#europeans i count with you all to not leave me hanging

[delicatepointofview]

HARRY & BELL Through the years: 2017 — 2018 — 2019 — 2023

[vettelsdarling]

So the reader and Carlos Sainz Jr. has been best friends and eventually lovers in a secret relationship. (Secret cuz privacy, duh) All was well when Carlos was in f2 but now in f1…Carlos is being crazily shipped by fans with another who’s not reader and it is getting into reader’s mind. Carlos is oblivious?? or naive?? or straight up like “it’s the fans babez ignore them.” Meanwhile, every time the reader and Carlos hang out(which is actually a date), the fans always revert back to “aww they are such cute bestFRIENDS” plz angst angst draw it OUT. I want the gut-wrenching, chest clutching ANGST babez. <3 (+Your creativity shall flourish~~)

Am I Yours?

Lissie note… I LOVE this prompt. It leaves as much angst as possible up to interpretation. This is really like letting the genie out of the bottle. Great idea!

Few things to note:

Reader is a PR assistant manager

Reader is only a year younger than Carlos

Reader is being delusional for the most part

“Amanda Higgins” is made up by me

Present time is not the 2023 season

This both does and doesn’t follow a specific timeline, so the races are not going to be in order.

This might get re-written or updated, as I was feeling under the weather whilst writing it!

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x PR!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, oblivious and kind of insensitive Carlos, delusional reader

Word Count: 5.2k+

“I just wanna be yours…”

Back story

2012-2013

You were a sucker for Motorsports. Growing up with a father who was an engineer for Red Bull, you frequently joined him whenever school would allow it. Although the window of opportunity was small, you always begged your father to bring you along.

From expensive hotels to business class; you were living any 17-year-old’s dream. A life of constant travel. Your father had agreed to let you transfer to do online schooling, rather than going to an actual high school. You only had a year left anyway. With that new lifestyle, nothing held you back from coming to every race weekend.

You aspired to become a journalist and a news reporter. Specifically a sports reporter for Formula One. All you ever did was study. You ensured only the best of the best. Your grades never changed and your GPA never budged from a 4.8. So when you finally decided to get more into the Formula world, you decided you’d start in FIA European Formula 3. You wanted more experience before moving on to reporting on Formula One. Although you were still in high school, any experience was good enough for you. Your father somehow made the necessary connections to let you observe the European F3 races.

My god, did you love it. One driver, in particular, had caught your eye. One Carlos Sainz Jr. His style and his methodical approach to driving were more than just captivating. He was merely a year older than you and had already achieved such great things in life. It was incredible.

Meeting him was even better than just observing him swerve around the tracks. He was kind, helped you with your questions, and was able to calm your nerves.

In the beginning, your friendship with him was fairly simple. He texted you every now and then, and you’d come to all his races. The two of you were both on busy schedules, and it was hard to make things work. However, things were subject to change when you started feeling things. Things that you’d never felt before. Racing heart, shortness of breath— it wasn’t the feeling of being starstruck. No, you were completely, utterly, and foolishly in love with the Spaniard.

During mock interviews he’d help you with, your throat would begin to tighten up and you’d more often than not go for several bathroom breaks. All to calm your heart, so that it wouldn’t beat out of your chest. The way his voice wrapped around every little word he spoke. It was velvety and smooth. Much like his driving. You’d be damned if you didn’t confront him.

So confronting him was exactly what you did. One weekend after the race, you’d asked to speak in private. He’d been generous enough to skip his plans to talk to you. Upon revealing your feelings to him, he was surprised, to say the least. Ecstatic was the following emotion that washed away the wide eyes on his chiselled face.

He only popped the question after you’d graduated from high school. To be more exact, he had offered to drive you to the campus of your college. The car ride consisted of slow tunes and his sweet humming. You never expected to hear him ask you to be his. He explained how he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t ask, but there was no explanation needed. You were just as into him, as he was into you.

Was that going to last forever, though?

2015-2017

It had 3 years since you first entered college. Your hard work had been paying off, especially seeing as you were offered an internship at Red Bull Racing. They wanted you in their PR department. Although it wasn’t exactly your forté, you figured it was the deal of a lifetime. You’d get to see your father more often, and you’d see him more often as well.

Carlos was fresh meat in Formula 1 and had been signed with Toro Rosso for the season. He was racing alongside Max Verstappen. A young Dutchman, who broke the record for the youngest driver to compete in the history of Formula One. It was quite impressive, really.

Due to your boyfriend’s position, you were able to see him every now and then. Your boss would make exceptions and would even let you manage him for some time. Given, he did not know your connection to Sainz. Carlos wanted to keep it secret, which you agreed was for the best. With so many fans and people watching all over the world— there was no telling what a dating rumour would stir.

However, despite your best efforts— dating rumours and shipping eventually made their way through the Formula One fandom. It wasn’t exactly what you expected though. It was much worse than that.

“Oh my god, he’s totally blushing at her,” you read aloud. Carlos was sitting in front of you in your shared hotel room. He was at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“Oh wait, here’s another one: Carlos and Amanda are so cute together. I’m here for it.” Your heart was so heavy and your head was swimming in a clouded rage. You weren’t sure if it’d be morally wrong to keep going.

“Corazón—“

“Don’t you ‘Corazón’ me, Carlos,” you spat and scrolled further down the comment section. It was a post that he’d posted of him and the presenter for Formula One. You weren’t usually the jealous and unreasonable type, but it eventually got to you. The way his arm was slung around her waist whilst he smiled at her and looked into her eyes… it was too much for you. The comments only egged on that feeling of despair.

“You know they’re just fans, right? It’s nothing, cariño.” He wasn’t seeing what you were seeing. He couldn’t see how the presenter relished in his touch. Anyone in the comments could see it, so why couldn’t he? You were spiralling. Was he putting up an act on purpose?

“I don’t know…” you sighed and put your phone away. The Spaniard took this as his opportunity to get up and cup your cheeks with his warm hands. The same hands he had on her.

“How about we go out tonight? I’m tired of room service. We can go anywhere you’d like.” You hated the look on his face. It was nothing but pity, but there was little to no energy left in you. Though you wanted to, you were too tired to say no or get too heated.

“Fine…”

It turned out to only add to your anxiety.

As the two of you were seated, waiting for your food to arrive, a fan came over with a giddy spirit. You didn’t mind at all, actually, it was nice to see how much people adored him. All you wanted was to support him in his endeavours. He’d do the same for you, right?

“I’m such a big fan, could you please sign this?” She seemed innocent enough, just wanting an autograph. Harmless. Or so you thought.

“Why isn’t Amanda with you?” Your heart dropped. All week, you’d tried to stay positive. You’d tried to stay calm and rational, but any sense of control was starting to slip. The grip you had on your sense of reality was starting to wither. As long as Carlos defended you, everything would be fine. Your worries would be dampened.

“Ah, no. She’s probably busy.” It didn’t quite sink in until the fan left, satisfied with an answer. You contemplated getting up and leaving, or staying and acting as if everything was okay. Your own boyfriend teased dating rumours with someone else. You couldn’t believe it. Was this really how you were going to live your life?

Present

It had been a year since Carlos and the presenter had started to stir dating rumours. That’s not to say it got better from there. It only worsened. You’d graduated from college, and was a full-time employee and PR assistant manager. You were mostly in charge of Carlos, though you didn’t want to be. Sure, the two of you had been dating for a long time, but the fact that fans had branded you as ‘the other woman’ made you want to drown yourself in a Pinot.

Carlos was still refusing to go public with your relationship. Though you agreed in the beginning, you certainly didn’t anymore. You wanted the truth to be out in the open. All you wanted was for the fans to leave Amanda behind. It almost felt as if your own boyfriend couldn’t care less about you or your feelings. God did it just hurt.

You were walking beside Carlos on the pit lane, taking statements here and there like any other weekend. Except, a man in his early 20s came up with a microphone in Carlos’ face, asking him about the dating rumours between him and the presenter. Although he never admitted to anything, he never denied anything either.

“I think fans like a love story. That’s all, no?” His silly little smile and chuckle would usually lighten any mood, but your heart broke with every little sound escaping from his lips.

Jealousy was a foul beast, but you couldn’t help fostering it deep within you. It tugged at your heart, trying to claw its way into your aorta. You’d really done everything you could to support him, but the relationship felt so empty.

“What kind of response was that?” You whisper-yelled, as the two of you walked into the Toro Rosso motorhome. He closed the door behind him and took a seat in one of the leather chairs displayed in front of a flatscreen.

“What do you mean? You’re the one who keeps telling me to keep all private details of my life private.” He got you there. It felt like you were arguing with a wall. He just couldn’t see what you were seeing. He couldn’t hear the rumours you’d heard. He couldn’t feel the ache that was forming in your gut.

“Carlos… I’m your girlfriend.” That was all you said. His face was that of a puzzled one. You’d stayed quiet for too long about everything. You wanted him to understand. To know what he was doing to you.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, cariño.” His cluelessness was like gasoline to the fire you were beginning to light.

You could care less about being petty. You pulled out your phone and started reading several articles and headlines out loud for him. You wanted every bit of your reality to seep into the pores of his skin. You wanted him to feel guilty.

“Who is the other woman Carlos Sainz is cosying up with? Amanda Higgins has yet to make a statement.” Carlos didn’t even have the guts to look at you. He was dead silent.

“I mean, do you see this insanity? Why are you supporting this, when all I’ve ever done is stand by your side?!” Though emotions were running high, every little nerve in your body told you not to cry.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, princesa, I have not done anything wrong!” His defence was weaker than a three-year-old trying to spoon-feed itself.

“Carlos, can’t you fucking see what you’re doing to me? I’m ‘the other woman’ in the public’s eyes! I have spent nights crying myself to sleep. I keep thinking, maybe one day you might actually leave me… for her.” You leaned against the counter behind you. Carlos stayed seated, watching as your face contorted with anger. You were desperately holding back those salty drops of sadness.

“You know that I love you, isn’t that enough?”

“—but do I really? Right now, I don’t even know if you’re lying. I don’t know if you’re just telling me this because it’ll make me feel better. Even so, it’s not enough. It just isn’t.” A sigh left your lips, and you looked at your hands fiddling with your phone for comfort.

“You’re being unreasonable now. Of course, I love you—”

“But love isn’t enough, Carlos! I need your support. I need you to shut down the rumours! I need you to tell me all of these things. I don’t want to be yours, I need to be yours.” It was a sob party now. Your eyes stung from the mascara you’d put on earlier that morning. Carlos had yet to show much emotion other than distress. Reasonable, but not enough.

“Why shouldn’t I just give the fans what they want? You keep reminding me to keep them at bay, right?” Once again, he’d somehow found a way to completely skip over your feelings.

“Because it’s hurting me! Day and night I dread the next headline! ‘Carlos and his PR assistant are such great friends!’, “Red Bull PR assistant; an insight into Carlos Sainz’ best friend’, I mean, when will it stop?!” Yelling wasn’t productive, but neither was avoiding the subject. If Carlos refused to care, why did you still hold on so tightly? Why couldn’t you let go like him?

“Cariño…”

“No, Carlos. No pet names. I’m done. We’re done. Call me when you have the heart to do something about all of this. Otherwise, don’t contact me. I’m asking to get assigned to Max.” The heartbreak in his eyes was nothing compared to what you were feeling. Your eyes only met him for a moment, but you could already tell that he couldn’t get his words out. It caused a scoff to leave your mouth before you left the motorhome.

It took some time and much convincing to be put in charge of Max. Much to your pleasure, he was rather easy to deal with. He knew all the right things to say and knew when to deviate from uncomfortable subjects. You knew from your years of experience in journaling, that the media would sink its petty little claws into anything. Max was surprisingly skilled in staying out of the big bird’s clutches.

Carlos followed your orders. Almost too well. A week had gone by, and he had yet to shoot you a message or asked you to meet up. Max tried to sympathize with you, but there was only so much a teenager could do. Besides, he had his father to deal with. Burdening the poor soul with your troubles was the last thing you wanted.

Travelling had become boring. It used to be you and Carlos exploring the cities you were in for the race. Now it was merely you sipping expensive Cabernet. It was self-torture. You would often scroll through the sea of headlines and comments about the media’s “IT ship”, and it was starting to drown you slowly.

You were being eaten by a dark matter of doubt, guilt, and self-hatred. Maybe, you thought, maybe you were the problem? Maybe you’d pushed it too far? Was it really your place to lash out over petty rumours?

The more time passed, the more insane and irrational you were becoming. Max was reasonably worried about you, as you’d started to look pale and the bags under your eyes were heavier than his carry-on. The team noted that they were willing to give you paid leave, as they noticed your declining physical state.

You were there, but you weren’t. You lived in the world of Amanda and Carlos. Everything was upside down. Your boyfriend had the presenter clinging onto his arm, your Carlos had Amanda Higgins on his lap, and your life was wrapped around a woman. A woman that wasn’t you. No, you were the other woman. The one who let jealousy eat away at her spindly little feet. The ones that’d been carrying her delusions of a relationship with the Spaniard.

Everywhere you walked, they were there too. Wrapped around each other in pure bliss with fans cheering them on. All the whilst you had to watch from the sidelines. You were just the average PR assistant manager. You weren’t famous like she was. The media was eating the perfect love story up like piranhas exposed to fresh blood.

You wanted to tell someone about your situation, but you knew that it wouldn’t be received well. No matter who you were to tell it to. That was the real torture of it all. Carlos was in a position where he could deny ever making any unprofessional contact with you. Was he that kind of person? Did you even know who he was?

He was another woman’s man… was he not?

Eventually, a couple of months passed without so much as a text. You’d worked yourself tirelessly and to the brink of insanity— if you hadn’t gone over the bend yet, that is. Carlos hadn’t even looked in your direction.

Except that wasn’t true.

Carlos’ reality of the situation was far different from yours. He couldn’t see the problem with his fans and the fandom surrounding Formula One. He’d seen it happen to many other drivers, so he couldn’t understand why you’d be so opposed to it. He truly believed his unconditional love for you was enough. Except it apparently wasn’t.

His chest felt heavy every time you spoke of Amanda. The lady had practically forced herself to be thrust into the hands of the media with him. She was relentless. The Spaniard had no choice but to oblige so that he wouldn’t be subject to a smear campaign.

Yes, he’d been listening to you. All of your lessons. All of your endless boring talks of how to handle the public. He listened to every little detail that left those pouty, pretty lips of yours. In fact, he relished listening to the soft tone of your voice. He loved when it went up an octave if you praised him for his efforts. One might even argue you were the one who kept him going. Your validation meant the world to him.

He only wanted to reciprocate all the hard work you’d done for him. The post of the presenter and him was merely a feeble attempt at writing your name in the sun, except the shade came all too soon.

So when you confronted him about the media, he couldn’t understand why you were so riled up about it. In his eyes, he’d become a loving heartthrob. Essentially, the goal of PR. You weren’t supposed to bring hell on earth, you were supposed to tell him how great he was doing.

The way you questioned his love and devotion to you stung like a stake in the heart of a vampire. He could feel his throat closing up. He couldn’t get the right words out. Any defence he had was like acid burning the sides of his throat, forever stuck there.

He despised Amanda, but he knew what would happen if he started acting aloof and indifferent. He’d be ruined. His image— tarnished for the whole world to see.

When you told him not to contact you, he couldn’t help but feel a growing pit in his stomach. He felt as if the fame had gotten to his head. Had it? Was he really that hungry for the love of his fans rather than his beloved girlfriend? Was he really chasing adoration from fans rather than from his girlfriend?

Carlos was too ashamed— too guilt-ridden to say anything to you. On the days he promised himself to step up, you weren’t in sight. On the days you walked around in all your glory, his had sunken to the bottom of the sea of self-hatred he harboured for himself.

Admittedly, your impatience was starting to show. Carlos would notice the small glances you’d shoot him. It gave him hope, but he was too afraid. He was afraid of hurting you. Though he desperately wanted to salvage whatever the public had desiccated from your romance, he couldn’t find it in him to simply walk up to you.

What made matters worse, was that Amanda didn’t seem to back off either. She continued egging the reporters on. She teased the fantastical relationship between her and the Toro Rosso driver. There was no remorse to be seen on her face. No, she was deep in denial. If that was what it was. She certainly didn’t accept the fact that Carlos was potentially spoken for.

Your reality was like a grey-scale filter. Everything was dark and gloomy. It was hard to see the point of working in the same vicinity as your boyfriend. You’d let your delusions spin so far out— you almost didn’t believe Carlos ever was yours. He was never your friend. You expected too much. You were a nobody, and he was a star.

“You should really talk to Carlos. Not just stand there and yell, but actually talk to him,” you told yourself in the mirror. It was harder to convince yourself to do so than to convince yourself that he’d never even met you.

“Did I walk in on something I shouldn’t have?” Your heart dropped. There was a slight buzz in your ear, as you computed what was going on. You recognized that accent all too well. That smooth, velvety voice. The one that you’d fallen for all those years ago. Oh, and when you turned around. You saw those docile eyes. The eyes you had no problem falling asleep to. The eyes that always reassured your safety.

“Carlos.” The motorhome was empty besides you and him. The weather was horrendous, but the soft pattering of the rain made the ambience comfortable. Carlos came closer. You were sitting in one of the leather chairs. Everything about the situation was giving you major deja vu.

“I had a lot of time to think about what I would—“ You didn’t want to hear his sob story. There was one thing you wanted to know. One thing you needed to hear him say.

“Am I yours?” You gave him a chance to answer this time. You needed to hear him say it. You wanted him to say the words. He never got to say it though. The door to the motorhome burst open, and you saw Max looking at you with a frantic expression.

“Max? Are you alright? You don’t look too well.” Carlos watched as you rushed to his teammate’s side. An external force tugged at his heart, seeing you be so worried about the Dutch driver.

“I just don’t have a ride home. My father stranded me here. You have a car, right? Can you drive me, please?” Max seemed really desperate. Seeing as how his father didn’t even have the heart to stay and watch him race, you felt too bad to say no.

“Of course, I’ll drive you, Max. I’ll grab my keys and you can just wait by the grey Golf outside.” He left in a hurry and you grabbed your keys, giving your boyfriend a last glance before heading out. Getting an answer was less important than getting a teenager home. Having grown up with a functional family, you felt a sense of pity whenever you saw Max alone. His father obviously believed in tough love, no matter the consequences to his son’s mental health.

“What is the deal with you and Sainz?” Max asked as the two of you got in. It felt wrong to lay your burdens onto the teen, so you decided to shrug it off as nothing; saying,

“He just had some questions to ask regarding the upcoming appearance on the big scene. You know, just some jitters before tomorrow.” It was a completely plausible and valid lie, which seemed to work.

“Oh, I see… but why couldn’t he have his own coach answer?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions, Max…” He rolled his eyes and sighed, as he leaned against the window. Lucky for you, your million-dollar idea of turning out the awkward silence with music paid off. Max didn’t seem to mind your taste and would even tap his shoes against the fuzzy floor of the car at times.

After Max thanked you for the ride and went inside his designated hotel, you drove straight to the hotel you were staying at. It wasn’t anything fancy like you used to stay at with Carlos. After putting a damper on your relationship, you decided to stay as far away from him as possible. It was very plausibly your own delusions feeding you the idea, but there were no take-backs.

You stepped into a cold shower, washing away all of your distress from earlier. With every cold drop, you felt pieces of your rationality come back to you. You knew there’d have to be a talk after the next sunrise, but thinking about it made your body ache. It clenched your nerves together tightly.

You got into your silk nightgown, finished your night routine, and threw yourself on the queen-sized bed. It was no king-sized bed like it was with your love, but it sufficed. The pillows were nothing against his warm embrace. The bed felt empty. It felt like the cold clutches of nothingness were holding you impossibly close. It felt as if your head barely peaked above a massive flood. Your throat felt stuffy. Your eyes were pricked with tears. Though you’d promised yourself on multiple occasions that you wouldn’t cry, the thought of Carlos missing by your side cued the waterworks.

Going through your phone and scrolling through the many pictures that fans had taken of your boyfriend with the presenter… It only made things worse. Anything the shower had done for you was quickly reverted back to the way it was before. It hit you like a wild hurricane, sweeping away anything in its way.

Eventually, you ended up crying yourself to sleep. The following morning made you realize that fact, as your eyes were swollen and red. You knew you only had so much time to get ready and get to the big stage. You weren’t going to get up there, luckily, but you still had to debrief Max.

Your makeup job covered most of your swelling, but it was noticeable up close. You didn’t have much time to think about it though, and you had to leave to not be late.

Upon arriving, you saw Max talking to Carlos. Something you hadn’t really seen before. Sure, they spoke to each other on rare occasions, but they were usually kind of stand-off-ish about each other. You swiftly pulled the Dutchman aside to do a quick rundown of appropriate behaviour and vibe on the stage. He seemed somewhat aloof but present. You ignored it and hoped that he’d just make your job easier by doing as he was told.

Amanda was on the stage, looking over the flock of fans. Many of them were holding up signs shipping her and Sainz together. Every sign you saw was like a splinter to puncture your lungs. It stung badly. The ditzy presenter announced Carlos and Max to the stage, and you saw them wave happily to the roaring crowd.

“The stage is yours,” Amanda said and handed a microphone to Max and one for the Spaniard as well.

“Actually, the stage is his.” Max pointed at his teammate with his microphone. You were utterly confused. What was Max thinking? You were starting to second-guess your own abilities to debrief someone at that age.

“Thank you, Max, um…” he hesitated. The crowd went silent to hear him talk, as he looked to be quite nervous.

“I have something important to say before the race, and I think this is one of those times you can’t let the opportunity slip.” There was a strange feeling growing inside your chest. A thousand butterflies had taken up residency within the comfort of your rib cage.

“Firstly, I have to make one thing clear. I know many people think otherwise, but Amanda and I are not and have never been in a romantic relationship. Our relationship is purely platonic.” You heard disappointed sighs from the crowd, but some gasped with delight. Of course, there were always some fans who loved it when drivers weren’t taken, but what Carlos said next… was more than just shocking,

“In fact, I have been hopelessly in love with who I consider my first and last love for years now. She knows who she is, and I would actually like for her to step onto the stage, please.” Your heart dropped. Your stomach dropped. Your ears started ringing. The guts Carlos had to reveal that in front of thousands— if not millions of people… you couldn’t believe it.

You slowly waltzed up the stairs to the stage and felt your heart pump blood out as if it was sped up mechanically. Max gave you a curt but sweet smile, as you walked up next to his teammate.

“Hi…” you mumbled. He pulled you close to him by your waist and showed you off like a championship trophy. In some reality, that was what you were in his eyes. His very own trophy.

There was some irony to the situation. You were a PR assistant manager, yet you couldn’t handle the stage. You saw the many peering eyes and the judgemental looks of jealous teenage girls.

“This is my beautiful girlfriend. We’ve been together since my days in European Formula 3.” The crowd had mixed emotions, but many managed an “aww”. You simply let Carlos do all the talking because you were frozen. Everything felt so unreal.

“Mi reina,” his voice was shaky as he turned to face you,

“Yesterday you asked me something I’ve been wanting to give you an answer to for as long as I can remember. I know that we’ve gone through so much lately, and I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you. My angel, my princess, you are the love of my life. You are the reason I stand here so proud today. You asked me, ‘Am I yours?’ To this, I say, you tell me.” Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull as you saw your boyfriend ease down on one knee. From his back pocket, he pulled out a gorgeous diamond ring. The crying you’d done during your break was a puddle compared to the waterfall that spilt from your eyes.

Everyone was dead silent and waiting eagerly for your answer.

“I am. I am yours,” you choked out through your tears. The crowd went wild, people were cheering and throwing whatever merchandise they had on them on the stage. The Spaniard pulled you in for a sweet and long-lasting kiss. All the delusions, all the doubts, all the distrust— it melted away with the embrace of who you’d be spending the rest of your life with. You couldn’t wait for the future. Pulling away from the kids, you saw that same hopeful look in your lover's eyes, that you fell in love with all those years ago. His smile was so genuine. Everything about him was genuine. You took a moment to admire the rock on your ring finger. It suited you perfectly. All that was left was the wedding and the rest of your lives.

You were his and he was yours.

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

©vettelsdarling

𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗽𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺— 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻.

[harrysfinelinevol1]

palm trees and kiwis pt.2

harry styles x singer!reader

summary: harry meets you at coachella after watching your set backstage. you both acknowledge the element of lust between you but after acting on it you wonder if it's a bit more than that

warnings: smut

word count: 9.2k

part 1

-

"Where the hell have you been," your brother asked, raising an eyebrow at you as you entered the kitchen.

"Nowhere," you teased as you reached into the fridge to get some yoghurt.

"Liar, that's not your jumper. Also, I refuse to believe you've been at an afterparty since 11 last night until 11 this morning," he retorted and you shrugged.

"These Coachella parties are crazy," you lied and he chuckled. 

"Oh give it up Goose, I'm not dumb. I saw Harry outside the house and I'm not sure that friends kiss each other goodbye," he said and you flushed red. 

"Fuck off," you mumbled as you spooned yoghurt into your mouth.

"I won't pester you, mostly because I don't really want to know what you and Harry got up to, but you look happy with him Goose," he told you but you shook your head at him.

"Don't do that. I'm not going to see him again for a while. I'm not getting into that right now, not before the tour," you trailed off.

"You don't seem that pleased about that," he analysed and you glared at him, annoyed he could read you so well.

"Can we leave it?" you pleaded and he nodded, understanding you didn't want to be pushed on it.

"As long as he treated you right," he said and you nodded, knowing no other man had treated you better than Harry had. 

"Anyway now your interrogation is over, it's my turn," you grinned turning to him and he groaned. "Come on Zep, spill," you demanded brandishing your spoon at him.

"I guess me and Holly are sorta going out," he revealed, blushing madly, and you squealed happily. 

"Oh my god! I'm so happy for you both!" you jumped up to wrap him in a big hug. He laughed and wrapped his arms around you.

"Thanks, Goose. Um, I was going to meet her for lunch today, but I can totally stay if you need any help packing," he told you but you shook your head.

"No, no, go. I'll be absolutely fine, please go have lunch with her," you demanded, even though you were a bit sad you couldn't have your final lunch in California with your brother.

"Thank you. Anyway how... oh my god," he muttered and you pulled back from the hug, seeing his wide eyes.

"What, what's happened?" you looked around confused.

"I'm gonna kill him," he growled out still staring at you. 

"Kill who Zep? You're not making any sense," you asked becoming worried now.

"What has he done to your fucking neck," he seethed and your eyes widened, realising he must have seen the state of your neck when he was hugging you. 

"Ok nice talking to you, bye Zep," you said as you dashed out of the kitchen, face bright red from embarrassment.

"Fucking savages," he shouted back as you closed to door to your room and you giggled as you pressed your back on the door. You were glad you and your brother were open enough to talk to each other about these things but also there was a level that neither of you was willing to cross. You didn't want him to know the intimate details of your sex life and you didn't want to know the intimate details of his. You sighed as you looked around your room, your brother had bought all your stuff from the trailer and dumped it on your bed and you realised you had a lot to pack.

-

four months later

You were lonely. You felt really fucking lonely. You were four months into your European tour and while the shows had been incredible and you were so thankful for everything you were experiencing you couldn't help the fact that you still felt lonely. 

Your brother had made Holly his girlfriend and while you were so happy for the both of them, it did mean he now spent the majority of his time with her instead of hanging out with you. You didn't want that to change, you were so happy your brother had found his person, but it did mean after shows when you went back to your room you were on your own, your only company being the characters in your favourite tv shows. You had a couple of friends in your band, and sometimes your friends from home would come out to see you but most of the time you were on your own. You had been warned before you started this that touring life was lonely but you always thought that as you had your brother you would at least have someone.

During the time you spent alone you thought a lot about Harry. You texted him sometimes and kept up with him but you'd only seen him once again since Coachella when your tour paths happened to cross. You both ended up in London at the same time however you had only been able to see him for one night and you'd had to leave him early because your brother had ended up getting really drunk and Holly had called you to help him get home. You gave him a right bollocking for that, pissed off that you'd had to leave Harry because he'd got so drunk. 

However, you were going into your last week of tour. One more week and you could go back to New York and take a long break. You hadn't taken a proper break since you had started your music career and you were ready for one. You sighed as you sat on the balcony of the hotel you were staying at in Spain, overlooking the city lights. You sipped the glass of wine you had and continued to scribble down lyrics in your notebook. You got lost in your writing before you heard a commotion below you. Peaking over the side of the balcony, you could see a fair few people had gathered at the entrance of the hotel, all holding cameras. Paparazzi. You furrowed your brow, you knew it couldn't be for you, as you had been left alone hours ago and there was no reason for them to come back. Frowning you watched as more people continued to arrive, all moving around with cameras and microphones. Clearly someone important was about to show up. You shouldn't be surprised really, the hotel you were staying at was well known and often had celebrity guests. 

Invested in this now, you continued to watch the crowd, sipping on your wine as you did. Suddenly a big black car turned down the road of the hotel and the paparazzi began to prepare themselves as the car approached. Lots of people were shouting and running about and you felt bad for whoever was in the car. The car pulled up and you waited with bated breath as a path was cleared for whoever was in the car. Suddenly the shouts became louder and your heart stopped when you realised clearly who was in the car.

"HARRY, OVER HERE,"

"HARRY, HOW'S THE TOUR?"

With wide eyes, you watched Harry fucking Styles quickly get out of the car, shielding his face from the flashing lights. Your heart was in your mouth, you couldn't quite believe he was here, in the same hotel. You saw him manage to get through the waves of paparazzi and into the hotel lobby and you sat on your balcony, breathing hard, not really too sure what to do. You didn't know whether to message him as you hadn't really talked to him in a bit or just leave it. You began biting your nails and you pondered your options but eventually just decided to leave it. Your loneliness of the last couple of months had knocked your self-confidence a bit and you began to think the reason you were on your own so much is that people didn't want to spend time with you. So why would someone like Harry be the one to change that. 

Sighing you looked down at your notebook and closed it, the interruption of Harry having ruined your flow. You knew there was a pool in the hotel somewhere so you decided to go for a swim to take your mind off everything. Changing into a dark blue bikini and putting on a robe, you made your way down to the pool, which was thankfully empty due to the late hour. Shedding your robe, you slipped into the cool water and began swimming up and down, ridding the tension you held in your muscles. You didn't hear the door to the pool open behind you as you ducked your head under the water but you were alarmed by the clattering of objects hitting the floor as you came up for air and you whirled around quickly.

"Y/N?" Harry asked in disbelief and you stared back equally as shocked.

"Hi Harry," you breathed back, not quite believing he was here. To be fair, you were in a public area of the hotel that you both were staying at so you should have been less surprised but it still was a shock to be face to face with him again.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked as he picked up the stuff he had dropped and placing it on a lounge chair.

"Just did my penultimate show last night. Got a couple nights here before my last night in Paris," you explained and tried not to stare as he pulled his top over his head, leaving him in a pair of short black swimming trunks. 

"Ah. Same here, the show's tomorrow night. You should come," he offered and your eyes lit up.

"I'll think about it," you said coyly and he smirked, lowering himself into the pool and coming over to you 

"I'll see you there then," he teased and you giggled. He leaned on the pool wall behind you and reached over to tuck a wet strand of hair behind your ear. 

"I missed you," he professed and you chuckled.

"Harry we've only hung out like twice," you shook your head but he shrugged.

"Still missed you. Liked it when we hung out," he continued and you smile fell slightly realising he was being serious. 

"So did I," you admitted and he looked over at you frowning.

"Where's my confident Y/N gone love?" he asked looking over at you.

"Huh? Oh, don't worry, she's just tired at the moment. Tour is long," you explained and he nodded, not entirely convinced.

"You don't seem tired in your shows, you've smashed each and everyone" he complimented.

"You've watched my shows?" It was Harry's turn to look sheepish now.

"Couple," he mumbled and you grinned.

"You watched my shows," you smiled this time and he covered his face.

"Shut up," he laughed and lunged for you. You squeaked and tried to dive under the water to escape his clutch but you felt an arm wrap around your waist and pull you into a hard chest. Suddenly you found yourself face to face with Harry, your lips only inches from his, both of you breathing heavily.

"Y/N."

"H."

"I'm going to kiss you now," he told you and you nodded, desperate to feel his lips against yours again. He crashed his lips into yours hungrily and it felt like you had been fed for the first time after years of starvation. His lips were as soft as you remember them being and you moaned into the kiss as he pulled you in closer. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he groaned as your core brushed against his clothed dick. You could feel him getting harder in his swim shorts, so you moved your hips again to grind on him and he swore loudly. 

"Y/N I will fuck you right here if you keep that up," he growled and you smirked cheekily before doing it again. 

"Fuck," he swore and he dipped his hand into your bikini bottoms, running his fingers through your folds. You cursed loudly as he pushed a finger into you, slowly pumping it in and out to tease you. You tilted your head back and he began to ravish your neck like he had before, leaving love bites as he went. You dug your nails into his back as he pushed in another finger, clinging on for dear life as he used his thumb to rub your clit. 

"H, fuck, please H," you gasped as he continued to pump his fingers into you, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Want d'you want darlin," he smirked as you rolled your hips against his fingers.

"Want you, want you so bad," you gasped as his thumb rubbed your clit faster.

"Y'already have me, love," he responded even though he knew that's not what you meant.

"Want this," you choked out as you reached down into his pants to grab his throbbing cock and he gasped as you did. You whined in frustration as he suddenly removed his fingers from inside you.

"Shush love, you'll get what you want. But maybe not in a place where there are security cameras," He made a fair point. 

You had never got out of a pool faster, Harry hot on your heels, quickly gathering your stuff as you rushed down the hallway to your room. Quickly unlocking it you dragged Harry into the room, making him crash into your chest. You both dropped the stuff you were holding and Harry hoisted you up around his waist, walking you so you were up against the door, kissing you roughly as he did. Your hands were tangled in his hair, pulling it harshly to generate moans from his lips. He scrambled around with the ties of your bikini, managing to get the bottoms and top off quickly while you pushed down his black shorts. Soon you were both naked, needy and craving each other. You groaned as he pressed his tip against your soaked folds and stopped to make sure he had your consent.

"Good?" he asked and you nodded.

"Please H, need you inside me," you begged and in one quick move he thrust into you, your head falling back against the door in response. 

"Missed your cunt," he groaned as he adjusted to your walls tightening around him. "You're irresistible Y/N," he said as he began to slowly thrust into you, taking his time as he stretched you out. As much as you liked going fast, there was something so pleasurable about him moving slowly in and out of you. You felt so stretched and you could appreciate every inch of him. You could feel the ache in your stomach growing and your toes were curling tightly. However, you knew you needed to be on the bed to cum.

"Harry bed please," you managed to get out and he quickly carried you over to the bed, still inside you. He pulled out as he placed you on the bed but as he crawled back over you he bought your left leg with him, hooking it over his shoulder and pushing back into you.

You cursed loudly at this new angle, feeling him hit that sweet spot inside you. It ached slightly but in the best way and you gripped the sheets as Harry began to thrust into you again, harder this time.

"Fuck, you feel so good baby," he moaned as he brushed the hair away from your face, admiring you slightly. He kept eye contact with you as he continued to push into you and you both realised this had become quite intimate. It satisfied this ache in your chest however and you couldn't quite work out why.

"You're so pretty," you said as you admired Harry above you and he groaned when you said that. He leant down again to press a sweet kiss against your lips as his other hand snaked between the two of you to press on your clit, remembering you had liked that last time. You hissed as he did it, the knot in your stomach tightening and you could feel yourself reaching the edge. You let out a strangled cry as your back arched off the bed in pleasure, as your orgasm tore through you, setting every nerve in your body on fire. 

"Jesus Y/N," he cried as your walls clenched tightly around him as you came, sending him closer to the edge himself.

"Wanna see you cum H," you whispered in his ear as he leaned down to kiss your neck again and he moaned into your shoulder as his thrusts became lazier. His moans had become desperate and needy at this point so you tugged on your hair again, knowing it would set him off and it did as he quickly pulled out of you and came onto your stomach, gasping as he did. You held him as he did, still running your hands through his hair to coax him through it and eventually he rolled off you and fell beside you on the bed.

"Sorry love, let me get you a towel," he murmured as he saw the mess he made on you, standing up shakily and grabbing a nearby towel. He gently cleaned you up and helped you stand up so you could go to the toilet.

