant together after you graduated from college. Then it closed, and you lost Mingyu to Naples or New Orleans or Seoul—somewhere, anywhere to escape the corner of 5th and 40th, the December-pleated memory of his hands in yours and a promise you could never keep.

You're sure you're over it by now, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't look for him in a bowl of his favorite ramyun, the one you could never replicate even though he insisted he just added hot water (Food tastes best when it's a gift, he'd say. You never understood until now.).

Jeonghan doesn't believe you because every time you try explaining this to him, you end up sounding like the most chronically lonely person on planet Earth.

"That is the wrong guy to suggest then," you instead reply, feeling all the food dry up in your mouth.

"I'm running out of options."

"Don't you have a hot coworker or something?"

You shut your eyes, pushing Mingyu back to recall literally any face from one of the many swanky corporate parties Jeonghan bullied you into attending. The only person coming to mind is Lee Chan, and even more than his face, you remember the fat platinum band around his ring finger (Better luck next time, Jeonghan had said, mid-cheese cube).

Worse, amidst all the fuzz, a grainy recollection of Seungcheol's wet cow eyes washes up against your eyelids, and it's not going away this time.

"I thought we were all corporate slugs," Jeonghan replies, enjoying the way you glower at him over your fork. "I was kidding, anyway. Relax."

Your entire body heaves with the sigh that escapes you.

You thank god that Jeonghan is never serious, because otherwise you'd have to consider the fact that he really thought you should date Seungcheol. Jeonghan, who knows the pizza column you, the Mingyu you, and now the you that works late because there's nothing else left to do, really might have thought you should date grifter by day, con artist by night Seungcheol.

The fluorescent glaze of the gas station lights. Seungcheol's hand on the gear stick. His voice, warm and gauzy. It's like there's a flash drive of last night plugged into your head, and you can't take it out.

The stem of the champagne glass finds your hand, and you down the whole thing.

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Monday is uneventful. So is Tuesday, and you wonder what good deed you'd done to deserve such a blessing.

Wednesday, you realize you're just three interviews away from what could possibly be the best article of your life. Unfortunately, two of those won't pick up the phone and the third keeps rescheduling on you.

That's fine—Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same hopefully applies to your future noodle empire.

You're using your lunch break to write an email to number two when you notice Seungcheol hovering around your desk, a plastic straw in his mouth and evil in his eyes.

He's taken to publicly annoying you at work more than usual—Progress, Joshua had told you in the elevator this morning. Towards what? you had asked. He shrugged, letting his crafty, knowing look do all the talking.

"Me, you, and date number two?" is today's opening line. Before you can peel yourself away from your computer and give him a good lashing for whatever the fuck he just said to you, he continues with, "How's that for a follow-up text to my speakeasy date?"

"Lame," you reply, hackles still raised but now re-reading your email for typos.

"Wrong. You were supposed to say incredibly romantic, extremely witty, and unfairly charming." He perches his baseball player ass on the corner of your desk, waiting to be humbled. This is the usual order of things, which has shockingly become more of a familiarity than anything else.

"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Just one, but it's the only one that matters."

"Ew. Gross." You wrinkle your nose and attempt to soothe your temper with a sip of the terrible protein shake you got for lunch. "No wonder your column sucks."

"If mine sucks, I'd hate to see what people are saying about yours." And when your reply is a tired, hungry swig of your sad drink, he says, "No lunch today? Even I had something better."

"Lucky you."

The bigger truth is that that the deadline for your article, looming before you, is getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Seungcheol isn't helping, not with his bottomless magic hat of date stories that seems to only grow deeper by the day. Now you're forgetting to pack a lunch, and the highlight of your day has been reduced to punching numbers into a vending machine.

Things are bad, but you'll never say that aloud, especially not to the guy who'll spend the next five years dunking on you if you keep this up.

You stare down the lip of your bottle at the faux-chocolate dregs streaking the bottom.

The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).

It was a perfect coincidence until you realized there was no way Chinese takeout was coming out of a very French restaurant, and it was then you learned that love is never really a coincidence.

Now you have no coincidences, mapo tofu, or romance. Just muscle milk and a front row view of the struggling inseam of a man who must shrink his pants in the dryer.

He's peeling a tangerine. Your worst confession to date is that it's easy on the eyes. For once, his hands, always made busy with some scheme, now still over the rind, steady, practiced. Plus, it looks like a marble in his huge hands, which is unfortunately both funny and a little hot.

"Stare any longer, and I'm gonna forget how to peel this."

"Don’t flatter yourself. Just hungry," you half-lie.

Hungry, Stressed, And Delusional—The New Holy Trinity.

It's a catchy headline, but not a great look for you. Never in your life did you think you'd be ogling a man peeling an orange. He even takes all the pith off, and you don't have the heart to tell him that's where all the nutrients are.

"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."

You’re so taken aback, all you can do is stare. First at the orange, then at Seungcheol, who suddenly cannot make eye contact with you. Instead, he stacks the peel in his hands, dimpled piece over piece.

"Payback for the, uh, Thai," he says, and although you wouldn't equate a tangerine to James Beard awarded pad kee mao, all you can think of is an lime green sticky note in your fridge and a smile.

A gift. A pithless, wrinkly one.

The idea that Seungcheol was capable of being genuinely nice to anyone, nonetheless, you—probably the most undeserving person of it in the world—makes you feel something close to guilt.

You push through the feeling, instead taking the fruit in your hand and splitting it between your thumbs. The flesh caves so easily, and it's then you remember that food, unlike people, doesn't have to be complicated.

You can feel a better person somewhere inside you, someone easier to care for and with less of a bad attitude. You're not there yet, but there's a dark, satisfying comfort in not being good enough for the indulgence of that kind of intimacy. An arm's length was never too far away for you, except now there's someone sitting on your desk and they gave you lunch. Worst of all, you don't think you mind.

