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bratzkoo · 8 months ago

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diet pepsi | seungcheol

Author: bratzkoo | beta read by: @spnyin Pairing: F1 driver! seungcheol x model ! reader Genre: fluff, smut Rating: NC-17 Word count: 8.7k Warnings/note: inspired by addison rae's diet pepsi. who here is a slut for seungcheol? 🙌 CAUSE I AM. sexual content. car sex, public sex, kitchen sex, just... they're horny. minors please for the love of God, I have a lot of sfw fics... read those not this.

summary: seungcheol just wants every excuse to have sex with his girlfriend, let him be.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The screech of tires against asphalt filled the air as Seungcheol Choi crossed the finish line, clinching yet another pole position. The crowd's roar was deafening, but inside his helmet, Seungcheol heard only the pounding of his own heart and the steady rhythm of his breath. As he pulled into the pit lane, a sea of red-clad mechanics swarmed his car, their excitement palpable.

Climbing out of the cockpit, Seungcheol removed his helmet, revealing a shock of tousled dark hair and a face flushed with exertion and triumph. Cameras flashed from every direction, capturing the moment for millions of fans worldwide. Seungcheol's eyes, however, scanned the crowd for one face in particular.

There she was. Y/N stood at the edge of the paddock, her platinum blonde hair catching the sunlight, emerald eyes locked on him. To the world, she was just another beautiful face in the crowd, perhaps a fan or a pampered guest. But Seungcheol knew better. The slight quirk of her lips, the intensity of her gaze – these were for him alone.

As he made his way through the throng of reporters and well-wishers, Seungcheol maintained his media-trained smile, answering questions with practiced ease. "Yes, the car felt great out there. The team has done an amazing job." "No, I'm not thinking about the championship yet. We're taking it one race at a time." All the while, he was hyper-aware of Y/N's presence, like a magnetic pull on his senses.

Finally breaking free from the press, Seungcheol headed towards his private trailer. As he passed Y/N, their eyes met for a brief, electric moment. No words were exchanged, but the message was clear: Meet me later.

Inside the trailer, Seungcheol peeled off his racing suit, the cool air a relief against his skin. As he stepped into the shower, letting the water wash away the sweat and tension of the race, his mind wandered to Y/N. A year together, and still, every moment felt as thrilling as the first.

He remembered their first meeting, at a charity gala nearly fourteen months ago. Y/N had been the face of the event, her billboard-sized image greeting guests as they arrived. In person, she had been even more stunning – all graceful curves and sharp wit. Seungcheol, usually so confident on the track, had fumbled his words like a teenager.

A smile played on his lips as he recalled how Y/N had teased him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I hope you drive better than you flirt," she had quipped, before slipping him her number on a cocktail napkin.

Their relationship had ignited quickly, burning hot and bright. But with their rising stars came increasing scrutiny, and they had made the difficult decision to keep their love under wraps. For a year now, they had been living a double life – stealing moments whenever they could, always looking over their shoulders.

Seungcheol stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. His phone buzzed with a message from Y/N: "Usual spot. One hour."

An hour later, Seungcheol guided his sleek black sports car up the winding road to their favorite overlook. The city sprawled below, a glittering carpet of lights in the gathering dusk. Y/N's car was already there, and as he pulled up beside it, she stepped out, taking his breath away.

Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the deep green dress that hugged her curves. As she walked towards him, Seungcheol was struck anew by her grace, the way she moved like liquid silk.

"Congratulations, hot shot," Y/N purred as she slid into the passenger seat of Seungcheol's car. "You were incredible out there today."

Seungcheol's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining over the gear shift. "Having you there makes me want to push even harder," he admitted, bringing her hand to his lips for a soft kiss.

Y/N's other hand came up to caress his cheek, her touch igniting sparks under his skin. "Seeing you race... it does things to me," she murmured, her voice low and husky.

Their lips met in a searing kiss, a year's worth of pent-up passion and stolen moments pouring out. Y/N's fingers threaded through Seungcheol's hair, still damp from his shower, as his hands roamed her back, pulling her closer.

With practiced ease, Y/N maneuvered herself onto Seungcheol's lap, the gear shift digging into her thigh. Neither of them cared. All that mattered was the heat between them, the taste of victory on Seungcheol's lips, the soft sighs escaping Y/N's throat.

Seungcheol's lips traveled down Y/N's neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "God, I've missed you," he breathed against her skin. "These past weeks, barely seeing each other..."

Y/N arched into him, her body responding to his every touch. "I know," she gasped as his hands slipped under her dress. "But we're here now."

They moved together with the familiarity of long-time lovers, yet each touch still sent electricity coursing through their bodies. The windows of the car slowly fogged up, creating a cocoon that shut out the world beyond.

Afterward, they sat entwined, Y/N's head resting on Seungcheol's chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to its normal rhythm. The city lights twinkled below them, a reminder of the world they'd have to return to soon.

"I have news," Y/N said softly, tracing patterns on Seungcheol's arm. "That luxury car brand I've been in talks with? They want to do a joint campaign. With an F1 driver."

Seungcheol tensed slightly beneath her. "Let me guess. They want me?"

Y/N nodded, sitting up to look into his eyes. "It could be huge for both of us. But..."

"But it would mean going public," Seungcheol finished for her. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's been a year, Y/N. Maybe it's time."

Y/N searched Seungcheol's face, her brow furrowed with concern. "Are you sure? Your sponsors, my agency... they've all been so insistent about projecting the right image."

Seungcheol cupped Y/N's face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. "The right image is us, together. I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you.”

Y/N's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Seungcheol's lips.

As they drove back to the city, hands intertwined over the gear shift, both Seungcheol and Y/N knew they were accelerating towards a new chapter in their lives. The race to balance their love, careers, and the impending spotlight was on, and neither of them was prepared for the twists and turns that lay ahead.

The next morning found Seungcheol in a strategy meeting with his team. As his race engineer droned on about tire degradation and fuel management, Seungcheol's mind wandered to Y/N. He wondered what she was doing, if she was thinking of him too.

His reverie was interrupted by his team principal, Jeonghan, clearing his throat pointedly. "Seungcheol? Did you hear what I said?"

Seungcheol blinked, forcing himself to focus. "Sorry, Jeonghan. Could you repeat that?"

Jeonghan's eyes narrowed slightly, but he continued, "I said, we've been approached by Luxe Motors for a potential sponsorship deal. They want to do a campaign featuring you and some model." He waved his hand dismissively. "Could be good exposure, but we need to make sure it doesn't interfere with your training schedule."

Seungcheol's heart raced. This was it – the campaign Y/N had mentioned. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "Actually, Jeonghan, there's something I need to tell you all."

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Seungcheol. He could feel the weight of their expectations, the pressure of the carefully crafted image they had built around him. But as he thought of Y/N, of the love they shared, he knew it was time.

"The model they want for the campaign... her name is Y/N. And we've been in a relationship for the past year."

The silence that followed was deafening. Jeonghan's face turned an alarming shade of red, while his PR manager, Ela, looked like she might faint. It was his mechanic, Dino, who broke the tension with a low whistle.

"Damn, boss. You've been holding out on us!"

What followed was a whirlwind of questions, accusations, and hurried strategizing. By the time Seungcheol left the meeting, his head was spinning. He needed to see Y/N, to hold her, to reassure himself that they were making the right decision.

He found her at their favorite café, tucked away in a corner booth. As soon as she saw him, Y/N's face lit up, then quickly fell as she registered his expression.

"What happened?" she asked as he slid into the seat across from her.

Seungcheol reached for her hand, needing the anchor of her touch. "I told them," he said simply. "About us, about the campaign... everything."

Y/N's eyes widened. "How did they take it?"

"About as well as we expected," Seungcheol sighed. "Jeonghan's worried about the sponsors, Ela's already drafting press releases... it's chaos."

Y/N squeezed his hand. "My agent wasn't much better. He thinks it could either make or break my career."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their decision settling over them. Then, almost simultaneously, they began to laugh. It started as a chuckle, then grew until they were both shaking with mirth, drawing curious glances from other patrons.

"God, we're a mess, aren't we?" Y/N gasped between giggles.

Seungcheol grinned, feeling lighter than he had in months. "Yeah, but we're a mess together."

As their laughter subsided, Seungcheol was struck by how beautiful Y/N looked, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with mirth. Without thinking, he leaned across the table and kissed her, right there in the middle of the café.

Y/N froze for a moment, then melted into the kiss. When they parted, she looked around, a mix of exhilaration and nervousness on her face. "Seungcheol! Someone could have seen..."

"Let them see," he said, surprising himself with his boldness. "I'm done hiding, Y/N. I love you, and I want the whole world to know it."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "I love you too," she whispered.

They left the café hand in hand, no longer caring who might see them. As they walked through the city streets, Seungcheol felt a sense of freedom he hadn't experienced in years. He pulled Y/N close, kissing her temple.

"Come on," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I have an idea."

Twenty minutes later, they were back in Seungcheol's car, this time parked in the private garage of his apartment building. The space was dimly lit, the concrete walls amplifying every small sound.

"Seungcheol," Y/N breathed as he trailed kisses down her neck. "Are you sure about this? Anyone could walk in..."

He pulled back, looking into her eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

Y/N bit her lip, desire warring with caution in her expression. Then, with a small shake of her head, she pulled him back to her. "No," she whispered against his lips. "Don't you dare stop."

Their kisses grew more heated, hands roaming with increasing urgency. Y/N's shirt found its way to the floor, followed quickly by Seungcheol's. The leather seats creaked as they moved together, the car rocking slightly with their movements.

Every sound seemed amplified in the quiet garage – their ragged breathing, the soft moans that escaped Y/N's lips as Seungcheol's hands explored her body, the rustle of clothing being hastily removed.

When they finally came together, it was with a passion born of their newfound freedom. Gone was the need for silence, for restraint. Y/N cried out Seungcheol's name, her nails raking down his back. Seungcheol groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

They moved together, lost in the sensation, the thrill of potentially being caught only adding to their excitement. The world outside ceased to exist – there was only this moment, only them.

As they reached their peak together, Y/N's back arched, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Seungcheol held her close, his entire body shuddering with the intensity of his release.

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Seungcheol pressed soft kisses to Y/N's shoulder, her neck, her cheek.

"I love you," he murmured against her skin. "Whatever happens next, I love you forever."

Y/N smiled, running her fingers through his hair. "I love you forever," she replied.

As they dressed and made their way up to Seungcheol's apartment, both of them knew that tomorrow would bring new challenges. There would be press conferences to face, contracts to negotiate, a gauntlet of public opinion to run.

But for now, as they curled up together on Seungcheol's couch, they were content. They had each other, and they were finally free to show the world their love. Whatever storms lay ahead, they would weather them side by side.

Seungcheol pulled Y/N closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. As sleep began to claim them both, he couldn't help but smile.

The harsh glare of camera flashes assaulted Seungcheol's eyes as he stepped out of his car, his hand firmly clasped around Y/N's. The clamor of reporters shouting questions created a cacophony that threatened to overwhelm them both.

"Seungcheol! How long have you been dating?"

"Y/N! Will this affect your upcoming campaigns?"

"Is this a publicity stunt for Luxe Motors?"

Seungcheol felt Y/N's hand tighten around his, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. They had prepared for this moment, spent hours with their respective PR teams crafting responses and practicing their delivery. But nothing could have truly prepared them for the reality of facing the media storm head-on.

With a deep breath, Seungcheol raised his free hand, and the crowd quieted marginally. "Thank you all for coming," he began, his voice steady despite the nerves roiling in his stomach. "Y/N and I have decided to make our relationship public because we believe in honesty and transparency, both with our fans and with each other."

Y/N stepped forward, her emerald eyes sparkling with determination. "We've been together for a year," she added, her voice clear and confident. "We kept our relationship private initially to focus on our careers, but we now feel ready to share this part of our lives with you all."

As they fielded questions, Seungcheol marveled at Y/N's poise. She handled even the most probing inquiries with grace, her responses thoughtful and measured. When a particularly aggressive reporter asked if she was using Seungcheol for publicity, Y/N's eyes flashed dangerously.

"I've worked hard to build my career on my own merits," she said, her tone icy. "My relationship with Seungcheol is personal, not professional. We support each other's dreams, but we do not define ourselves by each other's success."

Seungcheol felt a surge of pride and love for her in that moment. As the press conference wound down, he couldn't resist pulling her close and placing a soft kiss on her temple, eliciting a fresh round of camera flashes.

Later, as they collapsed onto the couch in Seungcheol's apartment, the adrenaline of the day finally wearing off, Y/N let out a long sigh. "Well, that was intense," she said, kicking off her heels.

Seungcheol pulled her into his arms, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume. "You were amazing out there," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so proud of you."

Y/N tilted her head up, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh yeah? How proud?"

Seungcheol grinned, recognizing the invitation in her tone. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. Y/N responded eagerly, her hands sliding under his shirt, tracing the contours of his abs.

As things heated up, Seungcheol suddenly pulled back, a playful smirk on his face. "You know," he said, his voice husky, "now that we're public, we don't have to hide anymore. How about we give the paparazzi something to really talk about?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What did you have in mind?"

Seungcheol stood, pulling Y/N up with him. "Trust me," he said, leading her towards the balcony of his penthouse apartment.

The night air was cool on their skin as they stepped outside. The city sprawled before them, a tapestry of lights and shadows. Seungcheol pulled Y/N close, his hands settling on her hips.

"Seungcheol," Y/N gasped, a mix of excitement and nervousness in her voice. "Someone could see us out here."

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Let them see," he whispered. "I want the whole world to know how much I love you."

Their lips met in a searing kiss, hands roaming with newfound freedom. Seungcheol lifted Y/N onto the wide balustrade, her legs wrapping around his waist. The thrill of potentially being seen only added to their passion.

Y/N's fingers tangled in Seungcheol's hair, tugging gently in the way she knew drove him wild. He groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding under her blouse to caress the soft skin of her back. With deft movements, he unhooked her bra, breaking their kiss to trail his lips down her neck.

"Wait," Y/N panted, pushing him back slightly. Seungcheol froze, concern flooding his features.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, searching her face.

Y/N smiled, touching his cheek tenderly. "Everything's perfect. I just... I want to savor this moment."

She slid off the balustrade, taking Seungcheol's hand and leading him to the plush outdoor sofa. With deliberate slowness, she began to undress him, her eyes never leaving his. Seungcheol watched her, mesmerized by the play of emotions across her face – love, desire, and a vulnerability she rarely showed the world.

As she pushed his shirt off his shoulders, her fingers traced the scar on his collarbone, a remnant from a long-ago racing accident. "I was so scared when this happened," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the mark. "I realized then how much you meant to me."

Seungcheol's heart swelled with emotion. He cupped Y/N's face in his hands, pouring all his love into a tender kiss. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered against her lips. "Better than any pole position, any victory."

Y/N's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She pushed him gently onto the sofa, straddling his lap. As she sank down onto him, they both gasped at the sensation. They moved together slowly, savoring every touch, every sensation.

The city lights twinkled below them, but neither Seungcheol nor Y/N noticed. Their world had narrowed to just this moment, just the two of them. Y/N's head fell back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and Seungcheol couldn't resist leaning in to place open-mouthed kisses along her neck.

"I love you," Y/N breathed, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much."

Seungcheol's arms tightened around her, pulling her impossibly closer. "I love you too," he murmured against her skin. "More than I ever thought possible."

As their passion built, their movements became more urgent. Y/N's nails raked down Seungcheol's back, leaving marks that would linger for days. Seungcheol's hands gripped Y/N's hips, guiding her movements.

When they reached their peak, it was with a shared cry of ecstasy that echoed into the night. They clung to each other, trembling with the intensity of their release.

Afterward, they lay tangled together on the plush outdoor sofa, a blanket draped haphazardly over them. Y/N traced lazy patterns on Seungcheol's chest, her head tucked under his chin.

"Do you think anyone saw us?" she asked, a hint of worry creeping into her voice.

Seungcheol chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "If they did, I hope they enjoyed the show."

Y/N swatted his chest playfully, but she couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You're terrible," she said, but her tone was full of affection.

As they basked in the afterglow, Seungcheol's phone buzzed insistently. With a groan, he reached for it, squinting at the bright screen.

"It's Jeonghan," he said, sitting up. "He wants us at the Luxe Motors headquarters first thing tomorrow morning. Apparently, they're thrilled with the publicity we're generating and want to fast-track the campaign."

Y/N nodded, her expression turning serious. "My agent called earlier. He said the response has been mostly positive, but there are some... less savory rumors starting to circulate."

Seungcheol frowned, pulling Y/N closer. "What kind of rumors?"

She sighed, burying her face in his chest. "The usual trash. That I'm a gold digger, that you're my ticket to the big leagues. Some are even saying this is all a publicity stunt for both our careers."

Anger flared in Seungcheol's chest. "We'll shut them down," he said firmly. "We'll show them how real this is."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Promise me we won't let this change us," she whispered. "Promise me that no matter what happens, it'll always be you and me against the world."

Seungcheol cupped her face in his hands, pouring all his love and conviction into his gaze. "I promise," he said solemnly. "You and me, always."

The sleek, modern headquarters of Luxe Motors loomed before Seungcheol and Y/N as they stepped out of their car. Paparazzi immediately swarmed, cameras flashing incessantly. Seungcheol instinctively moved closer to Y/N, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back as they navigated through the crowd.

"Mr. Choi! Ms. Y/N! Over here!"

"How will this relationship affect your careers?"

"Y/N, are you worried about being overshadowed by Seungcheol's fame?"

Y/N tensed at the last question, but maintained her composure, offering a polite smile to the reporters as Seungcheol guided her into the building.

Once inside, Y/N let out a shaky breath. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," she admitted, smoothing down her designer dress.

Seungcheol squeezed her hand reassuringly. "You're doing great. Remember, we're in this together."

A tall, impeccably dressed woman approached them, her stilettos clicking against the marble floor. "Mr. Choi, Ms. Y/N, welcome to Luxe Motors. I'm Olivia Chen, head of marketing. We're thrilled to have you both here."

As they followed Olivia to the conference room, Seungcheol couldn't help but notice the curious glances and hushed whispers from the employees they passed. Their relationship was clearly the hot topic of discussion.

The meeting room was already occupied when they entered. Jeonghan, Seungcheol's team principal, was engaged in what looked like a heated discussion with a distinguished-looking man in an expensive suit.

"Ah, here they are now," the man said, turning to greet them with a wide smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Seungcheol, Y/N, I'm Robert Kensington, CEO of Luxe Motors. We're excited about the possibilities this partnership could bring."

As they took their seats, Robert launched into an enthusiastic pitch about the campaign. "We're thinking of a series of ads that showcase both the speed and elegance of our vehicles. Seungcheol, you'll represent the power and precision of our sports models. Y/N, you'll embody the sophistication and luxury of our high-end line."

Y/N nodded, her face a mask of professional interest, but Seungcheol could see the slight furrow in her brow. He knew that look – she wasn't entirely comfortable with something.

"We've also had some... interesting ideas about how to capitalize on your relationship," Robert continued, his tone becoming more cautious. "We were thinking of a tagline: 'The Perfect Match – On and Off the Track.'"

Seungcheol felt Y/N stiffen beside him. Before he could speak, she leaned forward, her voice cool and controlled. "Mr. Kensington, while we appreciate your enthusiasm, I hope you understand that our relationship isn't a marketing tool. We're here as individual professionals, not as a... a product to be sold."

Robert's smile faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. "Of course, of course. We completely respect your privacy. Perhaps we could discuss some alternative approaches..."

The meeting dragged on for hours, a complex dance of negotiations and compromises. By the time they emerged, Seungcheol felt drained, as if he'd just completed a grueling race.

"Well, that was intense," he said as they made their way to the parking lot. "You were amazing in there, by the way. The way you stood up to Kensington..."

Y/N's smile was tight. "Thanks. I just... I don't want us to become some kind of circus act, you know? I want to be taken seriously for my work, not just as your girlfriend."

Seungcheol pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I know, love. We'll make sure that doesn't happen."

As they approached their car, a young woman suddenly darted in front of them, her phone held out. "Oh my god, it's really you! Can I get a selfie?"

Before either of them could respond, she wedged herself between them, snapping several pictures in quick succession. "This is so cool! My followers are going to freak out!"

The encounter left them both feeling unsettled. As Seungcheol drove them home, Y/N was uncharacteristically quiet, staring out the window with a pensive expression.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Seungcheol asked, reaching over to take her hand.

Y/N sighed, turning to face him. "I'm just... I'm worried, Cheol. About us, about our careers. What if this whole thing blows up in our faces?"

Seungcheol pulled the car over, giving Y/N his full attention. "Hey, look at me," he said gently, cupping her face in his hands. "We knew this wouldn't be easy. But we're stronger together, remember? Whatever comes, we'll face it as a team."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly. When she opened them, there was a newfound determination in her gaze. "You're right. We've got this."

As they leaned in for a kiss, neither of them noticed the lone paparazzo hiding in the bushes, his camera capturing every intimate moment.

The next morning, Seungcheol woke to the insistent buzzing of his phone. Groggily, he reached for it, careful not to wake Y/N who was still sleeping peacefully beside him.

His blood ran cold as he saw the barrage of messages and missed calls. There, plastered across every sports and gossip site, was a photo of him and Y/N in what should have been a private moment. The headlines screamed:

"SEUNGCHEOL AND Y/N: TROUBLE IN PARADISE?"

"RACING CHAMP AND MODEL GIRLFRIEND: SECRET ROADSIDE RENDEZVOUS"

"IS THE PRESSURE ALREADY TOO MUCH FOR F1'S NEW IT COUPLE?"

As Y/N stirred beside him, Seungcheol felt a surge of protectiveness. He knew the road ahead would be challenging, but he was determined to shield their love from the prying eyes of the world. Little did he know, this was just the beginning of the obstacles they would face.

Seungcheol took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation to come. As Y/N's eyes fluttered open, he forced a smile. "Morning, beautiful. We need to talk..."

Seungcheol watched anxiously as Y/N's eyes scanned the headlines on his phone, her expression morphing from confusion to shock, and finally settling into a mask of cold anger.

"How dare they?" she hissed, her knuckles white as she gripped the phone. "That was a private moment. How could they twist it like this?"

Seungcheol pulled her into his arms, feeling her tremble with a mix of rage and hurt. "I'm so sorry, love. I should have been more careful. I should have—"

Y/N cut him off, pulling back to look him in the eye. "No, Cheol. This isn't your fault. We have nothing to be ashamed of. We're adults in a committed relationship. They're the ones who should be ashamed, invading our privacy like this."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Seungcheol couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and love for Y/N's strength. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You're right. So, what do we do now?"

Before Y/N could respond, both their phones began buzzing incessantly. Their respective agents, PR teams, and sponsors were all clamoring for statements and damage control strategies.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her tousled hair. "I guess we face the music."

The next few hours were a whirlwind of conference calls, emergency meetings, and carefully crafted statements. By midday, Seungcheol felt as if he'd aged years. He looked over at Y/N, who was finishing up a call with her modeling agency.

"No, I will not issue an apology for being in a relationship," she was saying, her voice firm. "We've done nothing wrong. ... Yes, I understand the contract has a morality clause, but this hardly qualifies. ... Fine, we'll discuss this further in person."

She ended the call with a frustrated huff, tossing her phone onto the couch. "This is ridiculous. You'd think we'd committed some horrible crime."

Seungcheol moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "How about we get out of here for a bit? Clear our heads?"

Y/N looked skeptical. "And go where? There are probably paparazzi camped outside as we speak."

A mischievous glint appeared in Seungcheol's eye. "Leave that to me."

Thirty minutes later, they were speeding down a secluded coastal road in Seungcheol's sports car, the top down and the wind whipping through their hair. Y/N tilted her head back, basking in the warmth of the sun on her face, a genuine smile gracing her features for the first time that day.

Seungcheol glanced over at her, his heart swelling with emotion. This was the Y/N he fell in love with – carefree, radiant, and full of life. He made a silent vow to do whatever it took to protect their happiness.

They drove for hours, talking, laughing, and simply enjoying each other's company away from the prying eyes of the world. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Seungcheol pulled off onto a hidden dirt road.

"Where are we going?" Y/N asked, curiosity piqued.

"You'll see," Seungcheol replied with a wink.

The road led them to a secluded cove, the beach empty save for a few seabirds. Seungcheol parked the car and came around to open Y/N's door, offering his hand with an exaggerated bow.

"My lady," he said in a faux posh accent, eliciting a giggle from Y/N.

Hand in hand, they walked down to the water's edge, the cool sand between their toes a stark contrast to the warmth of the fading sun. They stood in comfortable silence for a while, watching the waves crash against the shore.

"Thank you for this," Y/N said softly, leaning her head on Seungcheol's shoulder. "I needed it more than I realized."

Seungcheol turned to face her, cupping her face gently in his hands. "Y/N, I want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter what the world throws at us, I'm here. Always."

Y/N's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked up at him. "I love you, Seungcheol. So much it scares me sometimes."

Their lips met in a kiss that started soft and tender but quickly ignited into something more passionate. Y/N's hands fisted in Seungcheol's shirt, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Seungcheol rested his forehead against Y/N's. "Come on," he said, his voice husky. "I have one more surprise for you."

He led her back to the car, opening the trunk to reveal a picnic basket and a pile of blankets. Y/N's face lit up with delight.

"You planned this?"

Seungcheol shrugged, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "I may have made a few calls while you were in the shower this morning. I thought we might need an escape."

They spread the blankets on the hood of the car, laying back to watch as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky. They fed each other strawberries and sipped champagne, talking about everything and nothing.

As the night grew cooler, Y/N snuggled closer to Seungcheol, her hand tracing idle patterns on his chest. The tension that had been building between them all day finally reached its breaking point.

Seungcheol captured Y/N's wandering hand, bringing it to his lips to place a soft kiss on her palm. The simple gesture sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. She propped herself up on one elbow, gazing down at Seungcheol with eyes dark with desire.