"Thank you H," you smiled softly at him as you padded into the bathroom. While you were in there, he went about cleaning up your room due to the mess the two of you had made. As he did, he scooped up a black notebook with some clothes. The book fell out of his hands and landed open on a page. Placing the clothes aside, he picked up the notebook and was about to place it down when he saw what you had written on that page. It was a song.

another lonely night

Alone in the dark, hole in my heart, turn on the radio And the words fall out, but they got no place to go Tear in my eye, I drive through the night, And I don't give a fuck if the sun comes up

It's just another

Another day, another lonely night I would do anything to have you by my side Another day, another lonely night Don't wanna throw away another lonely life

You hadn't written much but it almost bought tears to Harry's eyes. He had no idea how someone like you, someone who exuded so much confidence and charmed everyone you met could be feeling so alone and lost. He quickly placed the book down, wishing he had never looked at it, feeling guilty for reading something personal to you. He busied himself fixing up your room and crawled back into the bed, patiently waiting for you to come back out. You emerged soon, still bare and beautiful, and crawled in next to him, snuggling into his side. He wrapped his tattooed arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest and you rested your chin on one of his swallows, tracing the outline of another tattoo with your finger.

"You ok love," he asked tentatively and you nodded.

"I did miss you," you admitted. "I like hanging out with you too," you continued and he smiled, his heart swelling, knowing that you weren't used to expressing your feelings like this. 

"I think we should hang out more," he offered and you agreed but turned to him a bit confused.

"But what are we H? We've properly seen each other three times, two of those times we've fucked but we never really communicate outside of that. We've barely texted in the last four months," you agonised and his brow furrowed. 

"I don't really know. I think we've made a right mess of things," he murmured and you chuckled.

"I think you're right,"

"Wanna start over?" he offered and you looked at him deadpan as you gestured to your naked bodies and he laughed.

"Ok yeah, fair point, we'll start over later," he considered and you snuggled further into his chest. 

"Tell me about you," he murmured and you looked up at him grinning.

"What you wanna know?"

"Hm. Tell me a secret," and you rolled your eyes. 

"That was the most cliche thing I've ever heard! Uh, y/n, tell me a secret love," you imitated his voice and he laughed loudly.

"I do not sound like that,"

"Yes you do," you confirmed and he shook his head. 

"Still waiting on that secret," he pointed out and you huffed.

"Fine. Uh when I was a freshman in high school, I used to ditch class all the time. Like I was never at school. Eventually, I ended up moving town and I guess they must have lost my record or something because at my new school I straight up lied my way out of retaking freshman year. Never did it," you told him, slightly embarrassed but he chuckled.

"That must have taken some serious finesse. Why did you ditch school though? I thought you loved school," he asked.

"I grew to love it. Now all I want to do is learn new things. But uh, when I was a freshman, I think I was just angry. A lot of things happened that year that made me hate the world I was in. Took it out on a lot of things and that included my education. I regret it massively now," you divulged and he sat there, listening and processing your every word. Your stomach was twisting as you opened up to him, remembering a part of your life you didn't like to look back on.

Harry remained silent for a bit and you turned to look at him.

"Sorry, that was really deep," you breathed out, worried you had ruined the flow of conversation.

"No, no, don't apologise. I was just thinking."

"What about?" you asked as you began tracing another tattoo.

"About how much I wish I knew more about you. About how much I want to spend more time with you," he professed and you sat up, eyes boring into his. "And you're right. Up until now, our relationship has been just fucking weird but I really want to get to know you. I want to see you more and I wish I didn't have a month left on tour so I could spend time with you," 

"It's strange," you responded after some time of you both contemplating in silence.

"What is?"

"Well, I feel like I've known you forever. But also, I don't know anything about you at all," you mused.

"I feel like that too. I... Y/N... can I ask you something? It's a bit insane," he chuckled.

"Sure," you responded quickly wanting to know what he was going to say.

"Come on tour with me."

You sat up in shock. 

"What?!"

He simply just smiled at you.

"Come on tour with me. After yours is done of course."

"Harry you're insane," you chuckled incredulously. "I cant... I don't... it doesn't make sense."

"What about it doesn't make sense? I understand if you're too busy or need a rest after your tour and that's completely understandable but I'd love it if you would join me for the last 3 weeks. I'll pay for everything and we can hang out," he explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"You want to pay for me to join your tour and have me tag along with you for three weeks so you can just hang out with me? Do you know how insane you sound," and he nodded in response.

"Utterly mad, I know love. I just don't want to go another 4 months without seeing you," he said as you nervously twisted the rings on your fingers. You stayed silent for a bit as you contemplated his offer. It was mad but also you knew you wanted to spend more time with him. You also knew that you were supposed to be taking the next 2 months off, so it wasn't like you had anything else going on anyway. But it was insane. Joining Harry on tour, even though you barely knew him was insane. So why did you want to say yes so badly?

"What's going on in that head?" Harry questioned after you had sat pondering for some time.

"Um... could I give you an answer later?" you hesitantly asked.

"Of course. I would be surprised if you had an answer now. And don't worry if you feel like you can't. I will make time for you when I finish the tour," he promised.

"Thank you,"

"I have an idea though," he started and you rolled your eyes.

"Oh god," and he chuckled at your response.

"It's not as batshit as my last one, don't worry. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me tomorrow. For like the rehearsals and like soundcheck and stuff. Just to get a taste of what it would really be like, then you can decide whether you like it or not. What d'you say?"

"I think I can agree to that idea. Zep will probably be with Holly tomorrow anyway so I'll be free," you rattled off.

"Who's Zep?" Harry asked, thinking it was a peculiar name.

"Oh right, yeah Zep is the nickname for my brother. He calls me Goose," you explain and he chuckled.

"Goose and Zep. What a double act," Harry joked but realised you hadn't really laughed.

"Yeah something like that," you mumbled and he could tell that bringing up your brother had hit a nerve. He wasn't too sure why though.

"You ok?" he worried as you shuffled in his arms a bit. However you had a slapped on a fake grin at this point, not wanting Harry to know that you just missed your brother for your own selfish reasons.

"Yeah fine. I think I'm just quite tired," you said and it wasn't completely a lie. You were exhausted.

"Ok love, let's get some sleep," he whispered and you nodded tiredly.

You both went about getting ready for bed. Your heart warmed when you saw Harry had cleaned your room for you and had neatly folded up his and your clothes.

"I have some of my brother's boxers you could wear to bed if that would make you more comfortable," you offered and he nodded. You pulled an old pair out, one that you wouldn't mind Harry keeping.

"Why do you have your brother's underwear," he asked, amused, as you clambered into bed.

"Men's underwear is extremely comfortable. Ask any girl. I usually wear them to bed," you explained as you reached over to turn off the light on your side.

"I much prefer what you're currently wearing," Harry smirked as he ran his eyes over your figure. It was hot in Spain so you had settled for wearing some panties to bed and nothing else. You giggled and batted his hands away as they went to cup your breasts.

"Stop it! Let me sleep," you chastised him.

"Come here you," he said as he gestured for you to come closer to him. You shuffled up to him and you were about to settle your head on his shoulder when he gently turned you onto your side so he could spoon you. He slipped an arm around your waist and slipped the other one under your head.

"You'll get a dead arm," you warned and you could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Stop ruining the cute moment Y/N. I'll be fine even though you have a big head," he teased and you shot up.

"I do not!" you argued back as he tried to guide you back down.

"Shhhhh, just relax," he whispered, gently caressing your head as you huffed but you still settled back into him.

"Goodnight H," you mumbled as you felt your eyes closing, the warmth and comfort provided by Harry making you feel extra drowsy.

"Goodnight love," he said as he pressed a kiss to your head. He was about to drift off when your voice broke the silence.

"Promise you'll still be here in the morning?" you mumbled sleepily and he frowned.

"Of course, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere," he responded, slightly confused as to why you had said that. He wouldn't dream of leaving you during the night.

So why did you think he would?

-

The next day you both woke up early and decided to sneak out of the hotel for an early morning stroll around the city. You hadn't had an opportunity yet to explore, you were supposed to go with your brother but predictably he forgot and went off with Holly. You felt too anxious to wander around a new city on your own so you stayed behind.

Harry was an excellent tour guide, however, and as it was early there were no tourists and the city was quiet. He pointed out all the sights and explained the history behind them, you clinging to his every word. You loved to learn new things and it helped that Harry was the one explaining it all. Eventually, you both got a bit tired from all the walking and settled down in a nearby cafe, both of you getting absolutely blasted by the sunlight but you couldn't keep the grin off your face.

"Thank you for that, I really wanted to see the city properly," you said as the waiter placed your coffee in front of you.

"It was my pleasure. Did you not have time yesterday to look around?" he asked, knowing your show had been two nights ago now.

"Uh, some plans fell through I guess. But today has thoroughly made up for that so I'm happy," you grinned and he smiled back, even though he was wondering why you were a bit more reserved when you said that. Something was going on and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Excited for today?" and you nodded in response, sipping your coffee slowly.

"I am. Excited to see you at work. I will probably be very unhelpful to have around, I will ask about a hundred questions," you warned and he chuckled.

"That's fine. Ask away, I'm happy to provide some answers. As long as it's not about my sex life, I get too many questions about that," and you gave him a look in response.

"Harry. I think I know about your sex life," you teased and he laughed.

"Yeah, you might be right. Anyway hurry up with your coffee, we're gonna be late if you keep sipping it," he chastised cheekily.

"We literally just sat down."

"Yeah and I'm almost finished, time is of the essence."

"It's 9am."

"So?"

It was this humourous bickering back and forth which made being with Harry so enjoyable. You just clicked with him, and you could talk about anything and everything. You could have serious conversations or funny ones and nothing felt awkward between you both.

Eventually, after a lot of whinging from Harry and you annoying him by drinking coffee as slowly as possible, you set off back to the hotel. Harry went back into his own room, and you went about packing a bag full of things for the day. Harry said there would be hours where you wouldn't have much to do, so you bought your book and your laptop to entertain yourself as well as a set of cards, to try and force Harry into playing card games with you. As you pulled on one of Harry's hoodies, which he gave you when he first met you, you heard a knock at the door. Thinking it was Harry you swung it open but you were pleasantly surprised to see your brother.

"Hey Zep," you welcomed as he stepped into the room.

"Hey, Goose. Fuck why does it smell of sex in here," he scrunched up his nose and fake gagged.

"Piss off, it does not," you blushed a deep red.

"It so does and you've gone red. Who's the guy? Also, where are you going?" he rattled off, and you rolled your eyes at your brother's incessant questions.

"Uh, d'you remember Harry," you mumbled and Zep smirked.

"Hm, let me see, do I remember Harry, oh wait, you mean global superstar Harry Styles? Yeah I think I can place him," he teased and you threw a sock at him.

"He's here," you explained and Zep nodded.

"I know. I just ran into him. It doesn't even smell of sex in here I just wanted you to admit it," he snickered and your mouth fell open when you realised you'd been tricked.

"Dickhead," you muttered under your breath as you grabbed your notebook and stuffed it into your bag.

"Where are you going by the way," he asked.

"Nowhere," you tried and he scoffed.

"You're going out with Harry aren't you," he accused and you frowned at his tone.

"Yes, I am. What's got you looking all sour," you pressed, wondering why his mood had shifted.

"I thought we were gonna hang out today. See the sights," he said and you sighed.

"No Zep, we were supposed to do that yesterday. But we didn't and I think we both know why," you uttered and he crossed his arms.

"What's that supposed to mean," he glowered.

"I just find it a bit rich that you're getting annoyed at me for going out with Harry when you ditched me yesterday for Holly," you exhaled even though you felt a bit childish saying it.

"Y/N, what the fuck?! She's my girlfriend. Harry's your... well I don't even know what to label Harry but he certainly isn't your boyfriend," he argued back. "I'm your brother!"

"And I'm your sister!" you snapped. "But I have barely seen you this entire tour. I understand you are with Holly now and I am so happy for you and I understand that things change when people get into relationships, but I have barely fucking seen you. Every day you blow me off for her and I would be fine with it if it was once in a while but pretty much every plan we have made you have then gone and ditched me. I have missed out on seeing almost every place we have gone to because you leave me behind every time. I don't think I've even had a meal with you this entire tour. I've just been fucking alone and it sucked. So now, I'm going to go spend time with someone who actually wants to spend time with me and has taken time out of their day to accommodate me and not leave me waiting in a hotel room, just to send me a text to say they aren't coming. Have a nice day," you raged as you opened your hotel room door and slammed it behind you. You let out a deep breath and even though anger was pumping through your veins you also felt a massive release. You had been needing to say that for a while.

"Uh, Y/N?" you heard a voice beside you and your eyes snapped open, heart falling when you saw Harry standing next to the door.

"How much of that did you hear?" you winced, knowing he'd probably heard the whole thing.

"Uh, most of you yelling," he mumbled and you pressed your face into your hands.

"Fuck," you whispered but you felt Harry's arm loop around your shoulder.

"Come on love, let's get you to the car. We can talk there. Don't worry about it," he said gently as he lead you down the hallway. You followed him, surprising him when you reached up to grab hold of the hand resting on your shoulder and pressed a light kiss to it. Despite the circumstances, he smiled at your sweet action and held you closer to him, feeling a sudden urge to protect you from the sadness you were feeling. He just wanted to see your beautiful smile again, the one that could light up any room.

You both left via the back entrance of the hotel and clambered into a big black car with darkened windows. When you got in, Harry pulled your legs back onto his lap, like he'd done on the drive back to your house after Coachella. You relaxed into him, feeling some of the tension melt away and you felt like you actually wanted to talk to Harry about it.

"I'm sorry you heard that. But I needed to say it. I think I've been building up to that for a while," you muttered and Harry placed a hand under your chin and raised your head to look at him.

"Don't need to apologise love. Just wanna make sure you're ok," he said looking worried and your heart melted a bit.

"I don't know if I'm ok. I don't think I've been feeling ok for a while. I guess you probably heard it all but Zep's been leaving me alone a lot on this tour. Because of his girlfriend. And I know I should be happy for them and I am but I can't help being upset because he keeps ditching me for her and leaving me on my own. I feel so selfish now, I shouldn't have snapped at him," you worried and Harry shook his head.

"You're not selfish for wanting to spend time with your brother love. And by the sounds of it, I think he's pushed the limit on how many times he's left you on your own for his girlfriend. It's understandable if he did it once or twice, but it sounds like it's happening all the time. That's not ok, he should still prioritise you, you're his sister," Harry reassured you and you were so thankful you had him right now.

"It's just... well he's all I've got. We lost our parents at a young age and it's always just been me and him. And then suddenly it was just me. I've been left by a lot of people in my life Harry, and I'm scared it's happening with my brother too," a couple of tears threatened to slide down your face, but you kept them in. You hadn't cried in years.

"I promise you Y/N, your brother will not leave you. He's a massive idiot, yes, but you mean so much to him. I could tell from the first time I talked to him. He holds so much admiration and love for you."

It was all starting to click into place now. Why you had written that sad song in your notebook about being alone, why you had flinched when Harry had referred to you and your brother as a 'double act' and why, just as you were about to fall asleep and when you felt the most vulnerable, you had to check that Harry wouldn't leave you during the night, something he feared had happened to you before. Harry made a vow to himself at that moment to never ever make you fear he was going to leave and to never walk out on you.

"I'm sorry. We were having a really nice morning and were going to have a really nice day and I've bought the mood down significantly," you apologised.

"Stop saying sorry love. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. We will still have a lovely day, I'll make sure of it. First I demand a kiss and then we shall go pretend to rehearse but actually, we will annoy Mitch relentlessly," he professed and you giggled. Harry always knew how to cheer you up.

"You demand a kiss, do you," you smirked and he nodded.

"Yes, it's sorta like monopoly. You know, get 200 to pass go," he joked and you shook your head.

"You're ridiculous, you know that," you rolled your eyes but leant in anyway.

"I know," he whispered as you pressed your lips to his and you shared a slow, gentle kiss. He tangled his hands in your hair to pull you closer and in response, you slipped your tongue into his mouth and moved your hands down his chest towards the waist of his trousers. He groaned and pulled back.

"Y/N, if you keep that up, I won't last the whole day," he lowered his voice so the driver couldn't hear him.

"Who said anything about lasting the whole day," you teased winking at him and settling back into your original spot. Harry cursed under his breath, chest rapidly rising up and down as he realised there was absolutely no way he could get through the whole day without even a taste of you.

-

Despite everything, you were having a pretty good day. When you arrived, Harry introduced you to the band and the crew and you got stuck into rehearsals. Harry patiently answered any questions you had about playing in arenas and the technicalities of it all, as well as questions you had about his music and his creative process. Secretly he was loving that you were so interested and therefore he was very happy to answer all the questions you had. After rehearsals, he'd dragged you to the dressing room and devoured you on the couch. The way your hips were swaying along to his songs when he played them had left him rock hard in his pants. He knew that you were aware of what you were doing and that made him even more frustrated.

That was followed by lunch, where you had a really nice chat with Sarah, Ny Oh and Elin and soon the four of you had formed a little bubble in the corner, giggling and chatting away. Harry was making a big scene over it, huffing loudly and whining away in the corner that you weren't giving him all the attention. You and the girls found it very amusing and kept whispering away, to annoy him even more.

"What have I done," Harry groaned when Mitch came over to him, not even managing to distract Sarah out of the group.

"I have no idea. They're as thick as thieves, I can't get a word in," Mitch sympathised, not missing the way Harry's eyes were glued on Y/N.

"Hm," he agreed absentmindedly, smiling as Y/N laughed loudly at something Sarah had said.

"You like her," Mitch observed from beside Harry.

"Yeah, no shit Mitch. She's literally all I've thought about for the last 4 months," Harry deadpanned. It was true, he did like you. A lot. He hadn't ever felt this way about anyone before. He had had crushes before but nothing quite like this. He had never had anyone make his heart race the way you did and he had never felt so comfortable and happy around anyone else before. He knew he liked you, and he thought you might like him back but he needed to hear it from you.

"Why haven't you done anything about it then. It's obvious she likes you, she has literal hearts in her eyes every time she looks at you," Mitch questioned and Harry shrugged.

"I don't know, we have a really strange relationship. We didn't do anything in the right order," he explained, fiddling with a loose string on his top. "I wanna ask her at the right time."

"So you're ok inviting her on a three-week leg of your tour but you need the courage to ask her if she likes you back. What is this, primary school?" Mitch scoffed and Harry rolled his eyes even though he knew Mitch was right. He knew you hadn't really spent that much time together but he didn't need time to know how he felt about you. He knew he liked you and he just needed to buck up the courage and ask you out.

"Oh look, they've made a rival boys club," Elin teased.

"Can we form an alliance?" Harry tried.

"Hm, tempting offer Mr Styles," you said, repeating the words you had said to him the night you kissed him for the first time. He knew what you were doing and glowered at you.

"Guys please stop eye fucking each other," Ny Oh piped up and you blushed a deep red as Harry turned away, nestling his head into Mitch's shoulder who quickly pushed him off.

"Piss off Harry. Go hide in her shoulder," he groaned as Harry dramatically sighed and pushed himself off the couch and made his way over to you.

"Come see the stage with me," he offered and you nodded, taking his hand to let him pull you up and you set off towards the main stage together. When you got there, you were taken aback by how big the venue was. You had never played anywhere this big before.

"Jesus, this is huge," you said as you wandered to the edge of the stage, sitting down so your feet were dangling over the edge.

"Yeah, I guess it is," he chuckled and you rolled your eyes.

"You're so humble Harry," you joked.

"I try," he walked over to sit next to you. As he did you rested your head on his shoulder, taking in the vast space.

"Y/N?" Harry muttered, sounding quite nervous.

"Yes H," you said back, not really paying much attention.

"We're friends right?" he asked picking nervously at the skin on his fingers and you turned to him, confused.

"Of course! I mean sort of, friends don't really kiss each other the way we do," you teased but he looked deadly serious.

"Y/N... fuck... Uh, I like you. I really, really like you," he stuttered out and your face grew into a massive grin.

"Good. So do I," you responded and he laughed.

"Romantic, Y/N," he said even though he couldn't keep the massive smile off his face. You liked him back. He couldn't believe it.

"You're cute when you blush," you observed as you looked up at his red face and he hid his head in his hands.

"Stopp," he whined and you giggled pulling his hands away from his face.

"Kiss me," you whispered and Harry complied, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on your lips. You leaned into him, hands cupping his cheeks as he pulled your hips closer to his. This kiss felt different to all the other ones you had shared with him. It was more intimate and deep and you could feel Harry expressing his feelings toward you through the kiss. Eventually, he pulled back breathless, gazing into your eyes.

"I am going to kiss you until your sick of it. I am addicted to you," he professed and it was your turn to blush this time.

"Glad you are Styles. Cause you're stuck with me for the next month," you smirked trying to hint at the fact you were going to come on tour with him. His eyes lit up at that point as he realised what you were saying.

"You'll come with me?" he asked incredulously like he had just won the lottery.

"Yeah, I wanna come. I miss you when you're not around and I really like you. I don't wanna throw that away," you confessed and he pulled you into him, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead.

"Y/N, you have no idea what that means to me, thank you," he said, pulling you into a hug. You sat there for a while, savouring the warm feeling you got from being in his arms. There was nothing more comforting.

"Uh Y/N," you heard a voice call and you pulled apart from Harry to see your brother poking his head through the door.

"Zep?" you puzzled as he waved nervously. Harry got up slowly and squeezed your hand.

"I'll let you talk," he offered and walked towards your brother, giving him a warning glare as he passed.

"Hi," you breathed out as he walked over to sit next to you.

"Goose I am so sorry," he started and you breathed out a bit, thinking this conversation was going to be a lot harder.

"After you yelled, I realised what a dick I had been over the last couple of months. Even Holly had a go at me when I told her what you said. You're right, I did flake on you and I was an idiot and I got caught up in this fantasy world with Holly. I can't believe I did that to you, I am so sorry," he apologised, squeezing your hands tightly.

"Thank you for apologising. I'm sorry for shouting. I just felt really alone and like you didn't need me anymore," you explained sadly and he pulled you into a big hug.

"You don't need to apologise. I am so sorry that I made you feel that way. I will always need you Y/N, you're my baby sister and I love you," he told you, hugging you tightly.

"Let's not fight again," you sniffled as you buried your head into his shoulder and he nodded.

"Agreed, it was horrible," he said and pulled back from you, smoothing down your hair as he did.

"So," he said as he raised his eyebrows and you hid your face in your hands.

"No don't interrogate me again," you pleaded and he chuckled.

"It's my job. What's going on?" he asked and you giggled slightly.

"Well he just told me he likes me, like really really likes me," you told your brother, feeling like a schoolgirl again.

"What did you say?"

"I told him I liked him back. I really do like him Zep, he's unlike anyone I've ever met. He's so funny and kind and he makes me feel like a million dollars when I'm with him," you gushed and Zep smiled.

"I can see he makes you really happy Goose and I'm so glad you've found someone like that. But what happens now, I mean we're going back to New York and he's got a month left of his tour," your brother queried and you looked a bit sheepish as you pondered how to tell him you were going on tour with Harry.

"What is it Goose?" your brother raised his eyebrows as you nervously played with your necklace.

"Uh, Harry's asked me to go on tour with him and I said yes," you rushed out and avoided his eye contact. He shifted in front of you and you feared the worst.

"Goose that's so cool!" he exclaimed and you looked up surprised to see him excited.

"You're not mad?" you queried and he shook his head.

"Of course not! I can see how taken you are with him and how taken he is with you. It would be stupid to spend more time apart after you've both figured out how you feel about each other. Plus now you get to go to so many cool places and I know how much you love to travel. I think you're gonna have the time of your life and I couldn't be happier for you," he said and you pulled him back into a hug.

"Thank you," you whispered and he squeezed you tight.

"Love you sis," he muttered.

"Love you too," you replied.

"Now, where is Harry? I'm going to have to go give him the 'dad' speech. You know, treat her well and all that," he teased and you shook your head.

"No Zep, please don't," you begged as he got up and started running to the door. You would be so embarrassed if he talked to Harry.

"Gotta catch me first," he chuckled and bolted out the door. You sprinted after him, cheeks burning red as you chased him through the corridors.

-

Later that day, you sat backstage, swinging your legs along to Harry singing Matilda on stage. This particular song held a deep meaning to you even though Harry didn't know it. You and Zep had lost your dad at a young age and then when you went into high school and Zep had just turned 18, your mum walked out of your life. He became completely responsible for you and he was the only person in your life who really showed you any affection or love for a while. You had no idea where your mum went or why she left but you but it had hurt tremendously at the time, even if she had shown you little to no love when she was around.

Therefore, as you listened to Harry sing Matilda for the first time, you did feel a couple tears slip down your cheeks. You really weren't one for crying and you barely had for years but the song really hit home for you. Zep had seen you were upset and came and settled down behind you, pulling you into his arms. He knew exactly why you were upset and you saw his eyes shining too as you both listened to the song. At one point during the song, Harry looked over and saw the two siblings holding each other. His heart broke for the both of you, it was clear that you had both been through a lot but he was so glad you had made up and had each other. He sent you both a kiss and you grinned widely in response, Zep giving you a squeeze when he saw how soft Harry was with you.

"He's a good man, Goose. He'll be there for you, don't forget that," Zep reminded and you nodded. You had a hard time trusting people and letting them in, always holding a small fear that they would leave. However, you just had a feeling you didn't have to worry about that with Harry. He was an exceptional man.

By the end of the show, however, the tears were forgotten as you danced about to Kiwi, trying to ignore the arousal that had settled in your stomach watching Harry perform this song. If this was what your reaction was to this song, then the next month was going to be very difficult. You cheered loudly as he bowed to the crowd and then your eyes widened as he came running towards you. He scooped you up when he reached you, twirling you around as you giggled loudly and pressed a happy kiss to his lips.

"You were incredible," you raved and he smiled widely.

"Thank you, love. You ok?" he asked as he carefully placed you down, stroking your cheek gently.

"Yes, I'm fine. Your songs are really beautiful H, you made me cry," you said and he sighed.

"You wanna talk about it," he asked gently and you shook your head.

"Not yet," you mumbled and he nodded, happy to wait for you to feel comfortable enough to open up. He would do anything to make you feel good around him.

"I'm so glad you're here," he mumbled pressing his lips to yours again and you sighed, genuinely wondering if you were in heaven. The feeling of him against you was like nothing you had ever experienced and you never wanted it to end.

"I never want to leave," you professed and he kissed you even deeper, holding your face against his.

"Never do, Y/N."

-

PART 2!!! thank you for all the lovely comments on the previous part, i appreciated them so much. sorry, this fic was longer than expected i am really crap at being able to write short fics ahaha.

sloane xx

[foundtherightwords]

Signal Fire - Chapter 1

Summary: Two years after Corroded Coffin finally made it big, Eddie learns that Chrissy's mother has passed away. He returns to Hawkins in the hope of reuniting with her, but would Chrissy be able to overcome her fears and allow herself some happiness at last?

A/N: This is the final part of "Return to Hawkins". I highly recommend that you read the first two parts, especially "Headlights on Dark Roads", before reading this.

Also, since the first one, "Same Streets, New Memories" is in Eddie's POV, and the second one, "Headlights on Dark Roads", is in Chrissy's POV, I thought I'd have their alternating POVs here to balance things out.

Warnings: angst, brief mentions of abuse, homophobia, and drug use, some smut (in this chapter)

Chapter word count: 4.2k

Chapter 1

On tour, every band has its own post-show wind-down routine. Some retire to their hotel rooms with a drink or two and some mind-numbing TV. Some crash on their tour bus on their way to the next city, the next gig. Some meditate. Some talk to their therapist. Others, the really annoying ones, do yoga or hit the gym. Most party, and party hard, putting every substance known to man—and some unknown as well—down their throats, up their noses, and into every bodily orifice they can find.

The members of Corroded Coffin, like ET, phone home.

It had been over two years since they were signed with Metal Blade, two whirlwind years of constant recording, rehearsals, and gigs. Their third album—often mistaken by the new fans as their debut—had gone gold, then platinum. They had opened for Metallica, played at the recently resurrected Lollapalooza, and were about to embark on their first-ever European tour. For a band from a small town in Indiana who, until five years ago, was still struggling in obscurity, it was pretty well done.

Perhaps some of that success was owed to the band's exemplary behavior, both on- and offstage. Perhaps it was because they'd made almost every mistake one could make as a band already. When you've spent nearly 15 years doing everything wrong, the next thing you do is bound to be right. Their shows were always explosive, but there was no smashing of instruments, no biting heads off live animals. They were friendly with the other acts, but as soon as the backstage party descended into chaos and disorder, they excused themselves. When it came to parties, Corroded Coffin was much more likely to be found in the kind that went raiding and fighting evil wizards.

Though there was the occasional speculation about their personal lives, especially that of their charismatic frontman, they remained intensely private on that aspect. Tabloids soon got bored of them. They became known as the good boys of metal. Other critics, less charitable, called them a dad band, squares, or said that, like their name, they were already in the grave. They didn't care. All those years had taught them to manage their expectations. They knew they were never going to be huge, like Metallica-huge. But they seemed set on their way to being a moderately successful band, at least enough to earn a living doing what they love, and how many of us are that lucky?

That night, as they finished their penultimate US show in San Francisco, Jeff, Grant, and Gareth called their loved ones in LA as usual, although they were coming home the next day to prepare for Rock am Ring in Germany. Eddie checked his phone as well. Though it was now late in Hawkins, Uncle Wayne would still be awake, a leftover habit from his days of working nights at the plant, or, if not, he would leave Eddie a voice message—the old man never got the hang of texting, bless him—and Eddie would call him back in the morning.

Wayne had left a message. It only said, "Call me when you get this. Never mind the time."

Had something happened? Had there been an accident? With his heart in his throat, Eddie fumbled with the buttons to dial Wayne's number.

"I'm fine, everything's fine," Wayne said the moment he heard Eddie's voice, and Eddie relaxed slightly. "Except—ah, Mrs. Cunningham just passed away. Couple of days ago."

Eddie's first reaction was to laugh out loud at the sheer anti-climactic feel of it all. Through the curtain of his bunk, he could hear the murmur of Gareth's voice asking his wife to give their daughter a goodnight kiss.

"How'd you know?" Eddie asked. "Did she tell you or—"

Wayne knew who he meant. "No. I still see her in town from time to time, but—no, I saw the funeral notice."

So Chrissy's mom had died. Eddie sat down, not quite sure how he should take the news. He supposed he should feel bad for the woman, at least a little, but all he could feel was relief. Ding dong, the witch is dead. He'd only met Mrs. Cunningham once, shortly before he went back to LA, but it was enough, and he could never forgive her for the damage she'd done to Chrissy. She was the reason Chrissy had decided to stay in Hawkins, the reason Chrissy had given up on them. Now that she was gone... but he was getting ahead of himself. What bothered him was that Chrissy hadn't told him the news herself. She still had his number, he believed. Why hadn't she called? Did she think he would not care? Did she even want him there?

"When's the funeral?" Eddie heard himself asking.

"Day after tomorrow."

"Do you—do you think I should be there?"

Eddie knew Wayne would understand. Wayne knew Eddie would want to talk it out with someone, which was why he'd waited to tell Eddie directly instead of just leaving a message. Eddie was grateful to his uncle for that.

"Look, I don't want to pry into what happened between you and Chrissy," Wayne said. "But she's lonely, I can tell. For a year after you left, she didn't come around, didn't call, nothing. Then one day, I ran into her at the store, and the girl just... broke down. I told her if she needed someone to talk to, I'd be there for her. Now she brings me food sometimes, and we'd have a beer and talk about you."

"Wait, how come this is the first time I ever heard about you and Chrissy hanging out?"

"Chrissy asks me not to mention it to you. She's still..." Eddie was dying for his uncle to finish the sentence, but Wayne only cleared his throat. "But what does an old man like me know anyway? If you can make it, go—even if it's just for old time's sake."

After he said goodbye to Wayne and hung up, Eddie lay back in his bunk. Two years. Two years he had not heard from Chrissy. When he left, she'd asked him not to say goodbye, and so in his mind, things between them had never ended at all. Once the band was settled in LA, he'd called and called and called and sent messages after messages, telling her that he would wait until she was ready to talk, so they could figure things out. She never answered, and after a while, he stopped.

It was fortunate that he had been so busy the past two years, or he might have gone crazy from missing her. The mornings were the worst. At night, he could fall into bed, exhausted after a gig or a recording session, without thinking much of her, but in the morning, there was always a drowsy moment when he expected to feel her feather-light kisses on his ear, and he would strain so hard to actually catch the kiss that he woke himself up.

He'd missed her when he and the guys had gone to see The Return of the King (opening night, Grauman's Chinese Theater), although she had always fallen asleep watching any of the Lord of the Rings films. He missed seeing her curled up on his shitty couch in his shitty apartment in Hawkins. Not that he would trade what they had now for his old life. But it would've been nice if he could've shared it with her. 

And here was his chance.

The funeral was on Thursday. They were leaving for Germany next week. That would give him three days in Hawkins for the funeral and to work out whatever needed to be worked out between him and Chrissy, before rejoining the band in LA.

Two years was a long time. A lot could've changed. But if Wayne was correct, if Chrissy was really lonely and still... still what? Thinking of him? In love with him? Eddie didn't know, but he couldn't let this chance pass without finding out.

***

Eddie rented a car in Indianapolis and drove straight to the funeral from the airport. The closer he got to Hawkins, to seeing Chrissy, the faster his heartbeats got, until he felt like his heart had been switched with one of Gareth's snares. What would she be like? Would she be the same, or had she changed? Would she be happy to see him?

His flight was a bit late, and the car rental had taken longer than he'd expected, so by the time he pulled into the church, the service was already underway. He slipped in, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but several heads from the back rows still turned toward him, first with curiosity, and then disapproval. He'd take care to wear black, but now that he thought about it, perhaps black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket were not the most appropriate attire in this situation. He could only imagine what he looked like to this church-going crowd—less like someone attending a funeral and more like someone going to a Black Sabbath concert, which, to be fair, is what he looked like most of the time. Even the photo of Mrs. Cunningham set by the lectern, surrounded by white chrysanthemums, seemed to be glaring at him.

Ignoring those looks of consternation, Eddie found a pew at the very back and gingerly sat down, while still scanning the front for Chrissy. He knew the back of her head and her neck so well that he was certain he could pick her out even from behind. But there was no sign of her blond head. Perhaps she had decided to skip the funeral altogether. Given the relationship between her and her mother, Eddie couldn't exactly blame Chrissy. That didn't stop him from feeling a sense of anticlimax though. Where would she be?

Eddie noticed that no family member stepped up to give a speech. Of course, Chrissy's brother, who had been kicked out by her parents at eighteen for being gay, wouldn't be there either. At the lectern, the pastor was droning on about what a kind and generous soul Mrs. Cunningham was and how bravely she had endured tragedy and hardship in the last few years of her life, and Eddie had to fight the urge to snort. Yes, such a kind and generous woman that neither of her children was present at her funeral.

Finally, the service was over, and people started filing out and headed to the cemetery. There was a bit of a traffic jam at the door as they stopped to shake hands with the family. Eddie hung back a little to see if Chrissy was there, but he only saw a woman whose resemblance to Mrs. Cunningham suggested she was a sister or at least a cousin, and standing next to her was the last person he'd expected to see.

Jason Carver.

Despite looking a little thicker around the middle and with a bit of a receding hairline, Jason didn't seem to have changed much since high school. The smug look on his face and the instant loathing Eddie felt upon seeing it were exactly the same as well. What the fuck was Jason Carver doing here? Last Eddie heard, he was married and living in Bloomington. Unless... unless... a terrible possibility formed in Eddie's mind. Two years was a long time. A lot could have changed.

Eddie hesitated, half wanting to slip away so he wouldn't have to interact with Jason, half wanting to interrogate Jason on what he was doing here and where the hell Chrissy was. Just as he was wavering at the exit, he felt a prod at his back, and a woman behind him hissed, "Move along!" He stumbled forward and found himself face-to-face with Jason.

"Eddie Munson?" Jason's mouth dropped. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Carver." Eddie nodded with what he hoped was a nonchalant air and deliberately ignored Jason's question. "Didn't know you were in town."

"We just happened to be visiting my parents when I heard the news from Chris—Chrissy. I thought she could use some help."

"So where is she?"

Jason's eyes narrowed as if he thought Eddie wasn't allowed to ask after Chrissy, but he answered anyway, "She wasn't feeling well and decided to stay home. This is very hard on her, you know. First her dad, now her mom. They were close."

Eddie stared at Jason, astonished that despite being with Chrissy for less than ten months, he'd known more about her than this fool ever did after having dated her throughout high school. His fear of Chrissy getting back with Jason seemed ridiculous now. He turned away, got into his rental car, and drove to the Cunningham's house.

***

Eddie drove down Poplar Tree Road, past the horrible cookie-cutter McMansions with their tiny lawns and huge garages that had sprung up all over this side of town in the nineties, until he came to Chrissy's house at the older end of the street. It still looked the same as he remembered from Thanksgiving two years ago, even from the time he'd driven her home after that night they'd spent in his trailer, all the way back in high school, with its unfriendly faux-stone façade that reminded him of Mrs. Cunningham's perpetual thin-lipped, disapproving look.