You hold out the half—sticky, guilty fingers and all.

Seungcheol wordlessly accepts it. There's no surprise or confusion—he smiles, you say cheers, and you both take a bite.

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On weekends, the Korean place down the street from your college apartment sold corn dogs until 3 AM. That was when words came easy and love came easier.

It was with sugar all over your nose, eyes pressed to the once forgiving half-moon, where you told Mingyu you would become a writer.

The thing about youth is that it can float anything, no matter how holey, desperate it was. So you sailed through college, that gasping hope wound tight in your fist. Then you started freelancing, just in time for Mingyu’s soft open. You wanted to write, but more importantly, you wanted some way, any way to be useful to the person who had given you so much.

In retrospect, there was no way your crude attempts at actual journalism could ever generate real publicity for him. Not in the heart of New York, where a new restaurant opened every two days and someone wanted to get published every three.

So you eventually sank, and so did Mingyu, leaving you with all this creased, no good love in your chest to shrivel up with nowhere to go.

All of that landed you here. A degree, a dream job, and a laundry list of accolades, but the fruit of that love still hangs heavy and joy-rot on the vine, as you wait for it to be good enough for the taking.

Ironically, it reminded you of cooking. No one ever teaches you when to stop, and now every other joint has dry-aged steak and some version of a three-day demi glacé. But at least demi glacé tastes good—you don't even know what the fuck you're doing some days, and the feeling's never been worse than now, waiting on a call you were supposed to get two days ago.

The phone rings, just in time to distract you from the top button of Seungcheol's fitted shirt, which looks like it's holding on for dear life. He's currently deep in conversation with Mina from design, but every so often, he'll glance your way to see if you're just free enough to be bothered.

The unspoken perils of working late—less people around to pester on Wonwoo's dime.

Mina stuffs her laptop in her bag and checks her watch. Strike three for Seungcheol.

Working Hard Or Hardly Working: A Guide To Office Romances. You're surprised he hasn't written that one yet. Maybe Joshua shot it down.

"Hello?" The dial tone breaks into the warm, risen-bread voice of the woman you know to be the owner of one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle spots. The Friday night after your review was published, there was a line out the door. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to you, and you had no hesitation telling the owner that you were sure her place would become a local mainstay. You watched her crow-footed eyes go moony and you couldn't help but picture the day your yellowed newspaper would be posted up on the wall, framed and prophetic.

You're ready to profusely apologize for not stopping by—truthfully, no bone broth has come close to hers. Instead, she apologizes to you, which you aren't sure is flattering or a sign something terrible has happened.

You hope it's the former, but you should have known that hoping has never been enough.

She tells you that she closed the doors to her restaurant yesterday. It all comes spilling out, one gut punch after the other, the bills and the empty tables and how things just weren't the same the year after your review was published. She thanks you for your time, your writing, and your belief, and then she hangs up.

Not a thing in your body feels capable of moving. All the phone static passes right through you until the week's canned up dread balls up in your throat and some darker-than-black feeling swallows you whole.

The fluorescent ceiling lights sear into you. You think you're going to cry, and that's the last thing you want.

To anyone else, it wouldn't be that serious. Restaurants close all the time, and you know an entry in your silly little column is a far cry from a Hail Mary. But all you can think of is Mingyu’s neon sign on 5th and 40th and the two pairs of hands that had to take it down. You think your fingerprints are still on it, right over the blue shock of the I and the N.

One more dream taking on water, and once again, you're at the sad, cruel center of it.

You try to imagine the gumpaste walls, bumpy and water-stained. Maybe a pale square where your review used to hang.

No, you're definitely going to cry.

Fuck this, fuck work, fuck the article. And fuck Seungcheol, who's packing up his annoying, jingly messenger bag and is the only thing standing between you and an empty office to lose your shit in.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember if you're wearing waterproof mascara today. Unfortunately, the cowbell of Seungcheol's bag sounds like it's catching up to you, and, like it or not, you are two shaky breaths away from breaking down in front of the last person in the world you want to see.

"Final touches on another titillating piece about pineapple on pizza?"

You have no stomach for yelling at him. You can't even look at him. Instead, you bury your head in your hands and tell him to never use the word titillating again.

"A little too soon to play editor, in my humble opinion."

You don't reply. You're trying to scare him off without really scaring him off because god knows you've done that with enough people. Either way, he's calling you a crazy bitch at the next holiday party. You can just hear it.

But you should've known Seungcheol, of all people, doesn't flinch at a little silence. You still feel him hovering behind you, probably wondering if it's the half-full vanilla protein shake on your desk that's turned you sour. Or if you'll really make good on your threat to shank him with the plastic knife you keep in your top drawer.

Just walk away, you think. Go the fuck home.

Seungcheol, who gets paid to play cupid like it's fantasy football, would never understand that bite of the dial tone. Not like that. Half an orange is a hell of a toll to pay for your unfortunate work-related trauma.

You count the seconds till he walks away.

One. Two. Three.

Four is cut short because instead of doing what he should have done and left, he places a hesitant hand at the base of your neck, between your shoulder blades.

"Hey, you ok?"

Easy, noncommittal words, but something in you cracks. You don't know what it is—maybe it's because it's late and you're running on nothing, maybe it's because you can't remember the last time a hand was so warm.

And so, against your better judgment, you lift your streaky, raccoon-eyed face (definitely didn't use waterproof today) from your hands to look at the same eyes you looked at not more than a month ago and swore at.

You're glad you have no idea what you look like, because it's bad enough that all the corners of Seungcheol's face fall.

"Whoa," he breathes.