"Make love to me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Seungcheol didn't need to be asked twice. In one fluid motion, he flipped their positions, hovering over Y/N with a look of such intense love and desire that it took her breath away.

Their kisses were heated, urgent, hands roaming and exploring as if discovering each other for the first time. Clothes were shed with little regard, tossed haphazardly onto the sand.

Seungcheol trailed kisses down Y/N's neck, across her collarbone, and lower still. Y/N arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as waves of pleasure washed over her.

When Seungcheol finally entered her, they both gasped at the sensation. They moved together in perfect synchrony, the rhythm of their lovemaking echoing the crash of waves against the shore.

Y/N clung to Seungcheol, her nails raking down his back as she neared her peak. "Cheol," she panted, "I'm close..."

Seungcheol increased his pace, driving them both towards ecstasy. "Let go, baby," he murmured against her ear. "I've got you."

They reached their climax together, crying out each other's names into the night. As they came down from their high, Seungcheol peppered Y/N's face with soft kisses, murmuring words of love and adoration.

They lay entwined under the stars, basking in the afterglow, when a sudden flash of light startled them. For a heart-stopping moment, they feared they'd been discovered by paparazzi. But it was just a shooting star, streaking across the sky in a brilliant arc.

Y/N laughed, the sound full of relief and joy. "Make a wish," she said, snuggling closer to Seungcheol.

He tightened his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I already have everything I could wish for right here."

As they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms and the warmth of the blankets, both Seungcheol and Y/N felt a renewed sense of strength and unity. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

The harsh light of morning brought with it a return to reality. As Seungcheol and Y/N made their way back to the city, both their phones began buzzing with missed calls and messages.

"I suppose it was too much to hope the world would just forget about us for a day," Y/N sighed, scrolling through her notifications.

Seungcheol reached over to squeeze her hand. "Hey, remember what we talked about. Us against the world, right?"

Y/N smiled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Right."

Their first stop was Seungcheol's race team headquarters. As they walked in, hand in hand, a hush fell over the usually bustling pit crew. Jeonghan approached them, his expression unreadable.

"Seungcheol, Y/N, my office please."

Once inside, Jeonghan's stern facade crumbled. "Do you two have any idea the headache you've caused me?" he said, but there was a note of fondness in his exasperation. "Half our sponsors are in a panic, the other half want to increase your visibility. It's chaos out there."

Seungcheol straightened, his jaw set in determination. "Jeonghan, I'm sorry for any trouble this has caused the team. But I won't apologize for my relationship with Y/N. If the sponsors have a problem with that—"

Jeonghan held up a hand, cutting him off. "Relax, kid. Nobody's asking you to choose between your career and your girl. We just need to manage this situation better. Which is why I've hired a speciality PR firm to handle your public image as a couple."

Y/N and Seungcheol exchanged surprised glances. This was not what they had expected.

"You're... supportive of us?" Y/N asked hesitantly.

Jeonghan's expression softened. "Look, I've known Seungcheol since he was a rookie. I've never seen him as happy or as focused as he's been since he met you. As far as I'm concerned, you're good for him and good for this team. We just need to make sure the rest of the world sees that too."

Relief washed over both of them. As they left Jeonghan's office, Seungcheol pulled Y/N into a tight hug. "One down," he murmured into her hair.

"One down," she agreed. "Now we just have to face my agency."

The meeting with Y/N's modeling agency was considerably less pleasant. Her agent, a sharp-faced woman named Vivian, paced the conference room like a caged tiger.

"Do you have any idea how many contracts we've had to renegotiate because of this scandal?" she snapped. "Your wholesome image was a major selling point, Y/N. Now half our clients are worried you're too controversial."

Y/N felt Seungcheol tense beside her, but she placed a calming hand on his arm. "Vivian," she said, her voice steady, "I understand your concerns. But I'm still the same model I was a week ago. My relationship status doesn't change my professionalism or my ability to do my job."

Vivian stopped pacing, fixing Y/N with a calculating look. "Maybe... maybe we can work with this. The bad girl image is in right now. And a high-profile relationship could open up new markets..."

As Vivian continued to muse about potential strategies, Y/N and Seungcheol shared a look of disbelief. It seemed that even in this storm of controversy, there might be a silver lining.

By the time they left the agency, both Seungcheol and Y/N were emotionally drained. As they walked to their car, a small group of fans approached, asking for autographs and selfies.

Y/N tensed, expecting intrusive questions or judgmental looks. But to her surprise, the fans were supportive and excited.

"You guys are so cute together!" one young girl gushed. "I hope I find someone who looks at me the way Seungcheol looks at you."

As they drove home, Y/N felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "You know," she said, turning to Seungcheol, "maybe this won't be as bad as we thought."

Seungcheol grinned, bringing her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. "With you by my side? Nothing's too tough to handle."

As they pulled into their driveway, both their phones pinged with a notification. It was a message from the PR firm Jeonghan had hired, outlining their strategy for the coming weeks.

Y/N scrolled through the message, her eyes widening. "They want us to do a joint interview? And a photoshoot for a major magazine?"

Seungcheol nodded, looking thoughtful. "It could be a good opportunity to control the narrative. Tell our story on our own terms."

Y/N bit her lip, considering. "You're right. And hey, at least we'll be facing it together."

As they walked into their home, hand in hand, both Seungcheol and Y/N felt a renewed sense of hope. The road ahead might be challenging, but they were determined to navigate it together, their love serving as both compass and anchor in the stormy seas of public life.

Exhausted from the emotional roller coaster of the day, they decided to turn in early. As they went through their nightly routines, moving around each other with the comfortable familiarity of a long-term couple, both felt a deep sense of gratitude for the other's presence.

Y/N finished brushing her teeth and padded into the bedroom, where Seungcheol was already under the covers, his back propped against the headboard as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up as she entered, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"Come here, you," he said, setting his phone aside and opening his arms.

Y/N didn't need to be told twice. She slipped under the covers and into Seungcheol's embrace, sighing contentedly as she rested her head on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear was comforting, grounding.

Seungcheol's fingers threaded through her hair, gently massaging her scalp. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

Y/N thought for a moment before answering. "Honestly? I feel... good. Today was crazy, but we got through it. Together."

Seungcheol pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "We did. And we'll get through whatever comes next the same way."

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes shining with love and trust. "I know we will. I love you, Seungcheol."

"I love you too, Y/N," he murmured, leaning down to capture her lips in a tender kiss.

As they settled into bed, Seungcheol's arms wrapped securely around Y/N, her back pressed to his chest, they both felt a profound sense of peace. The outside world, with all its demands and judgments, seemed far away. In this moment, in the quiet of their bedroom, nothing existed but the two of them and the love they shared.

Y/N snuggled deeper into Seungcheol's embrace, feeling safe and cherished. "Goodnight, love," she whispered, her eyes already heavy with sleep.

"Goodnight, beautiful," Seungcheol replied, placing one last soft kiss on her shoulder.

As they drifted off to sleep, tangled in each other's arms, both Seungcheol and Y/N felt truly content.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the bedroom. Seungcheol stirred first, his eyes blinking open to find Y/N still nestled in his arms, her face peaceful in sleep. He couldn't help but smile, marveling at how beautiful she looked in the soft light.

As if sensing his gaze, Y/N's eyes fluttered open. A slow, sleepy smile spread across her face as she met Seungcheol's loving gaze. "Good morning, handsome," she murmured, her voice still husky with sleep.

Seungcheol leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well?"

Y/N nodded, stretching languidly against him. "Mmm, like a baby. You make an excellent pillow, you know."

Seungcheol chuckled, his hand running soothingly up and down her back. "Happy to be of service."

They lay there for a while longer, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the morning. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous day, and both of them savored the peaceful moment.

Eventually, the buzz of Seungcheol's phone on the nightstand broke the spell. He reached for it, careful not to disturb Y/N too much.

"It's Jeonghan," he said, scanning the message. "The PR team wants to meet with us this afternoon to prep for the interview and photoshoot."

Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, her expression a mix of excitement and nervousness. "I guess it's time to face the music, huh?"

Seungcheol set the phone aside and pulled Y/N closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Hey, we've got this. Remember, it's just us telling our story."

Y/N nodded, drawing strength from his confidence. "You're right. Plus, it might even be fun. I've always wanted to see you try to model," she added with a teasing grin.

Seungcheol gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me, I'll have you know I'm an excellent model. These racing suits don't wear themselves, you know."

Their laughter filled the room, dispelling any lingering tension. As they got up to start their day, both felt ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead.

The PR team's office was a sleek, modern space in the heart of the city. Seungcheol and Y/N were ushered into a conference room where they were greeted by a trio of sharp-looking professionals.

"Seungcheol, Y/N, thank you for coming," said the woman at the head of the table. "I'm Rebecca, and this is my team, Alex and Mia. We're here to help you navigate this new chapter in your public lives."

For the next few hours, they went over strategies for the upcoming interview and photoshoot. The team was impressed by the natural chemistry between Seungcheol and Y/N, often exchanging pleased glances as the couple interacted.

"You two are naturals," Alex commented during a break. "The camera is going to love you."

As they were wrapping up, Rebecca handed them each a folder. "These are some talking points for the interview. Remember, the goal is to be authentic while also presenting a united front. Your love story is compelling – let that shine through."

Seungcheol and Y/N left the meeting feeling more confident about the upcoming media appearances. As they walked hand in hand down the busy street, Y/N suddenly tugged Seungcheol to a stop.

"Look," she said, pointing across the road. There, on a massive billboard, was an advertisement for Luxe Motors featuring a stunning sports car. "That could be us up there soon."

Seungcheol wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "It will be. And we'll look damn good doing it."

The day of the photoshoot arrived bright and early. The set was a gorgeous beachfront property, with the ocean providing a stunning backdrop. As they went through hair and makeup, Seungcheol couldn't keep his eyes off Y/N.

"You know," he said, leaning close to whisper in her ear, "if this is what modeling is like, I might have to reconsider my career choices."

Y/N laughed, swatting him playfully. "Don't you dare. I quite like having a race car driver for a boyfriend."

The photoshoot itself was a whirlwind of costume changes, different poses, and endless flashes. But through it all, Seungcheol and Y/N's natural chemistry shone through. Whether they were posed casually by a vintage car or dressed to the nines for a red carpet shot, their connection was palpable.

"These are going to be stunning," the photographer gushed as he showed them some of the shots on his camera. "You can really feel the love between you two."

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the beach, the photographer suggested one last shot. Seungcheol and Y/N stood at the water's edge, the waves lapping at their feet. With the Luxe Motors car in the background, Seungcheol wrapped his arms around Y/N from behind, both of them looking out at the horizon.

"Perfect," the photographer said softly, not wanting to break the moment. "That's a wrap, folks!"

Later that evening, as they returned to Seungcheol's apartment, the excitement of the day still thrummed through their veins. Y/N scrolled through some of the behind-the-scenes photos on her phone as Seungcheol poured them each a glass of wine.

"We do look good together, don't we?" she mused, showing Seungcheol a candid shot of them laughing between takes.

Seungcheol set the wine glasses on the kitchen counter and moved behind Y/N, wrapping his arms around her waist. "The best," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Though I have to say, I prefer the real thing to any photo."

Y/N's breath hitched as Seungcheol's lips trailed down her neck. She set her phone aside, turning in his arms to face him. "Is that so?" she breathed, her eyes dark with desire. "Care to show me just how much you prefer the real thing?"

In response, Seungcheol captured her lips in a searing kiss. Y/N melted into him, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. With a low growl, Seungcheol lifted her onto the kitchen counter, stepping between her legs as she wrapped them around his waist.

Their kisses grew more heated, hands roaming with increasing urgency. Y/N tugged at Seungcheol's shirt, and he broke away just long enough to pull it off before returning to her lips. His hands slid under her blouse, caressing the soft skin of her back.

"Cheol," Y/N gasped as his lips found that spot on her neck again. "Bedroom?"

Seungcheol pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire. "Why wait?" he asked, his voice husky. "I want you right here, right now."

Y/N's answer was to pull him back in for another passionate kiss. Clothes were shed hastily, scattering across the kitchen floor. When Seungcheol finally entered her, they both gasped at the sensation.

They moved together with a passionate urgency, the counter providing the perfect leverage. Y/N's nails raked down Seungcheol's back as she neared her peak, while Seungcheol's hands gripped her hips, guiding their movements.

"Cheol, I'm close," Y/N panted, her head falling back in ecstasy.

"Let go, baby," Seungcheol murmured against her skin. "I've got you."

They reached their climax together, crying out each other's names into the quiet of the apartment. As they came down from their high, Seungcheol peppered Y/N's face with soft kisses, murmuring words of love and adoration.

Later, as they lounged on the couch, wrapped in soft blankets and each other's arms, Y/N's phone buzzed with a notification. She reached for it, her eyes widening as she read the message.

"Cheol, look at this," she said, showing him the screen. "The magazine wants to bump up the release date of our photoshoot. They say the public's fascination with us is at an all-time high."

Seungcheol read the message, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Looks like our risk is paying off, huh?"

Y/N nodded, snuggling closer to him. "I was so worried about going public, but now... it feels right. Like we're finally free to just be us."

Seungcheol pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I know what you mean. It's like the whole world can see what I've known all along – that you're the most amazing person I've ever met."

Y/N tilted her head up, capturing his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. When they parted, she had a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, I think we missed a spot in the kitchen. Want to go for round two?"

Seungcheol laughed, the sound full of joy and love. "Lead the way, beautiful."

As they made their way back to the kitchen, hand in hand and giggling like teenagers, both Seungcheol and Y/N felt a profound sense of happiness. Their relationship had been thrust into the spotlight, but rather than wilting under the pressure, they had blossomed. Together, they were ready to face whatever the future held, their love a beacon guiding them through the dazzling world of fame and fortune.

The next morning dawned bright and early, finding Seungcheol and Y/N already up and about. They moved around the kitchen in perfect sync, preparing breakfast together as they discussed their plans for the day.

"I've got a team meeting at 10," Seungcheol said as he flipped pancakes. "Want to meet for lunch after?"

Y/N nodded, pouring coffee into their mugs. "Sounds perfect. I've got a fitting for that new designer campaign, but I should be done by noon."

As they sat down to eat, both their phones pinged with new messages. They shared a look, then reached for their devices.

"It's from the PR team," Seungcheol said, scanning the message. "They want to schedule a follow-up interview to coincide with the magazine release."

Y/N's eyes lit up as she read her own message. "Luxe Motors loves the preview shots. They want to discuss a long-term partnership with both of us!"

Seungcheol reached across the table, taking Y/N's hand in his. "Ready for our next adventure?" he asked, his eyes shining with excitement and love.

Y/N squeezed his hand, her smile radiant. "With you? Always."

#mansaenetwork #kvanity #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen imagines #seungcheol smut #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol #writing #f1 driver seungcheol #svt fluff #seventeen fanfic

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blainesebastian · 3 months ago

Text

moments

word count: 10,720 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: There are moments you know you shouldn’t compare your ex to Nick, there’s no place where the two converge. Or maybe, you suppose, that’s exactly the point. notes: idk man this movie has become my whole personality, i got nothing else to say. (other than the gifs are from this awesome gifpack!) notes 2: reader has an abusive ex. while there are no explicit scenes of abuse, there are discussions of past abuse and trauma edit: i now have a masterlist!

You met Nick at a party like this.

You had just broken up with your boyfriend and instead of wallowing, your friends dragged you to the nearest party they could find. You’re not easily someone who believes in fate or the universe having a plan, but you think that something happened that night to bring Nick into your life.

You can still feel the thrum of the music in your veins, bumping into him as he was carrying drinks to someone, right on the makeshift dance floor in someone’s house. You remember opening your mouth to apologize–

“You should really come with a warning label if you’re going to swing your arms like that.” He says, British accent thick, eyes sharp.

He’s beautiful, you think. He’s also an asshole.

Your hands fall to your hips, eyebrows drawing together as you take a look at him. Really take a look. You moved here because your parents had work, ironically with Nick’s father. You’ve heard of the infamous Nick but haven’t met him in person.

Lucky you, that seems to be tonight.

Your eyes draw in the line of his jaw, the way his eyes flit over to yours, assessing you as you take in him. Your gaze runs from the light blonde, highlighted curls in his hair, to the strong shoulders, to the tapered waist.

And then you spit out, “So should you, if you’re going to open your mouth.”

He’s taken back, you can tell, a flicker of amusement in his eyes now at having the banter to play with. The corners of his mouth twitch in an almost smile, “Then I guess we better steer clear of one another,” He replies, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music. You can smell laundry detergent, expensive cologne, “Two warning labels usually infer a pending explosion.”

Keeping your distance didn’t exactly work, though. Your friends are in the same circles, and two curving lines have no choice but to eventually converge. It seems like everywhere you turn around, Nick is there. Other parties, weekends at lush spots, fighting rings, underground driving events, the list goes on and on.

You seem stuck in this man’s orbit, this layer of so-called ‘danger’ slipping warmly into your veins and heating you up from the inside out. With every interaction, there’s still the barbed exchanges, the rolling of eyes, the quirk of lips. But you’re not sure how much of that is show—you both know how to have a good time with your set of friends, sometimes even with eachother. You’re not sure you’d call Nick a friend but…you suppose it’s better than what you were when you first met.

As you move through the crowd of people gathered in the large, mansion-esque living room of the latest party you’re at, you do your best to find Jenna. She’s not the friend you came with, but you wanted to catch up, maybe even dance? You’re not exactly in the mood to be here tonight, so maybe that’ll open you up a bit more to having a good time.

Turning down a hallway, you pause as you almost run into someone. A guy taller than you, eyes glassy, giving you a onceover before a grin, “Lost?”

You sigh audibly, shaking your head, “Nope,” Voice full-American, which seems to bring a twinkle of amusement to the guy’s face, “Just headed that way.” You point towards the kitchen.

“I can show you around,” He offers, trying to sling an arm around your shoulders, “Sounds like you might need a tour guide.”

And boy, are you getting tired of that boring line. You get it, you’re not from London, but just because you’re American does not mean you need someone to show you around. You’ve been here for half of a year, you’re not about to call yourself a native, but you’re definitely settling in.

“No,” You push his arm away.

“Stop being so ungrateful,” He scoffs, taking two heavy steps forward. The movement is awkward, like his body is catching up with his brain. You’re not anticipating it, so you find yourself stumbling back, knocking into a table as he grabs your arm.

“Get off me,” You snap, trying to yank yourself free, but this guy won’t let up.

He’s wearing a ring on his one finger and it’s twisted in the wrong direction so that the stone actually slides against your arm when you try to create some space. It’s a quick cut, nothing you’d write home about but t’s the fact that he won’t back up, he won’t let go–

“Hey!”

Your head snaps in the direction of the familiar voice, Nick, coming down the set of stairs near where you’re standing. He rounds the corner, reaching in one fluid movement to yank the guy off. Tall guy stumbles back, tripping over the carpet, Nick’s body suddenly standing in front of yours.

“Are you deaf?” Nick snaps, cocking his head as if he’s really trying to understand. His body lines up at an angle, as if he’s ready for a fight and that’s the last thing you want. Your hand gently moves to the back of his shirt, a soft tug, his muscles flexing beneath your touch.

He glances over his shoulder at you before turning his attention back to Tall guy, movements relaxing—he bends to your request. No fighting.

Until Tall guy opens his mouth.

“Didn’t know she was going to be such a bitch about—”

There’s barely a moment in which the sentence is finished before Nick’s fist is flying through the air. It lands on this guy’s nose and he crumbles like a house of cards. A small gasp leaves your lips, your eyes wide as blood spurts from between the guy’s fingers and Nick rolls his shoulders, turning to check you over.

“Look at me,” He says, hand touching your arm. Your eyes snap to his and he scowls at the cut there, red and angry thanks to that guy’s ring. “C’mon, let's clean you up.”

Nick’s hand slips down to gently clasp your own, tugging you towards the kitchen. It’s not very busy, or maybe people are clearing out at the look on Nick’s face, either way you’re glad it’s not as stifling as some of the other rooms. He scoots you backwards until your legs find a stool and you prop yourself up on it, Nick moving to grab a washcloth from one of the drawers. You watch him carefully, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

“You didn’t need to hit him.”

He pauses and then turns to look at you with his eyebrows raised. A scoff tumbles forth, “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.”

Now it’s your turn to look surprised, “For what? Punching someone?”

His eyebrows draw together, amusement flickering in his eyes like a heated fire, “You have the strangest way of showing people your gratitude.” He moves towards you like a force. He’s not that much taller than you, but Nick’s the kind of person to take up space. The kind of person you step aside for. Handsome and unpredictable, just like the first day you met him.

Blame it on the action from tonight, the leftover adrenaline shaking your body, prior experience with hands on you in ways that have not been kind, something—but when Nick reaches out and takes your arm—you flinch.

He notices instantly, letting go and taking one step back to give you space. His eyes dance over you for a moment and you know he’s taking in the way you’ve wrapped your arms around yourself, your shoulders drawn in, the slight shaking to your hands.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, voice a shade gentler than it was before.

You swallow over an unspoken emotion in your throat before straightening your shoulders, eyes narrowing as you take a look at him. “I’m just saying I could have handled it.”

He doesn’t argue with you this time, must sense you need to own that somehow, and just nods, “Can I see your arm?”

You’re holding your arm to your chest like an injured bird does its wing, even though you’ve had worse. You’ve been through worse. Scars that you can’t see but are still there. You run your tongue over your teeth before relaxing your spine, slowly extending your arm towards him.

Nick takes that as permission to walk back towards you and at the angle of the stool, you’re almost eye level, his body slightly between your knees as he turns your arm over in his hands. He takes the washcloth that he’s dampened and drags it across your skin.

You close your eyes, biting down on the inside of your cheek, hating to admit what you’re about to say as your pulse slows, “I didn’t…actually…have that handled.” You hate to think of what could have happened if Tall guy hadn’t backed off, if you couldn’t have stopped him, if no one would have thought twice to check if you were okay.

Nick doesn’t say anything though, just continues to clean the cut, his eyes trained on your skin. His thumb brushes the inside of your arm, a silent comfort, encouraging you to speak again,

“My ex was a real jerk, put his hands on me.” You do not elaborate, but it seems like you don’t need to. Nick’s movements still a moment, his jaw working. “Not something you get used to or over quickly.”

“Your ex is lucky he’s still in America.” He mumbles after a few breaths, his thumb still tracing back and forth over the inside of your elbow, his eyes finally meeting yours. You’re not sure why you’re surprised at what you see there. A gentleness, an anger, a protective warmth that you…maybe knew Nick was capable of but hadn’t seen firsthand.

A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth, your hand settling on his, “Not your problem.”

“Shouldn't be yours either.” He says, squeezing your fingers.

There’s this moment where you can’t tear your eyes from his, that heat that’s associated with Nick winding itself around you like ivy, digging between your ribs. It’s like something magnetic, you can’t quite look away, and yet you remind yourself of what was shared between the two of you when you first met. Two warning signs, indeed, could mean some sort of explosion.

And yet, this person right here? The one standing in front of you? You think that might be worth the risk. Someone that’s maybe just as kind and thoughtful as they are opinionated, and impulsive. Velvet over broken glass. This version is not the Nick you thought you knew…and you’re not sure what to do with that.

“Uhm,” You clear your throat, breaking the moment, “Have you seen Jenna? I was gonna see if she wanted to dance but now I kinda want to head home. Just want to say bye.”

He shakes his head, helping you off the stool by slipping his hand into your own. “No, but I can drive you.”

You soothe your hand over your jeans, “You don’t have to go out of your way.”

Nick smiles a little, the expression open, “Don’t worry about it—this party is quickly losing its appeal anyways.”

You don’t fight him on it twice.

—

In spite of so called ‘warning labels’—there are sometimes shared looks, quiet smiles, and a warmth that blooms as you get to know one another. Maybe that’s friction. Maybe it’s something else.

“Swear no one hears me when I say I don’t like onions,” You crinkle your nose in the booth of a diner, pressed to the one corner, Nick across from you as Jenna and Lion share the other seats. The table is completely covered with food to share, Jenna laughing as Lion tries to steal her fries.

There are raw onions on the burger you ordered, despite asking for it without. Before you can lift the bun to take them off, Nick reaches across the table and swaps your plates. He says nothing, doesn’t even lift his eyes to look at you—but his burger is now in front of you. Onion free.

A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth and you can’t help the small thrill of butterflies in your chest as you add ketchup to your fries.

—

Your parents don’t know about your ex.

You just…never wanted to tell them what happened. Especially since it didn’t matter, you were moving to London, leaving him behind and all the problems that came with it. Maybe if they knew your mom would talk to you about what healthy relationships look like, maybe they would suggest therapy. Maybe you’d even go. Sometimes it’s hard to admit that the person who went through what happened was actually you. As if you’re a spector in your own life.

Every so often, you deny you have emotional scars. The physical ones have long faded to healed skin. Except, scars run deep, and sometimes you’re not even aware they’re still there until they flutter to the surface. They rear their ugly heads in the most unexpected of times.

Or maybe it shouldn’t be surprising at all.

A glass shatters.

Your entire body goes rigid even though Jenna is laughing and leaning into Lion over it. The sounds start to warp around you and you’re staring at the glass at the floor, as if the shards will leap into the air and perform some sort of circus act. You’re over Nick’s house with your friends, having drinks and hanging out by the pool, you’re all getting a refill and someone overreaches for a glass in a cabinet.

“Butter fingers,” Lion teases his girlfriend, grabbing her hand to spin her close and kiss her shoulder.

“Was an ugly glass anyways,” Giles replies, crinkling his nose.

Your hand lingers on your chest a moment, your heart hammering under the pressure of your fingers. You try to tell yourself that it’s an accident, that you’re not in danger, that you’re not what happened to you. You talk through all that helpful language you googled that’s supposed to help center yourself when you feel like you’re on the edge of a panic attack. You remind yourself that you’ve been doing well, you’ve been coping, that past memories belong in a box in the back of your mind and that a sound isn’t strong enough to unleash them.

But nothing helps.