There was no car in the driveway. He rang the doorbell, then knocked. For a bewildering moment, he wondered if Jason had lied and Chrissy wasn't home after all. Just as he reached for the handle to see if the door was locked, it opened, and there she was.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat. He had been so focused on seeing her at the funeral and so worried when she didn't show up, that he hadn't prepared himself for seeing her like this, in such a normal setting, like no time had passed at all. Relief and joy and agony fought inside him, weakening his limbs.

At first glance, she, too, seemed unchanged. Her hair was longer now, pulled back into a low bun, almost like the ponytail she'd sported in high school, and for a second, Eddie was transported back to '86, back to the woods behind Hawkins High, when Chrissy had looked up at him with those blue, blue eyes. Even the expression in her eyes was the same. It tugged at his heart and made him want to scoop her up into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, because he was here.

But that vulnerable look was only there for an instant. It quickly disappeared, replaced first by surprise and then by an unnatural, blank calmness, and Eddie felt his heart falter.

"Eddie?" she said, and if he hadn't been watching her so closely, if he hadn't dreamed of seeing her again every night for the past two years, he would've missed the slight quiver in her voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Wayne called and let me know. Why didn't you tell me?"

She took a moment to answer. "I thought you were on tour."

"We just finished our last US show." So she knew they were on tour. She still cared.

"Did you come here all the way from LA?"

"Yeah. I'm going back on Sunday."

Chrissy let out a small "Oh" before they lapsed into an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have come—" he began.

"No, it's fine. I appreciate it," she said stiffly. Then, realizing they were still standing at the door, she stepped back. "Come in."

Eddie followed her into the living room. He noticed that Chrissy was wearing a black dress, but the matching jacket was thrown haphazardly on the couch, and there was a rather sad-looking bouquet of white lilies on the table.

"Why weren't you at the funeral?" he asked.

She turned to him, that haunted, frightened look back in her eyes. "I was getting ready to go," she said, picking up the lilies and trying to rearrange them, her fingers twitching restlessly. "But my dress—the fit isn't right—and these lilies I bought to put in the casket—they wilted—she wouldn't like that—she always wanted everything to be perfect—and I just couldn't—I couldn't—" The flowers dropped from her hands, her face crumpled, and she burst into choking, wrenching sobs.

Eddie was beside her in a flash. He took her hands in his, and when that wasn't enough, he pulled her into his arms, cradling her head on his chest. "Shh, it's OK," he murmured. "It's OK. It's OK."

Chrissy clung to him, her hot tears soaking through his shirt, and slowly, her trembling subsided, and her sobs quieted. He lifted her chin. "She's gone. It doesn't matter what she thought anymore," he said. "And for what it's worth, I think you're perfect, Chrissy Cunningham."

She looked at him, and he could see something else was unchanged too—the trust and love in her eyes, eyes that had lit up his world and guided him through all those long, disheartening years, even before they had gotten together, before he knew what she would come to mean to him. His fears and doubts vanished, and, leaning down, he kissed her. 

As soon as their lips met, all the grief and the longing of the past two years melted away, disappeared into the blaze that erupted between them with all the suddenness and intensity of a wildfire. Their hands were all over each other, his cupping her face, hers curled into his lapels, as they drank each other in like two people dying of thirst. No matter how hard he crushed her to him, she would press back harder, until she stumbled backward and landed on the couch, pulling him down on top of her. Her skirt rode up. Eddie pushed it further up and twisted his fingers into the elastic band at her hips, yanking it down. The feel of her hips writhing under his hands drove him to distraction, so much so that he couldn't even undo his belt, not wanting to move away from her. Luckily, Chrissy noticed his fumbling and lent a helping hand.

But the couch was too small. Her left leg and his right arm were squeezed against the back, and if they tried to make room for each other, they were in danger of falling off. With a growl of frustration, Eddie sat up and swung Chrissy into his lap so she was straddling him. Much better. Only her dress was in the way. He tugged impatiently at it, heedless of the ripping sound, until it was off her shoulder, and he buried his face between her breasts while she braced her palms against the back of the couch and rolled her hips toward him. He lifted himself to meet her.

When their bodies finally connected, Chrissy let out a choked cry, and Eddie almost cried out in relief as well. He'd missed her, but he hadn't known how much until now.

It had never felt like this between them. Even their last night together, over two years ago, had been slow and dreamy, tinged with the bittersweet note of heartbreak, not this savage, desperate clawing at each other's clothes, not this panting, gasping need to get closer and closer until they were one. He no longer knew where or who he was. All he knew was her—her skin silken and scorching in his palms, her lips quivering in his mouth, her arms and legs wrapping tightly around him, her hips moving so in sync with his that he couldn't tell where she ended and he began.

When the release came, it was messy and clumsy and wrong, and it felt so, so right.

Eddie didn't know how long they remained on the couch afterward, with his arms around her and her head on his chest, while their matching breaths and heartbeats slowed and became their own again. After what felt like either an eternity or no time at all, Chrissy spoke. "Eddie," she said, and he almost cried again at the sound of his name in her voice, the whisper of her breath against his skin. "That was—"

"—amazing," he said, placing a gentle kiss on her lips that soon became not so gentle anymore.

When they drew apart again, he brushed some strands of sweat-damp hair away from her forehead and thought, even with her tear-stained cheeks, swollen lips, and half-torn dress, or perhaps precisely because of those things, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Yes, it was, but..." As soon as the word "but" was out of her mouth, his heart went cold. "But it doesn't mean—"

"Please don't say that it doesn't mean anything," he said, tightening his grip around her.

"No." She placed her hand on his chest and looked at him with such tenderness that his heart turned over. "But it doesn't mean what you want it to mean either."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She didn't answer right away. She moved off his lap, pulled her dress up, and smoothed her hair back without looking at him. He adjusted his clothes as well, feeling strangely chilled and lonely. That all-consuming fire between them was gone.

"You should go," Chrissy said. "My aunt may come back here from the cemetery to check on me." So the woman he'd seen at the funeral was Mrs. Cunningham's sister. "And Jason too," Chrissy added.

Hearing her say Jason's name so casually stirred up some unaccustomed emotions inside Eddie. Anger? Jealousy? At the church, he had been sure Chrissy couldn't have gotten back with Jason. He was not so sure now.

"Are you—you and him—" He knew he had no right to ask. He and Chrissy had broken up; whatever she did or whoever she chose to see was her own business. He hated himself for even asking, yet he couldn't stop the question.

"Don't be ridiculous. He's married, remember? He and his wife are in Hawkins visiting his folks, and he's been kind enough to help me with the funeral arrangements, that's all."

So you trust him enough to tell him about your mother's death, but not me, Eddie thought, but what he said was, "You got all your exes lined up pretty conveniently, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" Chrissy asked, her face wary.

"Well, there's Jason helping with the funeral, and here's me for—what? A quickie on your couch?" He didn't know where the vitriol was coming from. Perhaps he was hurt that Chrissy had not turned to him in her hour of need. Perhaps he was hurt that she could push him away so coldly and matter-of-factly, after what they'd just had.

Chrissy's eyes were like two blue crystals. "Don't try to be nasty, Eddie," she said, expressionless. "It doesn't suit you."

Eddie looked away. Hot shame rose within him. He'd come back to comfort Chrissy, yet the moment she didn't swoon at his feet, he threw a tantrum like an overgrown toddler.

"What do you want from me?" Chrissy continued, when he remained silent. "My mom just died. Did you expect me to throw my arms up in the air to celebrate and then ride off into the sunset with you?"

"No!" Eddie shouted, though that was exactly what he had expected. "I just wanted to—to comfort you!"

"I don't need your comfort," she said, her jaws set.

Her words lashed at him like a whip. He was reminded all too vividly of her words when she broke up with him, when she'd chosen to stay in Hawkins instead of going with him to LA. I can't keep letting you fight for me. They still smarted, after these two years.

"But you need Jason's help, is that it?"

She flinched. "That was different."

"How?"

"He doesn't—I don't—" She picked up her jacket, then threw it back down again, unable to find the right words.

Eddie jumped up from the couch and seized her arms. "You don't have to be strong all the time, you know. Why can't you just let me take care of you? I want to! I want—" And because he didn't know what else to do, how else to show her, because he still wanted her, all of her, so much he could hardly bear it, he kissed her again. For a moment, her mouth opened and her body melted into his, and all the hurt was forgotten once more—

"Chris?" Jason's voice rang out across the foyer.

Chrissy pushed Eddie away just as Jason stepped into the living room. "You OK? The front door's open—" He paused upon seeing the two of them, their faces crimson like two teenagers caught by a parent. Jason's handsome features hardened as his eyes bore into Eddie. "Munson? What are you doing here?"

"Leaving," Eddie muttered and staggered to the door without a look back. He didn't want to see Jason succeed where he had failed—in comforting Chrissy.

Coming back was a mistake. There was nothing left for him here.

Chapter 2

[galacticlarry]

🚀 galactic_larry masterpost 🚀

Under the cut you'll find all of the fics I have written along with their word count and rating.

🚀 Jupiter | 95k | Mature

Louis Tomlinson is a singer-songwriter who has just scheduled the biggest gig of his life. Being the opening act for Niall Horan’s European tour means gigantic venues, large crowds, and music, so much music! What he had not expected, was that it would also mean handsome strangers, doomed love, and a whole lot of pining.

Harry Styles doesn't consider himself a musician, but he agreed to help his best friend out, so there’s that. He’s now playing on tour with Niall, but, as far as he is concerned, he only has one very simple task: to get through it alive. Instead, he ends up finding true love, heartbreak, and a sense of purpose.

Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, and Liam Payne are absolutely fed up with both of them, and just want them to get it together, but things don’t always work out, do they?

Jupiter is a story about friendship and overcoming difficulties, told through music and fandom inside jokes.

ao3 | bonus chapter | fic post

🚀 If That's All It Was | 6k | Teen And Up Audiences

Harry and Louis are in a long term relationship and are planning to get married. When they end up having to go long distance for a year, things start getting progressively harder to deal with and they ultimately put an end to their relationship.

What happens when they meet again after a few months and all of their unresolved feelings bubble up?

ao3 | fic post

🚀 How Many Chances Does It Take? | 100k | Mature

Harry Styles is the lead singer of the band “Retrograde” who just signed a record deal and are moving to Los Angeles to pursue a career in music. He wasn’t really expecting to run into his childhood friend for whom he’s always had a thing, even though they haven’t seen each other in years, but he did. He also managed to fuck everything up, but that’s a different conversation.

Louis Tomlinson is a songwriter who lives in Los Angeles with his best friend, Niall. His daily routine consists of writing songs, hanging out with his friends, and trying to get over his childhood friend, which isn’t really working, but oh well. And then he sees him again, after years, but things go horribly wrong.

A story about being in love and being a complete and total idiot, but also friendship and forgiveness, told through music.

ao3 | fic post

🚀 Got Time (But We're Only Human) | 6k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis and Harry have been dating for years, but have been keeping it a secret from the public, which is why when they decide to go on a trip with Liam, Niall, and Zayn to celebrate One Direction’s anniversary, they end up at a farm in the middle of nowhere.

What happens when a picture that shouldn’t have been taken starts circulating on the internet, threatening to mess everything up?

ao3 | fic post

🚀 Fuck You For Ruining New York City For Me | 11k | Teen And Up Audiences

Harry met Louis in college and fell in love with him in record time. Louis broke up with him in their New York apartment, so Harry left the city for good. Except now he’s back, visiting with his new boyfriend.

What happens when they run into each other at a bar three years after breaking up?

ao3 | fic post

🚀 Enough To Wish For More | 33k | Mature

Louis Tomlinson just wants a few days of peace and quiet while his family are out of state. But when he meets the lead singer of a band he’s never heard of, his life and everything he thought he knew about it changes forever.

Harry Styles just wants to get his new guitar and then he’s leaving Haverhill, Massachusetts as fast as he can. But when he gets lost and asks someone for directions, he finds a lot more than the street he was initially looking for.

A long, complicated, painful, fucked up story about love.

ao3 | fic post

[imachaoticghost]

Book of Karma : Prologue

Masterlist

Word count : 1, 058 words

Pairings : none, gender fluid! AFAB! gn! reader

TW: Canon typical violence, may be OOC, canon divergence, reader is referred by their "persona" Athena, reader is referred twice as a girl, no beta we die like men, gun mention

The steady stream of people flowed, some walking quietly, some hurrying, some standing, and all going about their day, oblivious to anything else. Oblivious to the sniper watching them, to the rifle pointed at their heads. It made me chuckle, how unaware they were of their surroundings. With a sigh I stood and put the rifle in its case, opening the roof door and sliding down the stairs’ railing. After all I was bound to be nothing but a child they said. In my previous 17 years of life I had never had fun; it was my time to catch up on that. I was set on making the most of my new found freedom. I wasn’t about to let anyone tell me what to do.

But once I reached the end of the spiral stairs my giddiness faded to be replaced by a simple stern expression. I pulled my hood over my face and fixed my long wig underneath it, thinking about how I would soon have to move again. I was always either running from The Program or the authorities. I found it to be such a shame; Amsterdam was quite the beautiful city.

I was walking calmly when something, or rather someone, caught my eye. A tall blonde man had just walked past me. To anyone else it would’ve seemed completely normal, nothing about him stood out to people. But to me he was a nightmare, a tall, handsome, dangerous nightmare. To me he meant that the Program had already caught up to me, a lot sooner than I thought. I may not be good at remembering people, but I had made sure to never forget their faces.

The gears started turning in my head as I started making a plan, if I ran now I would look suspicious. I hoped he hadn’t actually noticed me, but mostly that he was here for another mission than catching me. So I kept walking towards my current safe house.

On my rush home I ended up hitting what I thought was a wall in the middle of the street but ended up being just a muscular man. When I looked up to apologize I noticed the bucket hat and the kind smile, but also the dog tags hanging from his neck. And when I looked back down I noticed the gun on his hip and military stance, confirming my suspicions. I quickly marked him as a threat in my mind: Bucket hat man: Level two threat.

After finally apologizing I looked back at my feet and kept walking towards the safe house. I finally reached it and slammed the door open, throwing my rifle and bag on the floor and taking a deep breath. I then rushed to open my laptop and buy a ticket to Berlin, picking one of my fake ID’s. If I wanted to move, I had to move quickly. I grabbed my bag and threw my clothes and food in it.

Once the ticket was downloaded I snapped my laptop closed, took another deep breath, slid one of my guns in the inside of my waistband, put my laptop in my bad, grabbed it all and left silently, leaving an empty house in which, seemingly, no one ever lived in.

The team sat in front of Laswell, all with different levels of attention but at least some. “Your mission is to retrieve The Reaper alive before-” She checked the file and grimaced, a gender fluid shape shifting (AN: we all know we’re shape shifters) target was the last thing they needed, with them already being an elite spy it made the task more difficult. “…they…fall on enemy hands, in this case Russian. Our Intel says they’ve been spotted in a plane to Berlin; let’s hope they’re planning on staying there. It also says that they move every four days, so you need to be quick. As far as we’re aware they have stayed always in European and Asian continent.”

She threw the file on the table, sliding it towards the Captain. “Name: Unknown, presumed: Athena Noctet, Age: Unknown, Gender: Fluid, Sex: Female, She’s an administrative ghost. The only thing we have about them is a presumed name, but even that changes every now and then. They’re a headache, and you have the honour of trying to catch them. Alive.” She insisted on that point. They needed the Reaper alive no matter what.

When he opened the file he was amused by the amount of emptiness in it. There was no image and a hell lot of unknowns. He was also amused by the amount of censure on the translated Russian document. They talked about birth and modifications but any detail on it was blacked out. He flipped more papers on random information until he noticed an envelope of pictures. He emptied it on the table for his team to see and immediately recognized the face of the girl he bumped with in Amsterdam, when he was following the blonde Huntsman.

“They look young” He noticed.

“Don’t let their appearance fool you. They might be young but I can assure you their mind is well beyond their age.” She warned.

He continued flipping through the pictures, they were mostly security footage or drone pictures and their face was generally covered. Apart from a signature amused smile always plastered in their expression. In one they were sitting in a café in Paris, a cap over their eyes. In another one, still in the same place, they were raising their drink towards the camera in a sort of mocking greeting.

Two other pictures caught his eye. One where they were at a party, luxurious and revealing dress on and hands all over an older man’s body .One of her hands was deep in the man’s pocket and in the next image they stood proudly, waving the wallet they had taken to the camera. The second one was the only one where they were dressed in an expensive suit, hair cut short, makeup accentuating their masculine features but still the same sharp cat eyeliner. If Price didn’t know better he would think that this picture had no reason to be there with the others, but the glint in their eyes and the smile they wore only belonged to them. Their fluidity was bound to be a problem.  

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

heyyy can i request an austin imagine? the reader is a famous singer and she doesnt have the best reputation however she gets with austin butler and everyone tries to warn him and to stay away from her and when theyre out the paparazzi say something like “shes not good for you!” or “shes taking advantage of you!” and then when they get home the reader cant control her sob that was hanging in her throat and she starts crying and austin comforts her

Starstruck

tw: none! ||  word count: 875 ||  rating: pg

A/N: nonnie you have been so incredibly patient with me haha. you were one of my first requests + i apologize for taking literally forever to get your request out, but i hope you enjoy it!

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

“Y/N! Over here! Give us a smile please! When can we expect your new album?”

“Soon! I’m recording next week!”

You spin toward the paparazzi and flash your sexiest smile, propping your hand on your hip. As you turn more to satisfy the blinding flashing lights and loud shouts, you suddenly feel fingers sliding over the silk of your waist. A smirk spreads across your face. You bend your neck slightly to glance back at the tall blondie sliding in behind you.

“Hi hot stuff,” Austin says into your ear in a low raspy voice.

“Oh, hi there,” you reply in a sultry tone. You wiggle your fingers down on his back, lighting tapping his bum with a smirk.

“You look incredible tonight, baby,” he says, and you flip around to pose with him for a few photos. You drape your fingers over his chest on the exposed skin between the two open flaps of his white top.

“You’re not looking too shabby yourself.”

You both look at each other, sharing a smile and wandering eyes that drop down to each other’s lips.

“Y/N what do you have to say about the rumors that you cheated on Alex?” one of the paparazzi yells.

You freeze, your smile dropping. You falter for a moment, but Austin’s hand on your back steadies you. You smile through the nerves, pretending you hadn't heard him.

“Austin how do you know you can trust Y/N after her previous cheating allegations? Are you concerned that she’ll do the same to you?” another paparazzi shouts.

Your entire body tenses up as you glance up at Austin. You can see him clenching his jaw, but he responds calmly.

“No. I’m not. Because I don’t think she ever did in the first place. Rumors are rampant in Hollywood. Just cause they go around doesn't mean they're true.

A slight sense of relief passes over you but fades quickly as you get ushered inside for the screening. You feel your palms growing sweaty and cold. A deep feeling of dread settles into your chest, pressing on your ribcage. You are meant to go take your seat, but hang back, gently pulling on Austin’s sleeve.

“You go on in,” you say shakily. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you in there.”

And before he has a chance to respond, you spin on your heel and rush into the bathroom. As you stuff yourself into a stall, your eyes start to release hot tears. You wipe them away as soon as they fall, trying not to ruin your makeup.

It has been a very difficult stretch for you. Your most recent album has been a huge hit and you couldn't be more proud. You had been in a committed relationship with your ex-partner for several years. But for almost an entire year you’d left for the European leg of your tour and had made a mistake that will seem to haunt you forever. You have hoped with every fiber of your being that everyone would just move on after the story had been leaked, blown up, and destroyed your relationship and public image.

But they hadn't moved on. You had become synonymous with the word “cheater” and the bright red bold letters plastered all over your face on magazine covers and online articles had all but destroyed your reputation.

Luckily, in recent months, you’ve heard almost nothing about it and have been thinking that you’re finally in the clear. Apparently not.

You sniff a few times, grabbing some toilet paper to dab at your eyes before leaving the bathroom. You stop in front of the mirror to refresh yourself. As soon as you walk out of the bathroom, you falter, seeing Austin sitting on the bench outside of the screening room. He stands when he sees you, approaching to grab your hands.

“Are you alright, baby?” he asks.

“Yeah these Cannes photographers are just… hardcore,” you reply nervously. You bite your lip to keep it from trembling as more emotion washes over you.

He cups your face in his hands.

“Listen, love, I don’t believe a goddamn word they say,” he whispers, stroking your cheek.

“You should, though,” you reply even quieter. You sniff but it’s not enough to hold back the flood that crashes through the dam.

“No, no, baby,” he mutters, dragging you over to the bench. “Everything’s alright, my love. Everything is just fine.”

“I already don't have the best reputation,” you wail through tears. “And now everyone thinks that a cheater is all I am! Just because I was trapped in a loveless relationship and made a mistake! It was just an accident, Austin! I’m not a cheater, and I would never, ever cheat on you. I love you so much! More than any love I’ve ever experienced!”

He pulls you into his arms, rubbing your back.

“I know, babe, I know,” he says, “I believe you. And hey…”

He lifts your face up to his, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He lifts your lips to his, gently kissing you. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead on yours. 

“I love you so much,” he presses a kiss to your cheekbone. “And nothing will ever change that.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

🦋 mila

[hotchology]

So. I heard you write stuff, would you be interested in doing maybe a drabble or headcanons for modern! Javier and gn! reader thats an ice skater but he found out about it when reader said they’re going to see their family or smth for vacation and suddenly they appear on TV during a european free skating program 💀 (or maybe more cowboys and cowgirls but hes my toaster strudel so)

Or just general Javier headcanons because he deserve it, thank you <33

infatuation

— fandom :: red dead redemption 2

— character :: javier escuella ( modern au ) x iceskater! gn reader

— note :: I AM SO SORRY I LITERALLY WROTE THIS AND POSTED IT AND THEN MY LAPTOP DIED AND IT DELETED AND WHEN I WENT TO CHECK HOW IT DID ON TUMBLR IT WASN'T THERE SO I HAD TO WRITE IT AGAIN 😣. ty for the request btw, also i tried my best so if it’s not quite right just let me know and hopefully i can fix it.

— word count :: 0.5k

ice skating was a beautiful mix of art and sport. you competed in the sport professionally, although you weren’t the most popular, you still did well.

you were living with your flatmate because after the few years of your college life, you were still in debt. but you also had a boyfriend, javier escuella who had ZERO idea that you were even had an interest in your job.

it wasn’t a personal thing, the topic was just never brought up. it was understandable though, you had only been together for around 5 months.

but tomorrow you were scheduled to go on a trip to go see your parents in the next state over. you hadn’t seen them in a while and wanted to check up on them. you had told javier prior to today, wanting to at least hang out with him before you left for your flight.

you arrived at his house, suitcase in hand because your flight was technically tonight but you landed early the next morning.

javier opened the door smiling and eye lighting up when he caught sight of you. that expression of his was by far your favourite, you had been together for what felt like a really long time and his love for you never died down.

“hey javi.” you said wrapping your arms around him, engulfing his scent into your nose. he smelt like a general men’s cologne and cigarettes. at first you didn’t like the fact that he smoked at first but once you learned that he only smoked on a weekly basis you calmed down a bit.

—

after a few hours of watching mexican tv shows, cuddling and eating food, it was time for you to go. you kissed javier on the cheek and hugged him tightly before leaving in a cab outside your house.

javier watched as the car drove away, smiling intently as he savoured your aura around him.

the actual headcannons now

— the next day after waking up the channel javier had the tv on previously was showing ice skating.

— he was debating on changing it but that all changed when he saw your name and face on the screen in front of him.

— he was dumbstruck, surely there was some other person who had a similar name to you, but you also shared the same face so..

— the channel was showing the contestant's best performances and when you were shown on the ice, doing a triple axel, javier was by far impressed.

— the man had no idea about figure skating but he could tell that the move you did was difficult.

— once he got word that you landed, he called you, gushing about how he was proud of you.

— "you look even more beautiful on the ice, baby." you blushing like a fucking chili pepper, although some people think that the compliment is generic, you found it just as flattering as everything else javier says to you.

— once you got home he begged to go watch you practice, because he wanted to watch you talents in real time.

— you found it adorable and complied, he was so amazed by your beauty on the ice, you found it a bit odd but appreciated it nevertheless.

the end.

— second note:: sorry if that was short that's all i had in me, pls like and maybe follow if you like my stuff (this is literally my first post u don't have to lolol)

[f1carsgovroomvroom]

THE ENCOUNTER PART 5

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fan ( and a bit of Pierre Gasly x Fan)

Warning: some smut 🌶 a lot milder than the previous ones though. Next part will probably have a lot more smut. 😳

Word count: 3.1k

Previous part (part 4) is here.

Talking my manager into letting me join him in France was a bit of a task, but she finally approved as long as I was finishing my work prior to me leaving. On Thursday I spent most of the morning trying to finish my work and also packed my laptop with me for the time I was able to work in France. I packed a few essentials and clothes to last me for the long weekend. Taking the same flight as Charles could be risky, but we decided that we will tell people that I work closely with the team in terms of tracking costs and expenses. As long as we will not be seen in public together, we should be safe and the team will back him up to avoid any awkward articles about him.

My phone rings and Charles’s name comes up on my screen.

“I’ll leave the house in 10 minutes. I will pick you up, are you ready?”

“Yes, just need to grab my luggage and come downstairs.”

We hang up and I quickly checked that I had all my documents, my phone and my airpods and rushed downstairs.

Charles was already waiting for me, opening the door from the inside for me to get in.

“Hello!” He leans closer and kisses me and I replied to his kiss with a smile.

I was unsure what we would act like after the day before because we haven’t really spoken after I agreed to come to the race. We simply talked about the race and the things that happened during the weekend.

I knew he would be busy most of the time with getting the seat fitted, testing the car, making sure it feels okay, the free practices, the interviews, the arranged meetings with his team and the sponsors, it was going to be a long weekend for him. Pierre also made sure to make time to spend time with us, even though it was him home race and he will be busy with all the fans.

I wasn’t sure if Pierre knew something between Charles and I happened, but I will probably find out this weekend.

“Ready for the weekend?” Charles interrupted my thoughts.

I took my eyes off the road and looked at him. He was smiling while driving. “Yes, I’m really excited for my first grand prix and also to see you and Pierre driving.”

His smile disappeared for a second when I mentioned Pierre but he quickly went back to smiling.

“I hope I will not disappoint. You will get to meet most of the drivers too, which I think you’ll enjoy.”

“Really? That’s amazing. I cannot wait.” I said, full of excitement.

“The only issue is that we need to make sure we do not mention anything regarding you and I or even Pierre. It will get messy in the media and that’s the last thing you want or I want.”

“What happened in England stays in England.” He looked at me and I winked.

We went through the airport checks quickly, there weren’t queues so things moved very quickly. The flight was short and before I knew we were in France in the car that was taking us to where we would stay for the rest of the weekend. He had a motorhome arranged for him that was next to his teammates. As it was not somewhere were the public had access, I was able to stay there with him. There are 2 bedroom inside it so in the worst case scenario, we could always say that we didn’t share a bedroom.

It looked a lot better than I expected, it was luxurious and very comfortable.

“It’s not the best conditions, but hotels are normally a pain and staying with Pierre is a bit difficult as he will be a lot busier this weekend.” Charles said as he was showing me around. He was very familiar with the mother home, being the same one he often had during the European race weekends.

“It’s really nice! I expected it to be a lot smaller but this is actually better than my flat.” I laughed, realizing that he was probably used to a lot better than I was.

“This is a lot bigger than what I was used to before becoming a Ferrari driver, so I completely get it.” He came next to me on the sofa. “I really like that you’re you and you are not one of these girls that expects to stay in the best hotel and go to the fanciest restaurants… I enjoy just being myself with you.”

The eye contact while saying these things was so intense, I got lost in the blues and greens in his eyes. People would often think they are green but they are mostly blue with a bit of yellow closer to the pupil which makes his eyes look a bit green, but you could see the ocean in his eyes and sometimes I do feel like I am drowning.

“Fancy restaurants are so formal and I cannot laugh or be myself and these hotels are probably the ones that charge you 500$ for a bottle of water, no thank you.” He laughed and kiss me.

There was a knock on the door and he got up to see who it was.

I heard him speak in French but I could not hear the other person, but Charles stepped back and Pierre came in.

“Hey, Yasmin!” He said, waving his hand. “Glad you both got here okay. My parents are excited to see you, Charles and to meet you, Yasmin, so please make sure you’re coming to the dinner they are arranging. I will send you the details on WhatsApp.”

“We will be there, mate! Thank you for the invitation!” Charles said and Pierre opened the door to leave.

“He came by just to invite us to the dinner. He is a busy man with all the fans and the events his team has organized for him.”

“Understandable, he will have to see “Liked by Pierre Gasly” everywhere this weekend.” I laughed. “It’s going to be a good weekend for him, no matter what place he finishes the race.”

“Indeed, home races are special. For me, France reminds me of my childhood and the first races where my father and Jules were present at. It holds a lot of good memories. It’s where I grew close to Pierre and I always appreciated having him in my life, because he understands the highs and lows that come with F1.”

Charles continued to tell me stories about his father and about Jules. He wasn’t sad for one second when speaking about them, he was just proud that he is here today doing something that he knew both of them wanted him to. Once he finished I was craving a kiss from him but I wasn’t sure how okay it would be to kiss him. He kissed me in the car, but it also could mean nothing.

I kept avoiding looking at him but when I did, my eyes would fall onto his lips.

“If you want to kiss me, just do it!” He said arrogantly.

I rolled my eyes, “You wish! Maybe you’re just saying what you’d like to do?”

“I’m not going to deny wanting to kiss you.”

His hand moved to my cheek, holding my face, while his lips slowly found mine, making the kiss more intense step by step, biting my bottom lip before kissing me gently again and just repeating. His hands were guiding me to sit on his lap and I just followed the lead.

“Been wanting to kiss you like this the whole day.” I said, losing the shyness I had a few minutes ago.

“Me too.”

That was the last thing he said before kissing me again. My top disappeared minutes later, followed by my bra and his t-shirt.

“We have 20 minutes before someone will come to take me for the track walk.” He said, while playing with my breast.

“Then let me make it special for you so you have a good day.”

I stepped back and got on my knees in front of him, his legs opened and with a quick move I pulled his shorts and boxers down. I knew he would be hard before I even took them off, because being on top of him gave me the advantage of feeling him growing harder and harder as we kissed and touched.

“Seeing you like this, in front of me, is my favourite view so far.” Charles was getting my hair out of the way, while I was using my hand to tease him just enough to make him want more.

“As we do not have a lot of time, I will stop teasing and get down to business, but I cannot promise I will be so nice next time.”

He laughed and I took his cock in my mouth. His hands still in my hair pulled my hair back.

“If you think you’re being nice and giving me pleasure as I wish, then listen to me.”

I raised and eyebrow and nodded.

“Your hands behind your back.” I followed the instructions and put my hands behind my back. “Now lick.”

I used my tongue to lick the whole length, from the base to the head, making sure to go slow and give extra attention to the head. I did not suck, I just licked as he requested. My hands behind my back, but craving to touch him.

“Now you can suck.” He said, grabbing my hair a bit stronger and directing my mouth to his cock. Once I had him in my mouth, he took control of my head, by using mostly my hair, but he was not pulling hard enough to be painful, but just a bit to create that feeling of being completely out of control.

“You’re such a good girl when you follow orders.”

His pace was quick enough to make me gag, but I wanted him to feel good before this weekend. You never knew when a bad weekend could happen.

His pace increased and I knew he was close.

He pulled out his cock, stoop up and started to use his hand to jerk off. I knew what he wanted and I would never say no to him, if that would make him happy.

He painted my face with his cum, dripping down my face to my chest.

“Argh, this was so hot.” He said, while I took his cock in my mouth one more time to clean him off.

He grabbed from behind a tissue and cleaned my face a bit.

“Don’t worry, I will just have a quick shower.” I said to him, while taking the tissue from his hand.

“Stop refusing my help, I love doing these things for you. As you took care of me, I am taking care of you, and don’t worry, we have the evening for ourselves after dinner with Pierre.”

He winked, continuing to wipe off my face.

As he cleaned most of it, I got up and his team knocked on the door seconds later. He came to say goodbye and I got ready for my shower.

I washed my hair and got into a summer dress that is perfect for the hot weather in France. Grabbing my phone I went on TikTok to see what people have been posting lately. I didn’t really have much time to waste before now.

Scrolling through I saw a few funny videos, a few new trends, but I come across a video in which apparently Pierre was in Peru with a model. He was previously spotted with her. Oh well, the no sex he mentioned to me was probably all bullshit because he was spotted with her a lot for the last few months. I was angry, but at the same time I couldn’t lie and say I did not expect that from him.

I left my phone and went to the room I was sleeping in and got my makeup bag up. A knock on the door scared me, Charles would’ve come inside straight away, so it cannot be him.

I went to check who it was and I could see Pierre. I opened the door and took a step back.

“Charles is out for the track walk, he didn’t leave that long ago.” I said to him as he was closing the door behind him.

“I came to speak to you actually.” He said.

“Oh, okay. What’s the matter?” I wanted to tell him that I knew about his little friend but no need.

“Well, kind of just wanted to see you and see how things are going. I’ve been thinking about you a lot these last few days.”

I laughed once he finished his sentence.

“What is so funny?” He said, getting annoyed with my reaction.

“Did you think I’d fall for that? You should be more careful when you hang out with you “friends” because the media makes sure to cover every single thing you do. I assume you also miss the girl in Peru?”

His expression changed quickly, guilt covering his face.

“It’s not like that…”

“No need to explain anything to me Pierre. I’m not anyone in your life, or at least I am not someone that needs or deserves your explanation. But please do not confuse my friendliness with me being naïve. I’m not a toy or someone you can just lie to. We were having fun and being exclusive was obviously not on the table, but lying to each other was also not on the table.”

“I did not lie with anything.” He quickly added.

“You did, you were spotted with her for months and you said to me you haven’t had sex. You can do whatever you want, it has nothing to do with me, but please just be honest.”

“I am honest and I did not lie about that. I’ve been seeing her but nothing happened until the last few days and even then it was just sex.”

“Just like what we had.” I added, reminding him of the conversations we had.

“Yasmin, please stop assuming things and let me talk.”

“Pierre, we have nothing to really talk about. I will believe you this time around, but I also think that we should put behind what happened then..”

I tried to look away from him, because his eyes could put a hole through me with the way he was looking at me.

“Is it because of Charles?” He asked, trying to get me to look at him again.

“No, Charles has nothing to do with it. I just feel like things could get messy between the 3 of us if things continue this way.” I should probably also stop whatever I was doing with Charles, but that would come after.

“Understood. Well, I am still expecting you to come to the dinner, I already told my parents that I am excited for them to meet a new friend of mine.”

“Of course, I am really looking forward to it.”

Pierre gave me a hug and a kiss on my forehead and left. He excused himself by saying he has to do the track walk too as well as signing a lot of hats, posters and letters for fans along with a new mini helmet that is just the same as his new one or the French GP.

Charles came back a few hours later, when I was all ready for the dinner. Not dressed too fancy, but nice enough to make a good impression.

“You look amazing, but you’ll have to wait for me to have a shower and put some proper clothes on.”

The weather outside was nice, but too warm for walking the whole afternoon but even a bit sweaty, he looked really hot while removing his top.

“I wish I didn’t get ready so I could join you in the shower.”

The sentence reminded us of what happened last time we were in the shower together.

“When we come back home, we can have a shower together so I can repay you for your nice gift earlier today.”

He left a kiss on my cheek.

“Charles?” I said as he was just getting some changing clothes.

“Yes.”

“Pierre came over a bit earlier… just letting you know.”

He stopped looking through his luggage for clothes and looked towards me. “Oh, really? What did he want?” His eyes went back to his luggage after asking the question.

“Just to chat about what happened in England.. you know.”

“Uhum..” he made a long pause and I was worried for a second that he would not say anything else anymore. “We can talk about this in more details if you want, but if you feel uncomfortable, let’s not.”

“I want to talk to you about it.” I said and he sat on the bed gesturing for me to come next to him. “I just don’t want the situation between you two to be awkward but I don’t want to be in a difficult situation either.”

“I talked to Pierre and I made sure he would not argue about any of the things that happened in England. We both agreed that whatever you might choose, either of us, both of us, we will talk about it together. We wanted to sit down with you and just kind of go through it and make sure we are not ending up in a difficult position.”

“Ahh..” they talked, and that is probably the reason why they are both so calm about it. “That’s a good idea.”

“I don’t want whatever is happening now between you and I to end but I also don’t want to rush things and make things public before we are both on the same page about what will be what and before we also know each other better.”

“I don’t want it to stop either, but we should talk to Pierre about it too. Also, making it public at the moment is a big no-no for me.” I laughed. “I want to be a private person for now and getting to know you in my own time and way.”

“Agreed.”

Charles kissed my forehead and then my nose and then leaving a soft kiss on my lips.