Now he'll know when to leave me alone, you think, but then that hand slides to your shoulder and his expression becomes impossibly soft and what you thought was confusion, pity even, dips into affection, stinging and raw.

"Listen, I—," he clears his throat nervously. Perhaps he's running through his repertoire of Wikihow phrases to say to a sad person, but you, inexplicably, don't believe that. "I don't know what's going on, but if you, you know, ever needed to talk…" Then he points to himself because that's probably the longest he's gone without attempting to tell a joke.

You're two and a half shaky breaths into this conversation, and the likelihood you will start crying has not changed. If anything, the odds have gotten much worse because the stubbornness of Seungcheol's expression is fooling you into thinking he actually cares. The illusion is comforting—after all the fighting and sabotage and inconveniences, he's still made space for you. That, or he's keeping his enemies close.

Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop.

Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol.

You'll blame your sorry state of mind for what you're about to do because you can't really cope with any other explanation. That's a tomorrow problem.

Today, you trust Seungcheol. Today, you tell him not everything, but enough.

"Forgive yourself," he says. And before you protest and tell him, through the waves of tears and snot and lightheadedness, that your heart has yet to catch up to the rest of you, he interrupts you before you even start. "I get it. Just try."

You’re all too familiar with his sugar-floss, candy-coated platitudes that make everything seem so simple, but he looks you in the eye, or somewhere even deeper than that, with so much belief, it's contagious.

The words are ripped out from under you. All you can do is what you wanted to do in the first place. So you cry, and when Seungcheol takes you into his arms, at first tentatively and then all at once, you cry even harder.

"Is this ok?" he asks, so quietly, you almost don't hear him.

"Yeah, I-I think so."

You let him hold you, and all the noise and the heat and the static fades into a hum. His chin finds the top of your head and you let him do that too.

Neither of you say anything more. You don't need to.

All that matters is the welcome sound of someone else's heartbeat, a kind hand in your hair, and Seungcheol, with none of the charms and boasts and failed, half-baked insults he hides behind.

Just him, and you decide you like this version best.

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The emotional hangover you wake up with rivals that of every vodka-flavored morning you had when you were in college, plus another two shots.

There is nothing worse than the aftermath of a particularly bad episode of oversharing. There's a reason you don't talk about your personal life at all, but something about Seungcheol makes every single thing claw its way back up your throat.

A need to prove yourself. A tiny, whispering hope that if you give a little, you'll get a little in return. Or your pride, the familiar knife you keep wedged into your side. A million excuses rattle around in your head, but nothing will ever take away the fact that it felt good.

Shields down, heart bleeding—never did you think that's how you would find yourself in a state where you actually liked Seungcheol. It felt good to be taken seriously, to say that all the talk about foie gras and peppercorns and microgreens was just tableside service for a great love and an even greater apology. And you'd like to think somewhere between the tears and the linen of his shirt, you were finally understood.

Just try. The words, sun-warmed stones, float in the hollow of your chest. It felt a little more possible, coming out of Seungcheol's mouth, with that dumb, resolute expression of his.

You don't even know if you would do the same for him. If he came to you, rosy-eyed and breakdown-adjacent, would you drop everything and listen to him? Clearly his problems ran deeper than a pretty girl not calling him back, but you had never really cared to listen.

And that's something you'll give Seungcheol credit for—he puts up with you, with everything, really, albeit with clumsy hands and the mask of reluctance.

You roll onto your side to reach for your phone. There's a text from Jeonghan asking if you're still up for grabbing drinks this evening. (Always). You have your final interview at 2. (Thank god).

And no text from Seungcheol. (Damn.)

Somehow this is disappointing, which makes your day that much worse. Maybe the runny mascara wasn't as flattering as you thought.

8 Totally Normal Texts To Send When You're Overthinking.

Not a good headline for a worse situation. Honestly, you shouldn't care, but now you're here, staring at your phone and undecided on if you even want Monday to come or not.

You'll order one (or three) margaritas tonight. You'll ask Jeonghan about his upcoming trip to Seoul. You'll make your favorite overnight oats and you'll go to sleep and Sunday will pass just the same.

You won't think about Seungcheol's arms around you or his head on top of yours or the way he insisted he would drive you to the subway so you didn't have to walk. You almost brushed against his hand on the gear stick and the nearness made you want to throw up.

But you're not thinking about it. You can't. Not without falling in love just a little.

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"Here. Drink."

You set two cups on the table before sitting face-to-face with Seungcheol, who decided to roll up to a coffee date in a somehow flattering polo and slacks.

But it's not a date—you're just talking. It's a meet-up. Not a hangout, which sounds too familiar, and definitely not a date.

Yesterday did not go as planned. Margarita-buzzed and under Jeonghan's terrible influence, you texted Seungcheol. Just to clear up some stuff, you told yourself. Friday night's like a scab, and you just can't help coming back to it.

"So, you're a coffee connoisseur too, huh?" Seungcheol says, tipping his head to the side.

"Not nearly," you reply. "Just wanted to pay for something for once. I'm pretty sure I owe you at least fifty of these."

"I'll hold you to it." He's doing that thing where it's like he stares past you. It's the most impressive eye contact on the planet, and it's making you nervous.

Then the silence, once welcome, becomes awkward—the air turns stiff, clinging to all the things you haven't said yet.

You play chicken with the idea of being an emotionally intelligent person and just talking about what most certainly is on everyone's mind right now. The cup between your hands is burning your palms. Seungcheol smiles.

"I'm—" The exact moment you start, the words crinkle up on your tongue and all the walls come back up again. It's a terrible, inevitable instinct. "I'm sorry. For Friday."

"For…what?" Seungcheol pauses mid-sip to say this. "Also, this coffee is really good."