Your vision narrows and then goes glassy, fuzzy black fades in from the edges, it feels like there’s a hand around your throat, squeezing. You excuse yourself quietly for the bathroom and your friends don’t notice, which is fine, you’re not sure you’d be able to stop even if they did.

You make a b-line for the bathroom, turning a corner too fast and bumping into—

“Whoa,” Nick’s hands come down on your shoulders. When he gets a good look at your face, his eyes widen slightly. “Hey—” His voice is soft, dipping his chin to try and catch your gaze, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I—” You choke out, air constricted in your throat, “I can’t—”

Nick seems to understand, gently backing you up towards the bathroom. The door doesn’t shut completely, angling towards closed, which you’re grateful for—the room doesn’t feel any smaller than it already does. Tears gather in your eyes, frustration and concern building up in your chest like a bonfire. You don’t claw at your skin, but you’ve been there, where it feels like the only way that you can possibly feel better is to peel it off your neck. Like there’s a literal barrier between you and breathing.

You don’t even realize you’ve sat down on the closed toilet seat until Nick’s kneeling in front of you. His voice sounds like it’s underwater and he takes your hand to rest it on his chest. You can feel the beat of his heart under your fingertips, the steady intake of air as he speaks again.

He keeps repeating the same phrase as tears spill down your cheeks, “Copy me.”

“Wh-what?” You stutter out, his words suddenly coming in sharp, clear.

His other hand, the one not holding your hand on his chest, cups your cheek, brushing tears away with his thumb. He curls your hair around your ear, fingers resting against your neck.

“Breathe with me,” Nick’s voice is patient, squeezing your fingers, his thumb working back and forth along your knuckles, giving you something to concentrate on. “In—” He draws breath into his lungs, then, “Out—” He whispers, letting it go.

You copy, barely, chest aching. It comes out as a gasp.

“Good,” He nods, “Again.” He waits. “Again.” He soothes, “Again.”

Until it becomes easier, until it doesn’t feel like your entire chest is caving in. The hyperventilating slows, your eyes slide shut, your pulse calms in your throat. You don’t open your eyes until the dull roar disappears in your ears, Nick’s thumb still moving calming circles against your knuckles, your neck.

Your gaze eventually meets his brown ones, concerned as they trace your face. His hand moves again, the one on your neck, cupping your cheek and removing another tear track.

“There you are,” He says softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I got you.”

You swallow over what feels like glass in your throat, your fingers still holding onto his t-shirt against his chest like a lifeline. You don’t often get panic attacks like that, but when they come? They drive through you with the force of a freight train.

“Can I get you anything?”

You blink, trying to figure out if you do, in fact, need something. A glass of water might be nice, but you don’t want him to move, the weight of him against your legs grounding in a way you can’t explain.

You decide on shaking your head, your hand eventually falling from his chest to rest in your lap. His hand follows yours, brushing his thumb along your knee.

“They always come on fast like that?”

You shake your head, “Sometimes I think they’re completely gone, they just—pop up out of nowhere.” You sniffle, curling your hair around your ear. You have no idea why your cheeks flush in embarrassment, but they do, to let someone see where you’re struggling the most. Where you feel the most vulnerable.

But when your eyes meet Nick’s, there’s no judgement there. Just a soft gaze, open, waiting.

“A glass fell in the kitchen, broke and—my ex used to throw things when he got pissed off. The sound, it just—” You’re not sure you have to explain, hoping it’s enough.

Nick’s face is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a dangerous sort of calm that you wouldn’t wish on anyone. He traces his thumb around your knee.

“Sounds like a real tool.”

The comment is so out of pocket that a laugh bubbles up in your chest and you nod, “He was. Sometimes I feel like relationships are just always meant to end messy, one way or another.” Or maybe you’ve convinced yourself, somehow, that you don’t deserve something good. You put yourself out there with your ex, and look at what happened.

Nick shakes his head, holding your gaze when he says, “Not all of them.”

There’s a small thrill that works its way into your chest, something weighted in the way he says it. You chew on your lower lip, Nick’s eyes slipping to your mouth, and you’re suddenly reminded of time you’ve spent together. While you have the same friends, you’re not sure if you’d consider that to define your relationship. And yet here he is, on his knees in front of you, making sure you’re alright.

“Thought it was best we steer clear of one another,” You repeat his suggestion from the first time you met but your voice is teasing. “Pending explosions and all.”

Nick stands and your head tips back to look at him. He seems to give it careful thought, his pursing lips making a soft laugh leave your lips. “Think I can handle a little danger—can’t you?”

You find yourself nodding and take his hand when it’s offered, tugging you up off the toilet to head back out to your friends.

—

Nick spends the night checking in with you—it’s not so much words he uses, but its eyes dancing over your form, it’s a tentative hand on your lower back, it’s making you laugh—long and hard, it’s picking you up over his shoulder and jumping into the pool with you, it’s your lips brushing when you float to the surface when he’s grinning.

It’s like he’s suddenly everywhere, not just here at his place, but over the next few weeks that you end up spending time with one another. A hand brush here and there, a shared grin, hushed laughter and an ease and comfortability that was not there before.

A so-called ‘warning label’ begins to fizzle down to its base form—what it actually is.

Attraction. And that’s not something that feels so hazardous anymore.

—

You love dancing. You’re not altogether good at it, but that doesn’t matter. After enough to drink, the alcohol buzzing like warm bees in your system, with your friends around you, the lure of letting off steam and feeling comfortable in your veins just overwhelms you.

The club that you end up at is a typical haunt on a Saturday night, your smile bright as you wrap your arms around your best friend from behind. Jenna laughs nearby, turning to smack a kiss to Lion’s cheek. Nick brings back a tray of shots for everyone and you take yours eagerly, tipping it back.

When you set the glass down, Nick has his eyes on you, a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. He's dressed in a black t-shirt, and you can’t help but sneak a peek at his biceps, how well he fills out the fabric. His long sleeve shirt is gone somewhere, maybe where everyone was once sitting before. He looks comfortable, like you could curl up against him, like his arms could lift you up—

“Enjoying the view?” He asks over the music, leaning closer.

You shiver, refusing to show how much a simple question has an impact on you. Because yes, you were.

You shrug, “It’s not bad. I’m still deciding.”

He steps closer, into your space, his hand sliding down your arm and when he speaks this time; his lips brush your ear. “Anything I can do to influence that decision?”

This time you can’t hide your body’s reaction, you know that Nick feels it, his fingers brushing over goosebumps that appear on your forearm. You hate the smug look on his face as he pulls away, so you decide the only distraction that’ll work at this point is tugging him onto the dance floor. You turn your arm in his hand, sliding up until your palms meet.

“You can dance with me.”

Nick smiles, following you onto the floor, your friends following. It’s a small circle of moving bodies, and despite the nerves that are skittering along your nerves like spiders, you let yourself slip into the music. It’s some sort of bouncy electronic bop that you know well and you find yourself singing along to the chorus as you dance along to it. You can’t help but laugh as Nick grabs your hand and spins you, angling his body closer to yours. There’s a swaying motion, his hands ending up on your hips.

He squeezes; a question in his eyes, if it’s alright to put his hands on you like this. Because it’s slightly more intimate than small, insignificant touches you’ve shared before. You’re overwhelmed by the gesture, that despite how close you’ve gotten, he still wants to make sure it’s okay. That permission means everything to you.

You respond with a grin, your arms wrapping around his neck, keeping him close. And you’re inseparable for the rest of the night.

—

Nick has a driver pick you all up so no one has to worry about driving. There’s a few minutes outside the club, waiting on the pavement. When you wrap your arms around yourself, a slight breeze causing a chill down your spine, he slides off the long-sleeve shirt he came in and drapes it over your shoulders. The warmth of his body lingers and you draw the fabric over your hands, breathing in the scent of his cologne.

When an SUV arrives, you end up sharing a row with him. The sway of driving rocks you gently, your eyes slipping closed as your head rests back against the seat, and when you wake up at your place, you’re tucked under Nick’s arm along his side.

—

Nick hands you a book in passing, something that he had tucked away in his car as you’re about to get into Jenna’s to leave the underground driving circle. It’s so unexpected and somehow odd in a place like this that you kinda blink. Your fingers brush as the book transfers from one palm to another.

“Thought you might like this,” He says.

It’s well-read, obviously by him. And it’s something so simple, saying ‘I thought of you’, ‘I think about you’, ‘you’d like this’—something your ex never did.

He never thought about you. Not like that. Not gently. Not with concern and affection. Not in a way that mattered, that made you feel good.

You look down at the title, a small smile tugging the corners of your lips—The Things They Carried. Somehow it’s fitting.

“You think about me?” You ask, voice teasing, holding the book to your chest.

Nick grins, “Hard not to.”

And before he can back away, you wrap your fingers in his shirt and pull him close, tipping your head up to kiss him.

It’s everything you ever thought it might be. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before he cups both sides of your face, angling the movement down, tongue teasing the seam of your lips. His body presses against yours but it fits perfectly, lines up with your own, as if something was missing beforehand that you were unaware of.

“Thank you,” You whisper after a moment, against his mouth. “For the book.”

Nick licks his lips, his thumb brushing over your lower one. “Definitely have more recommendations if this is the general reaction.”

And well, you’ve always been a reader.

—

“Oh come on,” You chew on your lower lip, “Pancakes all the way.”

Nick scoffs something far too attractive, crinkling his nose as he heats up the waffle iron. “Knew there had to be something wrong with you, after all this time, just didn’t know it was gonna be this.”

You toss a blueberry at him and he, annoyingly, catches it, popping it into his mouth with a grin. He points a spatula at you.

“How have you lived a life thinking pancakes are superior to waffles? This an American thing?”

“This is an ‘I’m right’ thing.” You toss back, looking at all the different combinations of sweets that can go on or in these pancakes (or waffles). “The ridges in waffles make it difficult to spread butter evenly.”

Nick licks his lips, his finger tracing the handle of the spatula as he turns pancakes over in the pan. He adds batter to the waffle iron. “Not if you try hard enough.”

You shake your head, amusement skittering along your spine as you can’t help but look down at his hands. He’s wearing two rings today, something comfortable and simple. But the only thing it does is highlight the shape of them, gorgeous, like they were made to play an instrument.

“I think you’re just trying to infer that you’re good with your hands.”

“What was that about my hands?” He raises his eyebrows, voice impossibly warm like dripping honey.

He sets two finished pancakes on a plate and flips the flame off under the pan. He leans against the counter as he looks at you, something molten slipping from your stomach to between your legs as you hold his gaze.

“You heard what I said.”

Nick wanders over, encroaching on your space in the best way. He tilts his head down a little, brushing his lips over yours as he lifts you onto the counter in one even swoop.

You can’t help but grin, your hands settling on his shoulders as he slips between your legs.

“Sounds like you’re going to need a hands-on demonstration.”

“I can’t believe you said that with a straight face.” But your laugh comes out as a whimper as Nick’s fingers press against the center of you, an easy target given how you’ve splayed your legs to accommodate his body, the fabric of your leggings leaving nothing to imagination.

“Oh,” Nick whispers against your lips, amusement dancing across his handsome features as he begins to move his thumb, “Maybe you don’t need a demonstration at all.”

And this asshole actually dares to move his hand, as if he’s giving up the suggestion. You clamp your knees together as best you can, his body in the way, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as his hand becomes trapped between your thighs.

“Don’t you dare.” You mumble against his mouth.

“Is that a threat?” He nips at your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth at the same time his hand encourages your thighs to open to give him room. He pushes into the waistband of your leggings, a smirk decorating his mouth as you scooch closer to the edge of the counter. A shiver skitters down your spine at the feel of the cold metal of his rings brushing against heated skin.

You hate giving him the satisfaction of any noises leaving your mouth but at a certain point, it becomes undeniable. And he knows that. You swear that having him like this is something you’re never going to get used to, despite that things are still new between you two. His thumb drags over your clit, one finger slipping into you, your back bowing a little when he adds another.

“That’s it,” He leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss on your neck, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as he picks up the pace. It doesn’t take much, he’s so precise with his fingers, leaning into every tell your body has, reading you like an open book every time you make a sound.

When his tongue travels over your pulse point and his thumb pays close attention to your clit, tight even circles, you don’t stand a chance. Pleasure snaps like a band, your body clamping down on his fingers. You lean up to drape yourself over him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, tucking your face in his neck.

The arm that’s free slides along your back, brushing up and under your shirt, running his fingers along your spine and you press a kiss to his shoulder, threading your fingers through his hair. You tug on his curls, just a little, just to arch his head back a bit.

He smiles up at you, eyes dark, lower lip wet from biting it, a visible strain in his sweatpants. You open your mouth to reply, to offer reciprocation, but then smoke in your periphery catches your attention.

“Shit,” He mumbles, pulling away from you to turn the waffle iron off. You wince a little but a small laugh bubbles up in your chest, leftover butterflies in your stomach, cheeks warm, body feeling far too empty.

“Can’t believe the waffles burned.” You comment lightly, running a hand through your hair.

Nick glances at you, a small smile on his face, mischief lighting up his brown eyes. He tugs you forward, but this time, he’s got the fabric of your leggings between his fingers, yanking them off.

“S’alright,” He replies, spreading your legs again, intending to sink his head between them, “Think I’m more of a pancakes guy anyways.”

—

Nick is nothing like your ex, there is no place where the two converge. Period.

—

You hate that Nick fights in the ring. Sometimes there’s gloves, other times there’s bare fists. You hate the blood and the bruises and the fact that fucking Lion bets on him like he’s a winning horse. Most of the time you can’t even watch. Like tonight. You wait in the car, everyone headed back to Nick’s afterwards to debrief, to let off steam.

You can tell he’s pissed the moment he gets into the driver’s seat.

There’s lines pulling his face, his shoulders tight and the muscle in his jaw feathering. There’s a bruise starting along his jawline, cuts on his cheek. You squeeze your eyes shut and your fingers dig into the plush leather.

You don’t ask how it went because you already know.

When you make it into his kitchen, leaning against the counter, you watch as he paces a moment, stewing, his hands shaking as he looks over at Lion.

“It wasn’t called at the right fucking time.”

“It was,” Lion says evenly, “The refs—”

“The fucking refs are fucked,” He snaps, his voice echoing in the space. You swear you can hear the glass in the cabinets tremble, “He threw a punch after the bell rung. What’s the point of doing any of this if it’s not going to be fair?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be doing it at all,” You mumble, arms crossed over your chest. It’s quiet, but you can tell the moment that he hears you. His entire body goes still before he turns and rolls his shoulders, like he’s still in the ring. Like he’s itching for a fight.

“That’s cheap coming from you, isn’t it? You won’t even step through the doors to support me.”

Your mouth falls open at the same time Jenna hisses Nick, your response only serving to amp him up even further.

“I’m not going to go in there and you know it.” You know why, is what you actually want to say, but you don’t give him that satisfaction. You’re calling him out on his bullshit well enough.

Besides, you’re not the one he’s really mad at, he’s just taking his frustrations out on you. But before you can tell him how fucked up that is, Lion pipes up with a —

“You’re gonna have to fight him again, a re-match.”

Nick explodes, the kind that he warned you about the first night you met, his arm snapping out and striking items on the kitchen counter. It’s not glass, but the reaction you have is the same. A plastic fruit bowl spins and hits the cabinets, oranges rolling out of it, a set of papers flutter to the floor like birds, and something cracks loudly against a chair, someone’s iPhone maybe.

It doesn’t matter what it is because you go rigid, eyes wide as you stare at the items on the floor. He runs both of his hands through his hair, his gaze finding your face when you let out a short breath out of your mouth, attempting to unhook your shoulders from your ears. Nick looks at the floor and then back to you, muttering shit under his breath.

He takes a step towards you, “Y/N,” and you mimic one back, keeping space between you. A defense mechanism but it doesn’t stop that look from sliding onto his face, regret replacing anger, concern replacing frustration.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Nick says, voice pinched, “I’m sorry—I didn’t—”

You shake your head, putting your hand up so he stops talking. You need space, you need to go outside and take a breath. You slip out of the kitchen towards the pool and Nick must try to follow you because you hear Jenna stop him in his tracks— just leave her alone for a little while, man.

He’ll come find you though. He always does.

—

You debate leaving but end up sitting by the pool instead. Your legs are drawn up against your chest, fingers dragging through the water, chin resting on one of your knees. You hear and feel him more than see him come out onto the pool deck.

“Can I join you?” He asks, hovering.

You know that if you told him no he’d respect that, he’d listen.. But you can’t, even though a small part of you wishes you could. You nod softly, not looking at him, waiting for him to slide down beside you. He’s facing you, one leg in the pool, one curled up underneath him. He smells like clean soap, fresh clothes—he must have showered and changed to give you some time. You ache to run your fingers through his damp curls, to touch him somehow. But you don’t.

It’s quiet for a while, just the sound of your shared breathing and your fingers gliding through the water.

Nick clears his throat, “I have a temper, I’ve always had it.” Since his mom, are the unspoken words. “Despite how hard I try to bury it…it seems to always find its way to the surface.” His voice is soft, gentle, as if he’s afraid he might spook you, that you might run. “It’s why I’m good at racing or fighting.”

You know this, you know he has an anger inside of him that sprouts like weeds, recognizes it in him like you did your ex…even though they are not the same, will never be the same. Nick has talked to you about his mom countless times, you’ve met her and Maddie and know that they’re working on their relationship. They’re in a good place, despite the emotions that Nick still feels sometimes. Maybe they’ll always be there.

He tentatively reaches for your hand, and when you allow him to touch you, he tugs your laced fingers to rest in his lap. He traces circles around your knuckles, “Look at me.”

You breathe out through your nose, turning your gaze away from the pool and meeting his eyes. You’re struck by him, always have been, you think. Ever since you ran into him at that party. There must be a soft pout to your lips because he brushes his other thumb along the corner of your mouth.

“It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. But I know I don’t want to see that look on your face ever again.” He shakes his head, ripping his gaze from yours, as if he’s embarrassed. You know what he’s talking about. Fear. What must have been on your face—it’s not something that can be helped, no matter how much you’ve been working on it.

“Not because of me.”

You swallow over a lump in your throat over that, over the fact that Nick, at the core of his being, wants to protect you. Despite his rough demeanor, despite the fact that he sometimes leads too much with his fists or can have a nasty set of words for someone, he’s good deep down. Something your ex never was.

You squeeze his hand back, reaching out to touch his cheek. You angle his face up, running your thumb over his cheekbone,

You don’t say that it’s okay, because it’s not, but you do want him to know, “I trust you.” You say after a moment. It is not something you give easily, something that’s definitely earned. And Nick has. He holds your gaze after that, a soft nod, turning his chin into your palm. His nose and lips brush the love line on your hand and he presses a kiss there.

“C’mere.” He whispers, encouraging you closer, to sit on his lap. You fold into him easily, as if you’ve always fit there.

–

There’s a long sigh out of your mouth as you move from your spot on the couch to get the front door when there’s a series of knocks. You kinda hope it’ll go away, but your parents aren’t home to check. There’s a twinge in your nose and a headache building behind your eyes, the worst head cold you’ve had for a while. Exhausted, slightly nauseous, throat sore, and kinda ready to throw hands at whoever is making you answer the front door when you could be passed out on a bunch of pillows and blankets.

“Coming!” You call out, rubbing your throat, “Sheesh.”

Without looking at the small video monitor for security set up next to the door, you yank it open, getting ready to give whoever is selling something a piece of your mind. But then you stop, blinking, because it’s—

“What are you doing here?” Your voice croaks, Nick wincing at the sound.

He’s in a pair of sweats, a white t-shirt, and oversized jacket, a pair of sunglasses pushed up into his curls as he takes a look at you. Your cheeks are flushed thanks to being sick, but you feel like your fever has kicked up a notch under the careful inspection. You have no idea what you look like, but you can guess it’s a mess.

“Jenna said you weren’t feeling well,” He steps forward and when he does you notice he’s got a paper bag in his hand. “Though I’m wondering why you didn’t tell me that yourself.”

You rub the back of your neck—you really just…didn’t want to be a burden. “I didn’t want you to get sick.” Is what you say instead, which isn’t exactly a lie.

“Well,” Nick hums, brushing his fingers through your hair, “Lucky for you, I have an impeccable immune system.”

You crinkle your nose, fit to argue with him, but the moment you open your mouth, you turn and sneeze. A small smirk sounds from Nick when you groan. “Bless you.”

You straighten your shoulders, rubbing some of your fingers against your temple as you turn to look at Nick. You want to tell him that it’s not necessary, that he doesn’t need to do anything extra for you, regardless that he’s here already. But at the same time, you also know he’s stubborn—he’s not going anywhere. And what’s the harm of allowing someone to take care of you?

Your ex never would have showed up like this. The moment you’d let him know you were sick, he’d make a joke to keep a distance. Maybe that’s why, subconsciously, you never even thought to let your current boyfriend know you were struggling.

“You better have a miracle cure in that bag,” You tease, the lightness in your voice covered by congestion. “I’d settle for tissues.”

Nick reaches into the bag and pulls out a whole box. A whole box of tissues that have lotion in them. He gives you a small, knowing smile.

“Did I mention you’re my favorite person?” You ask, snagging the box. You open it up, taking some tissues out.

Nick breezes past you with a kiss to your temple, “I know—but reminders are always appreciated.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.

Not only does this man make you soup, and make sure you have cold-relief meds, but in that paper bag of wonders he has one of those heatable stuffed animals, the ones that you can put in the microwave and smell like lavender (if you could breathe through your nose). You settle into the couch, the half-eaten soup on the coffee table as a movie plays in the background. You’ve kind of lost the plot, your eyes falling closed as you’re surrounded by some pillows and blankets, the warmed-up stuffed fox pressed to your abdomen. Nick’s seated in the corner of the couch, arm stretched out along the back—you’ve been trying to keep your distance but…god, he really looks comfortable.

He smiles a little in soft amusement, as if he can read your mind, his eyes sliding over to yours. His lips quirk, tilting his head a bit in his direction,

“C’mon.”

You shake your head, “I really don’t��”

“Get over here,” He interrupts, leaning over to wrap his arm around your waist and tug until you're pressed against his side. You don’t fight it, a shiver wracking down your spine as you settle against him. “Cold?”

You nod, fitting against his side, underneath his arm, tucking your face into his shoulder. You wish you could breathe him in, that comforting scent of his expensive cologne mixed with something that’s just purely him. He helps you adjust the blanket, his hand settling on your thigh with a gentle squeeze. His other hand threads his fingers through your hair in a way that’s meant to put you to sleep.

“You’re gonna get sick.” You mumble, eyes fluttering closed.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t worry about me.”

But you do. And he does.

But it’s nice being able to take care of him too.

—

Sometimes you sleep over. It’s one of those things that happen naturally—hanging out with friends, messing around in the pool, playing darts near the garage, coming back from a party, curled up watching a movie. Tonight is no different, except you’re a little drunk. You sit down on the edge of the bed, the room spinning slightly, Nick passing you a t-shirt of his to tug on. You love how it lays on you, the fabric unbelievably soft.

He lingers in front of you, a smirk on his lips, tipping your chin up and leaning down just enough to brush a kiss over your temple, “You need help?”

You let out a long, dramatic sigh that flutters your lips. It turns into a slight pout, “I need a kiss.”

Nick hums, his eyes appraising you, “Yeah? Where at?”

And you hate how that makes you squirm. You squeeze your legs together, an action not missed by him, before pointing to your cheek. He licks his lips, crouching to press one right where you’ve requested. His fingers curl under your shirt, lifting it off in one fluid motion. He crouches before you, hands on your knees, waiting.

You smile a little, skin warm, pointing to your shoulder blade. He follows through and you can’t stop yourself from running your fingers through his hair, his hands moving to splay along your waist, squeezing. That heat between your legs dips, tugs, hums.

“Where else?”

“I’ve definitely got some ideas but could you tell the room to stop spinning for a second?”

Nick smiles, fingers moving to the button on your jeans. “Can I take these off?”

Always with the permission. Always with making sure you’re okay. It’s something that’s so deeply important to you, something you’ve never told him. And yet he knows.

“Need you to help me out,” He undoes the button and you stand on wobbly legs, hand holding onto his shoulder for support. He slides them off and tosses towards a chair in the corner. You sit back down, running your hands over your face, which probably smears your makeup ridiculously.

You touch to the right of your belly button, “Here please.”

Nick smiles, shaking his head a little. “Only because you were so polite.”

You bite down on your tongue when he does it, when he kisses you there, swallowing the cheeky response that you know he’d do it anyways.

He slips lower, kissing the side of your knee without you asking. Just because he wants to. He then leans back on his heels, giving you a onceover before taking the shirt he handed you, helping to slide it over your arms. Pressing a few kisses to your cheeks, mostly just to make you laugh, he pulls away.

There’s definitely an audible whine you’ll deny making later.

“I’m getting a washcloth for your face,” He laughs softly too, taking your hand to squeeze, “Get your makeup off.”

You shake your head—wow, how’d you get so lucky?

“Think it’s the other way around.” He assures you as he heads to his bathroom and you blink—apparently you said that outloud.

As you wash the makeup off your face, Nick changes out of his clothes, a simple t-shirt and briefs. He tugs down the comforter and helps you under the covers, tugging them back up to your chin. It’s one of those moments that feels so intimate that your chest hurts a little. You lie on your side, not facing him, and he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

“You okay?” He whispers, arm sliding around your waist. Your fingers lace together in an easy motion.

“Perfect.” You reply, already dozing. By the time he turns the light out, you’re fast asleep.

—

It’s one of those parties in which you can’t keep your hands off eachother.

Nick’s obviously a tactile person, he talks but he says more with his actions, with his touch. A possessive hand on your waist, a protective arm around your back, a brush of a kiss to your temple, a cheeky nip of your lower lip. You can read him like a secret language, a message whispered in the dark. And you love that you can so easily reply in kind. A hand sneaking up and under his jacket to rest on his toned back, slipping your fingers into his back pocket to grab his ass, hooking your ankle around his under a table, a kiss to his cheek when you’re excited, his hair when he falls asleep on your chest.

Tonight is no different.

You separate for one instance so you can head to the bathroom and when you come out, you bump into someone who is waiting.