“The only thing I want you to know is that I really enjoy my time with you and I do not mean only the sex, but the actual time we spend together. I enjoy your company.”

That conversation was probably the calm before the storm, because the dinner would not be uneventful and neither will the race weekend.

Part 6 is here

[ohhophelie]

when: may 24 - 30 who: fee, ft. @theo-chaussard what: fee actually does something dark and violent!!!!  warnings: drugs, overdoses, other dark violent things

May 24, late

“Ok so,” Ophélie looked at Théo with almost a pleading look, twisting her ring around her finger to keep her hands from shaking. “I have an idea and I think it's a really good one if I can play it right. I really need you to please, like, hear me out fully before saying no or telling me to stay out of things. Please Théo?”

Théo nodded, and Ophélie beamed at him.

“Thank you.” The blonde ran a hand through her curls, then sank into the chair across from him. The gallery was empty, the last patrons having left an hour ago. They would send someone for the painting in the morning, but Ophélie knew better than to let them leave without writing her a check. It now sat on the desk between them, along with several others from the past few weeks when she’d assumed control of their joint endeavor. He looked exhausted, the hollow space between her ribs ached for all they’d lost and all they still might.

Anger was better than grief, anger was better than guilt.

“This,” she set her ipad on the desk, open to the instagram account of a bleach blonde,  “is Everly Astor, American expat, very new money - oil money -  despite the name, her father’s third wife is the daughter of a Russian oligarch.”  

***

“So you like run this place? That is so fucking cute, Fee-Fee, I love!” The American’s voice was shrill, clawing at Ophélie’s already frayed nerves, but she smiled coyly and shrugged.

“I mean I do all the fun stuff.” This was bubbly airheaded Fee, the shallow thing with a lilting, girlish voice and little desire to do anything but play. “Like hosting parties and events, picking out the art, playing with the artists,”  a wicked sort of smirk, “None of like, the business-y stuff,” she waved an errant hand, “Absolutely not interested. But what have you been up to? How was the wedding?”

“Uhg,” Everly groaned, “it was fine, he keeps having ‘em bigger and bigger while his wives get younger and younger.” She rolled her eyes. “But it's like whatever makes y’all happy. She keeps tryin’ to like, be besties with me and invite me out with all her scary skinny Eastern European model friends. They are actually super fun and flirty though, we literally never pay for anything. So I’ve just started hanging out with them without her. Daddy will replace her in two years anyway so what’s the point?”

“Love that for you, honestly,” Ophélie laughed, and it felt hollow. “We’ve literally already forgotten her name.”

***

“Pierce St. James went to school with Gaël,” Ophélie opened the next account to show Théo, “He has a weakness for pretty girls and boys,very much playing the pseudo-intellectual starving artist trope when in reality his parents seem to think throwing money at him will fix his drug habit.”

***

“I cannot believe G is engaged,” Peirce was classically beautiful, almost irritatingly so. Ophélie let him pull her close, an arm casually wrapped around her shoulders. She even managed to smile instead of flinch when he touched her.

“I know, he’s already being such a bridezilla, to the surprise of absolutely no one,” this wasn’t one of her usual haunts, AU and Vixen too full of pain and anger from those she loved for her to effectively play the part she needed to. To be the girl who didn’t care, who didn’t wake up screaming and burn with such anger. “He wants like, five ‘pre nuptial’ festivities, as befitting the token gay Redgrave. His words, not mine.”

Pierce tossed his head back and laughed with such genuine ease it almost startled her. She joined a heartbeat too late and she almost convinced herself it sounded real.

“I’m sure you will throw five absolutely spectacular parties, O, don’t stress your pretty little head.” She allowed him to ruffle her hair. “You always have the very best shit anyway, one day I will get your connection’s contact information, count on it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ophélie smiled sweetly, lacing a bit of promise into her words. “It is far more amusing to me for you to try and convince me, when you know I always share the goodies they find me.”

***

“Our third and fourth contestants are Stuart and Marina Gray; she trained in St. Petersburg and was with the Royal Ballet until last year when they eloped. I think we talked about it then,” she tilted her head to the side trying to remember as she showed Théo the last account she had pulled up. “Yeah, it was like a whole big thing because she was incredible, like, poised to be the next big star. Anyway they both rely on drugs - her to stay skinny and him to stay interesting. He might also be in a bit of financial trouble, and she’s told nearly everyone about it.”

***

“To London’s youngest retiree and a year of wedded bliss!” Stuart and Marina were too high to catch the casual cruelty in Ophélie’s voice, and happily returned her toast.

“Bliss sounds so boring, we aren’t that boring yet!” Marina looked at her husband pointedly, he shifted in his seat, taking a long sip of the champagne Ophélie bought them.

“Of course not, darling, weren’t we just out with your friends the other day? I am way more interesting than the old men who follow them around.”

“Who needs interesting when you have wealth?” Marina snapped back at him, and Ophélie laughed like this was all a fun little game they played regularly.

“An old married couple already,” Ophélie teased, “once you stop arguing I have a very belated wedding gift.”

***

“Through extensive, stimulant-fueled social media sleuthing that would make MI-6 proud, I have confirmed that all of them are individually connected to and frequently party with women who I would bet my life savings work for that Russian pimp as her b girls, I think they are called. You know - the talent-less wannabe vixens that they don’t actually give a shit about?”

“Also,” Ophélie continued quickly, she was nearing the crux of her proposal and slipping close to nervous rambling. “They all individually know me, and believe I have this excellent drug dealer who I am very protective of. But being the generous and delightfully fucked up little disaster socialite they all think I am, I am always willing to get extras for my friends.”

“Everyone knows that I am a coke girlie, but we have been known to dabble in other things.” She avoided his eyes here, knowing he wouldn’t exactly like how far she was willing to put herself at risk for them. So she wouldn’t tell him all that she tried on herself to see how noticeable the difference was between the MDMA her contacts were used too and that which was laced with something extra. Just a taste, nowhere near the amount that would seriously endanger her - the amount she planned to use.

“I promise I have a point,” Ophélie looked back up at Théo. “My friends, and I’m using that term very loosely, always ask for extra whenever they are going to be with the b girls, apparently their mistress keeps them on a tight leash and they have to go outside of the family if they want to partake.”

“So, my proposal is that I, through one or more of my contacts, provide them with laced drugs. I was thinking MDMA with Fentanyl. I’ve got the dosage figured out for maximum damage. And when a dozen or so young women overdose at the same club on the same night, it will be detrimental to their business. Not only because they lost those girls, but also who’s going to go to a club where all that shit happened?”

She took a breath, the first one in what felt like a few minutes.

“If we need revenue to do things, then so do they. And this isn’t something like destroying a building where there’s insurance. If this goes the way I hope then it will take time to recover.”

Théo’s face grew brighter as Ophélie spoke, giving him more of a smile than he had in what felt like weeks. He appreciated the thought that went into it, the research (he had used social media for similar purposes and could appreciate how much time was spent when it never looked that way), and the fact they were going after the money. Going after people, that was a given, but people were replaceable. But the money? That was much harder to replace once it was gone.

“Do you think that you can use your connections after to do more damage? Spread a few extra rumors, just for extra impact. The drugs are a fantastic idea, and I think you’re in a very special position with these connections of yours to do more damage on this scene than we could.”

Ophélie blinked, almost in shock.

“Really?” She barely let herself hope that he’d consider her plan upon asking him to listen, and this? This was more than she’d even considered. “I mean probably - no, definitely. I have more connections, these were just the people that made the most sense for this thing.”

She took a deep breath and let herself feel that glimmer of possibility.

“So you’re saying yes? I can do it?”

“I am giving you a tentative yes, but I have a few more questions,” Théo nodded, “more of a let’s workshop it than any of these are full deal-breakers. I just want to know how are we going to make sure that this doesn’t turn into everyone dying. It’s war, as much as I hate it, we can justify a few deaths because technically they are a product as disgusting as it is to say about a human. But most of the B-girls are human trafficking victims. I just want to make sure we’re not turning this into a mass casualty event. That might get the wrong eyes looking at where those drugs came from, where normally OD’s and a bad reputation aren’t going to do anything but damage the business.”

“Ok yes, anything.” Her enthusiasm was almost overwhelming, but she bottled it up, like all things. At his questions her face fell into a mask of cold cruelty.

“Mass casualty? Like when they walked into a fucking hospital and repeatedly shot people I love? Or is this more of an argument for their innocence? Like I was innocent the Halloween before last, and instead targeted and brutalized for my fucking name and nothing more?”

She’d suddenly become almost preternaturally still, the only movement her fingers lightly trailing the scar that still figured prominently across her chest, its mate only recently masked by the peony tattooed down her spine. The peony Varden helped her design.

“They are distant enough that it won’t be instantly connected to us. And even if it does get back to me, none of these contacts know of my involvement with you all, so the organization will be safe.” Unspoken - I will take the fall.

“Fee,” Théo quietly said, taking her hand and squeezing it, “what they did to you was horrific. There’s no ifs, ands, or buts about it. But we’re better than that.  If they get to the hospital there’s a chance that they’ll be able to properly get out. The Russians will still be hemorrhaging their money, the club's reputation will be in pieces, they’ll be losing their B-girls. Maybe one will even leak Zhanna’s name in an attempt to get safety. And that’s all your plan. I just care about you and having that many deaths on your conscience, it’s not easy. It can haunt you, and that’s not me saying that you’re fragile because you’re so much stronger than I think you even give yourself credit for. It’s so easy to lose yourself when all you want is revenge, and honestly, after losing Noa, I don’t think that I can handle losing another person who I look at like a sister.”

But we’re better than that.

“I’m not.” She stood quickly, pulling her hand from his and turning away to pace the small office as the rest of Théo’s words sank into her skin. “I’m not better than that, because I don’t know how else to convince everyone that I’m here and that I’m all in. I’ve tried other ways and been told I would only get in the way.” Ophélie wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t - her hands combing quickly through her hair as Étienne’s rebuke echoed through her mind.

“I don’t know how else to convince everyone I love that I am here to stay. I know I ran last year and I know I shouldn’t have. But it doesn’t matter, I don’t want it to matter. Because if I hadn’t met Paul, if I hadn’t been brought into this group, this family - I don’t know who I would be right now, I don’t even know if I’d still be around.”

“You didn’t know me then but like, Théo, I was a fucking mess as a teenager and in uni. To this day I am shocked I made it this far. And I know that, without you all, and if I’d done what I was supposed to do - I’d be married off to some politician who resents me, who once tried to push me down the fucking stairs because I was 23 and reckless and kissed his rival. And I would hate myself and my life.”

“So no, I am not better than mass murder. I would burn this fucking city to the ground if it meant that the people I loved were safe, and that they knew how much they meant to me.”

It was a sentiment that Théo understood well, one that he had felt so many times since he had found out about the attack on the hospital. Truly he wanted to burn the city to the ground too, for all the hurt it had caused them. Noa would have wanted them to do as much damage as possible, everyone was in mourning, hurting, trying to find a way to make it feel somewhat better. And as much as he hated doing it to victims, sometimes people had to be a means to an end.

“Do it,” he finally said after a few seconds of thought. Théo had always been softer than most in his position, maybe it was time he changed too. “Think about what I said, but do what you think is right. But if Sofie asks, the deaths were accidental. Understood?”

“Fuck.” The reminder of Sofie and her own too familiar past with those Ophélie might endanger hit her. The blonde sank back into the chair, all fight fleeing her body at once. “I forgot about that.”  

Fuck. Théo supported her. He really did. She saw the violence flash in his eyes, the danger etched upon the soul of one she loved as brother, and finally beheld him for the threat that he was - the thing that had earned him that ring. And he would back her, would fight for her plan and support her - it was so much more than she was prepared to feel.

Ophélie swallowed a sob and then looked at him - gray eyes more akin to silver flames.

“You’re right,” she whispered, “I wouldn’t be able to handle that much death, you all know I’m an emotional disaster anyway.” Ophélie shook her head and blinked back tears.

“Okay but what if I decrease the dosage of fentanyl but increase the time frame, and instead of just using one of the connections - we use them all. Sustained, longer term impact. I can make it so it’s not as fatal but still harmful to people who haven’t got a tolerance.”

***

She started with Peirce.

He’d always had a thing for her. It was almost too easy - despite the fact that she needed two glasses of wine before she felt calm enough to text him. By the time he responded and made his way to her place, Ophélie had fully settled into the shell of the girl he expected her to be. All smiles and laughter, playful airy flirtation and that almost ephemeral affect of never quite being fully focused on the present. The dark and twisty bits, all those sharp edges and messy anger were locked away; bottled up and shoved down into that deep part of her that was the well of unwanted emotion. She sometimes wondered if she’d ever find the bottom.

She laughed at his jokes and did not think about loss. He played right into her hand, practically tripping over himself for a bit of the MDMA she said her source had around, and conveniently offered to take it off her hands when she complained about having too much. And because she was nothing if not committed, Ophélie even convinced him to try a bit with her, right then, to fully seal it. She knew which ones were safe, of course, but the high was still tainted with a low beat  of anxiety - what if she’d fucked it up? What if he saw right through her? What if? What if? What if?

They finished off the wine and she got her pulse under control.

She let him kiss her and felt an echo of guilt, like it was something she’d forgotten. She kissed him back and carved out the guilt. It was hard to be engaging, enthralling, when one felt like an open wound. When she took him to her bed, when she looked up at his heartbreakingly beautiful face and saw only greed and arrogance - Ophélie decided she no longer cared what happened to him beyond her own purposes. Still, she let him fuck her. She did not let him stay the night.

When he was gone she went back to the roof. Not for vertigo and grief, but the sobering silence of the still cool spring nights. The next ones would be easier, particularly now that she’d gotten over that unfortunate moral dilemma about involving people in a war they had no idea existed. She thought of Noa & Dan, of the children they’d never get to see grow up and all the love and life they should have had. She felt their absence like a haunting, and it was suddenly easy to justify her choices.

Everly only needed an extended lunch and five mimosas, her desperation to impress her new found model friends doing little to mask the deeply seeded daddy issues manifesting in her need to outdo his third wife. Ophélie was only three mimosas in, sober enough to recognize the hypocrisy in her own judgment but far past caring. She played the generous friend well enough, it seems, that Everly didn’t even take her up on the offer to sample them before slipping the tablets into her purse.

They made promises to do this once a month, at the very least, and Ophélie knew she wouldn’t see Everly again.

Somewhere between numb and tipsy, her anger so smothered under that mask that she couldn't even summon an ember of it to hold on to, she sought out Olivier. His own rage burned hotter and darker than hers, and they spent the afternoon in bed where he skillfully coaxed out the real Ophélie until she could finally feel something again.

She always asked Olivier to stay the night.

Marina and Stuart were the easiest, or maybe it was just that she no longer cared what happened to the people it was convenient to use. She’d been playing the volatile couple off each other for weeks now, ever since she first considered her grand plan. Careful messages meant to look thoughtless, some well placed rumors, and three separate happy hours/cocktail parties (one with him, one with her, and one with them both) - and Ophélie had them. After slipping them the tablets - seriously it's nothing, my connection had way too much and then gave me way too much, I know you’re good for it, just get me next time - they both texted her separately asking to know if she got any more.

That night, for the first time in what felt like months, Ophélie did not wake from a nightmare.

***

May 30

Monday, she’d argued, was not the best day for the type of business her targets were involved in. But the general chaos of the broader French plan won her over. The initial shock would only make the long run damage she willed upon them that more effective.

A part of her, a very very tiny, incredibly reckless and utterly stupid part of her, considered going to see it for herself. Security at these sorts of venues had been an issue she and Théo had to reckon with but they decided the odds were in their favor with a greater number of contacts. So Ophélie knew that her walking into The Basement (what a gauche name for a club, really what was the thought process here, what vibe were they going for) would likely end with a gun to her head, or worse. Still - for the space between seconds, she let herself consider going and watching her own triumph or failure.

Instead, Ophélie stuck to socials. By now she knew intimately who to follow and what to watch for this kind of news - all through burner accounts of course which may or may not have initially been created to stalk her own fans/haters. She felt like a live wire, liable to spark at any moment with her anticipation and anxiety. It was the lack of control that bothered her the most. She’d created this plot, neutered and crafted it almost lovingly to the most effective damage, but now she had to watch it unfold out of her hands - at the whims of people and forces she did not know.

She paced, her restless energy jerking at every sound  from her phone or ipad. She regretted waiting it out alone. She would have driven any company mad with her pacing and questions and stress.

Then the rumors came in, the messages in various groups, the vague instagram stories and tiktoks. Ophélie gave herself one minute to luxuriate in this feeling of utter success, to bask in the power trip of her manipulations. After the minute was done she texted Olivier to come over. Then she texted Théo.

Ophélie: unconfirmed reports have 1 or 2 down at vorya and 3 (!!!!!!) down at the basement Ophélie: which is a shitty fucking name for a club but i digress Ophélie: did i actually maybe pull this off théo?

[staytheb]

Change of Plans

Pairing: ATZ’s Seonghwa x OC [Yiseul] || ATZ’s Hongjoong x OC [Yiyeon] Genre: idol!au, slice of life, slight fluff Word Count: 2,402 Summary: The sisters had a change of plans about their flight out of the country, but it’s just that they didn’t inform their idol boyfriends about it.

Warning: none

hi! it’s been a while, but i realized that i haven’t written anything new in so long and it’s been due to a very eventful year this year. other than that, so i finally got around to writing a piece due to the winter holiday! i needed to get something out before the year end and so here we are. luckily, i had the two oldest of ATEEZ in mind and this came out. so yeah, happy reading and kthxbai, Admin Lia~

Yiseul entered Yiyeon's room at five in the morning.

"Hey." She called out softly.

Yiseul opened the door wider to allow the lights from the hallway to illuminate her sister's bedroom instead of turning on the actual lights.

"Yeon."

Yiyeon groggily heard her name being called while fluttering her eyes open and slowly turned towards her bedroom door.

"Hmm?"

Yiseul walked in further while taking a seat at her sister's desk chair.

"So, there's been a change of plans."

Yiyeon now sat up in bed, facing her sister.

"What plans?"

"We're not going on the trip with Dad and Mom."

"Why?"

Yiyeon rubbed her face, tiredly as she ran a hand through her hair.

Yiseul also ran a hand through her hair before replying.

"Remember how I told you that our flight got switched at the last minute last night, right?"

"Yeah."

"I went to check-in for it and it got switched to another gate. Then that flight got delayed and now it just got cancelled a while ago."

"Wow, that's so dumb. So, what now?"

"Just waiting for the airlines to refund me."

"Mom and Dad?"

"I messaged them, telling them we're not joining them in Sydney to fly to L-A."

"I see, I see. Oh, well. Too bad we can't meet Hanjun and Rosalie to help plan out their wedding in person."

"True, but we can catch up with them in the summer."

"Oh, yeah, true."

"Anyway, I was gonna book a new one, but it's more pricey and neither of us has the funds to cover it."

"Ugh, lame." Yiyeon groaned as she lay back down.

"At least we can spend our first Christmas and New Year with our boyfriends."

"I would rather still celebrate it by myself this year." Yiyeon declared as Yiseul just shot her sister with a knowing look.

"He won't let you celebrate it without him."

"He'll be fine since he won't know I didn't leave for the trip after all. Besides, they have those year-end awards to attend, prepare for their next comeback, and even prepare for their European tour. So, he's gonna be busy and have no time to bother me."

"Kim Hongjoong would be very sad that his girlfriend doesn't wanna spend time with him."

"He's an idol. ATINY and his members can keep him occupied. Anyway, leave me alone and go hang out with Park Seonghwa for Christmas and New Year instead."

The corners of Yiseul's lips quirk up, but she didn't respond to that and said something else.

"Alright, but we're basically off for the next two weeks and have a lot of free time."

"Which I will enjoy without much in person socialization."

"Fine. Anyway, I might do some Christmas shopping later today if you wanna join me."

"I'll think about it after I wake up for sure, but Christmas is like in two days though."

"Yeah, I know, but since we're not going anywhere, might as well."

"True."

"Yeah, but good night."

"Good night."

Yiseul left Yiyeon's room, closing the door behind her and returning to bed herself.

"Hmm, what should I get today?" Yiseul asked herself as she glanced at the menu before her.

She just got done shopping for gifts and Christmas decorations just so she could take photos to send to their parents and have some prepared when they returned. Even though today became Christmas itself, Yiseul didn't feel like shopping yesterday or the day before that. However, Yiyeon didn't want to do anything either on both days, too, and so she continued to sleep in as well today. It was already two in the afternoon and Yiseul wondered if her sister had woken up by now.

"Should I get donuts, too, or just drinks? Then again, I can always eat the snacks later."

"Hey, beautiful."

She heard a familiar voice say from behind her. Yiseul glanced over her shoulder to see a tall man, wearing a black and white striped shirt with a beige overcoat, and black pants. He also wore a black face mask and a black bucket hat. At first she blanked out on who this person was until she caught his eyes and recognized her idol boyfriend, standing closely behind her. Her face lit up as she smiled and leaned in for a hug while Seonghwa welcomed the warm interaction.

"Hi."

"Hi."

The two giggled as they shared a hug before Seonghwa asked her a question.

"Weren't you supposed to be in another country by now?"

"I was, but things occurred, plans got changed, and now we're here."

"Oh?"

She nudged him playfully.

"I was gonna tell you later."

"But not soon enough as it's now Christmas day."

He cast her with a knowing look as she smiled mischievously at him.

"Yeah something like that, but I would have told you later due to your own busy schedule."

"True."

Seonghwa shot her another smile before remembering something.

"Since you mentioned 'we're here', then I'm assuming that Yiyeon didn't go either, right?"

"Mmhmm." Yiseul responded as her focus went onto the menu.

"Now, what should I order?"

"Oh?"

A sly-like smile graced his face as he pulled out his phone to notify his friend, Hongjoong, of what he just recently learned.

"By the way, Yiseul, do you have plans for later tonight?"

"Yay! The fake Christmas tree is finally up, holiday decorations are up, now let's get something to eat." Yiyeon said to her sister as she rushed to her room to get ready.

Yiseul didn't say anything as she lingered around the living room and admired the area and display she and her sister had spent an hour putting up before heading to her own room to dress up warmly. Yiyeon came out of her room all covered up for the cold night and stared at her sister, confused, upon seeing her sister dressed a little more than casual.

"Um, we're just gonna go down the street. Nothing fancy."

"Well..." Yiseul trailed off, not sure how to tell her sister about another change of plans.

Yiyeon eyed her eyes suspiciously until the doorbell rang and her eyes narrowed knowingly thereafter.

"It's them, huh?"

Yiseul giggled, not responding before making her way to open the door.

"Now I know why he's been blowing up my phone this whole afternoon." Yiyeon muttered as she heard her boyfriend's voice calling out for her.

"Jung Yiyeon!" Hongjoong called her name in a slightly scolding tone due to her ignoring his calls and messages since this afternoon.

"Hi. Bye."

Yiyeon smiled and gave him a small wave before running off to her room with Hongjoong hot on her tail.

"Yah! Jung Yiyeon!"

The other couple could hear Yiyeon laughing in response as the two watched the other pair with their usual antics with each other.

"Should we intervene?" Seonghwa asked as Yiseul shook her head.

"Nah. Let them do their thing." She responded while glancing up at her boyfriend.

"So, where is it that you wanna take me out to?"

Seonghwa grinned underneath his face mask.

"You'll find out soon. Now, let's go."

He offered his arm as she hooked hers along with his as they left, leaving the other couple alone.

"Why didn't you respond to my calls or messages?"

"Because I was sleeping."

"Yeah, that's likely true."

Hongjoong paused in mid-chase upon hearing his girlfriend's response as he and Yiyeon were running around her home with the latter trying to not get caught by the former. Yiyeon for a moment got Hongjoong trapped in her room for a bit, but of course he escaped and now here they were in their living room with Yiseul's fake Christmas tree in-between them. She had paused, too, to catch her breath once she noticed he wasn't chasing her.

"But you could've still responded after you woke up." Hongjoong stated as Yiyeon shrugged.

"Well, it is what it is, Hongjoong."

"No, it's not."

"Okay, yeah, but I didn't feel like it then and I was gonna say something later."

Now, Hongjoong decided to play around with walking to and fro from side to side, causing Yiyeon to be wary of his stance as he could go either way to chase her.

"How much later?"

He eyed her knowingly.

"I mean today is already Christmas and you were supposed to be gone, yet you've been here still for the past couple of days."

"Um, yeah, true, but it is what it is. Besides, you could've waited until tomorrow later, to find out, too."

"After Christmas day."

"Yeah. Like I said, well, it is what is it."

Hongjoong continued to pace back and forth with his eyes set on Yiyeon, firmly. She flashed him a small smile as her eyes continued watching him, cautiously.

"Well, I'm here now, so let's cuddle until tomorrow morning."

"No." Yiyeon declined with a slight frown.

"I was supposed to get food with Yiseul, but instead I have to hang out with you."

"Wow. You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

Hongjoong's jaw dropped as Yiyeon giggled with a shrug.

"I mean, you just get a little too affectionate."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes.

"You've never complained before."

"I'm not complaining. I'm just saying."

Yiyeon chuckled again as Hongjoong slightly pouted before settling on a compromise.

"Fine. Okay. How about I cook for you."

"Uh, no thanks. You can't cook to save your life."

"I..."

Hongjoong immediately closed his mouth, knowing that was true. Taking this as her chance to make an escape, Yiyeon made a run for it. However, Hongjoong caught sight of his girlfriend's movement and without hesitation leapt forward, passed the fake tree, and reaching out to grabbed Yiyeon. Yet, Yiyeon freaked out that her boyfriend would hit the tree that she tried to reach out towards him to move him out of the way, but instead the two got tangled and crashed into the fake tree. Yiyeon's attention went towards the now toppled Christmas tree with widened eyes before glancing over at her idol boyfriend.

"Kim Hongjoong."

Yiyeon glared at her boyfriend as Hongjoong turned his head towards his girlfriend as he continued lying on his back after the incident with a nervous giggle.

"Yes?"

"No more cuddles for you this year."

"Aww, don't be like that."

Before Yiyeon could gather herself up, she suddenly felt herself being tugged against her boyfriend as he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"I need my cuddles." He mumbled against the crook of her neck as Yiyeon rolled her eyes in good-nature and gave in to the affection.

"Fine, you big baby."

She heard him laugh in victory while repositioning themselves in a more comfortable position on the floor.

"Merry Christmas." Hongjoong wished her with a slight peck to her forehead.

"Merry Christmas, to you, too."

She returned the gesture, but to the left side of his jawline. A moment passed by before Yiyeon ruined their loving moment.

"You do know that we have to fix this before my sister comes home, right?"

Hongjoong groaned before responding.

"Yes, I know, but let's cuddle first and worry later."

He hugged her tightly while nuzzling against her as a ghost of a smile crossed her face and she allowed the sweet moment to settle upon them once again.

Once Yiseul and Seonghwa stepped off the bus onto the lighted evening streets of Cheonggyecheon in the downtown area of Seoul, did Yiseul curiously glanced about their surroundings.

"You're not planning on buying me stuff for me, are you?"

"No." Seonghwa answered with a laugh, but his girlfriend remained alert.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He cast her a knowing look.

"Besides, I've already got that covered."

Yiseul slightly nudged him.

"I thought we made it clear to get no presents for each other."

"Yes, but I couldn't help it and I had to buy it as I thought of you."

Yiseul groaned.

"Now I feel bad for not giving you anything tomorrow as it's still on its way."

Seonghwa scoffed.

"And you're over here trying to make me the bad guy for getting your a gift."

"Oops."

The couple giggled as they walked hand-in-hand down the Cheonggyecheon stream.

"Anyway, if not shopping, then why come here?"

"The Christmas lights."

"Oh, well, why this one specifically?"

Yiseul motioned with her free hand about her.

"I mean, there are other places that have lights displayed set up elsewhere, too."

Seonghwa smiled, but Yiseul couldn't see, yet she knew it reached his eyes.

"Because you wanted to see it during this time of year."

"I only told Yiyeon that, so how did you find out?"

"Because I pried it out of her after your birthday to plan out something, okay?"

Yiseul laughed as Seonghwa seemed slightly embarrassed about admitting that fact.

"Okay, okay. Thank you."

She held his arm firmly to give him a small squeeze to indicate her appreciation of him doing that for her.

"It's so pretty."

"I know."

Yiseul had meant the holiday light display around them while Seonghwa's words had meant someone else. Still, the couple walked cozily together about the area, blending in with the other couples and tourists also out and about during this festive time of year. Luckily, Seonghwa's disguise became obscured due to the lighting and everyone focusing on the light display. Yiseul's own face covering aided in making them stand out less as well.

"C'mon, let's get some dinner." Seonghwa suggested.

"Oh, I got that covered."

Yiseul showed her phone to her boyfriend.

"Just put in an order for bulgogi, sweet potato noodles, kimchi, tteokguk, chicken, and bubble tea to the house."

She put her phone away.

"That way Yiyeon won't be too mad about being ditched last minute."

Seonghwa laughed as he nodded.

"Very true and Hongjoong can't cook either."

"Yes, totally true."

The couple shared a laugh as they admired the scenery around them.

"Merry Christmas." Yiseul wished her boyfriend as Seonghwa glanced down at his girlfriend and she could see his eyes smiling brightly.

"Merry Christmas, to you, too."

The pair nuzzled against one another as Yiseul's eyes lit up.

"First, let's get some ice cream."

"But it's cold out."

"Don't care. It's honestly tastes the best when it's cold out."

"Now c'mon. Let's get some ice cream before going home."

"Okay, okay."

They continued down the stream before locating the nearest ice cream shop, and afterwards headed home to enjoy their Christmas meal with the other couple.

[dropsofletters]

runaway silhouette [jjh]

—summary: no one asks about that polaroid picture of a woman yoonoh keeps in the depths of his wallet.

lace, measurements, models—jung yoonoh has worked for the world of fashion for a little too long, but he’s as unknown as the person next door. with his inspiration dying down and his designs getting cheaper by the day, yoonoh has changed his ways. no longer is he the best lingerie designer in ‘silhouette’, the company he works for, neither is he the playboy he used to be and the dulcet-mouthed man that got his way through success.

bad luck has settled in his life, much like it has done on hers. the manager of a hotel that slipped his fingertips when one night she denied him all—the world, her hold, her smile, and just left him with a picture on his wallet.

only when he has to prepare one of the biggest fashion showcases of his life does he meet her again, and he realizes things could never be easy between them.

why is he, a man of fashion, infatuated with such a lovesick, monotone, blazer-sporting hotel manager? no one will ever know.

a runaway has captured him, and he’s not sure how to get his heart back.

maybe, he should start by forgetting that night.

—title: runaway silhouette  —pairing: jung yoonoh x reader  —genre: lingerie designer!au ; hotel manager!au ; strangers to lovers to enemies!au ; slowburn!au ; slice of life!au  —type: fluff ; angst ; humor ; drama ; suggestive —word count: 19,326 (i said slowburn and i meant it) —warnings: mentions of sex (the act is never on paper or narrative)

Jung Yoonoh is dressed to succeed.

With folded white sleeves and a black vest that becomes a second skin, he merges into the office like it belongs to him. It might, at some point in time; an associate after a few years and then, onto another business that was his own—vision, designs, everything. That’s the plan. His suitcase hangs, paces back and forth in the hook of his fist while all eyes cast on him while walking through the cubicles.

Today, Yoonoh is becoming the one in charge.

Silhouette is the lingerie line everyone wants to have cladding their skin. Expensive, intricate and elegant. It’s one of those things people put on when they need to feel their best while also being comfortable. Garments that enamor the buyer and the people who see them. His home for the past two years, Yoonoh has broken his ass to get to the manager position in the design department.

When settling his suitcase on his cubicle, he shares a smile with his neighbor. Johnny, part of the social media team, with his long-curled hair framing his rounded face. Fixing the collar of his shirt, Johnny interrupts him to say.

“Big day today, aye?”

Redemption, he likes to call this day. The payment for the parties he didn’t go to and the obnoxious nagging he stood from his boss, Mrs. Kang. This tall woman with atrocious so-last-season fluffed out coats in bright pink who screams at the mere sight of beige underwear. As she says, it’s tacky and simple, the kind of clothing you’d want to wear when un-turning someone on.

Yoonoh can’t wait until he can make decisions, organize collections, make bigger and better options for Silhouette to expand.

“You see, John, once I become your boss…I’m making you the leader of the PR and Social Media Team.” This place is a nest of snakes. One bite on his first day and he already became smarter. “Can’t be trusting anyone else with these babies.” With that, he opens his suitcase, sketchbook pressed to his chest just as Johnny claps his hands.

“Better position means better salary.” Johnny conquers, as casual as ever in his baby blue sweater

There are a few rules to Silhouette. To any workplace, really, and Yoonoh thinks about this just as he swings his long legs with Johnny following after him like a dog and his tail.

He had written them down in a portion of his brain that keeps his coffee order and his mom’s birthday. He’ll never forget them.

1)     Never trust nobody—never say where you come from in business, where you’re headed, what your dreams and aspirations are. Copycats exist everywhere, and they’ll do anything to follow your track if you’re doing good.

2)    Say goodbye to friendships but hello to hypocrisy. A smile is needed, but is it real? Not at all.

3)    Differentiate your works from others. Being special is the only way you’ll stand out.

One push of the door spreads a smile on his face, brown hair pushed back to showcase his plush, rosy lips and his gleaming eyes. What’s rule number four, you may ask?

Don’t let them see how tired you are.

Mrs. Kang sits at the very end of the meeting table. Always early, never late. Her face is dense with makeup, each wrinkle becoming more apparent as she applies a third layer of bright pink lipstick. Yoonoh knows Mrs. Kang has been the biggest dictator of all—giving him more work hours, destroying the designs she didn’t like from him, and making him get jittery fingers from how much he had to sew and unsew with the sewing machine to show her what his mind had captured. Now that she had found a way younger boyfriend that is eager to give a trip to the entirety of Asia, he’s over the moon.

Because that means old and grumpy Mrs. Kang will be gone for a while, and whoever becomes manager will be, then, the one in charge.

“Mrs. Kang!” Yoonoh greets in a tone that is much too faux, his dimple becoming apparent by the second. The woman looks up and away from her compact, stopping the conversation he is having with his biggest rival in the office. Not worth even thinking about. “Classic always goes best. You look beautiful today.”

She can barely even move her features in a smile. That’s how obstinate this woman is, but one of her wrinkly hands comes up to hold Yoonoh’s bicep when he leans down to press two kisses on each of her cheeks. The old European greeting. “I know, Yoonoh.” She adds, extending her hand towards him. “May you show me your designs? I got here earlier than expected and I have something to do right now so—”

That makes Yoonoh’s smile falter the slightest, just as he opens his sketchbook and splays it in front of Mrs. Kang. “Well, Mrs. Kang, if you let me have a few of your minutes, I prepared a PowerPoint presentation and a video for the collection I have in mind as my desire to become head of the designing team—”

“Silence, Yoonoh.” Mrs. Kang interrupts, going through his lingerie designs for both men and women. It’s not the kind of job people think about when designing, but there is something about seduction and comfort that just works well for him. “I’m in the midst of planning my engagement and I don’t have the time for whatever extra thing you have in mind.”

The room is silent, but if features could talk, the woman seated next to Mrs. Kang would have burst out in laughter. Siyeon is a 4’11 piece of shit that dared steal one of his designs when in his beginnings in Silhouette.  A fuchsia baby-doll that turned viral in the blink of an eye once it appeared in runways. Comfortable, sexy, with the right number of straps and the comfort of wearing it at any occasion, companion or not.

Yoonoh had left his sketch at his desk, only to find it gone the next morning. Mrs. Kang was over the moon, both from the money she got and about the audacity of the design. Siyeon had turned it in as hers.

No wonder her husband doesn’t stand her. She’s the devil reincarnate, and slips in Johnny’s DM’s every once in a while.

Yoonoh can’t say he doesn’t have some screenshots saved on his phone just in case he needs to blackmail her. This is the kind of man he has become.

“Done before.” Mrs. Kang flips onto another one of his designs. “Done before.” And then, she continues with the rest. “Vulgar. Boring. Ugly. Done before. Jesus, Yoonoh, did you even try to do anything?”

Yoonoh is used to praise. He has got it from women, throughout his time in college and even at his previous jobs. As an intern, he was refreshing and a nice sight in the designer area. Now, he is the floor Mrs. Kang steps on with her Louis Vuitton’s.

“I—” The meeting room is silent, everyone in the designer team trying to peek at his sketches. A short laugh leaves his lips, though awkward in tone. “We’ll compete against brands like Savage with designs like this. They’re brave and fitted and—”

“Boring.” Mrs. Kang completes, and Siyeon actually laughs at that moment, playing with one of her curled bright red strands of hair. “Yoonoh, I’m being serious. If the women you’re sleeping with are wearing lingerie like this…I’m worried about your sexual health.”