Arabica, orange, and honey, you want to say. But you can't deflect this time. Somehow Seungcheol has cornered you into this tiny cafe chair with that disarming grin and an overabundance of patience.

"Everything, I guess. You were just trying to leave."

"No, I wasn't." And he laughs, which makes your stomach fold over trying to figure out what there possibly is to laugh at. "I actually liked getting to know you. You…care a lot. And I didn't expect that."

Seungcheol's sincerity staggers you. You could ask what the hell he just meant by all of that, but you decide to take him for his word. You think you've experienced the most honesty from him in the past three days than you have in the entire span of time you've known him, and it almost feels like a privilege.

"Thanks…?"

"Don’t let it go to your head, though," he adds, as if to erase what he just said. "Can't have you walking around the office with a bigger stick in your ass."

"Poetic." You sigh. Once again, the illusion is shattered. You wonder if his kindness has a time limit. "How's your article coming along?"

"Nice try," he replies. "I'm not that easy."

"You're literally the definition of easy."

"Is that a compliment?" There's that challenge in his eyes again, that same look that he gave you outside Wonwoo's office. "You did ask me out on a date, despite saying that you'd rather eat glass. So I guess either there's a half-eaten plate in your trash or you've finally come to your senses."

"This is not a date. Dream on."

"You're right. This isn't a date." He leans forward on his elbows. "Just like our dinner date wasn't a date."

"It wasn't."

"Of course. If it was, I'd be asking stuff like…Where you're from. But I already know—h, e, double hockey—"

"Chicago."

"Same difference."

Your conversation continues as such.

Not a date, but where'd you go to college? Not a date, but do you have a pet? Not a date, but can I walk you home?

You realize your talk in his car two weeks ago involved everything but your pasts, but you suppose neither of you are the type to unwrap old wounds. Sometimes the bandaid is better on, but, in your case, there's really nothing left to tell.

You divulge that you went to Northwestern for journalism. You have a family tabby, and no, you wouldn't mind being walked home.

You also realize before today, you knew less about Seungcheol than you thought, but there's some give to his secrecy. He went to USC because his parents wanted him to. Played football for half of it until he tore his ACL and got adopted by the sports section of the school paper. He even captained the advice column for three semesters—something he wants to return to, but you're happy to tell him you wouldn't trust his advice as far as you could throw him. (What was your alias? Samuel. Sounds kinda like Seungcheol, huh? You say no. He laughs.)

After circling the same park three times, you reach the doorstep of your apartment building. You cycle through some one-liners to end on a high note, but none of them seem quite right.

It's not a date, but you've noticed Seungcheol keeps glancing at your lips, and it almost seems like one.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol asks some stupid question about if coffee could be considered tea, which you start to answer before you are rudely interrupted.

First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.

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The next time you see Seungcheol is in the elevator to the newsroom on Monday.

He sticks his dumb, big arm out of the cabin to hold the door open for you, and his smile bruises your overripe heart.

"Hi," he says, sneaking a glance like a guilty child.

"Hi."

The floor indicators flicker like fireflies, one by one. He sidesteps toward you so that your shoulders touch. You watch the 4 crawl to 5. The air in the cabin is sticky, electric.

And as if taking a great big dive, you kiss him, a fleeting, tender thing that you rolled around in your head for a good thirty minutes earlier this morning—and you never thought the fruit of overthinking could be so sweet.

The elevator dings.

Before the doors open to your floor, Seungcheol slams the close button, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you again.

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You have three reasons to get drunk.

1. It's Friday.

2. You finished your article.

3. You and Seungcheol are no longer mortal enemies, but now you don't know what you are.

(The other day, you both worked late, and he ordered takeout to the office. You sat crosslegged on his desk as he tried to explain what a touchdown was and why he was obsessed with the Steelers. Normally a two hour long conversation about football would be a punishable offense, but that night he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day.)

After Wonwoo's dinner with corporate, he went to the market across the street and picked up a few handles of soju and the fattest bottle of cheap vodka you've ever seen.

You're all getting a raise—you guess the Thai must have worked out well, although Wonwoo must have struck out with Yerim since he's spending his Friday night drinking with you guys instead.

So you get drunk.

Drunk enough to tune out of Jihyo from Sports giving Wonwoo dating advice—riveting, if not for your near double vision—and follow Seungcheol to the staff bathroom.

"Anyone—," you manage. His lips are hot on your neck, and every dizzy neuron in your body seems to be reaching, grasping for him. "Anyone ever tell you that your forearms look really good when you roll up your sleeves?"

"All the time," he replies, and he swallows the laugh right off of your tongue.

"You are so annoying." Your palm finds his heartbeat, and you revel in how it leaps towards your skin every hurried beat. You don't want to think about how many girls came before you, leant back against the bathroom counter just like this, but having a body against yours never felt so good. You guess that's what a three year hiatus will do to you. "Bet you hear that one a lot too, huh?"

"You got that right."

Another kiss, just a nudge of his nose and you're leaning up to him; your lips feel swollen and warm and somehow they still crave the feeling.

"How is it that we still bump noses," you ask, half words, half air. Seungcheol's hands, skin-greedy, skim over the back of your thighs like they're water and find the swell of your ass.

"You make me impatient." Cheshire grin across heart lips and you're toast. "Anyone tell you that you have a great ass?"

"All the time," you squeak out. It's a lie and a half but who cares. His fingers drag under the seam of your underwear and you've never been so thankful you forgot to wear shorts under your dress.

"Need you," he says, lips flush to the skin behind your ear, and your lower half would give out if you weren't propped against the sink.