“Shit sorry,” You apologize with a smile before raising your eyebrows. The guy you practically checked shoulders with is holding a book. A book at a party. And like, no judgement, obviously, but…it’s really the last thing you expected.

“No worries,” He’s tall and kinda lanky, but soft looking, attractive in his own way. He smiles down at you, a sheepish hand rubbing the back of his neck as he catches you looking at his book. “Summer classes,” He admits, “Organic chem.”

“Gross,” You offer with a soft laugh and he grins.

“Yeah, not exactly party material. I’m trying to relax but uh, not the best at it.”

“Well I’d put down the chemistry book, for starters.” You smile and you can tell he’s about to open his mouth and ask for something, maybe to offer to get you a drink, maybe something else. You’ll never know because you see Nick just past where this guy is standing.

His gaze is set on you, never looking away once, but you can tell he must have noticed this guy towering over you because an arm slides around your waist, hand squeezing your hip. A clear message to anyone who might be confused.

“Was wondering where you went.” And you raise your eyebrows at that, as if he doesn’t know you went to the bathroom.

“Well you found me.” When Nick turns to look at you, there’s a heat to his eyes that almost takes your breath away. You can’t help but gaze back, like the darkness that you find is capable of pulling you under, under.

Tall guy lets out an awkward laugh, snapping his textbook closed. “Well just gonna—” He motions to the bathroom but Nick takes a step towards it with you in tow, pressing you towards the doorframe and then steps in front, effectively blocking your body with his own.

“Yeah, you’re gonna need to find another bathroom,” He tells him, leaning his palms against the doorframe. A soft laugh bubbles up in your chest as you lean against the sink, running a hand along the side of your face.

Textbook guy blinks, makes an uh noise with his lips—and when he just stands there looking confused, Nick snaps out, “Fuck off.”

And slams the door in his face.

Your hand covers your mouth as Nick turns, taking measured steps towards you as you lean back against the sink. Feels sturdy enough—it’s one of those built-in counter ones, plenty of space for toiletries.

“Textbook guy was nice, you know?” You inform him, a smirk mapping your lips as Nick leans in, encroaching on your space. He encourages you to lean back a little as he cages your body with his own, arms on either side of you.

He whispers into your ear, “I don’t care.”

When he pulls back a bit, your noses brush and you lift your hand to play with a curl on his forehead. Amusement sits on your tongue, heat between your legs, “Didn’t know you could get jealous.”

Nick’s gaze lands on your lips. You expect him to deny it, but instead he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, dragging it out, nipping at your lower lip with his teeth. Then he kisses you completely, slotting his own body along your own, tongue sliding into your mouth. The moment you moan is when he sinks his hands into your hair, keeping you close. Your own glide down his sides, digging into the fabric of his jeans, tugging—

A sharp noise, a groan from the back of his throat, sets little electric zips along your skin.

You can feel the hardness of him against your hip and breathing patterns change, just a little uneven, pulling back so that your lips fall to his neck. Your hand wanders, one destination, undoing his jeans so that you can slip inside.

“So,” You whisper, tilting your head back, getting a good look at him. Your fingers wrap around him, beginning to palm his cock. His pupils are blown as he licks his lips—you can feel the twitch of his hips, driving him a bit forward. Your thumb works at the bead of moisture at his tip, back and forth, down along him.

You smile, “Yes to being jealous?”

His hand slips around the back of your neck, squeezing a little, gathering a bit of your hair in the process. It’s barely a tug, barely any pain, and yet heat shocks down your spine, settling in your core.

“Of anyone who makes you laugh like that.”

And for some reason that reaches into the center of your chest and squeezes. You can’t find the words to reply. So you don’t.

Luckily both of you are both attune at speaking without saying anything at all.

Your other hand rests on the side of his face, your thumb brushing over his lips before kissing him again.

It doesn’t take long after that. Nick helps gets his jeans down, peeling your skirt up, practically ripping your underwear to get them out of his fucking way. He presses you back against the sink, it’s not the most comfortable—the edge is biting into your muscles, but at this point it just adds to the pleasure that’s already building in your lower belly. He lifts your leg a little, holding you, sliding forward until his cock brushes against your entrance.

“Nick,” You moan and that one word has him pushing inside.

Your head tips forward, forehead ending up on his shoulder, rolling your hips until he’s completely inside of you. It’s not as drawn out as you want, but you know it’s only a matter of time until someone comes knocking on this bathroom. You hike your leg up a little more, encouraging him deeper as he moves, as much as you can at this angle. It’s too fast, a little too hard, and the movements are a little too desperate.

But fuck if that stops you from cumming hard.

The moment Nick’s mouth finds your neck and sucks while his one hand not holding you slips between, fingers circling your clit, you lose it.

Your body clenches around him and you bury your face in his shoulder, clinging to him as ripples of pleasure slam into you. Your fingers dig into his back and there’s two more thrusts forward until Nick loses himself as well, a soft tremble following as both of you breathe one another in, wait for pulses to slow, for breathing to settle.

He pulls back slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, curling your hair around your ear. A soft smile tugs the corner of your mouth and you slowly turn a bit to face yourself in the mirror.

Jesus. You’re really not fooling anyone—you look utterly wrecked. Your hair is mussed, face flushed, and you attempt to fix a bit of yourself as Nick cleans himself up and grabs a washcloth on the shower cabinet near the mirror. He dampens it in the sink before crouching, cleaning up your inner thighs. You let out a slow breath as he drags the fabric along your cunt, gentle and yet tortuous.

Nick licks his lips, looking at you in the mirror, settling his chin on your shoulder. You find his gaze in the reflection, his one hand coming up and resting on the side of your neck. His thumb brushes a blooming hickey near your pulse point. His eyes never leave yours,

“In case there’s any further confusion for anyone.”

When you run into the textbook guy again later that night, Nick’s arm draped lazily over your shoulders as he talks to Lion, your boyfriend doesn’t seem to mind this time around when you ask him with a teasing lilt how organic chem is going.

He zeros in on your neck right away, and Nick fucking smirks.

—

Maybe the warning labels, the explosion, the danger you both once spoke of isn't exactly what you assumed. It's not that you'd end up being bad for one another, or somehow get in the other's way. It's not the underground fighting ring or the racing or past trauma with your ex. It's something deeper, emotionally grounded, something that's capable of taking you out right at your knees. You knew love had teeth, you just didn't realize you could be devoured by it.

The way you care about Nick bites into you and doesn't let go.

You're quiet as you clean up the tiny cuts on Nick's knuckles, using a bit too much antiseptic but not relishing in the way he winces. You can't meet his gaze, even though you know he's trying to capture yours. Seated side by side on the edge of his bed, you let out a long breath before setting the bloody cotton ball aside and grabbing another.

Stupid re-match that Lion set up. Nick won, but that's not really the point.

You waited outside in the car, eventually getting out to pace, leaning back against the driver's door until they all came out. A split lip, a blackening mark underneath his eye on his cheekbone, bruised ribs and cut-up knuckles.

You hate this. You hate it so fucking much. You're practically buzzing with this anger but know better than to speak. Nick seems to know better too, because he's utterly still beside you. Curling your hair around your ear, you set another used cotton ball aside—you can’t use bandages on these small cuts. They’re not that bad, he doesn’t need any, and yet…leaving them open like this makes your chest ache. You can’t patch them up, but…maybe an ice pack wouldn’t hurt. For his ribs at least.

When you move to stand, Nick’s fingers gently wrap around your wrist, a silent plea not to move. You close your eyes, can feel yourself trembling—

It’s not so much the blood. It’s seeing him hurt. It fucking guts you. Even though he’s okay, you know he’s okay. It doesn’t make it any easier.

“I really wish you’d stop doing this,” You eventually say, your words sounding too loud in the silence. Too choked. That anger from before unfortunately fizzles out into the real emotion it was hiding: concern. “All—all it takes is one wrong hit and—” You sniffle, cutting yourself off.

Nick lets out a long sigh through his nose before a gentle nod follows. He inches himself closer to you on the bed, until your knees bump together, his hand wrapping along the back of your neck. Despite wanting to pull away, wanting to create distance, he encourages you to lean into him. You relent as if it’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done, pressing your forehead to his shoulder.

He tips his chin down, his face burying itself in your hair, and he keeps you close until you stop shaking.

–

That’s the last fight Nick’s in, he tells Lion not to involve him in any others.

–

Admittedly, cars have never really been your thing. You admire them, you appreciate the work that some people put into them, or how much someone is willing to pay to enhance them, but they’ve never been something to spend your own money on. You upkeep the Jeep that your parents bought you on your eighteenth birthday, and that’s always been enough.

Nick though? He loves his cars. Has a full garage of them. A collector, an enthusiast, and you love that about him. One of the many things. Love that you can learn something new about something he’s clearly passionate about.

He’s got a love-hate relationship with your Jeep though.

“She’s ol’reliable.”

Nick just crinkles his nose.

“Don’t look down on Donna like that.”

“Please do not call your jeep that.”

You giggle, “Donna is timeless.”

“Donna sounds like an old bitty who’s been working too long at the corner diner. She smells like grease and has menus sticking to her hands.”

Now you laugh something bold and bright and it twitches the corners of Nick’s mouth. “Hater.”

He pulls you into a kiss, pressing your back against the door of your Jeep. He certainly trusts it enough for that.

Though, this is what you get for calling your Jeep ‘dependable’ and ‘reliable’, speaking too soon when she conks out on the side of the road. You attempt to restart her a few times but finally groan and give up, slipping out of the driver’s seat. You’ve put a lot of money into her but…Nick’s freaky car-sense about her is right—not ol’reliable in the least.

Pursing your lips, you press on Nick’s name, listening to the line trill. He picks up on the third ring, “What’s wrong?”

You purse your lips, “I can’t just call you because I miss you?”

Nick hums, “Donna died, didn’t she.” It is not a question.

You scoff out a sound, “You gotta make it sound so final like that?”

He sighs but you can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks, fabric rustling in your ear as well. You picture him in bed, maybe reading, getting up to get his shoes. “Where are you?”

You drop a pin and it doesn’t take him too long to get to your location. You hear the rumble of an engine before you see him, a sleek red car pulling up beside poor Donna. A tow truck is not far behind and you smile sweetly at your boyfriend as the door pops up and Nick steps out.

“Hate to break it to you but I think it’s time for Donna to visit the car lot in the sky.”

Your lips form a pout and Nick smirks out a soft laugh, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. He presses a brief kiss to your lips, turning to watch as the tow truck parks behind Donna and begins to wheel her into place.

He stretches his arm over your shoulders, drawing you close to brush another kiss to your temple, “C’mon,” He motions towards his car, “I’m sure she’ll be well taken care of.”

“You’re probably hoping they’ll take her to a scrap lot and squish her with one of those car crushers.”

“I would never.”

He places his hands on your shoulders, encouraging you forward until you get inside the passenger door. He closes it behind you, slipping into the driver’s seat. A dramatic sigh leaves your lips as you lean back into the seat, the smell of expensive leather and his cologne comforting, despite leaving Donna behind. You rest your head back against the headrest, a small smile on your face as your eyes drink in his profile.

“Where can we go?” You’re not in the mood to go home.

Nick turns his head to look at you, a gentle smile, his one hand on the wheel while the other rests on your knee. “Anywhere.”

You can’t help but smile back—you love the sound of that.

#my fault london #nick leister #nick leister x reader #my fault london x reader #matthew broome #matthew broome x reader #my fault series #mccall writes things #my fault: london

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bueckers · 1 year ago

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𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄 ━━━ 𝐏𝐁

a/n | heavily inspired by that clip of caitlin & gabbie LOL. kind of a blurb

summary: paige gets caught looking at you a certain way on camera while you’re practically fuming during a game.

warning(s): just sexual tension & out of pocket comments, suggestive

pairing: paige bueckers x teammate!reader

The game against NC State was remarkably close, an unexpected challenge for only the second game of the season. As the third quarter dwindled to its final minutes, a sense of frustration began to set in. You found yourself doing everything in your power to gain composure.

The same girl had been targeting you all night, her aggressive play becoming increasingly blatant as the game progressed. Your patience was wearing thin, and when she charged at you once again, a surge of anger propelled you forward, ready to confront her. However, before you could react, Paige, Aubrey, and Ines intervened, stepping in to hold you back before you did something you’d regret.

Geno had benched you, which only added more fuel to the fire. When the other team called a timeout, the rest of the team was sent to the benches, but Paige was quick to run over to you. As soon as the whistle blew, you got out of my seat and jogged over to the referee, determined to explain that he had made the wrong call. He had been the entire game. Your frustration, however, got the better of you, and your words came out heated. The referee was clearly unimpressed with your complaints and wasn’t budging.

Paige stepped in front of you, concluding your one-sided heated conversation with the referee. She grabbed your arm with one hand and placed the other on your lower back to guide you away. “C’mere,” she mumbled, steering you back to the bench. You sat down, a little calmer than before but still huffing and puffing that you hadn’t gotten to say everything you wanted to.

Paige sat next to you, her entire body turned in your direction as she nearly fell off the seat. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and she knew exactly what to do to get you to calm down. “Talk to me,” she threw out huskily, knowing you had to actually get what you had to say out before resting. You were already on it.

“That girl has been all over me all night,” you began, words tumbling out in a rush. “Do you know how many fouls I’ve been cheated out of? It’s like she’s got it out for me. And the refs are fucking blind to it—this is bullshit..”

As you rambled on, Paige couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. She was perplexed at how you could look so good even while angry. Her eyes darted between yours and your lips the entire time, her lips slightly parted. Though you were loud, she barely heard a word, her ears blocking out all of the trash talk you let flow. Paige was captivated, caught between her desire to comfort you with reassuring words and letting you take her in the locker room after the game, which seemed to intensify with every fiery word you spoke.

Her head rested in one of her hands, and just as you finished speaking you turned to her, catching her lingering gaze on your lips. This out of all things made you crack a smile. “Paige,” you snapped her out of her short daze, her eyes averting back to yours.

“Yeah?” she mumbled, sitting up straighter now as she reached her hands behind her head to adjust her ponytail.

Your eyes followed her without your head moving for a moment, your smile only growing bigger as you realized why she was staring at you that way. “What?” she questioned, her smile being heard through it, faking her oblivion as she looked at you.

“You’re so fucking horny, bro.” you shook your head, smiling bright at her as she threw her head back, laughing, but she didn’t disagree. What you didn’t know, was that your interaction was caught on camera being televised—and of course screen recorded.

user1. lip readers get on this 😭

user2. Paige is down bad CONFIRMED

user3. The way she’s looking at her omg I physically can’t

user4. PAIGE MADISON BUECKERS!?!?

user5. are they dating?

user6. No

user7. I hope so

user8. nooo way this is real LMFAOOO

user9. her eyes shifting between her lips and eyes ohhh she’s so down bad

user10. FRIENDS DON’T LOOK AT FRIENDS THAT WAY!?!?

user11. wouldn’t be surprised if they’re fucking

user12. these comments are crazy as hell 😭

#paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige x reader #lgbtq #uconn wbb #uconn huskies

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doujindungeon · 2 months ago

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summary: while you were upset at lewis after a recent argument, perhaps it wasn't the wisest idea to try and test your lover's endurance in bed. rating: nc-17 pairing: f!reader/lewis content warnings: established relationship, smut, marathon sex, missionary/doggy style/cowgirl, a bit of spanking and hair pulling, the loving wrath of 7-time world drivers champion lewis hamilton word count: 0.7k previous one-shot - toto w. | next one-shot - charles l.

“You know, I could die like this.”

A sigh of absolute satisfaction.

It was a serene sound compared to the abrasive noise of a water bottle being crunched and tossed aside after it was emptied of its contents from a quick chug just a moment before.

For Lewis, some hydration was needed after such a vigorous exhibition of his stamina.

Calm and relaxed as ever, his gorgeous muscled physique glistening with sweat, nude skin bathed by the low warm lighting from the ceiling, he carried himself as the textbook definition of ethereal.

Your current state told a completely different tale.

By contrast, you were sprawled on the bed, hair disheveled and make-up smeared as you gulped down the bottle of coconut water that your boyfriend fetched from the kitchen while you caught your breath earlier.

At this point in your relationship, you were well aware that Lewis was fierce in his discipline when it came to his craft of driving. Training, focus, determination–there was not a sliver of slack in any aspect.

And for as long as you’ve been together, you were well familiar with how passionate and doting he could be during intimacy. A couple hours being delightfully tangled together in bed at a luxurious tropical bungalow oceans away, a quick and needy fix on the couch in his driver’s room whenever you were able to make it out to a race.

This was what you were used to.

But to bear the merciless brunt of his stamina in bed–to put it simply, you were unprepared.

After all, upon Lewis bringing you back home after an argument that burst forth towards the end of your recent vacation together–a spat that bubbled and brewed from you feeling as though your place in his life was relegated to last place in the grand scope of his legacy–, when he casually declared that he would prove and demonstrate his resolve to devote his heart, soul and body to you within this night alone, he meant it.

From the moment the door closed behind as he herded you straight into the bedroom, time turned into a complete and utter blur, with the firm surface of his king sized bed serving as the only anchor that kept you grounded to reality as your lover kept you absolutely overwhelmed with dizzying euphoria.

At one point, he was pounding you straight into the mattress, his tattooed hands locked onto your thighs to keep them spread wide apart so he could drill his thick cock into your core over and over.

The next, he had you on all fours upon the bed, the lewd rhythm of his hips–and his palm here and there–striking against your ass making for an obscene symphony, your moans and squeals mingling in seamlessly with his grunts and curses while his fingers maintained a commanding grip on your hair.

When he then had you seated on his lap, his fingers squeezed your waist as he guided and coaxed you through the tempo under which you bounced upon his dick by, the two of you locked in a kiss as his tongue probed into your mouth right as he pumped another load of cum into your cunt.

True to his word, he had certainly made his case.

Still, while you were thoroughly delighted to receive his fierce display of his affection for you, seeing the beaming pride on his handsome features had you pouting in-between sips of your coconut water.

“Well take it easy, Sir Hamilton,” you huffed out at last in response, eyeing him warily. “You’re at the age where you shouldn’t be pushing yourself too much.”

His eyes sparked.

Fitting, since you may as well have set the entire house ablaze by your remark.

“Aha–I know fighting words when I hear them, lovely.”

While he let out a chuckle, the way he stalked back towards the bed, back towards you, was far from humorous.

Just by the way he looked at and approached you, deep in your bones you knew he wasn’t going to let up until you were absolutely devastated, especially as his voice dipped down to a deep purr as he continued, “I can keep this up, but can you?”

In response, you simply downed the rest of your drink, setting the empty bottle aside on the bedside table.

Defiance in your eyes, rebellion on your smile–you responded simply with,

“See for yourself.”

He was back on you in an instant.

But he wouldn’t be content with only seeing. Rather, he would be kissing, teasing, toying, licking, groping, possessing, and punishing you until the break of dawn and beyond.

-----------------------

🤸‍♀️ SIR LEWDIS HAMILTON EVERYBODY 🤸‍♀️

i'm cryin tho i originally had the reader rehydrate with gatorade but after i started thinking more about it, i found out that gatorade isn't vegan??????? LEWIS THE THINGS I RESEARCH AND ADJUST IN MY WRITING TO ACCOMODATE YOUR VEGAN LIFESTYLE 😭😭

but with this!!! we finally approach the end of this run of one-shots with charles tomorrow!!! thank you again for your support and i hope to see you all tomorrow for the finale!!! 🙇‍♀️❤️

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton smut #lh44 x reader #lh44 x you #lh44 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 smut #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one smut #reader insert #Poll Positions

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keferon · 7 months ago

Note

So if you look to your left you’ll— *gets run over by train*

————————

“What is this,” Prowl asked softly, shifting uncomfortably as he felt a pulse of fond amusement crawl through him.

“You really didn’t think it all the way through when you changed your form for me, huh,” Jazz laughed inside him chassis, his soothing voice coming through his comm system and directly into his audio receptors.

Prowl frowned as his TacNet started picking apart the words, trying to discern their meaning. That fond amusement brightened, causing his system to stutter just a bit. His optics widened just a bit as something foreign guided his TacNet to a new system he didn’t notice he had.

NCS.

Neurological Connection System.

What???

“For a pilot to work with a mech, there has to be a DRIFT system, the NCS was the one that ran in my mech. And because you scanned my mech, you got all its systems, on top of your own,” Jazz explained with a grin.

Something giddy flowed in, chasing around that fond amusement that Prowl could still feel. His optics shuddered as his processor skipped a beat or two, TacNet settling on an answer to what the foreign feelings were.

“That is you. That feeling… it’s you,” Prowl whispered, lifting a servo to place it over his chassis, where Jazz was nestled near his spark.

“Yeah, that’s me, Prowler. You said you wanted to feel my EM field a while ago. I… I don’t gotta field to share, but I have this,” Jazz replied just as soft, and Prowl wrapped his EM field in tight, cradling this new and foreign feeling of his human counterpart.

This was Jazz. Jazz’s human equivalent to an EM field. It… it was beautiful. Jazz’s little field bursted in joy and relief, and Prowl could have cried at how soft it was. This felt intimate, deeper than just sharing an EM field. Not quite like spark-bonding, but oh so close.

“It’s wonderful, Jazz,” Prowl finally whispered, smiling fondly, doorwings flaring wide as if he could sense more of the field if he spread his sensors out as wide as he could.

Jazz preened happily in his little cockpit, and Prowl couldn’t help but laugh softly. His little human was full of surprises it seems.

—————————-

Firstly, idk where I was going with this.

Secondly, it made sense to me that Pilots would have some kind of neural link with their mech to assist in fighting cause reaction times with just controls wouldn’t be as perfect. It would also make sense as to why the idea of FirstAid becoming a pilot out of nowhere would be terrifying because “how the fuck did you survive the neural link”. Vortex could be killing his pilots by literally overloading their brains with the neural link. *head explosion style idk*

In other words, human EM field! But pacific rim drift style! With body horror Halo Spartan experimentation! Yay!

Idk!

I’m running on 2hrs of sleep! I just had another coffee! Don’t try this at home kids!

O U G H I CAN'T BELIEVE I ALMOST MISSED THIS ASK THIS IS BEAUTIFUL KHKGKHL

#mecha pilot jazz au

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jeonstudios · 11 months ago

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dextrocardia | 14

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 9.7k

warnings: a LOT of bodyshaming and fathobia and sexism

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 14/?

“I hope you know that I appreciate all the things you’ve been telling me. I know it can’t be easy, all the things you’ve gone through. So I appreciate it, even if I unfortunately…”

“Don’t have much to say?” you smile at him as you turn to close his bedroom door behind you.

“Yeah. It’s a lot different than when I’m talking to someone who maybe just got out of a… situation because, while that’s always hard, you just have to listen and assure them they did the right thing, going to the cops and that we’ll guide them through the rest and hopefully help them get justice. That it wasn’t their fault, you know? But you know all that already, and I’m not much help; in fact, I was a big part of your problem and going to the police probably made it worse in your case because we let you down instead of helping you.”

It’s sad, the way he says it, reaching for the collar of his t-shirt at the back of his neck. He pulls it over his head before he suddenly stops, the shirt stuck across his lowered arms. You meet his deer-in-the-headlights eyes and see how it dawns on him that despite explaining earlier that he wants to keep his shirt on–at least with you in the house?–he hasn’t actually been committing to that promise. You wonder if it had anything to do with his scars, if he wanted to spare you from seeing them or just not risk you being uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, take it off,” you comment casually, “but do know that I might warm my cold feet against your skin.”

He grins, finally removing the shirt entirely and throwing it onto the chair in the corner. “Feel free.”

Flicking the lights off, Jeongguk joins you in the dark, getting under the duvet and getting comfortable.

It’s silent for a while, and you’re halfway between sleep and consciousness when Jeongguk says something you definitely weren’t expecting.

“Are you still scared of me?”

You roll over to face him, even though the room is almost pitch black.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I think that I will always be aware… of what you can do. Even right now, if you in this moment decided to hurt me, there would be nothing I could do about it. I can spend my days in the gym but odds are a vast majority of men could overpower me anyway. If I were to trust my gut, it would say that you’re a… good guy, but I know that most women murdered by a man they knew or even their male partners didn’t fall for someone openly abusive. They’re sweet at the start, and then they change. Hoseong was like that too; kind until he wasn’t. I know you know that because he fooled you too.

“When it comes to you, I think the only reason I’m here with you is because of what you did that night. I would’ve found any reason to believe that you were still playing a game of making me trust you, just waiting for the right moment to strike, if I hadn’t seen you fight them. No matter how talented of an actor you are, they were prepared to kill you, and you… were prepared to die.

“And this…” you move your hand under the sheets, tentatively finding his chest and the scar. “I don’t like looking at it, and it feels like it’s my fault your mom almost lost her son, but it’s also… almost a relief. I don’t have to second-guess if you really want to help me or if it’s just a long con to… finish something. But like I said… just because you haven’t tried to kill me yet doesn’t statistically mean you won’t. I don’t think you will, but then again, there are a lot of dead women who probably wouldn’t have imagined their murderer being someone they knew.”

Jeongguk places his hand over yours on his chest. “For what it’s worth, I could never hurt you. I know I did; that I hurt you emotionally and scared you, but not even when I thought you were the most selfish person on the planet would I have physically hurt you.”

“I will let the fact that I came to live with you speak for how I feel about you, or at least want to feel about you. Also the fact that I’m sleeping in your bed with you.”

“That you find me entirely irresistible, dying to be close to me at all times?”

You roll your eyes, however, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good that we’re on the same page then, cause I’m kinda stuck on the fact that you kissed me.”

Inevitably, your cheeks warm up further, but it’s okay since it’s dark anyway.

“I did. It was a good kiss.”

“Yeah. I totally wouldn’t hate it if you did it again. In fact, I am open to kisses anytime, just as I am hand-holding.”

“You’re sure? Even from me?”

You hate that you have to ask, but… you do.

“Absolutely.”

You consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to trust his words, at least tonight. Empowered by the dark, you move your hand from his chest. It travels over his warm neck before it reaches his jaw. Your heart beats so hard you’re almost convinced he can hear it, but you ignore it and move closer. Despite the dark, you see his face and how he’s smiling, patiently waiting. It’s both a blessing and a hellish curse how handsome he is; he truly takes your breath away.

Using your hand, you move your hair away, and you lean down to connect your lips. His are so soft, and he kisses you back so sweetly, letting you set the pace. You move your mouth against his, pulling back an inch just to do it again. Jeongguk lets his hand hold your waist, and even though kissing him is… a dream, you’re reminded that there’s a limit you’re not comfortable crossing.

So you pull back, but you still let him hold your waist.

“There.”

You fall asleep quicker than the nights before. A few hours later–and a few hours before morning–you blink your eyes open, finding yourself entangled with him. You’ve got your arm thrown over his middle, your cheek resting on his naked chest, right below his chin, and one of your legs lies between his.

For a while, you listen to his breaths, thinking about what it is that you’re doing. He’s so warm, and he feels so… safe, but there’s still a certain thought in your head.

When you wake up the next time, you’re once again alone in Jeongguk’s bed, and the first thought crossing your mind is how unnecessary boarding up your window really was when you’re practically almost always sleeping in his bed these days. Also, does he count on being able to hear a potential intruder trying to break in through his window? Because there is one, and it’s definitely not boarded up.

Your curiosity grows when you hear Jeongguk move throughout the house, and the sound of a…. what is that?

Rolling out of his bed, you yawn as you open the bedroom door to almost run head first into a stressed-looking Jeongguk. The sound you heard you identify as the now turned off blow dryer, something you’ve borrowed yourself but never seen him use. Looking up, you realize that, yeah, his hair is still wet from a shower and blow drying it means that he either doesn’t want to wait for it to air dry or he can’t.

“You’re going to the station?” you ask, noticing that he is actually indeed wearing his dark blue, almost black uniform.

“Yeah, uh, multiple trafficking victims on their way. Want to be there before they arrive.”

A very specific feeling moves through your chest; an uncomfortable sadness that someone has most likely been through hell, but there’s a warmth there too, for Jeongguk.

“What are you looking for?”

He looks around, patting his pockets, “Uhm, I have my phone, wallet, house keys. I need the… bike key and the helmet. The helmet is probably in the garage, but I’m not sure where the key is.”

You blink, trying to remember what jacket he was wearing the last time you recall him using the bike. The leather one, right? You step up to the coat rack, looking through the jackets until you find it. Swiftly, you search the pockets until…

“Found it. Do I put it in your uniform jacket?”

“Oh, thank you. Yes, please,” he says over the sound of the blow dryer that he grabs once more.

You watch him dry his hair, incessantly running his fingers through it to speed up the process. A few minutes later, he turns the machine off and runs his fingers through the black hair one last time, “It’ll have to do.”

Then, he’s gathering his stuff, taking the jacket from your hands and heading toward the door leading to the garage as he throws it on. “Not sure when I’ll be back, it might take a while cause I don’t know how many they are or what they’ve been through, but I can update you?”

“Jeongguk?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Come here for a second.”

Confused, he takes the four steps until he’s in front of you looking down curiously but a little stressed at you.

You smile at him, at how pretty and caring he is. “Be careful.”

He grins, a little surprised. “I always am. But it’s mostly just letting them talk and writing it all down, and–”

“I meant on the road. With the bike. I know you can handle the case.”

“Oh. Will do.”

For a millisecond, he looks at you, his bottom lip bitten. Then he’s pulling you closer by your waist, pecking your lips sweetly.

“I’ll see you later.”

With warm cheeks, you watch him enter the garage, thinking of his kind, brown eyes. You don’t know what to feel.

When Jeongguk returns, he’s angry. He doesn’t say much except frustratingly relaying that apparently, one of the women had called the police about a creepy neighbor appearing to watch her house six months ago. The two officers sent did absolutely nothing at all. Couldn’t offer any protection, didn’t talk to the neighbor, couldn’t even give the woman any advice, just left. Two weeks later, the neighbor takes her. You understand Jeongguk’s frustration toward the system, but when he’s spent two hours in the gym without any kind of break, you decide to check up on him.

You hear the brutal beating of the punching bag long before you spot him.

“How are you doing? You’ve been in here a while…”

Jeongguk stops and looks at you from behind the sand-filled bag, breathing heavily. He’s shirtless, and there’s sweat covering his skin and wetting his hair.

“I’m alright.”

But you can tell that he’s frustrated by the turmoil in his eyes. Although it’s hot to see him work out, you don’t like seeing him like this. It has an uncomfortable feeling growing in your stomach.

“You’re doing what you can.”

“Yet there’s always more to do. It never ends, and it’s never enough.”

He’s definitely right about that, but does it help to be so worked up about it? Or are you the weird one, more likely to go apathetic when reminded of the injustices of the world these days?

“But you did your part today, and I know you made an impact in their lives.”

He looks disappointedly at the sandbag, as if your words didn’t affect him at all.

“Hey,” you call softly. He looks at you.

“If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

‘Right now’ as in alive.

“But I–”

“If you never transferred, they would’ve gotten me at this point.”

“Bare minimum,” is all he mumbles.

“It meant a lot to me. Everything, actually. And I’m really grateful.”

At that, he finally smiles a little, and you find yourself dangerously lost in his eyes again.

Thirty minutes later, at nine p.m., the power goes out. You stop what you’re doing, your hand, holding the kettle frozen in mid air over the mug. Even the very, very low humming of the fridge and freezer stops. You put the kettle down, glad that you probably managed to fill your mug with enough tea water.

Where is your roommate? Last you heard, he was about to take a shower.

“Jeongguk?” you call, but the moment you peek out into the hallway, you run straight into him, still wet from the shower and with a towel around his hips, you think.

“What happened?” he asks, his hands steadying your elbows.

“Uh? I don’t know? I was pouring tea and the lights and everything went out.”

“Oh? So that means it wasn’t our doing. I’ll check if there’s a blown fuse; you never know.”

“Okay,” you pat the pockets of your sweatpants, “Here’s my phone if you want a flashlight.”

“Thanks,” he nods, grabbing it from your hand.

He taps the screen to turn the flashlight function on, the light pointed down immediately illuminating every little crevice in his abs and the glints of water still on his skin. The white towel hangs low, exposing a bit of a happy trail.

You look away, and Jeongguk, seemingly none the wiser, turns around to find the fuse box somewhere other than in the kitchen, guided by your phone.

Sighing to yourself the moment you’re alone again, you go back to your tea, removing the bag from the mug. Opening the fridge, you’re once again reminded of how dependent on electricity you are when the open door doesn’t trigger the built in light. Still, you find the milk, and you manage to pour a little bit into the mug and put the container back in the still chilly fridge.

By the time you finish stirring the tea spoon around, you hear Jeongguk’s steps approaching you, and you see the ray of light illuminate the floor in front of him.

“No blown fuses. I’m gonna see if there’s anything on the provider’s site or else I’ll give them a call.”

“Are you gonna get dressed as well, or?” you joke, watching him smile cheekily.

“Yeah. I was just barely done washing my hair when the light went out.”

“I can see that; you’re dripping all over the floor.”

“Sorry,” he says and shakes his head like a dog, launching drops of water at your clothes and face.

“Jeongguk!”

Laughing, he leaves the kitchen and steps out into the dark.

“What if I slip and fall?” you call after him, wiping the drops from your face before returning to your mug to take a test sip. It tastes good, but you’ll definitely try to remember to buy honey next time you go grocery shopping because you’re a sucker for a little sweetness.

Half a minute later, you hear footsteps approaching, and when you turn around from the sink, Jeongguk is drying the floor with the towel he was just using, now wearing what looks like a pair of sweatpants of his own. He doesn’t say anything, just makes sure the floor is dry and then he leaves again, much to your amusement. Like you said; you’re a sucker for sweetness.

While he’s gone, you use your phone’s flashlight to pour the rest of the water into another mug in case Jeongguk wants some tea too. Then you venture carefully into the living room, trying not to spill the hot contents. It goes without accidents, and so you set the mug down onto the coffee table before reaching for the remote. Which doesn’t work.

“Fuck, no TV,” you mutter to yourself. And you’ve used your laptop without the charger all day. Even more fuck.

“Jeongguk, is your laptop charged?” you call out, praying to the gods.

“Uh, yeah,” he appears behind you, having matched a black hoodie to his gray sweatpants.

He’s holding something in his arms, a lot of smaller things. Candles, you realize when he leans down to gently dump them onto the table. From his pocket he then produces a lighter.

“You wanna watch something?” he asks, lighting the candles one by one, the coziness factor doubling with every flame added.

“I was gonna watch this documentary, but my laptop isn’t charged,” you pout. “Oh, and also, the Wifi won’t work.”

Jeongguk chuckles. “Mine should be fully charged. And we can use my mobile data.”

Wow, way to flex.

“Great. I made tea, do you want some?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

While he goes to grab his laptop, you return to the kitchen to fix his mug of tea as well, returning as he’s setting everything up, the screen illuminating his face where he sits on the couch. The flickering candles are doing their best too, casting a more yellowy glow across the room.

“Thanks,” he says once more when you place the mug in front of him. “Here.”

You accept the laptop, navigating to the specific streaming site and the documentary released just last week about the development of the space shuttles. Due to the size difference between Jeongguk’s TV and that of his laptop, you take your seat closer to him than usual.

Jeongguk sips his tea, but the moment he’s put the mug back safely on the table and is leaning back against the couch and watching the screen, he slowly lets his hand find yours.

In turn, you find yourself moving closer, leaning your head against his shoulder. He smells nice, and he feels nice. And it’s suddenly like someone started some kind of wordless game. You don’t say anything, but there’s also a kind of tension that builds, no less in your body.

Perhaps also feeling the… electricity building, Jeongguk makes his next move, this time slowly lifting his arm to put around you, making you lean against his chest instead. The action has his hoodie riding up just a little, exposing a sliver of his stomach.

When it’s your turn again–and you feel your shared anticipation grow–you try to psych yourself up. He likes you, he likes you.

So, you place your hand on the exposed section of skin, caressing it carefully with your thumb.

Besides the documentary, it’s quiet, although you’re almost positive Jeongguk can hear your heart beat erratically; it’s definitely beating loudly in your ears. For his next turn, Jeongguk somehow both swiftly and slowly pulls you onto his lap, and before you know it, you’re straddling him, staring down at his smiling face.

The narrator speaks in the background, but you can only focus on Jeongguk and how your heart might soon beat its way out of your chest.

You could kiss him. You could.

He looks at you like he’s hoping for it but not expecting it, and you pray to God he actually does want you to. Because you want to kiss him so badly.

He’s got his gentle hands on your thighs, and you place yours softly on his face, holding his jaw and rubbing your thumbs slowly over his cheeks. Until you move one thumb and press it even softer against his lips.

This man is too good to be true, he has to be. As you let your eyes admire him, you think about the fact that, even if you disregard how he literally took a sword to the heart for you, he’s done more for you in the short period of time you’ve known him than any other man in your life.

So you move your finger from his mouth, nervously switching it out for your lips. You can’t even describe how much you like kissing him. When it’s sweet and innocent and just lips and a wordless confession of ‘I like you,’ or when you use a little tongue, and he chooses to follow your lead, kissing you back with the same growing heat. But there’s still something bothering you that you can’t ignore.

In the midst, you pull back an inch, eyes glued to his lips to avoid his eyes. “I like kissing you, but… “

“But what?” he wonders, his hands drawing innocent shapes on your thighs. Your heart pumps even harder as you choose your next words.

“I’m not really your type.”

He smiles, looking carefree, “You are. I think you’re a sweet girl.”

Jeongguk kisses you again, and you try not to think about it, but even with his lips against yours, it’s hard. A sweet girl. Letting one of your hands fall from his face, you grab the collar of his hoodie, clumsily placing your hand inside it to touch his chest, feeling for the scar.

Taking it as you wanting it off, he pulls away to yank the hoodie over his head, and it ends up somewhere toward the end of the couch. Even without it, his bare skin is just as warm under your hands, but before you know it, you’re on your back on the couch, and he’s above you. He’s very sweet, and in this moment–with your hands splayed across his back and the scar there–you know he won’t hurt you.

A sweet girl.

Right?

A sweet girl. You hear the voices and feel the anxiety and fear return to fill you. You go with the flow, unsure of what to think or do. Jeongguk helps you out of your shirt and then your bra, and you watch him sit back to throw them onto the floor somewhere.

But the moment he returns his attention to you underneath him, he stops. Because you’re covering your naked chest with your hands like your life depends on it, eyes teary and absolutely and helplessly begging him to look anywhere but at you.

He still does, and you can tell he’s surprised, his wide eyes taking in the situation from above you.

So you plead quietly, “Please don’t look at me.”

It takes half a second, and he’s immediately closing his eyes, turning to feel around for something behind him. Your shirt probably lies somewhere farther away on the floor, and so his black hoodie is what he ends up grabbing, handing it to you still with his eyes closed.

And he of course moves off of you, the only sounds in the room being the documentary, the slight rustling as you’re putting the hoodie on, and your quiet breaths.

When he assumes you’re dressed, he opens his eyes, heart visibly breaking when he sees how absolutely shaken to the core you look, hugging your body and sitting up. You turn your eyes to the documentary on the screen even though both of you know you haven’t been watching it.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he starts to explain, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, wanting desperately not to make a big deal out of it. If you could just will your hands to stop shaking.

“No, I–”

“Jeongguk, please. I’m fine, okay. I’m not… I’m not ready, but… Can we not talk about it, please?”

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes and see the somber worry in them as he watches you from where he’s sitting, still shirtless.

“Okay. If there’s anything I can do…”

You smile tentatively at him, desperate to move on from the subject, “Watch the rest of the documentary with me?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “I’ll, uh, go and change so you can get your hoodie back.”

“No, no, it’s alright. Keep it,” he’s quick to rise to his feet, already on his way somewhere–presumably his bedroom.

The forty seconds he’s gone you use to calm your breathing and stabilize your voice. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t going too fast or not listening to you. He listened to what you gave him; you, yourself only figured out where exactly the line was drawn when it was basically already crossed.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt when he returns, taking a seat next to you and focusing his eyes on the screen, probably more so for your sake than his. “I hope you know that you can tell me anything. And I have no certain expectations you have to fulfill or so.”

You already know that he’s not asking sex for rent, if that’s what he’s wondering. But regarding his first statement… there are definitely things you don’t want to talk to him about.

“Yeah,” you answer regardless.

When the credits roll only a few minutes later, you know that you have two options. If you sleep in your own bed like you ideally want to, you risk there being an awkwardness tomorrow and that you definitely don’t want. Or you sleep in his bed with him like you have the last few days, and sure, it might be a little awkward, but he probably realizes you’re not up for cuddling, and it’ll be easier tomorrow.

“Oh. Finally,” Jeongguk exclaims when the ceiling light flickers on, signaling the return of the electricity. “I was starting to worry about all the food in the freezer.”

Subsequently, he leans over the coffee table, blowing out the small candles one after the other. It’s late anyway.

“So, uh…” he rises from the couch, “I’ll keep my door open, but I’m not offended if you choose to sleep in your bedroom.”

“Okay,” you nod at him, watching as he leaves to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

You stand up too, but no matter how much you want to crawl into bed next to him and have him hold you the entire night, you get ready for bed, and you lie down in your own room. You’re still wearing his hoodie because it smells like him, and it ironically brings you comfort. Still, you lie there in the dark, and you think about his face, and his eyes, and his body. His voice, even, and how he might actually be a good guy. Maybe even everything you want, even if it doesn't matter. And you curl up, a few tears running silently down your cheeks. Because Jeon Jeongguk is so very far out of your league, it’s not even funny.

After waking up, you trudge toward the kitchen, still feeling half asleep. After everything that happened yesterday, you still managed to sleep pretty well, most likely because you were exhausted and sleeping alone.

“Morning.”

You stop, hands mid eye-rub.

“I… thought you’d be at the station?” you say, redirecting your focus to taming your hair. Jeongguk is sitting at the kitchen table, donning a white t-shirt and black, what looks to be cotton, shorts.

“No, I’ll use today to go over some of the potential leads you helped find. Can do that from here.”

He takes a bite of a cupcake, and you catch his eyes linger a second on your body and how a small smile pulls on his lips before he looks into his phone in front of him. Glancing down, you realize that since you didn’t expect him to be home, you didn’t change out of his hoodie so what he saw waddle into the room was you, swallowed by his hoodie, sweater paws rubbing your eyes.

“It, uh, smells good,” you mumble quietly, realizing way too late that it’s not that great of a defense. “But I’ll wash it and you can have it back.”

It smells good because he smells good.

He waves his hand, still looking almost… fond. “It’s okay, keep it as long as you’d like. I have a ton of them.”

“Okay, uh, thank you.”

“No problem.”

At least the awkwardness was for another reason.

You decide to do a bit of laundry, although skipping the black hoodie and hiding it away under your duvet for a little while longer. Doing the laundry, vacuuming most of the house, and emptying the dishwasher takes you almost an hour, and then you find yourself outside Jeongguk’s office, knocking on the open door and peeking inside.

“Making any progress?”

He lifts his head from the laptop screen and swivels around in his chair to face you, a pen in his hand.

“No,” he sighs, “I’m looking into the girlfriend angle and so far, we’ve put detectives on a recent ex of Seunghwa’s and on two of Ryung’s flings, but it hasn’t resulted in anything. Regarding Hoseong… I’m not sure I ever actually heard him mention anyone by name, at least not any name that I can seem to match to anyone.”

“What about… I remember him talking about this Jimin?”

“Who’s that? I think we’ve covered most of his friends?”

You search your memory, but it’s hard to remember details. It’s been years since the conversations you try to recall, and as far as you remember, he only mentioned her in passing. “It was a woman, and I think they were more than friends. Or at least she wanted to be.”

“I didn’t even think of that; I only know male Jimins. Tell me more,” he urges, and you can tell he’s trying to recall if there was ever a mention of a Jimin.

“Well, I heard him complain about her a few times; said she was clingy and honestly a little obsessed with him. He made it sound like he didn’t care for her that much. In retrospect–besides being a very red flag–it sounds like something he could’ve said about me when I liked him.”

“Someone who maybe is mostly just a regular woman and would still maybe help them if they’re desperate enough to ask. Or him, at least.”

“Yeah.”

For a few hours, you and Jeongguk work together in his office, and you nearly forget about yesterday’s mishap, trying to find more info on this ‘Jimin.’ Until you find yourself nearly chest to chest with him after turning around too quickly and not expecting him so close. Instead of meeting your eyes sweetly and slowly lowering his head to kiss you like he probably would’ve even yesterday, he smiles and… backs up a few steps.

“Hey, should we take a break? Have a late lunch?” Jeongguk stretches his arms out in front of him.

You continue noting down some last names from your phone onto a paper, using the chair Jeongguk wheeled into his office specifically for you as a table while sitting on the floor. “Uh, you go ahead. I had a late breakfast.”

He stands up. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”

“Mhm, you were already in here.”

“I can wait then, and we can eat together.”

“It’s alright; go ahead.”

He mumbles something you don’t quite catch, but he does leave you to your notes and disappears from the office.

For the rest of the day, it’s just as if you’ve taken two or even three steps back. You don’t… touch a lot, and you definitely don’t kiss. A part of you misses it, but another part is relieved that he’s giving you space. He’s still very, very sweet, of course. You didn’t expect anything else.

Like when you open a cupboard, gaze set on a specific mug of his you’ve taken a liking to thanks to the very big ear that prevents the hot tea from burning your hand even through the ceramic. Compared to your male roommate, you’re lacking a little more in the vertical department and for some reason, whoever emptied the dishwasher placed the mug on the top shelf.

You look at it for three seconds, debating on whether you should grab a kitchen chair and climb or simply admit defeat and choose the next best mug. You’re about to go for the latter option when your hero swoops in, wordlessly and casually picking it down for you, a mug of his own raised to his mouth.

“Thank you,” you take the offering from his hand, a smile growing on your lips.

“You’re welcome.”

Or how he’ll still open whatever door you run into for you, to the point that it wouldn’t surprise you if he tried to open the automatic doors and hold them open with his hands when he takes you grocery shopping.

And sometimes, you do touch. Whenever he’s quick enough to exit the driver’s seat and open the passenger door for you, he holds his hand out for you, and when you take it, he helps you out as if you can’t step out of the car on your own.

When you watch a movie, you don’t sit glued to each other, but he’s not scared to gently pull your feet–which you’ve complained all day of being tired–onto his lap to briefly massage them for you. He smiles at you, all crinkle-cornered sparkly-eyed and dimpled. On two short occasions, he holds your hand carefully, something you don’t object to because it feels nice, it really does.

But despite all these things, you still sleep in your bedroom. You don’t lock the door, but you do sleep alone.

Three days after the incident during the power outage, you’ve worked a long day in Jeongguk’s office. Alone, because he had to leave for the station at nine a.m.. You’ve had a lot of time to think, not only today but ever since what happened–and before that honestly–and it’s become very clear that you need to make a decision. Maybe you should simply gather your courage, give it a shot, and tell him how you feel about him, no matter what happens after?

Despite feeling somewhat determined and having some kind of honestly not very thought out plan, you’re anxious, wandering around the house as you wait for him to return.

An hour before he comes home, you find yourself in front of the washing machine, throwing the black hoodie into it finally. With the machine on, you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of wine. It helps a little, and the remaining nerves that still reside in your chest, you decide to just try to ignore.

The sound of his bike is what notifies you of his return, and you leave the kitchen to meet him in the garage, watching as he swings his leg over the bike and takes the black helmet off, holding it under his arm.

“Hey,” he greets when he sees you waiting, a genuine smile on his face. “How was your day?”

“Uh… good. Narrowed down the Jimins a bit, I think.”

“That’s great,” he grins, his elatedness infecting you too, causing you to smile a little hesitantly despite the nerves devouring you. “Have you eaten yet? I know it’s kinda late but if not; I could cook something?”

He puts the helmet on one of the shelves that line one of the walls, and then he comes to stand before you.

You keep your eyes on the jacket with the police emblem on it before you peer up at him. A little hesitantly, you reach for the zipper of his jacket, fiddling a little with it.

“I, uh… actually have something else I want to do. Something I’d like to try… If you’re up for it…”

Tentatively, you reach your hand out, fingers pulling down the zipper of his jacket. He watches you curiously, doing nothing to stop you.

“What is it? That you want to do?” he asks, his warm voice definitely sounding curious but not overly so.

You swallow, deciding to just go for it and slowly placing your arms around his neck, “Well… Do you have any… handcuffs?”

He tilts his head, holding your waist while looking at you, searching. “For me? I do, but we don’t have to do anything; you know that, right?”

“Yeah, but if I really want to? Or maybe you…” you realize that he might just not want to. Like, at all. Oh, how embarrassing.

Seemingly noticing the way you take a step back, lowering your arms from around his neck, he stops you, his hands keeping them there.

“No, no. I’m always willing to let you do whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t mind.”

His encouragement has a more genuine smile pulling on your mouth.

“Meet me in your bedroom then?” you ask, “And bring the cuffs.”

Not waiting for a confirmation, you drop your hands from his neck, and you turn around to head inside the house. Your heart is pounding, going absolutely haywire while you wait for him on the edge of his bed. Maybe you should’ve worn something else? Something other than just a pair of mom jeans and a blue sweater, but it’s too late now, you guess.

He shows up only a minute later, eyes curiously observing the heavy chair you’ve moved from the corner and into the middle of his room. The first thing he does is unbutton the dark blue shirt of his uniform, sliding it down his arms and throwing it onto the bed. You look at his chest and his arms and his stomach, and you see how he notices. This… humble confidence looks so good on him, and it’s so insanely different from how he acted during the mission. You’ve never seen anyone so attractive.

The next thing he does is approach you where you’re sitting, offering you his hand all while smiling sweetly… but still a little cheekily.

Placing your hand in his, you’re pulled up to your feet, basically chest to chest with him. There’s heat in his gaze, but it’s not scalding; it’s just warm.

You give in.

“Kiss me?”

He searches your eyes for hidden answers, but you really do want him to kiss you, and so he does. He places one hand on your lower back, moving your body with him as he steps back and sits down on the chair. Ending up sitting across one of his thighs, you open your eyes when he pulls away just enough to speak.

“I don’t mind you doing… whatever you want to do, if that’s just sitting on my lap or… exploring me. I’m all for it. Do what you want to do. But,” he says, emphasis on that last word. “Only do what you actually want to.”

You nod, and he reaches down to pull something out of his pocket. The handcuffs. You take them from him, pocketing the small key.

“By the way, how did you get out of the cuffs at the house?” you ask, weighing the metal in your hand.

“I went and got another key before. So I threw you one key and kept the other.”

You feel your forehead crease as you think about what that means. You were only able to relax when you thought he couldn’t hurt you, but he… could? At any point, he could’ve simply unlocked the cuffs himself?

“I didn’t keep a key because I had ulterior motives or anything. I was just worried you might hurt yourself or pass out for real, like, stop breathing and everything, so I needed a way to get to you if that were to happen.”

“I didn’t even think about that,” you admit quietly. It’s true; the fact that you had multiple pairs of handcuffs with you to the house, and they all use the same universal key entirely slipped your mind. “But of course. How stupid of me.”

“It wasn’t stupid. You were under a lot of stress, and I used that to my advantage, hoping you wouldn’t think about it.”

Standing up, you round the chair to kneel behind it. Without having to be asked, Jeongguk puts his hands back and waits for you to cuff them together.

“So I’m tightening these extra hard and making sure I have all keys,” you joke, still fastening them tight enough for him not to be able to slip them off.

“If that’s what you need to feel comfortable. But I hope you know that I’ll always listen to you.”

You nod, maybe more so to yourself when you stand in front of him again. He looks up at you where he sits, shirtless and looking gorgeous and absolutely mouthwatering.

You bite your lip briefly. “Can I… kiss you?”

“Whatever you want,” he grins, a smile that widens when you sit down on one of his thighs again.