More laughter, and his jaw finally tightens. He tries to tell himself to smile, but he doesn’t, instead, snatching the sketchbook from her.

Mrs. Kang notices this, pushing her reading glasses down her nose before sighing. “Yoonoh, you need to learn how to take constructive criticism. You’re not perfect and I’m here to make you grow.” Says the woman that steps on him each time she can. At this point, he’s practically plastered on the floor. “I’m sure you’ll get to divert these boring ideas into something creative once Siyeon becomes the head of the department. You two have been so close since the beginning and I am sure she will work magic on you.”

“No.” Yoonoh shakes his head just as he plasters a faux smile on his features. “Ah, I—Well, I won’t—”

Siyeon stands up from her seat, fixing the sleeves of her white dress before clearing her throat. “I’m glad of getting the position and being the one, remotely, in charge of Silhouette as Mrs. Kang goes find true love.” This is not happening. Yoonoh rubs at his eyes in case he is dreaming. He has been preparing for this presentation for five months— “All I have to say is…I wouldn’t have been able to do this without the support of everyone here. My team. My heart. I have grown to have a family with you, not because we’re perfect, but because we’re together and…of course, it’s nice to continue down this path.” She hums. “A woman in charge and then, another woman. Isn’t that the whole point of Silhouette?”

His tongue scalds his palette when he takes a seat next to Mrs. Kang, closing his sketchbook with a harsh slap of his hand. Siyeon’s eyes connect to his own, fluttering her dense mascara-coated lashes before sighing.

“I had the pleasure of seeing Yoonoh in his first few days here and he has lost that spark, but I’m sure we’ll find it again.” Oh, everyone gets roses but he gets a few, too. For his social funeral, that is. He really wants to get out of there as soon as possible. “I’m thankful.”

There go the tears, and Siyeon covering her face with her hand, a smile hidden behind the action.

…Has he ever said he hates working in Silhouette?

“You’re going to make me cry, too.” One of the members of the manufacturing team says in between big sobs and Yoonoh can’t help but roll his eyes.

Fuck this place.

After an elongated meeting with tearful hugs and looks thrown his way, Yoonoh is ready to find somewhere else to work in. Keep to himself until he dares get his curriculum somewhere else and stab this company straight in the back. Not because he didn’t get the job…but…

Let’s be honest, it’s because he didn’t get the job and he lost it to Siyeon.

Johnny slips around a few hours later with some cheeseburgers in a plastic bag, dense in cheese and stinking the two conjoined cubicles before he says:

“She’s the devil.”

“An exorcism wouldn’t be enough for her.” Yoonoh replies, tongue itching to say something when he unleashes the cheeseburgers from their confines. He’s only five minutes away from lunchtime, after all. “I can’t believe they gave it to her. Her designs are…I don’t know, like lace over lace. That’s not elegant, that’s not what Silhouette stands for—”

“Here’s the thing,” Johnny says, smacking his lips as he speaks with a mouthful of burger in his mouth. “You never had a chance.”

A pang rests in the pit of his heart when he scoffs. “Yes, I did.”

“No, you don’t.” His friend replies. “Everyone in this office hates you but me. I believe it is a Freudian theory. The Jung Yoonoh Effect.” Voiced out like a movie trailer, Johnny extends one of his hands in the air.

“Sorry for not caring about anything but business. Everyone here are suck-asses and crybabies. Why should I care?”

“Because people feel disconnected to you. They don’t to Siyeon.” Johnny conquers. “The Jung Yoonoh Effect is simple.”

“Stop it. You don’t even know who Freud is.”

“That one psychologist that compared everything to sex. That’s who he is. Hence, why you’re there.”

Yoonoh quirks an eyebrow, playing with a slice of meat that had gotten out of his burger. “What are you even talking about?”

“Interns always thirst over you. At least, five out of every nine people in this office has had a wet dream about you, liked enough of your Instagram pics to look like a freak, or would have your dick in a second if the second step of your effect wouldn’t come around.”

“…I’m not that bad of a guy.”

“But you’re bland. Work. Work. Work.” Johnny moves his hand as if it’s talking. Now he’s playing marionettes. Great. “We’re selling lingerie, and you are always about competition and work. We need you to be passionate.”

“Passionately suck up to people?” Yoonoh shakes his head, huffing in the process. “No thanks, man. I’m not going to lower myself to Siyeon’s standards. Not sure I want to get pink eye from kissing so much ass.”

“Been there, done that.” Johnny sighs, a smile displayed on his features. “I’m just saying, bro. Maybe, change the game—”

Something Yoonoh is…stubborn. He’d die with that title, and it is only enhanced when he feels a long nail tapping on his shoulder, making him turn around. He expects to see one of those interns that try to stumble out words when asking him for his e-mail to send him the summaries or designs they have worked on, but this time around, he is met with Siyeon’s face.

“No eating until lunchtime.” She tuts, shaking her finger in the air.

This means war.

Yoonoh points at the clock on his wrist, showing it to her. Rolex, maybe, he’s spoiling himself with the benefit of showing her he has also earned some money, designs mediocre or not. “It’s already my lunchtime.”

“Not to me.” Siyeon answers, straightening her back. “Maybe, you’d like to listen to me before I kick you out of the team, don’t you, Yoonoh?”

With that, he pushes the burger onto his desk, covering it just as Siyeon smiles.

“Good boy.” She coos, laughing when she turns around and returns to giving a run-around the office.

“That’s it.” Yoonoh whispers, running his hands through his hair, not caring if he messes it up in the process. “I’m designing the best fucking collection one could ever find and showing everyone in this goddamned office that I have talent.”

“Ooh, and where do you think you’ll get inspiration from?” Johnny tries to gossip, and Siyeon’s soft touch for him is shown when she doesn’t even spare him a glance as he munches on his burger.

“I think I have someone in mind.”

###

She’d color-code her life if she could. Hence, it’s still a mess, and while she is as organized as she could be, her mind is still trying to process how to keep the hotel she works in safe and sound and quiet.

One would think that being the manager of a hotel would be easy. A three-star-hotel, no celebrities, no paparazzi’s, definitely not enough rich people who care about their environment. As long as she made it homely, clean, and nice to stay in, it wouldn’t be much of an issue.

The problem is…everything is a mess.

For one, her boss, Sachiko, has not appeared in the last two days into the hotel. None of her well-prepared summaries, in Times New Roman twelve, with enough punctuation to make it look like a contract, have been read. The maids keep talking amongst themselves, gossiping instead of cleaning. They got a bad review on their restaurant because the head of the cooking team had decided to shout to one of the clients about how ‘they didn’t have an ounce of taste’ because they disliked the taste of his Ratatouille and oh, how to forget? The fact that her duties as a manager transcend to something else.

She rushes through the kitchen, heat and smoke accompanied by the sizzling of veggies and meat. She doesn’t care that there are flames around her, or that she bumps into one of the cooks in the process.

Sachiko has a mini version of herself, gift of a getaway with her ex-husband to try to make her marriage work. Then, came the five-year-old that had slipped her hold as she was attending one of the residents in their hotel at the entrance, granting them information about the type of rooms they offered. Erika, in all her round-faced glory with grabby hands and too much energy, had slipped from her line of sight and her hold.

She has roamed the entire hotel and she can’t find her.

Oh, then, she should change her statement that she hasn’t seen Sachiko in two days. She has. Sachiko’s heels have clicked against the tiles of this hotel. Only to leave Erika with her, spitting out excuses about having to get on another meeting for the expansion of the hotel, before she’s off the hook of being a full-time mother.

She doesn’t even get more payment for this.

“Have you seen Erika?!” She asks out loud, voice strained from so much shouting, only to watch the head chef speak, his moustache moving with each word he says.

“Oh, little Erika?” Well, seems like he has a soft spot for someone. His eyes glimmer, just as he wraps his hand around his mouth, as if to utter a secret. “She’s in one of the tables. She asked for two milkshakes already. Oreo milkshakes. She’s starting to jitter.”

“Mr. Oh!” She whines, throwing her head back with a groan before splaying her hands on her hips. Navy blue uniform as a simple suit giving her the most boring yet comforting outfit she could come up with. “I am the one that has to get her to sleep, and if she has sugar before bed, she won’t even close an eye—”

Mr. Oh shrugs. “What am I supposed to say? She’s my boss’ daughter.”

“I am your boss as well.”

“You’re getting me fired?”

She can’t even answer to him, hearing the Baby Shark song spoken at the top of someone’s little lungs. Her feet are rushing out of the kitchen by the time she notices it, blazer opening up when she gets to the table Erika is in. Red walls and marble tables don’t scare her, playing with the straw of her drink and grabbing someone’s phone to listen to that fucking song again.

“Erika…” She tuts, voice stern, hands spread out on her knees. This cardio routine has been enough to make her burn all she has eaten this month. The little girl’s short hair caresses her cheeks when she turns towards her, a mischievous smile on her face.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go to your room and wait for mommy to get here.”

“Nope.”

“Yes, Erika. I am not playing.” Her voice levels itself, only to have Erika staring back at her. Big brown eyes blinking, playing with the edge of her pretty pink dress before sighing.

“But you won’t let me…let me watch my shows.” She takes in a breath, shuddering it out as a pout splays on her lips. “Y—You…mommy said you’d be with me, but you aren’t with me at all—”

Tears wield her eyes and she has to rush to cage her in her hold, hoisting her up before a big wail left her lips and she lost her job. “I’m sorry, Erika. I’ve been so busy, I hadn’t realized.” She mumbles out, pressing her cheek to the top of her head before sighing. “Do you want to give a walk around the hotel and go back to your room to watch as many shows as you want?”

She has to play good cards here. She’s not raising this child, after all, so if the long hours of TV-watching make her turn out bad when she’s a teen…that’s not her business.

Erika nods continuously, engulfing her arms around her shoulders. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

At least, she has found Erika before Sachiko arrives the next morning, but her body practically glues itself to the floor in tiredness by the time she slips out of the restaurant.

The best part of being a manager is when she gets back home.

###

“So, you’re saying you practically lost your job?”

Yoonoh’s life revolves one thing. Those four walls of his cubicles, the connections he has gotten from his workplace and his elongated list of explanations that always go unheard. In any other occasion, he would have been delighted of being given the benefit of lying. Casual relationships are more of his thing and explaining his every insecurity, recollection of time or worry isn’t part of the plan. Carnalities? Sure thing.

A hook-up turned friend with benefits pushing him by the chest and practically gasping when he sighs? He didn’t think it’d end this way.

“Mia,” His voice rasps out, leaning back on his calves while hovering over her. Her bed is as pristine as always, the rosy satin sheets from last week turned into beige, deep fibers that do sound too elegant for them to do whatever they are thinking of in the bed. “I didn’t lose my job, I just didn’t become the head of my department, okay?”

He’s trying to spell it out, but the model is just as confused. Mia had modelled for Silhouette a bunch of times in the last two years, and that’s how he met her. Fitting one of his designs to her will had led him to be asked out on a date and then, the contract came about. Just sex, nothing more.

Mia scrambles away from underneath him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if repulsed. As if she had kissed an ogre itself. “Yoonoh, you’re practically jobless—!”

“I am not.” He sighs out, trying his hardest to concentrate on anything around the room. The tall ceilings, the conversation at hand, anything but the obvious problem in his boxers right now. “I swear, I will just be working for Siyeon but it’s for a period of time. I’m sure I’ll get her position soon enough.”

“Oh my God,” Mia pushes her long brown hair away from her shoulders, widening those innocent eyes of hers, sharp cheekbones lifting in distaste—not even a smile of comprehension. “I can’t believe I almost slept with a good for nothing. You told me you’d get that job and now you didn’t?”

“A good for nothing?” Yoonoh stands up from that bed, hands on his hips when Mia nods, once and then twice.

“Your dick is good, but not that good.”

Is this the day Yoonoh’s ego gets bruised to shattered little pieces that poke at his feet like glass? Perhaps.

Is this the day Yoonoh lets that pang of pain in his chest become visible? Not at all.

“Were you just with me because I was probably going to be a manager?”

“Silhouette is—listen, they are established, but it’s not what I had in mind.” Mia puts on her robe, covering her Goddess-crafted body before picking up a glass of the wine they had been sharing. “If you became manager, I’d have more connections with other teams. I would probably be in better runways and—”

“I’m not your manager or your little linking buddy, Mia.” Yoonoh complains, chest flushed when he seethes, pushing the strands of his dark hair away from his face. “We’re just having fun. I wasn’t going to bring you as my plus one when we had already established—”

“I don’t know if you notice,” She starts, licking her lips in elegance. “But you’re…you’re going to end up alone, Yoonoh. All you do is work, you’re always tense and silent and…a little bit boring, if I’m being honest. I am definitely the closest thing you’ll ever have to a relationship.”

Oh, no. That’s the thing he hates the most. How the world has been divided in romanticists and hard-workers. You’re one of the other, can’t ever be both, and sometimes, he feeds into that stereotype. He knows he doesn’t have time to fully sit down and talk to someone about his interests, let his heart be wandered about like a museum, but somehow…hearing anyone tell him that he’s tense, silent, boring…doesn’t sit well with him.

He shrugs, eager to poke just like done to him. “Good thing I never wanted a relationship with you to start with.”

Mia gasps at that, plush lips parted before she’s opening the window of her one-floor home. Elegant, but still not the grandest thing out there. “Oh, is that so?”

“You happen to be presumptuous, superficial and now, a complete opportunist—” He says, walking behind her until she turns around, her robe falling off one shoulder when she points at the window, crisp air whisking the tension around.

“Then, leave.”

“Okay.” He’s about to turn around and grab his clothing, when he feels her tugging at his taut forearm.

“Not through the door. You don’t get the benefit to do that.” Once again, Mia is pointing at the window and that catches a chuckle out of Yoonoh, that rises and rises in tone.

“I won’t get out through there.”

“I didn’t ask you. I told you to.” With that, she’s pushing at his chest, trying to get him out as he scrambles to get a hold of her.

“Mia! Are you fucking insane?!”

“Tired of your bullshit, Yoonoh. That’s it.”

Mia is, perhaps, not stronger than him, but for someone who walks on runways…she’s mad strong. Maybe, it’s the necessity to get him out of her home or the flying atrocity of her train of thought that has him stumbling backwards in one of those moments. In just his boxers, the prickling of the grass and the flowers in Mia’s garden caress and poke at his skin, tickling in enormous amounts just as he falls into the most embarrassing position he has been in.

The moonlight seeps over his skin, a groan ripping from the depths of his soul at the ache on his back when he hears the window closing, not without a few words from Mia: “And don’t you dare call me again, asshole.” And maybe, he would have laughed at the stupidity of the statement, because throwing someone out of a window is definitely not a reason to call someone back, but now, he’s much too surprised and in pain.

### 

She wishes she was back to being a kid.

It’s a thought she has when the days are tough and uncertainty fills her, like a vase that is neither half full or half empty, but just stuck. In this town, with a job that she had wished for years ago, that takes away every ounce of will and thrive that she ever had. Days are tiring, nights even more so, and sometimes, she wishes the lake would stop being so calm. For it to be some movement, some waves, some dance of life that tells her: ‘this is something new and I give it to you because you deserve it’.

Instead, she’s walking alongside Erika, whose little feet in her elegant tiny boots are kicking a rock on the sidewalk. They had decided to walk for another block near the hotel, houses scattered in their glow in this enchanting night. It’s a moment of quiet, and she relishes on it, sending a look to the rock and to the little girl, just in case she’s not warm enough or she’s tired.

Oh, how she wishes she was tired.

Erika calls out her name, soft and through a pout, in a way that makes her sound like her age. Very much little a baby. “…Why do…why do girls your age never like boys?”

“What do you mean?” She questions, a smile on her face when sparing Erika a glance. A shrug is given. “I think boys are cool. Not all boys, but some are.”

“Mom doesn’t like my dad, and he’s a boy.” That must be the way she explains her parents’ divorce, but how she’s involved in that? She has no idea. “You…you don’t have a boy. I never hear you talk about boys.”

You see, she hasn’t dated in a while. A while as in…years. Comes to be, building trust into someone after having another person shatter it for you is not only difficult, but somehow near impossible. A plane ticket had said farewell to her in-person relationship and she had embarked in this immense long-distance relationship with too many tears and too much longing. He was distant after a while, and she blamed it on time differences…

Time differences that were proven to be someone else when she called him to tell him she had saved money for seven months just to visit him, only to hear him with another woman.

Another woman who claimed to be his girlfriend of four years.

Not one. Not two. Not three. Not even three and a half. Four.

“I don’t know.” She starts, trying to find the best way to say this. “We don’t always need a boy, Erika. Us girls, we don’t. The only people we need are our family, our friends and ourselves. Princesses can still be pretty and have a lot of people looking up to them without a prince.”

“Like Moana?”

“And Merida.” She completes, a smile on her face when she tugs the little girl up to scoop her in her hold. “Your mom has a hotel and she takes care of it very well without a boy. That doesn’t mean your daddy is not important, but they are happy even when he doesn’t have a girl and she doesn’t have a boy.”

“Then,” Erika plays with the collar of her white button-down. “We all have to be in pairs?” She stops.

“You mean couples?” Erika nods. “Oh no, honey, not all of us have to be in pairs or be part of a couple.” She chuckles at Erika��s innocence. She must be a bit insufferable, but still a kid. With the nightly air blowing at her face, she sighs. “We can all be with anybody, depending on who we like, girls…boys…your mom has told you that, right?”

Humming, Erika opens her mouth to speak up. “Yep.”

“Good girl.” She coos, smiling in the process. “Do you know what decision means?”

“Yes.” Erika conquers. “Carrots or potatoes, like that.”

“Exactly. What you choose is your decision.” She’s trying to make this easy for her. “Your mom doesn’t have to love a man, because that is her decision. As long as she loves herself and you, she’s already complete.”

“And you?” Erika questions.

She hadn’t thought about it in years. It didn’t feel right to be next to someone else, and she doesn’t know if that falls on her a little bit. Loneliness is inherent, this wandering thought that comes to her when she stops and wonders if there is someone out there. Not to complete her, because she’s already full by being on her own, but to support her.

“I am complete, too.” The answer is simple, tucking a strand of Erika’s hair behind her curved little ear. “So are you.”

“I am complete!”

“Yes, you are.”

Something interrupts them just as they pass by a cream-colored house. A groan comes from the flowers planted in the front-yard, and that has her stopping. Flowers don’t talk, obviously, but if someone is hurt—a dog or a human, she has to check.

More groaning and then, she sees a peak of milky skin under the moonlight, paired with tousled black hair. A man is standing in between the bushes, with his lower half thankfully covered by the plants, a short small nose, decently sized lips and a face that speaks anything but a good time.

And he’s half-naked. Only in boxers.

Her hand comes upwards to cover Erika’s eyes just as a loud gasp leaves her lips and she screeches: “Pervert!”

“No, no, no!” The man in question shushes her, lowering his body until even his taut chest and abdomen are covered. His eyes widen comically, and she has to shut her mouth to hear him speak. “I’m not a pervert, I promise! I know this looks wrong but—”

“You’re hiding in the bushes without clothes on, sir. This is definitely something illegal—”

“I was with a woman,” He sends a look towards Erika, levelling his words just because a kid is there, trying to snatch her hand away, but its grip is tight like iron. “And she threw me out because we had a break-up. Kind of. Not serious enough to call it a break up but…my clothes are inside and she won’t let me in. I’ve tried for such a long time. I was hiding until someone passed by but…no one did.”

Still far away from him, she quirks an eyebrow. This relatively, conventionally handsome man had been kicked out by a woman…almost ass-naked?

Talk about an attitude.

“Well, I’ll call someone over to help you out—” She’s about to move again, not completely trusting the man in the bushes when he calls her over with a hiss from his lips. A mix of ‘psst!’ and ‘hey!’ that obnoxiously makes her stop to turn around, still covering Erika’s eyes. “What?”

His eyes glisten when he says: “Help me.” He must be some kind of boss. The stranger says these two words like she has to do it, and she would have turned around again had it not been for those plush lips saying: “Please.”

“What do you want?” She questions, only to have him smiling.

Oh, there is a dimple there. A very profound and albeit, a bit attractive, dimple.

“Clothes.” The stranger adds. “Can you buy me some clothes? I promise I’ll pay you. I just need to get out of here. I think a cockroach bit me in the ass.”

“Language.” She spits out, just as Erika tries to wiggle away from her hold and repeats:

“Ass!”

“Erika!”

“Sorry.” He says again, bringing his hands together in a plea before sighing out: “I need them right now.”

She fixes Erika’s hold around her body, before rolling her eyes hard enough so she cans see the back of her head. “Fine. I’ll find you some clothes.”

###

Erika won’t take care of the family business. She’ll be a stylist, for sure. 

The only thing opened at this hour of the night that doesn’t cost her a big portion of her salary is the thrift store and after endlessly explaining the situation to a very eager Erika, she is watching the little girl moving around the store as if she owns it, grabbing clothes here and there in a hassle.

“Erika, be careful. We can only pick three pieces of clothing!” Not that the teenager by the counter cares, popping his bubblegum in between his thin lips, looking down at his phone and tapping on it with a speed that a piano player would envy.

“We have to make him look cute.” Erika tries to say in her most professional voice, and she has to sigh. She will definitely not become a mother anytime soon.

“Yes, but we also have to make it cheap. I don’t have much money in this suit.”

“Yes, yes.” Somehow, she feels like Erika is not listening, pulling at a t-shirt on a table nearby, only to unfold it and give it to her. Her body is so small that she couldn’t see the imprint on the front. As her babysitter of the night, she expands it over her chest, only to watch something within Erika lighting up. “I like it!”

“Good,” She checks the price after muffling a laugh at the words written at the front. “It’s cheap. We can get it.”

Small steps patter against the tiles of the grand store before she’s tugging at the leg of a pair of pants she found on a rack, too tall for her to grab.

“This, this, this, I want this!”

Those ones are a little bit pricier, but when she gets them out of the rack, a smile finally spreads through her features. She has to get it. “You have a gut for styling, little one.”

Erika straightens her back in pride, fisting her small hands before nodding. “Thank you. Want me to buy one for you?”

She chuckles at her words. Definitely not, but she masks it by saying. “We don’t have enough money tonight. Another time.”

### 

Props to the man whom now she knows is called Jung Yoonoh…he doesn’t look half as bad in those clothes as anyone else would.

The milky way spreads on Erika’s pupils when she leans on the table that she had taken up in the hotel’s restaurant a little bit over an hour ago. Her line of sight is filled with none other than Yoonoh, whom she had practically cried to just to invite him to have dinner with the two of them. Erika has practically eaten her weight in Oreo milkshakes, but she can’t quite say she is not starving by the time she slips into the leather seats and she smells the delicious cooking from the kitchen.

Compare that to the bland sandwich she has in her locker.

The little girl talks even out of her elbows. Yoonoh, however, patiently listens, trying to keep up with the grand story she has for the outfit she had picked for him. That explains why people take second-glances towards him. Not that he is not handsome enough; the lighting at that house his girl had kicked him out of did not do justice to his chiseled, quite carved face, but there is something about his clothing that captures most of the attention.

A pair of pink flip flops that Erika had picked up at last after they both forgot about shoes. Tight red leather pants that showcase the strength and curve of his thighs, quite lean, elongated legs that she had taken a second look at when seeing him out of the bushes with some clothes on. And, how to forget the old, quite used black tank top that reads: ‘With a body like this, who needs a personality?’.

She had laughed when she saw him.

Her fingers dip her fries on some ketchup by the time Yoonoh does so, sparing her a glance over Erika’s shoulder when the little girl says:

“My friend doesn’t need boys.” The girl adds, wrapping her hands around her mouth before saying. “But don’t feel offended, she still finds boys cool.”

“Some of them.” She corrects, connecting her gaze with Yoonoh’s just as the man leans back on his seat, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Oh, words from a broken heart. Who hurt you?” He questions, quirking one of his eyebrows before taking a bite of the fried chicken he had insisted on getting. Something about those brown eyes seem to capture her perfectly, as if reading her like a book…and she doesn’t like it.

“I’m just too busy to care.” Her voice wavers the slightest when letting out her excuse and then, she scoffs. “You know, that happens when you’re the manager of a hotel.”

“Understandable.” Yoonoh nods a few times before that dimple appears again. “Too busy to care or too busy to date?”

Her face burns by the time Yoonoh asks that question, pleased with the way she widens her eyes. “When did we decide to make me the subject of our conversation?”

“You saw me half-naked, I get to know something about you other than the pressed suits and the obvious distrust issues.” Yoonoh’s tone is playful, that smile never erased from his features, while her frown deepens. She can’t say he’s not correct, but he’s also poking at her nerves with his words.

“I don’t have trust issues.”

He hums. “Your first reaction is to say no to everything. You deny every word that is thrown your way.”

“Because I happen to think guys like you just feel like they know it all.” She comments, taking the same position as him while crossing one leg over the other. Erika just looks between the two, trying to understand this conversation to no avail. “You read and read people, but I can read you well, Yoonoh.”

He expands his arms, showing that ridiculous shirt. May be half true, his body is great, and his personality may be a little bit insufferable. “Read me.”

“Bachelor with a good job who has that ‘rise and grind’ mentality. Don’t take relationships seriously. Can’t look past what’s in front of him and oh, trust issues, too.” She relishes on leaning over the table, watching as his eyes concern the rest of her face, taking in her every feature before his gaze delves down to the fold of her shirt, no buttons opened, but he’s trying to see something there.

“You want me to look at what’s in front of me?” He questions. “It’s you. Didn’t know that was your way of flirting with me. Guess I really do have to thank you for the…outfit.”

“And me!” Erika raises her hand, waiving it in the air happily.

His tutting tone changes when smiling at her. “Thank you, Erika.”

“Who hurt you, Jung Yoonoh?” She questions, mocking the tone he had used on her and trying to stop a smile from appearing on her lips. So, playing around with him is fun, as it seems.

He stops for a moment, as if thinking. The curve of his mouth falls down the slightest and she hears a breath-in that she overthinks about, noticing that there is pain in even the brightest of people. Instead, he shrugs. “I haven’t gotten my heart broken.” Yoonoh says, playing with the strands of his hair, curves of his arms contorting. “Want to be the first to break it, sweetheart?”

“You wish.” She scoffs, only to have Yoonoh dipping more of his fries in ketchup.

“You wouldn’t even kill an ant.” Yoonoh swats without importance. “I doubt you’d break my heart.”

“I wouldn’t want to break your heart, and that’s what differentiates us.” She points between them. “Good cop, bad cop.”

“Excuse me.” A tender voice cuts through the air around us, a young-looking guy with innocent features and glasses too big for his face waves a Polaroid camera in his hold when nearing them. “May I take a picture of you? I have a photography project for a class I’m taking in college and I need to take pictures that bring nostalgia and warmth. I happened to think your little family could be the perfect subject.”

Before she could fully deny they are a family, Erika is wrapping both her little arms around their shoulders as she settles at the center of the table, smiling at the camera. “Cheese!”

Two pictures are taken before she could fully bring a smile to her face, her eyes connecting to Yoonoh’s over the table in a look that she can’t quite recognize. His smile has erased but still, he’s the one to take the picture when the college student says:

“One for you, one for me.” He says, bowing slightly. “Thank you.”

With that, he is gone, but the effect of his picture lingers when she realizes where she is. A complete stranger sits at the same table as her, trying to figure each other our while she should have put Erika to bed long ago, continue with her job and not even look to the sides to see whose lives are coexisting while she’s just working.

“Sorry.” She stands up, shaking her head at her own antics. Helped him, she had already done, and now she has no business to sit with him, grab a bite and just pretend that she doesn’t have things to do. Yoonoh looks up from the picture, eyebrows furrowed when she grabs Erika by the arms and hoists her up. “I—I have to work. I don’t…I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t be here with you.”

“Why?” Yoonoh questions, voice softened when she shakes her head.

“I just shouldn’t.” She finishes, not knowing quite well what this feels like. Casually flirting with a man like him means trouble. “Goodbye, Yoonoh.”

She says those words with the harshest weight of the world, turning around and rushing out of the restaurant while Erika screams out Yoonoh’s name in need for more fun in the night. Nonetheless, she feels someone’s eyes trailing after her, but she knows one look over her shoulder would only bring more questions to her head.

What was the universe trying to do when putting him on her road?

###

There is a picture in his wallet that doesn’t even begin to answer the questions roaming his head. As confused as in the beginning, Yoonoh remains.

He doesn’t know why he stares at it after finishing his meal during lunchtime, the office emptied out of people, flicking at the corner of the Polaroid he would not show anyone even if they paid him a billion won. He just wouldn’t. That ridiculous shirt and those obnoxiously tight pants that definitely gave him a carpet burn that he’s still feeling two days later, should have been enough of a reason not to wonder about the sudden change of mind the hotel manager had. 

Maybe, he had offended her. Though, she had kept on playing his game—and he half meant what he said. People like her are easy to read. Definitely an organization freak, perhaps a bit nerdy, with enough worries in her mind to fill an entire book. She wasn’t wrong about his trust issues either, but as he splays his fingertips on top of her placement in the picture, the only one who is not fully smiling, he ponders…

What’s about this girl that has his mind bringing her back all the time?

He closes his wallet just as he opens his sketchbook. A new one, because in his hassle, he had ripped the other that he had filled with all his dreams and hopes. He had crafted bodies, all in different sizes, to design something…and nothing had come to mind, not until he saw her again. That treasure hidden under baggy suits and clothes that he would have never looked at twice if only he hadn’t been captured by the naïve elegance in her face.

His eyes had tried to look, capture a glimpse of the curves around her body, and his imagination gave him more than what he could actually perceive. Yet, it had been enough. Flipping through his color scheme cards, he compares it to the vision he had inside his brain. Conservative, but still enough to feel powerful…

Violet. He doesn’t know why he picks it, but he does.

His fingers can’t stop sketching over the model he has on his sketchbook. He imagines lace and stain, draped thin pieces of clothing over the shoulders. Enough coverage for a one piece…and it comes to him in the form of a muse he would have never imagined. Someone who did not even show him anything, never gave him a chance to talk or fly, because that’s what he had never tried. What Silhouette had never stood for.

The people who are too shy to wear something like what they design.

Attractiveness is a feeling most people should get used to. Being looked at in an adoring light or have a flower thrown their way in the form of a compliment is desired, but has been lost in the eye of lust. Every word of adoration these days has been related to something—the imminent stoppage of the moment for the promise of sex. Never had Yoonoh thought of his designs as something more than a form of self-seduction, with the portrayal of self-love as a higher force for lust, but now, he sees it again.

Lingerie shouldn’t be seducing. It should be a weapon of beauty; a piece of clothing to be taken into consideration, colors that merge well with one’s personality. Not everyone is ready to fully unveil themselves in the light of the sexualized society we live in. Sometimes, people just want to feel nice fabrics against their skin or a glimmer of gorgeousness without showing everything.

The magic of designing is in delicacy.

The ideas come to him then. What was once a two piece for Yoonoh, now is one. What was once see-through, now makes up for riskiness in designs and curves, fabrics added to give more structure, instead of more nudity. Lingerie doesn’t have to be a thin layer of clothing—it can be beautiful, crafted and built.

His e-mail dings with a new entrance, stopping him on his third design as he envisions what must be under that suit—what would fit her and other working people for needing a boost, without actually showing the clothing to anyone but themselves, but soon enough, his face falls at Siyeon’s e-mail.

Subject: The Boss Wants You to Work.

Greetings, my beloved Yoonoh,

Silhouette has been known for its strong stance in the fashion community, and I have been pleased to land a runway show for us in, specifically, twenty-nine (29) days. In light of this, I send you the list of things you have to do:

1)   Design a set for the main male model of the runway, Kim Jungwoo. It has to be a showstopper if you want to keep working with him. I need this to be sent in 6 days.

2)   Find a nice and not as expensive place for the publicity photoshoot to take part on. I don’t want simple. I need ravishing visuals.

3)   Talk to the newbie models and make sure that said day, the stylists don’t screw up.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Jeon Siyeon.

Yoonoh rolls his eyes before starting to type a reply. The devil must be in front of her computer.

Subject: [RE]: The Boss Wants You to Work.

Hello,

I had already started working on a female set. I’m a female lingerie designer. I think I am not the one in charge of Jungwoo’s outfit.

Sincerely,

Jung Yoonoh.

The response comes just as he begins scrabbling his ideas into paper once again.

Subject: Who asked?

I want you to work on Jungwoo’s outfit. See if you get better while working on boxers instead of bras.

Not as sincerely,

Jeon Siyeon.

Spreading one hand on top of his sketchbook, he rubs the bridge of his nose before he breathes in deeply. Okay, now it seems like he has to craft something for a model that he doesn’t even know about, as well as finding the place for a photoshoot. An assistant, he seems to be now, and Siyeon’s, nonetheless.

But a place comes to mind, soon enough.

###

Devastation comes short to the wails that leave the kid’s lips. That speaks of pleas and pain.

Over a week of Sachiko coming up with different meetings had led up to an expected, yet somewhat uncalculated, road trip to where she hopes to build her second hotel. That said, she won’t stay for a day or two, but for the entirety of two weeks away from Erika. The daughter that now clings onto Sachiko like a koala, hiding her face in the crook of her neck, black hair matching her own as she cries uncontrollably.

Sachiko is at her apartment’s doorstep, luggage by the side of her elongated legs, as she shushes her daughter with a worried gaze. “You’re going to be okay, baby.” Then, she calls out her name, trying to wipe the tears in her eyes with just one hand. “You’ll be taken care of…and I will be back before you know it.”

“Why do you leave?!” Erika screeches, and Sachiko tries her best to reason with her, but her own whines are stopping her.

So, with her pajamas and tiredness lingering within her, she places a hand on top of Erika’s back. “Because your mom wants you to have a great life, Erika. She wants to buy you all you need and for you to have dreams as big as hers.” Maybe, she won’t get it now, but it’s the best she can do to explain the situation.

It manages to make Erika turn around, blinking her tears onto her cheeks. “I don’t want her to go.”

“We’ll mark the calendar…and she’ll come soon enough.” She whispers out, and it’s at this moment that she regrets saying yes to Sachiko when she asked her to take care of her daughter for a little while longer.

A little while longer shouldn’t mean two weeks.

Still, Erika doesn’t let go of her mom. She’s glued to her.

“I made you some hot chocolate, and I have some pudding that I prepared for me earlier.” Because sugary sweet meals seem to make her feel better in these days of uncertainty. This makes Erika widen her eyes, looking back at her mom before questioning her with a small smile.

“There you go, there’s my smiling baby.” Sachiko finishes, putting her daughter down before looking down at her watch. “My taxi is waiting for me. You can call me tomorrow, Erika, okay?”

“Yes, mommy!” But Erika is already moving towards the kitchen to grab a mug of that sweet, sweet hot chocolate.

She knows sweets are her weak point.

The only weak point she has.

“Make sure she sleeps early, okay?” Sachiko says, and all she can do is nod.

“Sure thing.” I can’t promise a thing, she thinks.

“And that she doesn’t eat too many sweets. I’ll let this one slide.”

“Only veggies.” She says as she grabs her doorframe in between her hold. Only to give her something sweet after she throws the veggies at my face, her mind replies.

“Thank you.” Sachiko adds over her shoulder, a smile to her face. “I know it’s difficult, but I really don’t have any family to take care of her and I really do trust you. I promise to pay you well after all this.”

That’s a nice start.

“Don’t worry. Me and Erika get along well.” That’s not a lie, but taking care of a kid is extremely tiring. “Just get in your taxi. We’ll be fine.”

With that, minutes pass by of complete silence, Erika’s eyes trained on her phone, blasting Peppa Pig, with one or two hiccups escaping here and there as she drinks her first mug of chocolate. She joins her, slicing another bit of cake and shrugging off whatever thought appears inside her brain.

The chocolate merges on the roof of her mouth, warming her to the tip of her toes, each aching muscle after hours of working relaxing, even a bit entranced by the show she’s not watching, but might be brain-washing her just like the rest of the kids.

“Another one, please.” Erika says after finishing her episode, extending her mug of chocolate towards her before she smiles sweetly.

She shakes her head. “Mom said no sweets.”

“Please?” The little girl drags with dulcetness in her tone, but she repeats the previous action.

“Nope.”

Erika places the mug down, head laying low before she repeats: “Chocolate, please!”

“I said nope.”

The kid stops for a moment, thinking as the sound of the dishwasher starting up as she cleans the mugs and the plates, and just then, her small voice is heard again:

“You don’t give me chocolates because you’re sad about Yoonoh?”

That makes her halter all steps. Yoonoh. The man that she had met days ago. Adonis without a shirt on, and then some weird 2011 wannabe that happened to have dinner with her and Erika. The lingering flirtations between the two had not been forgotten, those pair of eyes that somehow seemed to want to strip her of her utmost secrets, only for her to back away.

Yoonoh means trouble.