The idea of Seungcheol on his knees, your thigh hiked over his shoulder, crosses your mind. He'd probably be really good at head, and that makes you dizzier than any ungodly combination of alcohol would. Or would he press you against the mirror, want your skirt pushed to your waist so he could fuck you from behind?

Anticipation tumbles into anxiety into some primordial, horrible shyness because you haven't had sex in years. You feel hot and damp and sweaty and you can't remember if you shaved or not. Plus, you're already seizing in his arms and he hasn't even touched you for real yet.

"H-home," you breathe. "Let's go home."

"Hm?" His hand slows in the dip between your thighs. "You wanna stop? We can stop."

"No, I just…I just thought it would be better if we went home. To…you know."

"Yours or mine?"

"Mine’s closer," you answer after a considerable amount of mental gymnastics trying to figure out if you're both drunk enough to not mind the mess.

You know your apartment and you know your bed and you know where the bathroom is in case you have to pee. There's a box of condoms under the sink. You have an extra toothbrush for him. Less variables to worry about because nothing else has really gone to plan. You watch Seungcheol misbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and all the fondness in your heart feels like a welcome stranger in your body.

How To Ruin The Moment In One Easy Step!

You feel incredibly horny and guilty all at once, but Seungcheol kisses your cheek on the way out and it's like you're able to breathe again.

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It seems that the car ride to your place sucks all the sobriety back into the both of you.

You're lying stomach-down on your bed, Seungcheol against the headboard with his shirt undone. You're in your bra and your still sticky underwear, and somehow, despite being ready to break your three-year spell, you like this much better.

"Imagine if someone needed to piss," Seungcheol groans. "I think we would have gotten fired. Lifestyle would have no editor."

"I honestly think that's why Seungkwan was standing outside for so long."

Upon hearing this, Seungcheol's eyes shoot open. If your phone wasn't charging, you would take a picture. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car, and now, even with all the affection you can muster, you can only describe his hair as broom-adjacent. Einstein-core. How far you've fallen from grace.

"Don't worry, he won't say anything." And as you watch the color return to his face, you add, "Also, it's not that I didn't want to have sex, I just…" you trail off, hoping he'll get it even though you're making no sense.

"No, it was the right call. I wanna do it when we're both sober."

It smooths your frayed-out nerves knowing that none of this was a performance or a test, just two shy, touch-starved people stumbling in the dark.

"Lemme guess—this is just a typical Friday night for you."

"Flattering but no," Seungcheol replies, grinning something stupid. "Do you always spend this much time wondering what I'm doing?"

"No!" His hands, once busy with scrunching up the fabric of your bedsheets, now find yours, and he runs a careful thumb over your knuckles. You notice he has the care-worn hands of a line chef, or maybe even a baker, which is funny because you don't even think the man knows how to turn on an oven. "I dunno. You just seem so experienced. What about all of those other girls?"

He flips your hand over, tracing the creases of your palm.

"Just dates. Nothing serious."

You want to ask—What about us? Are we serious? But you swallow it all down. You watch Seungcheol's eyes, midnight-weary, fall back upon you, and it feels like he's trusted you with something important.

"Don’t get it twisted, though," he adds, before yawning big and wide without covering his mouth. "I'm a loser, not a virgin. Definitely not."

You bite back a laugh. Killer journalist bio, but that's something to pitch next content meeting.

"Definitely a loser. I think you make me a loser by association."

"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back."

"Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."

"Say less," Seungcheol says. "I’ll blow your back out another day. Save the date." Between your almost audible gulp and his unfortunately attractive physique, you almost forget the place you're in-between.

Did everyone fit into his arms? Did he lift a hand for just anyone? Two silhouettes in the lamplight—was that how every day with him ended? Or just you, the only other person competing with him for his dream job? The convenient reality scares you.

The thought never seems to cross Seungcheol's mind. His head hits the pillow, and he's out like a light. But not without a not-so-subtle scoot to your side of the bed, near enough that the heat of his skin plays off yours.

You lean into it, liking how your skin buzzes with the closeness.

You're lulled by the sway of Seungcheol's breathing behind you—probably the most quiet he'll ever be. The moonlight oozes into the room; sleep comes over you like water, a slow, gentle wash.

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You can't remember the last time you cooked for two.

You open your fridge, and the hollow insides stare back at you. Rows of condiments and two water bottles. You have finally reached K-drama CEO status.

"Is this the part where I get kicked out?" Seungcheol says, shrugging his shirt back on as he walks out of the bedroom.

"This is the part where I cook breakfast for you."

"Really? You don't have to." He sounds genuinely surprised, which tips your heart a little off-axis.

"I want to," you reply, double checking the fridge as if opening it a second time would repopulate it. "That's what people do when they care about each other."

"Or if they're trying to poison you."

"Will you just let me do something nice for you?" You yank your head out to glare at him, and he looks stung.

"Thanks." He says it after so much pause that you wonder if this is the first time someone has done this for him. You wish you had a better offering, but surely the man with the worst palate in the world could spare his judgment for one meal. "No really, 'cause I am starving."

You let him bask in the rare glory of the unobstructed refrigerator light while you rummage through the pantry for a plan B.

"Holy shit. You live like this?"

"Not always. It's been…a week." All you have is the ramyun Mingyu likes, which feels like a weird, culinary betrayal. But you're hungry, and Seungcheol is eyeing a strange bag in the freezer that you don't even remember putting there. "You good with ramyun?"

"Honestly, I'll eat anything," he whines, gnawing on the ice straight from the freezer drawer.

At least he's self-aware. But he makes all the spaces Mingyu left behind seem a little less empty, and you can't find it in you to be mad at that.

You wait for the water to boil and Seungcheol finds a seat at your tiny dinner table, a misaligned, wobbly product of Mingyu’s inability to read an Ikea manual.