“Okay. Close your eyes?”

Without a word, he obeys your request, and you feel yourself get almost hypnotized, looking at him. You’ve truly never seen anyone so stunning, even to the point that you could sit and gaze at him for hours. The best of mankind but still very much a man. You remember how you used to hate him, thinking God wasted this incredible beauty on someone so ugly, but although you’re not entirely sure how you feel about him, you know you don’t hate him.

Carefully, you trace your fingers along his sharp jaw, and despite his eyelashes fluttering, he doesn’t open his eyes. Unable to help yourself and because you truly don’t think he minds, you allow your gaze to drop. His neck is relatively thick, and the veins are only slightly visible compared to when he’s physically active. Your eyes then land on his collarbones. Then his wide, muscular shoulders and pecs. Then the scar, before traveling across his abs.

“You’re so pretty,” you state quietly, looking up at his face just in time to watch him smirk.

“Pretty is for girls; I’m a man.”

You can’t quite explain the emotional wave that hits you as you come to terms with what you have to do–the decision he’s made for you–but you know that you have to hide it, can’t make a sound of hurt in the silent room. Pressing your lips together, you look around the bedroom before you rise from his thigh.

“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, still smiling and oblivious, his eyes closed.

Already at the window, you untie the white curtain’s tieback and hold it up. “What about this?”

He opens his eyes and looks at the white piece of fabric in your hand, but doesn’t appear too skeptical. “For what purpose?”

“Blindfold.”

Trying to keep a positive and somewhat fear free mindset, it still hurts when you see how he immediately connects the blindfold to how you shielded your chest from his eyes. There’s pain and there’s guilt swimming in his dark eyes.

“You can, but please don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“Okay then.”

With his permission, you place the folded sash over his eyes and tie it in the back, careful not to trap any hairs. When you’re done, you take another second to look at him. There is something so irresistible about him, something that has your heart yearning and your body pulled in. He’s so warm, both body and presence. You bite your lip, using your hand to trace his cheek softly while thinking about how he’s so conflicting. What if you want to stay here forever? Curl up like this where he can’t touch you, and lean your head against his neck where he can’t see you?

Like the time when you kissed three days ago, you touch your thumb to his soft lips, and you let the smile and the mask you’ve been wearing fall. Quietly, you stand up, and you take a step back.

“I thought you were going to kiss me?” Jeongguk jokes lightly.

You don’t know what to say, stuck in your footing to the floor and how he can’t see you. It’s like a weight has dropped from your shoulders, but your heart still feels heavy.

“I’m sorry.”

Not picking up the real meaning behind your words, Jeongguk tilts his head. “Okay. It’s alright. Why don’t you uncuff me and we can maybe order dinner instead?”

“I’m leaving tonight.”

“Wait… what?” he straightens up, struggling to process your words, “Why?”

But you go silent again, unsure of exactly how you’ll ever be able to tell him everything. He calls your name, sounding stressed, and you hear how he tugs on the cuffs.

“You scare me.”

He stops, and you can tell by the way he seems to almost be holding his breath that it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I… I understand that you’ve been through a lot, but I’m never going to hurt you.”

You keep your eyes on him, feeling like he, himself most likely believes what he’s saying. But it’s not that easy.

“I know… that all in all, you’re a good man. You want to help me and others, and I know you said that not even when you thought I was the most selfish person in the world would you be able to hurt me physically. But you had no problem hurting me in other ways.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry for what I did. I’ve apologized for that, and I’ll keep doing it.”

“I don’t know how to read you,” you add, disregarding what he said because he has apologized, but not in the way that you needed. Not in a way that really matters to you. If this man hasn’t had you broken in a thousand pieces and still insisted on stepping on the remains.

So you keep going. “You look sweet–you’ve been sweet, but you look just like him. Hoseong was sweet too, until he wasn’t. And you… you have this desire to hurt, you want to inflict pain on those who wrong you or who you think have done you wrong. What happens if you think I’ve done something you don’t agree with?”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions without talking to you, I’m not making the same mistake again–”

“What if I actually do something you don’t like?”

For a few seconds, he goes quiet. “I’m not going to hurt you ever again, I promise.”

You fiddle with your hands, glancing down at them. “Are you sure? It was so easy for you, using all my weaknesses against me and breaking me down without ever asking me for my side of the story. And it scares me how you, during the mission, showed just how easy it was for you to one moment act like you could stand me–looking just as sweet as you do now–then angrily tear me down the next.”

It hurts in your whole body but the worst pain originates from your chest. You feel small, insignificant, but also like you take up too much room.

“I know that you probably don’t want to hurt me physically, and that you’re a better man than most, and at first when we came back, it wasn’t too difficult to ignore what you…. think of me, but now…? I kissed you, and you kissed me back, and it just… everything is coming back. I’ve been trying to tell myself that you wouldn’t hurt me at all anymore and that maybe you even like me like I like you, but I know that you don’t. Which in turn makes it hard to know why you’re doing all of this. I think maybe you feel guilty or want to be nice? Give me a chance even though I’m not your… type. But I… I like you. I really, really like you.”

It’s easier to admit than you originally thought, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “I want to look at you every second of the day and my hands absolutely yearn to touch you all over. But I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you to look at me. I don’t want to be perceived at all. I know that if I stay here and show myself to you, you will not like what you see. You will be disappointed.”

Jeongguk shakes his head, not straining against the cuffs anymore but taking on a calmer approach. “It’s not true. I really do like you, and I think you’re really pretty. Please, I apologized for the things I said, and I’ll do it again. I’m really sorry; I just said those things because I wanted to hurt you. “

“You did. You hurt me, and I’m hurt. You apologized for wanting to hurt me, but you’ve never impli–actually, It doesn’t matter. I know what I look like, it’s kinda hard to forget when you’re constantly reminded. You and your friends came for every single flaw of mine, Jeongguk. “

“I only continued because you never seemed fazed by it.”

“‘I never seemed–’”, you stop to chuckle in disbelief. Your eyes are tearing up as you recall the moments you’re about to remind him of.

“Are you saying that you never noticed that I stopped eating lunch at the cafeteria after what you did? Hoseong said that maybe someone would actually like me if I ‘ate less,’ and you laughed like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. That was the day after you walked past me in the cafeteria, saying ‘leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?’ Jihyo brought cookies for her birthday two weeks later, and you suggested–in front of everyone–that maybe I should do something else with my mouth besides eat. I criticized the fact that no male officer wanted to work on ‘low-rewarding’ cases like my trafficking case, and you… Do you remember what you said?”

Your eyes are already blurry with silent tears, and you feel the humiliation drown you. There’s no way to go, nowhere to hide. People like Jeongguk are watching, inspecting and observing every little part of you. Your bottom lip trembles.

Jeongguk is silent. If he could see, he’d be looking at your feet. You were right to blindfold him because you would’ve never been able to speak so earnestly had you not. Although you like him, and he’s been so kind and sweet to you, you’re back to feeling like nothing in his eyes.

“‘It’s not about the case; it’s about you. You couldn’t pay me to even look at you. In fact, I bet not even the traffickers would take you, otherwise we would’ve definitely traded you.’”

The pain radiates from your chest, leaving no cell of your body unaffected at the implications. You are so ugly and disgusting to him that if he had the chance, he would’ve sacrificed you to a fate no one should ever have to face.

He doesn’t give you a reaction now either; he just sits there with his head lowered. But this is your one chance to tell him how you really feel. You take a big, shaky breath.

“I was doing okay before all of this. Sure, I’ve always known that I have a lot of flaws, but I was doing okay. But you’ve said over and over again that I disgust you, my body makes you want to hurl, you wouldn’t fuck me if your life depended on it, etcetera. It takes its toll. Eating around men gives me anxiety, even if I try to hide it. I cover up my… shoulders as much as I can because I can hear you describe them as ‘manly,’ and how every man within earshot chuckles.

“I wear thick bras and tops, especially around you, because you made it a habit to comment on my breasts and how unfortunately shaped and sized they are. I remember how you asked me how on earth I ever expected Hoseong to like me when I had the ‘saggiest tits in the district.’ And I remember the field day you had when you found out they’re a bit uneven, finding a way to lower your rating of me from a 0.5 out of 10 to a 0.1. Then you asked the other men for their opinion and rating. Or how you’ve so kindly informed me that I didn’t have the tits for that pretty, blue dress and that it looked awful on me. Are you saying that you didn’t notice that whatever you’ve commented on, I’ve never worn again? Not even anything similar?

“I don’t wear tighter pants without a longer shirt to cover my ‘misshapen,’ ‘unfeminine’ hips and the ‘weird dips’ you’ve laughed at, and whenever work dress codes require me to, I’ve avoided you and other men the best I could.

“I wore a skirt to work once, and when I ran into you before changing into my uniform, you said that skirts are for pretty girls and that no one wanted to see my… cellulite. You took every chance to remind me that I have myself to blame for being undesirable, and that men weren’t the problem, I am, and ‘how wasn’t I ashamed for thinking someone like Hoseong could ever like me?’

"Believe me, I was ashamed. I am ashamed. Do you think I never considered just… drinking the poisoned coffee? Or just starting the car even though I knew the brakes wouldn’t work? If there was a way to get rid of one’s body, believe me, I would’ve. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know what he did to me at the time because how I looked never changed. But looking like you do, I get that you don’t understand how it is to walk around, filled with shame for existing in such an unfortunate body, but I can tell that you want to be better. Maybe you feel bad and want to give me a free trial of how it is to be with a Good Man. Or you want to do the ‘right thing’ so that your dad would be proud? I don’t know, but I can’t ignore the fact that I know how you really perceive me and how you are so far out of my league, it’s embarrassing to even stand here and say it.

"So while I appreciate everything you’ve done for me cause I’d be dead and gone without you, I can’t stay here. You want someone to hold hands with and to buy flowers for, but that’s not for people like me.”

Finally done, you wipe the tears that fall, and you shakily swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat.

“Take the blindfold off and uncuff me,” he begs, once again straining against the handcuffs. You know he isn’t getting out of them, and while he could stand up, the chair is too heavy for him to just pull along with him when he’s got the blindfold on and no sight. He knows, just as well as you, that there’s no use.

“No.”

“Then listen to me; none of that was true. You are so pretty, so breathtaking. I like you so much.”

“Forgive me for not believing you. If you really thought I was even remotely pretty, there have been countless opportunities for you to say so. Or even just a ‘hey, you know you’re not actually as revolting as I told you.’”

“I… I didn’t want to overwhelm you or have you doubt my intentions, but I’m telling you now that I’ve always thought you to be beautiful.”

You scoff sadly. “Yeah, now when the consequences of your actions have arrived,” you glance down at your feet, feeling so insignificant.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’ve already packed my stuff.”

“Where are you going? You can’t go home; it isn’t safe there.”

Truly, at this moment, your safety doesn’t seem like your top priority. “I’ll be careful.”

“Can’t you stay with someone, at least?” he bargains, “Jihyo or Sana?”

Another tear falls, and your voice goes quiet. “I want to go home.”

You really do. You haven't been home in months, and you feel like a child sleeping over at a friend's, missing your mom so much it hurts and just wishing she'd come and pick you up.

“I know, but you just gotta hold out a little bit longer. Call Jihyo, please. Do you want me to watch your house twenty-four seven, cause I will.”

You consider his words, and if there’s anything you don’t want, it’s to have him so close again. “Fine. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah…”

With nothing really left to say, you pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the Uber app.

“I’ll uncuff you in a few minutes, I’m just ordering an Uber.”

Luckily, a car is only three minutes away, and so with quick fingers you confirm it. You packed your stuff three hours ago in case this would be the outcome, something you’re very grateful for now. Maybe, maybe, if he had said something, you would’ve kissed him and decided to stay, hoping that he was being honest. But you know that you might be a sweet girl to him, but you're not a pretty girl.

A minute passes, and you sigh sadly. “Okay, I’m gonna open the handcuffs, but I’m begging you, Jeongguk, stay there until I’m gone, okay? Don’t remove the blindfold, please?”

It’s his turn to seemingly consider what you’re saying. What you did, agreeing to call Jihyo, was for him and respecting his wishes. So he has to respect yours. He can’t rip off the blindfold the moment you twist the key in the cuffs and try to persuade you to stay, no matter if he wants to.

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You decide to trust him, and with the key belonging to the cuffs, you round the chair where he’s sitting. Kneeling like before, you manage to unlock one of the cuffs in two seconds, and the metal clinks as it falls off his wrist. Instead of freeing his other wrist as well, you grasp his free hand and put the key into his palm, closing his fist around it.

Though you shouldn’t have expected him to be entirely quiet and still, because while he doesn’t make any move to rise from the chair or remove the blindfold, he does swiftly grab your hand, holding it firmly. Despite being blindfolded, it definitely feels like he’s staring straight at you behind him.

“Don’t believe anything any of us said, please. You really are so gorgeous, and not only that but you’re incredibly smart and hard-working. You’re amazing, and I will regret what I did to you for the rest of my life.”

But you hurt so much on the inside that you don’t say anything to that, you just pull your hand out of his grasp.

author's note: so.... anyway, uh... like, comment, and subscribe <333

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sungbeam · 1 year ago

Text

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

nonidol!kang yeosang x f!reader

yeosang doesn't remember your name, but he remembers what kissing you tastes like and how you like your eggs in the morning. just your regular prince charming trying to find his cinderella, or in this case, his passenger princess..?

9.5k (lord.....), nc-17, s2l, frateez au, college au, mentions of alcohol, swearing, kissing, humor, fluff, minimal angst, another cinderella story au/trope(?), drama (i bring i bring all the drama-ma-ma-ma), a girl who is not a girl's girl :l, the barest of proofreading

a/n: this is for the @atzhouse you can't outrage us event! guys if the flirting is lackluster, it's cuz im running out of rizz

“I don't believe you.”

The last place you expected to end up was in the front seat of some guy's white Lexus while the party raged on inside the ATZ fraternity house just down the street. According to him, he had to run out just before the crowd rolled in, and when he got back, somebody had snatched his parking spot.

“Okay, but why don't you believe me?”

The car smelled not like fresh leather, but an enchanting mixture of something like pine and smoked wood. Bitter, yet somehow, refreshing. You bet, even as the alcohol was hitting you, that it was what he smelled like.

His name was Yeosang—the guy sitting next to you in the driver's seat, the owner of this car, and the ATZ fraternity brother you bumped into at his house's own party. That had been just about twenty minutes ago when you'd ended up isolated from your pack of friends, and Yeosang had needed a desperate breather. It seemed he'd been running from someone (question mark), so you asked if he knew where the kitchen was. Eager to get away from whoever it was, he guided you straight to the kitchen and where the secret stash of flavored sojus were.

An offhand comment about wishing you didn't have to miss this one drama episode dropping tonight led to a longer conversation about the dramas you both enjoyed, which somehow landed you in his passenger seat.

The rest was history. Or—you supposed the rest was now.

“Because,” Yeosang said in a tone that sounded a lot like he was saying 'duh’, “you don't look like a biology major.”

He was gorgeous, even if the lighting in the party and out here was jack shit. The way the shadows cut across his face made him look like a faerie torn straight out of one of your old sketchbooks. You were half certain he had pointed ears beneath the cat-eared beanie he wore, but maybe that was just the alcohol doing its thing.

You sputtered out a laugh as he knocked back another gulp of his melon soju. He was more drunk than you were, maybe not by too much because that wouldn't have been fair, but it did take him seven tries to unlock his car seven minutes ago. “What's a bio major s'posed to look like?”

“Mmm…” he hummed, lips pressed together in a line that dug into his cheeks. “Not you.”

It only made you laugh harder. It wasn't even that funny. “That doesn't even make sense!”

“Does it have to make sense?” He squawked. His face shuddered for a moment as if he just experienced a glitch. “I forgot what I was gonna say, but it's the vibe.”

“The vibe,” you parroted in mild amusement. After you swallowed down your next gulp of soju, you gestured to him with the bottle, “Okay, now what about you? Your major, go.”

“I read shit.”

“Who doesn't?”

“Jared, 19,” he replied, dead serious.

Equally serious, you asked with wide eyes, “Really?”

He gave you an emphatic nod back. Really. Now, if you were a little less tipsy, you wouldn't have taken what he said at face value, but tonight was already miles away from your regularly scheduled program.

You pondered on that—the “I read shit,” not the misfortunes of one nineteen year old named Jared. “So if you read a lot of shit, does that make you a literature major? No, wait! I got it; you look like Comparative Lit.”

“Bingo,” he cheered, raising his bottle up into the air. “Wait. What do you mean I look like a comparative lit major? What does a comp lit major even look like?”

“I dunno, but it’s you.”

He pursed his lips into a deadpan at your callback to what he'd said before, and you merely stuck your tongue out at him like the mature adult you were. “Touché, my friend. Touché…”

Silence passed between you two for the first time since you met each other. In the distance, you could hear the muffled sounds of the party raging on. It wasn't that you didn't go to parties often; it was more so that you usually went to house parties hosted by friends or friends-of-a-friend. Making it all the way to Greek Row was not something you did every weekend, but a mutual friend—Chungha—knew the ATZ president and got you and your friends in.

Nearly finished with his third bottle (or was it his fourth?...), Yeosang knocked the remainder down his throat with a grimace. With the empty bottle, he set it at his feet on the car floor to join another—the cup holders were already occupied with yours and his second rounds. The first was abandoned on the frat house lawn somewhere.

“I think—” he slurred, blinking slowly at you like a cat, “—that you look like an artist.”

“An artist?” You parroted dumbly and felt warmth rise to your cheeks. “And why would you say that? Vibes?”

“Well, yes!”

You sputtered out a laugh at the way he said that. “Then yes, I am an artist,” you said, emphasizing the latter half of the word so it sounded like “teest” and not “tist.”

Yeosang gave a hoot. “I'm so good at this. Does that—does that mean you can paint me like one of your French girls?” He pulled his lips into an adorable, little smile, the back of his hand poised beneath his chin as he fluttered his lashes.

“I don't think I could do you justice,” you admitted. There was a rather annoying buzz at the back of your brain that was distracting you. With a shake of your head, you refocused your gaze on him. “You're too pretty.”

He preened at the compliment, unconsciously reaching up to adjust his beanie. “Like calls to like then.”

“What does that mean?” Your buzzed-out brain couldn't compute—

“It means that prettiness is attracted to prettiness, and I'm attracted to you.”

You whined, burying your face in your hands. Yeosang giggled to himself, incredibly proud at making you flustered, his knees curling upward to kick his feet in the cramped space. “I don't like you.”

“You don't?”

“No,” you raised your head up with a displeased frown, only to see that his eyes seemed to be twinkling with unrestrained happiness and something else. You weren't in the right state to hyper-analyze the way he looked at you, but it made your heart skip more than just a beat. “It's not fair that you're a literature major.”

“But I'm drunk,” he said innocently.

“That's even worse!”

He grinned boyishly at you, bashfully stretching his limbs and then cupping the back of his neck with a hand. “What if I told you I'm minoring in math?”

You deadpanned. “I don't think that makes me feel any better. You rule both the realms of words and numbers.”

“It doesn't mean I'm good at math,” he guffawed, leaning back in his seat. “It's only there 'cause my mom's a math teacher, and having a math minor makes my parents feel better.”

That sounded familiar… awfully familiar. The thought made you sober a bit, and it seemed your counterpart wasn't so wasted that he didn't notice the shift either.

“Uh oh,” he chuckled nervously, “what'd I say?”

You waved your hand around dismissively. “Oh, it's nothing. I'm kind of the opposite—my bio major is sort of to appease my parents and the fine art minor is for my sanity.”

He pressed his lips into a line, nodding in understanding. “Ah, I see,” he drawled. “So you don't… you're not happy? With what you're doing, I mean.”

Maybe it was the way he asked it, but it made the cogs in your head turn. You bit your lip. “I'm happy-ish. It's kind of a lot, but I'll survive.”

“'m sorry I upset you,” he pouted. “But,” he stammered, swallowing, “but I get it. My parents never wanna talk about my major anymore. Pretty sure they're just bitter and disappointed. I always feel like I’m walking on eggshells around them.”

You could tell that it affected him more than he wanted to admit. You wordlessly passed him your half-drunk bottle, and he gladly took a generous sip. When it was back in your hands, you guzzled down the remainder.

The buzz was getting better.

“Well, if they're not proud of you, I am,” you declared, setting the empty bottle at your feet. Your eyes blinked slowly for a moment as you got your bearings again. Maybe… maybe you should stop drinking! Yes, that would be the smart thing to do.

Yeosang hummed. “Thanks,” he said with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He gazed over at you from his side of the car. “I'm proud of you, too. You'll be happy one day; it'll always turn out okay, Yn-ie.”

Something warm and fuzzy settled in your chest, like a cat had just curled up there, purring and content.

A thought suddenly popped into your head. “Yeosang, how do you like your eggs?”

He snorted and burst into laughter, coaxing a similar expression out of you. A moment later, you were trying your best to pout at him, “Hey! Don't laugh! I hear it's all the rage on the pick-up line scene.”

“You're trying to pick me up?” He giggled. All memories of the previous topic flew out the car window.

“Well, is it working?”

He licked his lips around a smile, leaning over the center console to rest his cheek against his fist. “Ask me again.”

You took another sip of your soju before returning it to its cupholder. “Okay. Yeosang, how do you like your eggs in the morning?”

“However you'd like them.”

You deadpanned, and that only made him laugh louder. His head tilted back so you caught a glimpse of his canines, before he brought himself back down to Earth. His cheeks looked as flushed as you felt—even in the dim streetlight you could make out the blooms of peony pink across his cheekbones. “Yeo.”

He reached over to pat your head a couple times, though the sloppiness of his movements made it feel closer to two affectionate smacks. “Okay okay. Sorry. How about we say it at the same time?”

“Okay.” That wasn't a bad compromise.

“Okay, one, two, three—”

“Sunny-side up,” you both said at once.

Your eyes and his eyes widened at once, gasps of delight sounding into the quiet car. Could this guy be any more perfect?

“You're not bluffing?” You asked with narrowed eyes.

Yeosang shook his head vigorously. “Mm-mm. I wouldn't lie to you, Yn-ie. Scout's honor,” he slurred, holding his hand up as if he was a boy scout.

You giggled at the gesture, and he broke form to melt into an ooey gooey puddle of liquefied butterflies. For a moment, he just stared at you with a strange look on his face, one that you couldn't quite place when you were in this inebriated state.

You chuckled, shifting your position when one leg started falling asleep. “What’s wr—?”

He leaned forward and—oh. Oh. Those were—his lips were on yours. He had leaned over the console and kissed you. He was kissing you.

And when you didn't kiss him back, he drew backwards, an embarrassed expression painted over the adorable flush on his cheeks. “That—I shouldn't have done that, should I? I'm sorry; I dunno what I was—”

You crushed your mouth against his this time, effectively stealing the apology right off his tongue. He tasted like melon soju, and his touch was gentle as he brought his hand up to cup the side of your face, cradle your jaw. He was tracing the outline of your features in the dark like he could sketch them in the lines in his mind.

He tasted like the color of amber, warm and bright, but not blindingly so. He was mellow and sweet, with the undertones of the burnt wood in his cologne.

You melded your lips against his mouth like you could engrave him into you, and you were practically half over the middle console already. Yeosang's free hand fumbled backward to find the button on the side of his chair—there. The chair began moving backward with a monotonous brrr sound, and as it moved you couldn't quite keep your lips physically attached to his.

You disconnected from him for what felt like an eternity in order to climb over—shoes knocking against empty soju bottles, ass nearly bumping the horn—and with some clumsy, awkward maneuvering, you were on him again, this time quite literally. You tumbled into his lap, his hands landing on either side of your waist and your hands bracing against the back of his chair.

He loosened a soft groan with the return of your lips to his, and he hauled you down closer to him, until your chests were pressed flush against one another and you couldn't tell which heartbeat was who's. His beanie fell off at some point, but your fingers buried themselves within the dark, silken mass of his hair, a hat in their own right.

When you both pulled away for breath, your chests heaved in tandem to catch it. You settled your cheek against his shoulder while you inhaled the smell of his cologne, much stronger now that you sat against his chest with your nose by his throat. His hand warmed the small of your back with the other cupping the back of your head in an affectionate cradle.

“I don't think I've ever kissed someone like that,” you admitted into the quiet. You suddenly couldn't hear the muffled music blasting from the party in the background anymore.

“Me neither,” he replied, voice hoarse from the kiss. “I've never met someone like you before.”

“Never in your life?”

“Never in my life.”

“So let me get this straight,” drawled Wooyoung with both hands poised at his temples, eyes screwed shut against the bright morning light coming in through the window. There were currently eight people crowded onto President Hongjoong's bed at a time that was far too early to be alive for a group of people who partied until four in the morning. “You're saying that you know this girl's family life, how she likes her eggs in the morning, and how she kisses—but you don't even know her name?”

Yeosang was propped up against the headboard, squeezed between a very unfairly serene-looking Seonghwa and a mildly hungover Hongjoong. Yeosang's bangs were flat against his forehead and he squinted his tired eyes through the strands. “No, that's not what I said. I said that I know her name… it's just not coming to me right now.”

He knew your name. Right? You told him your name, right? He addressed you by your name at least once last night, right?

(If he was being honest, as soon as Yeosang woke up this morning, he started whimsically recalling the events of last night in his head. But once he realized he neither had your number nor remembered your name, he jostled his friends up to invade the president's room for an emergency round table discussion. Who would have guessed their alarm clock would be a very panicked Maltese screaming, “I DON'T REMEMBER HER NAME!”)

“Which pretty much means you don't know her name,” Jongho piped up where he was laying against Yunho's back on the corner of the bed, his eyes closed while he attempted to squeeze in five more milliseconds of sleep.

“Well, do you know who she came with?” San asked. “She probably has at least one mutual friend or else she wouldn't have gotten in.”

Mingi furrowed his brows together. “Not necessarily. The pledges might not have been thorough when checking.”

Hongjoong's eyes narrowed. “You were supposed to be there with them at the door, Mingi.”