“I am not sad about Yoonoh.” She adds, turning around with her damp hands ending up over her waist. “Why do you think I’m sad about him?”

“Because he’s your boy!” Erika screeches as if it’s the most obvious thing, and she’s starting to get tired of the kid’s insane romanticism mixed with optimism. Sure, she’s a kid, but Disney should start making less princesses with a prince. “Mommy explained it to me.”

“What did she explain?” Not that she’s understanding a thing, but please, she does need to be enlightened.

“I asked mommy how people acted when they were in pairs.”

“When they are couples.”

“Yep!” The grin on her chubby cheeks is enchanting, but by what she’s saying, she’s about to ask Sachiko to pick her up again. The love talk is not her thing. “And she said boys smile a lot and they speak weirdly, like things I can’t understand.” That is a way to put it. “And the girl looks down a lot…and I don’t remember what else she said, but you did all those things with Yoonoh. He is your boy!”

“Boyfriend, not boy.” She corrects, turning around to continue to wash the dishes. Was he smiling at her? She had seen the dimple, but she hadn’t thought that he had beamed around like a madman. “And he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have one.”

“But why?” Erika drags her voice.

“We already had the talk of Moana and Merida.”

“I get that. I’m like them. I don’t want to be with boys.” She utters innocently, standing up to tug at her sleeve. “But you are with Yoonoh.”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head, laughter escaping her lips. “You hit your head, Erika.”

“I didn’t!” The little girl says, scratching her head just in case. “You’re a princess. He’s a prince—”

“Erika!” She stops her, interrupting her with ease before sighing. “I met Yoonoh the day we saw him, and I didn’t like him that way. We aren’t even friends.”

She juts out her lip. “I wasn’t friends with Mina either.” That’s Erika’s best friend from school. “But we became friends in a day. She put a worm in the teacher’s sandwich…” Her voice becomes soft, a blush appearing on her face. “It was awesome.”

“It’s different for adults.” That’s the best way to put it. She shakes the water away from her hands after closing the faucet before patting them dry on a towel. “What would you do if I said I disliked Yoonoh?”

“Nothing.” She adds. “You said you liked cool boys, and he’s a cool boy.”

He’s an overachieving asshole with a nice smile that could potentially enter her heart if she let him, but that should and would never happen. That’s who he is.

“Erika, I’ll tell your mom to ground you if we keep this conversation up.”

That seems to make her stop, grabbing her phone once again—and she knows the password, which is even worse, kids in this generation are geniuses—, before adding: “Does Peppa have a boy?”

“Oh my God, no!”

This will definitely be a long night.

###  

His mind is blank. Absolutely blank. Lingerie for men is even more difficult than lingerie for women. 

Jungwoo gives another walk on the stage, bleached blonde hair barely moving with each step he takes. He’s in the simple designs, the first launch of Silhouette, as bland as bland can get, and while his strut is fine, he can’t think of anything. Nothing that couldn’t be just a simple pair of boxer briefs thrown on a model. He could do that, but that’s so common, so plastered on paper. He wants to do something else, and yet, in the day of the photoshoot, he can’t think of anything.

“Why are you making me do this?” He met Jungwoo a few days ago, and he was actually quite surprised to recognize who he is. A runway model that has been around the world and all over fashion weeks. His dulcet personality and tall frame have gotten him somewhere, that’s for sure. “I should be already in my clothes and ready to take pictures.”

“I have nothing.” In the middle of the hotel’s ballroom, Jungwoo stops walking at the sound of Yoonoh’s voice. The designer looks down at his sketchbook, where he had made the drawing of a body similar to Jungwoo’s and still, nothing came to mind.

“…You have to have something.”

“A pair of black boxers.” He turns the sketchbook around just as Jungwoo slips a robe over his body and ties it securely. “Better than white boxer briefs, sexier, too. All the women I’ve been with likes them.”

“I won’t model that.” Jungwoo conquers, a lightweight laugh following after. “Those look like plain cotton boxers.”

“Well, I just don’t know what to design. Either I make you look tacky or I make you look bland. There is no in-between.”

“That bad?” Jungwoo questions, taking a seat next to him before grabbing a water bottle. “People are going to be here any minute. Everyone has decorated and I’m not sure my manager will be happy to hear that I came here just for nothing.”

A look is spared to the model, with Yoonoh shaking his head softly. He has to think of something. He can’t give Siyeon the benefit of seeing him tuck with a simple design.

His pencil taps against the drawing for a few seconds before he breathes out a few words: “You’re okay with being more covered?”

Conservative and elegant is more of what he has been aspiring for, with that peek of skin that makes the world go around. It’s what he has been drawing these days, but mostly with a muse in mind.

“Sure. I wasn’t over the moon thinking my ass was going to be out in the world.”

Yoonoh chuckles at that, turning the page around from the plain black boxers before sketching something else. “How about a crop top? With a fabric similar to a bralette, and you look better in red than you do in black.” He draws a diagonal line across the ribcage, making slitted long sleeves to showcase pieces of biceps, filling it up with the color red in a quick hassled manner that he will fix later. “Maybe some chains and garments around that wrap up to your waist.”

“I like that.” Jungwoo announces when looking over his shoulder.

“I’ll keep the black boxers. I still think they are classics, and I can talk to the management team to make them more than just cotton.” Yoonoh announces, soon after looking at the picture before clicking his tongue. “I think there’s something lacking.”

“Dunno. You’re the designer, but I’d wear this out of the runway.”

That’s something good, but Yoonoh is thinking of something else. People in real life transcending into their own confident version. That’s what he wants to portray. He draws a suit jacket draped over his shoulders, falling onto his long legs until it reaches midway through his calves, before sketching a pair of pants on the side. Loose, simple, highlighted in the waist.

“We could connect do something like…like suspenders. Office guy turns into midnight God.” Once again, he’s sketching. “You’d wear this, the crop top underneath but I have no idea how you’d show the boxers.”

“Make them low cut.” Jungwoo suggests, eyes trained on his phone momentarily when he crosses one leg over the other. “That way, the boxer’s band will be showing, and it will have Silhouette’s name there. I’d take off the jacket to show the statement piece.”

Yoonoh thinks about it, erasing the line at the waist before drawing the band, and his eyes glimmer at the image underneath him. Not as bad as he imagined it.

“Your ideas are good.”

“Thanks, I’m not just a pretty face.” Jungwoo jokes around, only standing up when the doors of the ballroom come open.

The theme of the photoshoot is simple. A party at the eighties, with beaming colors and disco balls. Darkened walls, confetti, everything has been added to highlight the idea Yoonoh had come up with. Nonetheless, his team is not the one barging in the room when the doors open, instead, he’s met with another darkened suit and a serious face that stares down at her agenda.

“Morning, people. I’m sorry I’m late. I was figuring out an issue at the penthouse, but I am here to help you with any form of decoration or with any question you may have.” The hotel manager stands there. Not that Yoonoh ever pondered they could not meet each other when he had specifically picked her hotel—he had walked through when entering the restaurant, and the three-stars help with the price, but the decorations are immaculate. Architecture its utmost beauty.

Now that he sees her, a smile spreads across his features. Maybe, a bit too soon—in a way that has him pushing it down because it is not possible to get that reaction out of him when it’s not faux. That woman had stood him up without even much of a reason, in the literal sense of the word, took those pretty legs away from the seat and walked away after they had been having fun.

He wore those leather pants. She owed him not leaving him in the middle of a restaurant with her meal and his to pay.

When she looks up at him, a few sentiments flash before her eyes, but he can’t guess any of them. He breathes out her name, capturing her off guard when she questions:

“You remember me?” Her voice is levelled as she moves forward, with a tinge of curiousness.

Yoonoh shrugs his shoulders in his fitted black sweater, paired with dark ripped jeans. “I wasn’t shitfaced. Just half-naked.”

That makes her frown deeply when she looks up at him again. “Don’t you dare say that out loud in front of anyone.” Soon after, she’s talking to Jungwoo. “I—Don’t listen to him. I’m the manager of this hotel and I have no business with this man.”

Jungwoo lifts his hands in the air. “None of my business, but please, do let me hear.”

He doesn’t know why it surprises him that Jungwoo likes gossip. “Why? You’re embarrassed of helping me out?”

“You’re saying it with double intentions.”

Yoonoh chuckles. “I wasn’t intending on anything the night we met.”

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes, making him raise his eyebrows. That cynic voice in her is not something he expected. “We both know what kind of intentions you have with everyone. It seeps from you.”

“Seeps from me?”

“You had no issue going with some stranger after being kicked out of your…your hook up’s house and you were smiling and using those eyes on me and buddy,” She stops, a short laugh leaving her lips. Her index finger extends to point at him. “I’m not a charity case. I’m not in need of a man. I don’t need you to come around and cause me trouble, okay? If you’re here just to tease me instead of letting me do my job, then we’re off to a bad start.”

Offended is short for what he feels. Sure, he may not make a big deal out of hook ups, but it’s not like he’s the easiest man in the world. And if he was, why does she care?

“You’re the one talking about my eyes. I never made eyes at you.”

That makes her stop, holding her agenda to her chest before patting her ponytail in place. “Okay. Fine.”

“You just think you’re so much better than you, don’t you?” Yoonoh spites, crossing his arms across his chest, never once raising his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, yes, you take care of your boss’ child. You’re so sweet and kind. So in synch with yourself you need no one’s company…” He trails off, pointing them out with the sharpness of his words. “That’s fine, but it’s not fine when you point fingers at people for being with other people. The twenty-first century is calling, they are here to say you can show someone your ankles without losing all sense of rightfulness.”

Scoffing, she shakes her head, a sarcastic smile appearing on her features. “Yoonoh, I know men like you.” She starts. The typical stance people have of him. Men like him. “You’re a…around with a bunch of women, and you use your good looks to your advantage, never care about anybody but you, never take anyone out on a date—”

He gets closer at that moment, lowering his eyes onto her lips before connecting them with hers. “…You wanted me to take you out on a date and that’s why you’re mad about me being a thot?”

“No!”

His hand reaches for one of her ears, laughing when he feels the heat. “Your ears are hot. Have something to tell me?”

“Where’s the person in charge of this photoshoot?” She slaps his hand away, turning to Jungwoo who has the biggest grin on his features.

“Oh, it’s him. The asshole Jung Yoonoh.” Jungwoo conquers with a flick of his finger before he expands his hands in front of them. “But please do continue. I love a good drama.”

“You?!” She gasps that word out as if it’s venom, a sharp intake coming after.

“Me.” Yoonoh retorts, a smirk appearing on his face. “And I happen to have lots of questions about this ballroom.”

He doesn’t, but he enjoys his next thirty minutes, trying to get the offense out of his body by having her carrying boxes—not heavy, but definitely bothersome when ordered by him—and giving her his phone number wrongly three times as she finished up the contract and the bill for the rent of the ballroom. Exasperation is short for what she feels, but as she’s working on that bill, he realizes something.

The shirt underneath her suit is a sunshine yellow, and he may change violet from the position of his desired color on her, because yellow makes her beam like never before. It gives her a powerful stance, standing out even in between seas of models posing around.

Though what she thinks of him has been a repetition of what he has heard before, somehow, he cares a little bit more when it comes from the one woman that has inspired him to do better with his designs. Not that she even cares about his position as a designer.

For her, he’s only another asshole who uses people to his will, and that’s only half correct.

###  

“The sexual tension was so thick I had a hard time breathing. Seriously, it was like when I used to steal rated magazines when I was young!”

The maids cheer and giggle to themselves when Blue spits out another version of the story that she and Yoonoh supposedly wrote yesterday afternoon in the ballroom. She has to play with the lettuce of her sandwich, cheek squished against her palm as she watches Erika stare in between the seas of women, following after every reaction even when she doesn’t understand them.

“Blue, don’t say such words in front of Erika.” She tells them, biting on her densely sauce-coated sandwich, before breathing out softly. How could they think of Yoonoh as a dream when he’s obviously a womanizer dressed in sheep’s clothing?

Or the devil. He’s definitely the devil.

“Whatever.” Blue, in her eighties, moves the skirt of her gray uniform before picking up one of the maids. One of the youngest and the tallest, with a long black fringe and moon-bathed features. Chaewon, she thinks her name is. “He told her: ‘Need help with those boxes’?” She lowers her voice to be a faux deep vibrato. “And she said: ‘No, I can do it myself. Thank you.’” That time around, her voice lifts up.

“I don’t speak like that.”

“And then, he retorted by saying: ‘I know, but my arms are waiting to hold something. I think you’d rather it be boxes.’”

More screeches and giggles follow after that statement, and she rolls her eyes because he did say that.

Chaewon ends up being swooped over, rolled around in Blue’s hold before she’s cooing. “I was expecting him to lower her down and give her that kiss that she was definitely asking for with her gaze,” She imitates the actions by looking down at Chaewon. She’s an actress, even at such an old age. “She kept looking at his lips before she cut him off, and you had to say the way his eyes lingered on her…”

“Where was he looking?” One of the maids asks, organizing the towels in their little eating room when Blue lets of Chaewon to let her sit somewhere else.

“He wasn’t looking.” The manager defends, ears heated up…but because of the golden lights here, definitely.

“Everywhere! There was not a portion of her that he simply did not worship with his gaze alone. He wanted to ravish her like—”

More heat, and maybe, summer is coming around earlier than expected. “Blue, stop reading those romance books with naked men on the cover. They’re getting to you.”

Blue laughs at her antics, her curled gray hair jumping around when she takes a seat in front of her. She continues to bite on her sandwich. “Aw, come on, boss. You can’t expect us not to want to see you with that man.” She covers her mouth to lower her voice before whispering: “He’s sexy.”

“Jung Yoonoh is anything but that!” She defends, leaning back on her seat and trashing the last bit that was left of her sandwich. She opens her water bottle and gulps it quickly.

“Look at that heat!” One of the maids adds, and Chaewon nods in return. “How does he look like, Blue? He sounds like a dream.”

“Pecs over pecs over pecs. He had…” The oldest woman curves her hands in the air and the manager has to scoff.

“Stop thirsting over him.”

“His girlfriend over there will get jealous but you had to see that sweater on him. That man is lean and had the sweetest, prince-like face. But not the kind of prince that wants you for his kingdom, having you wearing proper dresses and greeting the crowd.” She stops for a second, thick silence lingering in the air before she adds. “But the kind of prince that sneaks you into the castle to show you ever room—”

“More sexualization, great.” Her knees buckle when she picks Erika up from her spot in between the maids. “I have a meeting with the valet team. You better stop talking about this if you don’t want me to talk with Sachiko about your disrespect towards our clients.”

She opens the door when Erika wraps her arms around her neck, turning around to wave to the maids. “Bye!”

“Bye-bye, honey!” Blue waves back, returning to the crowd to say: “And his hair—”

She has to close the door with a bang as a huff leaves her lips. Everything has been about Jung Yoonoh these days, but what is the sudden obsession to have her paired up with someone who will definitely shatter her to pieces?

Every thought about him shall be erased as soon as possible now that he has finished with his photoshoot. She won’t hear about Jung Yoonoh ever again.

###

“And then, she went on to call me a man-whore or something. Practically drawing me as the biggest scumbag to ever exist.”

It’s way over nine at night when he finally has the time to check over what the manufacturing team had done with the design that he had sketched for Jungwoo. He still needed to take his pictures for the event, asking the graphic design team to help him out with the deadline, but that’s the least of his worries. Johnny is by his side, lost in his phone as he listened to his story, being his support for another all-nighter.

He unfolds the blood red fabric of the crop top and smiles in delight. Fitted, with slits that could pierce well into the subject of edge, and some chains dangling in elegant curves towards the waist, with Swarovski diamonds in between. He continues to look through the pieces, pants and jacket as well, when he hears Johnny speaking up.

“She’s not wrong.” He says, still engraved on his phone. “You’re a bit of an ass and you haven’t been in a serious relationship ever since I met you. Even before that, you have been single and into hook-ups. Why are you bothered?”

“Because I am not like that. I don’t have the time to embark in a relationship, okay?” Yoonoh mutters out, placing the jacket down on the table to look at it more precisely. “She has this…this air of arrogance of thinking she’s better than me. I don’t know, like…she just thinks I am some kind of douchebag that gets to her nerves—”

“Yet, still you sketch her.” That is the moment he hears the pages of his sketchbook being flickered at. Yoonoh widens his eyes, turning around to close it just as he says:

“Let go of that!”

“They’re pretty. Don’t be a nerd about it.” Once again, Johnny has taken the sketchbook, turning around to keep it away from his hold. “Are you into BDSM or something? People talking down on you? Women hating you so badly that they are kinda into you?”

Hate. That word is enormous, and he wouldn’t like to use it when plotting what she feels for him. Strong dislike, let’s go with that. “I’m not.” He denies all allegations. “…You just have to see her.”

“Ass or tits?”

“Not that.” Yoonoh feels his own cheeks heating up as a smile takes over his features. Not that he had gotten to see a lot with how baggy her suits are, but attractive is short for how he would describe her. “It’s in the way she holds herself. She’s the quiet kind of powerful. With everyone, she is kind and understanding, and yet, her action speak louder than she does. She’s independent and doesn’t let anyone else help her, even if she’s over the top with assignments and—”

“And it kind of sounds like you’re paying a little too much attention to her.” Johnny closes the sketchbook at that moment, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. “What’s with you, Yoonoh?”

The man scoffs, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just saying. I’m so angry that she’s like that, I just—”

“No, you’re not angry. Real angry Yoonoh? It’s the kind of Yoonoh we see with Siyeon. Not this one, talking about how he loves someone’s kindness.” His eyes trail over to his sketchbook, then to the design for Jungwoo before he’s ripping one page out and jotting down a message for the manufacturing team. It’s alright, he just wants a few more diamonds. “Come on, man. Talk about it. Mama Seo used to say there are no secrets in this household.”

“What do you want me to say?” Annoyance seeps from his voice when he looks over his shoulder. “Yes, I was interested. Yes, I guess we kind of flirted. Yes, she still ran away and yes, she absolutely despises my guts?”

“…She blew you off.” Johnny says that as if it’s the biggest announcement in the world.

Yoonoh shrugs. “Yeah, so what? It’s not like I asked her or made it known—”

“For the first time in his life, Jung Yoonoh didn’t get blown, he got blown off!”

“Johnny, it’s not funny—”

“I have to see who this woman is.” Johnny gets his phone out of his pocket, opening his Instagram app before he’s lurking for her. “What’s her name?”

Maybe, curiousness got the best of him when he stands behind Johnny, looking over his shoulder when he rasps out her name.

“There we have her.” His friend announces just as he clicks on the first account. “Private. I can’t really see her face in the profile picture.” It’s the silhouette of a woman, most likely her, in a sunset. Her hands are fisted deep in her pockets and she must be looking at the sun. “Should I message her? Something like: ‘Hi, if you don’t want to date Yoonoh, I’m single and the second-best option’?”

He’s joking around, yet, Yoonoh stares longingly at that picture. Something about her is so lukewarm that he finds himself at peace. He has always liked everything scalding hot—his relationships, his hook-ups, his meals, even the days that he spends at the beach, but now, he is interested in silence and tranquilness. In that lukewarm nature that comes within her, never too cold, never too hot.

“No.” His voice sounds unused when he finally speaks up. “Leave her be.”

Johnny’s eyes inspect his features. “Dude…there is really something about her, isn’t it?”

“I’ll never know, I guess.” Yoonoh finalizes, shrugging his shoulders before moving towards the edge of the room and turning off the lights. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

###

“I won’t take a bath! I don’t want to!”

Five days from Sachiko’s arrival and she already feels like breaking. Breaking down or breaking out of her home, one or the other. Erika screams at the top of her lungs while rushing out of the bathroom, still very much in her pajamas, to sit down in front of her TV and watch another cartoon.

She throws the towel over her shoulder, eyes half-closing from tiredness when she breathes out softly and approaches her again. “Erika, get in the bath. It’ll be quick.”

The little girl shakes her head, hugging her knees to her chest. “I don’t want to.”

“Sometimes, I don’t want to either, but you have to.” She announces, taking a seat next to her to run her fingers through her hair. “Come on, Eri, it’s just a bath.”

“Nope.” The little girl mumbles, growing more annoyed by the second.

“You’ll stink. You don’t want anyone to smell your scent if it’s bad.”

“It’s okay.”

“Someone will come visit us.” She doesn’t know why that’s the first excuse she comes up with. Truth be told, none of her friends live in this city, and her family are nowhere near either. Loneliness is something she is used to, and she doesn’t like being the house’s host all that much, either. “And you really like them, so we need to bathe you before they come.”

Erika raises her eyebrows, a big smile appearing on her face: “Peppa?”

“No, not Peppa.” From the back of her mind, she can’t think of anybody who will come here that Erika really likes. She’s not entirely obsessed with Blue, and the woman is too old to take a taxi here. She is not sure who Erika likes apart from her…and Sachiko is not here. “Ah…” Think, think, think. “Yoonoh, my…uh…my boyfriend. He’s coming over.” 

The title makes her cringe, but Erika stands up in her couch, hair wild and little fists connecting to her shirt when she says: “He’s coming! You didn’t tell me!”

“Oh, I was just waiting for you to take a bath first.” She tries to sound smart, but this is the worst idea she could have. Sure, she saved his number when she was making that bill for the rented ballroom, but that has been about it. Never texted him, never planned to, much less to tell him to come over and pretend to be her boyfriend just so Erika takes a goddamned shower.

“I will! Hurray!” Erika moves away from the couch, rushing over to take off her clothes.

“I’ll go fill up the bathtub in a sec, okay?”

“Yes!”

This is the worst idea she has ever had.

By the time she hears the door to the guest room closing, she sighs deeply, going over to the kitchen to unplug her phone and look down at her contact list. Her heart is racing, eyebrows frowned in worry when she sees it in glimmering lights:

Jung Yoonoh (Never Respond. Not Even If You’re Dying).

She’s not dying, but she definitely feels like it.

Whenever she got a cut as a kid and she put a band-aid on it, she took the band-aid off in one harsh tug. It’d rip some hairs apart, but it wouldn’t hurt—it wouldn’t make her hesitate as much as she did. This is one of those decisions that need to be done that way; as if she’s drunk and she needs to call her ex, or as if buying that dress that she’ll never wear sounds like a good idea today.

The phone rings a few times and she paces back and forth in the kitchen, giving a few puffs out and jumping in place before she hears it.

“Hello?”

His voice is to die for. One of those melodies that anyone wants to hear when they are waking up, mumbling sweet nothings, promising whatever the hell sounds great at the time, and it’s so dangerous that it has her closing her eyes, trying to fight a shiver and not exactly of anxiousness.

“Yoonoh, I need your help.”

A bead of silence follows soon after, and it comes as a surprise when he mumbles her name. She hums in return. “Why are you calling me? How do you have my phone?”

“Don’t ask.” She tells him, about to start her rant when Yoonoh cuts her off with a deep chuckle.

“You stole it from my bill.”

Caught, yet, she places a hand on her waist. “I wanted to save it just in case you decided to call me and make my day more difficult.”

“Oh, if I called you, it’d be to ease any kind of stress.” He purrs out, making her groan out loud when a lighter laugh from him comes about. “What can I help you with, ice princess?”

“Stop it with the names.”

“Boss?”

“I said—”

“Stop it with the names, I know. I will.”

When there is another pause, she knows she can speak, so she does. “…Erika believes we are in a relationship.” He doesn’t scream at the idea or laugh straight at her face, so she sighs. “And she’s also like madly connected to you. Seriously, she never stops talking about you and how you were so cool and whatnot. She only agreed to bathing now that I told her my…” She clears her throat. Shit, this is awkward. “My boyfriend is coming to visit, but you’re my supposed boyfriend and you’re nowhere around. I was wondering if you could come over, I don’t know, for like thirty minutes and then leave, just to fulfill that promise.”

Another elongated silence comes soon after, but it’s followed by a hum from Yoonoh.

“You didn’t say we were friends,” He teases, and she rolls her eyes at his antics. “You still went on with the boyfriend thing. Something you want to tell me?”

“Erika thinks we are together.”

“Erika meaning you.”

“I would personally sew my lips if we were to be in a relationship, Yoonoh.”

He chuckles, though she hears some moving. “Why? You’d want to make out with me so badly that you would want to stop yourself?”

“You wish.”

“Kinda.” Yoonoh confesses and it sounds like a pin falling to the floor. It makes her anxious, because the idea of being trapped in his arms, mouths molding into each other, breaths mixing, tongue intertwining is not so bad when in theory. “So, where do you live?”

“You’re coming?”

“Yeah, but in like forty-five.”

With that, she gives him the address, only to hear Yoonoh breathing into the microphone.

“So, my dear girlfriend, my beloved future wife,” Those dramatics that come with him make her want to slice him in half, but she keeps on just for Erika. “…How long have we been together, exactly?”

“…Since my headaches started coming daily.” She responds, hearing pattering in the hallway. “Call me when you’re here, okay?”

Once she hangs up, she sees Erika ready for a bath by the kitchen’s door, waving her hands in the air.

“Let’s go!”

Kids are nightmares.

###

Epoch hats don’t fit him well, Yoonoh realizes as he sits on a little stool that barely can hold his weight, knees practically touching his chest as he plays tea-house with Erika and her babysitter. Or well, her mom’s worker that happens not to know how to say no.

Erika had gone over the top to make this a grand event, the Peppa Pig plushie he had brought with him when entering the apartment seated in front of Erika, while he stares ahead at the woman that has his mind a complete mess. She is wearing a pair of wings on her shoulders, and her clothing is different, still not letting him see much, but the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants still fit her nicely.

The roles are simple. Erika is the princess, and they are their Aunt and Uncle. Peppa Pig is her sister, and that’s about as much as he knows as he sips on the two-point-five milliliters of water with lemon that Erika dares call tea.

“More tea, please.” Yoonoh says when placing the small cup down and looking at the woman ahead of him. She is the one serving the tea, yet, she quirks an eyebrow at him.

“That’s your fourth cup.” She explains, shaking her head when he tries to reach for the tea. “You’ve already had enough. You’re doing it just to see me serving you.”

“While the sight is adorable, beautiful, this cup is the size of my pinky. I can’t even feel it going down my throat.” He waves the little cup in his pinky before trying to reach for the tea again. “I’ll serve myself if it makes you feel better.”

“You’re too sweet-mouthed…” She looks over at Erika, inspecting them with interest. “Sugarplum.”

“Sugarplum?” Yoonoh questions the nickname, pouring himself a cup of tea when snatching it from her hands before leaning his weight forward, taking a sip that has him downing the entire drink. “I’m not sweet, don’t know if you’re noticed.”

“Quite clearly.”

“May change my ways for you if you stop judging me.” His eyes trail over her features, the culprit of his playfulness spreading across his face.

“Oh, I happen to be very judgmental.”

“Get to know me,” He waves his finger on top of the cup, tracing the outline only to see her gulp soon after. “…I promise the last thing you’ll end up doing is hating me.”

Erika stands up in between the two, her little hands spreading on their chests when she says: “Princes and princesses don’t fight.”

“We’re not fighting, Eri.” She tells her, though she sends a glare his way. “Right, sugarplum?”

“Of course, beautiful.” He uses that same nickname, relishing on the way she seems to be seething at the name. Truth be told, he knows that she’s, at least, a bit attracted to him…but whatever is stopping her must be strong enough to have her stopping on her tracks that first night. His lips wrap up in a kiss he sends flying in the air before adding: “We actually love each other. My kingdom is now better because I have found my truest love.”

“Yeah…” She trails, looking over to the side before she takes a sip of her own tea. “How’s the collection going?”

That question surprises him. She must have supposed he was a designer, much more after all he did in her hotel, but he didn’t think she was paying attention from up close.

“It’s not a collection.” Sweetly, he corrects, voice lowered when he puts the cup down. “I—I’m only working on this one fit. An outfit. We design lingerie, as you could see. I’m normally in the women design department, but my boss which is an absolute…” He stops, looking at Erika. “Witch, changed me to the men’s department just to freak up my head.”

A small chuckle trips out of her lips at the choices of his cusses. “So, you were designing Jungwoo’s fit?”

“Precisely.” Yoonoh takes his phone out of his pocket before displaying something only for her to see. “Erika, you can’t see this. It’s…it’s not something you should be seeing, okay?”

And actually, she listens. Yoonoh can’t understand why she says that Erika never listens to anybody. Her eyes trail over to Jungwoo, and the way they scan up and down have something within him tugging his phone away.

“That’s my design.”

“You’re talented.” Those words shouldn’t weight as much as they do, but he hasn’t heard them in a while. Perhaps, in two years. “If only you weren’t so much of a butt-face whenever we speak, I’m sure that part of you would show through.”

“What part of me?”

“The part that doesn’t try to hide that you care.”

That’s the moment Yoonoh backs away, because he shouldn’t care. It’s easier to go through life without caring about the people around you. The small stool falls behind him just as he stands up, clearing his throat after a harsh swallow.

“I have to go.”

Erika stands up as well, eyes widened. “Is it because she called you butt-face?”

Yoonoh chuckles, ruffling her hair with one hand. “No, I—I think I left my stove on at home.”

He hears the sound of her picking up her keys, nodding in the process. “I’ll walk you there. Don’t worry. Erika, stay here.”

The hallway that leads to her door is far too cramped for the two of them, his shoulders brushing with hers as they walk alongside each other. The part of you that doesn’t try to hide that you care; it’s not like he cares about her past the normalcy of two people who happen to be attracted towards each other buy deny it—

He turns around, his chest expanding with each breath that she takes, oxygens mingling when he looks down at her features, those lips that he would have kissed if granted the permission, but instead he asks:

“Is that why you hate me?”

She doesn’t listen, a deer caught in the headlights when she questions: “What?”

“Because you think I don’t care. Is that why you hate me?” He questions, only to have her shaking her head. His fingers hook a strand of her hair behind her ear, feeling the heat of her skin, much like that one time he had touched it.

“I don’t hate you.” She confesses, honest and yet surprising, before she breathes out in a shudder. “…Sometimes, it’s better to not wonder, Yoonoh. Not be curious about people like you. Not because you’re bad, but because you’re not right, either.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Stop looking at my lips, it distracts me.”

Yoonoh trails his eyes up before engulfing the words in his plush lips. “And what about you?” He questions. “If I’m all types of wrong, what are you?”

“All the different types of wrong that aren’t yours.” She says, just as his chest brushes with her own again, her stomach extending, back bending, body molding closer to his just because of electricity and gravity, she opens the door, releasing a breath that feels like a million pounds of weight. “Good night, Yoonoh, and thank you.”

He nods, and while he wants to return the words, he can’t.

###  

Four Years Ago.

She never came back.

Sometimes, Yoonoh felt stupid for believing that there was someone in the other side of the computer. That said chatroom that had once started as complete curiousness had now turned into something else, tangible, present in his every day. He was young, his eyes wandered, his mind stopped thinking about the importance of his future and he thought that Dami was it. The woman of his dreams, the picture that he couldn’t take out of his head when he laid still at night and looked at his ceiling.

His friends made fun of him, because this is not the Jung Yoonoh that had gotten secret notes during Valentine’s Day in high school with love confessions and promises of marriage. This was a young man, seated in front of a computer, waiting for an answer. Waiting for the day she returned, after she said that she’d come back. It was only supposed to be a lunch break, but with no contact other than this chatroom, than what they had in social media, how was he supposed to get in touch with her?

JJH1997: Hey, did I do something wrong? (Three weeks ago.)

JJH1997: Hello! How are you doing? Are you okay? (Three weeks ago.)

JJH1997: I bought that one record you told me about. (One day and a half ago.)

JJH1997: [Picture Attached]. (One day and a half ago.)

JJH1997: Are you mad? (Thirteen hours ago.)

JJH1997: I’m sorry if I offended you. (One hour ago.)

The reply he got soon after, as he was studying for one of his finals, had him widening his eyes. She had not answered in weeks, this was the best news he could hear—

DAMISONG96: This is her husband. Who are you? (Just Now).

His hands shook, trying to find the words to say. Husband. All this time, he had been talking about a future with someone with a husband…

DAMISONG96: I’ve just read your messages. Stop talking to my wife, you fucking kid.

[This contact has blocked you].

The worst part was that he could never know if it was a catfish, if the person he talked about was real…or, actually, that he could never apologize, perhaps for ruining a marriage that he never knew of.

Love doesn’t come easy when you don’t know how to trust. 

### 

The reason why he became a lingerie designer instead of any other kind of designer is because of the subtlety. His friends think that it is because of the obvious love Yoonoh has for the human body, but as he sits on the front row of his own show, staring at the Silhouette designs his team had worked on, with harsh white lights matching the upbeat and bass-boosted songs that have models swinging their hips from side to side, he feels proud and more.

Jungwoo is the next one to come, and all signs of his beam is long forgotten as he struts down that runway. At first, he does it simply, how he’s taught, the buttons of his jacket are done, undoing them as he walks to showcase the crop top underneath, only pulling it down and turning around to throw the jacket aside and show the top and the chains, along with Silhouette’s name on the band of his boxers. It’s perhaps something not seen in the streets, but he can imagine celebrities falling in love with the design.

He’s concentrated on the faces of the people ahead of him, cheers resounding around the air as Jungwoo finishes off his catwalk. The invitees seem to be overjoyed, and just when a smile creeps up his features, fixing his stance in his tailored black suit, he feels a hand spreading on his thigh, a chuckle being breath out in his ear.

“You’ve done a great job, Yoonoh.” Siyeon speaks with certainty, and to anyone, they are just two friends congratulating each other. He does great work in feigning a smile when turning to her, but what he says is not so kind.

“Thank you. I’m known for that.”

“I know…if we don’t compare that to your organization problems and your endless witty mouth.” Siyeon starts clapping when another model comes around before a beam appears on her features.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“…And what about it?”

Siyeon’s long silver earrings move when she turns to him, quirking an eyebrow in the process. “Well, you see, Yoonoh, the reason why I wanted you to craft a showstopper and to leave with a bang is because…” The acids in his stomach go up, nervousness creeping up on him, trying to keep the dimples there to no avail. “You’re no longer going to be part of our team. Out of all the designs you’ve done, this is your best, but you proved yourself right a little too late. Sorry.”

She’s not sorry, and he knows this. The smile that he has fought so hard to keep there is no longer of his interest as he stands up, pointing at her while scowling.

“You can’t do that.”

“Yoonoh, you’re making a scene.” She tries to chuckle through her words.

“I’ve been working for this fucking company for two years and I haven’t slacked once.”

“Says you,” Siyeon shrugs. “I’m in charge, Yoonoh, and I saw you’re slacking.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have heard that before.”

The air around him engulfs him in a way that almost makes him feel like he’s trapped. He’s out of the expensive hotel Siyeon had found in seconds, but yet, he feels like he has run a marathon. His eyes concentrate anywhere, hand coming up to his chest, his dream shattered when trying to give this company another chance—

The night whisks him in the face as he runs, not caring to grab a taxi, not minding that he feels like his life is falling down…because this is stupid. Life is so fucking ironic that he hates it. He trusts people? He ends up losing. He doesn’t trust them? They never believe him.

What’s the realest way to get a happy ending? He’ll never know.

### 

Eight hours of sleep feel marvelous once she gets them back.

Not only has she gotten to return her calls, but it doesn’t smell like baby food in her apartment and she gets to take a break from Peppa Pig. Erika had been sad when letting go of her, pressing her face to her stomach in a hug before she was off to holding onto her mother for dear life. Her paycheck came around, life was good, and this night was excellent with the bag of savory chips she had just opened.

The crunch is the only thing that can be heard, mingling with the noise of the romantic movie she is watching, tears wielding her vision and yet, she pushes them away. Tragedies are the best form of romance—when both characters have gone through so much that finding happiness in each other feels a thousand times more personal. Perfect, even. It’s a nice chance for her romantic comedy binge from earlier.

The air is interrupted when she hears someone ringing her doorbell, and that brings a frown to her features. First, she’s not waiting for anybody. Secondly, she had been crying just now. Grabbing a napkin, she taps it against her ears and waltzes over to the door to see who is standing by the door through the peephole.

And if there was a sight that could capture her breath away just as much as it could make her be excited about something, it’s this.

Yoonoh stands outside her door, with the buttons of his shirt half-opened, a peak of his shirt showing, his jacket thrown haphazardly over one forearm, and if only this peephole let her see lower, she would relish on the strength of his thighs. Confusing or not, as well as a bit annoying, one can’t deny that Yoonoh is extremely handsome. Taken out of a magazine, even.

She opens the door softly, unaware of why he is there. Today, the runway for Silhouette should be happening and yet, he’s here, at 10:45 at night, with his hair made a mess and his eyes trailing on her.

“Yoonoh,” He doesn’t stop looking at her eyes, a frown in his features. “Hi…uh…may I help you with something?”