"I'm hoping your week got better?" Seungcheol asks, referring to your capital W week.

You tentatively nod before dropping the noodles in.

"Of course it did—you woke up to me in your bed. Can't get better than that."

"Actually, it's because I finished my article yesterday."

Seungcheol pauses before laughing to himself. "Congrats," he replies, now wiggling the table on its bad leg. "Can't say the same for myself."

you watch the starch-foam wash over the mouth of the pot, precariously close to the edge. You overfilled it, which mildly surprises you until you consider that you're cooking double the food.

There's a stretchy, anxious tumble in your stomach. It's not like you were expecting him to cheer or anything, but it just reminds you that you are, still in fact, competitors. When all of this is said and done, one of you is losing, and from every angle, it seems like quite the death knell for whatever you've got going on now.

It's a pity because you actually kind of like this arrangement. If Seungcheol was in your banged-up flea market chair next Saturday morning, you wouldn't be mad. Maybe you would even make him waffles. From scratch, even.

"What, too many dates to cover?"

He laughs again, somehow to no one in particular. "Something like that."

Past the bruising swell of his smile is the much sharper, more unforgiving edge of an unspoken hurt that you're neither trusted with nor owed, and yet you refuse to drop it. What about me? It feels like you're almost there, wrapped around something bigger, a scoop you can't pull your stubborn teeth out of.

"Is there a reason none of those were serious? Come on."

"What's so wrong with that?" And when you don't say anything, he says, "Trust me, it is never that serious."

His voice ticks up at the end like a teenager trying to play cool and the noodle water boils up around your chopsticks as you try to get your portion cooked through.

You won't—can't—turn to face him. You committed to the line, and now you must see it through, no matter how bad an idea it may be.

"That's not true," you finally squeeze out, finding the right footing for your voice. "It was serious for me. I'm sorry it wasn’t for you."

The table stops rocking.

"I'm glad. Really." He claps his hands together like a cruel punctuation mark, and it's then you remember that the only person as ill-tempered as you happens to be sitting two feet away.

Like an injured animal, your heart wants to cower back into your chest. You knew this was a mistake—this being everything—but an open wound can't help but bleed and your pride can't do without seeing the knife.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is." The pot hisses, astringent and pleading, beneath your fist. "I don't know what happened with your love life, but don't take it out on me."

"You asked."

"Yeah? Well, what is this?" You turn to face him, feeling the air between you tense, pulled like a rubber band. "You can't sit in my kitchen and tell me you don't care about whatever this is."

After all of the terse meetings, elevator spats, and foul-mouthed encounters in the parking lot, you can now recognize the fresh twist of Seungcheol's mouth and the livewire of a temper you've become so familiar with.

"Who said I didn't care? I'm just tired of you trying to lecture me about my life. I—"

"I'm not lecturing you, I just know you can't really believe what you're saying." Every word stumbles out, trembling and doe-legged, barely audible over his attempts to interrupt you. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you were in love with someone. And if you can't, I just feel really fucking sorry for you."

There’s an incredulous look in Seungcheol's eyes. But it's the worse part of you, ruthless and hungry for acceptance, that makes you say, "Maybe the fact that nothing lasts is your fault."

"Oh, really?" Seungcheol's voice, half-laugh with none of the warmth, rips through you. "You're really gonna act like you're better than me? As if you don't write in your pretentious little column every week, just waiting for your ex to read it and decide he wants you back again?"

There’s a red hot flash behind your eyes and everything inside you feels like it breaks at once.

"You know, at least I had someone who cared about me. Can't say the same about your miserable, sorry ass. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Wh—"

he stands up, table croaking underneath his fists, and you realize you've crossed a bridge that can never be uncrossed.

"Get. Out."

It feels like a stitch in you has come undone. The water has long boiled over the pot and there's no joy to be found in watching Seungcheol stumble over his pant legs on the way to the door.

"I didn't want Mingyu. I wanted you."

it's not an apology, nor is it an indictment. You don't know why you say it, and you guess Seungcheol doesn't either. The door slams behind him, and all you're left with is a bloated pot of ramyun you never really wanted anyway.

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Celery. Red wine. Short rib.

If you had one day left on earth, you think you would go grocery shopping. It was like a prayer to you—you could close your eyes and know exactly what aisle had the beef broth, or feel the stone weight of a can of San Marzano tomato paste.

That's one thing you can thank Mingyu for—it's true that you don't love him like you used to, but you refuse to believe that any love worth having is also worth leaving behind.

Fingerling potatoes, the red ones. A Vidalia onion.

You recite your shopping list, slowly, quietly, a rosary.

Baguette is the next item, with a question mark next to it because sometimes your local bakery sells out after 3.

You pass by, expecting to see the shop window cleared out. Instead you see a familiar crown of cowlicked black hair and a horribly well-worn grin that only looks good because it's on Choi Seungcheol's face.

He's paying for a pretty girl's sourdough, and thyme, rosemary gets washed out by a dizzying riptide of heartache.

It was never personal, you tell yourself. Just another date. That's the angle.

You think it hurts a little less, knowing that it all was a business transaction. A long interview.

The thyme is next to the dill. The rosemary is next to the chives, at the end of the shelf.

You watch Seungcheol lean over the tiny cafe table to take a sip of his date's Americano. Did he always laugh like that? Were you really any different?

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Monday feels tilted.

There's the usual gust of cinnamon sugar and cold brew—today's offering from the interns, who have begun to master the art of pressing the elevator buttons with full hands. Wonwoo is wearing his Monday outfit, a wrinkled cream button up under a navy blue sweater vest. Your cubicle is empty, just the way you like it, save for the ass-shaped spot cleared off on the desk edge.

You like days like this, except today you don't and you know exactly why.