“Oh, was I?”

Yunho cut in before Hongjoong could tackle Mingi off the bed. He grinned to himself, “Okay, but San has a point. Usually people are only able to sneak in if they're with a group.”

“Awh,” Wooyoung cooed, reaching over to pinch at Yeosang's cheek, “Yeosangie fell in love with a stowaway—ow! Hey! He just bit me!”

“Deserved,” Seonghwa said plainly. He turned his head so as to not have to face Wooyoung's wounded puppy eyes. It was too early for this. “Do you know if she came with anyone, Yeosang-ah?”

Yeosang scrunched his nose up, disgruntled. “No. I'm pretty sure she was looking for her friends when we met… something like that. I remember some things, but not everything.” He pinched the place between his brows in an attempt to piece together his memory of last night. He could remember the way you made him feel—it was the jittery warmth that came with falling, and his heart had never grown wings before like it had around you.

After the kiss, the two of you had sunk into a comfortable, quiet conversation about anything and everything beneath the sun. For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable and heard by someone other than his fraternity brothers. You were perfect, for lack of a better word. And he knew a lot of words.

But how could he fucking forget your name?

He was never drinking that much melon soju ever again.

“She's a biology major,” he offered with a defeated sigh, letting his hand fall into his lap.

“What does she look like?” Hongjoong asked.

Yeosang's gaze went up to the ceiling as he recalled what you looked like to his friends. It was pretty dark the entire time he was with you, but there were a few moments when the streetlights hit your face and his conscience was constantly trying to keep his drunk ass from kissing you within the first ten minutes of meeting you. He'd managed to hold it together for a little bit longer before throwing all caution to the wind.

When he was done, San said in light amusement, “I'm just surprised you kissed her first. She must be something then, huh?”

Yeosang couldn't conceal the smile that slowly crept onto his face. “Yeah, she's…” He cleared his throat. “I just don't want last night to be the first and last time I see her.” It couldn't be—just when he thought he clicked with someone, the universe couldn't possibly be so cruel as to rip you away from him, could it?

“Don't you worry!” Mingi chirped, “We'll help you find your passenger princess.”

Seonghwa snorted. “Passenger princess? What is this, Cinderella?”

“It might as well be,” San chuckled, lifting his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Operation: Passenger Princess is a go!”

Yeosang wasn't sure if recruiting his friends’ help was a good or awful decision. But because his past, drunk self hadn't done many favors for his future, sober self, he would take all the help he could get.

You knew the moment you stumbled out of your bedroom and saw your roommate that you were in trouble. It wasn't trouble in the conventional sense; considering her eyes were laughing as she watched your pitiful walk of shame from your room to the shared bathroom, you knew you were not going to hear the end of everything that happened last night ever.

“Not a word,” you said to her as you winced at the blinding bathroom lights.

Her toothbrush hung out of her mouth as she slipped in behind you to spit her toothpaste into the sink. When her mouth was rinsed and clear, she made eye contact with you in the mirror, eyebrows wagging up and down. “So you and Yeosang, huh?”

You glared at her from around your own toothbrush. You would have taken the damn thing out to defend yourself, but you were already late.

Reina took full advantage of your occupied vocal chords. “I never knew pretty frat boys were your type, Yn,” she teased, practically floating out of the bathroom to go check on the state of her espresso in the kitchen.

“Aye hae yuu,” you grumbled around your toothbrush.

“What's that?” She cackled, bringing a hand up to the shell of her ear. “I love you? I love you, too, Yn. But you know who else loves you?—”

“Dompt shae it.”

“Yeosaaaang!”

You loathed the fact that her saying such things made butterflies flap their wings and dance around in your belly. It was simply delusional to think of love when all you and Yeosang did last night was make out in his car and accompany each other in deep, provoking conversation… conversation that definitely didn't make you feel incredibly seen or anything… definitely not.

Finally, you were able to spit your toothpaste out to make your argument. “Okay, first of all, I don't even have his number. And—how could he love me?” As if possession of a phone number could even correlate to love either.

Reina paused, her expression arranging into loud incredulity. “You what? After all I went through to separate the two of you to go home, you didn't exchange numbers?”

Okay, so maybe you shouldn't have disclosed that information—now you just looked stupid.

You lathered up facial cleanser in your hands and on your face. “Look. Exchanging numbers was just the last thing on our minds—” Oh, Yn. Have you ever said something smart?

Reina snorted. “Oh, I know.”

“We didn't just make out,” you grumbled, your cheeks warming beneath your hands. You furiously splashed cool water over your skin before patting your face dry. There likely wasn't much time left before you and Reina had to run to meet your other friends at your weekly volunteering session. “We talked.”

“Uh-huh, and you know that denial is a river in Egypt, right?”

Suffice to say that Reina most definitely did not let your shenanigans from last night go. The two of you managed to reach the food bank sometime before fifteen minutes past your original start time. Everyone else was already stationed and on time, and because you and Reina were the last to arrive, you were sent straight to dishwashing.

As you and Reina pulled on your twin pairs of pink rubber gloves, your friend Mark Lee (and brother with the NCT fraternity) barrelled into the backroom with a dirty ladle in his hands. His head perked up at the sight of you both, a smile blooming on his face. “Well, good morning, Party Animals. How was the ATZ party last night?”

He deposited the ladle into the sink for you to wash while he went to go find a clean one.

“It was cool, but I think Yn would love to tell you all about her experience,” Reina teased, bumping her elbow against your side.

Mark sidled up beside the two of you and leaned in close in proper tea-spilling fashion. “Oh my gosh, did something happen?”

You scowled at Reina, then said to Mark, “Nothing catastrophic—”

“She hooked up with Yeosang!”

You cut her a hard glance. “Reina, I don't think Neptune heard you.”

Mark's eyes went comically wide, jaw slackening. “Yn and Yeosang? That's so wild. Like—like Kang Yeosang?”

“I think? We didn't exactly exchange last names, but why would it be wild? We just kissed and talked.”

“Who kissed who now?” The new voice had you all glancing back over to the kitchen door where another member of the group, Yura, walked in. Yura was Reina's cousin, and the two grew up quite close, so it was natural that they ended up in similar social circles. You and all your other friends got along pleasantly with her. She flashed you all a small smile. “From the sounds of it, I'm guessing you guys had a fun time at the party last night?”

“We did!” Reina chirped.

“Shame you couldn't come with us this time,” you said offhandedly. It wasn't like Yura to miss a party.

Reina cocked her head to the side. “I could've sworn I saw you there though—”

“Ah,” Yura waved her hand to dismiss her cousin's thought. She chuckled, “You're probably mistaking someone else as me; I had that paper I needed to work on last night, remember? But Yn, you and Yeosang?”

You groaned. “I thought we were over this.”

“Dude, we can't not get over this,” Mark quipped back. “Yeosang just doesn't do stuff like that—hook up with people, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Yura chimed in, “I've seen him at a couple other Greek parties with some of my sorority friends and he looks pretty standoffish most of the time. He's usually always with one of his brothers. He's kind of cold, really.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “I wouldn't call him cold; he's just a little shy, is all.”

“My friends told me that a lot of sorority girls chase after him,” Yura said with wide eyes. “They get, like, aggressive about him or something.”

You and Reina exchanged a look. Was that who he was running from last night? “That must be kinda stressful,” you said softly with a small frown.

“Apparently, that's why his social medias don't take DMs unless approved,” she shrugged.

Well, there went your backup plan of finding him on social media. Then again, if he recognized you or your name, would that help if you requested him? That was if you deigned to change your profile picture to yourself and not one of your silly doodles.

You couldn't help the weight that your heart seemed to gain as it sank to the pit of your stomach.

“Well, that's mildly disappointing,” Reina muttered, turning to quickly wash the ladle Mark had just dropped off.

“I just wouldn't want you to get targeted by any of those crazy sorority girls, y'know?” Yura gave a laugh that sounded almost nervous. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before snapping on a fresh pair of gloves.

You nodded, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, no, I—I get it. Thanks, Yura.”

She gave you a sympathetic look. “Of course,” she said. With a wave, she made her way back toward the kitchen door. “Mark, we better get back to work. See you guys at lunch break!”

When she was gone, Mark clapped a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Hey, listen. I don't really know the guy personally, but me and Wooyoung are pretty tight. I can get in touch with them if you want—”

Baekhyun, the section leader for your session, charged into the kitchen with his arm piled high with dirty dishes. If you didn’t fear for the safety of the porcelain bowl at the top of the stack, you might have chuckled at the scene before you. “Mark! We don't pay you to stand around.”

“Hyung,” Mark huffed exasperatedly as he rushed over to help Baekhyun before the section leader could get knocked over the head by a rogue dish assisted by gravity. “You don't pay us. We're here out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“Well, I don't get paid enough for this,” Baekhyun said once all the dishes were transferred to the sink, and you and Reina were put to work. “Now come on; lots to do!”

Just as Mark was about to follow after Baekhyun, he caught your eyes. “I'm serious about the offer, Yn.”

You smiled. “Thanks, man, but let me think about it and I'll get back to you.”

“Yeah, just lemme know!” And he was gone.

Word broke out that someone in the ATZ household was searching for a girl. Word of mouth was a method of dissemination that could spread like wildfire, leaping from one tongue to one ear to another, leaving only ash and debris behind. And around Greek Row, it became a massive game of Telephone.

But while nearly everyone in the university's fraternities and sororities knew about his strife, Yeosang’s efforts seemed to be for naught. The only thing that emerged from this were more people harping after him, claiming to be 'the one he was looking for.’ None of them were you.

Your name had manifested itself in his head about halfway into the week. He'd been toiling over the theory readings his professor assigned for Thursday's lecture when he'd underlined a word, and it came crashing down upon him with ice cold clarity.

His eyes went wide as he shot up out of his chair, nearly sending Jongho careening off his bed on the other side of the room. “What the—”

“Yn,” Yeosang said. Then he declared a little louder, a giddy smile on his face, triumphant and bright, “Her name is Yn.”

Jongho resettled himself on top of his bed. “Well that narrows things down for us,” he drawled, taking his phone out and typing something out. “I don't suppose you have her last name.”

Yeosang fwumped onto the edge of his bed with his lips pressed into a line. “Dude. I literally just thought of her first name. Do you really think I can come up with—”

“Okay, okay,” Jongho laughed, flicking his wrist at him for a moment before resuming his typing.

“Who're you texting?” Yeosang asked as curiosity drew him across the room to Jongho's side.

His friend sat up so he could peer over his shoulder at the phone screen. “I'm doing the heavy lifting,” he teased. Based on the social media handle at the top of the direct messages channel, Jongho was texting Chungha, a friend of the frat's but a closer friend of President Hongjoong's, and the recently graduated head of the Phi Omega Phi sorority. “Hongjoong hyung mentioned offhandedly that Chungha wanted to get some friends into the party on Friday, so I'm seeing if she recognizes this Yn person you're looking for.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows flicked upward as he settled into a more comfortable position on Jongho’s bed while they awaited Chungha’s response. In the meantime, he pulled out his own phone in an attempt to search for your name amongst his mutuals. He frowned at the lack of a successful search—did you use a different name or did you not have a social media account? Was that why you hadn’t attempted to contact him in the past few days?

For a moment, a shard of self-consciousness pierced through his chest at the prospect that you didn’t want to contact him. Did sobriety make you embarrassed at what happened that night? Had he made you uncomfortable with the amount of vulnerability that was in the car—no, the vulnerability was mutual… but maybe—

“Gotcha.”

Yeosang’s head whipped back over to Jongho’s screen. Having your name and major seemed to ring a bell for Chungha, and she forwarded a social media handle, along with a “tell Yeosang good luck ;)”.

“Thank you, Jongho. And bless up, Chungha,” Yeosang muttered as he swiftly input the social media handle into his search bar. There it was—a private art account with your first name in the biography line. There were only one or two people who you both shared mutuals with, which made sense.

His thumb hovered over the request button, and he bit his lip. With little else left to do and his heart banging around in his ribs from the anticipation alone, he clicked the button.

It didn’t take you incredibly long to accept his follow request and to follow him back. (Though, half an hour felt like an eternity when he was so anxious.) He made it painfully obvious that you acted in response, because Yeosang fumbled his phone between his palms like it was a hot potato, before he dropped it and stubbed his toe with it.

Jongho sent him a strange look as he handed the device back to a red-faced Yeosang, who furrowed his brows together to think of an opening direct message to you.

“It doesn't have to be perfect,” Jongho said as he peered over Yeosang's shoulder this time. He had even paused the game he was playing on his phone to stay tuned into the live entertainment.

Yeosang made a face. “Yes, it does.” It had to be the perfect mix of witty and funny and subtle and—

He figured it out.

@/yskang99: how do u like ur eggs?

Jongho released a sound of utter flabbergast, and Yeosang shushed him, both pairs of eyes pinned to the three dots that appeared on the bottom left-hand side of the screen.

@/studioyn: sunny side up

Yeosang broke into a smile, and Jongho's face contorted into pure incredulity. “What kind of security question is that?”

“Inside joke,” Yeosang replied giddily, rising from Jongho's bed to cross over to his side of the room. He collapsed into his desk chair and propped his feet up along the end of his bed.

Jongho scoffed, shifting his lounging position. He threw his friend another incredulous glance before giving up and returning to his game. He'd done his job.

@/yskang99: congrats u passed the test!

@/studioyn: ahh so that was a test? i imagined us doing a virtual handshake tbh

@/yskang99: i like that better actually

@/studioyn: also how did u find me lmao

Yeosang bit his lip through a grin. I have my ways, he typed out cryptically, cheekily.

@/studioyn: wtvr u say ig… 🤨🤨🤨

For a brief moment, Yeosang wondered if he should bring up the concern lingering in his mind—why you hadn't reached out to him. He didn't want to simply assume that he was “popular” enough that just anybody knew who he was, but he was also aware that most people were able to track him down on social media. But would that kill the vibe? He liked the energy.

@/studioyn: i can't get a read on whether or not ur any different than how u were drunk

@/yskang99: would that matter?

@/studioyn: not particularly, no, but i've met people who r

@/yskang99: no i get that, i've met my fair share too :/

He began typing out slowly: I missed you… Then he swiftly amended it to: I missed talking to you.

@/studioyn: awhh wait ik we've only technically spoken the one time, but i missed talking to u too yeo :’)

A smile split his face from ear to ear. Would you wanna hang out again? Only if you're comfortable, of course.

He watched the three dots appear, then disappear. You were thinking and his heart was sinking.

Finally, your response came in. I'd love to, but I don't wanna disappoint you with my god awful schedule this next week.

@/yskang99: what abt the weekend? something low stakes maybe?

@/yskang99: my brothers and i r going to the nct house on sat

@/studioyn: oh!! im actually close friends w mark lee :] i'll see if i can drag my friends along, and we can link up there?

The thought of seeing you again, even if it was at another dumb Greek party, made electricity zip through his veins. His stomach filled to the brim with butterflies, and he had to shift his position because of how much it tickled.

@/yskang99: yeah sounds great :D i'll look forward to seeing u

@/studioyn: same here yeo :’))

@/studioyn: how's ur week been so far?

Yeosang leaned back in his chair again, propping his elbows on the armrests to sink into a comfortable position. He had a feeling he might be here awhile, but he would sit here all night if it meant talking to you.

“Yn! We're gonna be late!”

You nearly jolted at the sound of Reina's voice carrying through the other side of your bedroom door. You dropped your phone onto your bed, racing to finish up the rest of your makeup. “You can never be late to a Greek party!” You countered, swiping your thumb over the pigment you just put on your lips.

Your bedroom door opened just as you were slipping a chain necklace around your collar. Reina poked her head in, her eyes looking you up and down. “Ooh-la-la,” she gushed with a teasing smile. “Someone's gotten all dolled up. I wonder who for…”

You rolled your eyes and ignored the obvious warmth rising to your face. “I just felt like it,” you defended weakly while spritzing a light mist of perfume over your neck and wrists. You stood up from your desk to collect your wallet, keys, and lip gloss to dump into a purse, then went over to retrieve your phone.

The screen displayed another message from Yeosang, no doubt continuing the conversation you had to abruptly pause because you would be late for the NCT party. This was going to be the second Greek party in two weeks—a record for your books. But you had a feeling it was going to be a good time like last week, you were sure of it.

As you skimmed the message Yeosang sent, you slipped out of the room to join Reina in the main living space. She casted you a pointed look with arms crossed over her chest and lips pressed together.

“What?” You blinked over at her innocently.

“You're never gonna see your boy at this rate,” she said as the two of you picked out your shoes for the night.

You sent a text answering Yeosang and letting him know you would be at the party soon. “He's not 'my boy,’” you said.

“Right. He's your man.”

You hated how hard it was to keep the giggle in your throat down. It was embarrassing how you smiled just then, too, turning your head away from a smug Reina.

God, he was just a guy; how did you get so head-over-heels after just one night? It had to be the fact that you'd been texting him nonstop over the past few days. Though you were busy and exhausted, you continued to check your phone all throughout the days and stayed up long into the nights just to talk to him. He had you hook, line, and sinker.

At some point, you'd forgotten what Yura warned you about on Saturday.

Your friends picked you and Reina up in one of their family minivans. A round of greetings went up as you clambered in behind Reina, and your friend asked where her cousin was tonight if she wasn't carpooling with the rest of you.

“She said she was at her sorority friend's house,” Sieun said offhandedly from the driver's seat. The minivan door closed on its own with a mechanical whirring sound. “She's probably at the party already.”

Some nights, parties called for a pregame session, while others (not unlike this one) was attacked raw. Sieun parked the minivan about a block outside of Greek row where there were spaces between cars along the curbs and where there was less of a chance of her accidentally running over a drunk partygoer stumbling into the street. The party was already in full swing with neon green strobe lights blazing aggressively through the front windows, and Gasolina blasting at nothing less than one hundred percent speaker volume.

You felt your phone vibrate in your hand as Reina grabbed your hand to avoid instantly losing you in the crowd.

@/yskang99: im on the second floor where there's less people 😋😋 they've got a nice balcony we can hide on!!

“Mark said they've got spiked Capri Sun somewhere in here!” Reina shouted into your ear.

You nodded your head vigorously. “Let's find it then!”

@/studioyn: gonna grab hard caprisun and then head up!! do u want some??

@/yskang99: surprise me w a flavor, pretty pls x

You grinned to yourself and slid your phone into your purse to focus on the task at hand.

The NCT fraternity house wasn't a completely unknown landscape to you and Reina. Being friends with one of its brothers and friends-by-association with all the rest, you'd popped by more than a few times. You could likely navigate this house with your eyes closed; that was what it was like weaving through the dark rooms and throngs of people squeezed together like sardines in a can, anyway.

Along yours and Reina's trek to the kitchen, you gained a couple people in your conga line of linked hands, NCT's own Xiaojun and Jungwoo. NCT frat brothers always pregamed, so the two brothers were already tipsy and giggled about your kindergarten field trip line (with Reina being dubbed the poor kindergarten teacher tasked with keeping you together).

When you arrived at your destination, it didn't take long for you to lose both Xiaojun and Jungwoo to the game of Texas Hold 'Em being played at the breakfast table. The singular lightbulb overheard made it feel like a smoke-filled backdoor gambling den.

“Aha!” You cheered after playing a game of mystery cooler roulette, and opened the cooler lid that held the spiked Capri Sun juice pouches on ice.

“Mine!” Reina snatched up the last cherry flavored one, the shiny aluminum slippery and ice-cold as she impaled the opening with the thin, yellow straw.

You grabbed a Pacific Cooler flavored pouch for yourself, and a second for Yeosang.

“Ah, is that for the man of your dreams?” Reina said between sips, her pouch already half empty.

You sent her a look. “He has good taste, which means he'll probably appreciate Pacific Cooler as much as I do.”

“As long as it's not lemonade,” came a voice to your left. There stood a rather tall and lean man, his warm smile enunciated by the dim kitchen lighting as the green strobe lights from the living room painted across his face. “I can't deal with sour shit,” he explained, making a face.

You laughed. “That's valid. Fruit Punch is a classic though.”

“Can't argue with that,” he replied, leaning down to pick his poison for the night. He stabbed a straw into his pouch of strawberry kiwi juice, then arched an eyebrow at you. “I feel like I know you. Do I know you?”

“Hey,” Reina chimed in as she leaned over your shoulder, “you're with the ATZ frat, aren't you? I recognize you from Twister last week.”

He smiled sheepishly from around his straw. “Ah… haha, not my best moment, but yes. I'm Yunho.”

“Reina,” your friend replied.

“Yn,” you added on.

Yunho's expression jerked as if he'd just been delivered an electric shock. He waved his pointer finger at you. “Oh my god, you're Yeosang's girl!”

Your eyes shuddered in surprise. Yeosang's girl. “Sorry?” You stammered. There was an insane amount of possessive pronouns being used tonight, buy you definitely weren't complaining about it, and could he perhaps say that again—

“Yeah, he won't shut up about you.” Yunho slurped up the rest of his juice pouch, draining and flattening the life out of it in record time. “He loves Pacific Cooler, by the way.”

He took his leave then, saying nothing else to you and Reina except for shooting you a pair of finger guns like saying 'go get em, tiger!’

Reina wheezed, draping herself over you for a moment. “Oh—my god! Good thing Yeosang's just as down in the trenches as you are.”

“Don't do this to me, Reina,” you whined and dragged her along out of the kitchen toward the second floor staircase. “I don't need encouragement; the crush is enough!”

“It's never enough,” she declared with her pointer finger up in the sky. “You are gone, my friend! Gone, I say.”

You patted her head as you both began your ascent up the stairs. “Alrighty; then gone, I am. Do you remember where the balcony is on this floor?”

She hummed. “Ooh! Somewhere by Johnjae's room, abouts. I just remember because Mark told us how—”

“Right—the sophomore year Romeo and Juliet reenactment,” you snorted. You couldn't wrap your head around the batshit crazy things that occurred around these parts. “Who convinced Doyoung to play Paris anyway?”

She made a noncommittal noise. “Must've been bribed—oh, there it is, but I think there's a couple out there already…”

There was most definitely a couple on the balcony. Their outlines were silhouettes against the residual strobe lights shining up from downstairs, so it was a little too dark to make out who they were. They seemed close—the girl was all over the boy, the latter trying to hold her up by her waist. Maybe she'd had too much to drink, and for a moment, you were glad someone was taking care of her.

But when she leaned in for a kiss, green light glanced across their faces to reveal their features to you. It was only a split second, but it was all you needed.

“Reina,” you exhaled in shock, turning away from the balcony with enough speed to nearly give you whiplash.

She didn't question you, as you both careened back down the hall from where you came from, heading for one of the open bedrooms on this floor to collect yourselves. When the two of you were out of earshot of the balcony, she hissed under her breath in utter disbelief, “Yura?”

You'd seen it nearly clear as day, too. That was Yura kissing Yeosang.

Your head spun as you shouldered your way into Mark's and Haechan's room, their names plastered on the door in foam letter stickers from the craft store. As Reina closed the door and turned on the lights, you sat down in Mark's desk chair attempting to make sense of what you and Reina just witnessed.

Yeosang and Yura? But wasn't Yura the one who warned you that chasing after Yeosang was a risk because of how many others were, as well? Why would…

Oh.

Well, now you just felt stupid.

Reina dragged over Haechan's desk chair to settle in front of you, her expression less enraged than before, and more concerned over what she was reading off of your face. “Hey, don't do that. Don't think like that.”

“You don't know what I'm thinking,” you murmured, setting the untouched juice pouches on the desk.

“You're thinking that you're stupid.”

“Okay, maybe you do know what I'm thinking.” You inhaled, then exhaled slowly, leaning forward onto your knees. “I don't really know what to think or assume.”

Reina nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “That's okay. I don't think I really understand what I saw either.”

“But that was Yura, right?”

She bobbed her head again. “That was my cousin, yeah.”

“Would it be fair to even think that she told me all that shit last week to discourage me from seeing him?” You didn't enjoy thinking that another person would have such malicious intentions without understanding their point of view, especially someone you considered yourself friends with.

“Well,” Reina drawled, “I think we both saw what we saw, and Yura was acting strangely about it on Saturday. It would be fair if you were hurt by it; I think your feelings have been clear.”

You gave a small nod. “Do you think he…?”

“I'm not sure, hon.”

You resolved to talk to him about it. If anything, you had these juice pouches left to console yourself, but you wanted to make sure you knew where his feelings laid. You would be lying if you said your heart didn't harbor even a glimmer of hope that this was all a misunderstanding, and that the kiss was an accident and didn't matter.

You and Reina left the relative safety of Mark and Haechan's bedroom to go find Yeosang. There weren't any new messages between either of you since the Capri Sun exchange, and you thought about texting him on his whereabouts.

The balcony by Johnny and Jaehyun's room was empty now, barren of any evidence somebody was there in the first place.

You and Reina wandered back down to the main floor. The party was nowhere near over; the night was still young. Hope was sinking fast in your stomach as the two of you traveled from room to room in search of him, but with no luck. Even asking around was useless.

“Text him,” Reina encouraged, as the two of you sipped on the juice pouches that were supposed to be for you and him.

She held your spiked juice while you texted him.

As time passed, and a response had yet to come through, you tossed yours and Reina's flattened Capri Sun pouches into the nearest garbage can.

If he wasn't going to answer, then maybe you would just go home for the night. You had a lot to think about.

Defeated, you let Reina sweep you under her arm and guide you to the front door. “Let's go home, hm?” She said, rubbing your shoulder.

On your way to the front door, you paused. You thought you heard someone calling your name—

You turned around to find Mark barreling toward you through the crowd with another guy at his side. “Mark?” You shouted over the music.

“Hey, we've been looking all over for you,” he said. Nodding to his friend, he told you, “This is Wooyoung, by the way, the ATZ brother I'm friends with.”

“Yeosang's been looking for you,” Wooyoung said in earnest, eyes as wide as Mark's. Had they been looking for you as much as you were looking for Yeosang?

Something like hope sparked in your chest again—you were at odds. The fight had nearly dissipated from your blood and you were ready to go home. But if he was trying to find you… it must be worth it then, right?