“You’re right.” He starts, entering her house just as she moves to the side. He must be in a rush. The door closes behind her. “I try not to care about things. I don’t take relationships seriously. I’m an asshole at most times. I’m fake and boring and quite clearly, all kinds of wrong.” Well, that is a statement. She knows there is some good for Yoonoh. He’s always one call away, he’s organized, he’s given. He’s strong and rampant and fiery, in that way that have people shuddering in their spots.

“So?”

“So, yes, I’m fucking tired of being that because it doesn’t work.” He stands in front of her now, in that same hallway that had trapped them weeks ago and had managed to make her even more confused. “I just lost my job and I don’t know what the hell I am going to do with my life. I was used and—fuck!”

Her heart weights down when he admits that. “Why would you lose your job? That outfit you designed for Jungwoo is amazing…”

“Because my new boss hates me, just like you do.”

“I said I didn’t hate you.”

“Then why?” Yoonoh questions. “Why did you run away that night? What about me is so repulsive that you can’t even look my way without frowning when all I have been thinking about since that moment I saw you in the restaurant, in nice light, after getting me some clothes, is that you’re the kindest and most humble woman I have ever met and I would do my fucking best to kiss away every fucking insecurity you have about me?”

Silence comes to be awkward around them. Or, well, filled with tension. But this silence is of understanding. Yoonoh’s eyes that night, that had scanned her with such intricacy, had thought about the same things that she did. And yet, she had let it slide—because it’s easier to fear than to try, to run away than to stay.

“Because…you’re difficult, Yoonoh.” She states. “And I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just know…I know I would like you.” That makes her ego blot down the slightest. “And then, when you realize that kissing me is not enough, that waking up to me is not enough, that I won’t give you whatever interesting shit you were doing when I found you outside that house, you’ll leave…and I’m not at an age or time in my life where I want to see you leave without an explanation. I don’t.”

He finally reconnects his gaze with her eyes. “The explanation here is simple,” He conquers. “You’re beautiful. Each part of you I get to see and each part I don’t. Every bit of my imagination can only think about you, so much that everything I design is everything my mind gushes about and can only perceive on you. It’s stupid enough that…” He chuckles at his own antics, leaning his head back on the wall. “That I think about what color fits you best and I am certain it’s not the navy blue you like to use. It’s yellow, because you’re so bright it practically burns my fucking eyes. You’re so smart and given and you don’t even let me tell you that, because you’re always…pushing me away.”

“Yoonoh—” Her heart flutters at his words, but he doesn’t stop talking.

“And you’re your own kind of goddess and it drives me insane, because I was the type of dumbass that didn’t like the chase, but each and every time I hear you speak, I just want to tease you more and…” He stops for a second, finally fixing his position to look at her. “I just wanted you to know, because if I’ll never get a chance, at least I want to say I—”

Silences are what made them. It’s what she likes the most about him, when he’s silent and concentrated, when all his might goes to one thing and one thing only. She doesn’t know what overtakes her at that moment, when her lips clash against his in a dance that it’s much too passionate. She can’t keep up with whatever she wants to do, her hands hooked around his waist to mold him against the wall, his abdomen carved against hers when a groan traps itself on the back of his throat and he grabs the back of her head, taking more of her in, granting himself entrance, rubbing his lips in a tempting touch before he’s diving in for air…and she’s his oxygen.

Yoonoh’s hold is not strong, overly passionate, tumbling. In his own way, Yoonoh is delicate. It’s just when she kisses him that she realizes there is a beautiful thing to Jung Yoonoh. The delicacy he portrays in lingerie, that translate into his utter fears. The pristine glass he is when she caresses his neck with a touch of her mouth and he shudders while grasping the back of her shirt, asking to see her—to be seen.

When heartbreak happens, there is always a dot. That one finalization of a chapter in your heart that aches insufferably. Her dots connected to him, in one way or another, in the moles in his face or the way he begs to connect to her lips again when she pulls away. He’s gravity when she asks to be taken to her room in one simplistic glance and he’s smiling by the time he puts her down on the sheets.

Over all, Yoonoh is a lover of beauty, and maybe, for once in her life, she feels like art, just when he throws her shirt over her head, staring down at small portions of her body being shown before showing that dimple that she had trained herself to hate.

But who is she kidding? She didn’t hate it at all.

“…You were forbidding me of this.” He points at her body, earning laughter from her, ears heated up under his gaze. “And for that, I’ll never forgive you.”

That night, it’s not a promise of love—it’s lust mixed with something else, that fluttering feeling of having a crush, maybe, or the start of something…how he calls it…beautiful.

###

Normally, Yoonoh doesn’t text. He hooks up with someone, leaves it in the air, then moves on to working. Awakening in his lover’s bed, having breakfast with her, arguing in that way that only they know how to do—playfully, of course—and then having to see him himself off just so she can go to work, however, is completely different.

Just as he lays on his bed midway through the day, he looks at her contact. Missing her would be a statement, and it would be absolutely correct. His gut twists, not knowing exactly what to say—new and yet old in this dating thing.

Uh, can he call it that? They haven’t even gotten out on a date.

Yoonoh: We haven’t gotten out on a date.

Yoonoh: Do you want to?

She must be near the phone, because she replies quickly.

Beautiful: If I slept with you, I obviously want to go on a date with you.

Beautiful: Duh.

There is the bite that he likes, enough to bring a smile to his face before he’s biting down on his lip.

Yoonoh: You didn’t sleep with me when I was employed, wearing suits, confident and flirty. Your standards? Very low.

Beautiful: You’re complaining? Because I could not do it again.

Yoonoh: Who said I was complaining? I was trying the whole time and just when I’m a huge loser, I get the girl.

His life seems to be twisted in circles, cycles that he don’t know how to stop, but a text from her gives him hope that he’ll figure it out.

Beautiful: You’re not a loser. I don’t date losers.

Beautiful: Dinner tonight? I brought a sandwich, but that’s bland.

Yoonoh: It’s a date.

A few seconds pass by before he’s typing again.

Yoonoh: Wait, how do you have me saved in your phone?

A screenshot comes soon after, and he doubles over in laughter when he sees ‘Sugarplum (DNI)’.

###

She has forgotten how to say it, and it’s not like it’s another language, but nervousness clads her every pore just as she sits down by a table at Erika’s seventh birthday party.

Five months into this dating thing, and she doesn’t understand most of it. What she knows is that it feels great. Waking up next to Yoonoh—her place or his—, being kissed on the cheeks, on her forehead, only to be ravished by one of those kisses that he only knows how to give. To watch him grow away from his fears and create his own lingerie line, obviously with the support of his model friends that were eager to take pictures with his pieces and make do with what they have.

It’s difficult, but just as Yoonoh lowers Erika after hoisting her up in the air, always charming with her and with anyone, she doesn’t know how to say it. You know, those three words that have captured her ever since Yoonoh smiled at all her baby pictures, or when he spends some extra time in the kitchen making her favorite meal just because he feels like pampering her.

Three words that she has said before, even jokingly, and yet, she’s petrified.

The trees are tall in the backyard of Sachiko’s home, yellows and reds contrasting the feeling in her heart. It’s pure pink, just like the glow on Yoonoh’s cheeks or that set he had once sewed himself just for her, the one that he never gets enough of and still groans at. Childish music and cake should be enough to calm her down, but just as Yoonoh plops himself alongside her, resting his head on his forearm on the picnic table she’s by, all words she had practiced are lost.

How does he have that effect after five months?

“Erika loved the gift.” Even their gifts had been united. From Uncle Prince and Aunt Princess, they had written on the note. A doll that she had been screaming about months ago when they had visited her.

That word, even he is saying it. If Jung Yoonoh is capable of spitting it out, why couldn’t she—?

“You look like you’re sick.”

That makes her sigh. “Thanks. I don’t see you complaining.”

Yoonoh’s smile grows wider at that, rolling a piece of her hair in between his index finger. “I like the sick look.” He replies. “Something about the sight of a girl who wants to throw up on me. So sexy I could take you to a bathroom right now and just—”

“Yoonoh!”

“There it is, not so sick anymore. Now you’re angry.” He has his ways, she has to admit, and even when finds herself laughing when he changes that glimmer of his eyes that always gets him what he wants. “What’s with you?”

She opens her mouth, placing a piece of cake inside of it—just a little bit too big—when she says: “I love you.”

Or whatever can be understood in between a mouthful of cake.

Yoonoh quirks a perfectly styled brow. “You what?”

“I love you.” She utters out, swallowing soon after before giving him a smile. “Okay, alright, I’m done here—”

His hands gravitate to her hips before she could stand up, sitting her down on his thigh and bringing her face to his by her chin before asking, much too close and too softly for her to ever resist him. “You what?” He repeats, much more delicately, and finally, she finds the reason to stop being nervous.

Those brown eyes look from her eyes to her lips, never getting enough of her, never knowing how to battle the thoughts that show on his features. That kind of adoration she has never gotten before, and that is worth trying for.

She hides her face in his neck, breathing in his scent before spitting out: “I love you.”

It brushes against his skin, tickles him in a way that has him tightening his hold before he replies: “Sounds so good when someone means it.” And that confession is only meant for her to be understood, before he’s pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I love you, too.”

[viennavortex]

ozymandias | w.s.

Pairing: college student au!Wilbur Soot x reader; no Y/N, gender-neutral (no pronouns mentioned)

Synopsis: In class, your eyes spot a handsome stranger. Distracted, you try to pay attention attention to Professor Technoblade and his teaching assistant Nihachu, but you can’t seem to focus on anything but that student.

Warnings: some cursing, cameos from Technoblade and Niki, oc friend called Jamie, failed attempted British slang terms from an American author

Word Count: 3.0k

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Masterlist

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Professor Technoblade begins the second lecture of the year for European Literature with an unwavering smile. His eyes wander across the room. Internally, he begins a psychoanalysis of his students. It’s only natural, really, since the young professor also teaches Intro to Psychology. At least that’s what he tells himself. 

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath. Technoblade turns to his teaching assistant Nihachu, who goes by Niki, and says, “I was wrong. Remember my hypothesis about half of the students leaving by the second lesson? Only around a quarter of the original class left.”

Niki, who stands closer to the students sitting in the rows of the small auditorium, makes sure to keep her voice low as she replies, “You have too little faith. Besides, around half a dozen students are already watching you, waiting for class to start.”

When she scans through the students in the center of the seating area, she adds, “Look at the people in the middle row. They’re all staring at that one student with the beige tote bag.”

Technoblade stares at how the student in question waves their arms in the air to exaggerate whatever they are discussing. It's quite an animated gesture, but it gives him a little more information about their personality. Since not many college students take European Literature at the level he teaches, the classes are often small. And so, Technoblade finds himself making meaningful academic connections with his students every term; he’ll get to know his students’ individual behaviors long before exam season.

“They’re having quite the heated conversation,” the professor says, all the while observing how a student clad in a beanie has been staring non-stop at the one making overt hand gestures.

Suddenly, Niki corrects her previous hypothesis. Squinting her eyes at the students before them, she says, “You know what? I take back when I said that it's everyone in the middle row, because I think that the only person listening to the one making hand gestures is the other student sitting right next to them. You know, the one with the pink headband.”

“You’re right about that, but I think you’ve missed something,” Technoblade says, thinking back to his previous observations of the boy staring at the expressive student with the tote bag. “Look at that guy sitting in the row directly beneath them.”

“The beanie-clad student?”

Technoblade nods. “I wonder if the one making hand gestures knows that the one in the beanie is listening.”

It's a rhetorical question, so Niki doesn’t answer him. Instead, the teaching assistant glances at the large analog clock that hangs on the wall just to the left of the blackboard. It’s fifteen past two o’clock in the afternoon. Technoblade’s gaze follows Niki’s.

Niki asks, “Well then, should we start now or wait in the hopes that more people will walk through those doors?” 

She points to the doors, located a yard or two away from their spot of conversation by Technoblade’s desk.

“Thanks for keeping me in check,” Technoblade says with a laugh. “The school would put me under if they discovered that I people-watch more than I teach these college students,” he pauses, then renders the next phrase sarcastic as he inflates his voice, “the profound literature of Europe.” 

And so, before you can finish your harsh opinions regarding the five-page essay your Greek Mythology professor assigned the day before, Niki clears her throat. It’s a rather loud action, too, and so it has an immediate impact of piercing the noise of the room. 

You whisper to your friend from high school, Jamie, that you’ll fill her in later as Technoblade stands up from his desk. As the professor walks over to the large blackboard at the front of the room, you shove your phone into your beige tote bag and glance down at the professor and teaching assistant standing a few meters away from you.

“Good afternoon.”

You and the students before him echo the introduction in a monotone manner. 

He continues, “Last class was for introductions and the syllabus. From now on, we’ll delve into actual content. Today, it’ll be ‘Ozymandias,’ a poem which I’m sure you all are quite familiar with.”

The students in the rows above him groan. Your ears pick up on how a particularly deep voice is amongst the voices, but you decide to shove those thoughts away. Instead, you try to focus on analyzing the personality of Technoblade to see how you should behave in his class.

Unsurprised at the reaction, the professor says with a shrug, “Well, your responses sure aren’t unique, I hear this every year. I guess you know of the poem from high school?”

Most of the people in the room nod. Just as you attempt to nod as well, your attention is suddenly caught by a student sitting in the row below you, a mere three seats away. The angle that you’re sitting at is perfect to take in their side profile and attire.

They’re wearing a burgundy beanie and a pair of thin-framed, round glasses sits on their nose. And what a pretty nose it is, sloped at a straight angle that disappears under their mask. Oh, and their hair, wavy with a fringe that half-falls out of the front of the beanie, so long that it nearly covers their eyes. Their clothing matches an aesthetic that your brain can only label as academia, one that screams of all kinds of brown trench coats and beige button-ups. 

You close your eyes to avoid getting caught staring in the rare chance that they look up in your direction. You inhale rather sharply, muttering under your breath, “Christ, they’re fit.”

Before you can get infatuated, you rip your gaze away from whoever they are and drop your right elbow onto your lap, leaning over to press your cheek against your right hand so that your hand effectively blocks your view of the pretty stranger. Of course, you can still see them if you turn your head a few centimeters to the right, but you choose to ignore that by focusing on the lecture for once.

Technoblade is in the middle of a sentence when you redirect your attention to him, but you can gather that he’s recited the poem from how it is plastered over the wall that the projector to the left of his desk faces. 

“Now, from the nods I’ve received earlier, I can gather that most of you already know about what ‘Ozymandias’ means in terms of the words in the poem. But it’s probably to a very superficial extent, but that’s fine since that’s going to change after today. You see, ‘Ozymandias’ is a poem that describes the Egyptian pharaoh Ramesses II. Why, then, are the poems dubbed ‘Ozymandias’ and not ‘Ramesses II?’ Well, the name Ozymandias is Greek for Ramesses II, that’s why.”

Niki walks over to the computer that Technoblade is using to project “Ozymandias” and scrolls up. She highlights the name “Percy Bysshe Shelley” and then the year 1818, both facts displayed under the title. 

Once Niki’s finished, Technoblade adds, “In order to dissect a poem’s meaning, you cannot solely look at the words. Context, specifically historical context, is what you should all be focusing on. European Literature is a class involving studies of written works throughout history, and those works have been written by authors who drew upon the history known to them at the time of their writing and emulated opinions regarding those events in their writing, which we examine today.”

In your overflowing binder which you still haven’t cleaned out since last semester, you flip to a random page and write “Ozymandias” on the header. You draw a bullet point with the words “historical context” and nothing else.

You look at your paper with the slightest of smiles, amused by your lack of care. You send a silent thanks to your guidance counselor, whether it was an intentional move or not, for creating a schedule with many courses that reflect the timetable of your college friend, Jamie, who sits in the chair to your left. 

When Jamie looks up, you say, “Look at my half-assed attempt at notes.”

She shrugs and says, “It’s better than no notes.”

“Touché,” you say, staring at her lack of material. “Well, at least we’re here at all. I mean, if I’m paying nearly 30 grand for a college education, I might as well not skip.”

You and Jamie are startled out of your short side conversation when the horrendous sound of chalk scratching against the blackboard begins to ring throughout the classroom. Technoblade, whose handwriting is notably just as bad as the sound of the chalk, has written: Diodorus Siculus. 

With the name written down, the professor continues his lecture. He says, “I’ve written the spelling of Diodorus Siculus out for future reference. Who was he? A historian. An ancient Greek one who reported in his Bibliotheca historica that at the base of a statue of Ramesses II, there was an inscription. The engraved words stated: ‘King of Kings Ozymandias am I. If any want to know how great I am and where I lie, let him outdo me in my work.’”

Niki taps on the professor’s shoulder and begins to whisper something in his ear. You take the interruption in Technoblade’s lecture as a reminder to continue taking notes. 

As you jot down a few bullet points about Diodorus Siculus from Technoblade, your eyes can’t help but wander. It’s as if they have a mind of their own, honestly. But on second thought, you think that even if you did have firm control of your eyes, you would choose to ogle at the cute stranger anyway. 

Your center of attention, the pretty student, shifts out of the corner of your eye. Subsequently, your hand momentarily stops writing to stare at a particularly interesting piece of their wavy brown hair. It juts out of the beanie and obscures their vision. Although they move to shove the hair out of their eyes and back into the beanie, it falls back down again until they give up and let their hair win the battle. 

“Good grief,” you sigh. The sound is accompanied by a much stronger swear as you mull over your actions for a few more seconds. 

Jamie furrows her brows and tilts her head.

In response to her visible confusion, you say, “I’ve spent a good two minutes just staring at that hair.” 

You nod toward the student who has caught your affection attention. Jamie squints, then lets out a sigh as she shakes her head. 

Following the slightest of an exasperated smile, Jamie says, “Okay?”

“You have nothing else to add?”

“No.” 

“Really?”

“Mate, it’s good hair, but they look like every other white boy.”

You can’t deny it.

From Jamie’s tone of voice, you could tell that she is aware of your fascination with the handsome student. Unlike you, your crush seems to be paying proper attention to Technoblade. You follow their gaze back to Technoblade’s collared dress shirt and freshly pressed navy trousers. Although you’re not opposed to his professional attire, you can’t help but decide that the beanie-clad student below you is dressed far better. Unfortunately, Technoblade does not wait for you to finish your silent comparison of his clothing to the pretty stranger. 

The professor continues his speech, saying, “Shelley, the aforementioned author of ‘Ozymandias,’ was inspired by Siculus. Oh, and before I forget, I mentioned before that there were two Ozymandias poems. It’s true, since Shelley and his friend Horace Smith indulged in a writing competition together where they both described Ozymandias. Anyway, side note aside, Shelley was trying to convey a particular theme through his words. What was it, then?”

Technoblade pauses in his verbal explanations and picks up the chalk again, much to his students’ collective exaggerated despair. You copy what he’s written on the blackboard onto your notes without a verbal complaint this time, writing, “theme: all power is temporary, regardless of a ruler’s extensive ego or control.”

The professor drops the chalk down and returns to his initial spot by his laptop. He scrolls down to the bottom half of the poem and reads some lines aloud. “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains.” 

Technoblade gazes into the crowd of students before him, and asks, “Can someone take a shot at explaining the juxtaposition here?”

When no one offers to do so after 11 excruciatingly long seconds, you pity the professor and raise your hand. Technoblade’s sour expression turns grateful and he nods for you to state your opinion.

You say, “Well, Shelley paints Ramesses II out to be prideful. After all, Ramesses calls himself a ‘king of kings’ in the inscription described on the pedestal of the visage, and yet, the previous theme is reflected in that there is ‘nothing beside’ the visage to ‘despair’ as Ramesses claimed. So, the juxtaposition is that Ramesses brags about being great, yet his legacy gave way to nothing that has withstood the test of time. Additionally, the statue is described to be ‘half sunk’ and ‘shattered,’ and therefore ruined and forgotten, which is another set of contrasting qualities.”

Silence stretches across the classroom, and then slow applause comes from Niki. 

“Great interpretation,” Technoblade says, with nothing else to add.

“For lack of a better word, I think he got startled at my talented analysis,” you whisper to Jamie. 

“Talented, my foot,” she responds, and the two of you attempt to hold back your laughter with poorly-disguised coughs.

Suddenly, the deep voice from earlier says, “If I may add?”

Your brows furrow, as you have no idea who just spoke.

Technoblade replies, “Of course.”

“While the poem focuses on Ramesses II or Ozymandias, there lies a greater implication that it is all rulers who will undergo the same fate, including political authorities and monarchies. Like King George III, for example, who had a reputation for tyrannical behavior. I mean, it was around the end of George’s reign that this poem was written.”

The speaker trails off, glancing at Technoblade for approval to continue.

“Holy shit, the pretty stranger is the deep voice from earlier!” You swear under your breath, tracing the voice back to the beanie-clad student that you’ve been attempting to avoid looking at. You’ve been failing, of course, and this newfound discovery of their objectively nice voice stirs your impression of them further. 

When Technoblade nods for them to continue, they say, “At the time, George really could have been considered the most powerful man alive, with the 13 colonies spread across North America and other smatterings of colonies across the western hemisphere. Of course, his name was smeared by the ultimate success of the American Revolution by Americans who did not ‘despair’ in the face of his ‘works,’ thus rendering George’s legacy as nothing but a sign of failure.”

As if right on cue, smoke detectors begin to ring just as the pretty stranger’s response ends. There is nothing you wish more to do than get to know the well-dressed student who you’ve been obsessing over throughout the lesson. 

“Damn, must be that culinary class again.” Technoblade bites his tongue to avoid saying any stronger swears. “And with that, I’m taking that as a sign that our lesson is over. Nothing’s due for next class. Office hours are open today at 4, but don’t come unless you bring me a cup of earl grey. No sugar or milk or cream, just black. If the building burns down, there will be no office hours. Au revoir.”

With that, students around you stand up, lugging their bags over their shoulders for lunch. The attractive student is among them, and as you realize how tall they are, you fall even more for them. 

“Blimey,” you say, unable to hold yourself back as you turn toward Jamie. If you could inconspicuously fan yourself right now, you would. “The super low voice is the handsome stranger? And the handsome stranger is smart as hell? Intelligence has never looked this,” you pause, then settle for the word “delicious.”

“You’re so fuckin’ weird, you know that?” Jamie says with her back turned to you. She’s sorting the items in the chair to the left of her, where her jacket and other objects lay. After shrugging her jacket onto her shoulders, she grabs her backpack and faces you as she stands up.

“Oh, but you love me, Jamie. You’re my person, my best friend. Your only friend, really.” You do not pause to let her refute your claims and instead shove your notebook and laptop into your shoulder-destroying tote bag. “Besides, I’m hungry. Food is on my mind. Lunch in the city?”

“Lunch in the city,” she affirms with a nod, then with the slightest of smirks.

Your brows furrow at her expression, wondering why Jamie has such a dastardly smile plastered over her face. 

Suddenly, someone taps your shoulder, and you turn around. Your eyes meet chocolate brown ones. 

“Wilbur Soot, he/him.”

Your eyes widen at the pretty beanie-clad student, shocked by his forward behavior. Internally, you question why the cute stranger before you would want to talk to you. It would have taken you several classes in order for you to muster the courage to ask when an assignment was due. 

Spluttering due to your juvenile crush, all you can say after sharing your name and pronouns, is, “I thought you left.”

With a grin, he says, “Couldn’t leave you without your deep-voiced, intelligent, handsome stranger now, could I?”

When he steps forward, you can see his light brown eyes glitter, highlighted by the weak glow from the dull lights in the classroom. A gorgeous smattering of freckles lies across his cheeks like the stars in the night sky. His cheeks are reddening by the second and his lips are turning up at the corners. If a smile could melt you, it would be this one. 

Wilbur Soot is even prettier up close. 

“I know, love,” he says, with a cheeky smirk that causes your heart to spasm. “Go on a date with me?”

────────────✧

Next on the semi-related Wilbur Soot series: Perennial Pages

Masterlist

[shwazzberryswriting]

Messy Neighbors

Pairing: Hendery x Original Female Character|Reader

Genre: Alternate Universe - Romance, Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers (established relationship)

Summary: Neighbors help each other out. But how do they know when they're more than just neighbors?

Word count: 6.2k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature / Explicit Sexual Content; Alcohol Consumption, Vomiting, Smut, Drunk Flirting, Kissing, Dry Humping, Vaginal Fingering, MtF Sexual Intercourse, Unprotected Sex/Creampie

Author’s Note: Running a clown college where I keep getting distracted by fic ideas that I think would be "easy" and "short" and my quest to finish my Frat series never ends. Inspiration comes when it does and Hendery has been providing a lot to my creativity! Enjoy the fluff and smut! Sorry for any mistakes! I don't always catch everything when I proofread and edit.

Please let me know of any technical errors or if you have feedback/questions

Gif Credit: hantarose

The world was tilting, and Imala had to lean to her right not to fall off her seat. Her throat was parched so she picked up her glass once more and took a drink. The warm wine was acidic, burning her taste buds, and it only made her thirstier.

Her complex was two blocks away from the bar, but she was faded. It was time to call her best friend to pick her up and drop her off at home. With numb fingers, she managed to unzip her bag and dig out her iPhone. Instead of calling “Faith” she called “Hendery”, her next door neighbor. Before she could hang up he picked up.

“Hello?” she heard his faint voice, the screen turning dark.

“Hendery, I meant to call Faith,” she said as she pressed her phone to her ear, realizing that she was slurring. She’d been quiet for over an hour. Brushing her frizzy tendrils away from her temples, she threw her free hand to touch her forehead. She was trying to stop the floor from moving.

“Where are you?” His voice had sounded jovial when he picked up. His tone lowered after she spoke. “Are you OK?”

“I was let go today,” she burst out with a sob. “Apparently, the buyout just meant they always intended to dissolve our department. The entire team on the 5th floor at Paker Studios are out of work effectively today.”

“Hey, I’m leaving right now, OK?” he said. “Stay on the line with me. Are you at The Dove Dive?”

“Yeah.” With her eyes fixed on the empty wine glass before her, Imala listened to Hendery move around. She could picture him getting out of his bed, likely wearing his black boxers and brown tshirt, glancing around to look for his glasses. He always forgot where he set them down.

“I’ll be there in five minutes. Keep talking to me. Are there many people there tonight?”

“No,” she replied, glancing around the dimly lit bar. The bartender was still flirting with the pair of European tourists at the front end of the bar, and there was a double date going on a couple seats away from them. She sat alone at the back end of the bar, next to the small hallway that led to the bathrooms. The fluorescent blue and purple lighting at the back wall reflected her feelings onto her. “I’m so blue, Hendery. Like, literally.”

The world continued to tilt, and she gave a sniffle, dabbing her tears off her cheeks with a hand. She’d spent the last 2 hours silently drinking as she scrolled through Twitter. Her former coworkers were all handling their job loss in similar ways. Many were getting wasted, but most chose to do it at home or in the company of others.

Imala opted to be alone, having drunk 5 glasses of red wine at her local hole-in-the-wall bar. Hendery encouraged her to talk about what she wanted to eat as his heavy breathing irritated her eardrums. She slurred about tacos and kimchi, which made him give an audible, “Blegh.”

“Hey,” she drawled out, trying to sit up straight as she perched her elbows on the wooden counter, “I don’t judge your food...eating...stuff you eat.”

“Fine, I’m here, so I’ll say sorry to your face.”

Her thumb was still attempting to tap for the call to end when Hendery’s silver ringed thumb pressed it for her. She looked up to see him standing to her right, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows were furrowed and his chest raised as he inhaled through his nose.

“You OK?” he asked, grabbing the back of her chair with his left hand. “I’m sorry about your job. That’s fucked.”

“Not your fault,” she said, putting her phone back into her purse. “I want tacos and kimchi. And caramel ice cream.”

“I’ll get you anything you want,” he said, grabbing her bill from the bartender. He handed her credit card to her. “My treat. I have to get you home first.”

She gave a soft, “Thanks,” as he held up her green purse for her, so that she could drop her credit card in. He zipped it up and helped her slip the strap onto her shoulder.

“I don’t want to go home,” she said, shaking his arm as she grabbed onto his black hoodie. The cotton was soft. “I want to buy scratch tickets until I win. Let’s go to the corner store.”

“Fine, come on,” he said, throwing her arm over his shoulders before wrapping an arm around her waist.

They slowly walked out of the bar together. Her legs felt like rubber as she took every wobbly step toward the front doors. His hold on her hip was gentle, and she felt his index finger touch the bare skin where her shirt had ridden up. The cold night air hit her face as he opened the heavy blue door, walking them outside.

Blaring horns from a couple cars whizzing by and the loud chatter of passing strangers was music to her ears. She was back in the real world, functioning in society as a feeble drunk. Being marooned in a pool of cheap wine had been a mistake.

The world was beginning to spin like a carousel, and she fought the urge to gag, a pressure riding up her throat. She pushed him away, falling to her knees as she threw up her 5 glasses of wine behind the wall of a Dunkin Donuts. She leaned forward, resting her hand on the brick wall to look down at the red wine staining the concrete.

The sour burn in her throat made tears leak out of her eyes as she shut them tight. After spitting, she retched and threw the back of her hand up to rub her eyes. Clumps of eyelashes crunched against her knuckle and she groaned. A pair of hands stood her up as they grabbed her shoulders.

“Do you need to throw up more?” Hendery asked. He had grey bags under his eyes, though he gave her a small smile. “Want me to hold your hair?”

“I ruined my makeup,” she said, furrowing her eyebrows, holding up the kohl streaked knuckle of her thumb. “Hendery, I’m a fucking mess. I’m so sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Let’s go home,” he said, draping her arm around his neck. His hand was on her hip again.

The world wasn’t spinning anymore, though her temples were throbbing. It wasn’t until they were walking up the stairs that she began talking. Given that he was slowly walking up each and every concrete step with her, she began to tear up. Faith would have called Hendery to come do this task had she called Faith. It was always going to be Hendery who took her home.

“Thanks,” she slurred as they made it to the 7th floor. “Hendery, I should have just called you. You’re the one...you’re like, a real one. Ride or die. We’re destined together.”

They were at her front door. She was tenant #237. He was #239.

She’d moved into her place 3 weeks before he moved into his. They’d often leave for work together in the mornings, and returned home the same. Due to their elevator rides, they’d begun friendly pleasantries almost immediately. After 3 years of being next door neighbors, they’d built up a friendship. A couple nights a week they’d play video games at his place or watch true crime documentaries at hers.

“Faith says you’re my other bestie,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. He was unlocking her door with the keys she’d dug out while they were walking down the hallway. “Bestie Hendery!”

“Hey, it’s late,” he said, opening the door and turning the living room light on. Both of her hands were resting against the wall as she tried kicking her shoes off. He gave a dry chuckle as he bent down to unlace her sneakers. “Not so loud, bestie.”

“Bestie!” she said in a stage whisper, throwing both arms around his neck when he stood up straight. She kissed his cheek, and laughed as she watched the tip of his nose turn pink. “You’re so cute, Hendery.”

“You’re wasted,” he said, frowning. His eyes were fixed on the floor. “Didn’t you tell me our drunk flirting needs to stop?”

Wordlessly, she let him go, and sat down on her couch, grabbing her fluffy grey throw pillow to hug. She liked him. But he was a good friend. She was too drunk to be guessing what her emotions were with Hendery. She wanted to kiss him. Her head was throbbing.

“I want ice cream,” she said softly, resting her chin on the throw pillow.

“Do you have any?” he asked, walking over to her kitchen. She watched him open the freezer door to the fridge. His caramel colored hair fell over his eyes as he bent his head down to peer deeper inside. “Sorry, bestie. You’re clean out. You have 3 bags of frozen peas though.”

“Samosas,” she said, deciding to lie down on her couch, throwing the pillow under her head. Faith was supposed to show her how to make samosas but they’d gotten high and ordered takeout instead.

--

Her body felt heavy, like a weight blanket had been stitched onto her shirt and pants. Imala opened her eyes and she saw her red phone sitting beside her gold painted table lamp. She was lying in her bed, the windows covered by the thick curtains. Sitting up, her head throbbed and her eyelids ached. She inhaled deeply as she pressed her palms to her eyes.

She was jobless. She’d gotten drunk. And Hendery had put her to bed. Hazy memories of him using her makeup wipes to remove her makeup returned and her chest froze as a chill hit her. He’d walked her to her room and she told him she was too drunk to change so he left her to sleep in her green blouse and denim jeans.

Picking up her phone with blurry eyes, she scanned her notifications, and saw texts from her parents and friends. Everyone knew she was out of a job. It was earlier than she’d thought, so she fell back in bed, her phone in her hand. It had just turned 8:00.

“I thought I heard you moving around,” she heard Hendery say. Standing at the door, Hendery was still wearing the same clothes, indicating to her that he’d slept on her couch. He had a bottle of water in hand, and a vitamin supplement in the other. She sat up in bed, resting her back against the headboard. “How are you?”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her throat thin and scratchy. She took the contents from him, putting the vitamin in her mouth before uncapping the bottle of water. Grimacing after swallowing the pill, she set the bottle down on her night stand. “You didn’t have to wash my face.”

“You were bitching about getting zits, what else could I do?” he responded, shrugging. He threw his hands into the back pockets of his dark denim jeans, and looked toward the curtained window behind her. His lips curved up into a smile. “It wasn’t a big deal. I know you’d do the same for me.”

“About last night,” she began, but he locked eyes with her, making her vocal cords freeze. His lips were shut tight and he gave a gentle nod. The air always felt tense when they came close to talking about being drunk and flirty.

“I have to get ready for work soon,” he said, shifting the weight from his left leg to his right. “I wanted to make sure you were awake.”

“Thanks for taking care of me,” she said, moving to get out of bed. He walked over and grabbed the water bottle before handing it to her.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “If you’re tired, you should keep resting. You owe me one.”

She held the water bottle in her hand and nodded. He gave her a hand wave, and walked out the door. Biting her bottom lip, she considered getting up to chase him and kiss him.

The first time their friendship entered murky territory was when she fell over him on his couch. Her lips had touched the left corner of his mouth and his hand had slipped to the side of her boob. They’d both scrambled to their feet and pretended that nothing happened.

Since then, it’d been months of her wanting to make a move on Hendery while also not wanting to put herself out there to him. What if he didn’t reciprocate her feelings? What if she only crushed on him because he’d been the first guy to touch her boob in months?

She couldn’t read what his feelings were. Sometimes he ruffled her hair or teased her crappy gaming skills and unrefined food palette the same way he did to his guy friends. And then there were times where they’d talk on the couch and massage each other’s hands. It wouldn’t be until she was in bed, touching her palms, that she would realize how intimate his touch had been and fall asleep with a hot face.

The real problems came when they’d get shitfaced. When they were drunk, they’d flirt. Touch each other more, kiss each other’s cheeks and hands, compliment each other’s looks. There were a couple times they woke up cuddled up together on her couch.

The night before had been the first time she was drunk and he was sober. She felt terrible that she’d been so flirty. He’d seemed uncomfortable...and patient. He was a better friend than she’d thought, and he truly was one of her best friends. Vowing to never make an ass out of herself with him again, she sat back in bed and picked up her phone to find a new job instead of thinking about Hendery’s lips.

--

Jaemin was a gentleman. He’d asked her out on a date when she’d accidentally grabbed his order at Starbucks. She’d ordered a double shot Americano, while his Americano had 7 extra shots. He’d laughed and called her brave when she accepted his offer to take a sip of his drink.

They were enjoying tacos and Jarritos at a park a couple days after the coffee incident, talking about the movie he’d taken her to. Imala always had a hard time trying to convince someone to watch a movie on a Saturday afternoon with her, so it was a good sign that Jaemin said that Saturday afternoon matinee screenings were special occasions he splurged on.

Halfway through her buttery and perfectly spicy shrimp taco, Imala wiped her hands clean with her crumpled brown paper napkin when Hendery called her. Jaemin was understanding, giving her a grin as she stood from the picnic table they were seated at. His cheeks were puffed up with food, making him look like a chipmunk. The late afternoon sun warmed her face as she walked away from Jaemin.

“Hey, remember when you were drunk and threw up?” Hendery greeted her. His voice was low, and his speech slow. “I’m pulling out the Bestie Card, bestie.”

“You’re at The Dove Dive?” she asked. She glanced over her shoulder to watch Jaemin eating a potato chip. He locked eyes with her and smiled at her, stopping midchew. Before she could return the smile, her eyebrows furrowed as she realized that Hendery was calling her at a peculiar time. “What happened to your gaming tournament? Bioshock or whatever?”

“It’s for Apex Legends!” he exclaimed. “We won! Whoo!”

“Hendery,” she said, turning to face the sun again, giving out a heavy sigh, “do you need me to come get you? I’m still on my date with Jaemin. Are all four of you that faded?”

“I’m here alone,” he replied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were still on your date. Forge-”

“I’ll be there in five,” she cut him off, feeling a warm sensation weigh down her chest. The last time Hendery was a belligerent drunk was when he’d lost at a different gaming tournament. She had to return the favor of picking up a drunken idiot friend at their lowest. “Don’t you fucking move.”