"Today's the day," Joshua says, nose buried in a bakery-style muffin, the top pillowing out of the wrapper.

He stares over your shoulder at your article, locked and loaded for submission to copy.

You are not exaggerating when you say you would die for these four thousand words. You ate and cried and argued for them in what you can only describe as the worst literary coliseum of your life, and now their (and your) fate rests in Joshua’s massive Mickey Mouse hands and Wonwoo's bespectacled whimsy.

"Well, don't let me stop you." He laughs and then totters away, sucking a crumb off a finger. Just another Monday.

Your cursor hovers over the SUBMIT button. You've always been a little scared of it—unsurprising, since you're also the type to triple read an email before sending it—but there's a new kind of fear boxed in those little pixels.

Last night, you emptied out your freezer. Stuck on the back wall was a neon green sticky note, behind all the bags. See you when you get home, it said. You laughed and then you cried and then you ripped it up because that's probably what Seungcheol was looking at the morning you chewed him out.

All of that heartache must have been good for something. To say you wasted it on a no-love situationship wouldn't do any of it justice, not when all that's left is most definitely a crude shoutout on Seungcheol's next listicle. If you weren't already getting one earlier, you sure are now.

You wonder what you'll be:

10 Signs She Is Clinically Insane.

It's Not You, It's Them!

Help! My Friend With Benefits Isn't A Friend Or A Benefit!

At least that one is funny, although if it's the winning line, you don't think you can ever show your face in the office again.

The beginning and the end and the muddy in-between. Entrenched in all of it was this article and this job, and you'll be damned if you let your misplaced faith get co-opted by a sweaty-palmed Casanova.

(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.)

You picture the byline with editor tacked next to your name. To run your finger over the ink spackled serif of a paper hot off the press, as if somehow it would radiate the misery you had to endure.

(11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)

There's a sinking feeling in your chest. You close your eyes and hit submit.

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Ask Samuel!

It's 6 PM on a Thursday and if you weren't already on your last thread, you are now. The angry red of the Daily Trojan website glares back at you from your phone as you step into the elevator with none other than your editor-in-chief.

You've resorted to reading Seungcheol's old advice columns. Not because you miss him, but because you want to know if he was ever a competent writer capable of talking about something other than how to score on a second date.

That's the only way he's beating you.

(There's also no way you miss him. The thought would make you laugh out loud if you weren't standing next to your boss).

One column became four became ten. After thirteen you concluded Seungcheol must have sustained a head injury some time before starting his job here—you can find no other explanation for how someone so generous and intuitive could've gotten lost in the chaff of articles with more pictures than words.

"Congrats," Wonwoo says, seemingly speaking into the void.

"Pardon?" You close out a particularly riveting query about estranged childhood friends to look up at him.

"Congrats."

"F-for what?" You get that head rush again, the same one you got a month ago at the Italian restaurant with Jeonghan.

"The job. You got the position." Wonwoo clears his throat calmly, as if he's not delivering the most important news of your life. "I wanted to let you know in person before we sent out Monday’s email."

For once, you have no words. In a wonderful instant, they are all zapped out of your brain. You feel hot and clammy and anxious all at once and you half expect to close your eyes and see either god or the flare of a hospital light, waking you up from an impossible coma.

"Holy shit," the primordial ooze inside you says instead. "T-thank you."

"No need."

"What about Seungcheol? Does he know?"

"I haven't told him yet, but he should be aware." Wonwoo pauses. "He didn't submit anything."

"What?!"

There are only so many surprises your body can handle. You feel like you are being held together by a fast-unraveling string on a poorly made sweater. Your stomach is somewhere in your feet and you don't even know where your heart is. Part of you is waiting for the elevator to stop so the entire office can jump out of the walls and laugh at you.

"I too was surprised," Wonwoo says, now checking his smartwatch for messages. "He must have changed his mind. No matter—I'm confident you will be an excellent fit."

The elevator jerks to a stop at the first floor. You feel boneless, like a can of cranberry sauce.

"Forgive me, I have a dinner appointment." Wonwoo ends the conversation the best way he can—with his trademark parentheses smile and a nod of the head—and leaves you in the elevator cabin alone.

All the times you've dreamed of this moment, you're tear-dizzy, joyous, fumbling with your phone to call your parents.

Instead you stand motionless, waiting, emptied.

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To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants.

When you were five, you pressed your nose to the window of your favorite patisserie and decided this is how your mind works.

You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.

You're not sure what either of you were expecting. A playboy and you, who loves so insistently, almost as if out of spite—there is truly no reality in which it makes sense. The fact that you fought over a literal pot of ramyun only proves this.

And now he's saddled you with the final blow. The position of your dreams with none of the glory because he gave up.

He gave up.

None of this should matter to you.

You're standing outside the office, waiting for your ride to your celebratory dinner (this time, on Jeonghan). The little headline man in your brain is silent for once. Instead, you try to enjoy the breeze, honeyed with late June, and not dwell on the horrible twist in your stomach every time you think about your new position. It's been 24 hours since you found out but it is no less raw.

It's then that you catch Seungcheol, creeping out the double doors of the office like some sort of criminal. You're not sure if it's the plod of his Sasquatch feet or that bag you hate so dearly, but you could recognize that walk from anywhere.

His pace quickens when you turn to face him—he's running away. You won't grant him the satisfaction. Not when he's fucked up what little you had left, and then some.

"You're an idiot, Seungcheol."

That does the trick.

"Funny way of saying hi," he responds, bracing himself on the sidewalk as if you're about to hit him.

"Why didn't you submit anything? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"What does it matter to you? You got the position."