“Where is he?” You asked.

It was nearing midnight by the time you settled yourself on the concrete curb outside the ATZ frat house just down the block from the target being thrown at the NCT house. With everyone over there, no wonder it was quiet enough to finally hear yourself think. With the coming of deep autumn, a slight breeze wafted by that drifted over your skin and raised goosebumps on your arms.

You heard gravel crunching from behind you, coming down the ATZ driveway, and before you could turn your head to look, a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders. You held your breath, fingers finding the lapel to keep it from slipping as you glanced over at your counterpart.

Yeosang lowered himself onto the curb next to you, mimicking your position with his knees bent and arms resting upon them. “I—my phone died,” he said lowly.

“Oh.” That took care of at least two of your questions.

“Is there—” He stopped himself, amending his statement, “There's something on your mind.”

Understatement of the century. You pulled his jacket around you, the intertwining scents of alcohol and his cologne lingering on the collar. “I was going to meet you at the balcony, and I was there, but… but I saw you and Yura, and…”

It was his turn to say “oh.” He angled his body toward you now until his knees bumped against yours and he was muttering out an apology he didn't need to say. He laid his upper body over his arms that were folded onto his knees and peered up at you through lengthy lashes.

He was waiting for you to finish.

You swallowed, following his lead and turning your body toward him. “I saw her kiss you,” you said, the sound barely audible to anybody but you and him. “Reina and I went somewhere to kind of just soak in what we saw, and then we went back out to find you so I could talk to you about it, but we couldn't find you.”

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” he murmured, eyebrows furrowed together. “It—it didn't mean anything. She did try to kiss me, but I pushed her away before she could.”

You believed him. You loosened a small chuckle from your lips. “Y'know, it sounds silly to me now, but last week she told me that there were a number of girls who were pursing you and were very aggressive about it.”

He snorted. “If there were any, I only know of one.”

“She…?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, lips pursing. “I know she's liked me for a while, but I've made it clear I don't see her the same way. At last Friday's party, I was actually trying to lose her in the crowd when I found you.”

Your eyes widened. “So she was there?” Then Reina had actually seen her cousin at the party; Yura had lied about where she was.

“She told me tonight that she was scared about me liking you more than her,” Yeosang said as he lifted his body back up to rest his cheek against his fist. “She was really drunk—which was why you probably saw me trying to hold her up—and then she… tried to kiss me. I pushed her away, and one of her friends found us, so I handed her over and went to get some air.”

And that was why you couldn't find him. You released a breath you didn't realize you were holding in. “Are you—are you okay? I'm so sorry she did that to you.”

The corners of his lips tugged upward in a reassuring smile. “I'm alright, thank you. And it's not your fault.”

“I know, but still,” you insisted. “Your boundaries were violated, and it makes me feel so icky that I've called her a friend of mine, and—what?”

Your words came to a screeching halt when you realized that Yeosang was just smiling at you. Or rather, gazing at you, admiring you. It was whatever he did whenever his eyes possessed a set of twin jewels in his irises that needed no light to glitter like gold; and when his grin softened at the corners by a tenderness that knocked the wind out of you, all words and systems failed you.

You recognized this look, except this time, you weren't drunk.

“I'm really happy I met you,” he said in your silence. “And I'm happy I got to see you again.”

You nearly melted. You smiled back at him, replying quietly, “Couldn’t have said it any better. Thank you for being honest with me.”

“And thank you for believing me.” He reached for your hand, his movements slow as if giving you an opening to pull back if you wanted to. But you didn't, and you closed the remaining space to link your fingers and press your palms together.

You and Yeosang shared mutual smiles in the dim lighting outside his fraternity house. Your heart beat had quickened a considerable amount now that he was so close to you again.

You cleared your throat. "Just to be clear though—when you said she was scared about you liking me more than her—?"

His smile reached his eyes and turned them into upturned crescent moons. "I'm not scared," he said, "that I like you more than I have ever liked her." By a landslide.

Your heart gave a lurch in your chest. "Good," you smiled. "That's good, because I like you a whole lot, too."

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Yeosang inclined his chin toward where his car was parked a couple vehicles down. “Properly this time, now that we're not completely wasted?”

You laughed. “I would love nothing more.”

Pleased, he helped you to your feet. You must have stood up far too quickly though, because the blood rushed up to your head in a riptide current. You swore as the vertigo hit you, and your footing stumbled.

“Woah, careful there, pretty,” he murmured, his low voice by your ear as he steadied you with one hand pressed between your shoulder blades and the other around your waist.

Oh, there went your heart… it flew up to halo around Yeosang's head, and it wasn't yours anymore—

“You okay?” He mused.

You cleared your throat, straightening. “Yeah, I'm great,” you said sheepishly, ducking your head toward your chest.

A warm, fond chuckle left his mouth. “Cute,” he murmured. He lifted your chin up so you would look at him, his eyes darting down toward your mouth, and yours mirroring his movements. “I was wondering…”

“You can kiss me,” you blurted out, ignoring the utter leap in your pulse and the heat crawling up the back of your neck.

You tasted his smile as he leaned over to seal his mouth over your own, a long awaited return to the place that felt just right. You breathed him in, inhaled him, devoured him whole—you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer just as his hands pressed you flush against him.

In the distance against the heavy house music in the background, a cheer went up into the night sky.

You and Yeosang parted only to crane your heads in the direction of the noise, only to find what looked like a gathering of your friends and his friends hooting and applauding like it was New Years.

“OPERATION: PASSENGER PRINCESS WINS!” The guy from earlier, Wooyoung, practically howled up at the sky.

You pressed your face against Yeosang's shoulder as he groaned. “I am so sorry about them,” he chuckled through a grimace, lips grazing over your crown.

You laughed along with him. “My friends are also among the guilty party, Yeo.”

He kept his arm around your waist and you kept your head against his shoulder as the two of you walked away from your friends and toward his car. Contentment curled itself up over your chest again, and it nestled in deep, as if it planned to stay awhile.

“By the way,” you piped up as he unlocked his car.

“Mhm?”

You opened the passenger side door and leaned over the top of it to ask, “What the hell is Operation: Passenger Princess?”

Yeosang sputtered out a laugh and his cheekbones burned red. “How about we save that for our third date?”

You blinked, lips parting.

Yeosang grinned impishly. “Close that mouth, pretty, or I'll close it for you.”

Your jaw snapped closed, and his laugh echoed against the houses along this street. You climbed into the car after him, flustered beyond words. “I don't like you,” was all you could come up with.

“I'm sure you don't.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed! also, the plan is to try and write another wooyo frat au as well, so pray for me...

atz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @tinkerbell460 @meosjinn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @floatingpluto @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @soonyoungblr @justanotherkpopstanlol @kangfication @pxppxrminty @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @synthwxve @empire-x @kflixnet @atzhouse @cromernet

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wilmingtonrealestateservice · 2 years ago

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Unlocking the Value: The Comprehensive Benefits of Investing in a Home with a Garage in Wilmington, NC

Welcome to the Wilmington Real Estate Guide, your trusted companion in navigating the vibrant real estate landscape of Wilmington, NC. In this comprehensive blog, we'll delve into the myriad benefits of purchasing a home with a garage in this charming coastal city. From enhanced property value to practical advantages, we'll explore how this simple feature can elevate your living experience in Wilmington.

Section 1: The Wilmington Advantage

Wilmington, NC, is renowned for its picturesque landscapes, cultural richness, and a thriving real estate market. As you embark on your homeownership journey, it's crucial to understand why Wilmington is an ideal location to invest in real estate. We'll highlight the city's growth, amenities, and unique charm that make it an attractive destination for homebuyers.

Section 2: The Garage Advantage

Now, let's shift our focus to the star of the show – the garage. In the bustling real estate market, a garage can be a game-changer. We'll explore the various benefits, including:

2.1 Increased Property Value

Research and statistics on how a garage can positively impact property value.

Insights from Wilmington Real Estate Guide experts on market trends.

2.2 Practicality and Convenience

The convenience of having a secure and weather-protected space for your vehicles.

Additional storage options and potential for creating a workshop or hobby space.

2.3 Protection from the Elements

How a garage shields your vehicle from the coastal weather, including salt air and storms.

Long-term savings on vehicle maintenance and repairs.

Section 3: Wilmington Real Estate Guide Expert Insights

Connect with our real estate experts at Wilmington Real Estate Guide as they share their insights on the current market trends, garage-inclusive properties, and the potential for future value appreciation. Gain valuable tips on navigating the local real estate scene and making informed decisions when searching for your dream home.

Section 4: Garage Design Trends in Wilmington

Explore the latest garage design trends in Wilmington, NC. From innovative storage solutions to multi-functional garage spaces, we'll showcase how modern garage designs can enhance the overall appeal and functionality of your property.

Section 5: Case Studies and Success Stories

Delve into real-life case studies and success stories of individuals who have invested in homes with garages through Wilmington Real Estate Guide. Learn from their experiences, understand their decision-making process, and discover the positive impacts on their lifestyle.

Section 6: Future Prospects

Look into the crystal ball of Wilmington's real estate future. We'll analyze the potential for continued growth in the market, the role of garage-equipped homes, and how investing now can secure your financial future.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, purchasing a home with a garage in Wilmington, NC, is a strategic decision that goes beyond mere convenience. It's an investment in lifestyle, property value, and long-term financial stability. Trust the Wilmington Real Estate Guide to be your partner in navigating the exciting journey of finding the perfect home with a garage in this charming coastal city. Embrace the benefits, seize the opportunities, and make Wilmington your home.

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hueseok · 8 months ago

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( 01. ) EASY MONEY, EASY LOVE.

you and namjoon have been married for five years.

despite being strangers who solely exchanged wedding vows to trick his filthy rich family into giving him his inheritance, being part of this scheme is surprisingly easy. he’s out of the country most of the time, you’re being compensated for being a model wife, and there are only a few things you two have to to do in order to keep up with the whole guise of being a happy married couple.

with less than three months to go until you get divorced, namjoon comes back from a business trip and stays with you at your shared house, waiting until d-day with the aim of sending off your odd friendship with a proper farewell. but it’s weird, because just when things are supposed to be easiest—that’s when everything is suddenly becoming complicated, and the two of you realized once again that there really is no such thing as easy money (or easy love).

pairing: namjoon x reader

word count: 3.3k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, angst, marriage of convenience au, strangers to friends to lovers au, dash of fake dating au, and they were housemates au???? | ft. chaebol!namjoon + travel photographer!namjoon; office worker!reader

warning/s: swearing, mentions of a sickness, mommy issues, unsupportive family, depictions of loneliness / sadness, character death (no major characters though!), mentions of falling of a cliff bc of clumsiness lmao (nobody dies dw)

[ chaptex index. ]

EPISODE 01. the one with the emergency !

you shouldn’t have been too confident. if only you’ve been more humble and less greedy during your hike earlier with your workmates for the bi-annual team building event, you wouldn’t have literally fallen off the side of the cliff and ended up spraining your ankle pretty bad.

what were you thinking, honestly? you’ve never been an active person ever in your life. you hated cardio, you hated sweating, you hated waking up early in the morning to do exercise — yet for some reason, you were pumped for the activity that was scheduled for today.

it’s the reason why as you were trudging along the trail with your co-workers, yapping and laughing loudly with a close colleague, you didn’t notice that a particularly huge rock on your way set you off balance and caused you to sway to your right, plummeting over the ridge with a loud yelp.

it’s a good thing that there were paramedics stationed at the base of the mountain where all of you were trekking on, perhaps anticipating for an incident like yours to come along that’ll have them doing their duty.

as soon as your team leader used the walkie-talkie given to your group to call them for their help, there were four people with bright orange uniforms aiding you, checking your condition and placing you on a stretcher before carrying you to the monorail where you’ll be transported back down.

haein, your said close colleague, accompanied you as they brought you to the infirmary.

“were you possessed by an athletic ghost?” she asks once the doctor finished treating your sprained ankle, now advising you to get a bit of rest. “what made you think it was smart to walk too fast? you must have been crazy.”

“i must have,” you say, laughing because you rather laugh than complain about the pain that you’re feeling. it’s subsiding at the moment — thankfully — but you can only imagine what the next few days are going to be for you due to the injury. “god, i’m happy though that i didn’t get to roll all the way. if that happened, i would have suffered a greater fall and then i’d be on the news.”

“yeah. you’d be a legend to the company too. we’d make an altar in your cubicle for a good few months.”

“i’d be the story that hiking guides would share to the hikers to scare them into being careful.”

“we’d pay tribute to you at every christmas party. we’d make a slideshow and present that during the whole event.”

“really?”

“of course. i’d be in charge of making the powerpoint even.”

you stare at her, haein staring back, and then the both of you burst out laughing. you’re grateful that she volunteered to be with you when the paramedics declared that they needed to bring you down — although in the back of your head, you do think she’s just being a good friend as an excuse to not walk her way back to the ground with the rest later on after they reach the top and enjoy the magnificent view.

“by the way,” she takes a seat on the chair beside the bed you’re situated in, “someone named kim namjoon is going to pick you up and drive you home.”

the second his name tumbles out of her lips, you’re snapping your head towards her, shocked. “what?”

“when you passed out a bit after the fall, i got your phone and did the thing to make it call your emergency contact. he’s the one who answered.”

“namjoon answered?”

“yup.”

“but i… i don’t remember making him my emergency contact.”

“well, like i said, he’s the one who answered.” she shrugs. “why? is he an ex or something?”

you press your lips together, suddenly panicking at the thought of namjoon arriving here.

there’s nothing wrong with namjoon, really. he’s a pleasing person to have around: genuine, kind, and full of profound thoughts that you can’t help but hang onto every word he says.

however, as haein made evident, no one knows about your relationship with him and true nature of it — and you’ve done everything you can in the past year and a half since joining the company to keep it that way, deeming it unnecessary to disclose the fact that kim namjoon is your husband when the both of you aren’t bound to stay married forever.

to you, he’s just a ridiculously rich man who needed to get married for at least five years in order to get the full amount of his inheritance from his grandmother.

to him, you’re just a middle class woman who needed money to pay for her sister’s leukemia treatments, introduced together by a mutual friend who knew that both of you can benefit from each other’s situations.

in other words, your marriage with him isn’t technically real. and it’s why you rather not let anyone in your workplace know that he’s your husband, especially since you’ve managed to keep a low profile about it all these months. you don’t want to give your officemates a reason to gossip about you in the present time or when you divorce namjoon — the latter frankly scheduled to happen in less than three months from now.

****

namjoon arrives an hour later.

you take notice of him immediately while haein’s babbling about the book she recently read, recognizing him as the tall man who enters the small clinic.

you watch as he goes to the desk to talk to the staff waiting there, following his figure as the latter points to where your bed is. namjoon promptly turns to your direction then, your gazes meeting before his eyes focus on your sprained ankle, expression contorting in a mix of confusion and disappointment.

beside you, haein taps your arm, noticing namjoon’s arrival as well. “is that…?”

you swallow hard. “yeah, that’s him.”

“holy shit.” she takes a dramatic pause. “he’s hot.”

“don’t —” you grit your teeth. “don’t say that. it’s weird.”

“why? i have eyes — i’m just saying what i see.”

“yeah, but —”

“are you weirded out because he’s a relative? like your brother?” haein cuts you off. “wait, you mentioned before that you have a sibling. is that him?”

“he’s not a sibling.”

“then who —”

namjoon stops on the foot of your bed, causing haein to shut up now that he’s within earshot. he’s still staring at your ankle, like it inflated to twice its original size, and you actually don’t know what to say.

although you’ve developed a close friendship over the years of this sham marriage, you always seem to restart whenever he returns from a business trip of his — and it’s only been a couple of days since his return to south korea, having just come back from spain for his latest project.

it’s worth mentioning too that you do feel strange having an audience like haein around that renders you clueless on how to act.

he lets out a slow whistle, crossing his arms. “and you say i’m clumsy.”

you huff out a chuckle, namjoon grinning that releases the charm of his dimples.

“uh, i’m haein,” your friend stands up from her seat and extends a hand out, obviously enthralled by how handsome he is. “i’m the one who called you using ____’s phone. namjoon, isn’t it?”

namjoon shakes her hand. “oh, yes. it’s nice to meet you.”

“wow. you have a very tight grip.”

“haein,” you scold, slapping her wrist that causes their handshake to cease. if it isn’t apparent enough, haein doesn’t have a filter nor cares enough to stop saying the first thing that comes to her mind. “stop being weird.”

she turns to you. “i’m not being weird. i’m complimenting him.”

“how is commenting how tight his grip is a compliment?” you demand.

“it’s a compliment because i’m making it clear that i find him strong,” she explains, focusing on namjoon again. “sorry. do you feel offended by what i said?”

he appears amused. “not really.”

“see?” haein tells you.

you’re about to quip back a reply when she beats you to it.

“anyways,” she says and namjoon stifles a laugh, “if you don’t mind me asking, how are you and ____ related?”

at the question, you send him a signal with your eyes, asking him not to tell the truth, regardless if that’s wrong of you to do so. one of the things you had to keep in mind upon agreeing with this arrangement is that neither of you should ever deny the marriage whatsoever, a precautionary measure because you two were that paranoid that the news might reach namjoon’s parents.

from the looks of it, despite namjoon understanding where you’re getting at as you give him the most bizarre expressions, he does the opposite (perhaps mainly due to what was explained above), resulting into you hanging your head low, waiting how haein will react at the revelation that will be served on her plate.

“i’m her husband actually,” namjoon says casually.

haein cackles out loud. “husband?” she repeats. “that’s really funny — you’re a funny guy. but seriously, how do you two know each other?”

he raises an eyebrow. “i’m not joking.”

“sure you are. this girl right here isn’t married.” she does a show of holding you in an affectionate headlock. “she doesn’t even have a boyfriend.”

“did she tell you that?” he’s teasing, glancing at you for some sort of confirmation.

haein averts her attention to you.

you look at them, switching from namjoon to haein to namjoon and back to haein.

“i mean… you never asked, and i never said i was single,” you tell haein, shrugging and acting as nonchalant as ever.

it’s half the truth, ‘cause as far as you’re concerned, you’ve been diligent in always wearing your wedding and engagement ring. you even make it a point not to appear interested in any offers of blind dates or group dates to ever imply that you’re single as well.

she gawks at you, like she’s waiting for you to take back what you said. “are you being for real right now?”

“i am.”

“if this is some elaborate prank —”

“it’s not a prank,” you say.

there’s silence, and then she practically screams.

“YOU’RE MARRIED?” haein bellows, attracting everybody’s attention inside the infirmary. “we’ve known each other for more than a year and only now do i discover that you’re married?”

before she can berate you and force you to tell her your entire relationship history, namjoon’s asking for your bag and helping you sit up, aiming to lead you to the car waiting outside.

haein almost stops him, declaring with conviction that she literally can’t wait until the next office day to get the full scoop, but he kindly reiterates what the ER doctor he spoke with earlier said, insisting that he ought to bring you home as soon as possible so you can get the rest that you need after over exerting your body for today’s hike.

“everything. you need to tell me everything on monday,” she says when namjoon goes out for a minute to deliver your bag first to the vehicle. she’s giddy and jumpy and very hyper about what you can guess is because of her latest discovery. “also, i’m sorry about calling your husband hot earlier. i wouldn’t have done so if i knew.”

you grin, appreciating the fact that she felt the need to apologize for that. “it’s no biggie. you didn’t know.”

“yeah, which you really should apologize about.”

“i’m sorry.” your grin only stretches wider. “i’ll buy you a matcha latte on monday to make up for it.”

her face lights up.

you share your farewells as namjoon returns, namjoon saying goodbye to haein too. she leaves first, remembering that she needs to inform the rest of your co-workers that you’re fine and headed home, and once you and your husband are alone, he takes a good look at you again.

“should i carry you?” he asks.

you blink at him. he may be reliable, but he is also extremely clumsy. “you’re not asking the right questions, joon.”

“unbelievable.” he laughs. “you can really be cruel sometimes, you know?”

“i just want to be safe.” you further tease.

“then should i get a wheelchair?”

“no wheelchair please. i think i can walk to the car just fine.” you begin standing up.

“you sure?” he doesn’t even let you answer that, his hand just naturally goes to support your elbow. “you might fall.”

you pause, calculating how many steps it’s going to take until you reach your destination.

you’re fine, really. your good foot is perfectly walkable and you’re convinced it can take the burden of not having its pair in ample condition. however, you might need to hold onto namjoon for you not to fall halfway like he already stated, and you’re not really keen on being that close to him no matter how amazing his cologne smells even a few inches away.

“a wheelchair would be ideal,” you say.

namjoon chuckles, nodding and getting it with the assistance of a staff member.

in minutes, you’re on the passenger seat and he’s climbing on the other side.

you don’t expect it but you’re relieved at the thought of coming home earlier than planned. though you’ve conditioned yourself to enjoy this team building and take this time to get into camping, you were horrified when you learned that there wouldn’t be any shower rooms or portable toilets at least at the area that you’re heading at after the hike, this retreat meant to give each one of you the raw camping experience.

come to think of it, perhaps it was your subconscious that prompted you to inflict this accident on yourself in order to avoid shitting on the ground in case your stomach hurts.

“comfortable?” namjoon glances at you. “you can recline the chair if you want to sleep.”

“oh, okay. thanks.” you smile.

he smiles back, starting the engine.

you subtly watch him while he does that, admiring how he seems so adept in driving now compared to when you first met him. you remember his reluctance in the past to drive due to his fear of messing up, yet he managed to drive for approximately two hours in most likely gravelly roads to get where you are.

“thanks too for coming here, joon. i hope i didn’t bother you. honestly, i don’t even remember putting you as my emergency contact,” you sheepishly add.

“no problem, and i think hoseok did,” he says. “i remember him mentioning that i should put you as mine before.”

hoseok is the mutual friend that introduced you both together when namjoon was still trying to find a fake wife to obtain the full amount of his inheritance in five years time. he was aware of namjoon’s ploy and knew that you were in need of money during that year as well — and so putting two and two together, he set up a ‘date slash chemistry test’ between you and namjoon and reckoned that you could be great help to one another regarding your respective needs.

“that makes sense. i just don’t know how he did that without my knowledge.”

“well, nothing’s been impossible for hobi, so…”

you agree with a snort.

“by the way, i should mention this before you doze off,” namjoon abruptly halts just when he was beginning to drive off, “mom’s inviting us to dinner this weekend. she heard that i was back in the country and wanted to see how i am.”

you gradually digest that information, a constipated look already appearing on your face. “okay. is everyone going to be there?”

“yes, based on our last conversation.”

“should i be prepared for anything at all?”

he seems to find the inquiry funny. “no. just the usual.”

“meaning i should block off every passive aggressive comment your mom makes about either my choice of clothes and social status, right?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

you let out a groan.

“i’m sorry.” the dimples make a recurrence. “i would have declined her request but she wouldn’t stop pestering me about it.”

“god, i just really don’t like your mom, joon.” you say. “or your dad. or your older brother. i don’t like everyone, basically — except your pet dog, hiro. no offense.”

“that’s fine. i don’t like them either.” he shrugs, carrying on driving then now that the news have been shared. “plus, you know i’m on your team. i’d defend your honor to death.”

“of course. it’s what makes attending these things tolerable.”

“well, if it makes you feel better, this might be the last family function you’d have to attend.”

you raise your eyebrows, recalling the reason why. “woah, shit, you’re right.”

in less than three months, you’re getting divorced and namjoon’s getting even more money than he already has.

in less than three months, he’s going to share some of the portion of what’s left of his inheritance and it’ll be the last time you’ll receive financial help from him.

it also might be the last time you’ll be with him in general, and though there’s a side of you that’s glad not to be tied down anymore, you can’t say that you’re glad of possibly losing contact with namjoon, having grown fond of his presence in a way.

facing him, you blurt out the first thing that occurs in your mind. “when we get divorced, can i keep my engagement ring?”

namjoon chuckles. “that’s up to you. there’s no reason for me to take it back.”

“but what if you fall in love with a woman someday and think about proposing to her?”

“then i’d buy a new ring.”

“but wouldn’t that be impractical? given that you already have an engagement ring? i mean, this costs so much i could probably buy a lot and a house with it.”

“yeah, but that’s yours. it’d be horrible of me to give her a ring already worn by my first wife.”

“first wife,” you repeat with a dramatic scoff, lips curving upwards regardless. it’s cheesy and tickles your insides. “that trip to spain changed you, joon. you’ve been too flirty since you returned.”

that coaxes out a full laugh from him. “my apologies. it’s a habit at this point.”

“what is?”

“pertaining to you as my wife.” he shrugs. “isn’t it the same for you?”

“pertaining to you as my wife?” you joke.

you don’t see him roll his eyes. “you know what i mean.”

you think about it.

had it been the same for you? there’s not a lot of occasions wherein you have to call namjoon as your husband. your dad isn’t present in your life, your relationship isn’t good with your mother to constantly chat with her (she doesn’t even know you’re married), and as for your little sister who was the root cause of why you got married to namjoon…

well, she’s in a better place right now. far better than this crazy and scary world you’re living in.

“i guess,” you say, but your tone isn’t convincing.

he nods his head in a slow manner. “hm, it does seem that way according to what just happened with haein.”

you wince. “sorry about that.”

“don’t be, i understand. i’ve been gone most of the time since you got hired in your new company — and we are separating in a few weeks.”

“time flies really fast, doesn’t it?”

“yep. we used to think that it’ll take forever before the five years are up.”

“true. we kept on suggesting a backup plan if ever we fight and get sick of each other.”

“yet here we are, still happily married.”

“ugh, there you are again!” you accuse and he laughs out loud once more. “are you enjoying cringing me to death?”

namjoon doesn’t answer, a big grin plastered on his face as he continues laughing, groaning eventually when you start slapping his arm because of how it’s obvious that he truly is enjoying this.

“____,” he complains, laughing still, “stop, i’m driving!”

you follow as he says. “you’re the worst.”

“i forgot how easy you are to tease.”

“shut up.”

he snickers, doing a zipping motion against his mouth.

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