“Bye, bestie!” Hendery chirped before she ended the call.

“I’m sorry,” she said when she returned to the picnic table. Jaemin helped her wrap up their leftovers. “Hendery sounds really wasted. When I lost my job he’d been the one to help me out.”

“You’re a good friend,” he said, standing up.

“He’s reliable so I want to be reliable too,” she said, feeling her heart beating fast. Talking about Hendery had her mouth drying up. She couldn’t look Jaemin in the face, afraid that her face would turn beet red. “Thanks for the movie and tacos. I had a fun time.”

“I can walk with you to The Dove Dive, if that’s where you’re going.”

She considered declining, but there was no reason not to accept his help. Hendery was taller than her. What if he fell to his knees and began throwing up? She wouldn’t be able to help him up seven flights of stairs alone.

Jaemin and Imala had realized they had Hendery in common during their coffee incident when Hendery had met with her outside of her new workplace. She was a production assistant on a daytime talk show, helping the fashion and makeup department keep things backstage in order. The studio she worked for was across the street from the one Hendery and Jaemin worked at.

The men not only worked in the same building, but they worked at the same tv studio. Hendery was a copywriter on “Teller Tales,” a nonlinear comedy show about two underachieving bank tellers. They went on zany adventures by stealing money from the bank they worked at. Jaemin was a copywriter on “Spears 2 Botz,” a sci-fi fantasy adventure show revolving around an alternate universe where humanoid androids time travel to prehistoric times.

Imala didn’t watch either show, but often listened to Hendery talk about both. He hated the show he worked on, finding the work uncreative and repetitive, but was always bothering the “Spears 2 Botz” crew for spoilers. When his friend Renjun (a writer on the show) offered to implore if Hendery could transfer to work on “Spears 2 Botz” Hendery declined. He wanted to be a viewer of the show, not a creator.

“You and Hendery sound close,” Jaemin said when they approached The Dove Dive. He threw his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. She bit her bottom lip as she realized she spent their entire walk talking about Hendery, heat hitting her cheeks.

“Well, I mean, I guess,” she said, shrugging. “We’ve been neighbors for years. You want to come in and say hi to him?”

“I have to go,” Jaemin replied. He gave a small smile, the corners of his lips curving upwards the slightest bit. “You’re sweet, Imala. Text me when you make it home?”

He waved to her and walked away, leaving her feeling confused. Jaemin sounded like he was saying goodbye to a friend, not a date. He’d spent the entire time at the movie theatre holding her hand, and yet, during their walk to The Dove Dive, he hadn’t tried to grab her hand at all.

Before she could think any further about how her date ended, Imala opened the door to the bar, and entered. Immediately, she was back in the blue tinted bar. The place was relatively empty, save for 2 other patrons near the front and the bartender. It wasn’t surprising since it wasn’t dinnertime yet. Hendery was sitting in the same chair she’d been seated at weeks ago at the back of the bar. His right hand was nursing a glass tumbler, his elbows propped up on the counter.

“Hendery,” she said, touching his shoulder, “how are you?”

“I lied,” he said, turning to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair flew out in wild knots. He grabbed his hair with one fist, creating new knots at the back of his head, before holding his tumbler with both hands. “I was out of the competition right away. We didn't rank because of me.”

“You want to go home?” she asked. “I won’t make you eat tacos and kimchi.”

He gave a dry laugh and nodded. Her chest lightened like bubbles fizzing to the top of a Coke bottle as his handsome smile appeared.

“I’m sorry about your date,” he said, frowning, his eyes returning to the brown liquid in his tumbler. “Jaemin’s a great guy.”

“You want me to make you ramen?” she asked. Hearing Jaemin’s name come out of his mouth made the fizzy feeling turn flat. She took in a deep breath and tried to keep her voice patient and friendly. “I have the fancy sliced cheddar cheese for the ramen. I’ll crack an egg in. I still have rice I made this morning, too.”

“You’re making me hungry,” he said, groaning as he shut his eyes. “Do you have fish cakes?”

“I do. I also have leftover sliced pork belly.”

He opened his eyes. Small fizzing bubbles helped her take in a deep inhale as he grinned at her.

“You’re my bestie,” he said, getting out of his seat.

She rolled her eyes, but they shared a smile as she grabbed his arm, hoping to help him keep steady. Zipping up his jacket, he proclaimed that he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t stand. As they exited the bar though, she noticed that Hendery had bumped into a couple chairs.

“You’re doing well because I was a fucking mess, right?” she said as they rushed through a crosswalk. “You don’t want to throw up behind Dunkins. You don’t want messed up makeup. I get it.”

“I might throw up when we walk up the stairs,” he said, shutting his eyes. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down as he tilted his head up toward the air.

“Do you need to rest for a moment?” she asked. “I have coconut water in my bag.”

“Let’s go,” he said after taking in a deep breath, exhaling with drooping shoulders.

He talked in a low tone, though the longer he spoke the faster his pace became. It was a ramble about how his mind kept drifting during the tournament. He was out of the competition first, and he was used to the shit talking from his friends, but he was off his game.

Once she had them in her place, he fell onto her couch, his feet dangling over the armrest. With an arm draped over his eyes, Hendery opened his mouth and gave out a groan. As she locked her door, she heard both his and her phones’ alarms going off.

“Just Xiaojun,” Hendery said, his lips barely moving, having used his free hand to pick up and glance at his phone. He threw his phone onto the coffee table before lying down again.

“You really left him and the guys at the tournament to go drink?” she asked, reading the wall of text from Xiaojun. Hendery’s friends had spent the last 2 hours looking for him. She quickly texted that he’d been at the Dove Dive, but was resting at home. “Why are you wallowing so much? Are you that upset over the game?”

She sat on the armrest and untied the laces to his black Converse high tops. He jerked his foot away when she moved to take them off, making her throw her hands up in surprise. She looked over to see him swallowing air with his arm still covering his eyes. His Adam’s apple had her attention again.

“I’ve got it,” he said with his numb lips.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, standing up. Gathering her hair to put up in a ponytail, she rolled the red hairband she always had around her left wrist toward her fingers. “I can make you ramen, I wasn’t lying. Or if you want to order takeout, we can do that, too. You need to eat.”

He stayed quiet as she placed a pot of water onto her stovetop. As she rinsed some cilantro and green onions in her sink, she glanced up to see Hendery sitting up on the couch. He’d taken his shoes and jacket off, staring at her with his left eye barely open.

“Do you want to go home and sleep?” she asked, feeling heat hit her cheeks. He shut his eyes, and she stared back down at her sink. “I can help you get into bed.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said through his numb lips. She dropped the herbs into her metal bowl before gripping onto the countertop, her mind spinning. He hadn’t confessed to loving her, surely she’d imagined it.

“You’re drunk,” she said breathlessly, her knuckles beginning to ache. She looked up again, and Hendery had his head resting against the back of the couch. His eyes were closed. “Hendery?”

A low rumble indicated that he was snoring and she blew air out of her mouth as her shoulders slackened. The grey zone of their relationship was so grey she tasted silver on her tongue as she took in a deep breath. Once she turned off the burner, Imala grabbed a spoon and opened the freezer door. If he was going to sleep, she was going to eat caramel ice cream.

--

She was curled up in the leather loveseat by the radiator when Hendery woke up hours later, rolling around on her couch. Bookmarking the novel she was reading by slipping her old Ikea receipt between pages 97 and 98, Imala looked over her shoulder. Hendery was yawning and rubbing his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

“How do you feel?” she asked, setting the book down onto the coffee table.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding his head toward the book. The front cover was bright pink with cute cursive writing in blue ink. “Laney’s Love Lessons” was the title of the book. Black and blue pixelated hearts decorated the front cover, surrounding the writings of the book’s title.

“Some beauty influencer is promoting their first published YA novel at my work next week. The PAs and copywriters all put $20 into a betting pool on who can finish the book the fastest.”

“You going to win?”

“It’s so boring. I haven’t cared about high school romances since…”

“The third season of Riverdale?” he offered. He sat up and threw his head back against the couch, his eyes shut. “How long was I out?”

“Are you still drunk?” she asked. She went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

She sat down beside him as he took the glass of water from her. He took a sip, and her cheeks felt warm as his eyes never left her. He smacked his lips after a long drink, the glass half empty.

Reaching over, she brushed away the droplet of water at the corner of his lip with her thumb, feeling her heart beating furiously in her throat. She licked her lips, and his tongue licked his bottom lip, mirroring her. She brushed his bottom lip with her thumb.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly.

The furious beating in her throat dropped to her stomach. She pulled her hand back, but he reached up and held her wrist in his grip.

“I thought we were going to stop this drunk flirting.”

“I’m not drunk,” he said, his eyes drifting down her neck.

She pressed forward and kissed his lips. They both kept their eyes open, but as she felt his grip around her wrist loosen, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth to kiss him better. The bitter taste of hops hit her tongue, while the heat from his tongue on hers warmed her chest. Sharp jolts hit her nipples, perking them up against the lace fabric of her bra.

“Hendery,” she breathed out when she pushed her hands against his chest.

His fingers gripped onto her wrists, keeping her hands pressed against his chest. Laying her hands flat, she glanced up into his eyes, feeling his rapidly beating heart under her fingers. The tip of his nose turned pink, and he shut his eyes before giving out a gentle laugh when she kissed the tip of his nose.

She laughed as she planted kisses into the crook of his neck. He guffawed as he released her wrists to grip onto her hips. She hummed a sigh against his skin as she shifted to straddle him. Her left hand found the hot bulge at his crotch and squeezed it gently, gaining a groan from him.

“I want you,” she said, pressing a hand against his chest for leverage. He threw his head back and gave a heavy sigh as she continued to stroke his growing erection, the heat of his cock warming her hand. “I’ve been wanting you.”

He lifted his head and his hands massaged her hips. Wordlessly, his hands pushed her down on him as his hips pushed up against her. Electrifying heat shot into her, making her whole body light up. She moaned as she threw both her hands up to his chest, her fingers grabbing the front of his shirt as he gyrated her heat against him.

Wrapping her fingers around his wrists as she felt his hands move up her body, she shook her head and frowned at him. Another sharp sensual heat rode up her back as their hips continued to gyrate against each other.

“Do you want me?” she asked, her lips quivering as Hendery pushed her down on him, the heat of his cock radiating through his jeans against her clothed cunt.

His lips were over hers, a hand grabbing the back of her head, as he groaned into her mouth. He tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, releasing her when she gave a gentle whine. Paying him back, she sucked on his neck and raked her teeth against his skin until she felt his hand grab her chin to direct her to kiss him.

“I want you,” he said when they broke their kiss. She opened her eyes to see his eyes focused on her lips. His eyes met hers and she felt his hands on her hips shove her off of him. As her butt landed on the soft cushions, Hendery stood, his back facing her.

“What’s with all the mixed signals today?” she couldn’t help saying in exasperation.

“I don’t want a pity fuck,” he said, slowly turning around to look at her. “I really didn’t think…” He ran a hand through his hair and he sat on the armrest of the couch, his eyes glued to the space between them. His lips numbed up again. “I’m sorry for ruining your date.”

“Shit,” she said, shutting her eyes. She’d forgotten to text Jaemin that she’d made it home. He definitely wasn’t going to ask her for a second date.

It was like her and Hendery not to see how obviously in love they were. Everyone saw it, even her date. Glancing at Hendery, she decided that if he wasn’t going to make the move, she had to. The uncertainty between them was making her miserable.

“I only said yes to the date because you won’t ask me out,” she said, her knees sinking into the couch cushions as she stood to get closer to him. “I-I want you, Hendery.”

She placed her hands on his leg closest to her, her fingers massaging the inside of his thigh. He jumped up, his eyes wide as he looked at her with his entire face red. Biting her bottom lip, doubt clouded her vision. Did Hendery not like her?

Grunting, he stepped forward and grabbed her chin with one hand, running his thumb over her bottom lip. Her body flared in blinding heat as his arm wrapped around her body.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he finally admitted. His thumb brushed over her lip again as he squeezed her.

Grabbing his neck with both of her hands, she directed his lips to hers and they kissed, the heat from his lips lighting her whole face up. Her hands drifted down his chest and stomach before reaching under to touch his bare skin while pulling his shirt off. He mirrored her hands and she breathed heavily against his lips as they caressed each other’s bodies. His lips were sending heat under her skin as he kissed her chest with his hands busy removing her sweatpants and panties.

Her mind was hazy with lust, soaking in the feel of Hendery’s hands and lips on her skin, a needing gleam in his eyes. It took her mind a moment to catch up to her body as his touches filled her with heat. Hendery had turned her back to him, and bent her to rest her front against the armrest. Licking her lips, she turned her head over to give him an encouraging smirk.

Gripping onto the armrest as she felt his fingers tease her cunt, she gave soft approving whimpers as the knuckle of his thumb pressed against her clit. Every motion of his knuckle sliding against her sensitive nerves made her cunt wet. Her voice caught in her throat when she felt his hands on her hips, angling her ass against him. Her mind clouded with red heat as she felt the tip of his cock tease her.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” she demanded, thrusting back into him.

They groaned together as he slid the tip of his cock against her entrance. She gave a shaky breath as he pushed his tip in, and her eyes shut tight as her whole body lit up again. Opening her mouth to ask him to fuck her harder, she gave out a cry as he pushed in deeper. Her back shook as one hand massaged her ass cheek and then slid down to caress her thigh.

He thrust in deeper and pulled out before pushing in immediately. Every motion rocked her nerves, and she cried as he began to build up a rhythm. He paused, one hand massaging the inside of her thigh, sweat and sex soaking their skin.

“How do you feel?” he asked breathlessly.

“So good,” she managed to pant out. She pushed her hips back to try to get some friction and mewled as she felt his hips smack into her. The strength in his hips sent a deep push into her gut, making her nerves shake. “Hendery, I want you.”

“I’m yours,” he groaned out.

He bent forward over her and gripped one hand onto the couch with her, pushing deep into her. His mouth captured her earlobe and he sucked on her as he began to find a rhythm, starting slow. His tongue wet her ear before going down to lick her neck. He praised her with every push, his hips slapping her ass as he told her how good she looked and felt. She cried out his name continually as he sped up his rhythm until she came, throwing her head down as her knees went weak.

Tears blurring her vision, she focused on his shoes by her front door as he continued his hard and fast pushes. He groaned as he slowed his pushes, every thrust into her shook her body until she felt his come heat her insides. His thrusts were gentle and slow as he came. She pushed herself up and looked over her shoulder to see Hendery looking down at their hips still connected together.

They both grunted at the uncomfortable sensations of their fluids moving around as they pulled apart. He grabbed some tissues and wiped between her legs before kissing her cheek. She smiled as she sat down on the couch, watching him clean himself up. They threw the soiled tissues onto the coffee table, and he pulled her to sit next to him as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Looking up into his face, she rested her hand on his shoulder as her thumb caressed his skin.

“Do you love me?” she asked him, smiling from ear to ear as his cheeks and nose flushed. “Because I love you, Hendery.”

He nodded. His hand touched her chin, sending a shiver down her back as goosebumps formed on her shoulders. They kissed, his lips warm and soft. She sucked onto his bottom lip as her hand moved to caress his neck.

“You’re a real one, my ride or die,” he said, smiling. They kissed and she giggled as she felt his tongue push into her mouth. “I love you.”

“We sure made a mess of things,” she said when she felt his lips on her neck. His hand touched her chin once more, his lips over hers again.

“Nothing a few tissues couldn’t clean up,” he said, looking into her eyes when they broke their kiss.

“I meant, this dance of ours,” she said, rolling her eyes gently. “We were on uncertain terms for so long.”

“I didn’t know what it meant when you would only get flirty when we were drunk.” She frowned. He kissed her before smiling at her. “Forget it. It’s all my fault.”

“Fresh start?” she offered. She kissed him, her hand caressing his chest. “We were simply neighbors before. We’re lovers now.”

--

Thank you always for reading!!!

[lightsovermonaco]

Body Shots (Pierre Gasly)

Inspired by (and beta read) by the amazing @limp-wrist-max​ thank you Mea! 

Masterlist

Word count: 3.5k

Recommended song: “Lucky You” by Sim Dane

Vacationing in Milan had its perks. Fine dining, luxury stores that were prime for window shopping, and the proximity to your best friend, to name a few.

When you'd touched down in Milan you had had no intentions of visiting Pierre. You had just finished your exams for your summer class and had a week before the next semester started up, so you had simply booked the cheapest ticket and boarded a plane. 

The intent had been to have some good wine, good food and unwind. Pierre saw your Instagram story minutes after you posted it and recognized the bakery you stopped at for lunch. And once he found out you were only a few minutes away from that weekend's grand prix, he had ideas that didn't involve you reading a novel all day.

Pierre had insisted that a last minute cancelation by a family friend had left a paddock pass unclaimed and had suggested you take it.

"You're my best friend, it'll be fun to have you experience a weekend through my eyes for once instead of sitting in the stands. Come visit me."

Something in the inflection of his voice made the simple request rub you raw. He missed you. It had been months since your last get together and you couldn't blame him. The last year had been rough for him and he  rarely had anyone physically at his side to help him through it.

Inviting you instead of one of his parents was about more than your current proximity to the track. He hadn't missed a beat in asking you, not hesitating to consider anyone else being with him this weekend.

Your stomach had turned as you climbed in a cab Sunday morning, not out of fear of something going wrong but because of the nagging feeling that something was about to change.

You'd known Pierre since you were kids. Your brother had raced in karting before pursuing another dream, but in the few short years you'd hung around European tracks you had managed to forge a bond with one of your brother's rivals. That friendship carried on regardless of the distance that separated you, kept alive by visits in the off season and once a year trips to the racetrack at Silverstone.

Pierre met you at the gates and you had barely seen him since.

A decent qualifying session saw the Frenchman start P10 on Sunday's race. He didn't hide the fact that he was disappointed, but come time for his final meeting with the team you'd never guess he was anything but ecstatic.

You had to be conscious about your mouth hanging open when Pierre stepped into the garage in his fireproofs with his suit half undone. The tuft of blond hair peeking through his backwards cap floats on an invisible breeze and he bounces on his toes. His brow furrows when he is handed a data sheet, listening intently to what the engineer points out.

Butterflies riot in your stomach when Pierre catches you staring and winks. You pray he writes the blush on your cheeks off as the heat and he must, because he raises his eyebrows and flexes a bit.

You laugh to cover the way you want to do nothing but strip him out of that tight fitted white shirt. Your crush was getting out of hand. Pierre's shameless, friendly flirting only escalated matters.

You told yourself it was nothing. He was like this with every girl he met, making a fool of himself to earn a laugh. You were no different, except maybe that you were a constant where most other women only got to enjoy his playful personality for a short time.

You're treated to a few long minutes of watching Pierre prep to climb into the car before he's heading out on track to line up at the grid. 

The race starts off fine, Pierre's pace is better than expected. One of the Haas's breaks down at the pit entry and Pierre's strategist decides to bring him in for a fresh set of tires. A kiss seems like the proper reward for their stroke of brilliance, which affords Pierre the advantage when the pits close soon after. 

Restarting on lap 28 is nail biting. Hamilton, Stroll, and Pierre make up the podium places. The entire garage gasps when Stroll goes wide at turn four. Hamilton serves his penalty and Pierre inherits the lead. Sainz jumps on the opportunity to attack.

Pierre defends brilliantly until the final lap. The team erupts when he crosses the line first, bringing home the win.

Red, white and green confetti sticks to his skin as he sprays the champagne over all of you. In the heat of it all, Pierre sits on that top step and shakes his head. You already know that the photos of him being snapped from all angles will be gorgeous, the sun shining down on the first French grand prix winner in decades.

A legend in the minds of his people and in yours.

You could scarcely believe it yourself. Your best friend had finally, after years of being pushed down, won a grand prix at the temple of speed. Red Bull had been wrong, just as you'd insisted when Pierre cried over losing his seat and his friend in one weekend. But god, did Pierre rise above it all.

Pierre catches your gaze just before he leaves the podium. A lifetime of emotion swirls around him like an enigma, begging you to find out what it was hiding. Your wave is barely more than a lift of your hand but Pierre notes it nonetheless, tipping his trophy in your direction.

You wait patiently on the sidelines as Pierre poses for pictures with his team on and off the track. His attention constantly falls on you, his grin widening each time he sees you tucked under the arm of an enthusiastic mechanic or crew member. Alpha Tauri was a family and you were an honorary member thanks to your connection to their driver.

An action packed hour of cameras passes before Pierre is able to break away. As soon as he's given the go ahead he passes his trophy off and marching to you. You're both practically running by the time you meet in the middle. You crash into him and he lifts you off your feet in a crushing hug.

"You did it," you whisper, overwhelmed by his success now that you've gotten the chance to celebrate with him. "I'm so proud of you."

Pierre laughs as he sets you on your feet. His smile is wider than you've ever seen it and you're sure his cheeks must be sore.

"Wish they allowed us to bring a friend up there," Pierre says softly, a smile melting into a sly smirk. "Seeing you doused in champagne is an image I wouldn't forget."

You shake your head, caught up in his ceaseless flirting. He had no idea that his honeyed words and gentle touches lit something inside of you, rattling your brain and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Instead you snatch the black and gold Pirelli cap off his head and place it on your own, earning you a peal of laughter.

"Looks better on you anyway." Pierre runs a hand through his sweaty, champagne doused hair, leaving bits sticking up at odd angles.

Someone calls Pierre's name, far enough away that there's no rush. Pierre's hands remain planted on your waist and yours stay wrapped around his neck. By the way his bright blue eyes bore into yours, you swear he's thinking the same thing you are.

"Thank you for believing in me," he murmurs, gaze falling to your lips.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," you tell him, inching up on your tiptoes. Tempted by his win, you want to ruin the best friendship you've ever had. You want to discover if the lips you spend far too much time dreaming about felt as soft as they looked. You want to know how it feels to be lost in Pierre, newly minted race winner, and find out just how he dealt with the adrenaline and euphoria of his incredible drive.

"Well done mate!"

Max Verstappen startles the two of you apart. You take a healthy step back and drop your gaze to the ground to hide your burning cheeks.

"Thanks." Pierre accepts the Dutchman's embrace and claps him on the back. "Sucks I didn't get to fight you for it."

"There will be more chances in the future. And I didn't expect to see you here, that's a nice surprise." Max knocks you with his shoulder, tipping you off balance. On instinct you latch onto Pierre's arm to steady yourself. You wait a heartbeat too long to remove your hand and both of you find anywhere to look but each other.

"So where's the party?" You ask, searching for a distraction from the way your palm still burns.

"Definitely not at Red Bull." Max shudders and you laugh because that's what you do when someone is being over dramatic. It rings hollow in your ears.

"I hear there's a few guys with adjoining rooms at the hotel who bought plenty of booze," Pierre says. "You and Dan wanna come by?"

"Is that really a question?" Max grins, already typing out a text as Pierre feeds him the details.

**********

"You should do body shots," Max suggests, which earns a roaring laugh from Daniel and a half hearted one from Pierre.

"I don't think so," Pierre says, "there's no one here I trust enough to let that happen."

"Not even your best friend?" Max gestures to you and shoots you a wink when Pierre glances over. "I think she's trustworthy."

"No thanks." Pierre holds up his plastic cup and salutes Max before draining it to the dregs.

Pierre's immediate refusal hurt more than it probably should have. You hadn't expected him to jump at the offer but having him shut the idea down so thoroughly hadn't been what you wanted either.

Max notes your pouty lower lip and speaks on your behalf. "Come on mate," Max insists. "You just won your first prix, live a little! It's not like you've got anything to lose, she's your best friend."

"That's exactly why-"

"Shut up, it would be fun! Wouldn't it?" Max says this last bit to you, a wild grin on his face.

Max expects you to turn red and object. That was his end goal. But what the Dutchman hadn't counted on was how drunk you already were on Pierre. On his smile. On his bright blue eyes, swirling in the aftermath of his unlikely triumph. And mostly on the not-so-sneaky way he glances at you every few minutes.

"Let's do it."

Pierre blinks, searching your face for any sign of distress. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, suddenly fearing that you'd read him wrong and he really was against this whole thing. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Get the vodka," Pierre interrupts, nodding to Max though his stare remains pinned on you. Pierre latches onto your wrist and drags you around the room until he finds a table long and sturdy enough for his liking. 

"This a good height for you?"

The coffee table is low enough that you'd have to kneel. Luckily getting on your knees isn't something you'd mind doing for Pierre. You lick your lips without thinking. Pierre's pupils blow wide, black swallowing the swirling oceans of blue.

"Sure," is all you manage.

"Good." Apparently neither of you were able to focus on speech. You work together to clear the empty plastic cups and used napkins from the surface. Your hands brush when you both reach for the last cup and you just catch the way Pierre's breath hitches.

You and Pierre have danced this dance since you were teenagers. Each of you knows the steps by heart. The only difference is tonight neither of you were poised to bow out before the final lift.

"Beep beep, bitches!" You yank your hand away when Max's shout reaches you. Pierre's hand lingers in front of him,  outstretched as if your palm remained grazing his thumb. 

Max holds the bottle of vodka over his head as he wades through the crowd. "You're all about to be very, very entertained."

"Where's your chaperone?" You ask Max, searching for Daniel in the low lighting. You press your palm to your thigh, dissipating Pierre's lingering heat.

The Dutchman waves you off. "Went to get us more drinks. Pierre, isn't it kinda hard to do body shots if you're still fully clothed?"

"Who says I'm the one getting undressed?"

Max's grin dimples his flushed cheeks. "I mean you can ask her to take her shirt off in front of all these people if you want to."

"No," Pierre responds quickly. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Pierre strips off his shirt he gets more than a few whistles from men and women alike. That tended to happen when someone was built like a Greek fucking god, you supposed. Whoever voted for People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" and decided on Michael B. Jordan had clearly never laid eyes on Pierre, with his bronzed skin, endless expanses of muscle, and brilliant cheshire grin.

Michael B. Jordan who?

Pierre hands the team branded shirt off and lays out on the table. He pillows an arm under his head, bare bicep flexed as he gets comfortable. Leaning in to kiss along the hard muscle was out of the question, however tempting it was.

Pierre looks up expectantly. "You coming?" 

Holy shit, this was actually happening.

"Yeah, I'm coming." You sink to your knees and Pierre laughs.

"Up here." He pats his thigh with his free hand and beacons you forward. "Please."

Screw it, you've already thrown your friendship out the window. This night ended either in heartbreak or awkwardness, might as well get your money's worth.

A few whoops break out above the music. The bassline isn't the only thing thundering in your chest as you straddle Pierre's thighs, hands braced on his chest.

"Okay?" Pierre whispers for your ears only. You nod with what you hope is a charming smile.

"Alright move," Max says, shooing you back until you're resting on your haunches. Max flicks the cap off the bottle and you grab it to take a long sip.

Max gapes at you and you wipe a hand over your mouth. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Pierre's thighs tense beneath you in response to your bold declaration. Dozens of Pierre's friends and team members gather around. For all you care, Pierre is the only person in the room.

"Last chance to back out," Max warns. You're too busy tracking the drop of liquid that falls from the neck of the bottle to splash onto the crease of Pierre's abs to bother responding. 

"Pour it out." Pierre's chest sinks with his demand, doing nothing but sparking your imagination, creating images of him heaving beneath you. You'd sell your soul to recreate the way you're currently poised above Pierre's hips with a little less clothing and no audience.

Max gives up hope on you replying and dribbles the alcohol up Pierre's abdomen, stopping just below his pecks.

"Have at 'er-"

Your tongue is on Pierre's skin before Max has finished his sentence. You feel the muscle tense beneath your tongue, going rigid at the first contact. The burn of the vodka doesn't even register as you lap it up, catching the drips that fall over his sides. 

You aren't sure either of you is breathing. Salty sweat mingles with the sharpness of the alcohol, an afterthought barely worth mentioning.

Blame the liquid courage or blame the high from Pierre's win, but you were confident Pierre was enjoying this just as much as you. 

Planting a hand on Pierre's hip, you steal a glance up at him to find him locked on you. You take that as permission to continue, dragging your tongue flat up his stomach and continuing well past where the vodka had been poured. Up between his pecks, over the curve of his throat that bobs beneath your tongue, over his chin until you meet his lips, already parted and waiting. 

Neither of you pay the shouts cresting around you any heed. You've both waited too long for this, endured too many almosts and what ifs to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. Your sticky hands cradle Pierre's face, angling it in a way that's to your liking so you can explore more of his mouth. He tastes like whiskey and mint, the juxtaposition of hot and cold scattering your thoughts. One of Pierre's hands finds the nape of your neck when you gasp for air, refusing to let you end the moment.

And it's pure, unending bliss that floods your veins when he nips at your lower lip, swollen and surely reddened from his kiss. His thumb sweeps across the back of your neck while you both fight to catch the breath currently evading you.

Daydreams didn't hold a candle to the real thing. One taste and you were addicted, craving as much as Pierre was willing to give.  

"Hey," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a stupidly gorgeous smile.

"That was nice," you tease, tangling your fingers in the silky blond strands of his hair. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again."

"Me too. Maybe somewhere where it's just us though. I wouldn't want to scandalize my team any further." You manage to steal another sweet peck before Max hauls you off Pierre.

"Fucking finally," Daniel says, clapping when you're upright again. "Do you know how long I've been trying to orchestrate this? The two of you really are dumber than a box of rocks. I can't believe all it took was Max suggesting body shots to get you two to kiss."

The arm that wraps around your waist feels right. Pierre hasn't hugged you like this before, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his nose nuzzling your neck, but it already feels like home.

Pierre ignores Max completely in favor of pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. "Why don't we go back to my room? I'll pour more alcohol on myself if that's what it takes to convince you."

You're just about to take him up on the offer when one of his team members taps his shoulder. He glances at them impatiently, which the man thankfully doesn't take personally.

"They want some photos with you holding your trophy," he explains, handing a shirt and the star shaped interpretation of the Italian flag to Pierre. "It will only take a few minutes,  they promised not to keep you long."

Of course everyone knew exactly where your minds were. Sanity had long since left the premises, tangled up in crisp white sheets. Pierre's entire team and half the Red Bull garage had seen what had gone down while the prix winner was sprawled on that coffee table. There would be no chance of denying it in the morning. 

And while you'd never imagined that the first time you'd kiss your best friend would be directly preceded by licking copious amounts of shitty liquor off his super-heated skin, now that you'd experienced it any other way seems forgettable.

Pierre sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, I already have my trophy, but…" your stomach lurches when you realize he means you. Pierre catches the way your mouth hangs open and he shoots you a grin before accepting the real trophy.

"You carry it," he says, not giving you much of a choice as he thrusts it into your hands. "I'm occupied."

You're about to point out that his hands are, in fact, free and that the more likely reason for insisting you carry the trophy was his usual post-race laziness when he slings an arm around your shoulders and tucks you tight to his side.

"Is this okay?" Pierre asks when you involuntarily stiffen. God, it was more than okay, it was perfect, it had just caught you by surprise. You'd only kissed him a handful of minutes ago and Pierre was already wrapped around your finger, smitten as if you'd been a couple for years.

"Yeah no, it's perfect. Simply lovely," you say quickly, stumbling over your words.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Your answer comes in the form of a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. You prop the trophy on your hip and smile up at your race winner.

"You don't have to ask that ever again. My answer is always yes."

[lacontroller1991]

Pumpkin Spice Latte - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Author’s Note: AAAAA first chapter of a story with an OC! Please let me know what you guys think!

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Beaten Up Rick :(

One of the things Rick thinks he’ll miss the most about DC is his coffee shop that he includes in his daily routine. They know his name. They know his order, and now he’s leaving his routine for Louisiana. Squinting his eyes, Rick’s hazel orbs fall on the small little shop that rests between all the others. Noting its appearance, he inwardly sighs at the girly decor but shrugs his shoulders. He needed coffee and not only was “Lucy’s Cafe” relatively close to Belle Reve, it was also the only coffee shop open. Pulling into the parking lot, Rick puts on his baseball cap and exits the car, taking in the sight of the cafe. Light pastels illuminate the sign outside as posters promoting the “freshly baked croissants” hang in the windows. Walking into the shop, Rick is taken aback by how homey it feels. The air warms him up as he inhales the scent of coffee and his observing eyes fall to the only other person in the joint.

“Good morning,” a perky voice greets, a pair of chocolate brown eyes follows the 6’2” man who stands awkwardly, “how are you doing this morning?” She has an accent. Northern? European maybe? Rick thinks as he makes his way to the counter and eyes the 5’6” brunette whose name tag suggests that she calls herself “Hannah.”

“Fine, thanks,” Rick gruffly replies as he scans over the menu. Sugar drink this, sugar drink that, do they even have plain black coffee? He asks himself as Hannah waits patiently, making a mental note of his appearance, “do you guys just have black coffee?” Rick questions as she laughs, a smile appearing on her face.

“Of course! Would you like anything else?” She offers as his eyes scan over the menu again. Deciding that he didn’t really want anything else, he shakes his head as she nods, “right well, I’ll get you rung up and then I’ll get started on it!” She drags the tablet over in front of her as she clicks on the pad, “your total will be 2.35.” Rick nods as she turns around and fixes his coffee for him. Placing the card in the reader, Rick frowns when it says that it’s declined. Groaning, he removes the card and tries again and when it shows as ‘declined’ again, Rick’s cheek’s flush with embarrassment. The one fucking time I don’t bring cash, he inwardly notes as she turns around and hands him his coffee. Noticing the flustered look on his face, she discreetly looks down at the tablet to see what was going on.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about this! The tablet is old and sometimes it doesn’t read cards as well as it should,” she lies through her teeth and Rick appreciates the thought but shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s my card. Probably the bank froze it or something,” he mumbles, his normal cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Not from around here?”

“I actually just moved down from DC. Got restationed,” Rick replies with vagueness as she nods and cancels the order.

“Well, don’t worry about the cost.”

“Are you sure? I can,” she cuts him off with a wave before moving to grab a croissant.

“Please, I insist. You look like you need it, and here. Take this,” she offers him the pastry as Rick looks at her.

“You already gave me the coffee, I can’t accept another thing for free,” he comments as she smiles up at him.

“It’s alright, consider it a Louisiana welcome,” she motions with her hands as he smiles back, reluctantly taking the coffee and croissant.

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it,” he nods at her as she wipes down the counter.

“Of course. Come by again!”

----------

The next time Rick stops by, Hannah notes one of two things. One, the obvious stitching across his left cheekbone and two the bright bulls eye bruise on his right eye that he tries to hide with sunglasses.

“What happened?” She asks right away, shocking Rick. He honestly wasn’t expecting her to care enough to ask, nor was he expecting the genuine worry that came from her voice.

“I got into a fist fight,” he states blandly as she nods, not wanting to push it any more.

“Well, what can I get you? Another black coffee?” Rick ponders for a moment before deciding that he deserves a sweet treat.

“What do you have that’s strong but also sweet?”

“Well, I can make you a latte with double shot espresso and then some flavoring?” Hannah suggests as Rick eyes her through the glasses. She’s really beautiful, he reflects to himself as she shifts weight between her feet, I wonder if she’s talking to anyone. Snapping out of his thoughts, Rick nods, not really knowing what she said.

“Yeah that sounds great,” he awkwardly coughs as his eyes look everywhere but where she stands. Turning away, Hannah pumps different flavors into a cup while brewing espresso. Rick tries not to watch her work, but something about her draws her to him. Maybe it was the obliviousness to the real, cruel world? Or the domesticity that someone like her can offer someone like him. Rick’s eyes focus back into her and notice that she is moving her mouth.

“I’m sorry darlin’, what did you say?” Hannah’s eyes widen at the pet name but she pretends she didn’t hear it.

“I said, try this and let me know what you think,” Rick takes the drink in his hands and brings the cup to his mouth. Taking a sip, Rick suppresses the moan that threatens to escape.

“It’s actually really good,” he admits as she raises an eyebrow.

“Did you expect it to be bad?” Rick coughs as he raises a hand and waves it in response.

“No, no. I just didn’t expect pumpkin,” he tries to justify himself as she smirks while fiddling with the tablet.

“Well, pumpkin is my go to flavoring and so this is what I normally make myself,” she replies as he nods, moving to grab some cash. Handing her a 10, Hannah eyes Rick with humor.

“Card still not working?” She jousts as Rick lets out a little chuckle but shakes his head.

“It does, I just don’t want your card reader to mess up again,” he jokes back as she smiles at him. Taking the money, she quickly gives him back his change.

“Well, it works now. You know I never got your name.” It was Rick’s turn to raise an eyebrow at her forwardness, but nonetheless, Rick sticks out his hand which Hannah takes.

“Rick Flag.”

“I’m Hannah, pleasure to formally meet you,” she smiles, shaking his hand as he gives her a small smile back.

“Pleasure is all mine.”

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