"Look, I—" You shut your eyes, feeling the frenetic ice-cream churn of your brain try to put together a million broken up words. "I'm sorry for Saturday. But I never wanted to scare you off from the job. You deserve it as much as I do, and, as much as I hate to say it, I care about you too fucking much to watch you throw away your shot."

Saying the words is like cutting something loose from your chest, a million strings coming undone.

Seungcheol takes a deep, unsteady breath. You watch the crest and fall of his shoulders and the inescapable tar pits he calls eyes get big and shiny.

"No, I—" He pulls himself from your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that to you. And I should have never treated you like that."

The silence between you ripples, as if after a long rain.

"I was scared. A long time ago, I threw myself into a relationship. I thought we had something really, really good, and then I found out she was also seeing someone else."

Being right never felt so bad. It's even worse that something you would look forward to—the I told you so, the jokes really write themselves—no longer holds any satisfaction, only a sense of loss and a terrible urge to make it right again.

"And it's not right, but I decided that it was a mistake to take chances like that again. And it was fine, fun even, going on all of these casual dates and getting paid for it. Then you just had to mess it up."

"H-how?"

"You were so dead-set on convincing me otherwise. You wouldn't let it go, not with your weird sayings and the way you talked about your ex and when you told me you were making me breakfast. I started believing you, and it really fucking scared me."

There's a sharp pain in your head. It feels like, at once, you were skinned like a fruit. Like the interlude between dream and waking, all the sheets of sleep yanked from your person.

"What…what about the article?" you ask, scrambling. You don't really want to contend with what he just told you. You don't think you can.

"You deserved it more. And you really love what you do. I used to think it was all bullshit, but I was wrong."

You take a hard swallow. The image of Seungcheol, head bowed, a nervous hand on the back of his neck, swims in front of your eyes.

"Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore," he laughs, mirthless.

"No, wait," you say. "I-I also…never took you seriously, not even when I should've. You know, I read your advice columns. Crazy, I know."

"I do have to say that is one of your more insane claims."

"No, I thought, they were actually, you know…really good." You watch him blink, mouth already twisting up as he fights a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I think we messed up. In a lot of ways. But I want to be friends again. Or at least not enemies."

Seungcheol takes a long pause before he sticks his hand out.

"Choi Seungcheol. Writer. It's nice to meet you."

Some force, as if you had always been connected, pulls your skin to his. You shake his hand for the very first time, and starting over never felt so good.

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"You're booking Eleven Madison for the office dinner again, right?"

Wonwoo pops his head into your office, his Monday uniform now festive with a holiday tie. Today, it's snowmen with glasses.

"Naturally," you reply. "Unless you have plans on that Friday."

You're referring to last week, when Wonwoo took a call in the middle of a staff meeting and revealed that yes, he would most definitely be available for drinks with Yerim that evening. He ended the meeting thirty short seconds later, and you think you saw him skip to the elevator.

He laughs, deep and caramel. "Not this time. Also—don't forget to review those job applications. Sent them to your email."

Before you can tease him again, he leaves, and you are forced to look at your teeming inbox, the only unfortunate side effect of your new position. But you've never been happier, and a hundred new unread emails never seemed so wonderful. The first time Jeonghan saw you in your new office, you were so giddy he thought you were coming down with something.

You take a hefty sip of today's coffee (ginger, molasses, cinnamon). On the side of the cup, the one you keep facing away from the door, reads SEUNGCHEOL and OAT, in loopy marker letters.

After you shook hands in the parking lot, you agreed to take it slow. You thought bringing everything to a simmer would cure you of your affection, but it wasn't even a month before Seungcheol was back in that same seat in your kitchen, eating the blueberry waffles you promised him.

But if slow meant long phone calls and the nervous twine of your hands after an ice cream date, then you think you like slow. You could do slow for a while.

He's taken to bringing you coffee in the morning. He claims it's your editorial right, but you think he just likes having an excuse to barge into your office. (And close the door behind him. And kiss you. But that's aside the point.)

Plus, Seungcheol's had plenty of legitimate reasons to be in your office. The newest one is the launch of Ask Sunny! , which you think is the best idea he's had since deciding to get you coffee every day. He spent the last few days campaigning to reuse his old alias, but you're pretty sure he was just looking for reasons to argue with you.

"Afternoon, boss."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You always seem to learn the hard way with Seungcheol.

He swaggers in, ear-to-ear smile on his face, before taking a seat at the designated corner of your table.

"I think I like this desk better," he says, folding at the waist so he can lean close to you. Instead of reminding him it's the same desk, you just choose to make space for him, you let him press his nose to yours.

"Friendly reminder we're at work."

"Everyone's at lunch, genius."

He interrupts you with just a touch of his lips, which should be considered no less than a war crime by now.

"You are the worst."

"Not what you said last night. Not even close." He places another wet kiss on your nose before sliding off the table edge to his feet. There's a horrible warmth in his eyes as he watches you very clearly remember what exactly he's referring to. (A wandering hand. A cherry. Dark hair, wound through your fingers). "Anyway, I've got serious problems to solve. Or should I say Sunny? I still think we should have gone with Samuel."

"Executive decision," you tease. "Now if you don't need anything, scram. Out of my office."

"Just wanted to remind you I made reservations for us at Avra today," Seungcheol says, lingering in the doorframe with the shit-eating grin he tends to sport nowadays. "I'll even let you order."

There's no fighting the familiar bloom of laughter in your chest. It boils up, sparkling and citrusy, as you roll your eyes and watch Seungcheol return to his desk no less starry-eyed than how he walked in.

If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them.

You open the email at the top of your inbox: Seungcheol's last draft of the article he never published. You urged him to let you consider it for the next issue, and he finally caved (although you're learning that he really doesn't take much convincing when it comes to you).

Eat, Play, Love: A Guide.

Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.

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